Into the Dark

by M J W Harrington

  Chapter 11

  I looked around the cavern.The fire had once again burned low, and all appeared still, but I knew that couldn’t last long. The death of an apex predator always leads to something moving in when the neighbours realise, particularly in a cavern like this with its mossy food supply that we found out back near the underground spring. Clara and I stood together wordlessly, burdened with our bags of devices, reclaimed from my captor, as The Architect dug through his bag for what seemed like at least the thirteenth time to make sure he had his precious tools.

  “Nearly done?” I asked, trying to mask as much irritation from my voice as possible. We’d been waiting far longer than I was comfortable with, particularly with the threat of something big and toothy deciding to move in. Some of the claws and teeth we’d found strung up as decoration in the macabre hut definitely didn’t come from things that ate moss. For some reason I felt more apprehensive with every passing second, a far cry from the relaxed relief of the night before.

  “Yes, yes, just one last check…” The Architect answered me, trailing off, and I looked at Clara helplessly as he once again rooted in the satchel, almost half his body somehow contorted to peer inside.

  “Archie? We need to leave.” Clara tried, instead, receiving a little waving hand in response. She shrugged, and began walking towards The Architect, presumably to do something rude and abrupt to the little man. Before she could reach him, however, the little man let out a shout of triumph and hopped back out of the bag, clutching his deadly fork.

  “It was a gift,” he explained, briefly, “one should not lose gifts. Are we leaving? Come, hurry up!” he trotted off. Clara met my eyes and a chuckle teased my lips but the growing feeling of apprehension from before robbed me of some of my humour. With a terse smile that Clara returned, I gestured for her to lead on after the little man with a flourish like a noble at a grand ball. She curtsied with invisible skirts and trotted after him, her long willowy legs making it easy to catch up. I shook my head and joined them, forcing myself to get back in the mindset of a delver, aware of the dangers that the dark may hold, even to those with the ability to see them.

  Clara led us to the entrance she’d used, the rough, rocky wall thankfully providing ample handholds and footholds even for our tiny friend, though some assistance was necessary at some point. We decided to climb the old fashioned way rather than using the Stoneshaper, no reason to make it easier for whatever claimed the hag’s cavern to potentially follow us later. At the top we found ourselves in another misshapen cavern, smaller than the last but filled wall to ceiling by stalactites and stalagmites that had once again joined to form a forest of rocky pillars. We slipped between them, the space barely narrow enough for our bodies. Visibility was poor, even for my eyes, the glow of Clara’s light casting deep shadows that I could still somehow distinguish from the regular darkness, and direct sight lines were limited due to the pillars.

  Suddenly the Architect let out a hiss. “Stop.” We immediately halted as he cocked his head, his oversized floppy ears hanging freely. “We are not alone.” I strained to hear but heard only the silence of the caverns, the heavier breathing of my friends and the occasional drip of water. Then, I heard it. A shuffle, a scrape, then silence once more. Then again, a shuffle, a scrape. It moved slowly, methodically, whatever it was grew slowly closer, but not rapidly, and not nearby. Yet. I looked back to Clara and she shrugged with wide eyes, clearly whatever lurked in these pillars had not been home during her first trip. We pushed on, trying our hardest to move quickly but as silently as we could. Perhaps we’d be able to leave without whatever lived in this labyrinth of rock catching us. Oh, the naivety of hope.

  Before long I head a sudden shout behind me and the unmistakable hum of Clara engaging her weapon. I turned back to see her darting back behind a stalagmite that had not quite reached its ceiling-based cousin. I dashed back towards her, but she waved me away frantically, not a moment too soon as an unnervingly long and slender set of claws lashed through the air where I’d previously been planning to run. A thickly furred canine snout pushed around the corner after me and I did the only thing that came naturally. I booped it. By which I mean I threw every bit of my unnatural strength into an uppercut that sent the creature flipping backwards, giving me the opportunity to get a good look that I almost wish I hadn’t taken. It stood (or rather, laid) at a little over 8 feet, with short arms that ended in long claws, a canine head and a furry yet serpentine body. Whatever god populated these caves has clearly never read a biology textbook. I mean, I hadn’t either at that point, but the point still stands. Few beasts in the dark make sense. Before I had even finished wondering what could bring about such a creature, Clara was there, driving her weapon down into the torso of the creature. It let out a hissing growl of pain and lashed out at her with its tail, knocking her away. She tumbled as she fell, lessening the impact, but still hitting a nearby pillar hard.

  As it reared up once more, I snapped out my blade and dove in, replacing Clara’s skill with the ferocity of my inner demons, paired with a reckless disregard for pain. Every blow its claws landed into my flesh, I repaid in kind, trading slash for slash and stab for bite. Its natural weaponry barely impacted on my thick skin, Clara’s light dropped far enough away in the darkness that I barely felt its sting, but I didn’t care anyway. No pain inflicted by this creature could truly hurt me, at least, not compared to the Tuathel witch. I lost myself briefly, the darkness inside gleeful as I unleashed my anger, stabbing and ripping and tearing at the creature. Clara joined me, pairing savagery with skill in a graceful dance with her glowing blade. The creature eventually tried to run, and Clara let it. I, not feeling quite so charitable, grabbed at its tail as it turned, falling back in surprise as it detached in my hands. Before it could claw its way too far however, using its claws to propel itself through the pillars, The Architect stepped out in front of it and gave it a quick, but sustained, jab with his fork device. Lightning arched through its body, and our nostrils were filled with the scent of burning fur as the creature lay there, unmoving and blackened.

  “Shall we go?” The Architect asked, innocently, and again I was reminded that despite his diminutive appearance, our companion’s calculating mind should not be underestimated. He’d presumably waited, not getting involved in the fight when we were clearly able to win, but ready to step in at his leisure. I could respect that, no sense in him getting stuck in toe to toe when in the company of a master swordswoman wielding Kir...Kirani? Kirina? I’d honestly already forgotten what the Amari woman had called her blade, but between that and my monstrous self, we had frontline combat pretty much covered. I nodded to him with respect as he stood over the smoking body and dropped the still-twitching tail. Clara carefully picked her way through the stone pillars to the beast and drove her blade into its head.

  “Better safe than sorry,” she shrugged, as a spray of blood just so happened to hit the Architect, who recoiled in disgust just a little bit too slowly to save his boots from the gore. I guess I’m the only one who appreciated his sneakiness. As he grumbled to himself, I gave them both a wave, and they approached, Clara first stooping to claim a long claw from the beast as a trophy. The darkness in my head rumbled in appreciation and I quickly looked away from the gruesome sight of her hacking at its flesh. I’m not sure I approved of my lodger making friends with my friends, although I suppose it did lessen the risk of it reneging on our bargain and lashing out at one of them. Pushing the thought from my mind and gesturing towards what I’d spotted through the forest of stone - a faint glimmer of light in the distance.

  “Anyone else hoping that’s the sun?” I asked, and they pushed past me eagerly. It wasn’t. Just to clarify - it really wasn’t. As we made our way towards the light it rapidly became apparent that the light was being given off by some foul smelling torches that lined a large passageway off one side of the cavern. Clara stopped dead as we approached one and as I drew near I did the same with a curse. The torch was decorated grues
omely, with bones hanging from its length in a haphazard arrangement, like a mobile constructed by a fairy tale villain for the world’s scariest child.The Architect turned to us in confusion.

  “I assume that I am missing something?” he queried with a puzzled expression crossing his wizened little face.

  “Yup. Ogrin.” I made a face.

  “Ogrin?” he asked, “They weren’t around during my era.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” Clara said, a grim expression crossing her face. I was familiar with Ogrin as the damn things had a habit of squatting in the upper reaches of the dark. If you're not familiar, that's reasonable, Ogrin aren't often seen near civilized society as civilized society often has issues with 12-foot tall cannibals with anger issues. Either way, given her lack of experience delving, Clara had likely run into them on one of their rare surface raids, and those seldom ended well. I chose not to pry.

  “We should probably back away for a bit and come up with another plan,” I said instead, so we beat a hasty retreat.

  "So… any bright ideas?" Clara asked, dejectedly slumped against a pillar back away from the light of the tunnel. “How about we just go a different way?” I shook my head.

  “No, I’m afraid as stupid as wandering into an Ogrin camp is, they’re likely camped out at the only entrance, or in our case exit, for miles,” I replied with a grimace. Dumb as the creatures were, they were canny when it came to survival. If there’s one thing you could rely on, it’s that they picked their camps with great care.

  "Perhaps we could wait and hope that they vacate the exit?" The Architect put forward, but I shook my head.

  "Afraid not - they don't tend to just wander off. They're fiercely territorial, I'm actually a little surprised that they let our scratchy friend live within walking distance."

  "Maybe they didn't have a choice, or wanted to leave a buffer between them and the rest of the dark?" Clara theorised, and I shrugged. "Perhaps we could reason with them, trade something for passage?" she trailed off, clearly lost in whatever brutal memory of Ogrin she’d experienced in the past.

  "Maybe," I said slowly, thinking it though, "but there's a pretty severe chance that they'll just eat us and take whatever we offer in trade."

  "A trick then? We inform them that there is something they would want hidden out here, so if they kill us they can't have it." The Architect began to pace in thought, "How intelligent are these creatures?"

  "Sneaky, I like it," I complimented him with a nod, "but they're not unintelligent, only slightly dumber than a human really." The Architect sniggered at that, clearly not a high bar to meet, but to his credit he didn't pull the trigger on the joke at our expense.

  "Perhaps running then?" Clara asked, half-heartedly. The Architect and I just looked at her, while I was secretly pretty sure I could make it alone, both of my companions were clearly exhausted, and The Architect had tiny legs about the length of an Ogrin's finger. She waved away our incredulity with a hand. "Never mind."

  "What about through the rock?" I asked, but The Architect let out a frustrated sigh in response.

  "Not enough charge. We used a lot tunnelling, and we've used it for other things… he trailed off, shooting me a glance as I shrugged sheepishly, remembered my fine statue. No regrets by the way, it was a good statue.

  "So we can't run through them, we can't fight them, we can't go around them and we probably can't negotiate with them, though it's not impossible. Stealth?" I asked, ticking off the options on my fingers.

  "Maybe, but it'll be risky," Clara frowned, "do they have much of a sense of smell?" We each wrinkled our noses at that inadvertently catching a whiff of each other. You don't get the chance to bathe often when stumbling from disaster in some tunnels, so we each immediately refrained from breathing too deeply for a bit. "Never mind, their noses could be as dull as ours and they'd still notice us at 50 paces."

  I waggled my eyebrows "I'd be happy to hose you down with a Water Maker if you like?"

  "If I were less tired, I'd shove that Water Maker where it belongs," she shot back, rather rudely. Honestly, some people just can't take a joke.

  "So we sneak through and if they catch us, attempt to negotiate, and try to fight our way free if that doesn't work? I do not see many other viable alternatives unless we're willing to look for another way out." The Architect interjected, interrupting my next inspired and witty rejoinder. I shrugged instead.

  "We've gotten through some pretty bad stuff, how much worse can a small army of giants who want to eat us be?"

  With that, I started walking, and my friends fell in behind me. I felt strangely restless with the promise of escape before me, and the creature within me rumbled its agreement. This immediately made me feel terrible about my decision, as I’m of the opinion that anything that thing likes is definitely a bad idea.

  As we approached the section of tunnel that the ogrins had lit, the two doused their Light Makers and I was left with my more human self, lit by the guttering flames of some foul smelling torches that lined the tunnel. I sighed quietly, nothing feels quite like the absence of a constant burning sensation. I opened my mouth to comment as such, but Clara quickly clamper a hand over it. Right, the Ogrin, good point. I met her eyes and nodded to her, and she removed her hand with one last pointed look. The Architect pulled out his nasty little fork and Clara prepared one of the small projectile weapons she'd stashed earlier. One downside of a ridiculously pretty magical blade is the telltale glow it produced, which would probably blow our chances at stealth. I didn't draw my blade, but I did hold the collapsible short blade ready to snap out at the first sign of danger.

  I went to move ahead of Clara as we planned, my silent feet and less reputable past serving me better in matters of sneakiness than her clomping military training, but she grabbed my arm as I passed. I was touched but didn't think it was the time to start holding hands, so I just gave her a quizzical look. Clara rolled her eyes at me and gestured towards my blade. Right. She's the swordsman. Swordswoman. Whatever. I gave her a wink and a mocking salute and passed her the collapsing blade, instead readying the larger weapon wielded by my captor. She looked quizzically towards it, clearly wondering why she got the little sword, so I flexed my arm by way of explanation. Truth was although I was easily stronger than her, she probably still would've been more suited to using it, I just wasn't comfortable lending out the weapon used to torture me so recently. Call me sentimental if you will. The Architect quietly cleared his throat and gestured down the tunnel. Right, we weren't getting any younger or less eaten by an Ogrin standing around.

  I set off, outpacing my friends quickly and silently. Passive devices really are a wonder, though there was a small part of me that missed the soft creak of leather whenever I took a step. It's a very tactile sound that- my thought was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the backside of an Ogrin as I rounded the corner, which is enough to distract anyone's train of thought. I backed away and held up a hand to stop my companions from coming up behind me. I withdrew around the corner for safety but peeked out to survey the situation.

  The Ogrin stood maybe 11 or 12 feet tall, and about as wide, a grotesque parody of a man wearing a disturbingly revealing (at least, from my perspective) loincloth. He perched on a low stool (which still reached my chest) tearing at a chunk of meat from some unknown creature that had been blackened unappetisingly on the nearby fire. His weapon, a massive club, and a large drum nearby suggested that he was there as a sentry, but didn’t take his responsibilities the most seriously given the eyeful of the upper half of his backside I was currently getting. Ugh. I pulled my gaze away from the gaping chasm before me to quickly take in the rest of the scene and my heart dropped. Beyond the sentry and his poor work ethic stood a sizeable village. No mere camp, the large cavern beyond contained a crude shanty town of stolen tents, wagons and even some poorly constructed huts stitched together to accommodate their new owners’ bulk, some of them still stained in places with the blood of their former own
ers. Why they needed the structures inside a cavern eluded me until I noticed the occasional drip from nearby stalactites. Some underground stream or perhaps a lake likely rested in the caverns above, dripping just frequently enough to be annoying if you happened to be underneath one. Far from making a cavern like this an undesirable place to live, threat of collapse not withstanding, though it may take centuries for the water to carve its way through, it instead contributed to a small pond of mostly-fresh drinking water that formed on the far side of the village.

  From my limited vantage point I could see around twenty Ogrin going about whatever it is Ogrins do when they’re not eating babies, and the now frequent draft from wherever the entrance was carried the sound of their deep grunting voices, as well as the scent of far more Ogrin than I ever wanted to smell. It was an earthy smell, with overtones of sweat, blood and… bacon? In the center of the makeshift village sat a massive pyre, providing light and a communal cooking fire, as well as a general gathering place given the number of Ogrin sitting around it. I realised with a grimace that the spits held the source of both the bacon smell and the meat the giants in front of me was scarfing down. Pigs don’t have quite so distinctly human torsos and heads, unfortunately. I felt shame at how momentarily tantilising it smelled before focusing on the task at hand. Chiefly, how to get past the sentry without drawing his attention. I wasn’t too concerned about him potentially raising the alarm as much as not being sure whether he’d just crush me like a bug in a straight fight. Fortunately, a straight fight wasn't what I had in mind.

  Chapter 12

  With a flick of my wrist I primed the grabbing device the Architect had given for me, and slowly pushed at the club. It leaned precariously against the wall near the drum, a massive hunk of barely-shaped jagged wood a few feet away on the other side of the Ogrin's table. My little disembodied shove caused it to topple and clatter to the ground near the edge of a steep drop off to one side. At the sound, the Ogrin's head snapped up from his meal. Seeing it was just his club, he grumbled and stood with a heaving groan, rolls of disgusting flesh rocking around at the motion. Seeing him at his full height I swallowed deeply, unconvinced suddenly by my own plan, but in for a penny…