Chapter 24

As it turns out, Zoe’s drink had a little more kick than Warren anticipated, and he was feeling somewhat groggy when she gently lowered him to next to Sofi, who still hadn’t moved. Warren sighed with relief when he noticed this fact. “So…..” he said, squinting and stumbling to one side, “how do I make her move?”
Zoe smiled empathetically. “You wait.”
“Wow, what was in that drink? I can hardly hear myself think…or talk,” he mumbled, rubbing his foggy eyes.
“It’s an antidote for the balm my servant gave you. You will begin slipping into the shadow realm soon.”
“Will you be coming with me?” he asked, turning suddenly to her.
Zoe laughed. “No, Warren; I cannot go against my nature and venture into darkness. But I will be close to you—listen for my song; it will help you overcome any struggle you might face. Now go, find your friends, Warren Spicks.”
Warren turned back to Sophi as Zoe’s voice faded. Find them? he wondered. They were right here, in front of him. He waited for a moment as his head cleared. He blinked his eyes open and closed several times. He was indeed right where he left Sofi, but the lights in the place had certainly been dimmed. It was almost as if he were waking from a dream just before dawn: expecting light, but not quite getting enough. He looked at Sofi’s hand: the note was just as he left it: will be right back. He clutched her hand in his own and kissed her cheek.
Well, he tried to kiss her cheek. And failed. He stepped back. Sofi seemed to have eluded his kiss…but then the warmth of her hand in his own wasn’t exactly triggering. He looked her over. She was disappearing before his eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder (well he tried) and couldn’t really accomplish his task. Every time, his hand slipped right through her. Warren began to panic, waving his arms in front of her, calling out for her.
A whisper replied, “Do not be troubled, Warren.” Sofi’s image faded from view. “Go find her.” And with that silence, and darkness, reigned. Warren put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. Zoe was right; he had to start searching for them. But then realized he couldn’t see a blasted thing. But when he thought about it, it really didn’t matter to him. He knew the tunnel they were in, knew about how far it was to the grand chamber. It was as straight a shot as they came. He’d just place his hand (or, as he thought about, maybe just one finger) on the tunnel wall and he could practically run there. He knew that if Zoe had made her home (or throne room or reception area or whatever it was) in that domed room, it was likely these sons of Zoe had done the same. From what he had learned from Ed, they didn’t seem to be the creative or artistic type. He expected a sort of imitative corruption on their end. It also helped that Sofi, Livingstone, and Old Fred had been headed in that direction to begin with.
So Warren took off hastily, finger on wall to keep his direction. On his third step, he tripped and fell flat on his face. After a groan, he patted down the area and found a broken slab of concrete on the floor. Perhaps the two halves of the world were not in the same condition of disrepair. So Warren stood himself back up, brushed himself off, put his finger to the wall, and stepped forward without quite so much gusto as the last time. His shin thanked him, but throbbed nonetheless.
After what seemed like enough time to make it to the grand chamber, Warren still felt the wall to his left and decided that his eyes would never adjust. He also found what he thought was silence to be a very busy silence, as far as silence was concerned. But none of the little sounds he thought he heard were substantial enough to warrant his focus. He could have been hearing the buzz of air molecules in his ear, the eternal atomic collisions of air itself, or whispers of long abandoned souls. He did not want to believe the latter—but it rung in his heart as the truer answer.
At any rate, it brought him to an impossible thought: he wanted to yell out for Sophi, but he dared not alert any of these fallen sons of Zoe to his presence. Better to stay hidden and reserve surprise as a weapon, he thought, but then again, how long could he wander this labyrinth without running into his companions? Eternity itself wasn’t out of that question.
It amazed Warren how his sense of space dwindled in the dark—how much bigger the world actually was. Mostly he wondered how wrong his conception of distance could have been. He had been walking for what he would have imagined as twice the length between his original position and that grand cold chamber he sought. But his fingers had found no deviation in the direction of the wall, though he had discovered plenty of holes and cracks in it. His vision however had noticed no perceptible change from blinking for a while now.
So when began to see an edge off to his right, he blinked several times, squinting in between, trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining shapes in the dark. But no, there was a distinct blue line splitting the darkness ahead. He couldn’t tell much more than that, but he saw it more clearly as he approached. Perhaps it was the end of the tunnel, where it opened into the main chamber. There had to be some source of light just beyond the edge. His walk became a half jog, though he still raised his feet a good eight inches off the ground as a precaution with each step.
But when his eyes found that source, his veins froze. A wandering wraith, emitting a flickering blue light—like a frozen firefly—hovered before him. Warren thought of it as like an ethereal, dying glow-stick. It seemed to be cracking, fissured, seeping energy like blood from its wounds. The face seemed to be the only recognizable feature of this specter (except possibly the hands—which had long, claw-like fingers), but like it had been etched into stone.
The glow emanating from the creature didn’t do much to illuminate its surroundings. In fact, the more Warren looked at it, trying desperately not to breathe, the more it seemed lost—like an Alzheimer’s patient in the bathroom looking for that wooden cooking spoon she had set somewhere. And then a thought struck Warren: would being a little light in such a dark place be beneficial at all? Or would it make the darkness that much darker? How much more impossible to see anything beyond yourself! How much more tragic to be set apart from even darkness, to be your own incapable, flickering light, to be removed from participating with anything.
This had to be a fallen son of Zoe. Even as pitiful as it seemed, Warren dared not blink. These creatures of the shadow world had to be dangerous—not just that he had believed Ed, but that there was something about darkness that he feared. Of course, wasn’t that always the case in literature? When wasn’t the light a source of comfort, grace, truth? When wasn’t the darkness a breeding ground for evil, hatred, and malice? It occurred to Warren that it must have something to do with the nature of light as a presence, as an object. Light was something, darkness was the absence of light. Same with heat and coldness, as he thought about it. A dark, cold place can be described only as a place missing light and heat—for darkness and coldness have no substance. Perhaps it was much easier for the mind to relegate fear and chaos to the dark places of the world.
And perhaps that was why these specters were as they were. If indeed they had fallen from Zoe, and Zoe was the epitome of light and warmth, they must certainly have not only fallen into darkness, into coldness, but into insubstantiality. Where they were proud, strong being of light before, they became the tormented wraiths of the darkness after their undoing of themselves.
But certainly regret gnawed at them, and surely they cursed Zoe for her lack of concern for them now—what sort of twisted, self-pitying, revenge-crazed beings had they come? For darkness saps a soul of its will, draws out any grace in its heart—it is a sort of void that will consume anything given it. And Warren didn’t want to test the boundaries of these wretched creatures, absorbed in their own sufferings.
So he waited while the flickering phantom seemed to mourn its own existence in silence, wandering who knew where as it lived out its tormenting days in darkness. When it finally passed the tunnel entrance and moved out of Warren’s sight, he relaxed and took a cautious step forward.
Unfortunately this step elicited a cry from an unknown source at his feet. In the next moments, Warren was tackled backwards by an unknown force, heard another, more-chilling screech further off, and found himself staring momentarily into a pair of large glowing eyes with what he could only describe as insanity. Then a pulse of energy struck him—like the shockwave from a thunderclap nearby. His heart seemed to skip a beat—his head felt light, as if he were beginning to black out from standing up too quickly. The world tilted to the left and he began to slide from consciousness. And all the while those cold menacing eyes glared at him. Then he slipped into the darkness.

*

Warren woke shivering. His head was pounding, his feet were freezing, and his back ached. He blinked his eyes and craned his neck, staring off into the darkness. He thought he saw a few pinpoints of light off in the distance…but nothing remotely close. The darkness was incredible—it was like a terrible inky-black ocean, pressing down upon him as he lay on his back. It was almost suffocating.
He tried to roll over, but found his wrists and ankles tied down. So he relaxed and tried to think of Sofi. Her image came easily to mind—he found himself addressing her with a whisper. “Oh Sofi; where are you? Don’t you know I need?”
When a voice whispered back, “What?” Warren jumped. It had come from behind him; he tried to arch his back and look, but realized the foolishness of this attempt in the darkness. The whisper came again. “Warren, is that you?” Warren’s lungs quivered. Was he hearing things?
“Sofi?” he whispered harshly.
A sigh of relief. “Yes, yes, Warren, it’s me.”
“I thought I was alone,” he said.
“I knew they chained someone else up, but I didn’t know it was you…you were unconscious for a while, you know,” Sofi replied quietly.
“Where’s Livingstone?”
“They couldn’t catch him; so I don’t know. Probably trying to figure out how to get out of here. We weren’t sure what to do after you froze.” She paused a moment. “But they ambushed us. I haven’t heard from Old Fred yet, either.” Warren couldn’t help but think of Zoe’s exhortations not to mourn the loss of the others—perhaps Old Fred, that kind gentle soul, was forever gone now, too. “What happened to you?”
Warren explained how he had seen the figure on the river, that he had found them unmoving, and decided to accompany “Ed” to find Zoe. He told her of how Ed had rubbed something on his eyelids and how he had crossed fully into the light half of the realm. He told her of Ed’s story, of the sons of Zoe, now cursed, cut off from the light, and of the wonder’s of song in this place. With awe thickening his voice, he spoke of the beautiful angel Zoe, how she said she was kin to those Sofi worked for, how she encouraged him in his efforts to elude the Mar, to reach his destination.
He heard Sofi gasp several times during his telling, but it was evident she wouldn’t interrupt him. So when he concluded his tale with his return to the shadow realm, she paused thoughtfully and then spoke. “So she was a Dryad…what did she call her fountain?”
“Cheriel” Warren whispered back.
“She must be part of the Eastern Orchestral Grove. She likely knows the Lady Aurora—that’s great news Warren. Perhaps she will pass on the information to her that she met you, alive and well. And if she does, that means will should expect to find help in the next few days. Oh Warren, this is a great thing that has happened.”
Warren was pleased that she found such hope in this. He imagined her smile. And that thought illuminated his mind more clearly than any bright summer sun could possibly hope.
“But,” Sofi whispered, seemingly collecting her thoughts, “if we’re in the Eastern Orchestrals…we have some distance to go to get back on course. But that should be relatively easy, since we know generally where we are now. As a matter of fact…” she paused again, searching for something.
“What?” Warren wondered, waiting in anticipation. Sofi shushed him. Warren’s eyebrows, if they could have been seen, raised a little in chagrin.
But then Sofi began to sing. Softly at first, and not in English. But Warren still claims that this was the most beautiful moment in his life, lying there, chained in the darkness, immersed in the sound of Sofi’s song—and did she sing! It was like the sweet melody of a songbird. It completely paralyzed Warren—he didn’t even want to breath for fear the sound of it cloud her song. He felt light, as if he were floating the music itself. And then his hands felt different—a freedom. He pulled one hand to his chest as the bindings fell loose. The other came undone just as easily. But he didn’t want to move—oh no. He wouldn’t be doing anything until she stopped singing.