Shadows and Dust

The mines of Asphodol were lit by the reddish-white glow of the flame gems set in the ceiling at ten foot intervals. Long, snake-like tunnels ribbed with veins of grey rock with veins of red running through them were filled with the scrape of chisels, chipping away at the walls. Workers armed with chisels and buckets attacked the walls, prying free chunks of the strange stone. Grey powder sprayed from the walls with each thunk of the chisels, raining on and sticking to the people below.

Dust stood by himself at one of the veins of grey stone. His chisel left grooves through the rock, the familiar grinding of the metal on stone was almost soothing. He had outlined a sizeable portion of stone and was working the grooves deeper until he could pry a sizeable chunk loose. He had been at his work for hours and had hours more to go before the dinner bell would sound.

Dust was small for his fifteen years and thin besides. His pale skin and ratty cotton clothes were covered in a patina of fine, grey residue from years of digging at the walls of these tunnels. His pale hair was so full of powder it floated free with the smallest shake of his head. Like everyone and everything else in Asphodol, the fallout from the mines was a permanent feature of his life.

After hours of work, Dust managed to pull free a piece of stone bigger than his fist. He dropped it in the bucket at his feet and returned to his digging. When he filled the bucket, another worker would take it away and empty it into the larger barrows. It would then be taken away. Dust didn't know where it went or what it was for, he only knew that he had to continue to work.

Anyone who couldn't or wouldn't work...well, the Shadows took them.

The Shadows oversaw all the workers in Asphodol. They could watch through the darkness between lights and even travel through it, crossing vast distances in a single step. Some said this ability is what gave them their name.

Dust had been working in the mines for as long as he could remember. He could not remember a time before the mines; few of them did. He glanced down the line of workers, each one absorbed in their work. A few sections down, Sharp worked at his own vein of rock.

Sharp was the only friend that Dust had, if he could be called a friend. He loved to talk and would do so with anyone willing to listen to him. Dust, being a

quiet one, was all too happy to do so. Sharp told lots of strange tales. Things his Guardian had told him about other places; places with things called “plants” and open spaces with nothing above but something called a “sky”. Dust didn't believe these wild stories, but they were fun to listen to and there was precious little fun in Asphodol.

They were not working near each other today, so Dust had to content himself with the rhythmic grinding of his chisel for company.

Time passed as it always did, the day passing slowly, although it was hard to tell in the monotone light of the flame gems. Eventually, the whistle would sound and Dust would be able to put down his tools and begin the long trudge back to the caves where he lived.

But before that time came, a shriek split the air.

Tools were dropped or flung down in surprise as the workers turned from their duty to look towards the source of the sound. A woman, Dust knew her name was Shale, stood back from the wall, her hands cupped around something. Dust knew what it was she was holding. The same thing they all hoped to hold one day. The thing that kept that all at work as much as the threat of the Shadows.

Shale opened her hands, revealing her prize to the light. It was black and oily-looking, about the size of Dust's smallest finger. It had no legs and no discernible head. Its body was bulbous and soft, wiggling across her palms. The workers around Shale stared in awe as she lifted her hands to her mouth and shoved the creature in. She swallowed, gasping as it passed down her throat.

Black veins began to crawl across her neck, up toward her head and down toward her chest. They ran down her arms, pushing outward as they passed through the skin of her hands. Her face became a maze of black veins, her eyes turning black as pitch, whites and pupils swallowed by darkness.

Shale had become a Shadow.

As the transformation ended, two shapes stepped out of the darkness between the light from the flame gems. They walked toward Shale, hands extended. They had the same black veins and black eyes that Shale now bore. She took their hands, not bothering to look back at the workers around her, and stepped with them into the shadows. They vanished.

The workers slowly returned to work, shaking off the awe and fear of watching a Shadow created in their midst. It was a rare thing to see, but one often spoken of. After all, it was exactly what they each hoped to achieve one day. To find a shadowseed and ascend to the ranks of the Shadows.

The Shadows were the overseers of the mines but they had other tasks as well that none of the miners were privy to. They had privileges the miners could never dream of and powers they could not begin to fathom.

It was difficult to focus on the work after witnessing Shale's change. The speed at which it had happened and the immediacy of her departure were unnerving. Dust had always thought that if he became a Shadow he would be able to say good bye to his fellow miners, to Sharp, to his Guardian. But now, he wasn't so sure.

After another few hours of work, the dinner bell sounded. Dust turned with the rest of the miners and followed them up the tunnel toward the Cavern. They dropped their tools at the mouth of the tunnel and moved into the open space of the Cavern.

The Cavern was a massive open area amidst the caves. The roof of the Cavern was so high up that it was swallowed in darkness. Part of the space was taken up with crude tables and benches made of hacked stone. The rest of the area was designated for various tasks. One section for cooking and preparing meals, one for laundry, one for repairing or crafting tools.

Dust waited in line to receive his dinner for the day, then took it to an open space at one of the tables. The workers in the Cavern were those too old or too young for mining. They did the other menial tasks necessary to keep the miners fit for work. Dust's Guardian, Sot, was not here; he was probably among those chosen to haul water from the hot springs in one of the deepest tunnels. Sot was often chosen for such work; he was not well liked.

Dust ate his portion of dry bread and mushroom soup without appetite. The sight of Shale's transformation lingered behind his eyelids, replaying over and over each time he closed his eyes. It sickened him, even as he found it fascinating. He had never seen a shadowseed before; it was revolting. For the first time that he could remember, he worried if he would have the courage to ingest it if the time ever came.

After finishing his meal, Dust rose and left the Cavern. He took one of the old hauler's tunnels that sloped down sharply. These tunnels led to the hot springs that provided the miners with their water. It also led to Dust's favorite place.

Taking a turn away from the lit tunnels, he followed a few darkened shafts, moving by memory, until he came to a large opening lit by brilliant red light. The floor in front of the tunnel's opening fell away to reveal a vertical shaft that plunged downward. A few feet below the lip of the floor, molten rock bubbled and flowed. Liquid fire lit the open space brighter than any place Dust had ever seen. It was comforting and awe-inspiring all at once.

Dust moved away from the tunnel mouth, following the ledge a few feet to the right. Part of an old shovel lay on the ground here. Its head was half melted, but had cooled into hardened metal once more. He felt like that shovel sometimes. A half-broken thing that could still be used. It comforted him for reasons he could not explain. He sat and basked in the warmth and light. He would not have much time, but he enjoyed these stolen minutes of peace in this strange bright place.

Soon enough, too soon, he had to leave. He followed the tunnels back to the Cavern and turned left, past the dining space, following a tunnel that led to the living quarters. The quarters were nothing more than square rooms, five paces by five, cut into the walls of the tunnel. A thin sheet was pegged to the frame of the entrance to give a semblance of privacy. The inside of the room was black —no flame gems hung from the ceiling. Dust felt around the floor by the entrance until he found the small store of matches and lit one. He used it to light a small square of lightstone. The lightstone was a porous yellow rock that gave of a soft light when lit.

Sot was not here either, Dust noted, his small pallet of rags was empty. Dust settled down on his own bundle of old cloth and leaned back against the wall.

as tired as he was, he never felt comfortable sleeping until Sot returned from his work.

It wasn't long before the partition was pushed aside and Sot tottered in. He was an old man, back bent from years of labor. His dark skin had a greyish hue to it and his white hair was thin and receding back from his forehead. He had dark eyes set beneath bushy white eyebrows and his thin mouth was barely discernible through his shaggy beard. His body was all knobby bones and sharp angles with little more than skin holding it all together.

Dust could barely remember when Sot had been strong enough to work the mines. For most of his life, his guardian had been relegated to more menial tasks. Most people looked down on Sot; his weakness was cause enough for ridicule in a place so dependent on strong backs.

But to Dust, Sot was everything.

Sot was the only person who seemed to care about Dust. And not just his ability to work, but to really care about his well being. Dust would never forget that. It was one of the reasons Dust wanted to become a Shadow. He would have the power and the privilege to protect Sot, maybe even see to him having easier work.

It took Dust a moment to notice the large bruise forming on Sot's cheek. Fighting between workers was rare as the Shadows policed the tunnels meticulously. And Shadows themselves rarely dished out punishments of a physical nature. It would not do to deprive themselves of able hands.

“What happened?” Dust asked.

“Oh, nothing serious,” Sot answered easily, knowing immediately what Dust was referring to. “Lord Slade thought I ought to be moving faster. Just gave me a little slap. Nothing to get worked up over.” The old man hobbled over to his pallet and lowered himself carefully.

Slade was one of the most powerful Shadows in Asphodol. He was also the most punitive. He took any excuse to knock a worker around and seemed to take particular pleasure in it.

Dust hated Slade. Hated him in the way one hated the stones or the darkness. Useless, but no less fierce for being unsolvable.

“It wasn't much of a blow,” Sot continued, “barely even touched me. Sha's Mercy protects me.” He leaned his head back, eyes closed.

Dust hated when Sot invoked Sha or his supposed mercy. Most of the older residents of Asphodol held Sha in reverence. Their god, who gave them life. The Lord of Neth Gellin, where one day, they might dwell in bliss beneath his benevolent hand.

Younger folk, like Dust, had their doubts about Sha. Not his existence, necessarily, though none of them knew for sure. Just that nothing about their lives seemed blessed by any god.

“Best get to sleep, boy. Tomorrow comes quick.”

Dust didn't respond, he just laid down and rolled to face the wall. He knew there was no point in debating with Sot about the bruise. It wouldn't kill the old man and short of that, Sot wouldn't hear a complaint about it. He held an odd reverence for those whose sole purpose seemed to be to make their lives miserable. But again, it all came back to Sha. This was His will, and the Shadows merely enforced it.

The new day came quickly, as Sot had said, the bell tolling through the darkness to signal a return to work. Dust rose slowly, barely pulling himself up before Sot was hobbling out the doorway.

What followed was a typical day; a small meal followed by hours of chipping and digging at the veins of strange rock that lined the walls of the mineshafts. By the time the bell sounded for the midday meal, Dust was covered in the usual fallout from the mining. He hated the grey powder that clung to the miners like a second skin, getting everywhere and on everything. Of all the things to hate, however, it was a small one.

After the midday meal, Dust found himself working alongside Sharp. Most people didn't speak much while they worked, but Sharp had mastered the knack of chattering away while working. As usual, he was well into one of his strange tales within minutes.

“And they have these things called 'trees'! They're kinda like stones, except softer, and they're alive!” Sharp's prattle never bothered Dust, but soft stones that lived were too fanciful for even his patience.

“That's ridiculous.” Dust shook his head in annoyance. Tales were usually fun, but he felt that Sharp sometimes just liked to see how insane he could make his stories sound.

“I know!” Sharp didn't seem to catch Dust's waning interest and took the response for enthusiasm. “But that's how it is, I'm telling you! And Treb also says they have these green things that grow on them. They're called leaves! And sometimes, they turn colors and fall to the ground!”

Treb was Sharp's guardian and he was well known for being crazy. Sharp had told Dust, and anyone else who would listen, a number of wild stories much like this one. That water could fall from the air. That there were creatures who could be made into food. That all the people of Asphodol actually came from other worlds. Nonsense like that was common for Treb.

The day wore on like that. Dust chipping away at the wall, filling his bucket with chunks of stone. Sharp going on and on about strange, wonderful places that were full of light and miracles.

Dust was so lost in the rhythm of his work that he almost didn't notice the movement in the stone. It started as shimmer in the rock. Like a bubble formed of solid grey. As Dust clawed around it with his chisel, it grew outward. He had never seen anything like it. Finally, he set the tip of his chisel against the protrusion and pushed.

The bubble burst and a small, black shape wiggled out. Dust barely had time to drop his chisel and cup his hands around the dark shape, catching it in his upward palms.

It was a Shadowseed. A large one. Much larger than the one Shale had found. It was commonly believed that the larger the Seed, the stronger the Shadow. Dust didn't know if that was true, but it seemed plausible.

The Seed was as big as two of his thumbs pressed together. Its bulbous, wriggling body was almost weightless in his hands. He knew what he had to do, but he hesitated. It seemed so unnatural, to put this thing in his mouth and swallow.

Unnatural, but simple.

All he had to do was force it down and he would be among the most powerful figures in Asphodol. But something held him back.

“Dust, what are you—” Sharp's question cut off as he looked over Dust's shoulder and saw what sat in his cupped palms. “Woah...”

They both sat their, staring at Dust's prize. This could change everything.

“What are you waiting for, Dust?” The question was simple but also not. Dust could not explain the sense of wrongness the creature gave off, but it unnerved him.

“I know, I know,” Dust mumbled back. “Just give me a minute.”

Dust started to raise his hands to his mouth, but stopped again. His stomach turned at the thought of this creature being inside of him. He just needed a minute to gather his courage, he told himself. Just a minute to prepare himself for how everything was about to change.

“I'm sorry, Dust.”

Sharp's voice cut through Dust's thoughts right as the chisel struck his head. Dust fell to the side, his head ringing, his empty hands dropping to his side.

Dust's vision blurred, sharpened, and blurred again.

It was hard to focus on anything. His hands felt around his face and came away wet and red. What had happened?

His vision cleared slightly, resolving itself into an image of Sharp standing over him. Sharp would help him. Sharp was his friend.

Then he noticed the bloody chisel in his friend's hand. And the other hand....it held a squirming black shape. Dust barely had time to process the scene above him before Sharp squeezed his eyes shut and forced the Seed into his mouth.

The transformation seemed to occur more rapidly than Shale's had. Or perhaps Dust was just so addled he could not keep up. One moment his friend had been swallowing the strange creature. The next, a black eyed monster leered down at him, black veins craving a horrible map across his pale face. After that, the space above him was empty.

Dust spent the rest of the day lying on his pallet in his quarters. His wound had been treated with a strange paste and covered with a rag. It was not a terrible wound despite how it felt and he would be expected at work the next day.

Dust awoke to fingers prodding at his wound. He sat up with a yelp to find Sot kneeling over him. He could see the pain in the old man's eyes. Sot was concerned for his health, Dust knew. But he would also be disappointed when he learned how Dust had gotten the injury.

Sot, dear pious Sot, was always going on about the blessings of Sha. How Sha gave gifts to those who deserved them. How Sha's servants — the Shadows — were the most blessed.

And Dust had lost his chance to receive that blessing. Sot would be devastated that Dust had failed so.

“I'm sorry—” he began, but Sot waved the apology away.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, my boy. I heard all about it. A shame to be betrayed by a friend.” The old man shook his head in sadness and leaned forward again to press a damp cloth to Dust's wound. He must have pulled the old rag away to inspect it for himself. Sot had plenty of experience with injuries.

Dust ached to tell his guardian the truth. How he had been too weak, too cowardly to take the blessing. How Sharp had only struck because Dust had hesitated. But he could not bear to admit his shame to the one person who had always cared for him.

“Its not easy, boy,” Sot said, softly. “Believe me, I know how hard it can be to hold that power in your hand. To know that it is only one small action away. I know it too well.”

Dust was shocked. Sot knew already that he had the chance and missed it. “How —” but again, Sot cut him.

“Let it be, boy.” The old man smiled, weakly. “Perhaps Sha's blessings are not for the likes of us.” Dust remained silent, though questions ran through his mind. Had Sot also not been able to ingest a Seed. How did he know that Dust had failed?

He wanted to press his guardian for answers but darkness had begun to close in on him. His head fell back onto the bundle of rags that served as his pillow and sleep was upon him.

The next week passed in the usual monotonous way. Dust ate, worked, and slept. His wound improved; he no longer got dizzy and the scab on his temple was fading. He rarely had any time to talk with Sot; it seemed the old man was being pressed hard in his duties. Dust hated that, but he had no one but himself to blame for it. If he had taken the Seed, things would be different.

But he hadn't. And as Sot had said, Dust had no choice but to let it go.

After more than a week back at work, Dust returned to his quarters, exhausted and ready for sleep.

But Sot was not there and so he waited, slumped against the wall, awake. He had almost dozed off when the sound of voices and heavy feet jogged him to wakefulness.

Three men pushed through the partition, carrying a fourth between them. Dust knew immediately who the fourth was. The three men set Sot down on his pallet and left. They had no time to waste administering to someone like the old man.

Dust crawled over and examined Sot. His face was a mess of bruised, swollen flesh. His breathing was shallow and one of his arms hung at an odd angle. Dust didn't know where to begin to help his guardian. All he could think to do was cover him with the rags from his own pallet and hold the old man's hand.

In his desperation, he even offered a prayer to Sha.

It did no good that Dust could see.

He wanted to wait for Sot to awaken. To ask him who had done this, even though he was sure he knew who it was.

Slade.

It occurred to Dust that Sot might not awaken. That he might die here and now, and Dust would be left alone.

He could not bear that thought. Not after all he had done in raising Dust. His patient demeanor and his care was unusual in Asphodol and Dust didn't know what he would do without it.

He could not help Sot here. He had no medical knowledge and he did not believe that further prayers to Sha would help.

Instead, he gave in to an impulse that Sot had always suppressed. Retribution. He was already thinking of how he could do it. He realized in that moment that he had been planning this ever since Sharps betrayal. A way to punish one of the Shadows. To get some small manner of vengeance, even if it meant his death.

Dust left their quarters, walking quickly. He took the haulers' tunnels down until the flame gems stopped and followed the dark tunnels to his favorite spot. The brilliant flame-lit cave welcomed him with its warmth. He grabbed the ruined shovel for the first time, feeling its weight. It was heavy and part of the head still had a bit of an edge.

He retraced his steps to where the last of flame gems lit the meeting place between two tunnels. Without stopping to think, he leapt upward, swinging the shovel with all his strength. The blade struck the flame gem, shattering it in a burst of heat and light.

The tunnel was plunged into darkness, the next flame gem just visible fifty paces away.

It did not take long for the response Dust had been anticipating. A figure stepped out of the darkness near the flame gem, turning to face Dust. Even from this distance, Dust could tell it was Slade.

The Shadow was tall and slim with a pale, bald head riddled with black veins. Slade grinned at Dust in a way that said he was going to enjoy the pain of punishing the boy.

Dust wasted no time in turning to run down the dark tunnel. He didn't pause to make sure the Shadow was following; he knew Slade would be after him. He heard the footfalls of pursuit, confirming the guess he had made regarding the Shadow's ability to jump through the darkness. Jumping from shadow to shadow would be much more difficult if the whole tunnel was shadow.

The darkness that gave the Shadows their strange abilities would hide Dust. For a time, at least.

Dust raced along, the pounding of his pursuer ringing through the tunnel. He didn't have long before he would be caught.

But he was almost there.

He made a turn, the last turn. Just another hundred or so paces. The dim glow of the cave was coming into view.

Dust burst into the flame-lit cave, so bright no shadows could live within it. He ducked to the right and plastered himself against the rocky wall. Slade stalked into the chamber, raising a hand to his eyes and hissing at the bright light.

That momentary distraction was all Dust needed.

He stepped away from the wall and swung the shovel with all the strength he could muster.

The metal head of the shovel shattered with a dull ringing sound as it struck the back of Slade's head. It didn't do nearly the damage Dust had hoped it would.

But it did enough.

The Shadow pitched forward into the liquid flame. A gurgling, hissing scream accompanied his fall until the magma sucked him down and covered him.

Dust leaned back against the wall, panting. He had done it. He killed a Shadow.

Sot might still be dying. Dust might still be alone soon. But he had gotten his revenge at least. And he had done what no one had ever considered doing before.

He was about to walk away when he noticed movement on the ground by the edge of the pit. A small, black shape was wiggling along the edge of the pit.

Dust knew it immediately for what it was. Slade's Seed had abandoned him. And now, here it was, struggling to escape the heat and the light.

Dust bent down, picking up the Shadowseed between his thumb and forefinger. He didn't hesitate this time. He immediately stuck the creature into his mouth and swallowed.

His whole body seemed to burst aflame from the inside. His veins burned and he watched as the black veins crawled through his pale flesh. His eyesight blurred and came back sharper than ever. His whole body thrummed with energy and power.

Dust had become a Shadow.