HeatMarie

Darkness’ Laughter

Wind whistled through the rock’s crevices, and with it came the faint scent. It wasn’t the smell of a gentle campfire smoldering in the brisk morning; it was one that reeked of death and calamity. The Witch’s Daughter flicked her eyes up to the sky, as patches of sunlight pierced the shadows clinging to the mountainside’s narrow path. Each step made the world feel more eerie: the shadows more spectral, the sounds more ominous, and the ground more unsteady. A blinding burst of the sun’s light swallowed the trail in a flash of white. Nyx hesitated as her hooves scrambled over loose stones that tumbled into the winding river hundreds of feet below. 

The Prince followed the Witch’s Daughter closely, his posture relaxed, whistling the same joyful tune repeatedly. Each high-pitched note echoed off the cliffs and cut through the silence like a very dull blade. A blade that grated against her already frayed nerves.

“For the love of all things sacred, will you shut up!” she snapped. She turned around in her saddle with hardened eyes. 

“Someone is a bit cranky this morning,” he said. 

Ugh, that infuriating, arrogant grin is more annoying than that stupid whistle! She twisted back around, tightening her grip on Nyx’s reins. 

She barely got herself settled in her seat before the Prince started whistling again. This time, louder and more obnoxious, smacking his hands against the saddle in a mismatched, chaotic rhythm. The Witch’s Daughter whipped around again, her jaw clenched as he winked at her. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the saddle’s horn, daring her to snap a second time.

She drew in a slow breath, struggling to keep her temper in check. She was tired and restless. Cries and howls of animals shattered her sleep the night before. They called out to her, desperate for help, warning her that Darkness was coming, showing her the deaths they had seen and the ones that they caused, some so gruesome their images made her want to vomit. 

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” she finally asked. “One wrong step, and you and Thorne both go over that edge.” 

He shrugged, his smile never wavering. “You worry too much. This path hasn’t killed anyone… yet.” 

Her eyes narrowed as she turned and concentrated on the path ahead of her. “There’s always time for a first,” she muttered. 

“Now, my dear, would that be a threat from the Witch’s Daughter?” 

Who does this man think he is? Such an insufferable, egotistical… Prince. “If you don’t stop that whistling of yours, it will drive me mad, and I will have no choice.” 

The Prince just laughed, his voice echoing off the mountain. 

As his laughter subsided, another took its place–one filled, not with joy, but a nightmarish chorus that filled the air with a cacophony of wild, discordant sounds. It was a collective laughter that rose and fell like an undercurrent, overlapping in layers of high-pitched cackles and deep-throated growls. There wasn’t just one voice–there were dozens. Each vocalization had its own distant pitch and rhythm, creating a chaotic, haunting symphony that bounced off the ridges, magnifying its malevolence. The sound grew louder, making it seem as if the entire landscape had come alive with maniacal, chattering cries.

The Witch’s Daughter shivered; even Nyx sensed the unease. Nyx stopped, jerked her head up, and let out an uneasy snort. The Witch’s Daughter pressed a hand against the mare, calming her, then turned to the Prince.

“What is that?” the Prince asked. His eyes searched for the creatures as he tightened his grip on Thorne’s reins, keeping him steady. “I’ve never heard anything like that.” 

“Hyenas. Whatever you do, do not scare Thorne.” 

Thorne’s muscles tensed, and he took a few steps backwards, shifting his weight from one hoof to the other.

“Calm Thorne, it’s okay,” she whispered. 

She extended her hand toward the stallion and a soft, invisible pulse radiated from her fingertips, warm and steady. The energy that flowed from her slowed Thorne’s frantic breathing. He twitched his ears forward and leaned into the soothing, magical touch. “There you go, you’re okay.”

“So…” the Prince hesitated, “Hyenas sound–like that?”

“Yes,” she replied numbly, using her concentration to ease the Prince’s stallion. “It’s the sound they make when they’re hungry… or hunting.” 

The Prince said nothing. Instead, the two of them sat as the chorus of hyenas grew louder, their laughter swelling, each note cutting through the silence. Nyx scraped her hooves against the loose stone. 

Taking Nyx’s advice, she said in a low, urgent voice, “We must keep moving. Keep Thorne calm, the best you can.” 

They continued forward on the uneven path that wound down the mountainside. The sound of the horses’ hooves was masked by the surrounding chaos.

The Witch’s Daughter closed her eyes, feeling for her magic once more, making it stir within her. She let it drift outward, strands of light guiding her awareness, winding and curling through the air, up the mountains, then through the trees, brushing against the world around her as it traced the contours of every rock, stretching further with each breath, searching.

Her chest tightened as her awareness found them.

The leader of the pack, with his dull matted fur, leaped from one rock ledge to the other. The others followed him. It wasn’t instincts guiding their movements; it was something far more ravenous. Exigency and hunger foamed at their mouths. The Witch’s Daughter dug deeper, her magic spiraling like roots, twisting and burrowing into more than just their actions. She reached into the depths where their souls should have been. Instead, she found a dark, empty abyss, fueled by hate and led by the desire to erase all hope. Each time they landed, the ground blackened under their paws that carried a taint potent enough to rot the earth. 

The Witch’s Daughter slightly pulled back her awareness, sensing something lurking in the shadows of her vision, a cold and unearthly presence. Darkness. 

It rotated, aware of her sentience. Her blood froze as it reached out, slithering into her mind with the sensation of a knife’s sharp blade etching its way through her skin, cutting deeper until it reached her brain. There it lingered, hovering over her consciousness, daring her to breathe, knowing that the smallest movement could mean her death. Her pulse quickened, the pounding in her ears drowned out the laughter of Darkness as her flesh prickled and every muscle inside her tensed. It recognized her–knew the scent of her, the taste of her magic. Then, it pushed back against her mind, like a punch to the gut, reminding her it was not just observing her–it was hunting her, savoring the fear that stirred inside of her. 

Darkness whispered, “Come. Step into my domain. Let us devour you.”

She turned her magic to trace the terrain ahead of them. Quickly, she thought, feeling the steep decline, and noticing the rough, gritty patches of jagged rocks leading to a narrow strip of stone that stretched across a river far below. The worn bridge, riddled with fractures, barely clung together.  

Her eyes snapped open. “There’s a bridge up ahead. Perhaps two hundred feet across, maybe more, maybe less.” Her voice was tight, struggling to conceal the panic creeping in. “We have no choice. We have to cross it. Best if we go–”

“Do I really have to repeat myself, Witch’s Daughter?” he sighed. “You worry far too much.” His cocky grin was evident in his voice. 

Is he serious right now? Is he actually smiling? The Witch’s Daughter shot a quick glance behind her. I can’t believe him! “You don’t understand. The bridge isn’t–”

“Relax,” he said, waving off her concern. “We’ll be fine.” 

“You don’t understand…” she said, her voice consumed with frustration.

The Prince just rolled his eyes. “Trust me,” he said.