“I ran over to him and shook him. At first he kept talking in his sleep. About the blood and the dead thing at his feet. I just shook him and shook him until his eyes opened.” She cried harder as she said this, as if the reality of it were too hard for her to admit.
“Caer,” Eref said.
“Eref….” Caer looked like she didn’t know what else to say. She was probably still angry with him.
“I can’t believe he would do something like that,” Eref finally said. “Balor loves animals. He had some of his own in Light World.”
“The Eighteener Entrance changes people,” the Exile said.
“No, but you don’t understand,” Eref continued. “He volunteered for the animal shelter after class sometimes. He’s the most harmless person I’ve ever—”
“That’s the same harmless person who tried to break your neck,” the Exile said.
Eref stopped. He couldn’t know what it was like to have the implant in his head. But if it had changed Balor this much….
What Balor went through must have been unspeakable.
“When he woke up, at first he was frightened. He didn’t know where he was,” Caer said. “But I told him what happened, and then he remembered.”
Her face twisted up like she was going to cry again, but she took another breath and went on. “He hugged me. He said he was sorry for everything he’s done to all of us.”
Eref’s heart sank. If only he’d been there to talk to him.
“I asked about Atc, and it was true.” Caer’s voice warbled. “Atc’s dead.”
“Caer,” Eref said. “I’m so sorry.”
“He was terribly upset. I know Balor isn’t a bad person. I forgave him. His actions weren’t his fault.”
The Exile waved his hand and pulled a glass of wine out of thin air. Handing it to Caer, he asked, “Where is Balor now?”
Caer took the wine and sniffled before she took a sip. “He wanted to know where you were, Eref,” she said. “I told him you’d be back any minute, but he said he didn’t want to be a burden. He said he wanted to make up for what he’d done.” She wiped her nose on the handkerchief.
“Did he tell you where he was going?” The Exile spoke with a gentle, calming voice.
Eref wished he hadn’t shouted at Caer. He should have known she wouldn’t have purposely hurt Balor. Now she probably hated him.
Caer looked at the Exile. “He wanted to know who Vul was. Apparently he followed us the whole way here and overheard our conversations in the jungle. He was even there when the Bog Beetle—” She sniffed again and looked down into the wine. “That’s how he hurt his leg.”
The Bog Beetle. Eref could have sworn someone was nearby during that attack. It had been Balor all along.
“What did you tell him?” He tried to make his voice as soothing as the Exile’s.
“I told him….” Two more tears fell and splashed into her drink. “I told him what happened to Vul. I was really just talking to make him sit still longer. I thought you might come back. But then he said that was how he’d make up for everything. He left to go save her. I tried—I pulled on his arms and begged—but I couldn’t stop him.”
“It will be all right,” the Exile told her.
“No, it won’t,” she sobbed. “I made a stupid mistake. I’ll never forgive myself.”
Eref reached out to her. “I’m the one who needs to be forgiven,” he said. “I shouldn’t have put you through this. I’m in your debt.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said quietly.
“Yes, I do. I owe you your friend back.” He took a step closer and wiped her tears away. “I owe you a better life. I am so sorry for everything I have done.”
“Eref….” Caer seemed to give in the moment he touched her cheek. She leaned into him and let him hold her. Her body felt so cool and soft, and her wet face pressed into his chest.
He took her fuzzy hands in his and looked down into her round, black eyes. “Caer, listen. I swear to you, I’ll find a way to make the world safe again. No more Governors. No more Eighteener Entrance. You’ll see.”
Caer stood there in his arms, a half-hearted smile on her sad face.
He held her close again and whispered, “I promise I’ll fix things, Caer. If it’s the last thing I do.”
Chapter Seventeen
Finding Peace
Everything hurt. Exhaustion overwhelmed him. But Balor kept laboring through the jungle, pushing past strange plants with oozing blooms and large insects that chirped and clicked as if warning him to stay away. His glasses illuminated the dark jungle and showed him where he was going.
Judging by the way his body felt now, he didn’t have much time left. Maybe half a day.
But that was all he needed.
It had felt so strange, talking to Caer in the cave. She was nothing like what he had seen with the implant. Before, he thought of her as a dirty, ragged, sickly-pale creature.
But when he woke in the cave, terrified and alone, Caer had been there. She comforted him. Best of all, she forgave him.
In the cave, Balor hadn’t seen a disheveled, scrawny Dark Person. There, with his mind clear again, he had seen a young lady of more beauty than he had ever imagined. Her eyes looked so black and full of compassion. Her body was a kind of white that almost sparkled, with soft hair covering every inch.
He’d woken up to an angel.
Now he needed to repay her for forgiving him. He needed to repay Eref and the old man for bringing him back to himself.
It was time to set things right.
Earlier, Balor had seen the Shade, where Caer told him her friend Vul awaited the Eighteener Entrance. He knew how to get back there. All he needed was to find his way inside.
But how? At least a hundred soldiers guarded the entrance, and even more Dark People filed in throughout the day. He’d have to find an alternate way.
Most likely, the best entry would be through one of the many enormous roots that spread miles from the trunk of the tree itself. Perhaps he could climb on them to get closer. The roots created the pavilion beneath them, but Balor assumed the Eighteener Entrance would take place in a more private area, likely as high up as possible.
He thought back to his hazy memory of the Shade. With the implant in his head, it had seemed disorganized and ugly. Now he wondered if it might actually be an attractive structure.
A massive tree, it rose so high Balor couldn’t guess how many feet in the air it stood. The branches hung low, dangling vines and leaves all around them like elaborate clothing. Nothing could penetrate that veil.
Somewhere in there, Balor felt certain, the Eighteener Entrance ceremony was performed.
It was the perfect place. Dark People wouldn’t see it from underneath the pavilion of the roots. Just like in Light World, where—
But Balor couldn’t remember his Eighteener ceremony. He’d been led upward into the Center—that was all he knew. High, high up into the Center. From there, he remembered nothing else until Eref’s stoning.
Balor cringed.
He had to keep going. The pain in his wounds had come back, the dull numbness wearing off. A little bit of blood trickled down his leg. He didn’t have much time left.
Not only had the old man said it would happen, but Balor could feel his life slipping away. He felt himself trying to hang onto a kite that was blowing too hard in the wind. At any second, the string would break. He’d be gone.
After everything he’d done, Balor needed to make himself useful. His heart ached with something more than physical pain. It was the deepest sense of regret and loneliness he’d ever experienced.
He kept running through the jungle. “If I’m going to die,” he said under his breath, “I’m going to make it up to you, Eref. For every stone I threw. For hurting Caer. For hurting you.”
Vul was his last chance. She was important to Eref’s friend. If Caer wanted her back, Balor would bring her back.
Without an implant.
&n
bsp; After a few hours of running downhill, Balor finally came upon a root of the Shade. He saw no one near it. The Shade itself was only a small speck in the distance.
Something seemed strange about this root. It looked too perfect somehow, almost artificial.
He crawled on his knees, exploring the side of the root. A few feet along, he found a small opening. It was hollow! Bugs and dirt caked the hole, but it was large enough for him to squeeze in.
Balor looked around. No one else was there. This could be his chance.
He poked his head in to determine if it was safe, but at that moment, a horribly familiar sound came toward him from behind. He whipped his head out again just in time to see a huge, red Bog Beetle scurrying his way. Its pinchers clicked dangerously, and its tiny eyes fixed on his throat.
Balor made a quick decision. He pulled himself into the root as fast as he could. His injured leg didn’t move as well as the rest of his body, and he caught his knee on a hard piece of bark.
The beetle clicked closer, and Balor grabbed his leg to pull it in.
Just in time. The pinchers snapped in after him, but the beetle was too wide to fit through the hole. It lingered there at the opening, clicking angrily and pushing against the root, but it couldn’t get in.
Balor took a breath and looked upward through the hollow passage. His dark-vision glasses weren’t very strong in here. It was blacker than anywhere else he’d been in Dark World.
All around him, tiny insects scuttled across slippery mud. It smelled like rotting wood and mildew.
There was no turning back now. Not with the Bog Beetle guarding the exit.
With another deep breath, Balor started to crawl through the root, sometimes sliding on his stomach to fit through. Every inch, he wondered what would happen if it suddenly narrowed and the path ended, or worse, if the root collapsed and dropped him into the arms of a Dark Person.
But the root held strong. At some places, the tunnel even opened up enough for Balor to crouch.
Soon he realized that he’d discovered more than just a random tunnel. It was a hidden maze.
There were twists and turns. He often had to choose whether to go left or right, up or down. The root crossed with others, all hollow, allowing him to change paths while he traveled along.
In Dark World, his sense of direction had failed him many times, so he focused intently.
His first movement was up. That was obvious. Then he took a turn to the right. Another path took him up again, but then it dipped down. That couldn’t be correct. He turned around and took a root to the left, which went subtly upward as well.
About an hour passed of navigating this dingy labyrinth. Up, right, up, down, left, up, left, right, down, left, up, right, left, up, up, up.
Everywhere he crawled, little bugs nipped at his body and slid through his tunic. Worms wound their way in and out of the dirt beneath his hands.
Eventually the roots gave way to a wide, open shaft that traveled straight up and down.
Amazingly, Balor had reached the massive trunk. Tiny stairs spiraled around the inside, and they led up so high he couldn’t see their end. All around the stairs, strange doors led to unknown rooms at different levels of the Shade.
No one appeared to be here but Balor.
He stood up, brushed as much mud off his body as possible, picked three tiny bugs from his face, and headed up the stairs.
It was a difficult journey. His wounds were much worse than they had been before he’d entered the root.He was afraid. Every minute, death crept closer. His muscles felt weak, his breathing heavy.
The thought of dying alone in this tree terrified him. He should be at home in his apartment, or at least with Eref. Maybe it would have been easier to die with the implant in his head. At least then he wouldn’t know this fear.
But that wasn’t what he wanted, he reminded himself, and he continued to labor upward, the air growing thinner the higher he went.
If he’d died in the cave, he would have died Eref’s enemy. Balor couldn’t find peace if he left the world like that.
So he worked his broken body harder, pushing to reach the top in time. He should find Caer’s friend Vul there, and if he was lucky, she wouldn’t have been through the Eighteener Entrance yet. He had to help her escape before it was too late.
He climbed further and noticed the doors. Which one should he open? Some doors were as tall as twenty Light People. Others were small enough for only a fire pup. They all had unique carvings. Balor studied them as well as he could in the darkness. Each one told a part of what appeared to be the same story.
First, low in the trunk, Balor saw a great door with a picture of a glowing ring carved into it. The wood had been stained light blue to indicate the stone in the ring. It reminded him of the pictures of the Moonstone he’d seen in textbooks at the Learning.
Higher up, another medium-sized door showed two people with a child.
Balor leaned closer. They weren’t Dark People. They weren’t Light People, either. These creatures looked more like the old man who had helped Eref. Their bodies were stained grey in the wood, the color of the old man’s skin. Long, flowing hair came from their heads, but no other part of their bodies.
The next door up was enormous. It depicted five individuals, two male, three female—the same race as the old man—standing in a group. They exuded power from fierce eyes, though their posture and wrinkles told Balor they were ancient. Colors of all kinds were stained into this wood. It blazed around the people, making their strength a visible force.
The thinnest woman wore something on her hand that seemed to be the focal point of the carving: a ring with a blue gem. The same one Balor had seen on the first door. The Moonstone.
Though most of the doors had narrow, stick-like handles, this one had no clear way in at all.
He noted each door he passed. As far as he could tell, nothing indicated what might be behind them. The carvings just told a story that Balor barely understood.
The Eighteener Entrance likely took place in the highest room in the Shade, he decided. It was the most important ceremony in Light World and was probably just as important here, too. Also, the secrecy behind the ceremony called for a room that was difficult to reach.
So he kept going, though blood now soaked the stairs beneath his feet. He lost more life with every step.
The higher he went, the stranger the images on the doors became. One depicted violence like he’d never imagined in his life. People stabbing each other, tearing each other’s faces and limbs. Mouths open in screams of pain or rage. This was a red door.
On a tiny door higher up, he saw a carving of what had to be the Center in Light World. The next tiny door showed the Shade.
And another door depicted a picture of a crowd of Light People bowing in front of the five ancient creatures he’d seen in an earlier carving.
The next door showed Dark People doing the same thing.
Finally, Balor reached the top. This last door was an entrance of medium size, with a simple carving on it: an image of the old man Eref had followed to the cave. The man stood hunched over his stick, looking defeated and sad. This door had no color at all.
Balor held his breath. He had reached the highest place in the trunk. This had to be the room. If it wasn’t, all of his actions had been in vain. He’d die here, alone. His best friend’s enemy.
Sounds of feet scuffling came from the other side of the door. Balor leaned in to listen.
“…we set up yet?”
“Almost ready. Come with me to tell the Governors.”
Footsteps tapped on a hard floor—whoever stood on the other side had walked away. Balor grabbed the handle shaped like a tree branch and turned it.
With a soft creak and swoosh of air, the secret heart of the Shade opened to Balor.
Chapter Eighteen
Eighteener Entrance
A horrible panic rushed through him. This room seemed so familiar. White-and-black checked floor, walls and
ceiling....
Like the vague memory of a nightmare, the images struck at the back of Balor’s mind.
It looked like a madhouse.
The light and dark here contrasted so distinctly that he found it difficult to look, even with his dark-vision glasses on.
Everything seemed far too clean, especially considering the murky jungle outside. An unmistakable odor of disinfectant tainted the air, like the smell of the Life hospital in Light World.
At the far end of the wide room stood an ornate altar that took up an entire wall. It, too, formed a mixture of black and white contrasts. Just the sight of it made him shudder, though he couldn’t tell why. It was as though he’d been here before.
Statues of Dark People, Light People, and people of the old man’s race were displayed all around. Some posed, looking triumphant. Others stood frozen in their stone postures, fighting each other and dying. All the figures waited, still and silent, on a little platform that created a half-circle around the horrible altar.
In the center stood a black-and-white sculpture the height and width of at least twenty Light People. But it wasn’t a sculpture of a person. It was of the ring he’d seen in the carvings. From the center of the ring came the only color in the entire room: a terrifying blue that shot through Balor’s eyes like an electrically induced panic.
Several incense sticks, apparently of the disinfectant aroma, burned in small black pots on the floor of the altar.
Balor wondered at this for a moment, dreading the altar for a reason he couldn’t remember before he noticed the single operating table in the center of the room. Balor limped toward it, careful to avoid leaving footprints on the spotless checkered tile.
Next to the table lay a tray of shiny silver tools. One looked like a razor, another like a drill. There were long, thin tweezers and a needle and thread.
“But what will they do?”
Two people came near the door, talking. Balor jumped at the voices and looked around for a place to hide.
“They have a backlog of powered implants. The Exile will be captured soon, they say, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”
From Light to Dark Page 14
