Darklight: A Coming of Age Fantasy (Darklight Series Book 1)

by Greg L. Turnquist

  Clarel looked around. This was a room, not a tunnel, with no other doors.

  From the way Gavin’s eyes moved around, it was obvious he had never been here. Suddenly, a bright light flooded the room.

  “Ow!” she cried, covering her eyes. After the brief shock, she dropped her hands. The light wasn't that bright, just brighter than anything she’d seen in the past twenty-four hours.

  The soldiers had drawn their weapons as light radiated from the walls themselves. A whirring sound emanated from underneath the floor, followed by a sudden jolt.

  Clarel's legs buckled, and she held out her hands to steady herself.

  “Stay where you are,” boomed a voice. The doorway they had entered rose up and away as the entire floor descended.

  In less than a minute, there was another jolt and the whirring stopped. Another hatch was exposed. It opened on its own, and a short man with crisp, white clothing entered, staring at everyone.

  “Who's in charge here?” the short stranger asked with a soft, timid voice.

  “Me,” replied Gavin, stepping forward and sheathing his blade. His fingernails bit a little into his palms. He waved toward the other officers, and they put away their weapons.

  “Just how did you access the elevator?”

  Elevator? Must mean that moving floor. “We were given access codes by Glantham.” He hoped the name might prove beneficial.

  “You know Glantham?” The man’s sharp nose protruded from underneath a set of spectacles.

  “He’s a personal friend of mine.”

  The man tapped his fingers together, staring at the ground before looking up. “Follow me.”

  Gavin signaled for everyone to follow. After passing through the hatch, it closed, and the floor outside whirred again.

  The man bid everyone follow him into the adjacent room.

  A woman with red hair pulled into a severe bun entered, wearing the same type of clothing. Quite awkward. Only the richest people owned white, and that was for special occasions like a wedding. These people’s clothing was not just white, but was a bit stiff and carried a light sheen. They sure didn’t look rich.

  “Director, these people claim to be friends of Glantham and somehow found the means to enter the West Gate with a private access code.”

  “Thank you. Return to your duties. I'll take it from here.”

  He turned and left through another exit.

  Gavin squinted at this director—of what he wasn’t sure. “We are Undergrounders. We were attacked by Melicose's men and sought refuge in the deeper parts of the tunnels. Glantham was supposed to be with us but couldn't make it. He left me directions and the code to enter. I was hoping you would grant us shelter.”

  “We are aware of your situation,” she said, her hands spread on the metal railing in front of her. “It has been a long time since any of us have seen Glantham. You say you’re friends. Do you have proof?”

  Her black eyes and stern tone hinted that the wrong answer may prove fatal. A moving floor. Perfect clothing. The surrounding room was made of metal and other glistening materials he didn’t recognize. And it wasn’t falling apart like many of the crumbling districts of Kelmar. What else did these people have? Perhaps the means to finish them off, here and now. If that wasn't true, why let them in this far?

  “Trust me,” Gavin said.

  The woman continued her glare before shifting to a smile. “I haven't heard that in a long time. In that case, I welcome you to Subciv, home of the Techs.” Her tone softened, the black chill in her eyes gone.

  Gavin glanced to the side. The tension in the ranks dissipated. “We have been through much today, and not all of us made it. I was hoping for shelter.”

  She walked over to a panel on the wall and pressed a button. There was a chime followed by her speaking orders to setup emergency quarters.

  A small team arrived and led Gavin and the others through several corridors into a giant makeshift room. Others brought in cots and set them up.

  Upon completion, the team departed, having shown them how to operate the lights.

  Gavin stood in front. “Just a few things to say. First of all, we must celebrate that another has become a true tunnel walker.” He looked at Clarel with a smile on his face and bowed his head with deference.

  Clapping was followed by cheers.

  She lifted her hands to her face with half a grin. “How did you know?”

  “You became quiet. When you hear your own feet and make adjustments, it’s a clear sign.” Gavin stepped closer with his hand extended.

  She shook it as her face turned red.

  “Today we have also dealt with a terrible loss. I order everyone to get a good rest. We will discuss what is next after that.” With that, he moved to his own bunk and started unpacking.

  Clarel sat on a bunk next to him as Rodrina picked one across from her.

  “Congratulations,” Rodrina said.

  “Was it that bad?”

  “I didn't want to say. You tried so hard. But there’s no substitute for pure survival, right?” Rodrina quirked a brow.

  Clarel nodded, and a big yawn escaped. She and Rodrina settled in and went to sleep.

  Gavin smiled as he reflected on this amazing transformation of a former duke’s daughter. If she could adapt, there was no telling what the future might bring.

  He switched off the main lights, and it wasn't long before everyone was in a solid slumber.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Traitor

  Captain Tor woke unsure of the time, given the lack of daylight. He rubbed his eyes before slipping into his boots. After pulling on his field jacket, he walked into the front room.

  “Time?”

  “Six a.m., sir.”

  It may have been the strangest location he'd ever seen, but his body stayed on schedule. Years of disciplined training had yet to fail.

  He entered the mess hall and grabbed some grub. Amidst packs of rations were bowls of dried fruits and nuts, a nice addition. Spotting the lieutenant, he joined him.

  “Good morning, sir.” He pointed at the captain’s fruit. “I found that late yesterday. Everyone seems to enjoy them.”

  “You took an extra turn?”

  “Yes, sir. After all that twisting and turning in the tunnels yesterday, I needed to unwind. Spotted a room toward the back we hadn't gotten to yet. It had a few extra supplies.” The lieutenant took a long drink.

  Tor raised his eyebrows. “It's good that we discovered their water reservoir. Operations would have been difficult with rationing.” The captain proceeded to eat. “Appears to be fed by a pipe, so ferrying water would have been quite taxing. Based on what you said, they must have made periodic trips to restock food supplies.”

  “Sir, I've been thinking about that. Do you remember about six months ago, the reported rise in small grocery vendors getting robbed?”

  “Yes, I do.” The captain scrunched his eyebrows.

  “Maybe that’s when they moved down here. In the forest things would have been fine. But here?”

  “I appreciate understanding their logistical support issues, but that isn't why we're here.” The captain pushed his plate aside and leaned on his elbows.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “We have forty-eight hours to report back, and with the surface hatches locked, I only see one path.”

  “Interrogate the prisoners?”

  “Indeed. Your survey makes it clear we can’t sustain operations in our present state. These people have survived rough conditions. The key will be finding their weakest link.” Tor drained his cup, set it down, and stood.

  “You’re thinking the civilians?” The lieutenant raised his eyebrows while lifting his head.

  Tor nodded. “Let's go check on the status of our prisoners.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The captain and the lieutenant entered the makeshift brig.

  The prisoners were awake, seated, and staring at the ground. Empty trays and cups sat next to
them.

  “Good morning. I am Captain Tor. Today is your lucky day. The first one that shows me the quickest path to the surface will be allowed to go free when we get there.” He sported a wide grin. “It's true. Show me the combination on the hatch, and I will let you run as fast as you can. Leave the city. Visit another one of your tunnels. I don't care.”

  The captain knelt as he spoke these words, staring each chained individual in the eye.

  The captured Undergrounders made eye contact with each other in silence, sweat rolling down their foreheads.

  “Oh, there is a catch. There's always a catch. First one to step forward goes free. All others will be executed as traitors of Melicose.”

  With those last words, they stopped looking at each other.

  The captain stood, hands on his hips.

  He didn’t flinch for five minutes.

  Having broken many in the past through uncomfortable silence, he wasn’t about to ignore his instincts.

  “I see. No one dares speak in front of his brethren. It is quite noble to die in front of your peers. Rest assured, this isn't my first time.” The captain’s soft words drifted through the room.

  Facing the lieutenant he barked, “Split them up into separate rooms.”

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant motioned for the prisoners to be untied and led them out one by one.

  “It won't work! We won't help you. Ever!”

  Captain Tor summoned the current guard detail. “Tell me, which one was the most nervous? Frazzled at being captured.”

  They looked at each other. The first quirked an eyebrow, and the second nodded.

  “Westing. He's a civilian who used to work in the royal court. Talks a lot. It’s killing him,” said the first soldier.

  “He licks his lips whenever we do a search,” the second one added. “Hasn't given us any information, but he sure fears dying. You can see it in his eyes.”

  With a sly grin, the captain walked out and headed along the hallway to Westing's new cell. Tor entered the room and found the man sitting on the bunk. Poor soul.

  “So, Westing, I hear you used to work in the royal court. Don't worry. I won't hold that against you. At least—not for now.” Tor reached over, grabbed the only chair in the room, and set it so he could address him face-to-face.

  Westing gritted his teeth. His eyes darted up and down. “I may have mentioned that. S-So what?”

  “I'm just trying to establish an understanding, a dialogue. Let me get this straight. You worked in the royal court. Low paying job?” Tor poured out his charming, quiet voice. He didn’t use it often when commanding troops, but for situations like this, it was one of his more powerful weapons. He also kept his eyes locked on the man without wavering.

  Westing licked his lips. “I didn't do it for the money. I felt a duty to serve the king, and that's what I did. He was a good man.” His voice was stiff.

  “Serve the king? But when Melicose swept the palace and liberated everyone from his oppressive rule, you ran—as fast as you could to save your own neck.” Tor was guessing. It was a hunch. He’d heard rumors of people fleeing during the uprising.

  “That's not true!” Westing shouted back.

  “How else did you get out with no weapons, no cover, and, it would appear, no injuries?” Tor had raised his voice a notch.

  He stood and stepped closer. “You ran like a groveling worm. Things were falling hard, and all you could think about was yourself. Worried about dying? I don’t think so.” Tor’s eyes widened.

  Westing’s shoulders slumped, his head tilted toward the floor.

  “You don’t fear dying. Your friends discovering the truth is what’s eating you up.”

  Grabbing his shirt, Tor smacked Westing across the face. “This is what you deserved that day! But you didn’t have the courage to take the hit. Instead, you let your own king get crushed while you sought petty forgiveness here.”

  The blow knocked Westing onto his knees. Tears formed in his eyes as he lifted his head and began sobbing.

  “J-Just don't tell anyone. They think I escaped with a military unit that was later killed. If they knew, they never would have accepted me. Don't tell them!”

  The captain shoved the man aside. “I've seen your kind before. It isn't life or death that drives you, just your reputation. Show me how to open a hatch to the surface, and you can keep on running.” The captain stared at Westing with squinted eyes and a smirk on his face. “No one will ever know.” With that, he spit at the man.

  “Okay.” Westing squeaked. “I'll do it.” The wretched man dragged himself to the edge of the bunk and leaned against it.

  Westing’s face stung from the captain’s blow. What he’d agreed to sank in his stomach.

  The captain dragged him out as he stumbled to find footing.

  The troops outside jumped to their feet.

  “You're with me,” the captain ordered as he stomped off.

  The soldiers followed.

  “Lieutenant, I need two more. We will report back to headquarters. You shall stay and continue to interrogate the others.”

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant disappeared and returned with a couple soldiers.

  Westing's head hung low. Would the soldiers mock him? The thought sickened him, but it was his only way out.

  “Suit up,” the captain ordered.

  The men already had weapons sheathed. They grabbed packs from the adjacent room. Pocket bulbs hung on their uniforms instead of lanterns.

  “Move out!”

  Westing stumbled out the door, his hands tied. That combined with the pace of the soldiers made it difficult to walk.

  The giant door to Base closed, and its metal gears spun. “I can’t navigate like this.” He waved his bound hands.

  The captain said nothing.

  “How can I lead you if you're just going to drag me like a side of meat?”

  The captain stopped, turned, and drew his dagger.

  Westing held up his hands. One slice and his hands were free. Then the point of the dagger touched his throat with the captain's eyes inches away.

  “Here's the deal. Take us back the way we came. You show me how to open the hatch. At that point, you’re free. Try something else, and you and your friends are dead. Trust me, I know all about pain.”

  The dead stare of the captain chilled his blood. “G-Got it. This way.” Westing averted his eyes and moved to the front, walking onward.

  Soon they reached a junction.

  He turned left.

  “Wait a second. We came that way.” The captain pointed to the right.

  “You came via Loopback?” Westing quirked a brow. “That's the long way. We need to go this way.”

  The captain tilted his head as his eyebrows scrunched together.

  “You doubt me? Look, the sooner you’re out of here, the sooner I’m out of here. Okay?”

  Tor gestured to continue.

  Westing chewed his nails and sweated like crazy. No one knew his dark secret. If the others found out, he had no idea what would happen. But that was a potential risk. The chance that these soldiers might kill him was staring him in the face. He had to deal with this first.

  The captain expressed a desire to get back to the surface to summon more troops, and Westing wasn't hanging around for that.

  As these thoughts pestered him, he made turns at various spots. “This turn takes us by Round Loop.” He entered the long, curving tunnel. The other tunnels had turns, but this one stretched far beyond his field of vision.

  Stomping feet filled Westing's ears with eerie, ringing tones. Most tunnel sections dissipated the sound, probably because of the branches. Round Loop had a long, ominous tone, which conveyed a sense of being deep underground—one that filled him every time he walked this path. The way Snitch would describe it as being at home never made sense.

  Westing had lied about this being a shorter route. It would take longer, but it provided him with a better exit. Getting out of the city with
no one on his rear was critical.

  They continued for another half-hour. More turns. More conflicted thoughts. And a rising fear that the captain would run his cross sword through him the second he opened the hatch.

  Had he made the wrong deal? Too late to back out now. At Base, Westing had grabbed the opportunity to get away.

  The Undergrounders were done for. The invasion of Base had confirmed his doubts about their resistance. Staying any longer would be suicide.

  It was sad that his friends would rather go down fighting a losing battle. As he stumbled along, tears wet his face.

  “You okay up there?” one the soldiers asked.

  “I-I'm fine.” He swallowed his concerns.

  “Pathetic,” mumbled one of the troops.

  Then a new idea crossed his mind. There was another way out. Westing wiped his face with his sleeve. No way were they going to kill him, not if his idea worked.

  His mind raced as he thought about their current location. There was one thing that might work, but he shuddered at what it involved.

  “You know, it took us about two hours to find your base from our original entry point. How long has it been? An hour and a half? I thought this was the short route,” Captain Tor asked.

  “And it is. We're pretty close. We should be there in another ten to fifteen minutes.”

  “Sir, the vice commander wishes to speak with you.”

  Colonel Braknow looked up from the papers on his desk, his eyebrows raised. This late in the afternoon, he wasn’t sure how to react. He’d never been summoned for a face-to-face with the man. Few had. The vice commander was well known for conducting daily operations through written orders and his close circle of confidants.

  He nodded at the corporal. Before departing, he secured the loose orders in his strongbox and straightened his uniform.

  A few more had asked about Everdell that day. He had repeated the same line over and over, though his hollow words felt flimsy. Hopefully they didn’t sound that way as well.

  Outside the vice commander’s office, the colonel straightened his uniform again as he bit his lip, rubbing his palms on his pants. Cursing himself for acting like a private on his first day, he wrung his arms before entering.