Tears of the Abyss, Chapter 1

[Enishi]

This is the first chapter for a novel I wrote several years ago and am now in the process of editing and rewriting. Any constructive criticism and, er, praise (crosses fingers) would be much appreciated.

Note: I'm not used to posting this stuff here, so the paragraphs may come out kinda weird.

Chapter 1: Runaway

“It’s less responsive than the others,” the voice observed, tapping a long finger against the boy’s aching skull.

Ikeda willed every muscle in his tiny, fatigued body to remain still, trapped between twin tempests of fear and hopelessness as a second towering; cloaked figure emerged from the shadows which clung to the cave walls. The newcomer leaned in for a closer look. The thin veil of long, unkempt blond hair which had fallen over the boy’s eyes cast the man’s face into a blurred, nightmarish relief.

The man’s eyes narrowed, considering him. His voice sounded somewhat concerned, a rare thing for Ikeda’s captors. “Poor child. Far too many of them become like this given time. They draw within themselves and stop caring about anything. Eventually they forget even their names.”

This time, the boy could not hold back the quaver which stole over his lip.

“Don’t forget, they have a greater purpose to serve,” the other hooded man observed. “It is their destiny, their duty and their karma. So long as we keep telling that to the Hemonos priests of Amadeth, they will continue bringing them to us.”

A third figure drew close to the edge of the torchlight. This one was larger than the others, too big by far to be human. Its voice was a deep rumble, tinged with a hint of scolding. “The region above us has been mostly abandoned now for centuries ever since the western nations conquered the original inhabitants. However, the old powers are still strong. If we are to fulfill heaven’s will, we will have to push these children harder. Set aside your emotional concerns.”

“More and more of them try to escape into the outer cave system every month,” one of the men noted, nose wrinkling with resentment at the towering figure’s reprimand. “The surface is but two miles above us. It’s only a matter of time until one of them gets out. The harder we push them, the more likely the are to run.”

The towering newcomer shook its head. “The passages are perilous. All we have found either fell down a crevice, or perished from starvation.” Its voice took on a hint of unease. “Several were even found ripped to shreds. We don’t know what did it. The old powers are getting...more volatile. We need these mammal hatchlings to purify these lands soon. Come, let us go. If this one drags his feet again, just give him some medicine, or punish him. I wont tolerate any more laziness on his part.”

One of the dark cloaked men nodded reluctantly and pulled the boy to his feet. As they dragged him off roughly, he glanced over his shoulder at the darkness, the nothingness which promised unknown dangers along with the tantalizing promise of freedom.

#

The moist, foreign walls of the inner earth drifted past them as they walked, alternating patterns of shadows grasping at the boy. His bare feet lifted and fell upon stone floors tread by countless others like himself. His breath came in ragged, raspy heaves, perspiration tracing lines down his forehead.

The other children shambled along at his front and back. He did not know who they were. Their captors did not permit them to converse with one another, to sleep together, even to glance at each others faces. They were uniform, faceless tools fashioned to serve the will of heaven. Their own dreams and broken thoughts mattered naught. He did not understand fully why he was here, his mind too young and too traumatized by barely remembered horrors. They told him he had a grand duty to perform, that to serve here was an honor. They were never without food, and despite the harshness of their captors, all injuries were quickly attended too. However there was no warmth, no sense of community or true belonging. His recollection of the time he was taken, and of his former life, all of it was cloaked in shadow. Sometimes he wondered if there really had been a former life, if this was his place of origin, and was all he would ever know.

There was the occasional scrap of praise which they received for their labors, and for that many of them had devoted their entire being, left with nothing else to hope for. But not Ikeda. His thoughts were always on the outside world, on the forbidden lands within the dark shadows which the torches strove to keep at bay.

As they rounded a corner, Ikeda glanced to the side, noticing a damp cave entrance off to his right. It was like a gaping maw, the stalactites and stalagmites which had formed on it reminding him of jagged teeth. He turned away dutifully, frightened by the sight of the cave and worried his captors might notice him looking.

“Ikeda, don’t you want to be free?” a child’s voice whispered from within the darkness of the cavern.

Ikeda stopped in his tracks, nearly toppling over. His mind went dizzy, the sounds of the others marching growing distant. There was something hypnotic about that voice. It sounded like the voice of a small boy, but there was something else about it, something he feel yet not understand. He approached the mouth of the cave. For some reason, no one glanced in his direction nor moved to stop him, even his captors.

“I can’t leave...” Ikeda said slowly, blinking back the dizziness which had settled over him. “Its my karma.”

“We can make our own karma,” the boy’s voice assured him.

The darkness of the cavern drew closer, then pulled back, throbbing like a living thing.

“Our destiny, our dream. They will understand soon. We’ll show them. Your freedom lies with me. Come on now…” The voice was kind. Although threads of fear were darting through the back of Ikeda’s mind, there was an undeniable sense comfort of belonging which the boy’s voice evoked in him. Barely conscious of the fact his feet were moving, Ikeda stumbled toward the cavern, not even pausing to look back. The darkness swallowed him.

“Yes,” the voice promised. “We’ll be free soon...”

#

The sun had nearly reached its noon zenith, warm rays passing through the pine needles overhead to dapple the forest floor. The air thrummed with the gurgling of a small stream threading its way between the trees. Dragonflies droned over the shallow waters beneath a nearby sluice gate used to manage the flooding which sometimes occurred with the changing of seasons. Rou Mia lifted her face to the golden radiance as she trudged along, moving several threads of silky raven hair with a yellow-skinned finger, thankful for the sun’s warmth. A stubborn chill often harried the morning hours here in the wild borderlands owned by neither Scathania nor Amadeth, remaining right up until early summer.

Setting a steady pace down the weed chocked path which led back to her village, Autumn Shadows, Rou adjusted the carrying pole resting atop her shoulders, being careful not to unbalance the twin pails of river stones hanging at either end. Her mother would need them later on for her crafts work, and often became irate if even a small number were lost in the tangled weeds and undergrowth. The River Chuen lay a fair distance from the village, and she did not relish the notion of another return trip. Still, although the long walk The thick, confusing stands of hundred foot tall, old growth trees had served to protect their village from the major brunt of the religious and political turmoil which had plagued Scathania and Amadeth for the past three hundred years. It started with the arrival of the western pale-skinned men with their firearms and the establishment of the two nations, then the triumph of the religion of Hemonos, the highest God from whom all other gods and spirits sprang forth. A hundred years of peace soon gave way to bloody religious schisms between Amadeth and Scathania, followed by the discovery of steam power and the push for a more republican form of government by reformers within the main sect of Scathania.

Their ancient community of Autumn Shadows had not gone unaffected. The old ways had been mostly supplanted by the new religion, fearful burnt offerings of their finest goats made to appease the dark powers of the land replaced by pious sermons and prayers within the old stone ruins which now served as their temple. One year ago, a band of Amadethian soldiers had also managed to reach their village and make off with several newborns and young children who would likely end up in one of their slave labor camps, never to return, their departure hounded by the wailings of devastated mothers.

However, though the old ways of worship might be gone, the echo of it still lived on. Her grandmother frequently told her enchanting yet frightening stories about old spirits and monsters which had dwelt in the woods. Unlike most of Scathania, their yearly celebrations had been modeled off of festivals and rituals from their past. When praying within the temple, Rou sometimes felt as if something was watching from outside the walls, an unknown force less benevolent, less...familiar than that described by the priests of Hemonos. Perhaps it was stern heavenly attendants sent to watch and ensure they did not fall back into old, profane practices. Although the suggestion of such would without a doubt earn a strong reprimand, she also wondered too if Hemonos’s attendants had been here all along,

The trees acted as their guardians, but they were frightening guards, sinister almost. She often felt as if they were watching her. These were no typical pines, no; they were native to the borderlands. It was said that the woods had once been cultivated by the magical Efins many generations ago before they were banished to the even deeper forests which lay a hundred miles north. Enormous meshes of vines which were not found anywhere else spiraled down from the trunks, forming a lower canopy which sheltered giant mushrooms and thick, straggly red fur which grew directly out of the roots. Very little sunlight reached the floor here. Most of the illumination was created by sluggish swarms of pa flies which glowed with a mysterious blue light. The lines in the ground from past carriages grew increasingly hard to discern. Outsiders would have found it nearly impossible to follow.

She arrived shortly at an area where the level ground descended into a rocky, boulder strewn decline, weaving through the stands of ancient sentinels. Below, puffs of smoke from cooking fires ventured out tentatively from between the trees, marking the entrance to her village. Off to the right was a hoary, two hundred foot tall old Kasa Tree. Its trunk was much thicker than the others, a full fifty feet in diameter. Its roots were a tangled mass which reached out as if to embrace the surrounding landscape, wrapping around the surrounding boulders and smaller pines. It was said that the Efins devoted their most tender care to the Kasa Trees. As a young girl, her boorish older brother had scared her witless spinning stories of undead efin spirits living within the foreboding root mass, their opaque eyes staring out from the shadows, thin fingers waiting to pull the unwary into the darkness. The Kasa Tree itself looked as though it had weathered better days, its bark rough and unusually bumpy. It reminded her of an old man, a memory from the past that was too heartbroken and prideful to give up just yet. More so than any other part of this forest, it was a relic of the old times, from before the coming of the Hemonos religion and the age of steam engines and gun powder. The tree had a powerful presence about it. There was a charged, reverent feeling in the air. It did not have the same sense of mundane familiarity as the temples of Hemonos, no; there was something older about this place, something primal. Despite the foreboding appearance of the grumpy old tree, she always felt at ease whenever she drew near it. The tree was old and treacherous, but offered protection at the same time.

As Rou started down the decline, she caught a whiff of cooked venison on a gentle updraft and smiled. This had been a bountiful year. Citizens all across the rolling Scathania countryside were gearing up for the Summer Festivals. Should heaven continue to smile upon her just it had as today, her mother would likely find her a handsome, strong young suitor in time for her fifteenth birthday, when she would at last be eligible for marriage. No matter how many wars and hardships might befall the peasants of Scathania, Hemonos would bless them one day if their hearts were faithful.

Rou was startled from her reverie by a flicker of movement among the boulders and roots at the base of the Kasa. Upon closer inspection, she was startled to discover that it was a mere boy. He was sitting quietly, nudged between twin guardian stones, small and forlorn, hands wrapped around knobbly knees. His clothes were soiled and torn, reduced to mere rags which clung stubbornly to his thin frame. A crop of lank, long, messy blond hair hung about his head, a hue foreign to most native Scathanians, but not the western white men who had conquered the land hundreds of years ago. He stared straight ahead, eyes distant and haunted, tears stains standing out against the dirt on his cheeks.

Rou set aside her carrying pole and picked her way across the uneven rubble in a rush. “Oh! Little boy!”

He turned his head very slowly, seeming to look right through her without comprehension. Upon drawing closer, Rou observed that his condition was worse than first supposed. Through the torn fragments of his shirt she could see ribs pocking out against a thin tarp of pale, malnourished skin. His face was gaunt and dirt-smudged, eyes rounded instead of almond shaped like her own, shadowed and sunk back into his skull.

Rou knelt beside the child, laying a hand on his shoulder, hoping to coax him out of his shock. He gave no indication that he had noticed. She felt something strange as she touched him. It was as if the atmosphere grew warm, filling her with a sense of safety and belonging. She drew away from him in surprise. Upon second glance, she noticed that the immediate area around the boy was different as well. Now that she was standing next to the boy the Kasa Tree sheltering them from overhead looked more beautiful somehow, its branches younger and inviting. Several squirrels were chasing each other across the roots and boulders. Wild animals almost never came near the foreboding old tree. Even the grass at their feet appeared greener.

“What are you doing here, boy?” she whispered. “Where did you come from?”

His lips worked, but no words would come. Still baffled at the strong feelings of peace and reassurance his presence was evoking, Rou drew him against her chest, heart aching at the pitiful sight. What sort of unspeakable fate had befallen the boy that he should end up here, in this state. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

“Of course he is.”

Rou started.

There was another boy standing near them now. He had emerged without sound from a nearby tangle of roots, dragging a knapsack over his shoulders. Unlike the small silent boy, he was taller and healthier looking, the skin of his cheeks filled out despite being so pale. By her estimation he was ten years of age. A full crop of curly red hair sprouted from the top of his head. His eyes were blue and piercing, alert and intelligent where the eyes of the smaller boy were haunted and vacant. He studied her with a dispassionate, calculating expression, seeming to look right through her. He too was clothed in soiled, torn rags, but his were of a darker hue, smeared with copious amounts of dirt. There was something cold about him. Her hands trembled slightly as he drew near.

When she gave no answer, the boy spoke again, his voice more cultured and noble sounding than she would have expected one of his age to be. “My friend Ikeda wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for me. We were being held by the Amadethians, in the caverns due west of here.” He glanced down at his younger friend, warmth entering now into his eyes, setting Rou at ease. “You can feel it around him, can’t you? My friend Ikeda is very special, very special indeed. They wouldn’t have kept him there otherwise.”

“So the rumors are true?” Rou said, recovering her composure. “Those beasts really are taking slaves in Amadeth?”

He nodded, and gestured at his knapsack. “I stole some of the papers from their slave camp. You can show them to the shrine priests if you need further verification.”

“You said your friend is Ikeda. Who are you, little boy?”

The red hair boy chuckled. “Little? Do I look so little to you? I am a noble, you know.”

Rou frowned. “How did you get here?”

He turned to the side, pointing at the tangled root mass beneath the Kasa.

She followed the path it indicated, an icy hand reaching down her throat. Not ten feet away was a small, perilous opening nestled between the looming boulders. Moss and lichen clung to the threshold. Tufts of grass hung over it, wavering in a slight breeze emerging from the inner earth, its sigh so faint she had not noticed it until now.

“The caves? You came through the caves, all the way from Amadeth?”

Another nod. The eyes of the red haired child grew misty and sad. “It was a terrible journey. We’re lucky to be alive. Ikeda almost didn’t make it...”

The implications of this were staggering. By all accounts, they should still be lost in the caverns, starving to death! “So many leagues, by heaven, how could you and Ikeda have made it here alive?”

He gave no answer, face dispassionate.

“You must have been blessed, there is no other way. Hemonos and his attendants have led you here into Scathania!”

At the mention of this, a strange smile played across the red haired child’s face. Ikeda looked up, life finally seeming to come back into his eyes.

Rou indicated the Kasa Tree and the surrounding forest with one broad sweep of her arm. “They say this place is sacred to the Efins. It was old when Scathania was young. Even though most of us go to the temples of Hemonos now, I always believed that some of the old power still dwelt here, that it was part of Hemonos’s plan. Yes, it’s true, Hemonos must have blessed you! His blessing is here, right here in our home. We don’t have to be afraid any more.”

Her spirit soared at the thought. The wars, the death and uncertainty, perhaps it would all finally end…

“Foolish girl.” His words were like daggers, his smile cold and mocking. “WE are the blessing. Ikeda, and I, yes. The Amadethians, and those they obey, would not have kept us there otherwise. But we escaped, and we’re here to sort things out, you see.”

Rou gasped. Ikeda looked back and forth between them. The red haired child continued to stare right through her, his smile frozen on his pale face.

“Why are you talking like…?”

“That’s the way it is, isn’t it?” the red haired boy spat. “You live out your boring lives here, building your petty little world out of comforting beliefs, patting yourself on the shoulder with sanctimonious assurances. Yet, you continue to dine upon each other to your heart’s content, searching for the blessing which can never be found?”

Rou swallowed back the bile in her throat. Tears threatened to form in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

The red haired boy cocked his head. The dark pupils of his eyes were smaller than before, tiny pin pricks of black within an ocean of cold blue. Although his voice had the outward timbre of a small boy, it had become too ancient and cunning by far. “Don’t understand? Oh ho, such a grand show! Such an elegant theatrical performance! The truth is, you don’t want to understand!”

“Leave her alone,” Ikeda sobbed, speaking for the first time, his voice kind yet small.

“Show it to her, Ikeda,” the red haired boy snarled. “Show her our compassion! Show her truth of this place, of the prayers which her people leave behind.”

Rou wanted to run now, desired it with all her soul. The sense of peace Ikeda had radiated was utterly subsumed now in the waves of cold mockery emanating from the older red haired boy. For some inexplicable reason she could not move, her feet nailed to the ground. She had to continue listening, could not turn away.

Although the light from the sun did not leave them, a shadow fell over the surrounding area. Her senses grew painfully acute, every sound grating on her ears. One of the squirrels scrambled down beside Rou. Its head began to twitch erratically, foam flying from its mouth. Its eyes grew and grew, straining against the surrounding folds of skin. Long sharp green teeth sprouted from its mouth, the smaller ones pushed aside effortlessly. Red veins straining its bulging white eyes, it laughed at her, speaking with the voice of old Vanse, a man who had often tousled her hair as she walked by his house in the crisp morning.

“Rou, sweet little Rou. God, bring her to me, give me her flesh to lick, I want her, the little sweet tart…”

“No,” Rou sobbed. “Stop…”

The squirrel shuddered, blood bursting from its eyes and body, little broken bones tearing through the skin. Others rushed into replace it, their eyes bulging, eyeing Rou hungrily.

“It’s the blessing!” the red haired boy snarled. “God’s gift! The primal manifestation! Come, drink of God’s goodness!”

The roots of the Kasa Tree were now moving, undulating back and forth, like bodies moving against each other, sensuous moans and agonized screams emanating from their tangled, shadowy depths.

“Stop!” Ikeda wailed. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Oh but it’s our purpose,” the red haired boy insisted, his teeth turning long and jagged. “Can’t you feel how she stabs us with her compassion? She thinks her pretty little fantasies can cover up the truth that lies within us. She may seek to sooth our hearts, but beneath all that is the beating, hungry heart of creation! But don’t worry, Rou! Your voice, the villagers take pride in your signing, yes? We can help them understand the true beauty of God’s blessing. Sing for us!”

Although the boy did not actually move, his visage seemed to flow towards her, invading her mouth, tearing into her tongue, into her mind. In her mind’s eye she saw her family, the villagers, all laughing and screaming as they bore down on her, eyes blue, lips red. As the image registered in Rou’s mind, her thoughts were ripped apart, revealing a deep black abyss, the inner truth laid bare.

She sang.

#

Icy terror rooted Ikeda to the spot as Rou’s agonized, inhuman screams rose up through the air and the branches of the Kasa Tree.

Golden sunlight shined down from the heavens, warming his cold skin, dappling the area in gentle beauty. Fluffy clouds scuttled by over a canvas of sheer blue. White butterflies flitted over a nearby gathering of dandelions. Birds twittered from the stands of trees, calling out their joy. A light breeze stole across Ikeda’s face, whipping about thin strands of blonde hair, caressing him, blessing him.

And meanwhile, Rou’s screams and sobs continued to pour forth, while the red haired boy cackled.

They did not end for some time.

#

Ikeda blew a quick puff between his lips, scattering another cluster of curled wood chippings which had collected on his carving. They fell to the floor, joining the other piles which had already taken up residence there over the long hours. All his attention concentrated fully on the task at hand, Ikeda raised his clasp knife and whittled at the surface of the red teak wood, being careful not to cut against the grain. The image in his imagination had gradually been taking form over the course of the night, every cut further revealing its form. He was carving the goddess Alma, one of the chief saints of Hemonos. He had a particular fondness for her. Even in the midst of pain, her smiles never ended.

Words slipped abruptly from his mouth, “Smile again, Rou…”

Upon completion, he hoped to sell the carving for a decent sum of genos. While his ability was still in need of continual refinement, he had been getting better over the years.

His earlier works were stored all about the second floor loft over the woodworking shop. Carvings of animals and mythological beings, miniature imitations of scholar gentlemen and peasants alike, wood-reliefs and tools, all collected here over the course of the ten years he had spent living in Alicia, in the prefecture of Keintos. In the light reaching in through the windows, dust danced, adding a hazy, surreal cast to the carvings as it floated through the loft. Some of his works were of passable quality; others bore the mark of an inexperienced hand. Irregardless of how good they might look, he adorned them all. His only regret was that he had not been able to devote more time to cultivating his skills, what with the heavy demands the temple of the Scathania placed on his time.

He was deeply grateful that Ogden had permitted these trips. The owner of the woodworking shop had been teaching him not just how to carve, but other necessary skills, such as furniture building and carpentry. However, with the encroaching factories and new textile industries, his future was not certain. He doubted he would be able to make enough from carving alone, especially if it became known to his patrons that he was secretly going against the wishes of most of the priests.

The path which had been laid out for Ikeda left a sour taste in his mouth. He did not want to assume a prominent place in the temple, and wished they would stop taking such an interest in him. True, an escaped slave of the Amadethians was a rare find, but more and more of them were being brought into Scathania as military tensions mounted. He didn’t understand why they insisted on focusing their interests on him so much. His recollection of the years which preceded his arrival at Alicia were dim, so very dim, a vague string of broken images. From the depths of that memory echoed a girl’s scream, floating up towards the rafters where spiders spun their treacherous webs.

Ikeda trembled, wiping away the beads of sweat dotting his brow. He did not know how the girl Rou had died; he had been told it was likely the work of roving brigands. Before that, there was nothing but darkness. In addition to the fear, it also left a strange longing in his heart whenever he dwelled upon it, making him all the more hesitant. Whenever the echoes of that murky past caught up with him, it seemed never to do any good, leaving only more painful memories in its wake. He yearned to have a defined sense of purpose, and feared the possibility of ending up as a lonely one. However, he would not despair. He would keep smiling.

I’m not here to play savior. He thought. Right Rou? I’m here to have fun.

Ikeda let loose a laugh, the old worries melting away.

Deciding to take a break from his work, Ikeda strayed over to a window facing the western end of the city. Proud yellow flags had been erected atop the tiled roofs and overhanging eaves of Alicia’s buildings. The Summer Festivals would be arriving shortly come the end of May, and the entire city was gearing up for a week of celebrations. Ikeda smiled. It was during the Festival of ten years ago that he had at last found a home.

A commotion of some sort was entering through the western gate, moving up the wide avenue which cut between the north and south districts of the city. Even from his vantage point so far away, he easily caught sight of the gleaming, colorful carts owned by the Davon Marshar, a traveling group of performers.

Stowing his unfinished carving of Alma off to the side, he started down the stairs, never one to miss a day of fun, ignoring the cold memories which pulled at the back of his mind, trying to uncover some hidden truth he could not quite remember…

[Scales]

Some of the clunks of text need to be broken up, but the dialogue seems solid and engaging.

[Enishi]

Yeah, I noticed the large chunks when glancing over it a second time. Thanks for the advice.