After the Dark

by Spencer Labbe

  Pil looked at his sword. He wants me to disarm myself? No, Pil was not that foolish, he knew his friends would not be returned without a fight. But where was the Wretch creature hiding? It seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once.

  Pil thought for a moment. Suppose the creature can throw its voice, where would it hide? Where would I hide? He knew in an instant.

  “Well — Wretch,” started Pil confidently, the silence seemed to hiss angrily. "I'll disarm myself when you show yourself."

  The darkness chuckled coldly and quietly in his ear.

  “Well, then," said Pil quietly to himself and, without warning, he thrust his sword upward. There was a flash of light as the bright purple see-stone reflected off his sword, and Pil saw a figure, swathed in black smoke like a cloak, clinging grotesquely to the roof. Pil's sword glanced off the dark stone of the ceiling with a loud clang, and a harsh breeze flew down to land in front of him. Pil raised the see-stone with shaking fingers.

  “You creatures of the light,” rasped the dark figure angrily as the purple glow revealed it. It was a black mass of pure smoke in the shape of a tall twisted man but with no distinguishable face. It was hunched and ravaged-looking with sharp horns and long claw-like hands. The cold black smoke swathed all around the Wretch like a fog. “Ever lacking, ever weakening.” The creature glanced unseeingly down at its long talons. “While I remain ever-present, ever-strong.”

  Pil stuttered backwards, tripping over his own feet and fell hard on a bed of gold. The cold was now oppressing him, pushing over him like a wave. The Wretch glided towards him smoothly. Or was it simply growing? Pil’s stomach reeled as he took in the horrible smell of decay, like the stench of a hundred corpses. And the sound it made as it moved, a sickly rattling sound, seemingly emanating from the walls.

  “What do you want?” Pil asked in a terrified whisper, scrambling farther back into the treasure as the Wretch approached.

  “I? I want many things…” the Wretch rattled slowly. “I want you to feel a terror that would leave you void of soul and mind.” The creature seemed to savor its words, drawing steadily nearer with each word. “I want to feed on nothing less than a fear that would drive you mad a thousand times over… until you… and your friends beg me for the gentle mercy of death.”

  And Pil was afraid. He could feel the malice in each rattling breath the creature took. In every wretched fiber of its dark soul, Pil knew the Wretch meant every word.

  “I am not afraid of death,” said Pil, his voice trembling despite himself.

  “Death?” The dark figure chortled, and a fresh wave of decay fell over Pil. “Death would be far more pleasurable; death is nothing… nothing.” Its cruel voice echoed listlessly throughout the cave.

  “I speak of a ceaseless life, a life of fierce anguish and terror in your mind and body… You will be broken, leisurely. And then I will gnaw slowly at your mind again and again and again… Until there is nothing left… nothing but a husk of madness and fear… No, not death. Not yet.”

  Pil shivered with the certainty of the statement. The Wretch was now close enough to touch. It stooped low over him, the black shape of it like a smoke bound to a decrepit body.

  With a sudden desperation, Pil swung his sword at the figure, mustering as much strength as his body held. The sword cut right through the black knot of its body. But the smoke merely collected again, repairing itself.

  The Wretched thing chuckled as Pil’s sword shattered like glass in his hand. The creature’s laugh seemed to echo all around Pil, whispering of death.

  “No simple blade of yours can harm me… No use fighting, no use.” It reached its boney blackened claw towards Pil’s shrunken form slowly, savoring every moment.

  Pil felt alone, alone and afraid. What could he do to fight it? Was this really how his life would end? The thought frightened him to the bone. More than death, he was afraid of dying without having accomplished anything, without seeing the world… He refused to give up that easily. He would die fighting.

  Frantically Pil scrambled back further onto the treasure, looking anywhere but at Death. There were mountains of golden coins and jewels and a large chest of treasure to his back. And he could see, half hidden at the edge of the gold, the leather sheath of a sword. He scrambled towards it hurriedly. As he grasped the hilt of the blade, he felt the thick smoke press coldly against his back, Pil turned around. The Wretch was leaning over him, its black face an inch away. A nauseating smell pulsated from it. Before Pil could react, the figure glided upwards, so that Pil faced its knotted chest. A crackling sound broke over him as the darkness seemed to splinter apart, surrounding Pil rapidly. In a heartbeat, he was enveloped completely in the darkness, his body surrounded by thick clouds of smoke. The light was gone, the treasure was gone, and he was alone.

  The loud rattling noise rose slowly, echoing around him like a harsh melody. Pil knew he was dead, knew it from the gentle screams that were coming from the distance, knew it from the smell of death which, along with the smoke, was the only thing that engulfed him. He was no longer in the cave.

  “Pil!” screeched a high terrified voice to his left.

  Pil swung around and his heart lifted. Felicity was running through thick cords of smoke towards him, pale but unharmed.

  “Pil — help!” she screamed again, her face bleary with tears and terror.

  Pil ran to her and held her steady. She was warm, the only warm thing he had felt in what seemed like a lifetime.

  “Pil, he’s coming — he’s coming,” she screeched, terrified. She looked at him pleadingly.

  “Felicity,” said Pil weakly. “Who’s coming, where —”

  “There’s no time. Pil, kill me — quick!” Felicity screamed, her eyes red with tears, her face frightening.

  “Wha — what?”

  “Kill me — quick before he comes — quick, please,” she pleaded desperately. She caught sight of the sword in Pil’s hand. “Use it, quick!” She made a grab for the sword, but Pil jerked it away from her.

  “Felicity, what’s wrong with —”

  “KILL ME! Do it NOW!” Felicity screamed with a cold ferocity in her voice that Pil had never heard before.

  “Fel —” Pil pleaded, stunned.

  But he was cut short. With a quick sickening squelch, a blade came tearing out of Felicity’s chest. She let out a quiet squeal, still looking at Pil.

  "FELICITY!" Pil screamed. Dirk stood over them, serenely holding the sword, a crazed smile on his lips. His eyes were peeled back to show only the white of his eyes.

  “Pil,” Felicity croaked through a mouth of blood.

  “Dirk how — HOW —” Pil began, but Dirk cut him off, chuckling madly. The laugh seemed to echo all around Pil, high and insane.

  In one fluid motion, Pil unsheathed the sword he had stolen and swung it at Dirks face in a rage. The sword cut the air as Dirk moved impossibly fast out of its path.

  A sudden flare of heat made Pil look back to Felicity’s body. She had somehow caught on fire from the tip of the sword. Pil stumbled numbly away from her body as the heat roared up swiftly to engulf her. Pil stood stunned as she began melting from the heat, her flesh falling sickly off her in clumps. A scream that was not human, a horrifying scream, rent from Felicity’s melting form as Dirk cackled ceaselessly behind her.

  And then Dirk was not Dirk; he changed like the wind into the smoky black mask of the Wretch. In a heartbeat, he was again looming over Pil. Pil was too terrified to move, too shocked to do anything as the dead claw of the Wretch loomed towards his face. It rested three bony fingers against his forehead, each as sharp as a knife.

  Everything disappeared. Pil felt his thoughts turn from frantic to sluggish as a series of memories flew passed him. His mom, standing over him, singing; playing in the alley with Felicity and Dirk. But even as they were presented to him, the memories were torn painfully to shreds, leaving only a tender trail of mad emptiness.

  Pil learned that his mother had died. The m
emory came up, played with a blank realism and tinged with cold. What is real? Is this real? Who am I… His thoughts became jumbled. Pil felt himself sinking slowly into a panicked madness. He felt his mind waver, ready to break completely. And then a new image came to him of his mother melting in front of him, the way Felicity had, and all he could hear were her terrified screams. He couldn’t see her face, but it was enough.

  He would not watch this; he could not.

  Pil felt a sharp pull against his left eye. Even as pain flared on his face, Pil’s senses returned. It was as though he was suddenly pulled out of a nightmare. He could feel the cold piercing his flesh, feel the blood drip down his face.

  The skinless face of the Wretch hung over him like a statue of bone and smoke. Suddenly Pil became aware that he had been locked away in his mind.

  The Wretch seemed somehow to have shrunken in size. In Pil's mind, the Wretch had seemed like a god of death, a solid shadow of fear. Its bony hand was resting against the left half of Pil's face. It had cut into his cheek, the sharp bones like blades of ice.

  But then the moment passed. Pil was thrust back into the cold world surrounded by fog, and the Wretch was roiling with fury. Anger at the Wretch rose in place of fear. He could feel sense return sharply to him.

  This was not real.

  The Wretch swelled in size as his fury reached a breaking point. Pil knew what would happen next. This was the Wretch’s world, a place of existence where he could not be harmed, where Pil’s mind was sluggish and easily toyed with. As if he were moving through powerful water, Pil moved his real body, the body that felt the pain on his face.

  With an enormous effort his arm lifted, the sword jabbed out and met with a thick resistance. It was like stabbing a dirt floor. There was a faraway squelching sound and Pil’s mind reeled back into place.

  Pil stood, shaking. He could feel tears sting the cut across his eye, but his mind and body were still numb. He looked up cautiously. He was back in the cave. A hollow light flickered over the stone walls. The light illuminated a grotesque figure, impaled limply on a sword. The lump of flesh was in the same shape as the Wretch, but the smoke was gone, it was like a huge corpse burnt to black.

  “Pil… Pil…” cried a voice softly.

  Pil scrambled to pick up the see-stone and raised it, but even as he did the soft purple stone faded to black. Pil crept forward, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dark.

  Felicity came into sharp focus; she lay perched against a wall, sobbing uncontrollably. Without a second thought, Pil ran to her.

  “Fel — are you okay?” said Pil, kneeling beside her.

  “Is this real, Pil? Is it gone?” she asked, falling into sobs again.

  Pil wrapped his arms around her, feeling her warmth and letting her feel his. She cried into his shoulder as he looked anxiously around. Dirk was curled up in a fetal position against the opposite wall, dead silent, but shaking violently.

  “Dirk!” Pil cried.

  Dirk looked up cautiously. “Is that — are you Pil?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Pil nodded resolutely.

  Dirk raised himself slowly off the ground and then walked quickly over to them.

  “What happened?” “There was a creature in the cave. He — he got you. Got us all,” said Pil, trying to make sense of what had happened. “Made us see things, but I — I — think I killed it — it’s safe now, I think.”

  Pil glanced towards the crumpled body of the Wretch lying in strange contrast to the glittering gold of the treasure. When Felicity had steadied herself, Pil walked slowly over to the body of the Wretched thing and examined it.

  The Wretch was twisted and dark, with the sword Pil had found still plunged deep into its chest. He pulled the sword out. Pil hadn’t looked properly at it, but he could now see that it was finely wrought. The blade was black as night, but not like the Wretch had been, like the night sky. The point of the sword arched back into two smaller points resembling an arrowhead.

  “There’s treasure here,” said Pil absently, gesturing to the heap. “And Merry Berries on the back wall… I reckon we should grab what will be useful.”

  Felicity was still sobbing silently to herself, but Dirk walked stoically over to Pil. He only spared the briefest of glances to the dead body of the Wretch before moving to the gold. Dirk found three small pouches and filled them with a few gold coins and diamonds, while Pil made his way towards the large chest in the center of the heap. It was finely made, the wood shone out as if newly fashioned; but it had an old feeling to it, an ancient feeling. Pil unlatched it and threw off the top; there, lying on a red cushion, was a long war-hammer. It shone a deep silver and had an inscription along the handle.

  “Hey, Dirk —” Pil called over excitedly, gesturing towards it.

  Dirk ambled over and peered inside. His eyes lit up immediately.

  "That's the best-crafted hammer I've ever seen…" he said quietly.

  Gently Dirk reached in and plucked it off the cushion, testing it in his hands. “It’s light — practically has no weight to it at all — hang on, what’s this say?” He held out the handle to Pil.

  “I dunno,” said Pil, looking at the strange inscription.

  “Pil — you don’t reckon, this was Aries’s hammer? Alfer Arrow’s brother — you did say he died over this way, and the weapon is old enough.”

  “Aries?” said Pil, smiling doubtfully. “Might’ve been, I don’t know if he ever had a hammer… but still, better take it; we need to be well armed,” said Pil, sheathing the black blade he had found.

  Dirk nodded and set it carefully aside. Pil took one of the bags Dirk had filled with coin and emptied it. Dirk eyed him suspiciously.

  “We need Merry Berry, too, Dirk; if not for us, then for Westleton.” Pil climbed the treasure to the thick vines at the wall of the cave. Nestled softly in the vines were the small red signs of the magic berry. Pil had never seen Merry Berries before. They were soft and colored a bright juicy-looking red. He began plucking them off and packing them away.

  “Have you seen Sandy?” asked Dirk softly, as though not wanting to hear the answer.

  Pil shook his head sadly. “Maybe he didn’t come in here… or maybe we were too late.” Pil did not want to think what his friend might have endured at the hands of the Wretch.

  Finished packing, they made their way back to Felicity. She was no longer crying but staring absently at the see-stone; it was still dark.

  “We need to hurry,” said Pil gently.

  Felicity nodded and stood up. Silently they made their way back through the cave, the darkness seemed to have at last surrendered to their Elfin eyes, and the chill was noticeably lessened. Halfway through the cave, Pil stopped abruptly.

  “Sandy!” he yelled. Sandy’s body was slumped against the wall of the cave, unmoving.

  Pil ran over to him and shook him hard. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead —”

  Groggily Sandy shifted and slowly opened his eyes. His face was pale as marble, his lips dry and cracked.

  “Dirk!” cried Pil excitedly.

  Dirk rushed over and together they lifted Sandy to his feet and ushered him out of the cave. His head was lolling all around and his eyes were glazed over. When at last they reached the grass field outside of the Chasm, the sky was beginning to lighten. It was a lazy purple; only a few stars still shone through. They dropped Sandy down on the grass and Pil pulled out his bag.

  “Eat this,” he said, shoving a Merry Berry into Sandy’s hands. Sandy began to eat, and slowly he began to revive. First, color returned to his cheeks and then he ate faster, sucking the juices until at last his eyes finally lost their glazed look. Sandy looked up at them all as though seeing them for the first time.

  “Wh — what happened?” he asked hoarsely.

  Pil told him the story, from them finding the squadron slaughtered, to finding Sandy running around, and following him into the cave. Sandy’s face gradually grew white with shock.

 
; “I — I remember we were on our way back to the camp, and Brixton found a Berry,” Sandy began, his memory returning. “He said it was a Merry Berry, but it was purple. He made me eat it, said it had just gone bad and it would still taste good. Then I — I can’t remember much of what happened next,” he added, abashed.

  Pil nodded. “If I ever see that traitor’s bastard again —”

  “I don’t get it,” said Sandy, suddenly frightened, “I mean, Baer Bells a traitor?! He’s Captain of the Elysian. If he’s a traitor…”

  “What I don’t get,” said Dirk, confused, “is how we missed Sandy in the Chasm. He looked at Pil. “What was that thing? What happened? All I remember is…” he broke off.

  “Pil, your eye!” said Felicity suddenly.

  Pil reached up and felt his eye; he had quite forgotten about the cut on his face. From the point on his forehead to his cheek, where the Wretch had touched him, it was tender and cold. As he pulled his hand away, he saw a small mess of blood.

  “You’ve got three cuts going down to your cheek!” screeched Felicity, worried. “What happened in there?”

  Pil told them most of what had happened with the Wretch, leaving out what it had made him see.

  “It was like smoke, it enveloped me and then, well, it made me see things. I’m assuming that’s why we missed Sandy. I think it enveloped all of us and brought us into itself somehow.” Pil shivered at the thought of that.

  “But how did you kill it? I thought your sword didn’t work,” asked Dirk.

  “I found this one,” said Pil, gesturing to the sheath strapped to his hip. “This one worked for some reason…” Dirk frowned and looked down at the hammer he had. “Maybe they were both Aries’s weapons… maybe they are magic,” he said, smiling slightly at the thought.

  Pil shrugged. He didn’t much care what had happened; all he cared about was that they had survived. “We need to get going,” he said suddenly. “It’s almost light out. Sandy, can you walk?”

  Sandy nodded resolutely and stood up. “I — well, I just want to thank you guys,” he said, slightly abashed. “You saved my life. If not for you, I — I would be dead…”