The dragon taught these lessons atop the rock tower. When he finished providing his offerings he vanished. Never to be seen again. The People then learned to use their gifts in his absence.
They learned to hunt and harvest and store. They began to reason. They grew out of their separations and became one people. They began to create and design. Music and art flourished. Then they began to build. They built homes and gathering places. They didn’t stop until the village was formed.
It took several generations, and the People still lived with the void all around them, but they overcame it and launched themselves into the next phase of their evolution.
The depictions of the growth of the People ended at the base of another rock tower that was opposite the first. On it was the castle with its beacon ablaze. At its entrance stood Elias Darke. He was shown in his favorite attire, an all white suit of clothes with a thin black tie. A ball of light was floating between his outstretched hands.
Wrapping around the rest of the room and between the two towers was the endless black of the void. When Elias Darke sat at his table, he had the history of the People behind him, the two towers at each side and the intrigue of the void facing him.
A person sitting in this chair would see a man and his people. Elias would see endless possibilities.
This was an ingeniously designed round room.
Other than the mural, the table, the hourglass, the chair and Mouse, this room was vacant of any other sign of life. Except for the Fetcher, whose presence could be felt even though he couldn’t be seen.
Whether the Fetcher is alive or not has been a matter of great debate for quite some time in the Darke. That’s what the rather unique students of this very particular institution called it. The Darke.
The Fetcher, if he could be categorized, would be the Dean of Student Discipline here in the Darke. In truth, he was many things and in many places all at once.
The alumni of this place feared him at first, and then learned to live in terror at the mere mention of his name. His arrival meant you thought of something, had an idea, or worse, you thought of someone you love and miss. A sentimental memory could make you a prisoner of one very quickly.
The still enrolled student body in the Darke feared him at first, and then learned to outsmart him. It wasn’t easy. It took a great deal of control and concentration. It cost them their freedom.
One of the Fetcher’s favorite punishments was to take an offending child and make them kneel in the corner of a pure dark room. Left alone in a room with no light, a person’s imagination begins to wander. The student would be given a sense of freedom. Then, the Fetcher would fetch you back.
The freedom was snatched away and replaced with an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach.
It wasn’t the time in the corner that was hard, it was the time after. One would be sullen. One would cry. One would face it and walk away stronger. The student body in the Darke called this chastisement, Fears Corner.
Mouse had been waiting forever staring at that desk and chair. He was practicing his control and concentration while he sat. He was waiting for the founder and head monster of this very particular institution. The creepy little man child that was born here. The twisted little mind that imagined a place with no imagination.
Mouse could now hear something ticking, but there was nothing else in the room. He turned and looked. The Fetcher was standing behind him against the wall. The ticking stopped. Mouse looked away from him. The ticking started again. Mouse smirked. It’s always a game with the Fetcher.
The smirk fell away from his face as he remembered, it was always a game with the Fetcher, but it was always a game with a purpose. He listened carefully to the ticking. It was fading. In its place Mouse could hear footsteps. Little footsteps from behind the wall next to where the Fetcher was standing.
A door opened in the mural wall. There was no one behind it. There was just the sound of footsteps, the tap of a cane and a cough. There was a pause, then a groan and a cough. The footsteps and the tapping began again and a shadow appeared on the wall of the doorway. The footsteps grew louder and the shadow grew larger.
But just for a moment.
The shadow began to shrink as Oracle Darke turned the corner. The footsteps stopped as he stood in the open doorway and glared at Mouse.
Mouse quickly turned away and faced forward. No student in the Darke had ever laid eyes on him. No student had ever spoken to him. No student except for his best friend, Connie.
In all the time they had been together in the Darke, she only spoke of her talks with Oracle Darke once. She asked Mouse never to ask her about it again. He never did. As the head monster’s footsteps started again, Mouse started wishing he had asked her what she had learned about him from those private lectures.
Oracle Darke walked past Mouse to the table.
He had very long, very straight, very white hair. It was taut to his scalp and tied tightly, just above his collar, with a black ribbon. The rest was allowed to hang straight down to his waist. With his back to Mouse he laid his cane down on its surface and slowly turned to face his errant student.
The scary little man child was no more than four feet tall. For someone who lived in a castle full of dust and madness, he was crisply dressed.
He wore the trappings of the Academy Darke like skin.
The traditional black coat, tight at the waist and flared to the knees, was perfectly fit. The arms of the jacket came to an end just above his wrist in order to expose a hint of the very clean white cuff of his shirt.
His black vest with cloth black buttons was just snug enough to hold the school tie in place against his chest. The black trousers had sharp pressed pleats and seams. The hems hung down at just the right spot on the shoes, where the laces first meet the leather.
Those shoes were so well polished that the reflection of the fire on the mirror finish made him look like he was standing on the very flames themselves.
The first thing Mouse learned about Oracle Darke was that he didn’t like anything upsetting the order of his world, and his world was exacting a vicious toll on him.
Oracle was an angry little boy who never grew up, but he still suffered the ravages of guilt and sorrow and time. Here at the Academy Darke, time is a relative thing. Mouse didn’t know how long he had been there. For all he knew it could already be one or more lifetimes. And every single one of them was right there on the head monster’s face.
There was still the face of a child present, but it was cold and hard.
“Are you exceptional?” Oracle asked.
With his first utterance the sand in the hourglass began to flow down into its lower chamber.
“Are you a bright child?” he asked sharply. “Did someone once tell you that there was a spark inside you? Did someone once tell you that you were special?”
It was getting hotter in the room. Mouse could feel a drop of sweat rolling down his right temple. Mouse wanted out of this particular room and away from this peculiar person.
“Nothing to say?” he pressed in his man child voice. “It seems that everyone is innocent in the Darke.”
Oracle’s body began to fall forward. Mouse quickly stood up expecting to have to catch the child. Oracle tucked and rolled onto the floor and landed in front of Mouse in a sitting position. The shock on his face must have been very visible.
“Don’t ever believe everything you see, foolish boy,” the child said with a giggle as he stared up at Mouse. “Sit down!” the monster shouted next.
“Yes, sir,” Mouse found himself saying as he sat.
Oracle placed his hands flat on the wooden floor in front of him. He was looking at the floor and whispering to himself.
Mouse felt the Fetcher’s presence leave the room. He was too afraid to turn his attention away from Oracle to look, but he knew that the thing they all feared most left at the almost silent command of the child sitting on the floor in front of him.
The second thing Mouse learned
about Oracle Darke was that he was powerful, dangerous and unstable. He also learned for the first time that a room could be more frightening without the Fetcher in it.
Oracle lifted his hands above the floor so that they cast a shadow on it. He passed his hands over and under each other and the shadow began to flicker.
“Tell me what you see,” he said.
“Nothing,” Mouse replied.
“Nothing? Are you sure?” he teased. “Look again boy.”
His hands were moving faster and faster and so was the shadow. Then Mouse began to see it. A small animal was forming in the moving shadow. It was a mouse and it was desperately running in place.
“Do you see it now?” he insisted.
“I see the shadow of your hand, sir,” Mouse answered quickly and wisely he thought.
“Liar!” he shouted back. “You see much more than that!”
The running shadow mouse began to form into the shape of a running boy. Oracle screamed and brought both his hands down on the shadow boy and crushed him. A wisp of black smoke seeped between his spread fingers. As he lifted his hands the smoke trailed out and around them. He rubbed his hands together until the mouse, the boy and the smoke were all gone.
Like all good tyrants, Oracle Darke kept for himself the thing he denied his people most. His imagination was not just in full force, it had become a deadly sharp tool. Mouse understood that the wicked child sitting at his feet, staring up at him, could manifest whatever his limitless mind desired.
The room was starting to feel smaller, much, much hotter and the sand in the hour glass was running out.
“Why are you afraid of the Darke?” Oracle chided.
Mouse was trying to focus. He knew he was in danger. He knew he had to concentrate, but the pressure from the child, the heat of the fire and the pouring of the sand was wearing him down.
“Why are you always trying to escape? Always plotting. Always planning. All this trying to escape must be exhausting.”
Getting out of the room was all Mouse could think about. The chair he was sitting on felt like it was getting smaller, tighter. He tried to move but couldn’t. He tried to stand again, but his body felt so heavy.
“Why don’t you sleep like the other students? You must be very tired. Aren’t you tired, boy?”
Mouse was feeling dizzy. Light headed. He was seeing the oddest thing. A colored leaf was falling from far above him. It landed gracefully in his lap. In his life Mouse had spent a great deal of time in the forest. Leaves were rare. Those that did exist were black.
The walls in the room began to fade away. Mouse blinked and he was standing in the forest.
Light was blazing everywhere. A tall figure was walking towards him. It was a man. The light was so bright Mouse could barely see him. Then he spoke.
“Son,” the man said, “it’s so good to see you well.”
“Daddy?” Mouse said with a tremble in his voice.
“Of course, boy,” he said as he knelt in front of him.
The two shared a long, deep felt hug. His father broke it first, but he didn’t let go of the boy.
“Now, listen to me, son, it’s important,” his father began. “Your mother and I are so sorry for what we did to you.”
Mouse was listening to the man but something behind him was moving between the trees.
“It might have seemed wrong to you. Or worse, cruel,” his father continued. “Son, we had no other choice.”
Mouse could hear the sincerity in the man’s voice, but there was definitely a shadow moving through the trees around them.
“Daddy,” he said in a panicked whisper, “the Fetcher is coming!”
“No, son. It’s all over,” the man reassured the boy. “You must have fallen asleep in the forest during the great battle. Oracle and the Fetcher are gone. Better days are ahead.”
Father smiled and Mouse joined him. They laughed together and shared another long hug as they did. His father felt good in the boy’s arms. Mouse inhaled deeply in order to regain the familiar and comforting scent of the man.
The essence he was looking for was not there.
He hugged him tighter and the man’s body began to change. Mouse could feel subtle differences in his father’s frame. The boy pushed the stranger away and there in the forest, standing right in front of him was Oracle Darke.
“No room is empty if your mind is full,” his fake father said slyly.
Mouse opened his eyes. He was face to face with Oracle who was sitting in his lap in the mural room. The child had a wicked grin on his face.
This was the head monster’s version of Fears Corner. The Fetcher lets you travel there. Oracle Darke is what’s waiting for you when you arrive. A single tear rolled down Mouse’s cheek as the last grain of sand dropped into the lower chamber of the hourglass.
Oracle watched that tear slide down the boy’s face. He caught it on the tip of his little finger.
“That’s why having an imagination does you no good,” he said as he examined the tear. “It will only hurt you in the end.”
When the child wiped his wet finger on his already messy vest, Mouse decided enough was enough. He stood up quickly and caught Oracle by surprise. The mad child fell to the floor with a hard thump.
Mouse jumped on him and almost had his hands around his throat when the Fetcher appeared. He grabbed Mouse by the collar and slammed him back into the chair.
“I know what you did!” Oracle screamed from the floor. “Do it again and you, your little blonde girlfriend, and anyone else who might care about you on the outside will regret it.”
He stood up, brushed himself off and walked towards Mouse until they were nose to nose.
“I’ve never killed before,” he whispered, “but my friend has.”
Oracle turned and ran to the table. He leapt up, spun around and landed sitting on its edge with his legs dangling. The Fetcher stood by his side, focused on Mouse.
“You have been a very bad boy and must be punished,” he said in a sing song voice.
Oracle was swinging his legs back and forth. Like the little child he wished he could really be, Mouse thought.
“How do you punish a pet?” he asked rhetorically. “You love it. You want what’s right for it. But how do you punish it?”
The legs stopped moving. He grasped the edge of the table with his hands and leaned forward. It was clear that Mouse was the pet and Oracle was his master.
“Put a pet in a room all by itself,” the lesson began, “after a bit the sadness begins to set in. Wait longer than that and the heart breaks. Wait as long as you can and then just a little bit more and if it doesn’t die, its desire to disobey will perish.”
Oracle whispered quietly to himself and the Fetcher vanished. There was a knock at the door behind Mouse. He wanted to look. He wanted to run. But he just sat there frozen, staring at the thing in front of him.
“It’s for you, silly boy,” the thing said with a giggle.
Mouse slowly turned in his seat and looked towards the door. The Fetcher was holding it open for him. Mouse turned back to face Oracle. Mouse didn’t want to look at him but he had too. He wanted to remember him.
He hoped he’d never see him again but he knew that he would.
“With your permission, sir?” Mouse asked with false sincerity as he stood.
Oracle nodded his consent with a sneer and Mouse began the long walk to the door.
“Oh, Mouse,” he said with a hiss. “It’s unrealistic to think you’re special.”
Mouse tried to ignore him as he made his way to the door. He was tired. Drained.
“Everyone’s the same. No one is special,” he shouted as Mouse stepped through the doorway. “It’s unrealistic to believe that, boy. You’ll see that in the end.”
Mouse ignored the Fetcher as he passed him and made his way down the stairs.
“Reality wins,” was the last point Oracle Darke wanted to make. “Reality always wins!”
The Fetcher close
d the door to the round mural room and on the cackling laughter of the macabre little beast inside it. The head monster’s assistant then followed Mouse down the stairwell. A small cold cell was waiting on its occupant.
There were fourteen students still enrolled in the Darke. Twelve of them were in their cells. They were asleep. They had been for quite some time. Defiant to the end. Connie was awake and waiting for her best friend to return to her. Mouse was on his way, he just had to be imprisoned once more.
The third thing that Mouse learned about Oracle Darke was that he was just a child. He could be challenged. Mouse had looked into the forged grey eyes of nightmare’s terrible twin, and Mouse flinched. He wouldn’t do that the next time they met. That wasn’t going to happen the next time they faced each other.
12.
Prisoner of One
Mouse was thirteen years old when he decided enough was enough. No more hiding. No more running. No more trembling in the woods at the snap of every twig. No more crying quietly in the mist and the fog.
Mouse was born in the between time of the illuminators failing and a flame being lit. The void came as his mother bore down to bear him. Several women of the village were in attendance to witness his arrival. He was then passed from one mother to another in the room as was tradition.
They each offered him words of welcome as they washed him. They wrapped him in a blanket, folded one corner of it over his face and delivered him back to his birth mother’s arms as custom dictated. Properly prepared and presented, his mother pulled back the corner of the blanket so she could gaze into her newborn’s eyes.
The first light Mouse saw was the reflection, in his mother’s eyes, of an oil lamp being lit. Harvested reeds from the shoreline, that had been dragged and dried and then dipped in the same plant oil as the lamp, were lit next. Mouse found light in his new world, but he arrived during the absence of it.
Both extremes would become his destiny.
Mouse and his family were celebrating the first year since his birth when the Fetcher visited the village for the first time. Amidst the panic his parents stole him away to what they foolishly thought was the safety of the forest.
It Is Said (Mathias Bootmaker and the Keepers of the Sandbox) Page 10