UttukuThe Books of Darknessby Robert N. Stephenson |
Table of Contents |
| Chapter 6 The Ta’ibah |
Diana Arlyn is an author of gothic fiction best-sellers. A hard drinker with bipolar disorder, she falls in love with a mysterious woman, and the turbulent relationship draws Diana unwillingly into a legend.
Diana is haunted by questions: why did the woman pick her, of all people, and how can the Ta’ibah, the hunter of darkness, know so much about her? She is also haunted by the ghost of a dead author. She must find out what he wants, recover a lost book that belongs to someone who wants to kill her, and ultimately survive the darkness.
“How much do you know?”
“About what?” He’d summoned me to this place.
“How much do you know?”
“About what?” He’d summoned me to this place.
“The symbol of the Uttukes.” His voice crammed into my ears.
“That its representation is important to them.” I knew more. Could he feel my lie?
He moved between the graves like smoke over flames. The night unusually clear, the moon, a half-crescent, cast a silver light over the old, white headstones. He was searching again, stepping back and forward through the realm. Dipping into graves now and then. The Dark One, if anything, relied on completeness. Human death wasn’t final death. Only he could deliver that. The remnant energy of life light lingered in the dead, he took it and cast in to the Abad.
“Your ghost may not be worth controlling any more. Whoever has your — our — work isn’t following.” He stood before a monument of an angel.
“My mistake can be undone. I am sure of it.”
“I want his light.” His voice slapped at me. “He knew nothing of worth.”
“Give me more time, he will bring the book to me.” There was more. “If I get the symbol back,will you forget about her?”
His eyes, blue in the night, glowed brighter. He was considering. I could no more tell him what to do that I could resurrect myself from the dead. I had interests of my own, and if I could, I would protect them.
“Perhaps, but you must return the words.”
“Can you influence the ghost?” He was the dark after all. “It could hasten the retrieval.”
“No, your casting has blocked him from me. Just do as I ask, do what you promised me.”
“The symbol is one thing, but the book is mine.”
“And my existence!” His voice resounded around the cemetery.
He drifted over the wet grass to a plaque on the ground. He’d found something. His darkness was a hole in the shadows that fluttered around the graveyard, his presence a coldness outside of the weather.
He knelt on the plaque. Placed his hand above the inscription. “Leave me.”
I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he had no features to read. Beneath the black hair were little more than black lines holding the blueness of his eyes. He was a walking shadow cast by the world, a representation of all humankind’s fear. A fear made by men.
“I will find it.” I looked for my own shadow to disappear into.
“Our presence must not be known.” The intent obvious. “If you can’t get it back, then trick her into the night, lead her to me and I will.”
He slid into the grave like a shadow vanishing under light. He had found his feed for the night. I looked to the stars, thought of her. There had to be another way. To trick an Uttuke took planning. I could do it with someone else, but not Sarina. I also believed he knew more than he was telling me. His influence was everywhere, he had to know more.
I had found one of the book’s thieves, but not the book itself. The ghost must lead it to me, must.
Copyright © 2009 by Robert N. Stephenson
