Читать книгу Rise to the Rahz - Erik van Mechelen - Страница 6

The second toll boomed in eerie harmony with the door to the workers’ quarters slamming shut. A brief image occurred in his mind: a white cliff followed shortly by a hiss and a shadow's eyes and jaws. There, then gone. How he wished to linger on these insights, but it was only moments per shift he could wonder on them before they disappeared like a glowfly extinguishing its light.

There were eyes on him. Heads jutting out from crevice-like alcoves along the walls of the narrow room. Others sat along the soup table under shards of blue earthlight lodged into the cramped ceiling. One of his peers sat statue-still, drips of green liquid spilling onto his lap from his suspended spoon. The worker imagined what must be on their minds, for it was on his mind, too.

The door was not opened after the first toll. For anyone. He should have descended. He felt a pang of sadness for the worker he’d spoken to who must have suffered that fate; he’d not had the arguments to convince him to retreat with him to the workers’ quarters. By now the shadows would have taken him into the Abyss. To begin his journey to the Source.

He found a vacant spot at the long stone table. A bowl of goop arrived. In its waft the worker smelled something unmistakable. A similar but different scent to the powder that had sprung from the cut bulb in the growing room. Why have I not noticed this before?

He lifted his spoon, but a hand touched his arm. It was the worker sitting beside him.

“You were out past the first toll!” he whispered.

“Yes.” He followed the touch, seeing tiny bumps rising from his skin.

“You should have descended!” the other worker said. “Yet here you are. Did you visit the Source and return? The door opened for you!”

Too many questions to answer. The doorman let me in. He shrugged and smiled weakly. What else was there to say? It had happened so fast.

He tried to take his first bite again but the worker grabbed his arm. "The door opened for you, how?"

A throat loudly cleared at the far end of the table. Standing was a tall man. He wore a dark lizard-skinned vest and an eyebrowed glare. Director Dimah. His thick arms were held behind him. His full head of hair shook dangerously as he paced behind the row of workers. When he spoke, his voice was as commanding as the tolls. “The doorman was kind enough to let you in. Had he not, by now you surely would have descended. The shadows would have your soul.”

Though he felt challenged, the worker remained silent.

Dimah stood behind him now. His breath was on the worker's neck as he spoke. “If you please, worker, join me at the far end of the table."

The worker followed Dimah back to the head of the table. As he walked he could still smell the turma, and found that some of the powder was nestled into his nostril. He quickly hid his hands as Dimah turned to him and the room. “The penalty for missing the second toll is descension by way of the shadow. This is not how the Rahz want it, but they can only do so much against the darkness. Even the Rahz must rest to keep their strength. But through their strength we have our equilibirum, and we can fight to find the Source." The worker imagined the hairless heads near the doorway stretching from their cracks to see. Dimah turned to the worker. "You must not get in the habit of tempting the shadows." And to the room, “You must all be reminded.”

The worker saw Dimah’s thick fist swinging toward his face. But it wasn’t there yet; it was a shadow of what was to come. The worker dropped into a crouch to avoid the blow. Dimah’s hand glanced against the worker’s cheek instead of catching him full.

Kneeling, the worker brought his hand to his cheek and spat blood. A warm sensation grew, and pain came. But it was not so harsh as he feared.

Dimah looked unsure of himself. “You must all be reminded,” he said again, his voice wavering. Then he recovered, booming. “Be back from work before the first toll. The doorman will not let you in afterward. It is too dangerous to open that door. And you,” continued Dimah, grabbing the worker’s hand from his cheek and dragging him to his feet. Dimah’s breath was pungent; there was a hint of the turma powder tickling the worker's nostrils even now, “Your life being spared is an example of why I trust the Rahz. Now, go eat your soup."

Dimah released the worker’s hand, then turned and headed towards a door at the back of the workers’ quarters. “Lights off soon,” he announced, and was gone through the stone door.

As the worker returned to his seat at the table, murmurs filled the room. He took shelter in a slow regard of his soup. Circling the bowl with his spoon, the worker found its texture decidedly unappealing. Its smell only made things worse. Glancing side to side, he saw that the others had already lost interest in him. He put both hands on the bowl, slipped it under the table, and dumped it out.

Moments later, when the serving worker came to collect his bowl, her narrowed eyes revealed her confusion as to how the worker had completed his soup so quickly. But I have also escaped the shadows. He showed his teeth, a mischievous smile to mimic that now lost worker he'd met in Growing Room One.

When the worker curled into his crevice, he found he couldn’t sleep. He thought about the sixth bulb, the lost worker, the chasm bridge, the glowing Rahz Spire, the confrontation with Dimah. When he finally did sleep, he didn’t dream of shadows pulling him into the Abyss, but of his next encounter with the lost worker. He didn't know how he knew, but just as he'd seen Dimah's fist before it arrived, he guessed he would be meeting the worker again. At the very least, he hoped he would.