Dawn of Faith

Chapter 6

I stood at the entrance of Pitch's lair, alone, as I had requested. I was all too aware of the nightmares sneaking by me, lurking just out of reach. The birds had ceased to sing and an eerie silence descended upon the forest. I could hear my own heartbeat thudding in my chest.

The trees around me were dead and spattered with forgotten nightmare sand, which clung to the bark like a fungus. Once buried after his initial defeat, the ground around the entrance was now scattered with pieces of the shattered bed frame. I could recall the stories Sandy had told me. How Pitch's own nightmares had turned against him.

I extended my wings and slowly, quietly, slipped into the dark confines of Pitch's lair. As I exited the dreary tunnels leading to the main chamber, the sight that met me was not a pretty one. The great globe that stood at the center of the room was deteriorating, the lights of belief glowing brightly and glinting against the burnished brass. The distinct cages that hung around the room were slowly breaking apart into shimmering nightmare sand, which dusted the floor in a thick blanket of black.

"Pitch?" I whispered, my voice echoing around the halls. I knew I had to be careful. Yet the feeling in the air was not one of anger as it had been before. Though it was cold, and damp, nothing sent chills up my spine or set my nerves on edge. It was quiet. The atmosphere was heavy with sorrow.

"Dawn?"

The voice was hollow, thin, as if stretched across millions of years. And perhaps it was. The tenderness of his tone reached out to me. He stepped from the shadows, his shoulders drooped and expression bleak.

I moved towards him slowly, still wary. The sickness was weak, and showed no signs of aggression. There was only resignation in Pitch's golden eyes.

"Dawn...why are you here?" He asked, maintaining distance between us. He was cautious. I could see it in the way he moved, placing the globe between us protectively. I could see only his face through the gaps in the metal, obscured partly by the disintegrating nightmare sand that scattered to the floor below us.

"Please don't hide. I came by myself."

"None of the...Guardians?"

I flinched. He didn't know yet. But it didn't matter. Here, in Pitch's lair, I was Dawn. Guardian or not. Reassuringly I shook my head. "No."

The shadows swayed momentarily, then suddenly lightened. Pitch met my eyes, and slowly moved closer. He shifted around the globe, and I could see the frailty of his form. Despite my instinct to recoil, I held my ground, hands relaxed at my side. I would not run anymore.

He stopped only inches from my face, his golden eyes staring deep into mine. I felt a touch of concern, afraid the sickness would return, but there was a surprising lack of malice in the air. Only confusion shone in his eyes, and a touch of nervousness. I forced down my fear, holding his gaze.

"Do you fear me, Dawn?" Pitch asked, sounding disappointed. No, not disappointed. Distressed.

"Not you. Never you. I'm afraid of the sickness that has overcome you."

His face screwed as if he were in pain. He turned away. "Not a sickness, a disease. A plague." Pacing as he spoke, the jagged robes swayed limply, torn from months of despair. He looked back over his shoulder, and I was struck with an intense melancholy. Staring at me was the shining image of the Pitch I once knew and loved. Tears pricked the back of my eyes as I beheld his gentle gaze. He took my shoulders and gingerly pushed me back towards the entrance. "You have to go. Before it comes back. Dawn, please. I can't lose you."

I placed my hands on his arms, resisting, and was startled by how little strength he held. "What do you mean?"

"Even now, his desires...his needs...my mind is clouded, I cannot remember what is right and what is wrong. Am I good? Am I bad? I no longer know..."

"Pitch, you've always been good." I pleaded, hoping in some way my words would protect him. He stumbled back from me, shaking his head. I stepped toward him, and he flinched.

"But I have been bad for so long..."

Our noses almost touched as I closed the distance between us. I reached out tentatively, my fingers grazing his in a silent question. He took my hand, his palm frozen against the warmth of my own. An image flashed through my mind. My pendant. Sun and Moon. Night and Day. Memories of the years we had shared together flooded my mind, and tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. Perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps we could still return to those times.

He smiled, but not with the cold sneer the Guardians were used to. No, a genuine smile, filled with joy and hope and compassion. His golden orbs sparkled with an exuberance that I had not seen for centuries, the hard lines of his face softening. My relieved laugh broke the silence between us. He was back. He had broken free. He—

Bewilderment crossed his face suddenly, and he snarled as he drew back from me. I held firmly onto his hand as he backpedaled. Black swathed shoulders heaved while he hunched over, as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He raised his head, pleading gaze locked onto me.

"Dawn, run, I—"

He froze, body going rigid, hand tightening painfully around mine. I grew increasingly concerned, unsure of what was happening. Fear pricked at the back of my mind. Feeling my nerves stand on end, I glanced up. A flash of red crossed his golden eyes, then faded, and the fleeting happiness I saw had disappeared. His figure slackened, though his deathly grip remained.

"I am evil. I always have been," he whispered, looking away from me. I was about to retort when suddenly he whipped around and grabbed the back of my neck, burrowing sharp nails into the soft skin. His fingers left mine and clamped around my wrist, wrenching it behind my back and dragging me flush against his chest. I felt blood trickle down my collarbone, and I writhed against him. His icy words paralyzed me. "And I'm taking you with me."

Fear poured into my brain as the disease barraged my consciousness full force, my head splitting as I fought against the evil trying to penetrate my mind. Voices snickered and echoed between my ears, urging me to join them, calling me a fraud, scorning my supposed power. Weak, frail, diminished, the whispers taunted, yet they spoke not of Pitch. High laughter rang like a gunshot, ricocheting against my skull like bullets.

I struggled against his grip, feeling his fingers dig deeper into my neck, into my wrist. His gentle smile was replaced by the cruel sneer of victory. My mind grew hazed, each thought more sluggish than the last. I felt woozy and weak, my efforts no use against the power of the disease. I pushed against his arms to no avail, unable to reach for my weapons. His claws held me tight, leaving me no room to escape. Out of terror and pure instinct, my free hand shot to the bloodied necklace against my chest.

A bright white light exploded out from the pendant, illuminating every corner of the dark chamber. The sinister voices were drowned out by a ringing tone, and my body was suddenly weightless. With a terrifying screech, Pitch's hold on my neck and wrist were gone, and I spared no moment's hesitation in fleeing back to the surface. Strong wings carried me quickly through the black passages, stirring up storms of nightmare sand that stung my skin in my wake. Something akin to a cry of pain echoed behind me, but I did not pause to look. The necklace pulsed with light until I reached for the surface. I fled, fled back to safety. Back into the sunshine. Back to the Guardians.