Dark Councils and Mother's Solace

The cave is dark and filled with the echoes of furtive steps. No light touches these vaulted halls. No human voice breaks into the sounds of movement. Even those assembled do not dare to light up the darkness long enough to find their seats. To see the faces of those who surround them would be too horrifying or too shocking for them to bear. They do not dare to speak. Their voices can identify them, and they do not even want those who share their weakness to know the evil that controls them. This is the price of letting evil corrupt the mind and numb the heart, for this is the Council of Decay.

They feel along the slimy walls and tables until they find the seat that somehow they know is theirs. Only the sounds of feet shuffling reaches the ears of those assembled, but it matters not for it is not yet time to speak. In the darkness the shuffling ebbs and fades. At last, a haggard, unearthly voice squeals out into the darkness, "I believe all who have not failed the cause are now with us."

The threat behind those words is no secret. Failing to help the cause of Decay means only death to those who have sworn to spread its darkness, ignorance, and evil to the world, but not just any death. Those who do evil can not expect their death to be without pain and agony, nor can they expect their death to bring them any relief from the burden of their sins. Every body in the room shudders in unison to think of what may come should their cause fail.

"You know why we are here," the voice continues, "We must have reinforcements. We must have reinforcements to replace those we have lost to supernated superdudes. How better to replace them than wooing away our most powerful enemies?"

Somewhere in the darkness, someone clears their throat as if to speak. The council pauses for only a moment. Every one holds their breath at once. Will the voice coming out of the darkness be one they know? A gavel bangs harshly on stone in the darkness and then the voice goes on.

"I know your thoughts. Do not speak them. I will speak them for you. It is best that your voice not be heard, as your face should not be seen."

Something glitters in the darkness, a flicker for a moment of dark oil. All eyes are concentrated on this small hint of light, but it quickly fades. Horrible laughter that seems more like guttural choking rings out, bouncing back from the vaulted ceilings. Then the laughter stops and the voice resumes.

"We shall have her. We shall have this child. She is worth nothing to us, but, as you can see, she has value to them. How could they not trust a child, after all? We must have her."

Silence reigns, but even in the silence, voices seem to echo great concern.

"Yes, I know that the loss of our dragons troubles you. They were not our best weapons, just instruments of the fear that will bring the superdude's empire to a close and teach the world to love decay and the evil that we stand for. Now, go, go and find out more about the child and all the other heroes and superheroes. We, to our shame, also need knowledge to accomplish our ends."

The Council breaks and in the darkness, hearts filled with dark, thick blood that flows like oil begin beating more intently with purpose. The shuffling begins. All over the mountain, different members of the council appear with dark robes pulled about them, hoods shielding their faces. They do not look at each other, just follow dark paths to waiting cars and pour out into the night to spread decay and hatred.

~~~

Far away from the darkness of the caves, a lonely figure climbs back out of her windowsill where she has been dangling her feet against the brick wall of the building and looking down at the dimly glowing lawn below. Light peeks from other windows as young heroes and superheroes study, read, and play in the night. All are so engrossed in their studies and fun that they remain unaware of a slight chill in the night air. But this young girl's heart suddenly feels as if it has frozen. A silent terror grips her. She is not afraid of falling from her perch, but of being seen there and heralded away on leathery, dark wings.

She slips back into her room as tears begin to pour down her face. The feeling of doom bearing down upon her grows stronger as she pads across the carpeted floor, opens the door and enters the hallway. A muffled scream escapes her lips as she touches the door and begins her descent down the stairs, but no one hears her and she pads down the stairwell without anyone offering to help her. Here on the ground floor, she knows she will find some solace. She knocks lightly on the door that is reserved for younger mentors who are spending the night to watch over the school.

A slender woman flings open the door and looks out into the hallway. She has a long, silky robe thrown hurriedly about her shoulders. A thin cotton nightshirt peeks out from beneath its folds. She looks confused for a moment and then looks down to find a child weeping silently before her. She kneels before the weeping child and pulls the small form into her arms.

"Bella, baby, what do you want? Are you okay?"

"I just want to be loved and not desired. I just want to be good and free and..."

The weeping continues as Neesa holds Bella close like she has done with her own daughter a million times when the fears of the night are too much to bear. She makes soft noises that are almost words, trying to calm the frightened child.

"I'm here. I'm here. It'll be okay."

Bellabooo hears the words but wonders still if it would just be easier to give into the evil. Surely, giving into the darkness and letting it destroy her would be preferable to fighting it again and again and dealing with the pain it leaves. Yet somewhere inside of her, she still has the strength to fight if she can be assured that she is not alone in the darkness of night. These are her last thoughts as she sinks into a troubled sleep in Neesa's arms.

Neesa rises carefully, not wanting to wake Bellabooo. She scans the hallway in both directions before going back into the room and lying the little girl down on the bed. She brushes golden tangles back from the scarred face with a mother's care and sits down to write a letter to the Council of Knowledge, asking again for decisions about the protection of some of the younger children.

As she writes, a few tears slip from her own eyes to speckle the page. She weeps the tears of a mother who knows what it is like to love a child to the exclusion of your own desires. Night wears on and all that can be heard is the untroubled breathing of a child at rest and the scratching of pen on paper.