From Light to Dark (18 page)

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.

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.”

“How could he steal the Moonstone?”

“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” one of the voices told the other. They came closer, and someone turned the door handle.

“Yeah, but doesn’t the Moonstone keep our world dark? Doesn’t it create the power of the Eighteener Entrance?” The door swung open, and Balor ducked behind the operating table. He couldn’t hide here.

“So?”

“So what happens if they can’t get it back?” Feet tapped on the tile as they walked closer.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

Balor took another look at the altar. It bothered him on a strange, almost subconscious level, but it provided his only hiding place. Without drawing their attention, he hurried over to the largest statue he could find—a Light Person with a spear through his heart—and hid behind it.

“You’re starting to sound like a teenager yourself, Sunre. What’s with all the questions?”

“It’s just kind of scary to think that the Exile is powerful enough to steal something so important to us.”

“Do you trust the Governors?”

“Of course I do, Rodcot, but—”

“Then leave it up to them. We aren’t supposed to discuss it. And don’t you dare tell anyone on the staff that we had to use a reserve implant for this girl. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Those rumors about reserves being weaker implants are children’s lies.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

They were dressed in long, black coats that hung to their ankles. Their fuzzy skin was even whiter than Caer’s, so that, in their black coats, both men blended almost perfectly with the black and white checkered floor and walls.

Balor shivered.

For a moment, the men didn’t speak. They walked to the operating table where Balor had hidden seconds ago and began checking through the tools one by one. Their backs were to Balor.

“Everything is ready, Sunre. Call in the handler.”

Sunre left, and the other man turned to face the altar. He walked toward it.

Balor held his breath.

The Dark Person named Rotcod knelt in front of the sculpture of the Moonstone and bowed his head. He pressed his palms together in front of his chest, his elbows sticking out to the sides.

With low humming sounds coming from his throat, he meditated in front of the Moonstone. Balor recognized this behavior. It was the same ritual they went through every morning at the Light, before classes in the Learning.

There, Light People meditated in front of individual paintings of the Moonstone, and they mumbled the same mantra this Dark Person did now. Balor was so used to it, he almost instinctively sang along.

Clend miar. Clend miar. Noughts tho. Noughts tho. Clend miar. Noughts tho
.

The Dark Person fell silent. Then he took a deep breath and stood.

A few seconds later, the other Dark Person came in, followed by a larger man carrying a girl who had to be Vul. Her handler clamped her mouth shut, but she wriggled and kicked like a rabid animal.

Balor peered around the spear in the statue, hoping for a better look. She had creamy skin that looked almost tan in this strange room. Her body was smaller than Caer’s, but her expression was one of pure fury. Oval eyes as black as Balor’s skin seemed to swear she’d tear her handler to pieces if she got the chance.

Balor smiled at her determination. Vul had to be terrified, but she clearly wouldn’t let them see it.

For a moment, Balor wondered how he’d acted during his own Eighteener Entrance. Had he cried? Probably.

“Bring her to the table,” Rodcot said.

Vul’s handler, a wide Dark Person dressed in the same black coat the others wore, waddled over to the operating table, fending off Vul’s kicks the entire way. Once he arrived at the center of the room, he dropped her on the table and let go of her mouth to strap her arms and legs down.

“You dirty coward! Untie me and see if you’re so tough then!” Vul spat in her handler’s eyes and struggled against the straps.

Even with a scowl on her face, she was clearly a pretty girl. Not the same ethereal beauty of Caer, but cute in a spunky way. Judging by the strength of her anger, she was definitely the kind of girl you’d want on your side in a fight.

The men ignored Vul’s shouting. They seemed used to dealing with outbursts on a regular basis.

Already, Balor had begun looking around the room for the best way out. First he needed to cause a distraction that would move the men away from her table. Then he needed to break through the heavy straps that held Vul down and get her out before they were captured.

Would it be possible?

“I hope you get eaten by a Peat Slug on your next lunch break, you evil piece of garbage!”

If Balor did manage to free her, he couldn’t let her attack that handler, or they’d both be caught. She’d have to keep her temper in check, at least. They would have to make a run for the door to the trunk of the Shade.

The door. Balor looked at the wall, but to his horror, he realized he couldn’t see the door anymore. No indentation, no cracks in the wall. It was as if it had never existed.

He adjusted his glasses on his face. It had to be there. Hidden, somehow. Blended in with the pattern. That was their only way out.

“We will begin the Moonstone prayer,” said Rodcot.

Sunre and the handler approached the altar.

“Screw your Moonstone prayer!” Vul shouted. “You think I give a damn about your little rituals? You think I’m going to sit here and be a good girl while you lunatics go over there and have a nice little conversation with the Moonstone about what you’re going to do to me?” She writhed and twisted so hard that the operating table rocked from side to side.

Sunre pulled a vial out of his coat pocket. Something liquid and yellow swirled around inside it.

“What’s that?” Vul craned her neck back and saw Sunre coming her way. “Trumpet Pollen? Wow, what a bunch of big, brave men. Gotta sedate the little girl and strap her down to get the job done. I’ll bet your bosses are proud of you. Let’s call the Governors in here and let them have a look at what it takes to control me!”

Sunre didn’t look fazed. He uncorked the vial and poured the yellow liquid all over Vul’s face. She squeezed her eyes and mouth shut as it slid down her nose, into her ears, and dripped on the table.