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  DARK SOULS

  THE DARK FAE

  BOOK THREE

  Dark Souls

  Book 3 of The Dark Fae.

  Copyright © 2020 by Quinn Blackbird

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission—this includes scanning and/or unauthorised distribution—except in case of brief quotations used in reviews and/or academic articles, in which case quotations are permitted.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether alive or dead, is purely coincidental. Names, characters, incidents, and places are all products of the author’s imagination.

  Imprint: Independently published.

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  1

  The air is thick with the sickly scent of that black powder. I wake up face-down on a cot that’s rough against my skin. Each time I blink, the cot tugs at my eyelashes.

  I move a finger. Lift it off the cot. Then another, until my whole hand flexes and I can push up my head enough to look around. I’m in a cosy tent whose walls are discoloured white. Beside the cot, there’s a side-table littered with bloody bandages and stained rags.

  I’m in the healer’s tent.

  It takes a few moments before it all rushes back to me. The sound of the whip lashing against my skin, flesh tearing apart, the cruel laugher of the fae. I remember the pain—but I don’t feel it.

  Gingerly, I twist around at a strangled angle to look at my back. My tank-top is gone, and bared is my back with angry red skin. But no whip marks or bandaged wounds. Just looks like an angry sunburn.

  I shift on the cot until I’m sat on my knees. No pain rips through me as I move. No agony tears at my back. In fact, my skin almost feels numb.

  I look down at my front.

  The skin there isn’t red, but it’s naked. The tank-top has been completely removed. The marks from the cot’s rough surface are printed onto my breasts, but that’s all that’s out of place.

  A rustle comes from behind me.

  Shielding my chest, I glance over my shoulder as the healer comes inside. He takes one fleeting look at me before he marches over to his armchair, tucked in the corner.

  “Out now,” he demands. “You healed.”

  I hesitate only for a heartbeat.

  Carefully, I slide off the cot, as if afraid that one wrong move will reopen the whip wounds that have healed. Still shielding my small breasts, I scan the tent for something to cover myself with.

  “Where’s my top?” I ask, and I’m surprised at how hoarse my voice sounds. It’s as though I haven’t had water in a days.

  The healer glances at the side-table.

  As I trace his gaze, I realise that those bloody bandages I noticed earlier aren’t bandages at all. They are the bloody scraps of my top.

  My shoulders slump and I tighten my grip around myself. “I can’t go out there like this.”

  The healer snatches a strip of white fabric from the table, then tosses it at me. I fumble to catch it. As I unwind it, I realise it’s just a measly strip of dressing.

  “There,” he says, as though I should be satisfied with what he’s given me.

  With a sigh, I turn my back to him, then use the dressing to bind my breasts, like a bandeau. It’s not nearly enough to make me feel the slightest bit comfortable, but it should cover me long enough for me to steal a top from Adrianna.

  I still hold my chest as I slip out of the shadowy tent.

  Outside, the atmosphere is much calmer than when I left it, with dark fae cheering at my suffering, flute songs singing out, and my screams to fill the air. Now, it’s relaxed almost.

  Dark fae lounge all around the camp, telling me that we won’t be moving on just yet. Some prod at fire pits with long sticks, others pick at bowls of fruit that leave bloody stains on their fingers.

  Pairs of eyes find me by the entrance of the healer’s tent—they watch me, mildly curious, and an icy feeling of danger is quick to unravel through me.

  I don’t spot any humans moving through the fae side of camp to fulfil their chores. But most of the fae are clothed and dressed, which means the laundry duty must be finished.

  Caspan and Cheekbones are nowhere in sight.

  I sneak a look up at the post, where the runner is still tied up. But no one new joins him, and I let out a breath of relief knowing that Adrianna is safe from the post.

  The watchful gazes of a few fae spurs me away from the healer’s tent. I march down the slope to the human side of camp.

  The divider rope has been taken down in my absence. Maybe we are leaving soon, I think as I approach the humans. The tents are packed up, and the fires in the pits are at a low simmer now. Some are extinguished completely.

  The thin crowd of humans is moving. Someone rushes past me without a glance my way, carrying a basket full of washed wooden bowls and cutlery. I watch as he loads the basket onto a cart.

  In the crowd, I can’t see Adrianna anywhere, but I spot Nicole by the faraway fire pit that she’s kicking dirt at to kill the flames. I make my way over to her, passing those who clean the last of the meal bowls and the humans who start their trek up to the dark fae side of camp, I assume to dismantle the tents and store away the furniture.

  My back might not be mangled by the whipping I got, and pain might not be clutching me with every step I take, but I’m still weak. I feel like my muscles have been flattened with a dough-rolling machine. I don’t know how long I was out for, but it hasn’t been long enough to make me feel strong again. The thought of trekking on with the dark fae army has my legs screaming already.

  I wonder if the healer used that black powder stuff on me again. Last time, it left a lethargic taffy-like sensation in my bones. It’s not unlike now, when I feel like a doll, barely pulled together by frayed threads.

  I come up to Nicole as she puts out the last of the fire in the pit. She throws a withering look my way, then picks up the empty baskets stacked on the dirt.

  No ‘how are you’, or ‘glad to see you’re still alive’, or even ‘I had to finish the washing by myself’. Nothing. She doesn’t speak a word.

  “Where’s Adrianna?” I ask, and it’s hard to keep the icy glaze off my tone. Nicole just brings out that bristled side of me. Besides, she’s a bitch, so who cares?

  Nicole straightens up, the baskets stacked at her hip. She stares at me with hooded eyes for a moment before she turns her stare to the dark fae side of camp. “Up there, collecting dishes.”

  A sigh punches out of me and I hold my chest tighter. My breasts might be wrapped in a bandage, but that doesn’t mean I feel covered up. I’ve never felt more exposed than I do standing in the human side of camp with nothing but a rag to cover myself.

  I swallow my pride and stop Nicole before she can stalk off. “Do you have a spare top I can wear?”

  Her eyes narrow on me, and she grips the baskets tighter. Her dislike of me is growing to the point where I can feel it suffocating the air around me. This has got to be about more than a stupid scarf I stole from her.

  “Like you need any more help than you get,” she spits at me.

  Like I know what she means by that.

  I watch her stalk off with the baskets, leaving me in the shadows by an extinguished fire pit.

  Look, I’m not deluded, all right? I know I’m not winning any awards for friendliness or even just basic-ass respect. But even for my tastes, Nicole is a Class A Bitch. I would have given her a top if I had one to spare, and I don’t even like her.

  Guess Adrianna is my only hope, and I’ll
have to wait for her to come back to this side of camp. But then, as I surrender to waiting, I catch sight of Hassan sorting through his meagre medical tools on a tree stump ahead.

  I push through the now-bustling crowd. When I reach him, he’s wrapping his tools in a dirty rag, torn at the edges.

  He looks up at me, and his face quickly slackens with shock. His middle-eastern accent is thick when he asks, “Where are your clothes?”

  “Gone,” I say. “Do you have a jacket or something that I can wear?” I don’t say borrow because, with the dark fae watching our every move, I won’t be able to replace it.

  He stands up and tucks the tools in his pocket. “Here.” He unties the flannel shirt from around his waist. “Wear this. It’s a bit big for you, but it will be warm.”

  I’m quick to pull it over my head. It’s like he said, big. Too baggy for my slight frame, but the material is thick and soft against my skin. It should ward off the colder winds from touching me.

  “Thanks,” I mutter as I roll up the too-long sleeves to my wrists. “I wasn’t keen on walking around with a make-shift bra.”

  He nods. “How is your back?” His tone has taken a hushed, dark turn. “You need painkillers?”

  Coming down the slope, I spot Adrianna carrying a basket of bowls and cutlery. She deposits the stack on a carriage before she sees me and gives a big wave.

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

  With that, I rush away from Hassan and meet Adrianna at the bottom of the slight hill. She staggers to a stop before we run into each other.

  “You’re back,” she breathes, and takes in my baggy flannel. “And fashionable as ever.”

  I knew I liked her.

  A small smile dances on my lips.

  “I thought I was a goner,” I admit.

  Her brows raise. “Yeah, we all did. No one survives the post. You’re the first.”

  “I passed out pretty quickly,” I reason. “They’ll probably finish the job soon.”

  Her lips thin as she looks around the dark fae camp before turning back to me. In a low whisper, she says, “I don't know about that. Caspan stopped the whipping and sent you to the healer’s tent. He’s definitely got it out for you, but not in the way you might think.”

  My brows furrow. Sweat begins to bead on my palms and I wring my fingers together. Last thing I want is more of the General’s attention aimed my way. It’s a dangerous thing—even if he saved me from the post and ordered my wounds healed (for whatever sick reason he had), he’ll lay out a worse fate for me eventually.

  “He’s never done that,” Adrianna says quietly. “Never saved anyone from the post. You’re the first he’s sent to the healer, too.”

  “What do you think it means?” I ask softly. Worry is gnawing at my voice, wearing it down to a whisper.

  “I don’t think either of us really want to know the answer to that.” Her face is grim and her mouth sets into a slanted line. “Just stay out of the way,” she adds. “See if you can get Nicole to collect the laundry instead. Do what you have to, but just avoid them as much as you can.”

  “I can’t get Nicole to do anything for me,” I mutter, and self-pity seeps its way onto my face. I run my hands through my oily hair. “But I’ll try. I think...” I hesitate for a beat before I roll up my sleeve and show her my tattoo. “I think this is what he’s interested in. My ink. He keeps asking me about it, why I got it, where I saw the image. Whatever he wants with me, it’s got something to do with this tattoo.”

  “Well what does it mean?”

  “Nothing.” I roll my sleeve back into place. “It’s just something I dreamt up, years ago. But it means something to them—the fae.”

  “Whatever it is, just use it to keep a safe distance. Maybe he’ll forget about you eventually.”

  She sounds just as hopeful as I feel.

  “What about Cheekbones?” I ask and, at her confused look, I explain, “That’s what I call the blond one. The one who whipped me.”

  “Oh.” She nods and, faintly, a look of agreement settles on her face. “What about him? I mean, after Caspan got one of the fae to take you away, he found his way back to us. Got a good few throws in before things settled down.”

  “Throws?”

  She bends down and peels back the leg of her jeans. Bruises scatter her leg, turning her beige skin a sickly shade of purple. “Rocks,” she says. “Think he was taking out his frustration on us. He’s violent—I mean, they all are, but he’s one of the worst. It’s like I said, the fae don’t look at us that way, but him... He would rape us just for the cruelty of it.”

  I nod and look up at the dark fae camp with a disturbed expression etching itself onto my face. I feel what she said, I feel it in my bones, in wounds long healed, but scars that will never leave me. I know exactly what she’s talking about, and it’s the main reason I avoided other surviving groups at all costs. It’s the reason my entire tribe avoided others. People like that are out there. I know, and I remember. Cheekbones seems just the type.

  “All right.” She slaps her hands on her thighs to break the silence. “You better sit down for a bit. We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “I know.”

  I look at the carts being loaded with baskets and crates of food. Furniture is stacked high on some, and the tents are already halfway through dismantling.

  “Find me later,” I say, then sit myself on a fat log.

  Adrianna leaves to finish packing up the metal pots and what’s left of the food. No one bothers me on the log and, after a few minutes, I let myself stretch out on my side. My eyes shut and soon, I slip away into a light sleep filled with the faint echoes of my screams at the post.

  I wake up to Adrianna shaking my shoulders. She takes me over to the guards who await the humans, and they count us as we join them, making sure we’re all accounted for.

  As I wait for the army to push on into the darkness, I look ahead to the hairless steeds that make my skin crawl. Far away in the torch-light, I see him. Caspan. He sits tall on his steed and he’s looking right at me. The blackness of his eyes shimmers like tar in the moonlight, and I feel my insides seize up.

  His gaze is as dark and dangerous as the whip Cheekbones used on me. Then, he turns away and rides off. The army starts to follow him. It takes a few moments for the walk to reach down to the tail of the army, but soon we’re all trekking into the darkness ahead.

  I wonder if it will ever end.

  2

  It fast becomes clear that we only took cover in the woods for the purpose of making camp. We are back on the asphalt roads soon and heading to the next town up the way.

  But if we only went into the woods to seek cover for camp, that makes me wonder.

  Does it mean the dark fae are vulnerable? If they camped out in the open, on a road or in an abandoned town, could the last of the world’s humans stand a chance against them?

  Or is it something to do with what they are? Fae. Creatures of the earth, according to what lore we have of them. They are bound by the earth in their power, and the earth is their god.

  I mean, I only know a little of the folklore, since I grew up in a London suburb. My knowledge of the stories isn’t as layered as those in the country towns around Britain. But the tales I do know tell me what I need to know about the fae, that they are earthly creatures. Dark fae or not, that is what they are bound by.

  So it’s hard to tell if we camped out in the woods for that connection, or if it was for a more hope-fuelled motive—safety and cover from stray humans. And that is a hope-fuelled motive, isn't it? If the dark fae are taking precautions to avoid stray humans while they rest, doesn't that mean there’s hope that we have a chance to escape?

  Maybe it’s no coincidence that, before the dark fae came to end us, our technologies stopped working and a deadly plague was unleashed on the world. Now, there’s not many of us left to put up a fight, and those who do fight use mundane weapons—those that still work. Without our bomb
planes and technology, our chances of survival are slim.

  Our only hope, as human captives dragged along by the fae on their wicked quest, is escape. Does the old saying ‘know thy enemy’ help us with that?

  What we do know about the fae isn't enough to tip the scales in our favour. Even in London, the myths—or what we thought were myths at the time—were strong enough that I feel somewhat confident in knowing what the dark fae are. It was a cultural knowledge that most of us have. I never imagined that it was anything more than just that. Culture.

  Then they came.

  And the stories from dark Britain leaked, when they were drowning in total blackness. Guess that meant that, even after the wars and plagues and hunger, there were still enough survivors at ground zero to spread the word about the enemy. But soon, those stories vanished like ash carried on winds, and we quickly learned why.

  The dark fae had come to end us all.

  Monstrous beasts. Dark ones with bloodlust and evil intent.

  I remember then, when I learned more about their invasion, that I wondered if they were all that different to us. Because at our cores, aren’t we the same? Bloodthirsty, cruel, evil. In those desperate times we faced before the fae came, all of those ugly sides of us were revealed.

  I wasn’t one of the foolish ones to dream of our salvation, pray to our false gods, or hope that humanity would be granted another shot. No, I’m a realist, not someone who clings to fantasies. I’ve always known what we are deep down inside. We are monsters, just like the dark fae.

  There is no saving us. And even if there was, would we deserve it?

  Not a chance.

  No, we deserve this. This is our karma, the world fighting back with its warriors. This is what we earned.

  But even knowing all of that, feeling that despair deep in my soul for what we had become or what we have always been, I didn’t give in. I tried to survive as best as I could.

  I remember when everything fell. There was just no way of knowing the truth of what was out there in the darkness. Not long after I met Olaf, I saw dark fae for the first time.