A Darker Shade of Sorcery - - (leveled readers .txt) 📗

soared in every direction. Many lounged on toadstools or holes inside trees. When not bickering with one another, they teased the other magical creatures, their luminous wings fluttering madly as they dive-bombed groups of brownies who grumbled in fury.

The brownies resembled garden gnome statues from Earth, except they were smaller, with skin like parchment and beards so long they brushed the ground.

Slightly bigger, were the camouflaged imps scuttling around, their skin matching the leaves they frolicked in. They were hairless, with pot bellies and bug-like eyes.

Bigger still were the grumpy grey kobolds who rifled amongst the trees, snatching up flowers and gulping them down heartily.

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A group of mischievous pixies ran into another glade, carrying luminous mushrooms above their heads like trophies. The pixie miscreants were followed by a nymph, a girl with muddy-green skin and clothed in leaves. She ran after the pixies, shaking her fist at them for stealing her mushrooms.

Brooke recognised these creatures from training, but the pictures were nothing to the magic of seeing them here and now, snug in their woodland home.

She had no idea where she intended to go. Her feet seemed to be automatically taking her somewhere as she stared about in awe.

The forest creatures emanated a playfulness which affected everyone who entered their vicinity. A natural high whooshed over her and she couldn’t help but smile. She wondered where these creatures were the night she’d arrived. Perhaps they surrendered their home to the beasts of the night? The thought should have been foreboding, as darkness was soon to envelop, but she was too happy at that moment to let it worry her.

She saw other creatures she’d learnt about recently in Creature-Study. Like Elmclackers, creatures with limbs made out of twigs and leaves for hair; similar to stickmen children draw. Alongside them were the gross Fuglugs, which resembled slugs the size of cats, made entirely out of fungus.

In the next glade, the forest was lit by a hundred sparkling lights as fairies flashed to and fro or else capered through the flowerbeds. All was a flurry of flickering colour, emeralds, azures, pinks and golds. The sound of their squeaky voices filled the clearing with music.

As Brooke stopped in amazement, staring open-mouthed, the scene suddenly changed. One minute the fairies were cavorting carelessly, the next they had vanished from view, melting into the trees beyond.

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The contrast of their beautiful voices to the utter silence was unnerving. A soft breeze stirred the clearing, playing with the strands of her hair. Shadows on the outskirts of the glade were encroaching. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she felt the sensation of being watched.

A twig snapped.

Fear clutched at her heart and she backed out of the clearing.

The rustle of leaves came next. Something was coming.

“You should not be here, Venator.”

Brooke spun on her heel, looking for the speaker. A shape stood hidden by the trees.

“Who are you?” She tried to sound more confident than she felt.

The shape moved, at first she thought it was Arantay stepping out of the shadows.

She was mistaken.

The stranger was tall and powerful, with golden skin and sinister green eyes. Long hair hung to broad shoulders, the dark emerald tresses coiled like snakes.

He could only be an elf. He stared so fiercely she had to look away. Brooke noticed his pupils were vertically slit.

“Why have you come?” One thin lip curled in the ghost of a sneer. “You do not belong here.”

He stood, proud and menacing, his muscled arms and chest bare but legs and waist covered by an amalgamation of leaves and ivy.

All the elves Brooke had seen had been tall, golden skinned and cat-eyed like this stranger. But none of them emanated such a strong aura of hatred.

His eyes glinted maliciously, daring her to answer him.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said resolutely, standing her ground.

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“Who?” The elf hissed. “You Venators,” his lip curled again, “are no Mashok to us.”

“Arantay is a friend to us,” she disagreed.

The elf’s eyes flashed and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Arantay is a traitor to this forest, and to his own kin,” the elf snarled. “He is no better than you, Venator scum. This forest belonged to the elves first. This whole world belonged to us before you fools intruded.”

Brooke stepped back as his voice rose. “Sorry,” was all she could say.

“You are not sorry,” the elf spat, “none of you are sorry for what you’ve done.”

His face was full of a dark passion. “You have polluted our sanctuary, tainted it with your iniquitous magic.”

“Our magic isn’t evil,” she argued.

“Leave this forest. You are weak, foolish, and have no place amongst those true to Veneseron.”

“I-I,” Brooke reeled at his words.

“You have no need of Arantay. He is too cowardly to leave the forest tonight.” The enraged elf stared up at the sky, at the twin suns only now submitting to darkness.

“While the suns still shine, Arantay will hide. He is craven like all you Realmers.”

The elf was obviously deranged. Brooke wanted to see Arantay, she also wanted to be back up at the Fortress. Just anywhere but here with him.

To her horror the elf lunged forwards. Before she could stop him, his hand shot out to grip her chin.

“Are you scared, Venator?” his words were soft but laced with venom.

Brooke glared back. She could feel magic building inside her, ready to erupt if he tried to hurt her.

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“No,” she said resolutely.

The elf smiled, but instead of highlighting his beauty like it did Arantay, it distorted his features further.

“I can feel your fear, girl. I can smell the stench of it on your skin. I can taste it on your breath,” he leaned forwards, as if to kiss her.

“All you Realmers fear me,” he emphasised each word with laconic brutality.

“No,” Brooke repeated, fear shooting through her veins. She snapped her head out of his grasp and moved backwards.

He grinned maniacally as his other hand snaked out, grabbing her shirt and pulling her towards him. “Then I shall make you fear me.”

A figure dropped down from the treetops high above, its movement a white blur.

Brooke whirled round and screamed. As the lithe shape landed, Brooke saw a scarlet mane and two blood-red eyes.

Chapter 17- Arantay Unveiled

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Lips pulled back to expose teeth too sharp to be human and growling like an animal, Arantay was the scariest she'd ever seen him.

His eyes shone from the shadows with a vivid light. The elf clutching Brooke growled back, his own pupils dilating.

“Release her,” Arantay snarled savagely, his voice distorted with rage.

“Come and take her from me.” The elf smiled.

Brooke felt like she was caught between two ferocious beasts competing for dominance.

“Come Arantay,” the elf taunted, “if you do not fear the light.”

Arantay remained in the shadows.

Brooke’s magic boiled to the surface. Her skin brimmed with electricity, shocking the elf’s hands and causing him to flinch back.

“Venator filth,” he spat as Brooke ran to Arantay’s side of the glade.

“Falawn, control yourself.”

“I do not take orders from murderers,” Falawn snapped.

Brooke thought she saw Arantay recoil, but his expression was half-hidden by the gloom.

She could feel the barely suppressed rage in his tone when he spoke next, “Father would not want this, Falawn.”

“Father is as weak minded as you, though his blood… is not as tainted.”

Arantay took a step forwards.

“Stay in your shadows,” Falawn sneered.

Arantay reluctantly remained where he was.

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“Leave this Venator,” Falawn approached Brooke again, smiling mirthlessly, “to me.”

“I’m warning you Falawn. Vanderain forbid you to ever touch the Venators again.”

“You think I care what the old one says? We were here first, before these scum, it is our right to do what we want.”

“Only you think that. Only you have twisted it in your dark mind as a threat against you, the rest of us tolerate the Venators, work with them.”

“Traitors all,” Falawn grimaced.

“Leave, now.”

“Will you fight me Arantay? I have bested you before, I shall do so again,” Falawn drew himself up to full height.

Brooke stared between the two of them, paralysed with terror.

“You are wrong Arantay, and you know it.”

Brooke finally found the ability to move, stumbling further towards Arantay. To her shock, Arantay moved away from her.

Falawn’s laughter erupted throughout the clearing. “Too scared to show your true form?”

Arantay remained silent. Brooke tried to look through the shadows he'd cloaked himself in, confused and hurt.

“I’ll leave you to it, dear brother.” Apparently seeing Arantay like this was more amusing for Falawn then scaring Brooke.

Falawn dissipated back into the trees from where he came, his cold laughter ringing through the air.

“That,” said Brooke, “was your brother?”

“Yes.” The word was filled with sorrow.

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How could Arantay be related to someone like that?

“He’s twisted, don’t heed anything he said,” Arantay urged.

Triggered by Falawn’s words, Brooke realised he was wrong. She had seen Tay during the day once or twice.

“Come out of the shadows, Arantay,” she whispered softly.

“I cannot,” he replied, his voice breaking.

“Why?”

“You do not want to see me in the light, Brooke.”

“Why? I have before.”

“I had taken my tincture then. I’ve run out now. Without Vanderain here to prepare more…” He trailed off, sounding like he was in immense pain.

“What are you talking about? What could sunlight possibly do to you?”

She heard him sigh heavily, a faint groan escaping his lips.

“Please Arantay, let me see you.”

He came slowly, as if each step was agony.

And then she saw him.

The few timorous rays of sunlight left shone down and sculpted his body the way shadows never could.

His alabaster skin was not the unblemished white as usual; instead it held a sickly pallor. The sunlight had turned his flesh paper thin, veins shone through, veins as black as midnight. They wrought his skin spasmodically, littered all along his neck, his bare chest, even his usually perfect face. Instead his face looked like it had been slashed repeatedly, except the cuts weren’t red, but blacker than ink.

“What happened to you,” she gasped.

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“This happened over a hundred years ago,” Arantay rasped, his eyes filled with a deep anguish.

“But… what… I mean, how?”

“I was bitten.”

“By who, what?”

“A vampire.”

Silence descended between them.

Brooke couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it.

“You- you’re a vampire? ” She forced herself to ask.

“No,” he muttered softly.

Brooke thought back to Falawn, there were definite similarities between the two, they were brothers after all.

“An elf then?”

“No,” Arantay repeated, his voice shook this time. “I don’t know what I am. An anomaly, a hybrid, torn between two races but not belonging to either.” The hurt in his voice was so strong it made her want to cry.

“Look