Gilbert was honestly not surprised that Temple didn’t have a dining table and that his pantry was the saddest sight he had seen in a long while. And Temple had known exactly how he would feel about that, judging from the suppressed grin on his face when he opened the door to the paltry arrangement. Dried meat. Crackers. A bag of salt. About fifty bottles of water. And that was it. How he hadn’t fallen to pieces years ago was downright mysterious. But then, sitting on the bed, only half-dressed, and watching Temple eat after another round of warm, loving intimacy, knowing he was only here because Temple trusted him… it made Gilbert grin happily and reach out for him again.

“You think I’m terrible, don’t you?” Temple asked with a smile, letting himself be dragged closer.

“Yes,” Gilbert nodded. “I think you are awful.” He took the sad, half-eaten cracker from Temple’s hand and put his arms around him.

There was a smile on his lips when Temple leaned close and took a warm kiss, and then leaned back to look at him.

And then in an instant, he froze, eyes wide and fearful.

Gilbert opened his mouth to ask, but Temple, panicked, clamped a hand over it to silence him.

“Someone is here,” he whispered, clearly terrified. “And all my traps are down.”

Before Gilbert could do anything, Temple jumped silently away from him and ran to the corner by the wardrobes to arm the spear trap, his eyes darting back and forth and his chest moving with a heaving breath. And then Gilbert heard it too. From the entrance room, two workshops away, a voice sounded, clearly not trying to mask their presence. “Find him. Let’s bring the temple home.” And several footsteps followed.

Swearing silently under his breath, Gilbert got to his feet, buckling on his weapon, and watched Temple run to a small chest of clothes, pulling a black shirt on to match his dark trousers. He stood for a few precious seconds, clearly close to panic, and Gilbert caught him.

“Arm what traps you can on your way out and hide in the darkness. Get out of here. Warn the Watchers and get them here. The closest palisade is Pier Ward. Do you understand?” he whispered, and then added, “I will distract them so you can run.”

“No. No…”

“Hide, now. Do as I tell you,” Gilbert said gently and let the thief go.

Temple took a few steps backwards and then seemed to let himself fall into the darkness. Gilbert waited a few seconds, intending to let Temple arm the traps in the next room, but abruptly, Temple seemed to jump out of the shadows again, eyes even wilder.

“It’s all wrong. The darkworld is alive. It’s all wrong,” he said, breath wild and heaving, as the sound of several people walking down through the next room could be heard.

And then, from beyond the workshop, a loud voice called, “Temple. Come out. It’s time, and you know it.”

And then they emerged into the bedroom. Five tall men dressed in white, bloody handprints on their chests, an eye drawn around it in red that had soaked and dripped into the fabric. They wore white masks to conceal their faces – and they attacked silently. Gilbert saw more of them in the corridor beyond as he drew his weapon and dodged a fist swinging at him. He tried to manoeuvre himself in front of Temple to protect him until he snapped out of his wide-eyed panic. But the thief had nowhere to run because of him.

Normally, Gilbert would never have dreamt of wielding a weapon against an unarmed opponent, but more of the white-clad people were coming, and he didn’t see a way out of there. So he did as much damage to them as he could, aiming to incapacitate as many as possible to improve his and Temple’s chances.

As he fought, he finally saw Temple snap out of his panic and vanish, and at least Gilbert took comfort in that… until Temple emerged again seconds later, behind the man he was fighting, viciously kicking the back of the white-clad opponent’s knee before falling back into the darkness.

Gilbert fought on, but it was a losing battle, and he knew it. And then one too many ganged up on him and he couldn’t dodge them all. The first blow hit his back, and then someone else took advantage of his split-second of pain and jumped in to harm him. In the end, punches and kicks began landing hot and fast, and he had nowhere to run.

Then a fist impacted with his jaw, and the last thing he saw was Temple jumping out of his shadow to hang on to the back of the man who had struck him, sending him crashing to his knees while Temple punched the side of his face, panic gone and replaced by fury.

Then everything faded, and Gilbert slid into the darkness.

*

Temple’s mind was a screaming, pleading mess though no words reached his bleeding lips. He was barely hanging on to consciousness, fighting not to let go even though everything hurt and burned. It had gone wrong so quickly, and even the darkworld that had sheltered him for so long was suddenly hostile, whispering and touching him when he fell into it as if it was a living entity that had awoken. When he had finally realised that Gilbert was going to die and begun to fight in desperation, the darkworld had almost stuck to him, as if reluctant to let him go, eager to let him drag it back into the real world.

He blinked the blood out of his eyes. He must have been hit over the head. He couldn’t feel where the wound was, because everything hurt. He was being dragged along by two of the white-clad people who had firm grips on his arms. His feet were stumbling along, legs carrying him on instinct. In front of him, Gilbert was coming too, dragged along as well, and Temple could see his hands were bound behind him.

Temple wanted to twist and kick, but his body still wasn’t taking orders. And then the people carrying him stopped. They had reached the entrance that he kept empty, hoping an intruder would think it was just a basement and overlook the entrance to the rest of his home.

It was spacious and unfurnished, and sunlight streamed down from the stairs to the plateau. And it was packed with white-clad people with the Eye of Greed painted on their chests and white masks covering their faces. Men and women, all busy meticulously drawing a white and red circle on the ground, setting up islands of black candles and various bones, cups, piles of gold, knives, jewellery, and other ritual items.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

At the centre of the circle being drawn stood a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes. Temple blinked, any thoughts of resistance gone, overwhelmed at how familiar he was. The man turned from supervising the circle and smiled when he saw them.

Gilbert had clearly gotten his bearings, because he began straining violently against the men holding him, headbutting one of them with the back of his head. He managed to kick the other over the knee, and others streamed at the three of them to assist in subduing him.

Temple knew his attempt would probably be feeble and useless, but he had to try again, so he let himself fall into the darkworld …which promptly embraced him for a second and then spat him out, the people holding him grabbing for him, shocked, and held him tighter. One raised his arm to strike, but the tall man in the middle of the circle called out, “Do not harm the temple!” in a loud and imperious voice.

The man about to strike lowered his hand. One of the people holding Gilbert kicked the back of his knees viciously to bring him down, while another drew a knife and held it to Gilbert’s throat, hand in his hair.

“No, stop!” Temple yelled desperately. “Don’t hurt him. Please. Please!”

The tall man held up his hand in a superior gesture. “No shouting. Captain Armstrong will not be harmed. Everyone here owes him a debt of gratitude. We would not be here today if not for his help.” He signalled to the man holding the knife to remove it and was immediately obeyed.

“The High Merchant’s lackey…” Gilbert said, spitting blood from a cracked lip. “What is it you think I’ve done for you?”

“You have been the bridge that the High Darkness crosses,” came the response in a sombre tone.

“No, fuck you!” Gilbert exploded, straining against his captors. “I’ve heard that nonsense for months from madmen and lunatics!”

The tall man gave an overbearing little laugh. “From good people of the faith, not lunatics. You will have to trust it when you hear it from the High Merchant, won’t you?” he asked and gave a symbolic little bow before he gestured for the people to drag Temple closer.

The man was so familiar. Temple couldn’t ignore the voice that reverberated through him and shook memories loose, still vague and strange.

“We have been looking for the temple for twenty-two years now. And then you showed up, Armstrong, and he became visible, more and more, until the High Darkness had a solid bridge to cross. So I will leave you with your life and let the Darkness decide your fate when he gets here. Now, do be quiet,” he said, “I’ve looked forward to seeing my favourite child.” He gestured to a white-clad person, who came forward when Gilbert began to shout furiously, boxing his ear, which made him gasp, and gagging him with a piece of cloth.

The panic in Temple faded. It was all his fault. He had given in. He had let his guard down. He had wanted things he couldn’t have. Gilbert would die and it would be his fault. He had even taken the traps down, so the attackers didn’t suffer any damage in forcing their way into his home. It was as good as an invitation.

He didn’t struggle when the tall man gestured to have him brought closer. The Rakkos worshippers simply lifted and placed him in the middle of the circle. He didn’t struggle. There were at least twenty people in the small space, several guarding Gilbert, holding him in place even though he struggled fiercely, several still building the circle, some standing guard all around the room, others acting as lookouts on the steps up to the plateau.

He just lifted his gaze to look at the man who regarded him almost kindly and put a hand on his cheek, as one would do with a child.

“Little Temple,” he said. “What has happened to you? You were always the best among all the children. So diligent, so devoted to Rakkos. You knew the Litany by heart before you were five and you followed the seven precepts with such fervour. Why did it go so wrong?” he asked as if he truly didn’t understand.

But Temple did. Things slowly fell into place. “It went wrong because you would have killed me,” he said.

“Nonsense! You would have taken your place of honour in the Hall of Night. You were consecrated and your soul would simply have left. It isn’t death, it’s an honour. It’s what you were born to do.”

“What was her name?” Temple asked quietly, remembering the woman who had died by his hand, regardless of who had been steering it.

“Who?” the tall man asked, nonplussed.

“The woman whose lifeblood hit you in waves!” Temple shouted in sudden anger. “Her name!”

The tall man shrugged. “Who?” he asked, looking at Temple with confusion in his gaze. “…Oh, the one who minded the children? Who I was forced to use as leverage when you decided to flee your destiny? Is that the one?”

“You don’t even remember. Her death meant nothing,” Temple said blankly.

“Her death meant everything, you little shit!” the tall man exclaimed, suddenly furious, and slapped Temple’s face hard enough to make him stagger. “Her death meant you fled, choosing your own petty terror over greed. Over duty. Over faith! You betrayed me. But now you make amends.” He stepped out of the circle, giving him an angry, warning look as he took up position in what Temple registered as the place for the celebrant of the ritual. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but it was knowledge, nonetheless. “It doesn’t matter.” The tall man nodded as if coming to terms with a disappointment. “You will stay and fulfil your destiny this time. The High Dark will not be denied. If you try to escape, your lover dies,” he said calmly.

“You said he would live,” Temple said quietly. “You said he was owed a debt of gratitude.”

“Oh, he is. And I said he would live until the Darkness comes and it can decide his fate. But if I have to break a promise to make you do the only thing you were born to do, then so be it. I will slit his throat myself.”

Temple turned and looked at Gilbert. There was nothing he could do. They couldn’t fight their way out. There was nothing – no place to hide or escape to. The darkworld that had always let him in was hostile and vile. And when the darkness came, Gilbert would be killed. They would both die.

He didn’t even see anger in Gilbert’s eyes as he stared at him while the ritual began around him. He recognised several of the songs and incantations to honour the Darkness, and then it became a call, an entreaty, an invitation that centred around Temple.

Through it all, he held Gilbert’s gaze, knowing he was lost, knowing he had killed him.

Gilbert was not afraid. Somehow, he was too strong to be afraid, even though he also knew they would both be dead shortly. Temple imagined for a moment that maybe Gilbert thought it had been worth it. But that was absurd. Temple had given him nothing but his death.

He suddenly realised what the bridge was. The Darkness hadn’t been able to reach him when he was alone, silent, and felt nothing. But Gilbert had built a bridge between them with patience, shared happiness, and love. That bridge had just also been extended to the Darkness, and as Temple began to live and feel and want, he became easier to locate by the second.

Give in. Give yourself over to my will as you were born to do.

When he felt the whispered voice in his mind, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. It had been there in the beginning, hissing and threatening him until he learned to stay silent and not let anyone see him or get close, and the voice had faded as Temple did.

Submit to me. You feel remorse for the woman, the voice whispered softly. But you don’t have to. You let me in back then, and I committed the deed. I thought I could scare you into submission. But this time, you can submit to me without guilt. You know that, as an adult, don’t you, most beloved temple? You can give yourself to me without guilt this time. The responsibility is mine, not yours. You didn’t kill the woman. You will never kill anyone. Give in. Give in. Submit to me.

Temple looked at Gilbert one last time. ‘I’m sorry.’ His lips formed the words, but he couldn’t force sound out past the sorrow that crowded his chest. The calling of the Darkness was loud all around him, so Gilbert wouldn’t have heard him anyway.

Submit to me.

But all he saw in Gilbert’s eyes was forgiveness.

And then the summoning concluded, a door opened inside his mind, and Temple fell into the darkness.