by Eli Ingle
“Hello Rigel,” said the Dark Angel. “It’s a shame to see you still breathing.”
Rigel’s eyes flickered to the sword on the wall even as he tried to find the source of the light power.
“Don’t bother,” said Frivlok, lifting a hand and examining it. There was a ring on his index finger with a huge purple stone. “You can’t hurt me – I’m only a painting after all. Neither can I hurt you, although I’d very much like to.”
Ignoring the taunts, Rigel walked backwards to the sword and yanked it off the wall. The screws holding it pulled pieces of plaster off with it. He stood up straight, remained in place and assumed the on-guard position Arentec and Jhoan had taught him.
“Good! Good! You’ve finally gotten a bit smarter, O Light One,” said Frivlok, clapping slowly. “Don’t trust what I say! At least next time we meet you might put up a bit more of a fight than you did last time. Nevertheless, you needn’t be so hasty. For once I do speak the truth: we cannot harm each other.”
“What do you want?”
“You’re always so aggressive! How do you know I’m not just checking in for old time’s sake?”
Rigel remained silent, staring at the man. Frivlok sighed.
“Alright, I do admit I’ve been keeping an eye on you.” Rigel blinked. This was new. “We’d have loved to come and kidnap you but there’s some kind of enchantment woven deep into that building of yours and we can’t get anywhere near it. I’ve been using statues and other means to keep you under tabs. Although I must say, this is by far my favourite. At least I actually look and feel like myself.”
“Where are you?” asked Rigel. “I mean, where are you really?”
“Oh, we went on a little trip. Had some old friends to catch up with, new friends to make, artefacts to uncover. We’re going to be very busy for a while, you’ll be glad to know. We might be able to keep out of each other’s way for some time.”
Rigel knew better than to try to out-riddle Frivlok or get answers out of him, so he changed the subject.
“What were you saying about the book?” he asked, pointing over to the tome.
“Ah yes! Something we can agree on for once. It’s blank for everyone who has tried to read it. We have a copy in the Dark Realm but it is equally blank,” Frivlok replied, staring at the book.
“Why?”
“Don’t you think, Rigel, that if we knew, we’d be a lot better off?”
Rigel did not answer again. “You seem in a very conversational mood today,” he commented instead.
“Yes, well it’s rather boring out here on our own. Giving you riddles you can’t solve passes the time a little.”
“You’re not giving me riddles I can’t solve,” replied Rigel. “You’re telling me you know about as much as this as I do. I was always under the impression you knew every move of this game and were always way ahead of us. Ha! I’ve never felt this relieved before – you know as little as I do!”
“Do not presume to underestimate me, boy,” said Frivlok, his pleasant demeanour slipping. The background of the painting turned darker.
“You’ve just admitted it!”
“I did not!” spat the man. “I know exactly what we need to do, just not why.”
“What does that mean?” asked Rigel.
“Think of it like this: the whole war between us has left us with great gaps in our understanding, knowledge and power. We are aware however, that our goal is to eliminate each other. If we were baking a cake, I would know what ingredients to use and how to bake it, but I wouldn’t understand why that particular combination produces the cake that comes out of the oven. You, on the other hand, don’t know why, but more than that, you don’t know the ingredients, what you’re supposed to be making or even where the kitchen is!”
“You need to work on your analogies,” commented Rigel, although Frivlok’s speech had undermined the confidence he had only just gained.
“You bore me. I thought this might be an interesting diversion for a few hours but talking with you has lowered my intellect. I think I prefer solitude. If only you knew what you were like before, you’d be appalled at how weak you’ve become.”
“We escaped the Dark Realm easy enough.”
Frivlok scowled at him and the lights flickered. Rigel glanced up at them.
“Yes you did, but you won’t again, I don’t think. Two down, three to go, eh?”
“Not if we get there first.”
“Of course! I forgot how adept you are at helping your companions to survive. Do tell me, how are Zeph and Iselt?”
Frivlok smiled and suddenly his portrait was still. His final comment left Rigel feeling as though he had been stabbed in the heart. He and Rona had failed their companions.
“I hate you,” he said to the picture. “I said: I hate you!” It remained motionless, the smile that had not been there before fixed to its face, mocking him.
Not wishing to stay any longer, Rigel propped the sword up against the wall and left the museum, stalking past the rows of bookshelves to the end, where he found Queet sitting in an armchair, reading a book.
“Done,” Rigel announced. Queet raised a finger and continued reading, turned the page and put a leather bookmark in place before snapping the book shut and tucking it under his arm.
“Let’s go then,” the librarian said.
Passing out of the huge door, they said goodbye to Alf as the heavy vault door clanged shut behind them.
They arrived at the station and waited on the platform, where Queet lit yet another cigarette.
“Smoking’s bad for you, you know,” Rigel felt compelled to say.
“Is it? I never knew that,” Queet replied, raising an eyebrow.
Rigel scowled but said nothing. The screeching of wheels on tracks filled the air before a hot blast of wind hit them and the cart rushed out of the tunnel and into the station. Lou pulled the lever up and the cart jolted to a halt. Rigel and Queet greeted her before stepping on and sitting down on the bench.
“Ding, ding,” she said, before sending them hurtling into darkness.
The cart rattled to the surface and Rigel found going upwards more pleasant than their descent. At least he did not feel like he was going to flip head over heels off the bench and down onto the rails.
Arriving in the empty room, Lou drove off again to who-knew-where whilst Queet opened the hidden door and escorted Rigel back to the central desk.
“Hello again,” smiled the head librarian. “Find anything useful?”
Rigel did not feel like mentioning his conversation with Frivlok, but he thought the book on the Dark Wars worth mentioning. He explained what he had found.
“Yes, I was afraid of that,” said the head librarian.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rigel asked.
“Because I knew it was blank, but I was hoping that you might be able to see words when you read it.”
“Oh ….” Somehow her words made him feel even more disappointed. “Sorry.”
She shrugged. “Let’s just hope that those mysteries are one day revealed to us …. Anyway, would you like to go back to your booth?”
“No thank you,” he replied. “I need to go and meet Rona. But I can get the books for you if you want?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll send someone up. Would you like me to keep them in your file? Or did you finish them?”
“Not yet, so if you could save them for me, that would be great.”
“No problem.”
“Oh, and there’s a cat in the booth, you might want to let it out.”
The head librarian chuckled. “Alright, I’ll make sure of that as well.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“See you later.”
“Bye, Queet.”
The librarian saluted him as he leant on the desk, watching him leave.
Rigel stepped out of the library, took the tresculator down to the dining hall and went inside.
A
fter queuing up for soup, bread, a cup of tea and a Kozenian bubble, he found Rona sitting at a table by the window and walked over.
“Hello,” he said, setting his tray down.
“You’re late,” she commented.
“It’s nice to see you too. How was your rest?”
“I feel better than I did. Find anything interesting at the library?”
“Interesting is the right word for it,” Rigel said and proceeded to recount the events of the afternoon. Rona listened intently and did not interrupt, for which Rigel was grateful.
“Well it’s not good news,” said Rona after a thoughtful pause, “but it’s not bad either. We know more about him than we did and that’s something. The book is annoying and why it does that, I wish I could explain … but it is what it is, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Erdiz,” laughed Rigel.
The next two weeks passed in a similar manner. The Light Ones spent their days meditating, fighting, exercising, weightlifting and being desensitised. The latter actually became something of a non-activity for them as Mry and Bry’s programming actually took full effect. After several sessions of drug-induced apathy, the children received no drugs and could watch the films projected into their eyes without feeling anything. Rigel was not sure whether to be elated that their suffering was over or horrified at what they had become.
The confusion continued and bothered him every time he thought about the desensitisation process. Then two days before their training was due to end, he woke up and was almost overwhelmed by a crushing sense of unhappiness.
Dragging himself out of bed, he dressed and stood looking at himself in the mirror as he did almost every day. Each morning he looked at himself, but today he saw himself … and he barely recognised the boy staring back at him.
“I don’t know who I am,” he said to the empty room, and somehow vocalising the thought made it real. “I don’t know who I am ….”
His skin looked pale and the area under his eyes looked dark and bruised. His body, which had always been unhealthily skinny due to having barely anything to eat on Earth, had filled out and the faint outlines of muscles rounded his shoulders, arms and chest. His hair was clean and brushed across his forehead and his eyes darted around, looking at each feature. He continued staring at his face, and he saw what was there, but what was behind the eyes was a mystery. He was not the orphan on Earth. He was not even the person who had travelled with Laurie in the Persefoni … he had been turned into something he no longer recognised.
Someone knocked on the door.
“You might like sleeping away the day, but we’ve got things to do,” Rona said from the other side of the door.
Rigel put on his blue jacket and opened the door, locking it behind him.
“Good morning,” she smiled.
“Hello.”
Rona stared at him, seeming to wait for him to say something else. When he remained silent, she turned and walked off.
“Alright, grumpy.”
They ate breakfast but still Rigel did not talk, sitting in silent misery. After ten minutes, Rona threw her spoon down on her tray and crossed her arms.
“Alright! What’s wrong with you?! You’re never like this.”
“I don’t know who I am,” Rigel mumbled.
“What?”
“I said: I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“What do you mean? You’re Rigel. Who else could you be?”
“No! That’s not what I mean!” he snapped. “I’ve changed so much so quickly that when I look at myself in the mirror now, I don’t recognise the person I see there anymore … and it frightens me.”
She stared at him. “That’s weird.”
“Thanks for your support.”
“I don’t mean it like that, but I think you’re overthinking things.”
“Well haven’t you ever felt like that?” he asked.
“No, I’ve just accepted what is. If I can’t change it, let it be. Or I choose not to let something bother me if I don’t want it to.”
“You can’t just turn off your feelings.”
“No,” she agreed, “but you can accept something that can’t be altered. What’s the point in getting upset about something you can’t change? If your house flooded, you might be upset, but crying about it won’t change the fact it’s flooded. You need to accept that it happened, sort it out and stop it from happening in the future …. Do you want to be the person you were before this all started?”
“No.”
“And do you like the person you are now?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?” she asked, returning to her cereal.
“Because all that desensitisation has left me feeling like a monster,” he replied.
“I suppose I can agree with that,” said Rona. “But it’s a necessary process. We can’t get into the same positions as we did before. We were in the Dark Realm and Frivlok was going to let us stab him and we didn’t! We just can’t let that happen again. All our reservations are supposed to be dispelled by that. It’s not ideal, it’s not pretty, but it’s necessary.”
“I guess.”
“Look, if it’s still bothering you, and it clearly is, maybe you need to go and talk to someone like Erdiz about it. We’re due to go into the Realm in two days. We have no idea what’s going to be in there. We need to be ready, not feeling like this.”
Rigel had not thought of that idea, but something about it struck a chord and he felt better.
“Talk to Erdiz? Yes, I think I will do that ….”
“Good,” she smiled. “Now give me a hug so I know we’re still friends.”
Rigel moved to the other side of the bench, where they embraced. A cough behind them made him turn around. A small boy was gawking at them.
“Yes?” asked Rona.
“I’ve got a message,” the boy announced.
“Good for you.”
This seemed to confuse him. “Erm … would you like to hear it?”
“Go on then.”
“Your daily appointments have been cancelled as your presence been requested for an audience with Queen Mizar and King Alcor. Shall I tell them you will be attending?” he asked.
“Yes, we’ll go,” said Rigel.
“Okay. Thank you.” The boy turned to go.
“Hang on,” said Rona. “How are we supposed to get there?”
The messenger turned back around, his cheeks pink. “Oh yes, there’ll be a vehicle to pick you up at three.”
“Thank you.”
The boy scurried away. Rona chuckled. “Ah, to be young again ….”
“Said the thirteen-year-old,” laughed Rigel.
“Who is actually thousands of years old.”
“Hmmm.”
“Seems a bit odd to cancel all our plans for the day … I guess they want us prepared and undistracted. I know, why don’t you go and speak to Erdiz and I’ll go and have a look at that book in the library? I’ve been meaning to and with nothing else to do, it seems like a good idea.”
“Sounds like a good plan. Meet up again later?”
“Alright.”
After returning their trays, they separated to go to their own activities. Rigel climbed the stairs in the Okturn. He was hoping that Erdiz would be in the room they used for meditation if the weather was not suitable to use the woods.
Rigel arrived at the door and found it shut. He rapped his knuckles against the wood and waited.
“Enter,” came a muffled voice.
Opening the door, he looked around at the room. It was flooded with the golden light of the morning and he could see swirling motes of dust orbiting each other around the room. Erdiz was sitting on her desk. A towel had been twisted into a turban on her head. A cigarette burning with red smoke dangled from between her lips. One foot was in a bucket of steaming water; the other was resting on the back of a chair whilst she filed at it with an expressi
on of deep concentration and determination. Plumes of dead skin wafted into the air with each stroke and added to the dust collection.
“Ah, Rigel,” she said, looking over. “Come in.”
“Er, I can come back later?” he suggested, pointing to the door.
“Why would you do that?” she asked, the cigarette bobbing with each word. “I’m only doing my feet. No-one can look good twenty-four hours a day. Remember this Rigel: even a king has to look at themselves in the mirror after a long night’s sleep.”
Rigel thought he knew what she was saying. He sat down and crossed his legs and leant forward slightly.
“So, what can I help you with?” Erdiz asked.
At first, he was self-conscious about what he was going to say, but Erdiz had always been kind and he decided to think of it as being like talking to a doctor. Suddenly it was more bearable and everything that had been bothering him spilt out: how the desensitisation had made him feel, his identity crisis, their fight with the twins, his conversation with Frivlok and his guilt at letting Zeph and Iselt die. After that, issues he did not realise were issues spilt out – his fear of going into the Realm, his worry that he was not a Light One and that there had been some terrible mistake, their inability to control their powers properly and the fact they had the weight of several worlds resting on their shoulders and not much promise of succeeding against the Darkness. Erdiz listened intently to what he had to say. When he had finished, she exhaled a plume of red smoke and rested her arms behind her on the desk, dipping both feet into the water.
“Well, your concerns certainly put everyone else’s that I’ve listened to into perspective,” she said. “Do you feel better?”
Now Rigel thought about it, he did. Somehow telling her about it all was like taking a breath of fresh, cool air after being stuck in a stifling room. Venting all his fears and problems at once was cathartic. He nodded.
“Excellent. Always remember this, Rigel,” said Erdiz. “A problem shared is a problem halved.”
“Thank you for listening,” he said.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I must say this, though: your fears are not groundless. Never let it be said that I speak anything but the truth. I believe there is a tendency to dismiss or belittle people’s fears for a number of reasons: lack of concern, for example, or the fact that many people do not truly wish to invest themselves in helping others.”