Into the Dark

by M J W Harrington

  “How about we take a break here? We’re all tired, maybe with a little rest we’ll be able to find the way.”

  Clara nodded. “Good call.” she slung her bag down next to a nearby pillar.

  “Devices!” I winced.

  Clara swore and ran over to her bag. Fortunately nothing had clearly exploded or smashed, including ourselves, so that was a plus.

  “What do we have, anyway?” I asked, “We might need it to get out of here, and I’m just curious more than anything.” If it wasn’t clear enough already, I’m a bit of a device-head, when they’re not immediately taken from me. Clara began removing things from her pack, and I did the same for my pockets a short distance away from her to avoid the brunt of her light. The Architect frowned and dug through his bag, coming up with a small rod about the length of his diminutive forearm. Wordlessly, he moved to the entryway we’d just emerged from, and with a flick of his wrist the stone flowed from either side of the stone tunnel to create an almost perfect seal of that strange featureless rock.. My memories flashed, showing me other builders doing the same, working in unison to raise buildings out of the cavern floor. I guess that explained the lack of bricks and mortar. Clara and I gaped at him in astonishment.

  “What?” he asked, when he noticed us. “Just making sure we don’t get killed while we rest.” We didn’t reply or point out how useful that could’ve been when running for our lives, both of us just assumed wordlessly that it probably wouldn’t’ve worked. The Architect moved over to the other side of the cave and began working with the stone and pillars until we were in what could basically be described as a tomb. I realised the gaps were to allow airflow, so at least we wouldn’t suffocate, but it was still incredibly claustrophobic.

  We got back to arranging our loot. I pulled out the devices I’d gotten from the vault, the bag, blade, gloves and belt. The Architect eyed them curiously.

  “Hmm, prototypes,” he stated, walking over to inspect the bag. “Poorly thought out, but innovative… here,” he said, and rummaged through his bag, extending a set of rings connected by a chain. He looked at me expectantly until I looped them onto my fingers. To my surprise, they expanded to fit, even above my gloves, but the chain connecting them did not stretch to accomodate for the space between my fingers and thumb. The Architect grumbled and mumbled to himself as he pulled out a small stone, grabbed my hand and began to work the chain with his fingers. Before my eyes the bindings shifted and changed and elongated until it fit my hand perfectly, the rings reaching out with silvery tendrils, like roots seeking purchase in the ground. My memories told me that this was rare even for the race of builders who once lived in the city, The Architect being a prodigy turned genius, an innovator even among his kind. Within a few seconds, he released my hand with a satisfied grunt, the rings and their chains now perfectly fitting my left gauntlet, fused together into a single artifact.

  “Reach out and grab.” The Architect instructed, and I looked at him confused. I reached out and picked up my timekeeper from the ground in front of me, but The Architect smacked my hand away. “Not like that, like this,” he mimed just grabbing the air in front of my face. I frowned and mimicked his action, looking down at the timekeeper. As my hand closed, the timekeeper flew into it. Clara stopped what she was doing with a start and I stared blankly at The Architect, who smirked at me with a satisfied expression. I threw the timekeeper into the air and repeated the gesture, closing my fingers more slowly. The device hovered towards me, more slowly, curving in its descent and meeting my palm just as my fingers closed over it.

  “Architect this is amazing.” I breathed in disbelief.

  “Yes, I know. I am The Architect,” he shrugged, but the smirk remained, he was clearly satisfied with his work and our reactions. “Now you can use that bag.” I realised he was right, and immediately looked inside. With a quick grab I pulled out the writing implement I saw earlier, and dropped it back in, retrieving it again before it hit the ground. It was as simple as grabbing something from a regular pouch.

  “Thank you.” I said simply, and he looked at me with confusion.

  “We had a need, I solved it, this is the way of things.” he replied with a shrug, and I realised he was right, my memories showed me how this was just the way builders worked. If one had a skill another needed, or an item that would aid the community, they gave it freely and without reservation. I hoped that mindset wouldn’t prove a problem on the surface, because Qaleans in particular were the complete opposite. If you wanted something there, you had to be prepared to give up everything to get it. I think I prefer their way more, as fundamentally naive as it is. Maybe the Wusuli would be more considerate, but I strongly doubted it.

  I played with my gauntlet for a short time while The Architect helped Clara classify all the various artifacts she carried. It was largely a collection of bric-a-brac and cheap relics, but of the sort that would dramatically improve life for people in Wusul, due to their lack of things like Ploughers and Stonecutters. Thinking about it for a moment and not getting an answer from my memories, which grew increasingly fragmented as we went along, I called over to The Architect.

  “Architect, why did you make devices for ploughing? It’s not like there’s fields down here.” I asked, and he shrugged back at me.

  “We didn’t know where we’d turn up, and planned to head up to the surface once the ice receded,” he stated, and went back to his lecture, “now, Clara, this is a Woodcutter, much like the Stonecutter, but for wood...”

  “The ice?” Clara asked, interrupting him.

  “Yes, the ice. The ice covering the surface that I judge has likely melted since you’re not dead or wearing furs. That’s why we built underground. Now can we please get back to the relics?” he huffed with annoyance at the interruption, and we acquiesced. We’d never heard of anything like he’d spoken of, but it was in the distant past, so that made sense. It sounded pretty terrible though, I’ve never been a fan of the cold.

  We spent some time going through our devices and making sure we were all aware of what each other carried. The Architect had his stone-shaping rod, the strange poker from before which I was informed carried enough of an electric charge to stop a Rodronox mid-charge. I had no idea what a Rodronox is, but I’m fairly willing to bet I wouldn’t’ve enjoyed the shock had he decided to use it on me. Besides that, he carried some intricate tools for crafting devices, a fact made Clara and I both lose the ability to breathe momentarily when he casually listed it, as well as some rudimentary unfinished devices. The Architect was evasive about their purpose, waving away questions and promising to show them when he was finished. It looked a lot like the modesty and shame an artist friend of mine once displayed when refusing to let me see any of her work in progress, so I relented. I was sure whatever they were, they’d be incredible, and I couldn’t wait to see what he did once we had the opportunity to let him work on them.

  For my part, I had my new and improved bag and glove combination, silent belt, which I hadn’t officially announced to Clara but suspected she knew about anyway, the retractable sword, Timekeeper, Lightmaker, Watermaker… nothing hugely exciting. I decided to reveal the existence of my storage rod, and The Architect’s eyes lit up.

  “I’d just finished the prototype for this when they put me in stasis,” he said, rushing over to inspect it. “Satisfactory work,” he conceded, turning it over in his long, tiny hands, “Could be better, but could be much worse.” With a flick of his wrist, he brought forth my mattress and pillows and Clara sniggered at me.

  “You sleep like you’re in a harem?” she asked, gesturing to the pillows.

  “Hey, a man’s got to have his comforts.” I replied, unrepentantly. I loved that bed, and felt no shame in a bit of luxury in the horrible stone tunnels. Clara considered it for a moment and shrugged.

  “Guess you’re right. Dibs.” she jumped on my bed, boots and all, and I squawked… manfully. Ok, no, I just squawked.

  “Hey that’s mine!” I moved tow
ards her but was stopped in my tracks by a pillow to the face.

  “Don’t get any ideas, you get to sleep over there.” She pointed over to the far side of the cave. I sighed and moved to my designated spot as she nestled into the pillows. The Architect chuckled and grabbed a large pillow, in itself nearly a mattress. Now that comfort was offered, for some at least, the consensus was clearly leaning towards immediately sleeping, but I still felt wide awake. As they shut off the lights, secure in the protection offered by our artificial tomb, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. I may have been somewhat tolerant to the low level glow, but there’s a difference between tolerating something and not having to feel it at all, and it felt like I’d just stepped into a warm bath from the cold. The darkness within me stirred.

  - Look at them. So helpless, so soft.- it crowed softly into the recesses of my mind. My companions had both immediately fallen asleep, deeply exhausted and I could see them clearly in the darkness. Clara’s soft flesh rising and falling, The Architect’s wrinkled face emitting quiet snores. I could cut them and just keep cutting. If I killed him first she would never be able to work out how to escape. She was dangerous, but her weapon rested a short distance away with the other devices. Take it, tie her down, start removing parts of her skin an inch at a time, it would be so- I slapped myself sharply, the sound ringing out and momentarily disturbing my sleeping comrades, but not waking them fully, the exhaustion proving too much to even respond.

  “Listen to me right now.” I growled, as quietly as I could so as to not wake them and make them aware of my fragmenting sanity. “You do not control me. I will not become a monster.”

  -Become?- the darkness mocked -We’re already a monster. You were even before we became more.- I sighed and moved over to examine my devices in an attempt to block it out of my mind. Sleep proved impossible, I felt as though I could run a mile and fight an army at the end of it, and it may well be that I could’ve done it, but did it really have to come with an evil voice in my head?

  Hours passed and I became no less restless. I fiddled with devices, experimented with my modified gauntlet grabby… thing. I’d come up with a name for it later, probably. If it wasn’t for the darkness in my head trying to drive me mad by tormenting me with visions of slaughter and the urge to torture my friends, I probably would’ve gone insane with boredom instead. When they finally stirred, I was in the middle of distracting myself by trying to see if I could juggle some rocks that I’d found one-handed without touching them. If nothing else, the practice time had infinitely improved my fine control, if not my mental wellbeing.

  “Morning!” I chirped merrily, as Clara set up and stretched her willowy limbs and lit her Lightmaker, thankfully on the dimmest setting. I winced as she did so and the familiar pain mixed with energy returned, but my happiness wasn’t feigned despite the night I’d had previously and the return of the burning sensation. Them stirring meant that finally we could escape that oppressive prison of stone and finally go and kill something. I mean leave. The darkness chuckled but settled, it was getting concerningly subtle with its manipulations after the first few hours of occasionally trying to persuade me to slit the throats of the others, or worse, but that was its parting shot for now.

  “How long have you been up, Dav?” Clara cocked her head and regarded me curiously, her keen eyes immediately taking in the pillow, discarded where I’d put it down the night before, my restless state and the various devices scattered around the cave. Her eyes dwelt for an uncomfortable amount of time on the crude drawing in the wall from where I’d quietly tried out the Stonecutter on its lowest setting, as well as on the miniature statue of myself sticking from the ground, courtesy of The Architect’s Stoneshaper. I was proud of that one.

  “Uh, a while.” I replied, and decided to tell her at least some of the truth. “Couldn’t sleep. Just… didn’t get tired.” I shrugged. “Perks of monsterhood I guess. Can we leave now? Some of us have been up for hours.”

  The Architect stirred at the sound of our voices.

  “If you’ve been up for hours, you could have prepared breakfast,” he grumbled, apparently not a morning person.

  “Oh I did that a while ago, afraid it’s cold though.” I gestured to a small stone tray stuck into the wall, upon which rested a few pastries from my storage rod with some fruit. I found that I had no appetite in my new state, but I still popped one of the buttery, flakey pastries in my mouth, the crumbs spilling down me as I explained, “Pferks of devfices kfeeping fings frsh” I explained around a mouthful. Clara sighed but refrained from comment, walking over to grab one for herself. Those things were good, and I’d made sure my rod was stocked with them. Francis the baker was one of the few redeeming features of the city, I’d have to make sure to sneak back into Qalea to stock up again in the future.

  While my companions ate, I laid out the plan I’d come up with while they slept, occasionally pausing to allow them to grunt agreement around their breakfast.

  “Alright, so, I think it’s a fair assumption to say we’re in the dark and we have no idea where we’re going, agreed?” they nodded, somewhat begrudgingly, so I continued. “All we know is that the way we came holds the city and a horrifying monster that wants to kill us, so let’s not go that way. On the other side of this wall are three passages. We’ve definitely been this way before, and I didn’t see any side tunnels, so let’s rule out the left one because that’s how we looped back here the last time.” I began to pace, and grabbed the Stonecutter, quickly sketching the nearby tunnels as I understood them. “That leaves the other two tunnels,” I stabbed them with the stonecutter to make deeper holes, “We have no idea where they are, but I’m pretty sure from what I remember the right hand tunnel sloped upwards. That’s generally a good sign.” The Architect nodded, having finished stuffing his face and taking a long drink from one of the Watermakers.

  “Indeed, that tunnel did appear to lead slightly upwards,” he confirmed, “but what if it ends in another dead end? We cannot just wander blindly in these tunnels forever.” I nodded.

  “You’re right, but here’s what I’m thinking. We have here as wealth of devices designed to solve this exact problem.” I gestured down at the piles of devices, seemingly haphazardly stacked, but actually sorted during my hours of solitude, if somewhat messily. “These devices here are Stonecutters, a Stoneshaper and one that seems to be some sort of ‘Stairmaker’ or something, unless it’s just one of the others where the settings are broken.” The Architect wandered over and inspected it.

  “Looks like a student piece, a stepping stone towards a more efficient but limited Stoneshaper. Crude, but shows promise.” He shrugged and set the device down gently next to its companions. “So what is your plan?” he asked, curiously.

  “Simple, we follow the tunnel as high as we can, and then we dig.” I stated confidently. The pair blinked at me and then Clara burst into laughter. Not quite the response I’d expected to my ingenious plan, I’ll admit.

  Eventually, she stopped. It took a while.

  “We… dig?” Clara asked incredulously, and somewhat breathlessly, “Are you serious?”

  “Extremely.” I replied, confidently.

  “That’s your idea?”

  “Yep.” Although I have to admit I was getting less confident in it by the second.

  “And that’s all you’ve got after sitting and thinking about it all night?” She really didn’t have to be so mean about it.

  “Yep. It beats wandering around lost in the tunnels for weeks. We dig a shaft as we go, line it with steps, eventually if we just keep going up we’re guaranteed to hit the surface,” I shrugged.

  “But what about the stone? If it collapses we’ll be buried alive, you can’t just dig wherever you want!” Clara objected and I winced, this was the flaw even I could see with my plan, but at that moment The Architect piped up.

  “Actually, that should be a risk I am able to negate,” he stated with confidence.

  “Don’t tell me you’re o
n board with this, Archie” ...Archie? I paused for a moment in my restless pacing to shoot a confused look at Clara, who shrugged and The Architect, or rather, Archie, didn’t react in any way so I shrugged back and moved on.

  “You may have noticed, I am somewhat proficient in manipulating stone,” The Architect explained, “I have methods that I can use to avert collapses when building upwards, although it may cause our route to drift somewhat rather than allowing us to go straight upwards.” The little man looked at us both in turn with a long, measured gaze. “I believe this plan may be feasible.” I pumped a gnarled fist triumphantly and Clara buried her face in her palm, I just about caught the end of her muttering something about being surrounded by madmen, but nobody likes a sore loser so I figured I’d just leave it alone. We quickly packed up all the devices and comforts, throwing the pillows back into their extra-dimensional storage pocket (having the correct words to describe these things is a definite plus of the whole possession thing), and with a flourish I gestured to the wall.

  “Archie, if you would be so kind?” The Architect gave me a long flat stare. Apparently I’m not on the list of short list of people who are able to call him that. Noted. An uncomfortable amount of time later, he flicked and curved the Stoneshaper through the air with startling dexterity, making my night of sculpting seem like the work of an armless child. The Architect was clearly a master of his craft, as you’d expect from someone bearing his name/title. Before our eyes, an ornate door formed, with carvings of what suspiciously and uncomfortably looked like me being set on fire while a small figure sat eating pastries and laughing. A hole would’ve sufficed, everyone in my group is so cruel when they wake up.

  Chapter 9

  “After you,” The Architect said dryly, mere seconds later. Choosing not to push the matter, I instead chose to push the door open to reveal the rest of the small cave, its roughness in stark contrast with our cozy nook, chiefly in the way it was currently occupied by a massive deep stalker. It was even bigger than the one I’d left frozen in the city, with a huge red scar across its face. It raised its huge catlike maw in our direction, letting out that deep rumble I would probably still hear in my nightmares if I ever got to sleep, and I quickly shut the door again.