From Light to Dark

by Irene L. Pynn

  Light People stood out easily in this world. Eref’s perfect black skin, hairless body, and towering height outshone every citizen of Dark World. Balor shook his head. It was a shame such an impressive person should betray his own kind.

  “You need to come with me,” the third person said to Caer. He was elderly, but something about his appearance bothered Balor. “You and Eref. I’m here to help.”

  Eref called out, “Who are you?”

  The old man wobbled on his walking stick. Clearly, the years hadn’t been kind to him. His bony back hunched over, a crooked spine poking through the thin material of his loose tunic. His head wagged slowly from side to side.

  Balor itched to lunge forward, to take hold of Eref, who was close enough to smell, and skin him alive. But the third man… something was wrong about him. Balor crouched back into his hiding place.

  The strangest thing about the man was that he didn’t look like a Dark Person or a Light Person. It was impossible to say exactly what he was. Instead of a white, fuzzy complexion, or black, hairless skin, this person had a mixture of the two. His coloring was sort of gray with a light brush of clear hair all over. Balor had never seen anything like it in his life.

  A new race?

  “Please listen to me.” The freakish man took an unsteady step toward Caer and Eref. Caer backed up.

  She whispered something to Eref that Balor couldn’t hear. Eref muttered back.

  “I said, ‘Who are you?’” Eref repeated.

  “I can’t say my name in this place. It’s too dangerous. I know somewhere that’s safe. You must come with me. There are many people tracking you.”

  “How do we know you aren’t one of them?” Caer didn’t look confident; she sounded genuinely afraid, and her small white hands bunched in defensive fists near her chest.

  “Do I look like one of them?” The old man took another step in their direction, and Caer’s eyes widened with fear.

  “Stay away!” she shouted. “I mean it!”

  Eref stepped around Caer, gingerly moving in the direction of the old man. His clear eyes appeared glazed and unfocused. When he spoke, he faced slightly away from his target, blindly unaware of where he looked. “Give us some assurance that we will be safe with you.”

  The man’s voice dropped to a low murmur, and Balor had to strain to hear it.

  “I have a cave. A few miles away at the end of Dark World. Come with me, and I can teach you about the Safety.”

  Amazement mingled with the fear in Caer’s eyes. Eref turned toward her, again facing several inches in the wrong direction, and said, “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” she said shakily. “How can we be sure he isn’t—”

  “We can’t, can we? But he mentioned the Safety. The soldiers wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m worried,” Caer said. Her arms had dropped to her sides, and she twisted the end of her muddy dress in her fingers. “Eref, he looks strange. He’s not a Dark Person.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “He isn’t a Light Person, either. I don’t know what he is.” Her eyes kept darting back to the ancient man, who leaned over his stick as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

  Eref stayed quiet for a moment. Finally, he said to Caer, “Where else can we go? If he really is here to protect us, maybe he can help rescue Vul.”

  Caer’s head dropped. She let out a long breath and then nodded. “Sir,” she said to the old man, “please lead us to your cave. We will follow you.”

  They walked away at a brisker pace than Balor had imagined the man was capable of. Balor kept his distance, but followed. He couldn’t lose Eref. Not now. He was so close.

  The party wound their way through thickest jungle, always following the crooked river. Caer often had to give the man her arm so he could manage some of the roots and mucky ground.

  Of course, Eref was the weakest of them all, being blind. Balor grinned. He would be easy to overcome. When the right time presented itself, Balor would attack….

  It took them several hours to reach the end of Dark World. The farther they walked, the darker it became. Soon, Balor was huffing, growing more out of breath with every step. He squinted through his glasses, but shadows framed his vision. Here, nothing seemed to exist but the sound of strange bugs, the smell of swamp, and the eerie feeling that hungry animals’ eyes watched from behind every set of leaves.

  The trip proved even more fatiguing than the past days in Dark World had been. Each mile took them deeper into a dank and muddy swampland. Balor’s muscles began to ache as though he were climbing a steep hill.

  They might have reached the cave sooner, but the old man had to stop every few minutes to catch his breath. Balor frowned. Could Eref and Caer be so pathetic that they relied on this relic for support? They didn’t stand a chance.

  An hour into the trip, Eref had clearly improved his ability to move around without sight. At first, Caer had guided both men by the arms through the difficult jungle ground. But over time, Eref grew noticeably more comfortable, anticipating the terrain on his own and occasionally even walking without aid.

  A couple of hours into their journey, the old man swayed a little and fell against Caer, nearly knocking her to the ground. She regained her balance and helped him to a fallen tree trunk. Perhaps he was pushing himself too hard; when the strange man walked, he pushed forward at such a pace that he was surely testing bones that wouldn’t hold out much longer.

  While the man rested, Eref wandered a few yards away, clearly trying to shake a cramp out of his leg.

  Balor watched him move. The dirty traitor stretched and cracked his joints. It had been a long walk, and Balor longed to stretch his own legs. But he stayed still, squatting beneath an enormous leaf, though he suspected Eref couldn’t even see outlines or shapes. There was no reason to take chances. His opportunity was almost here.

  Now that Eref stood alone and unprotected in the jungle, Balor’s blood boiled. This was it.

  He dropped down onto the mud and crawled, inch by inch on his belly, toward Eref. There was no need to talk. He would break Eref’s ankle and tackle him right there in the mud. Then he would grab Eref’s throat and tear out his trachea. No screams. No fight. Only justice.

  Balor crept silently, his mouth watering. The mission was nearly complete. He could see him, smell him, almost taste his blood. The urge to kill flooded him.

  Suddenly, when he was almost close enough to touch Eref’s foot, an excruciating pain shot through his own right leg.

  “Grrah!” Balor cried into the mud.

  Had the old man caught him? He strangled another cry and jerked his head back to glimpse his assailant.

  What he saw made his skin go cold. It was a yellow insect the size of a small child. A beetle. Its great body held Balor pinned down with force, its miniscule head peering evilly at him with shiny eyes. One of its black pinchers had buried itself deep in Balor’s right thigh. The other pincher had caught the leg of his pants.

  The thing jerked madly around, either trying to free itself or cause a deeper injury. A terrible, repetitive clicking noise came from somewhere in its body.

  Balor kicked and punched. The beetle twitched, but its pincher didn’t pull free. Pain quickly spread through Balor’s entire leg; every nerve in the right side of his body was lighting up with electricity. He writhed and kicked again with his other leg.

  “Who’s there?” Eref took a few steps in their direction until he stood within feet of Balor and the beetle.

  Balor bit his cheek and tried to endure it. He couldn’t take on even an unprotected blind man with this monster on him.

  It hurt so much his eyes went blurry and his head swam, but Balor wouldn’t let the pain win. He hadn’t worked this hard to give himself away now.

  “Caer?” Eref called out. “I hear someone.”

  The beetle made another clicking sound and wriggled, driving its pincher farther into Balor’s thigh. It felt like being electrocuted. Eac
h movement hurt so much it caused his body to convulse. His leg throbbed all around the pincher.

  Eref started to bend down, as if he were listening to their rustling.

  Not now. You won’t stop me now.

  With enormous effort, Balor grabbed the beetle’s pinchers and wrenched them apart. Warm blood rushed to the surface of his thigh, and the throbbing increased. But the electric shocks subsided, and he held his concentration. He gripped the pinchers like handlebars and pulled them out. The beetle held on for what seemed like forever but ultimately couldn’t remain stable. It finally gave up, and Balor’s force catapulted it into the air.

  The monster hit Eref in the face.

  “Argh!” Eref struggled against the startled beetle who, having been cheated out of Balor’s leg, now tried to land its pinchers in its new victim’s neck.

  Balor dragged himself backward and hid under his leaf. So much blood… They would find him.

  Caer came running. “Get off of him!” she shrieked and tried to beat the beetle until it let go, but nothing she did could get the thing’s attention.

  Holding the massive pinchers apart just inches from his own neck, Eref spun around, dipping and jumping, working to shake the beetle off. “Caer! Get me a stick!”

  Caer, panting, dashed around the area, turning stones and sticks. Nothing she picked up looked powerful enough to slay the beetle. Once, she slipped in Balor’s blood, and he held his breath. She ignored it, oblivious in the chaos.

  Balor checked his leg. Soft packets of fatty tissue popped out from the skin, a light contrast to his bruised body. They mustn’t discover him like this. He wouldn’t be able to fight back.

  “Caer—” Eref groaned. Balor knew how serious the battle was. The monster was strong. If it managed to get its pinchers into Eref’s neck, it would do Balor’s job for him.

  The possibility was almost a disappointment.

  “Eref, hang on!”

  “Stay still.” The old man stood hunched over his walking stick several feet from the commotion.

  “He’s in danger,” Caer cried. “Is that a Bog Beetle?”

  “Yes. It won’t stop until it’s killed him.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Eref, stay still,” the man repeated.

  Balor almost grinned in spite of the burning in his leg. Caer had just asked the cripple to help them. The situation had become that desperate.

  Then there was a sudden whir, followed by a sickening squish.

  Caer turned, gaping, to look at Eref.

  He threw the beetle to the ground. It convulsed heavily and then fell still. A dagger was lodged in its tiny head.

  Caer just stared. “How did you—”

  The old man limped over to the dead insect, pulled out his knife, and wiped the gooey green blood off on his tunic. “Let’s go,” he said. “You’re not hurt, Eref?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But… the blood…” Caer breathed. So she had noticed.

  “It’s not mine,” Eref said. “Where is the blood?”

  “All over,” she told him.

  Balor felt dizzy, hearing her say the words. He had lost a great deal of blood. It washed the jungle floor.

  “An unlucky victim just before you,” the old man said. “Perhaps Eref was merely dessert.”

  “I’ve never seen a Bog Beetle in real life,” Caer said. Her voice was still weak.

  “We’re not far from safety now. Follow me.” The old man turned and hobbled away. Caer stared after him in apparent disbelief until Eref came up to her.

  “Eref, he killed that thing.”

  “I have to go thank him.”

  Caer hesitated. “He can barely walk without falling over, but he can throw a dagger, and hit his target perfectly from that distance?”

  “I think there’s a lot about him that we don’t know. He might be able to help us. And Vul.”

  “How do you know he’s not going to kill us?”

  Eref shook his head. “I don’t. But if he wanted to, he obviously could have already,” Eref said. “Come on.”

  Balor watched them head out, a sense of failure rising beneath the throbbing pain in his body. He felt cold and light-headed as they moved out of his view.

  Within moments, Balor was alone in the blackest area of Dark World. His leg ached relentlessly. Blood ran freely. And, in the distance, he thought he heard the horrible sound of more clicking.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Exile

  For Eref, the past few hours had been exhausting. From frequent rest breaks to oversized insect attacks, their already slow pace had been held up countless times.

  While Caer still acted suspicious of the old man, Eref had come to feel relaxed. It helped to have something to do, somewhere to go. Eventually, he had even begun to trust his own sense of direction and judgment enough to travel without a guiding arm. It was a small victory, but after so many failures and fears, Eref thrived on little comforts.

  This boosted his confidence in a new way. Finally, his blindness didn’t present a constant problem. He could walk forward with the group, certain that his other senses would keep him safe.

  Caer still watched him carefully, though—he could tell. Two or three times, she touched his arm and asked, “You all right? Do you want me to help you?”

  “No, thanks,” he answered. “I’m fine now.”

  Caer sighed as if she were worried that Eref might still need protecting. Of course, he did still need help. But every little thing he could do to be self-sufficient meant a lot. He appreciated Caer’s assistance, but he didn’t want to depend on it.

  “We’re here,” the old man said finally.

  Caer stopped next to Eref. She seemed very tense. “It’s a cave,” she whispered.

  “He told us that, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I promise no harm will come to either of you,” the old man interrupted. “This is my home. They won’t follow us here. Please come inside.”

  Eref put his arm around Caer and gave what he hoped would be a reassuring squeeze. Then he let go and walked inside, trusting his remaining senses to guide him.

  The opening to the cave felt cold and damp, but, as they traveled farther in, he thought he smelled smoke. They walked a little more, and soon Eref found that he could see something.

  It was a tiny glowing light in the distance.

  At first he thought he must be imagining it. This wouldn’t be the first time his mind had played tricks on him. During their trek through the jungle, Eref had envisioned countless things he loved to see: the sun, clouds, even flickering light bulbs. Always too far away to catch, just in the corner of his eye. But this seemed more substantial, somehow. It seemed real.

  “Eref.” Caer stopped again.

  “What is it?”

  “Fire.”

  It was real. His heart leapt, and he moved forward faster. “Light,” he breathed.

  “Fire, Eref,” Caer said, touching his arm.

  He’d almost forgotten that light wasn’t a good thing for everyone. He turned, and now he could just barely make out her soft features. “Will you be all right?”

  The old man hobbled back into view. Eref still had trouble making out his features in this dim light, but the man was clearly a worn and tired individual. And Caer had been right—he was neither Dark Person nor Light Person.

  “It’s only one candle,” the old man said. “That small a fire cannot harm anyone.”

  Eref looked at Caer. Her black eyes were large and nervous. And beautiful.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured.

  She looked so worried and worn out. Eref fought the urge to hold her close to him. “Haven’t you played with fire before? I thought you and Vul said you used to—”

  She shook her head and whispered, “We don’t know this man. He says it’s only one candle, but…. What if the fire is a weapon he’s going to—”

  “I can put it out,” the old man said, �
��but then Eref will be unable to see. There are things I need to show him. What do you suggest I do, Caer?”

  Caer looked at the old man and then at Eref. “I guess if you need to leave it on—”

  “Thank you,” the old man said, not giving her time to change her mind. He turned back around and led them toward the light.

  Once they were close enough, Eref found that the man had not lied; it was only one candle, but it illuminated the entire cavern impossibly, as if empowered by some special magic.

  The cave was huge. Eref tried to get his bearings. The main “room” where they stood was probably the height of fifty Light People and the width of a hundred Light World apartments. A tiny natural river ran through the floor, providing what Eref assumed was their guide’s drinking and bathing water.

  Though the old man said he lived here, Eref saw few furnishings. He spotted an old mattress, a bucket, a table with papers, a quill with ink, and the bright candle. That was it. It felt more like an enormous prison cell than a home.

  “I’m sorry it’s not a more comfortable place to rest after our long journey,” the old man said. “Please have a seat anywhere you like.”

  Caer looked around nervously.

  The old man approached her. “You are right to be suspicious. You haven’t had many people you could trust. But I swear I am trying to help you. Please sit on this mattress and allow yourself to rest.”

  She did so, though she never took her eyes off Eref. He smiled at her and nodded. Everything will be fine. We’ll figure something out. He hoped she could understand his expression.

  The mattress squeaked when she sat on it, and a haze of dust popped into the air.

  “My apologies,” the old man said. “It can get a little dirty in here.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Caer said, though Eref saw she still hadn’t relaxed.

  The man went to his desk and pulled opened a drawer. “Are you two hungry?”