An explosion of white-hot pinpricks spread out into the dark heavy air around a man's face. Beads of sweat on his face reflected them, each their own mirrored world as they passed by, growing red and then disappearing. His eyes flinched as they searched the forest around him wildly. His breath came ragged and shallow. Three metre-long torches were lit in his hands as he walked out into the dark alone, leaving behind the safety and solace of a wall of light. He now walked into danger, into the abyss.
“Tarchus!” A gruff yell startled him. “What are you waiting for? Get those torches into the ground or I’ll have you on the whipping block!”
Tarchus pictured the whipping block and weighed the pain against the danger of what he was currently doing. Taking one torch from his bundle of three, he laid the others to the side and started twisting the one in his hands into the ground. After the slow work, he picked up the other two and lined up his right heel to the torch he had just placed. After walking heel-to-toe several paces away in a straight line, a bush blocked his path. Of course there’s a bush, he lamented as he started to grab the foliage to clear it. The light sources must be placed in the exact formation and distance apart, or else I won’t even live to see the whipping block. His thoughts drifted back to school years ago. That strict teacher drilled these lessons on how to set up a flame so that it illuminates the maximum area, dispelling the shadows and creating safe zones. Tarchus couldn’t forget these lessons even if he wanted to.
As he made short work of the bush, he found something under it. A chunk of some long-lost building, bricks with a mysterious mortar. His heart skipped a beat. Finding things outside the borders of Fyrania was one of his greatest joys! The sense of wonder and pride he got for finding some mysterious trinket stimulated his mind to envision numerous possibilities. He bent down and moved this chunk of stones aside. “Yes! YES!” he exclaimed aloud. A stone in the shape of a bolt of lightning lay there on the ground before him. Picking it up, it fit perfectly in his palms. After admiring it briefly, he stuffed it beneath his thick gambeson. Tarchus’ eyes glanced around to make sure no one noticed. The fear of getting yelled at again pushed him back to work.
The second torch went in easier than the first, right where he found his treasure. Then he performed the same movement, heel to the torch, then walking out a few paces. He stopped and started to push his last light-source into the earth. He had made a triangle of light, with two meters between each point. The light they cast illuminated the surrounding area, making Tarchus feel calmer, safer. His heart settled.
After finishing, he walked back towards the wall of light. Countless triangle formations of torches that had been set up before by him and his comrades lit up the darkness like an overwhelming beacon. They had been setting up these torches next to the river Lonoet for days now, slowly expanding the borders of the kingdom with their efforts. Running up the river gave them more room to set up farmland. The Cradle residents had been clamoring for years for more room to grow. Usually expansions were from another province, Timberreach, not The Cradle. Lately, the chiefs of each province were softening to the idea of expanding elsewhere. Timberreach extended too far to travel to its end reasonably anymore, expansions close to The Cradle and Ashwatch were needed. So here Tarchus was, doing his duty as a resident of Ashwatch to maintain and expand the borders.
As he walked back, a hand clapped his back. “Well done, go take a break. We haven’t seen any yet. Get some rest while you can.” The same gruff voice was somewhat softer than before, it belonged to his lieutenant, Praff. Tarchus couldn’t stand him, but he was a better lieutenant than most out there. Walking slowly, a nearby bench perfect for resting appeared before him. His fingers drifted over the grain of the wood as he looked back into the forest they were pushing into. The darkness of the woods was the worst of any place they had to expand into. It hung oppressively and seemed to spawn the worst evils to attack them. But the wood was essential to their survival. The wall of light he was currently in didn’t fuel itself. Light stretched back into the distance from the thousands of torches, a highway of light leading to the nearby Cradle village. After the trees were cut down safely, the land could be converted to grow crops. More food was always needed.
His eyes traced over the numerous trunks outlined in shadow. They froze. Was that movement? He narrowed his eyes as he got up to get a better look. His gaze slowly focused more and more to the left of a tree in the distance. He leaned forward, the deep abyss consuming his vision. BAM! A loud slam sounded off from his left followed by a yell. It startled him violently. His foot slipped in some mud and Tarchus tumbled down to the ground. A pained laugh escaped him over his clumsiness. It was likely just the food pots banging around that brought him down. He lay in pain for a second. Looking up into the sky he could just barely see specks of beautiful light from the stars. Their light struggled to peek through the torchlight and smoke. He wished he could be up there in their holy light instead of here on this cursed world. His hand drifted to the trinket he had just picked up. Gripping it tightly somehow gave him a sense of comfort.
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Tarchus shook his head to stave off the embarrassment and get his focus back. His body turned to stone as a chill ran up his spine. The yelling hadn’t stopped the whole time. Jumping to his feet he looked back to where the yell came from. Far to his left were the sounds of battle. Dark shapes undulated everywhere. Torches disappeared one by one. The jolt the sight gave him made his heart try to claw its way out of his chest. His brain was frozen. The word “no” fell from his lips into the ground and disappeared.
Snapping into action, he grabbed his personal light and wooden club then looked for Praff. They needed commands. A line had to be formed, light needed to be consolidated. Tarchus’ eyes searched frantically for his lieutenant that was somehow missing when it counted the most. They drifted back over to the trunk he was staring at before as he saw movement again. Praff was on the ground, shifting shadows dragging him behind the tree. His fingers desperately clawed the dirt as he tried to get away. They were stained with blood from missing fingernails and bent sideways at broken angles. He silently screamed as shadowed jaws bit down across his neck, ending his life.
Tarchus watched this happen in disbelief. How did things go so wrong so fast? I took a five minute break, that was it. His forehead suddenly felt wet so he slowly raised his fingers to touch it and found blood. I didn’t hit my head, Tarchus remembered. Looking up he saw a rain of blood showered down to the ground. Following it he saw a bulbous monstrosity appear beside the lieutenant’s corpse. Its long snout sprayed the blood directly from his late-lieutenant as it consumed him. A flood traveled from that darkness into the light as if it was an extension of the darkness itself. Torches sputtered and fell to the murky void. Their disappearing light became a wave emanating from that abomination. Angry thoughts seeped into Tarchus’ mind. Revenge. Death to these horrible creatures extinguishing the human race. Tears of frustration leaked from his eyes. He took a step forward, then stopped. A warning bell sounded in his mind and pushed him back, a lumbering beast stepped from the shadows. Its massive body shifted and changed constantly. Dark liquid ran off its body like blackened honey disappearing into the shadows beneath it.
The sight of this hulking danger broke Tarchus. He ran cowardly in the opposite direction, anywhere but closer to that beast. His tears of frustration morphed into tears of fear as he dashed away. In his madness, his feet carried him to the river. Flailing into the freezing water, it cleared his mind. Why am I here? he thought to himself. The water hides all kinds of darkness. It’s extremely dangerous. Dumbfounded, he lurched backwards and tried to claw his way back to shore just like his lieutenant before him. Silently, inky black tendrils rose from the water. Flinching from the nearby light they grabbed Tarchus’ back as he stumbled forward. As hard as he tried, the tendrils’ grasp could not be broken. They wrapped around his limbs, armor, and clothes. Tarchus bent forward from the effort of resisting its immensely strong hold. As he bent, his precious treasure fell out of his shirt and into the water. What looked to be stone floated there for a second then started to drift downstream. How did it float? His final thought to himself as the tendrils pulled him back into the water. Loud cracks, ripping flesh, and screams drowned into the water now stained red in the light.
The trinket drifted downstream slowly. Days passed as it glided, time pushing it down the river Lonoet. Slowly without a care in the world it came to a bank where it would sit for an age. This would be, if not for some small grubby hands that seized it shortly after it settled. A young child with his mouth in a large “O” held it up to the light. “Awesome!” He exclaimed with a bright smile then ran with it toward home. I’m glad I explored a little further today, his thoughts sparkled with glee. He skipped for a stretch, excited to give the rock to a special someone.
