The Darkest Hour | TheDarkestHour / RockyMountainHighness browse

From atop the eastern landing of the Grand Stair, the Bay of Cabra stretched out in a tapestry of sparkling blues and pale greens, hemmed by whites and accented in luminous golds. The sheer edge dropped away into fog clouds that were so still and unbroken that one might walk upon them like cotton. Thrusting out of this alpine fog, five spires of golden and glass caught the last rays of sunlight, crowning the magnificent castle Amber. Sea birds drifted around them, enjoying the evening thermals, effortless and peaceful in their flight. The painted rooftops of the various shops and homes below gave the impression of polished shells upon a white beach. A million fireflies began to dance as the luminescent mage-lights ignited around the city. In the distance, the lighthouse stood as a lonely sentinel against the vastness of the ocean beyond; so small it appeared to rest in one’s hand.

A deep stillness hung over the landing, infectious with its solemnity. Although a city teemed with life only a few hundred yards below, this sacred place felt worlds away. Private, ancient, and shrouded in memories. Two figures stood there, as if ghosts from another time; a young man and a young woman.

Thoughtful, the young woman reached out and touched the man’s arm, unable to voice the words swelling in her heart. Instead, she just smiled and turned away from him, ascending the last few steps toward Kolvir’s peak. She showed no signs of exhaustion, despite the arduous ascent up the narrow stairs in a choking corset and high-heeled walking boots. If anything, she appeared to be overcome with a childish exuberance as she skipped from step to worn step.

Rhea turned her head, grinning broadly, “Come on, slow-poke! We’ll miss it if you don’t keep up.”

"Sorry," Cole replied, looking up the steps after her. "I was admiring the view." He grinned mischievously as he started up the steps himself, two at a time.

"But you're right, we don't want to miss it. Like I told you, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Rhea pretended to ignore his first comment, but her cheeks warmed. “I can’t believe I haven’t been up here in all these years,” she said, hopping over the stairs. “Martin used to bring me up here when I was a little girl. We’d feed the birds sweet rolls and he’d tell me about my uncle Corwin. All those neat war stories and, of course, about Uncle Benny losing his arm. Mom was always mortified when she found out. ‘A proper lady needs not know of such grim subjects!’” She waggled her finger and scrunched her face up in mock disapproval, only to then laugh musically at herself.

Cole laughed too. "Yeah, that's what big brothers are for: to tell you things your parents are too mortified to tell you."

Rhea chuckled, “Aye. He certainly excelled at that particular brotherly trait.”

She turned the last corner, stepping from hewn stonework onto a patch of wind-beaten grass. Devoid of trees, the thin strip of flattened ground gave no illusions of safety. On every side, Kolvir’s peak offered nothing but empty air and treacherous gravity. Heedless of the danger, Rhea ran to the stone structure at the highest point; a stone formation that resembled three steps leading to nowhere.

Cole followed a bit more slowly, looking around in unabashed awe, and knowing that Rhea wasn't going anywhere else. It was a relatively calm day, but here on the mountaintop the slightest breezes were amplified into random buffets of wind from all directions, and he was a little unsteady on his way to the steps. His eyes fixed on the girl now climbing the steps, he knew it wasn't just the wind making him unsteady.

"Okay," he said, when he caught up to her, "get on the second step there--that should be perfect, so your eyes are level with mine--and look out there. And in just a minute, you'll see the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He pointed at the setting sun with his right hand, while he fished for something in his pocket with his left.

Rhea pursed her lips suspiciously, but then gave a nod and climbed up onto the rocky stairs. She stood there for a moment, stretching out her arms as if she were some majestic bird about to take flight. The salt air tugged at her dress and hair, as if urging her forward into oblivion. She ignored the summons; instead turning her head toward the dying sun.

Cole stood just behind her and close beside, the steps making her eyes even with his own. "It's almost ready," he said, "Not quite yet. I can almost see it. Ah, there it is at last!"

And he held up a mirror so she could see her own smile.

Rhea opened her eyes and blinked. A happy squeaked escaped her lips. Tears wet her eyes as she stared into the reflective surface. She turned away from it shyly, only to drift Cole in the arm an instant later. “Jerk!”

Before the pain could even ebb, Cole found her arms around him, her perfumed hair crushed against his neck. Gravity tugged at them, but could not uproot them from their place upon the stone steps. Rhea sniffled happily, “Now /that’s/ what I’ve been waiting for since the train station. Took you bloody long enough.”

He squeezed her tightly. "Sorry, I'm not fast. Charming, handsome, witty, and persistent, but not fast. You'll just have to get used to working around that."

“It’s asking a great deal of me, you realize,” she smiled. Her lips touched his like a whisper, her fingers outlining his jawbone. “But I’m a very generous and forgiving woman.”

She turned around in his arms, leaning back against his chest. Short as she was, she found this a comforting stance as they watched the sun beginning to dip toward the horizon. Rhea’s fingers laced with Cole’s, squeezing. “So, you’ve impressed father.”

This pronouncement sounded dubious. The last family dinner Cole attended involved a near impalement with a lobster fork and an energized conversation on Eregnor politics that went right over his head.

"How did I manage to do that? I didn't spill anything so much that anyone would notice, and the fencing demonstration with the cutlery is unlikely to leave any lasting scars. And I couldn't find Eregnor with a map and one of your uncles as escort."

“Well, he didn’t shoot you,” Rhea said. “So, that’s a big step up from my previous suitor. Unicorn protect his poor soul.”

Rhea couldn't see Cole's slightly alarmed expression, standing behind her as he was. It was probably just as well.

She smiled, “I think it’s because you remind him a little of himself before he became King. This, of course, makes Mother quite nervous. But dad likes your openness and uh. . . how do I put this without offending you?” She scratched her cheek thoughtfully.

“That you’re not complicated.”

Cole laughed.

Rhea laughed softly, “And the fact his daughter is absolutely mad about you doesn’t hurt.”

He gave her an extra squeeze. "I especially like that part," he said. "So, where do we go from here?" He glanced around. "In a relationship sense."

Rhea stiffened in his arms, squirming uncomfortably for a moment. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “That is a very dangerous question, Cole. Do you really want the answer?” she said. “Normally, when two nobles become involved, they do so for the purpose of getting. . . married.”

She stroked his hand, but dared not look at him. “And although I love you, Cole, I’m not sure if you’re the marrying kind. Not yet anyway.”

"I understand," Cole said. "I don't think I could in good conscience inflict myself upon you permanently." He gently turned her face to his, to show her that he was smiling. "But I do like being with you. Maybe with more practice, I'll become more worthy of it."

Rhea gazed into his eyes for a moment. She quirked her lip with annoyance and then smacked him on the arm again; albeit more lightly this time. “God, you can be so dense sometimes,” she said. “I meant that you’re not the type who wants to get married. And I don’t want you to feel roped into something.

"Plus, don’t forget the publicity our match will attract, Cole. The mosquitoes will soon get wind of you and I.”

She brushed the back of her hand over his chest. “But you’re more than worthy of me. When I’m in your arms, I finally feel free.”

"Then feel free for a while longer, Princess," Cole said, wrapping her in his embrace as they watched the sun set together.

Rhea fell quiet, enjoying the silent display of the sun joining with the horizon and then welcoming its sister night. In the distance, the moon began to break through the clouds and add its light to the gloaming; a perfect mating of silver and gold.

After a long while, Cole said, "You know, it might be tricky climbing back down in the dark."

The princess laughed, “Back down? It’s almost the full moon. I’m thinking of heading upward.” She smiled with mischief, but he could see conviction in her eyes. "Don't you want to see our futures?"

Cole shrugged. "Why? Prophecy is a tricky mess: you either subvert it, in which case it was a lie, or it happens anyway, in which case you feel like an idiot. Whatever will be, will be." He turned his gaze to the moon. "But if you're asking me if I'll follow you to the tops of the clouds to explore a dream castle, then of course the answer is yes."

Rhea smirked, “Why Lord di Perondor, did you just reveal your philosophical underlyings? I always knew you were a deep well.” She stood on her toes, touching his lips with her own. Her body pressed against him, eager, yearning. Her fingers ran along his cheekbone, over his throat, and down to his chest.

“I’ve always wanted to see the Tir Pattern. They saw once you’ve walked it, you can walk in dreams.” She tilted her head, “But when my dream is right here, why wander so far?”

Cole matched her kisses, trying to return the gentle, teasing contacts with greater passion. One hand pressed tight against Rhea's back, the other twined in her hair. The height and beauty of their surroundings, and the beauty and hidden strength of his companion, dizzied him beyond anything he'd experienced, and what little reason or caution he sometimes managed was gone with the mountain wind.

Rhea pressed into his body, conforming to it with joyous abandon. Her hands trailed over his muscled shoulders and chest, savoring this intimacy as they were enshrouded in twilight. As the silver replaced blood in the sky, the young girl’s ardor ebbed to a slow burn, resting her head against his chest. Cole could feel her breathing hasty gulps of air.

“I think the altitude is getting to me,” she whispered jokingly.

Cole held her tightly against him, and he gave the top of her head a single soft kiss before saying, "Then by all means, we should go further up."

Rhea laughed musically, melting beneath the kiss.

As the moonlight strengthened, its quicksilver light touched the stone formation upon which they stood. Cole felt a cool sensation pulse up from the ground and into his feet. The air in front of them began to shimmer and solidify into a spectral staircase. With no sign of reinforcement, the stairwell slowly developed additional steps that led out over the yawning cliff face and into the night sky. They mirrored the front stairwell to Amber Castle, but possessed an unnerving translucency, allowing the lights of the city and harbor to be seen through them.

Rhea let out a little gasp, hugging his arms against her. “It’s so beautiful!”

Cole gave her one last tight squeeze before slowly, reluctantly, releasing her. But then he turned and sprang up the first six steps, two at a time. Thus he was fully on the ghostly, unbalustered stairs, before turning and extending his left hand to beckon behind him. His grin displayed an almost fey delight. "Let's go!" he called over the wind.

Rhea grabbed Cole’s hand and followed him up the spectral staircase. “We’re going to die, you realize,” she half-joked. And if they were brave – or foolish – enough to look down, they may have confirmed her pronouncement. On either side of them, the inspiring drop waited like a hungry predator for the pair to make a single slip. Little wonder Prince Bleys had enough time to trump out his death fall. And now they were thrice that distance up.

The steep incline, the wind, and the deepening chill added further challenges to the already formidable ascent, sapping their strength with ever step. Soon enough – much as a swimmer heading away from shore into the night – they realized that they’d reached a point where it was as far to back as to go forward.

"You know," Cole commented, doggedly taking step after mechanical step, "for magic stairs, these kinda suck. I don't suppose your family has some secret word that will make these move under us and carry us straight to the top?"

“Uncle Corwin said much the same thing, I’ll bet,” Rhea laughed. She leaned over the edge, only to leap back, shocked. “Okay, I didn’t realize how utterly stupid this may have been.”

Nonetheless, she continued up the spectral stairs. Some distance ahead, the shimmering outline of a gate could be seen; a doppelganger of the Castle Amber’s front portcullis. A wall of cloud and silver stretched in either direction, fading in and out of existence as if a mirage.

Rhea smirked, “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She hiked her skirt, so she could race up the remaining stairs. When she reached the top, she placed her hands on the imposing door and then pushed. Silently, the ghost-door swung forward to reveal the castle’s spectral interior. Cole – now a semi-frequent visitor to Castle Amber – vaguely recognized the foyer. A construction of silver and shadow, the corridor now possessed far too many halls leading off of it. Even as they watched, some would fade into nothingness while others would appear in the icy wall.

Whispers drifted over them, indistinct and innumerable. Disturbances in the air would solidify into transparent figures if concentrated upon. They appeared wholly unaware of the two transgressors to this solemn place.

Rhea moved to Cole’s side, lacing her fingers tightly with his. “Dad never mentioned anything about this,” she whispered.

<You’re going to die here, boy>

The Voice was no longer in his head.

Cole instinctively spun on his left heel so that he stood with his back to Rhea's, still holding her hand. His other hand went to his knife. "Is that a warning, or a threat?" he asked, boldly. He then rather spoiled the effect by adding, less confidently, "And do you mean here-here, or downstairs-in-the-real-foyer-here? It's kind of ambiguous."

Rhea blinked up at him, shocked. “Who are you talking to? What’s wrong, Cole?” Her eyes widened and she glanced around excitedly, “Are you seeing a ghost?”

The Voice came from behind him this time. A ghost – taller than Cole – stood in the doorway. The midnight sky could be seen through his immaterial body; a blockish construction of muscle and malice. He’d folded his thick arms together, eyes blazing with judgment.

"Nice to see you for once," Cole said, facing the ghost. "Would you care to tell me a little more about yourself, or what the particular danger is here? After all, where you're standing we can't actually leave unless you let us through. And I think we'd both prefer you did that by standing aside, rather than something more literal."

The ghost appeared amused. <This world is a mirror. The only domain in which I may tread so freely. Not that this is a place I wish to dwell for long. I can stand aside easily enough. The question is can you reach the safety of the world below before another moon lights this place. Then there is no telling what might walk these hallowed halls. Falling would be a blessing, I suspect.>

Rhea pounded his shoulder, “Cole! Who are you talking to? You’re scaring me!”

Cole squeezed her hand. "It's okay, it's okay," he assured her. "I'm talking to..." He turned back to the ghost. "Who _am_ I talking to?"

Rhea scanned the direction Cole indicated, her frustration growing. Her futile attempts only fueled the ghost’s amusement.

"She's stronger than she looks," Cole replied.

<Perhaps> The Ghost replied.

He examined his knuckles, his brow furrowing with anger. <I don’t know my name. Be it geas or curse, I find myself unable to touch the memory of who I am. And yet, I know that you have fought side by side with my brothers. The true blooded and the half blooded.> His eyes turned dark for a moment. <But I am your shadow. Your true self.>

Meanwhile, Rhea began rummaging through her pockets for something.

"I am my true self," Cole replied, through clenched teeth. "Maybe you're inside me, or maybe you're what I'm made from, but right now, right here, I'm Cole di Perondor. I'll be glad for your guidance, and maybe even help with this curse of yours, but I'm in charge."

<We’ll see> The ghost said coldly. <But for now, all I see in you is an insolent pup sniffing at every bitch it might find. The true tests of manhood are not found beneath the covers, Cole di Perondor>

At the utterance of his name, Cole felt his body jerk forward, as if pulled by invisible strings. The ghost smiled unpleasantly, as if having made a discovery. It pushed away from the door frame and strode toward him.

Brilliant silver light stopped the ghost in its tracks, a frown marring its rugged face. Beside him, Cole discovered a silvery doorway where none had stood before. Rhea stared up at him with concern, a playing card gripped firmly in her fingers. “We’re going!” she commanded.

Cole glanced at the doorway, looked down at Rhea, and smiled. "An excellent suggestion."

Taking her hand, he half turned to the ghost and tipped an imaginary hat in his direction. "We'll continue this conversation later, maybe sometime when we can be more polite about it. For now, I'm heeding your advice, so take some pleasure in that. Good night, whoever you are."

Cole stepped into the doorway, not caring where it went.

Cole’s world spun around with gut-lurching speed and vertigo. In one instant, he’d been standing in the spectral world of Tir-na Nog’th. In the next, he stood in a Victorian-themed bedroom with feminine accents. The silvery door flashed out of existence behind him.

A startled cry filled the room, followed immediately by a loudly crash.

“Mistress?” a terrified lady-in-waiting exclaimed. She was a mousy, dark-haired girl standing in a pool of water and broken glass.

Rhea blushed, “Anne! Uh. What are you still doing up?”

The maid clutched her chest, staring at Cole with suspicion.

Rhea gave the woman a nervous smile. “This is. . . uh. . . Cole. My. . .” She bit her lip, looking up at Cole beseechingly.

Cole shook his head once to clear it, then took in the scene. A brilliant smile lit his face as he realized where he must be, but then it transformed into something much more sober when he remembered the nightmare this place became each night.

He turned to Rhea. "I can't be here," he said. "I'll be slaughtered."

Rhea nodded, “No doubt. Father will kill us both.” She turned to Anne, “You need to help get Cole out of here, Anne. Please! For all our sakes.”

Cole's eyes widened at the implications of this additional parental threat, more mundane but no less dangerous. He opened his mouth to say something, but never figured out what it was.

The maiden rung her hands together; her face displaying a war of conflicted loyalties. Finally, she waved Cole over. “This way. We’ll use the servant’s passage to the kitchens and get you out that way.”

Rhea breathed a sigh of relief. While Anne unlocked the servant door, she stood on her toes and kissed Cole kiss on the cheek. “Please. Be safe. Now hurry.”

He gave her a quick hug and turned to go. Then he stopped, fumbled around in a pocket, and handed Rhea a bundle wrapped in napkin. "Oops, these were supposed to be for the birds. Maybe next time." He smiled, leaned down to kiss her cheek, and followed after the servant, bending low under the lintel.

Rhea held the bundle to her chest, caught between the gentle kiss and her gripping fear. “Next time,” she whispered.

Unwrapping the bundle revealed a pair of sweet rolls.

Cole heard a joyful laugh erupt behind him, quickly followed by the resounded click of the door closing. Sparsely spaced gas-lamps illuminated the silent hallway. Small doors led to other rooms along its imposing length. Although tall, it was uncomfortably narrow.

Cole found himself glowered at by the short – yet imposing – maid. “I should take you to the dungeons, but I suppose Princess Rhea would be upset if I did so. This way Mister Cole.” She stalked off.

"The dungeons would be no better or worse for me, I assure you, Anne," Cole said, dodging around a lamp sconce in the narrow passage. "I'd be dead either way. And if it's any consolation, the princess only brought us here to remove us from an entirely different life-threatening situation. So thank you for your help, and my apologies for the inconvenience."

Anne snapped her neck around, “Life-threatening?! My princess?” She growled like a badger. “No. I shall not ask. The answer will likely inspire me to violence.”

She tugged her dress with balled fists as she walked down the corridor. The smells of food and baked bread became more evident. A moment later, Anne opened an unseen door into the massive kitchens.

Cole followed her through the door, and closed the door firmly behind them, mostly to make sure that if he were ever again in the kitchens he would know where it was and how to open it.

The cooks and servants smiled politely in welcome, but didn’t appear concerned by the sudden arrival. Anne walked through the controlled chaos with practiced steps. For Cole, it became a harrowing test of athletics as he dodged steaming pots and shooting flames and hanging pans.

Anne stomped up to a large wooden door. “This is the servant’s entrance. You can walk the stairs down to the courtyard. I am certain you can find your way home from there.” She rested her hands on her hips, her foot tapping loudly.

"Thank you again, Anne," Cole said, bowing graciously. "I'm truly sorry for endangering your princess. It all began innocently enough. Time doesn't permit further explanation, but know this: I would not let harm befall her, not if I had to return from my grave to prevent it. And I'm grateful she has you to protect her as well. Good night." He bowed again, and stepped out the door.

The stairs awaiting Cole outside were far more solid than the ones he’d utilized during his ascent into the sky. Even so, the lack of railing and the very hard rocks below were no less imposing. The stairwell consisted of several switchbacks, leading down toward the castle’s front lawn. At one point they intersected with the Great Stair – the infamous sight of Bleys and Corwin’s attack on Castle Amber.

However, the legions currently on Cole’s heels could not be seen. . . yet.

An oppressive weight settled over him – more profound than he’d experienced thus far during the Dark Hour. As his foot touched the bottom stair, the very ground began to shiver with anticipation.

"Crap," he said, succinctly.

Cole broke into a run, as if the legions of Hell were at his heels.

With a terrible groan, the castle and the prominence upon which it sat began to mutate and grow. Cole felt a blast of displaced air that nearly knocked him from his feet. A twisted giant of stone and mortar and glass sped after him, filling the space he’d occupied only heartbeats ago. A fog began to form around him, leeching out the color of everything it touched. The manicured lawns and cobbled driveway blossomed with rot and decay, turning his retreat into a slippery nightmare.

As the Dark Hour extended its grasp over the world, darkness fell over Cole and continued to coat much of the city before him. It was the shadow of what Castle Amber had become; an edifice of cyclopean proportions.

But he’d escaped its spontaneous growth, the tower’s base extending no farther than the guardhouse.

Cole stood at the base of the thing for a moment, staring up and up at the immensity and wrongness of the thing, from the perspective of an ant at the base of a tree. It troubled him greatly to know that Rhea, and the queen, and even Anne were inside, and he wondered how safe they were in their obsidian coffins. Then he glanced at the hideously distorted guardhouse, a gaping maw with ragged teeth and rank breath, and recalled the matter of his own safety.

Deciding that running would only call attention to himself, Cole backed away from the tower and attempted to stealthily make his way to some hiding place in the noble district.

Unlike the narrow streets of the lower quarters, Mont Nuit – and the other districts of Old City – consisted of old manors and wooded areas. These large open spaces and copses of dead trees did not serve well for expedient obfuscation. Fortunately, he found a French Colonial manor with a large gazebo encased in a cloak of brown ivy. >From here, he could see an attacker coming from any direction.

Sequestered away from the streets – the usual hunting trails for the Shadow – Cole passed the remainder of the Dark Hour uneventfully. He even managed to avoid the large mastiffs patrolling the grounds when Reality reasserted itself. Other than a disapproving look from his Dorm Master, the night’s terrors had allowed him a reprieve.

At least, until tomorrow.