DARKHAVEN — Chapter 1 (excerpt)
© 2002 Douglas Watson

Xathra tugged Jurin’s arm as they hurried along, and pointed wordlessly out to sea. The Shadow’s curved edge reached the harbor and began sweeping across it. In the wake of its relentless advance, the brightly colored sails of the fleeing boats caught fire and burned down like paper.

Jurin stared in horror. A bitter taste rose in his mouth.

"What happened to those people? Do you think they were killed?"

Xathra turned towards him, ashen-faced. "The lucky ones were."

Jurin looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Those who weren’t killed, became …"

They stood stock-still now, as the frenzied traffic clattered past them.

"Became what? What, Xathra?" He shook her arm.

"Wraiths." She scarcely breathed the word aloud, through her dry lips. "They own your soul then, Jurin. They have your knowledge, and your servitude."

"How do you know this?" They pressed on once more.

"I’ve seen terrible things, Jurin. Things no one was ever meant to see. When we reach Arindel, I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing these past three years."

The Shadow touched the land, sweeping across the city like the rim of an eclipse. A wind rose before it, cold and cruel, a harbinger of evil. Behind it, through the gloom, the last few boats could be seen burning in the harbor.

Jurin glanced back at the Shadow’s progress, and ahead at the gate. Several hundred yards to go, and the traffic up ahead had slowed further, clogged by accidents and panicking animals. The Shadow seemed to gather speed as it climbed the hill behind them, gaining strength with each new stretch of conquest.

They weren’t going to make it.

A distant crack to his left made him turn. The nearest support of the Shepherd’s Canyon Bridge had split, like a rock exposed to more heat than it can bear. Veins of blue static encircled the ruptured support like malignant vines. The pedestal sank a few inches, twisting and swaying the traffic-laden upper span of the bridge. Traffic slowed to a halt. Then the far support gave way, dropping with a sudden jolt like an ox felled to its knees by a death-blow. The far end of the span sheared free of the adjoining road, sending terrified drivers scrambling in a desperate attempt to reverse course. Wreaths of static encircled the entire bridge now, as showers of sparks and loud reports signaled the unraveling of the magecraft. The near support gave way again with another resounding crack, buckling the span beyond endurance, spilling passengers, carts and livestock as the span rocked to and fro, then broke apart like an eggshell and plunged with a thundering roar into the ravine below.

"Be’Toth!" Jurin screamed the name aloud, holding tightly to Xathra’s wrist. "Get us out of here — now!"

"Jurin." Xathra pulled back on his arm, enough to make him look around. He started to speak, but stopped when he saw her face.

"Jurin, leave me. You must save yourself. I have a way out."

"A way out?" He looked at her. "What do you mean?"

She pulled a small, dark vial from her cloak. "I knew the risks when I took this assignment. I can’t let them take me as a wraith. I know too much … and I couldn’t bear the forced servitude. Once you’re a wraith, they can compel you …"

"Xathra, no! You must hold on!" Jurin stared wide-eyed at the poison in her hand, barely fathoming the horror of what she intended. "The palace mages will pull us out together!"

"The palace mages can’t do anything. Don’t you understand? For you, yes: you’re only here by thought-transference. But not for me. Not even the greatest Elven masters could transport me all the way to Arindel!"

"Xathra, you can’t give up!" He pulled her onward at a stumbling run. The Shadow’s edge swept closer, climbing the hill. The wind grew stronger, blowing leaves and hats along the street.

"Look around you, Jurin!" He heard Xathra’s voice behind him over the wind and the screams and the rattling and colliding of carts. "Gladrisfarne has Fallen. Magecraft is collapsing everywhere. I’m only holding you back. Think of me always — keep me alive that way!"

"Xathra!" He turned around and held her shoulders. He felt a surge of energy from Arindel tugging at him, trying to pull him clear of the ruin of Gladrisfarne, but he refused to let Xathra go. "Try a moment longer. Please!"

"It’s too late." She looked back at the approaching rim of darkness, shielding her eyes against the dust and wind. "Goodbye, Jurin. I’m glad I got this chance to see you again."

She pulled him towards her and kissed him on the mouth, locking him in an embrace for one or two brief seconds. Then she broke free and hastily uncapped the vial of poison, raising it to her lips. Even as she did so, the rim of the Shadow leaped forward as though Xathra were the prize it desired, more than Gladrisfarne itself. It overtook her greedily, stifling the scream in her throat, stripping the flesh from her face and body in the work of an instant. He pulled his hands away as if burned, looking on in horror at her transformation. A ghostlike electricity played in the hollows of her eyes and over the tattered remains of her cloak. She still stood there, a wraith … alive, yet no longer alive. The Xathra he knew was gone …