Death Echo - Volume 1

by Sebastyan Smith

  He took a few steps forwards, waiting for the motion sensors to reactivate the lights. They didn't. He closed his eyes, scrunching them together. They were dry and itchy, bloodshot too, no doubt. He hadn't checked a mirror in a long time.

  When he opened them he was greeted by darkness so complete he doubted that he'd opened them at all. Only when he glanced back and saw the faint outline of Alice's door did he realise that this was not the case.

  'Andrew,' said a voice.

  His head whipped back to the darkness. There was something there at the heart of it. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it.

  'Andrew,' said the voice again.

  It was delicate, almost unnaturally so, as though a warm breeze had found a voice. Though in that breeze came the promise of a long winter.

  The darkness grew teeth; it happened slowly, like the unfurling of petals. Andrew's mind scrabbled for a moment as he tried to understand what his eyes were witnessing. Perfectly white, sharp icicles of bone deliberately revealed themselves, disembodied and awful. Andrew felt a shudder that shook him to his core, not dissimilar to when the doctor had first told him about Alice's condition.

  'What are you?' he managed.

  The darkness grinned; it seemed incapable of doing much else.

  'You've been waiting for me,' the teeth didn't move in time with the voice, they didn't move at all.

  'I don't know you,' Andrew said in a small voice, his mind groping for sanity.

  'Everyone knows me,' said the darkness, 'eventually.'

  The teeth remained very still, though the darkness spread further, seemingly engulfing all in its path.

  'No!' Andrew shouted, finding his voice, 'You can't go in there!'

  'I can go everywhere.'

  'Not there!' Andrew growled. His arms were spread out either side of him, blocking the narrow corridor.

  'You can't stop this.'

  Andrew had no answer to that. His higher brain function slipped away in favour of more primitive instincts; humans have a history of facing teeth in the dark.

  'After all this time it always comes back to this,' mused the voice, 'most slip quietly off, some struggle, but it is always those around the dying who rage against it the most.'

  'You're not taking her!' Andrew growled, 'Not yet!'

  'It doesn't work like that.'

  'It's not fair!'

  'It never is,' the voice wasn't cruel, which made it worse, somehow.

  Andrew desperately reached for something, anything. His hand found a used glass left on a porter's trolley. He threw it at the teeth, but something happened before it reached them - and the glass seemed to dissipate.

  'She's not going to die!' it started as a roar of defiance, but ended in a whimper. Tears left tracks down his face.

  'You're tired, Andrew,' said the voice, 'and so is she. It's time to let go.'

  'No!' his eyes were closed and the tears were running freely, but he remained standing.

  'You're not welcome here!' Andrew spat.

  'I am,' said the darkness, sadly.

  'Dad?'

  The voice was barely a whisper but it cut through everything. Andrew turned on his heels.

  'Alice!?'

  'Dad!' louder this time, scared.

  She'd woken up and he wasn't there.

  Andrew turned back to the darkness but it had gone. Light had returned. Just an empty corridor with the remains of a smashed glass at the far end. He backed towards Alice's door and blindly struggled with the handle before getting it open

  'Just one more day, please,' he whispered to the empty corridor, trying to ignore the chill that followed him into the room.

  The Crystal Tower

  Atop the highest mountain, in the Crystal Tower, lived two creatures. Both were masters of the Tower in equal regard, though there was no love lost between them. One was made of light, a shimmering creature sturdy of limb and stout of stature. Every facet of this creature's form was picked out in perfect, crisp detail. Its armour was a golden carapace, encrusted with diamonds and pearls, all shining with inner light.

  The other was taller, much taller, and had limbs that looked so delicate that they might break at any moment. This brittle creature was devoid of all light, of all detail, besides eyes that glowed like lamps from amidst the pitch dark fog of its face. It was adorned in pitch dark robes which moved and flowed as though submerged in water.

  They had been fighting in the Tower for thousands of years. These fights always ended in a standstill with neither able to gain the upper hand. The pair were just as sly and cunning as each other, always thinking of new schemes with which to trick the other. These schemes fell flat, for they were also both very intelligent, and able to see through any plot the other concocted.

  They hated one another but they both remained in the tower, year after year, decade after decade, age after age. The reason was simple - they had never thought to leave. They knew all about the outside world, but it didn't interest them.

  One winter evening, just as the sun was beginning to set, they came face to face at the great double doors of the dining hall at the highest point of the Crystal Tower. They paused, both immediately on guard, ready for the other's mischief.

  'After you,' said that Creature of Light, bowing and gesturing to the closed door.

  'No, I insist,' wheezed the Creature of Darkness, bending it's willowy form.

  The politeness in their manner was razor sharp and weak as dry twigs.

  The pair stared at each other for a time, before each taking one of the double doors and opening them in silent unison.

  The dining hall was resplendent. Much of the tower was built of finest crystal, yet there was no room more beautiful than this one. Its walls and ceiling were made of the clearest quartz - almost perfectly translucent. Beyond the walls was an ocean of clouds, for so high was the Tower that the clouds could never hope to crest it. Above was a sky caught between the warmth of daylight and the void of night; stars battling for dominance with a bruised red heaven.

  This beauty was lost on the pair, who chose instead to closely watch their opposite, for fear of attack.

  The floor of the hall was black marble, so smooth and unblemished that it could be mistaken for ice. A chandelier hung high above made of diamond. Its candles flickered with green light and dripped no wax.

  There were two tables in the room. One was long and angular, as would befit a dining hall, made of a similar marble to the floor. It was etched with minute details that might distract the eye for hours at a time, as were the heavy set chairs which lined the long table.

  The second table was much smaller and round. This sat in an alcove of a covered balcony. Red in appearance, it was the only crude looking item in the room. Clumps of rock were still clustered at its base as though only recently dragged and hewn from the earth, two chairs of a similar ilk stood by it. The balcony was the only part of the room that did not have a marble floor, instead it was entirely crystal, like a blister jutting out over the landscape.

  The pair were drawn to this, as they had seen every inch of the Tower, this balcony included, but they had never before laid eyes on the red table. It was new.

  'This is your doing,' accused the Creature of Light.

  The Creature of Darkness shook its head, sending its robes fluttering.

  'Why would I bring such a thing here?' it asked.

  'It is streaked with stone and earth, mud still clings to it,' said the Creature of Light, 'and look upon its surface - it is scratched and pocked with the efforts of a poor workman. This is the work of night.'

  The Creature of Darkness gave a dry bark of laughter.

  'It is ruddy and glowing, slathered in filth,' it said, 'made with the joy of ignorance, without fear of failure to temper its construction. It is clearly a design of daylight.'

  The pair glared at each other, suspicious. Despite their misgivings they still sat at the table, neither trying to disguise their disdain.

  The Creature of Light r
eached out and tried to rock the table, unsuccessfully.

  'It is sturdy, at least,' it said.

  The Creature of Darkness grunted.

  'Nothing in life is sturdy.'

  'What would you know of life?' the Creature of Light scoffed.

  'I know the truth of life!' Darkness snapped, 'more than you ever will.'

  'There is no life in Darkness!' spat Light.

  The Creature of Darkness smiled an invisible smile.

  'Plenty live in the Darkness.'

  'What life can be had in darkness that is worth living?' asked the Creature of Light, in the manner of someone who has solved a riddle.

  'A stronger life, a life appreciated. A life where light isn't needed,' retorted Darkness.

  The argument was petty and endless; there was no resolution. It had been going on forever. Normally it would reach a crescendo of violence, though it was not a fight which halted their sour flow this time. Instead it was a knock.

  The Creature of Light and the Creature of Darkness stopped in their bickering and stared at the door. The Tower had never had a visitor before.

  'A caller?' asked the Creature of Light.

  'Impossible,' said the Creature of Darkness, though it rose all the same.

  Light was quick to follow.

  'Why are you so keen to let them in?' asked the Creature of Light.

  'Because a third party would have to pick one of us to side with and that would settle our argument, once and for all,' answered Darkness.

  Light looked slightly perturbed by this but was inquisitive by nature and together they reached out for the doors, each drawing one back to reveal the visitor.

  It was a solitary human.

  Not only human shaped like Darkness and Light. This was a human. It was short, had a white-grey beard and a black hat with a wide rim.

  Light and Darkness understood humans, or rather the concept of humans. But here in this hall the Creature of Light and the Creature of Darkness now jointly wondered if this was the first person they had ever actually seen.

  'Hello,' said the human, 'might I join you, my Lords?'

  'Your name?' asked Darkness.

  'Wormwood,' said the human.

  Light and Darkness watched in fascination as Wormwood fearlessly walked between them into the hall, his head swinging this way and that.

  'Such a view!' he declared, 'shall we sit in the balcony all together?'

  'There are only two chairs,' said Light.

  'Only two,' agreed Darkness.

  'That's no problem,' said the human, grabbing hold of a black marble chair from the long table and dragging it over.

  'Now there are three,' said Wormwood, breathing heavily - the marble chairs were weighty.

  To this, Darkness and Light had to concede - there were now three.

  'What is it my Lords are discussing today?' asked Wormwood.

  Darkness and Light had many questions for this mortal man; nothing was more important to them than their eternal squabble. Soon they were all sitting around the strange table.

  'What is better,' began Light, 'Light or Darkness?'

  The human scrunched up its fleshy face and then looked around the sealed balcony. It stood up and then sat down heavily on the marble chair, wincing as it did so.

  'What are you doing?' asked Darkness, suspiciously.

  'What are the benefits of Darkness?' the human asked quickly.

  'There are none,' murmured Light.

  'Darkness is safety; Darkness is a time for recuperation,' countered the Creature of Darkness, 'a time for necessary secrets!'

  'There is safety in the Light!' cried Light, 'Light is a time of honesty and warmth.'

  The human stood and fetched another chair while the two continued to shout at each other.

  'Darkness is a time of peace, a time of consolidation, a time of amity amidst chaos!'

  'Light is love! When all the world rises together and unites.'

  'Not all rise in the Light!' spat Darkness, 'such is the ignorance of the Light that it forgets those who slumber through it.'

  'Such is the self importance of Darkness that it forgets it is Light which gives it definition!' bellowed Light.

  'You're two sides of the same coin,' said the human, who had now dragged more chairs into the covered balcony.

  The Creature of Light and the Creature of Darkness turned to look at him.

  'What?' they hissed in harmony.

  'You both need each other,' explained Wormwood, still looking around distractedly, 'without one there could not be another. Without either there would only be chaos. Or perhaps something else, something less clear cut.'

  The pair scowled at him. Wormwood seemed unimpressed as he looked around the balcony once again. There was a creak and a cracking noise, like the breaking of ice.

  'Ah,' said Wormwood, 'finally.'

  'Who are you?' asked Darkness.

  'Wormwood,' said Wormwood, distractedly.

  'What is it you do?' asked Light.

  There were more cracking noises, more creaking. The human fixed them both with a winning smile.

  'I'm an assassin of notions,' he said, 'although it would appear the table I made wasn't heavy enough on its own.'

  Darkness and Light glanced down at the strange, incongruous table.

  'No matter, though,' Wormwood continued, 'these chairs should do the trick.'

  'What trick?' asked Light.

  The human tipped his hat and took a step back, out of the covered balcony. This was just as well, as the weight of the red table and several heavy chairs was too much for the crystal supports. The balcony cracked and shattered, tumbling down towards the ocean of cloud, taking with it the table, the chairs, and two confused creatures. They did not call out; even when a great crash announced them dashed along the low, jagged ridges of the mountains that hid beneath the clouds.

  Wormwood shivered. Now the hall was open to the bitter cold and it was quick to invade. He pulled his coat around himself.

  'Will the fall kill them?' he asked aloud.

  'For now,' came the voice of his employer from somewhere behind him, 'but you have fulfilled your contract. You are free to go.'

  'You were right about the balcony but wrong about the weights,' said Wormwood.

  'I am never wrong,' said the voice, inches from his ear.

  The hairs on the back of Wormwood's neck stood on end. He felt very mortal, and very small, standing there in the Crystal Tower. He wondered, with a slow, creeping fear, whether he was supposed to have been in the balcony when it fell.

  Some contracts, he thought to himself, just aren't worth the hassle.

  He fled the hall, and the Tower, and never once looked back. For though he had killed Darkness and Light, Wormwood knew better than to linger long enough to look Death in the eyes.

  Human Shaped

  I had never seen one of the Kinn up close before. I’d read about the land struggles out in the East and everyone knows the old fairy-tales, but I was nearing my thirties before I actually got to see one in the flesh, so to speak.

  I was heading through the Badlands just south of the Milwaka canyons, keeping track of the baggage trains as they moved down from the crystal mines towards the coastal space port cities – long and arduous, but profitable work all the same. The only respite were the outpost towns dotted along the route and I tell you what: ain't nothing a man needs more in that line of work than a drink.

  I wasn't too keen on the stuff until I entered what my father would have called 'real work'. Real work was dusty, unforgiving and dangerous. It was the danger that brought people to it. I guess that's what got me there.

  The outpost was called Longhollow as I recall – a two street town with a church, a water tower, a stable and, of course, a saloon.

  The baggage train had stopped for fuel, by which I mean the train master had finally stopped flogging the old gene-mules and decided to give them something to drink. When the mules drank, I drank. If that doesn't say what k
ind of work I was then I don't know what will.

  There I am, young man just getting accustomed to his twenties, five whiskeys into a slow night and he arrives. The saloon doors creak open and the bartender nearly chokes on the pipe he’s smoking. The room goes silent. For a moment, I think he's just a regular guy. His clothing is the rough brown leather that most Badlanders favour. Hell, it wasn't too different to my own. His coat nearly reached the ground. So did the bartender's jaw, as I recall.

  Human shaped but not human at all – that’s how my father had described them back when I was a kid. I didn't really understand what he meant till that moment. The Kinn had two arms and two legs; just like any god-fearing soul out here in the wastes, but one look at his head was enough to tell you that they weren't like us.

  This one was pale, the slender branches that stretched up from the crown of its skull were tipped with blood red leaves, its ears were long and pointed, curling upwards, and its eyes were narrow and black. Tree-Kinn, some called them. Being in the presence of one made it easy to see why. Damned thing looked like it had walked out of a story book.

  From my seat in the corner I watched, glass half raised to my lips, as it crossed the room and elegantly perched on a bar stool. Slender and delicate, but its features were weathered. I reckon Longhollow wasn't the first human settlement he'd passed through. As far as I knew then there weren't any Kinn nests nearby. The weather wasn't right for them.

  He said something to the bartender too hushed to hear, even with the room quiet as it was. The bartender was statue still for a moment, and then he jerked into motion, pouring a half-pint glass to the brim with water straight from the tap.

  He placed it down on the bar and took a step back, as though he thought it might explode. The Kinn picked it up with long, gloved fingers and raised it to his thin lips. He gulped it down in one.

  It sitting there, drinking, seemed to break the spell. Everyone suddenly remembered what it was they were doing. The noise started back up but the uneasy atmosphere remained. The Kinn didn’t seem to notice, he was scanning the room. Those cold black eyes scrutinising each man in turn.