The Last Light of Eden (Sky Children of the Light)

Chapter Nine: Child of Darkness

     Elder Sage stared silently up at the child, their features illuminated by the faint white light of his staff. A faded memory flashed through the elder's mind. A memory from many, many years ago. . .

     A young boy sat on the edge of a long, stone bridge, his legs swinging slightly as they hung out over the steep cliff-side. The child's pointed white hair blew back in the cool breeze as he stared upwards, watching a manta as it circled overhead. For a moment he sat in silence, then he turned to glance back over his shoulder. The child's bronze mask glinted in the sunlight, and his cape fluttered, revealing an eye-like design woven into its red fabric. But what really stood out about the child were his eyes. . . Two small pinpricks of brilliant golden light. . .

     The memory faded, and Elder Sage found himself staring up at the same child he had known all those years ago. . . But like everything else in this deserted wasteland, he had been distorted and corrupted.

     The child's shimmering golden eyes had been replaced by swirling pools of darkness, and his hair--once white as newly fallen snow--was pitch black. The only things that seemed to have remained unchanged about the young boy were his glistening bronze mask and fluttering crimson cape. . . Though the strange red eye woven into its back now seemed cold and sinister. 

     "Leon. . .?" Elder Sage asked in a choked whisper, his eyes wide with shock. It was impossible. . . This couldn't be the same child. Leon--like the other six children of light--had been trapped in Eden hundreds of years ago. . .

     The child's dark eyes gleamed dangerously as he glared down at the elder. "No. Not Leon." he smirked beneath his shimmering bronze mask and folded his arms behind his back. "Though I suppose you're half right. . ." the child trailed off, watching the elder expectantly.

     Elder Sage slowly shook his head, hands trembling as he held his staff in place. This child knew him from somewhere, and he obviously expected the elder to recognize him. . . But the only thing that came to the elder's mind was Leon, and he was becoming more and more certain that this wasn't the kind young child of light he had once known. Half right. . . The child's words echoed in his mind. They had to have some kind of meaning. . . 

     "You still don't get it, do you. . .?" the child sighed, not even bothering to hide his disappointment. "Oh well. . . If he wants you to know, he'll tell you."

     Elder Sage's head snapped up sharply, eyes narrowing slightly. "He?"

     Ignoring the elder's questioning gaze, the child slid to his feet and slowly paced along the edge of the crumbling balcony, his hands still folded neatly behind his back. For a long moment, the room was unnervingly silent, the only sounds being the faint whisper of the wind outside and the echoing tap of the child's pacing feet. Finally, the young boy came to a stop, glancing down at the elder. "You know, Sage, I really expected more from you." he snapped, dark eyes glinting in the pale light. "After all you've done; all the people you've tricked. . . Well, I really thought you'd have figured it out by now. . ."

     The elder's light wavered and he lowered his head to look down into the murky water. His eyebrows furrowed, and he absentmindedly dragged the bottom of his staff in a small circle through the sand. . . But no matter how far back he ventured into his memories, he wasn't able to make sense of the child's words. He couldn't recall one time he had ever tricked someone. . . Well, actually, there had been that one time when he'd helped the twins steal a pair of honey-cakes from the local bakery (he'd gone back and paid of them afterwards, of course), though he was quite certain this child's grudge had nothing to do with two missing pastries. Finally, he shook his head in defeat and returned his gaze to the waiting child. "Young one, I don't understand. If I've wronged you, somehow--"