Darker, p.1
Darker, page 1
* * *
It’s getting Darker
DARKER is the second book in the Dark Trilogy.
Can Dun help stop a War? The problem is, he started it.
Dun didn’t want to be a hero and the war has cost him dearly: his friends, his innocence. Maybe his mind. Now he’s a fully-fledged Shaman, Dun’s mind is a receiver for those who can transmit, but what will he do when starts getting messages from someone who’s dead.
Dun's new powers might allow his Under-folk, victory. But he must quiet the demons inside his head, and find his oldest friends Tali and Padg if they stand a chance of defeating the merciless Rowle of the Cat-People. And she is about to release demons of her own.
* * *
PAUL ARVIDSON is a forty-something ex lighting designer who lives in rural Somerset. He juggles his non-author time bringing up his children and fighting against being sucked into his wife’s chicken breeding business. The Dark Trilogy is his first series.
* * *
Darker
a novel by
Paul L Arvidson
ISBN-13: 978-1984024176
ISBN-10: 1984024175
Ed. Lauren Schmeltz from Write Divas and cover by betibup33 from thebookcoverdesigner.com, both with grateful thanks.
Printed with CreateSpace
Available online from paularvidson.co.uk and real-life bookshops.
© Copyright Paul L Arvidson 2018
For Cheryl, Leah, and Nenna
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
The Scent of Memory
Thank you
* * *
Darker
Chapter One
PADG AND TALI HUDDLED in their den above the main market of the Stone-folk behind the hiding shield that they’d found before they parted company with Dun. It had taken great care and time to find such a good hiding place, but after Padg’s insistence they not rush in and do some reconnaissance first he felt obliged to find somewhere good. It was an odd, tall, and thin metal room in the wall between the grand entrance to the Stone-halls. It smelled like rust. All the action from the market floor could be heard from high up metal grills in one side of the room and the main river was accessed by a hatch via a flooded water pipe on the opposite side. Padg thought they were impossible to surprise.
“I’m wet and tired,” Padg said. “Is this the bit where we get to go home?”
“No, this is the bit where I murder you for whining, and your lifeless corpse floats back to Bridgetown. Now shut up, I’m counting,” Tali said.
They had fashioned a listening horn from some thin sheet metal Padg had found. By tweaking its direction it was possible to pick up a reasonable amount of sound from all around the central cavern and some of the passages. Tali listened to interactions at the main entrance as the Stone-guard filtered goods and folk in. It was all mostly in and not a lot of that. The guards outnumbered the civilians two to one. And it was the same everywhere. Curfews had been imposed after Work-cycle. Identification tattoos had become mandatory and were examined at a ridiculous number of checkpoints. Although people still tried to go about their business, no female folk were allowed out without special dispensation. It was eerily quiet, the main noises being new bells rung every cycle to command people to action or to bed and announcements of new edicts from criers. The only thing not curtailed by these new happenings was the regular services of the Tinkralas. Though their hideout backed on to a temple, so they were immersed in the goings on by proximity, if nothing else. Most of their spying had to be done outside of the services as the noisy Tinkrala worship drowned out everything else.
“I’m glad, you know,” Padg said.
“What?”
“Glad. To be here. Really.”
“Oh good.”
“Despite everything, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“You know, with, you.”
“Oh.”
“It’s... I’m... I like it.”
“Yeah,” Tali said. “Yeah, me too. What the hell is that?”
“Pardon?”
“That chanting? Far side of the market—listen.”
When Padg strained, using their bespoke listening horn, he could make out the half chant/half shout just at the edge of his hearing. It came from right over the far side of the massive market hall. Maybe down one of the passages off there even. A repetitive shout.
“What are they saying?” Tali asked.
“No—I think. It sounds like they are saying no. Over and over.”
“Sounds female? The voices...”
“Yeah, almost all.”
“I wonder if that’s where we’ll find Amber?”
Since their stakeout to plan a rescue for their Stone-folk friend who’d done so much to help them, they hadn’t heard hide nor hair of Amber. Padg, whose sense of smell was the keenest, and as a half decent hunter, hadn’t detected so much as a lingering whiff. In the time it took them to return from parting company with Dun, it was like Amber had been spirited away.
“We need a plan to get in there,” Tali said.
“Guess so,” Padg said. “How?”
“Disguise?”
“O... kay. As what?”
“Mmm... traders?”
“Would have to be River-folk.”
“Why?”
“Don’t be dense—plan ahead. Can’t be Bridge-folk; ‘cos—uh, we’re at war. Can’t be Machine-folk; ‘cos they’re all dead. Can’t carry off being Stone-folk; they’d smell a rat straight away. Would have to be River-folk.”
“Think you can carry that off?” Tali asked.
“Whoa there! That ‘we’ turned into a ‘you’ quick enough.”
“Single trader, easier to hide? Got to be you or me, leaves one of us as backup if anything goes wrong.”
“Okay, not instilling me with confidence.”
“Come on, Padg. We need to know more to have a chance of rescuing Amber.”
“That was your crazy plan, as I remember.”
“And you’d leave her to rot in a Stone-folk cell, would you? Or worse.”
“Okay! Okay! I’ll go.”
“My hero.”
The next span was punctuated by planning, sleeping, and practicing a decent River-folk accent. From the supplies she had left and the food they had, Tali thought she could compose a half-decent scent. They decided that a scout out of who was where would be advisable first.
“I reckon Dun would like us to add to the map,” Padg said.
“Not if it’s in your handwriting.”
“Harsh.”
“Hmm.”
Tali repurposed Padg’s traveling clothes, much to his dismay, carefully making some fabric cross-gartering for leggings and a makeshift cloak that the River-folk all wore. She finished the ensemble by making a jingling necklace of used flask tops and things she’d collected along the way.
“Bang goes my stealthy approach,” Padg said.
“You’re a River-folk. You don’t give a splosh about stealth. Cocky, remember? Thought you wouldn’t have a problem with that bit.”
“I used to lik e you.”
“I’m sure my fragile ego can cope. Now, give me your best River-folk.”
“Arrrrrrhhh.”
“Nice. Gods help us.”
A loud clanging of handbells broke the conversation. Then a pause and then the same again. A sudden clamor of noise followed, almost as if someone had thrown a switch and turned the market on.
“Pipe’s waiting River-boy,” Tali said.
“Better get at it then,” Padg said.
“Hey”—she came toward him—“you really stink.”
They embraced then, Padg still holding on, and said, “That’s high praise from an Alchemist,”
“Go,” Tali said. “You want to get in, in the first rush. Less scrutiny,”
“Yeah, I should.”
“Good lu—”
“Won’t need it,” Padg said.
He climbed through the pipe hatch and was gone. Tali listened hunched at the grill facing the market, listening for signs of him passing through the checkpoint.
Chapter Two
ROWLE LICKED HER CLAWS. It was the third time in about fifty clicks. Being the Bureaucrat obviously had its privileges, but gods did it require a lot of waiting about. She hated coming up here; it gave her the creeps. Not just because of the number of worthy bloody Tinkralas under her paws, they were a double-edged sword, but being in this place, with that thing. She shivered.
The Tinkralas called this place the High Temple and had established a permanent presence. That disturbed Rowle; they needed keeping tabs on. Maybe teaching a lesson. But that was not for today. Today had a different agenda, part of a grander plan. Almost in response to her thoughts, she heard the heavy boots of her troops approaching. At last.
“Your Eminence,” the troop leader spoke.
“Captain. Do you have it?”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
“Excellent. Find Astor and get this door open. We have no time to waste.”
The captain barked an order to a subordinate, who rushed off to summon the High Priest of the Tinkralas and Keeper of the Keys.
“Did you get to the human in time?” Rowle asked.
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
“Good, good. And removing the head?”
“Was no trouble at all. My sergeant is very good with a knife.”
“Excellent. You remembered the treatment?”
“Yes, Your Eminence, as you instructed the preservative was soaked into all the exposed tissues.”
“Good. And the body was... ?”
“Not more than 1000 clicks old. We waited till the Bridge-folk had gone and removed the body from where they had left it. We encountered no one. The remains we threw down a shaft.”
A waft of incense advertised the High Priest’s arrival.
“Rowle,” he said.
“That’s Bureaucrat Rowle to you.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Open the door please.”
“To the Sanctuary? The High Temple?”
“Yes, whatever you call it—open it.”
“But we must purify ourselves before we open the doors to the sacred presence.”
“You don’t need to keep up all that sacred presence nonsense with me.”
“It is not some kind of act, a pretense for the peasants.”
“Isn’t it? Oh, silly me. Get the door open.”
Astor rustled and clanked at his belt and fumbled the key into the door, huffing all the while. There was a click and a hiss. The door opened. The stench was physical. For all the times Rowle had been in here before, the smell, the volume of it, the depth of it, shocked her still.
“In,” she said, suppressing a gag.
“Yes, Your Em—”
“Quickly.” She knew how long the awful reek hung after the seal had been breached. The less time the door was open the better.
There was a hissing behind them as the door was resealed. She herded her guard captain and two of his lieutenants across the room to the massive Vat at its center. The High Priest skulked around the edge of the room with a requisite number of clerics. The plopping noises and uncomfortable warmth enveloped Rowle and reminded her of being boiled in soup. Or maybe being in the lair of some malign carnivorous plant, complete with cables and pipes festooned like vines throughout the space. And that was before it spoke. Somehow the awful thing was wired to a kind of mouth through which the noises came. Rowle did not understand how any of it worked and any amount of time spent contemplating caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.
For now, the Vat just hummed quietly. Not an electronic hum, but the hum of a distracted child.
“Bring it forward,” Rowle said testily, sensing the awkwardness in the room.
“Bring forth the new offering!” Astor said. Rowle sighed.
The soldiers shuffled nervously forward. The priests leaned in.
“We must prepare the offering!” Astor shouted.
“Just get on with it,” Rowle said from between clenched teeth.
The High Priest fussed and chittered around, while one of the clerics, who seemed to be a technician, reached for various bundles of wires and pipes, shaking some and flicking others until she seemed to be satisfied. There was an unnerving squelching noise as the pipes and wires were attached where needed.
“Done.”
“Thank you, Sap,” Astor said. “You may proceed, Bureaucrat.”
“Thank you. Now please, Captain.”
The ghastly trophy was dropped into the Vat with a bloop sound. There was a rustle of cables and then an odd silence. An in-between silence. That was all for now. One thing less to worry over so she could concentrate on her plans. This place would not run itself. Someone needed to be Bureaucrat. And for now, that burden lay squarely on her shoulders.
Rowle stood with her hands on her hips. “Is that it done then?”
“We must now wait and see if the new... offering... is accepted.” Astor took out a clicker-beetle and shook it to start it clicking.
“Ahh.” Rowle turned to her guard captain and said in a whisper, “The next part of our undertakings?”
“Underway,” he said.
“Good. The Duchy forces?” Rowle asked.
“Await your command, Bureaucrat.”
“Excellent. And our commando team?”
“In place, ready to seize our prize when the attack begins. The Collective won’t know what hit them.”
“Good. Give word immediately we are finished here,” she said, and then turned to Sap. “You will soon have a new toy to play with.”
“Oh?” Sap said, startled.
“I believe you will find it...interesting.”
“Thank you, Bureaucrat.”
“Think nothing of it. Besides, it will require your particular, technical aptitudes to put it to its best advantage.”
“It’s a weapon then?” Astor said.
“Such a blunt word. It could be many things with refinement. I have high hopes.”
“I’m sure,” Astor said.
“Are we done now?” Bureaucrat said. The beetle was still clicking.
“Not yet.”
Rowle harrumphed. The beetle stopped clicking. There was no noise in the room.
“Now, we are done,” the High Priest said. He left first and his entourage followed.
“Go. Go!” Rowle ushered the soldiers out of the door. As the door slowly closed behind her, she was sure she heard the Vat sigh.
Chapter Three
DUN AND THE REST OF Squad Alpha crouched below the ridge alongside the huge causeway. Tension rippled through the group.
“Hey, Chief!” Kaj hissed at him.
“Shh,” Dun replied. Next to him, Kaj sighed. Since their promotion to the unit most likely to get sent out on suicide missions, he’d spent a lot of time with the young pup. She was extremely capable, which didn’t surprise Dun hugely. Her late mother, Stef was Dun’s first real mate. He felt awful and sad when he thought too long about Stef. He’d loved her and she died on the first mission Dun had planned.
This mission was easy compared to previous: a large consignment of medicines and food was being moved by wheeled truck. The intel was good, the guard compliment small. Their plan was straightforward: hijack the truck, capture the guards, drive the whole thing back to a floater, and glide back to base.
“Base to Alpha!”
The voice appearing inside his head always made Dun jump. He’d begun his life thinking that as a Shaman he was hearing things from the great beyond. Turned out the great beyond was a transmitter that could collect thoughts and project them. Shamans turned out to be good receivers. Less esoteric and more useful all round. They still got called Shamans though. Cute. And now it was less of a stigma admitting being a radio receiver than a loony who heard God, more folk came forward with the skills. Still not many, so far, six in the whole of the Collective, but enough to make sending them with missions and on intel gathering vital. They varied in ability and Tam and Bel the leaders of the Collective had started a project to test everyone in the camp. Nev had been promoted from his duty of drain maintenance and mapping, as the most capable technician, to head up the project. When they were back at base, Dun and Kaj had been drafted in to see if it was possible to teach receiving to the unskilled. So far their attempts had been entertaining but fruitless. He liked working with Kaj.
