“I am glad you found these wretches,” the leader said to the small Gloom that had waved the stick of deepwood. “But you should not have come so deep. There is no active mining this way… I know where you’ve been, you fools.”
His last words hung thick in the air. I could not be certain whether he was angry or glad, or what it might mean either way for the fate of my new companions. This beast seemed to revel in dangling kindness over the Glooms’ heads, while at the same time keeping terror close at hand, never further than a black whim away.
“Now I will spare you, and I mean you only, due to your tremendous good fortune and good sense in bringing the Outlanders to us. But, unfortunately, someone must pay… no… many must pay dearly for this insult.”
Please don’t harm them, I begged to the gods, old and new. But this was not a negotiation. An urge to voice my opposition welled up inside.
What good would come of it – drawing attention to myself? What good would come of defiance, other than to get myself killed? I wanted to fade into the wall or sink through the floor. Any place but here.
In my deluded state of mind, I did sink into the wall… just a bit, having felt out a crevice. But I found no comfort there.
The slave master’s voice lashed out once again, loud and harsh and commanding, with a promise of doom for any who would dare question his word.
“NO ONE IS TO COME DOWN TO THIS LEVEL. IS THAT CLEAR? Take that message to your sneaking brethren!”
The shadowy figure that had chosen me played a sick mind game. He abandoned the Gloom closest to me and pointed at one quivering miner after another, looking to me for approval as he pondered each selection. I did not move or even flinch. In no way could I bear responsibility for the insinuated authority that he put upon me. But each time, he shook his head, as though I had responded. In the end, he shrugged his shoulders and settled on his original choice – the one closest. It was cruel. He was cruel. My club, my spear – useless to me. A stone that lit up… just as useless. Simply outclassed, we were unfit to stand against such terror.
That one would be the first to bear down upon a Gloom.
A simple touch was all it took to subdue his prey. Even then, the vile thing continued to fix its gaze upon me. Up until that point, I had watched fearing it would choose me, despite the warnings received. Finally, I hid my eyes, fearing what might come next, unable to bear the everlasting impression it would leave on me. Pips never forget that which they witness, even when they want to, and so as a general rule make every effort to avoid seeing such horrors.
Then Kabor did something stupid.
He stood up.
He shouldn’t have done that, but he did. He didn’t even have a weapon. Well, he had a rock.
I had no choice but to stand with him, so I did, reaching for Shatters as I rose. But one swipe from the taunting aggressor and it was over; the rebellion quelled the moment it had started. He drew blood from the two of us in one swift strike. Numbness set in almost instantly. I felt a tingling in my hands, and watched as blood dripped from my elbow to the floor. My heart wasn’t right… racing, erratic. We both stumbled. Kabor fell to one side and I fell backwards and slid to the floor, back against the wall.
The tingling rush flew through my entire body. I lay propped up against the wall, unable to move. I couldn’t see Kabor even though he was right beside me. I couldn’t even close my eyes.
“Enough!” scolded the leader.
The thing complied, turned his back on us and continued to work his prey. Sounds of ripping and tearing into flesh with claw and fang stung my ears. Barely more than a subdued peep came from the unfortunate Gloom. The thing dragged the carcass in front of me. Still, I could not move, and my eyes bore witness to unimaginable gore. By the Gloom’s twitching, I believe he had passed the endurance threshold of pain and had fallen into unconsciousness. For mercy’s sake, I could only hope that he was no longer aware of what was happening to him. I could only hope that he did not understand that he was half devoured.
I wanted to look away as two of the four shadowy forms took a more cool and calculated approach, going so far as to court their victims. They each stroked their chosen one on the back of the neck gently, as though scritching the family pet, before lifting gently and neatly gorging. The last fed in a rough, whirlwind frenzy. Blood and guts flew in every direction.
I wished for darkness, but the torchlight was not mine. The wraith consumed the twitching Gloom right in front of me. I was helpless, spattered in blood. I am not sure how much Kabor seen of it. We never discussed the particulars afterwards.
Of the original eleven, only seven Glooms survived first contact in the encounter, as each foul creature took one to devour, each save the leader. Scythe in hand, he waited patiently while the others fed. He seemed to take pleasure in the show of blood and guts and gore. And when it was over, the sinister captain took his time to step carefully among the surviving Glooms, still prone and cowering, tapping each one with the butt end of his scythe, and prodding in a way that spoke to testing plumpness. He settled on the innermost Gloom of the group. I watched in horror as the leader set his scythe down beside him and stooped. I wished I could run and grab it, and then swing it upon him. I did nothing but twitch a single finger.
The paralysis is starting to wear off, I thought.
The leader crouched to the ground, gently reaching to his chosen one with an outstretched hand.
I tried to open my mouth and scream “NO!” but only a bubbling “Ahhh” wheezed out. The grim master looked our way. And at just that very moment, I noticed a faint flicker on the wall. My stone. It must have shifted in the fall and was about to slip into full view.
So to quaff the light, I raised my darkest thoughts and dwelled upon them, thoughts I dare not repeat. The stone burned cold against my chest. And even though it was not the SPARX light that lit the tunnel and brought the grizzly scene to my eyes, the entire room flickered. All went dark around us. It only lasted an instant, like a flash of darkness instead of light. When it was over, the torches still burned with their usual glow.
The foul creature glared back at the torches on the wall, shook his head, and then returned to his foul business. The others looked this way and that way for a brief moment, but soon carried on. The leader returned to stroking the neck of his chosen miner in long, slow draws. I knew what was coming. I fought to close my eyes. It was no use. I thought the right thoughts to dampen the stone so it would not flicker. That much worked. I dared not risk utter darkness again.
Lifting the compliant Gloom gently in his arms, the slave master whipped his head back. The motion threw back his hood. His face was corpse-like. Long, thin fangs pierced the flesh of the helpless victim. He simply tore the poor, obedient thing apart. Lambs among wolves.
Blood and bits of flesh splattered the remaining Glooms, cringing below. Some whimpered as the frenzy played out – horrified, but subdued. When it was over, the leader wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve. He pulled the hood back over his withered skull and called to the others.
Smooth as silk, the grim walkers retreated the way they had come. Their shadows shrunk into the receding torchlight.
Those Glooms spared from the dreadful feast took leave to mourn over the dead for a time. With heavy footsteps and dull chatter, they collected the remains to a heap in the middle of the tunnel. Dragging his feet, the Gloom with the spotted head felt out the location of a torch left behind on the wall sconce. He proceeded to ignite his fallen comrades, all the while emitting low, muffled clicks and taps.
“Isotopia,” said one Gloom angrily to another, when the deed was done. Smoke began to choke the hallway. With his fist, he pelted the other right in the eye socket. The injured Gloom yelped as he dropped to the ground, hands covering the vacant patch. He rolled back and forth in agony, and then sat still for a time. Without so much as a click or a clack or a tick in apology, the fallen Gloom stammered to his feet and wandered off listlessly, bumping once into the wall before
setting himself straight, back the way we had come.
The remaining Glooms gathered their belongings quickly and left before the fire burned high and the smoke became too thick. Kabor and I leaned heavily on two Glooms each as they lead us onward and upward, as instructed. My feet dragged at first, but eventually fell into a proper step. The level of chatter, once lively and full, had reduced to almost nil. Only the occasional low volume, sporadic burst broke their muted silence. I surmised that it was just enough to allow for minimal navigation and little or no conversation. Eventually, we passed through a doorway with a heavy stone door and a rusty bar latch. The mechanism allowed for the bar to be raised and lowered from either side. Once through, the rearmost Gloom slammed the door shut behind us and dropped the latch.
Kabor was the first to regain his ability to speak. “Wha’ were w’ey?” he said.
My own mouth was too numb to form words.
“Wraiths,” said a Gloom, between muted clicks. It was the same one that had first inquired about Isotopia – the triller. The one with the spots on his head nodded in agreement.
Chapter X
Interlude - Nekenezitter
Nekenezitter was a Gloom with eyes. It happened every few generations.
He was born in as common a manner as any other of his kin, amidst the choking fumes and perpetual darkness of Dromeron Odoon. But as he matured, it became obvious something was different about him. Nekenezitter perceived things others did not. At first, he could not even begin to convey his perceptions in terms any would understand. What he described was nothing like a voice, or the sound of footsteps, or the gurgle of flowing water, or the clank of hammer on anvil. Nor was it anything like the echo of a column, boulder, cave icicle, or of an opening in the wall. It had no feel, smell or taste to it. The closest sensation he could give them was that of heat, for he first perceived of light in the burning forges where his father and brothers labored, one mere rise above the status of Bound One. “I can hear the heat,” he would say.
After first making contact with the Men of Dim Lake, it took years for the Glooms to learn about this extra sense. Those Glooms who believe in extra-sensory perception call it “The Fifth.” Of course, this refers to a fifth sense. Those who would deny the ability call it nonsense.
Nekenezitter seemed destined to become a great teacher and leader of his people. Already a vocalary, philosopher and prophet in their minds ear, he was encouraged by his elders to travel the world above, a world sounded out as a veritable Hell in traditional teachings. The recent experiences of slaves returning from Harrow after being sold into service – the so-called “Bound Ones” – only reinforced such notions. They spoke of Taradin’s demons in the Catacombs under the Iron Tower – beasts of the upper world who kept the order and wreaked havoc among them.
Yet, as decreed by the elders of his society, “he must learn the way of The Fifth, and this, he must do alone.” Nekenezitter received the finest education before embarking on his solo journey, including teachings of all the known peoples of the upper world, their ways, customs, and languages. These were limited, though, by what could be gleaned from his people’s interactions with Harrow, underground activities that the Glooms had spied upon, and lost or abandoned items in their possession. For the most part, the latter only served to confuse them.
It became evident to the elders that none among the Glooms truly could prepare Nekenezitter for his quest, and so they turned to the being they held as divine. “Kechekenibek” heard their request and agreed to provide the additional tutelage. He proclaimed, however, that the entire undertaking was to be held in the utmost of secrecy, for sanctioning a journey to “Hell” and back would meet resistance and could cause unrest among the worshipping populace. “Huum haa, change must be gradual,” he boomed.
Now there was an ulterior motive to the mission, which Nekenezitter also kept secret – nearly secret that is. The gifted Gloom also took on a personal quest to discover the truth about another great mystery of his people. It was the Bound Ones who often whispered of a land they called Isotopia. To them, it represented Heaven in Earth. They held to the prophecy that someday, one with The Fifth will deliver their people to its bountiful caves.
Some said slavers fabricated the notion of an underground paradise as an instrument of control to prevent the Bound Ones from committing suicide. It gave them hope for a better life, so they would never succumb to ending their dismal lives and thereby decrease productivity. Indeed, stories and excitement about Isotopia would spread throughout the slave population in waves that were often coincident with some of the hardest times the group ever faced. The logic of the theory held that as long as the slavers gave false hope, there would be no loss in productivity apart from the odd straggler sent off to find Isotopia, who either died trying or returned empty-handed.
The day finally came when, armed with knowledge and burdened with duty, Nekenezitter departed Kechekenibek’s side on the turbulent shores of Gusher Run, on a personal path of discovery and enlightenment. It happened to occur only a short time after my own visit to the Dim Sea.
I recall asking Nekenezitter a simple question about his search. This was some time after Kabor and I had reached the surface and watched, through watery eyes, the magnificent sun sinking over green, rolling hills. The forgotten music of birdsong and buzzing insects filled our ears. Fresh air filled our lungs. I heard the wind in the treetops.
“Why would you go aboveground to find something that is supposed to be underground?” I asked naively, all the while savoring the last hints of daylight.
The Gloom paused for a brief moment, as though in perfect stasis. He was curious to watch, standing so still he might have been a statue. He did not shuffle, or breathe or fidget while he searched for the right words in our awkward tongue. His expression mirrored the placidness of a lake on a windless morning when the water is glassy.
“I
Nekenezitter looked at me squarely with large, unseemly eyes, and chirred. “I do this
He went on to explain that the dream of Isotopia emerged decades ago, maybe longer, but that no true evidence of its existence had ever been found, despite “many, many costly attempts.” A disconcerting outcome, for if anyone knows where to look for a hidden underground city, it would be the slave miners.
“How I hope do better than they?” he continued. “So,
I learned all of this about Nekenezitter because of the small part I played in his journey, and because of the time we spent exchanging views. He asked many questions too lowly to ask of the grand Kechekenibek. I was the first to teach him the meaning of dawn and dusk, and the names of the colors of the rainbow. We discussed common uses of words on paper, and the notion of “capturing” a scene on canvas as a painting, and of maps for navigation. The notions of light reflection and scattering were familiar to him, even the fact that some objects reflect better than others. Transparency was also somewhat familiar, in as much as it related to the soundproofing qualities of certain materials.
All of this happened over too brief a time. My quick lessons about life above ground were but a trifle considering the debt that I owed, for who knows what would have become of us if Nekenezitter had not acquired clothing and a spare cell key from his brethren, and suddenly appeared to lead us outside by a secret way, beyond Harrow’s wall. I might have been wrapped in bark much sooner, were it not for him.
*
“What your names
Kabor and I had been sitting on the floor. I stood up.
“I am Nud,” I said. “Nud Leatherleaf of Webfoot… from out the way of the bog lands. And this is Kabor Ram. He is from the Bearded Hills.”
Before I even finished answering, th
e lock had been sprung.
“Kechekenibek
Kabor and I donned the clothes and followed him out, reclaiming our belongings from behind an unmanned desk along the way, but minus the cave crystals that were nowhere to be seen. It was a small price to pay, considering.
I knew that the intervention could only be the work of the leviathan, and that the name of the loremaster I had met must be Kechekenibek.
As we stood in the twilight of the world above, ready to part, Nekenezitter had some final advice for us. It came in part from the leviathan and in part from him. When he spoke, the usual Gloom noises punctuated his words.
“Steer clear of crowds
The leviathan was more connected and helpful than I ever could have imagined.
In return for his advice, Kabor and I gave Nekenezitter some of our own. We pointed him in the direction of a good place to begin his travels. I used a stick to draw a quick map in the earth, and then directed him towards the Bearded Hills. The miners and prospectors there might be able to help him. I even gave him the name “Mer Andulus,” and told him to tell Mer that Nud Leatherleaf and Kabor Ram sent him.
The bog lands were also on the map that I had drawn for him, and east to Gan, south to Fort Abandon, and west. “Wherever you go, do not go west,” Kabor told him.
Nekenezitter looked up from the scratchings. He gave me a concerned look. “You say you live in a bog
“That’s right. Born and raised,” I said.
“Hmm
SPARX Incarnation: Order of the Undying (SPARX Series I Book 2) Page 10
