Little Hidden Darknesses
Epilogue:

Drip. Drip. Drip. She followed each drop with her eyes, glistening beads descending from the windowsill, the sun-kissed remnants of icicles stuck to the stone. If only the window’s bars also melted. But then she’d face another problem: the forty foot drop into – onto – the frozen surface of Ljótipollur lake. Alas, escaping wasn’t an option. But she already knew that.

“So, what are you in for this time?” muttered Harry on his mattress in the corner opposite her, flipping through a tattered copy of Robinson Crusoe. The same copy she had seen him read ever since the first time they had brought her down here. Her first timeout.

“The usual,” she muttered, still eyeing the drops while twirling a strand of fiery hair around her finger. Drip. Drip. Drip. “They wanted to recruit my brother, so I tried to hide him.”

Harry nodded and flipped the page. A frown split between his brows, cemented there from years of age. Forty-something, she guessed. “You should be more careful, you know.”

“I don’t care what they do to me. As long as they leave my little brother be. He’s much too young for all of this. Not even properly developed.” She drew her knees into her chest, letting her bare heels drag across the stone. Icy cold and dirty, slathered in damp moss.

Harry parted his lips, but suddenly a key turned in the cell’s door and he swallowed his words. He nestled into the corner and pretended to seriously read, to mind his own business.

The wooden door flung open to reveal two men, both with thick beards and dressed in puffy winter jackets. Seemingly harmless-looking, but indeed the farthest thing from it. One of them snapped his fingers at her. “Come with us. The Samkoma requests your presence.”

“And no funny business.”

She scraped to her feet and wiped her hands on her pants, once a soft cotton, whereas now rough and covered in lint. Before she made for the door, she carried her bowl of leftover water to Harry – as she usually did when let out. He accepted it with both hands, bony and covered in soot. Layers and layers of grime as collected over almost twenty years.

“Good luck,” he whispered through his moustache, a messy tangle of brown and bits of grey.

“You too,” she replied. “I’ll probably see you soon, though.” Then, she allowed herself to be taken by the men, her hands held together behind her back and her eyes ahead of her. They didn’t like it when she resisted. And after a while, she herself had grown tired of it.

“You lucky bastard, Harry. We shouldn’t allow that,” one of the men said before he shut the wooden door and locked it. Once he had pocketed the key, the three of them set off down the corridor, a murky tunnel of stone with a an even murkier flight of steps at the end.

The men’s boots rang off the stone as they ascended, her own feet padding almost without sound.

They emerged into a corridor lined with windows, and beyond it a spectacular view of the mountains of Landmannalaugar, usually a dazzling display of reds, pinks, greens, blues and yellows, however now swathed in thick snow. She used to replace them quite breath-taking, though somewhere throughout the years they had become the wallpaper to her imprisonment.

“Move it,” one of the men barked, then jostled her in the side.

They crossed the corridor – her feet soothed by the plush, cobalt carpet – into a foyer with a crystal chandelier and portraits across the walls. Portraits of five different families, the elite from long ago. The foyer used to serve as the castle’s entrance, but now served as an entry point to the glass box barnacle that had fastened itself to the original building.

If only the families could see their home now.

The men shoved her across the foyer and into a more modern hallway, complete with everything white, black and grey. There were no portraits, no furniture, and no chandeliers.

They roamed various identical hallways and travelled three floors up to the heart of the barnacle: the Samkoma’s conference room, a glass encased space with a view of the lake from both the side and above, complete with a mountain range of isolation beyond it.

Unlike in the dungeons, the door to the conference room swung open without a sound. The men ushered her inside, across the glossy, white floors to a raised stage with five chairs – plastic thrones – lined up across it. Five people occupied said chairs, the five members of the Samkoma. She only knew one of their names, the one in the middle chair.

Geo Hartmann.

Like the two men who had brought her there, the members of the Samkoma wore normal, everyday clothes. No robes, no jewels, and no crowns. Nothing to show off their might.

And that made them dangerous.

“Here she is, as requested.” The men thrusted her onto her knees in front of the stage.

“Thank you,” said Geo, his voice thick in contrast with his tall, slender frame. He wore a suit and tie, and had his platinum head of hair slicked back as if about to attend a meeting.

The two men tipped their heads and took in position by the door, their hands behind their backs.

She was all alone now, exposed to the very villains who had taken her normal, seventeen-year-old life from her. “What you want?” she asked, much to Geo’s surprise.

He shared a glance with the rest of the members – two men and two women – then crossed his hands in his lap. “We’ve been watching you, you know.” A pause in which he licked across his tiny front teeth. “Swiping food, disobeying orders, hiding your younger brother.”

That last bit made her flinch.

“That’s right,” Geo said, “we know you think he’s too young to be recruited.”

“That’s because he is.”

“Fair enough.” Geo got up and descended down the stage’s steps toward her on the floor. “We won’t recruit him. For a price, that is.” His black eyes drilled into hers, all his teeth showing.

“You know I don’t have any money.”

“We don’t want your money.” Another pause. “We want you.”

“Me?”

Geo’s knees cracked as he reeled up his trousers and bent down to meet her height on the ground. He looked a monster of his own kind, his skin half-grey and his nostrils too large.

“As you know, we’ve been tracking the five Alltaf families for centuries now, documenting their every move. Well, as luck might have it, we’ve gained the perfect opportunity to swoop in and conquer the third out of the five.” Geo chuckled wickedly. “The Vinsants, from Evermist Island. The family that’s been the most difficult to trace.”

“They’ve got a barrier up, don’t they? How do you expect to conquer them?” she challenged him.

“Well, I don’t expect you to know this, but their youngest member, Piper, recently passed away. During the next Vaxandi cycle, they’ll fall short in numbers. And when dear Lilith Vinsant enters the cycle on the third day, the aging process will temporarily diminish her powers.”

Geo rose, taking her with him by her chin. “And that, my dear, is where you come in. When Lilith loses her powers, that infuriating fog barrier of theirs will have a breech. Piper won’t be there to take over for her, and you’ll have the perfect means to infiltrate the town.”

“What –”

He forestalled her, “You’ll get close to them, then aid us in conquering those wicked monsters.”

“W – Why would I help you ruin their lives?” She spoke in between him clutching her chin, squeezing it.

Geo’s eyes set aflame at her question. “It’s either their lives, or yours. We’ve got your family, your little brother, and you know we won’t hesitate to torture them, kill them if need be.”

She had nothing to say, nothing to bargain with. Her fate was sealed, her answer already decided.

“So, Gwen Willop,” Geo went on as he returned to his chair. He spun and sat down, his fingers latching around the armrests. “Will you help us hunt down the third family of Alltaf?”

Gwen thought for a moment, gathering strength and courage. Then, she swallowed and said, “Yes. I will.”

THE END OF BOOK 1