It Exists In Darkness

"So where does this thing end?" Marcus inquires his fear with a carefully placed casual tone and just a hint of false over-confidence. Marcus doesn't dwell where he can't act bold of brave. He only goes where he knows he can be victorious. So goes his inquiries. "Come on Orion, I thought you knew
everything-" I interrupt accordingly.

"Don't challenge my intellect Marcus. Of all places not here. Any shred of light is almost gone, absorbed by the unseen stone. My cloak does not protect my face, and I probably would have bright red rosy cheeks on my fair old skin. Such thoughts of color are meaningless in the dark, as such hopes for light are meaningless in this place.

A strong gust comes like a bandit of some force and I am robbed of my balance. I regain my footing and progress unperturbed. A groan from Marcus echoes down to somewhere deep and unknown.

"Orion, should we no gather more men on this grand adventure of yours? I'm sure there are many who would enjoy this quest. If we could- There's a cracking noise, but not one that worries me. I hear the unsheathing of a sword and heavy breathing. "Calm down Marcus, we're not even near danger yet. The answer is no. You wanted to get away from those who would see you in the hung by your meaty throat, and I offered you a way out. That, Marcus, is hardly a quest.

His face is probably sweaty, the gleam from his sword would have reflected light onto him, making him a god, but not here where color has no meaning and light no population.

The smooth floor turns to gravel and all I hear is the heavy crunch of Marcus's large legs pounding the ground as he walks. An unseen insect lands on my face, and I smack it as hard as possible. A bug bite down here does more then just swell.

"Stop Marcus. I unwrap the cloth around my feet and feel the wet earthy mud. I kneel down and grab handfuls, and cover my face and cloak in the dirt. "Marcus, you need to kneel down and cake your body in mud. Then you need to take off your boots so you can feel the ground. I hear the lug shuffling, the clop of one boot hitting the ground repeatedly as he jumps on one leg, or so I gather. I don't stay devout to any notion of perception in this void.

"Orion, is this necessary? Marcus voices, his frustration trying to overcome the soft whisper he maintains. "I could step on something sharp, and what's the point in being covered in mud? If it was daylight I would turn and stare with contempt at Marcus. That doesn't matter, for this place is a constant midnight hour, and time can not be wasted in scolding motivation or lengthy explanations. "Do not challenge my intellect here Marcus. Of all places not here.

I continue to walk, my cloak collecting mud on its fringe. I move resolutely to find where we can be bathed in sunlight once more and part ways. I can still hear Marcus's boots clopping behind me. The intermittent winds turn to a constant gale. I pull my hood over my head and keep hold. My short hair is probably a matted mess of mud and gray hair, as my eyes are probably sad and baggy. Next to the titan of Marcus I probably look like a brittle twig ready to snap.

There's a cracking noise, one that worries me. "Stop Marcus. The sound of my voice does not echo. "Don't move. Don't make a sound. Don't let fear overtake you Marcus. I know the creature is here, free and unbound. It's breath is a panic, its body erratic, yet I've never seen it.

I restrain my breath, but soon I start panting. The gale continues, but I feel a break in its force as the body of the beast moves in front of me, weapon in hand. It hesitates, so I hold my breath once more and throw a stone. I hear an echo farther ahead, and the beast charges after it. I hear the splashing of water. It's a puddle. I can hear the movement of air as the creature descends, and abruptly hits solid stone. It's one of the flood pits, put in to stop the overflow of water many thousands of years ago. I walk carefully, following fresh boot tracks. I feel it after a moment. A cold slimy puddle. It's where the water settles in front of the pits. The sound of rustling metal and a groan comes from the bottom of the pit. I take my dagger, still in the sheathe, and drop it in the pit. I do this in the hope that the beast will relieve itself of this world.

After a few more hours of toil and taking care around puddles I find myself near the end. I see sunlight cast down upon a wooden platform surrounded by pulleys. "Harold, the traveler has arrived. The ropes sway above by human touch, and a friendly voice calls down. "The star has returned to its belt. I step onto the wooden platform and keep my eyes shielded by my hand. As I reach the top I cover my eyes and peer through the cracks between my fingers.

"Orion, pardon my abruptness, but weren't you bringing someone across? I place my free hand upon his shoulder and remove my other hand from my eyes and look directly into his. "The beast got him Harold.