Into the Dark

by M J W Harrington

  Realising she was safe, Clara immediately pulled out a pair of the small projectile weapons we’d looted from the vault and opened fire on the beast, sending bolts of energy screaming into the eldritch mass of fur and dark tendrils. It had little effect, but I’d take anything I could get at that point. As the beast sprung for my legs, I gathered my strength and pushed off the wall in a high, arcing leap. I felt claws and teeth pass inches from my flesh as I leapt, followed by intense agony as I passed into the bright light of the balcony not far from Clara. I screamed as I felt my altered flesh burn in the light, even as it replenished my significantly diminished energy, my vision dimmed and I passed out from the pain.

  Chapter 7

  For a while it was like being back down in the lab, when I’d first touched the umbral resonator. All I knew was pain and oblivion, except instead of plunging into the dark my world was filled by searing light. Then slowly I came to, finding myself in blessed darkness. Around me was light, suffusing a room that somehow appeared to be part comfortable sitting room, part workshop; plush seating and lavish decoration mixing with dirty tools and rough surfaces, unfinished devices stacked up in piles. In a small section around me, however, there was nothing but pure darkness, as if I were standing in a box that somehow kept the light out. I reached out a hand, but encountered no resistance, my gauntlet protecting my hand from direct exposure to the light. I pulled it back anyway, the longer my hand remained in light, the more it began to hurt as the light seeped in cracks in the material, and I’d had more than enough intense agony for one day.

  “Oh good, you’re awake.” the thin, nasal voice that came from immediately behind me made me jump, and for a moment I felt the burn of the light for what felt like the hundredth time. I spun to face it and was greeted by a wizened face that looked like…

  “...old Jeff?” I hazarded a guess, still groggy from my self-inflicted unconsciousness. The droopy face in front of me frowned, I guessed in confusion.

  “What? No. Your companion explained about the construct you met, I am clearly not he.” Clearly I’d read him incorrectly, that was definitely disapproving condescension.

  “My companion? Clara? Is she alright?” the questions popped out of me before I could help myself. The wrinkly little man in front of me brushed my questions aside with a strange accompanying flick of his wrist.

  “Of course. How else would she tell me about the bloody idiot who thought it’d be a good idea to rub his monkey face on an artifact of unimaginable power?” his voice rose to a shout and he shook tiny fists at me. Immediately calming himself as though his brief tirade had never happened, he continued, “Nonetheless, you may call me the Architect,” I somehow heard the capital A in the title, “and your companion is in the next room, resting.” I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding.

  “Thank you.” I said, simply. The Architect nodded in response, not bothering to ask what for, our current not-dead status, my reprieve from the light or the opportunity to rest, any of them felt worthy of a life debt to me at this point. “My name is Dav. Have you been here all this time?” The Architect hesitated, and for a moment I thought I detected a note of shame in his eyes and voice.

  “Technically yes. But not consciously, I awoke perhaps five cycles ago.” My new memories thankfully provided some of the means to convert that, and I thought it tallied to a few months ago, give or take a week. My memories aren’t always the most exact.

  “You were asleep?” as I asked, memories once more overriding my thoughts, showing me images of senior members of society occasionally being put into chambers that preserved them, whilst still providing access to their knowledge and experience through an illusory, emotionless image. It was a bit creepy, in all honesty.

  “Yes.” again, the note of shame again, I couldn’t think why, being put into stasis was an honour reserved for the wisest and more knowledgeable of their kind. “When I was awakened, I found the city much as you did.” The Architect sighed and waved a hand around. “I busied myself attempting to build an artifact capable of protecting me from that corrupted creature outside, but only succeeded in creating that box in which you now sit.”

  “Well, thanks again for that,” I noted, “It’s a lot less uncomfortable than those lights of yours.” He frowned at that.

  “So the light does indeed harm you?”

  “Yes. Sort of. I think.” I stumbled over my words as I attempted to explain my situation, leaving nothing out. I figured if anyone knew what was happening to me, this little man would. As I spoke, the little man pulled over a similarly diminutive armchair and listened intently to my woes and implanted memories. As I finished recounting what I believed to be the creation of the first beast lurking outside and the death of the city, he let out a choking sob.

  “The fools,” he whispered, “I told them. I told them to lock it away. I told them.” His shoulders heaved for some time in shuddering sorrow, and I reached out a hand unconsciously, forgetting the stinging pain the bright light would bring. The sudden motion of me snatching it back brought the architect out of his reverie, and I hazarded asking the burning question as he looked towards me his giant bulging eyes rimmed with red.

  “What is the umbral resonator, Architect?” I asked quietly. He studied me for a moment, before hopping off his chair, slowly beginning to pace.

  “The resonator is… likely not its true name,” he began, pausing for thought, “it existed here long before we arrived.” I blinked.

  “Your people didn’t create it?”

  “No, I just said that. Stop interrupting.” he snapped. It was a fair point, so I shut up. “We’re not the only beings capable of producing relics, and it would be arrogant to assume so. This building itself is not of our construction, we merely improved it.” He gestured around at the cluttered, high-ceilinged room and continued, “One of our number found the resonators while we were unearthing part of the chasm to expand our new city. It ended poorly.” A flash of memory hit me, brief and fragmented by time. I saw a less-wrinkled builder, probably the youngest I’d seen, as he moved a rock to one side with a device. The resonator fell from inside the rubble and rolled towards him. With a dark flash, his life ended and I felt the satisfaction of a hunger long unsated. My thoughts returned to the present with a shudder, and realised I’d missed a good deal of the explanation. The oldest of my own memories filled in the blanks, however.

  The builders lost a few more of their kind to the resonators before they found a way to move them safely. I didn’t have memories from all of the deaths that occurred, which made me believe that the other resonator may have been responsible. They fell to infighting and debate about what to do with them for a while, with a faction presumably led by the Architect advocating locking them away to prevent harm, and another demanding their study to harness whatever power they could draw from the strange dark orbs.

  “I thought the matter settled when we locked them away, but then there was… a coup.” the Architect finished, sadly. “I don’t know what happened beyond that point, I was put into stasis by force, told that I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t brave enough. When I awoke, the city was as you see it today, and the beast walked the halls. So I sealed myself away, like the coward I am.” he hung his head, his droopy ears falling to cover his face. “I suppose I proved them right in the end.”

  I reached out involuntarily to comfort him, and he fell back with a squawk as he saw my blackening hand reaching for him. “You’ll never take me alive!” he yelled, grabbing and brandishing an unusual rod shaped like a fire poker. I raised my hands non-threateningly, but he didn’t relax. I suddenly realised that standing in a box of blackness he probably couldn’t see me, and that from his perspective a terrifying giant hand carved from cracked obsidian had just suddenly popped out to grab him. Woops.

  “Woah, woah, relax!” I said as soothingly as I could, while desperately holding back laughter. The little man whipped the poker around frantically, his droopy nose and ears following as his head f
ollowed before my words registered and they slowly swung to a stop.

  “Apologies,” the Architect shrugged, once he’d calmed down, “If you’re anything like the one outside, you could start killing at any time. Specifically, killing me.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” I said.

  -Not even a little bit?- asked the darkness inside. I ignored it, and it let out a dark chuckle before receding. My houseguest was snarky, good to know. We’d probably get on great if it wasn’t for the overwhelming feeling of bloodlust I felt every time it decided to drop in on a conversation. I unclenched my fists in the darkness, glad that my new skittish friend couldn’t see.

  “Well yes, I know, that’s why I have this weapon,” the Architect replied, slightly confused, talking over the voice and forcing me to parse through two conversations at once. “You can’t kill me if you’re electrocuted and dead.” I’m not sure I appreciated the matter-of-fact tone of voice, and regarded the strange poker with a bit more respect.

  “No, I mean I have no intention of trying to hurt you.”

  “Oh.” The Architect deflated slightly, his tiny arms dropping to the sides of his finely sewn vest. “Good.” He was quiet for a moment so I took the opportunity to deflect away from my nascent homicidal tendencies.

  “So is the thing outside gone?” I asked, tentatively. The Architect waved with one hand towards a strange arrangement of thin slabs against one wall, each lit up with various lines and symbols that I realised I was able to read despite not being in the language I was familiar with.

  “Probably, I set up a perimeter around my quarters around the time I woke up and started bringing our relic systems back online.” he replied absently, “I didn’t know what that thing was, but I was not inclined to allow it to eat me. It can’t get in.”

  “Probably a good move,” I noted, and the Architect made a distracted grunt as he peered at one of the the panel of stone, which had lit up with what looked uncomfortably like an all-too accurate image of my body. I quickly looked down in the dark at my clothes, and my uncanny vision confirmed that I was indeed at least avoiding dangling in the breeze. “Er, is that me?” I asked, tentatively.

  “Yes,” the Architect replied, tapping away as various unfamiliar words and numbers flew around alongside my body. I waited for him to continue, but no explanation was forthcoming, so I tried again.

  “What is it you’re doing?”

  “Analysing your bond with the relic. It seems to have fused with every part of your body and brain. Unclear why you’re still conscious and not murder-prone. Perhaps a consequence of primitive species development?” I got the impression he was no longer talking to me by that point. “Perhaps it’s a consequence of extreme adaptability. Fascinating.” His attention switched back to me. “What are you? And are you aware that your species is extremely adaptable to all manner of ecosystems that are otherwise completely inhospitable?” He fired off his questions at an incredible rate and I struggled to find the words to reply to him.

  “Er, I’m a person? A human? And maybe?” I tried, and the Architect humphed with annoyance. The word Human felt strange in my mouth. I realised why suddenly. “Wait what language are are speaking?”

  “You didn’t expect me to speak your tongue did you? You’re speaking fluent meal’urandirtura…” the word continued on for an uncomfortable length of time with a disturbing amount of vowels, “-ese,” he finished. “I assume the memory transfer you mentioned earlier included it.”

  “Oh,” that did make a lot more sense, thinking about it, “so… you’re studying me?”

  “Of course,” The Architect shrugged, not taking his attention from the slab, “we have no record of your species, and I already scanned the other one as a control. She’s constructed differently, look. Did the relic cause the growth bet-” I cut him off hurriedly and dragged my gaze from the wildly inappropriate image of Clara that he brought up to compare our various physiologies.

  “Woah no, that’s just because she’s a woman and I’m a man, we’re… constructed differently. For biological reasons.” I struggled with the concept of having to explain the birds and bees to a little old goblin for a moment before he cut off my stammering.

  “Ah I see, reproductive organs. Sorry.” Surprisingly, he actually seemed ashamed of his line of questioning. “I apologise if I caused any cultural offence.”

  “None taken, just uh, don’t tell Clara you have this picture, and don’t tell her I’ve seen it, or she’ll likely kill us both.”

  “Are all of your kind so bloodthirsty?” The Architect asked, turning with wide eyes.

  “Only the females,” I couldn’t resist, grinning in the darkness, “they’re known to fly into killing rages at the slightest provocation. It’s best to tread lightly.”

  “Oh my. Thank you for the advice,” he said sincerely, regarding the door to the next room with newfound fear. I felt a little bad, but I was still having a terrible day, I’d make it right some other time.

  “No problem. So what do we do now?” I diverted away from my joke before it got too far out of hand to ask the burning question.

  “Do?”

  “About leaving?”

  “Leaving?” This wasn’t going well.

  “Getting out of this city?”

  The Architect stopped and turned to me, with a look of what could probably be interpreted as confusion on his face.

  “Well we can’t leave yet,” he said, “Did you see the creature that chased you in here? It will kill us. We simply have to contact the other outposts and request their assistance.”

  “The other outposts?”

  “Well, yes, after we arrived and started construction on this city, we sent out many other groups to survey the subterranean network that crisscrosses this world and set up numerous research outposts and settlements.” He finally swiped the unflattering pictures of human bodies off the slab and brought up an unfamiliar map. I could make out the layout of the city, highlighted by a green dot. I could see the strange room where presumably my deep stalker friend stood frozen, and a huge labyrinth of tunnels beyond. If I looked closely, I could probably have found the ravine I entered through, but that’s not what my attention was drawn to as the map zoomed out. Throughout the warren, miles apart, lay uncountable dots of light, smaller than the one representing the city, but the sheer quantity was staggering.

  “All of these are outposts?” I asked in a whisper.

  “Yes, and I have sent messages to all of them asking for aid and a status report. It should not be long until they reply,” The Architect replied confidently. He noticed my sudden silence and turned back to face my box. “What?”

  “Architect, those outposts are…” I struggled to find the words to tell the little man that his people were likely all dead. “You’re the first and only one of your people I’ve met. That anyone’s met.” The little man stared at me as if frozen.

  “Explain,” he finally snapped.

  “For centuries we’ve lived on the surface, and sent people like myself, delvers, to explore the ruins underground and uncover devices- relics.” I corrected myself and winced as realisation began to spread over The Architect’s face, but pushed on. “The ruins, Architect. Nobody has even encountered one of your kind. Nobody even knew what you looked like until we came here.” The wizened creature closed his eyes slowly and his shoulders shook. I looked away uncomfortably, but in for a shim, in for a shalm. “I don’t think they’re coming. I don’t think they’re out there anymore.” We stood there for an uncomfortable amount of time while the Architect struggled to compose himself until suddenly he whirled away from me back to his panels, tiny hands and fingers flying as text zipped past. After a few minutes he stopped.

  “I fear your hypothesis is correct. I disregarded many of the corrupted logs when I first regained access to this facility, but I now believe that the date and timestamps are all too correct. It has been far longer than I first assumed.” The Architect didn’t turn to face me as he s
poke, the panels still flashing with information.

  “How long?” I asked simply.

  “I fear it has been at least twenty generations, but much of the data has been lost, so I’m unable to be sure,” he replied. I expected the answer, but knew it must be devastating to him.

  “I’m sorry, it must be hard hearing it’s been so long... Wait twenty generations? That doesn’t add up,” I realised with a start, “We’ve been around much longer than that, how would we not know about you?”

  The Architect frowned for a moment, turning back to me before realisation dawned. “How long are your generations?”

  “Er, anywhere between 15 and 50 years depending how rich you are and how many devices you get your hands on?” I replied, before realising where The Architect (really need to get a new name for him, it’s weird thinking about someone’s name with a capital ‘The’) was going with his thought. “Wait, how long are yours?”

  “Ten thousand cycles. Or if I’m understanding you correctly and my analysis of your primitive bodies is correct based on your reproductive capabilities... approximately 9,852 ‘years’.” We both stood in silence as the implications of that sunk in.

  “Oh.” I said, for lack of anything better to say.

  “Oh indeed.” he replied in a choked voice. I left him to his work and his sorrow, sitting there in the darkness, considering what it must be like to realise that not only has everyone you’ve ever known and loved is dead, but their great great times a lot grandchildren are also dead.

  A while later, I’m not sure how long, the door pushed open. In the doorway stood Clara, looking considerably refreshed from the last time I saw her and peering curiously at me. I had trouble for a second not thinking about The Architect’s displays, the damn things had complicated matters in an uncomfortable way, but forced that thought aside and called out to her.

  “Hey Clara, good nap?” I asked, and she jumped. I’d forgotten that to anyone without my uncanny vision, my little cell was an unnatural block of darkness standing in the middle of a brightly lit room.