Bad Seed

Sun above, keep my flame burning strong and bright. For only the forsaken live a life without light—A Smoker’s prayer.

Darkness flooded the underground tunnel and surged against the glow of Elsa Jefferson’s lantern. She pushed through it, along tight corridors and pinched chambers, a young woman in a fragile ball of light.

A fool-hardy mission had brought her to this tunnel today. Elsa had strayed far from the Darkzone settlement, far from the relative safety of its electric lights and noisy, dirty crowds. Only stubbornness and desperation prevented her from returning there now. She kept her mission clear in her mind and forced her feet to move forward, ever deeper into the dark.

The tunnel dipped and Elsa ran one hand along the rough stone for balance. Her fingertips read the history of the passageway in the fissures and cracks that marred its surface like scars on a body. Forty paces further and the wall of the tunnel fractured into a gap big enough for her to squeeze through, one slender limb at a time. A large murky cavity lay beyond, its floor a metre or so below her. She paused on the edge of the passage—a hand gripping the course stone behind her, the other holding the lantern like a shield in front of her, her foot dangling in the air.

Her light illuminated the chamber. Pale flowstone formed frozen cascades across the walls, and stalactites hung from the sunken ceiling like shredded curtains. The surface road, a man-made path two metres wide, cut from one end of this cavern to the other. It created a smooth, unnatural line in a chamber cluttered with uneven rock formations.

Elsa scanned the thoroughfare. The Black Guardsmen patrolled this road, which linked the Darkzone to the world above, and she did not have permission to be here. If they caught her in this forbidden space, there would be no pleading ignorance or confusion, and no escaping a trip to the Guardhouse. She could avoid the regular patrols, but the captain of the Black Guardsmen often sent surprise parties to catch illicit travellers, and Elsa had every reason to be afraid.

She leant further out, still reluctant to leave the tunnel. The space seemed empty, but she never fully trusted her vision. Light and shadow played across each stalactite and bump, giving the illusion of movement. They warped her perception of the cavern’s shape, rippling its dimensions, magnifying some sections while shrinking others.

She closed her eyes and listened. The sounds around her sharpened. Water tapped, slow and steady, on a stalagmite to her left. Her lantern flame made a soft pop as an air current caused it to flicker. She concentrated harder, prepared to run at the first sound that didn’t belong.

Come on, girl. Move it or go home!

Her uncle’s voice snapped in her head, as it always did when she needed it.

Elsa dropped down into the cave chamber. Her worn rubber soles hit the stone road with a dull thud. She froze, expecting the Black Guardsmen to leap from the shadows and drag her away, and exhaled when nothing happened.

“One, two, three…” Elsa counted fifteen paces until she found the cave’s central point. She left the road. Her boots crunched the delicate formations of crystals and clay. She dropped her pack and sank to the ground. The slight rise had a good view of the path and an even better one of the large entrances on the other side of the chamber.

Elsa burrowed the lantern into the crumbling rock with one hand. The motion sloshed the oil at its base, giving her an idea of the remaining reserves. Her fingers hovered over the small knob controlling the wick. Elsa’s practical side urged her to turn off her lantern to conserve fuel, but the coward in her won. Her fear of the dark was too deeply ingrained for her to surrender her only weapon against it.

She hugged her legs.

“One day to the surface,” Elsa whispered, “two days to cross the valley and spare a day for travelling the ridge. If the Dustlands look on Uncle Amos kindly, he’ll have them done in six. He’ll tour the settlements for twelve days and set his wagon for home.”

That had been her uncle’s plan. They’d discussed it in detail before he’d left.

Forty-four days minimum, he’d promised, fifty days maximum.

In all the years her uncle had junked the surface, he’d always stuck to this time frame. Even when horrible things had happened and he’d came back with more bruises than junk, he’d still made it before the fiftieth day.

Today, though, Elsa’s tally would click over to fifty-one.

She’d lain awake the previous night, her worry replacing her fear. In the morning, Elsa had risen determined to do something to soothe the creeping panic. In her tired and anxious state, a journey to the surface road—the closest she could get to him—had seemed like an excellent idea.

“Uncle Amos will return.” When she said the words out loud, they seemed more certain. “He’ll be back today. He has a reputation to uphold.”

An hour passed and Elsa had trouble keeping still. She picked at the callouses on her palm and dug out the dried grease beneath her fingernails. She scratched at a paint splotch on her pants, just above her knee. Jefferson green, her uncle called the shade, because it matched the colour of her family’s eyes.

Elsa ran out of distractions on the second hour. Shards of stone dug into her bony bottom and legs. She shifted. The knife on her belt poked her side and reminded her of the danger in this solitary vigil. Black thoughts stole into her mind. What if the guards found her here? What if she waited too long and her lantern went out, leaving her blind in a labyrinth of tunnels and caves?

The darkness grew bold with her fears. It nipped at her light. Shadow phantoms skimmed the walls. Heavy and menacing, they slunk across the dog-toothed stones and hid in the potholes littering the floor. They gathered and multiplied until they thickened the air before her eyes.

Her lantern flame suddenly seemed tiny and weak. Elsa rotated the knob and raised the wick higher. The sphere of light widened, but her fears remained. She rolled her neck in slow controlled motions, yet the heaviness continued to spread across her body until the weight was almost unbearable.

Come on, Elsa. Do something!

Her uncle’s voice once more kicked her into action. She smoothed her footprints from the powdery dirt floor and began to draw. Sharp lines and deep curves took shape beneath her finger, forming the symbols for light, air, sun and wind. Into this mix she added rounder, fuller symbols bringing her a sense of peace and calm. She laced these marks together, creating a fragile talisman in the dust—a circle of protection. This ritual did what the light could not and by the time Elsa completed the last swirl, she had control of her panic. The shadows retreated, her muscles loosened, her lungs opened. Her calm returned, bit by bit.

Elsa removed the pocket watch from around her neck, tugging when the silver chain caught the scarf covering her long, brown hair. The timepiece fit neatly in her palm and had a familiar and comforting weight. She raised it to her ear and listened to the movements within. The strong mechanical heartbeat soothed her further. She tilted the face to the light and read the time as minutes from midday. The next patrol would be on its way soon.

Logic told her it was time to leave, but Elsa remained inside the dirt circle unable to move. The moment she did her uncle’s failure would become official and she’d have to add that final mark to her tally. Then she’d have to consider the terrifying possibility that he might not be coming home.

“Where are you, uncle?”

Maybe she’d overestimated how fast her uncle could walk in a day. Pippa could have thrown a horseshoe, or the junking wagon broken an axle. Any one of these occurrences would have been enough to cause a delay of several days, maybe more.

The tiniest spark of hope grew in Elsa’s chest. She seized it. She fanned it further: her uncle was experienced and resourceful, and even now could be heading towards her. She just needed to have faith in him.

As if Elsa’s imagination and hope merged to form reality, she heard someone scrambling in the dark. She peered into the shadows along the path, searching for an unmistakable red lantern, and listened for the jingle of a harness or the clop of a hoof. The person drew closer. Elsa sucked in a deep breath to contain her excitement. A heartfelt greeting perched on her lips, ready to burst from her.

A Smoker crawled from a small hole in the cave wall opposite her. The man straightened from his crouch and blinked hard against her lantern’s glow. Filthy, tattered garments hung from his body. His bare feet were swollen, the nails cracked and ingrown. Over a thin shoulder, he carried a string of dead things—limp rats, a half-rotten fish, a small black bat—and his hand tightened on the frayed strap when he saw her.

Come on girl, think like a Junker! Your dirt talismans can’t help you here. Sure you’re scared. Fake it, damn it! Fake it and survive.

Elsa stood in a slow, controlled movement. She returned the man’s gaze and made her expression hard and mean. She drew her knife. The Smoker’s eyes flicked from her face to her weapon. A spongy, toothless gum gnawed on his cracked bottom lip and a rusty penknife appeared in his right hand.

“Tsk. I don’t think so.” Elsa tipped the blade, so the man could see its sharp edge. The shiny metal reflected her lantern and cast a narrow beam of light across the Smoker’s face. He rocked back.

“That’s it,” Elsa said. “Nothing for you here.”

He retreated, first one foot then another, until his form melted into the darkness cloaking the road. Elsa listened to his shuffled steps fade, holding her stance and clutching her knife until her fingers hurt. When Elsa was certain he’d gone, she collapsed. Her false bravado deserted her. Her hands shook so much she had to bite on her nails to hold them still.

Her black thoughts returned. She shouldn’t be here. She should take her light and go. The guards would be here soon. They had no sympathy for her kind. Or the Smoker could come back. He could return with friends and Elsa wouldn’t be able to fight them.

The flame in her lantern stretched and shortened, bringing the darkness closer and feeding the urge to flee. She would give one hundred seconds more to her uncle. That’s all she could manage. Elsa fixed her eyes on the cave entrance, pressed her pocket watch against her heart and counted.