David Galouye - Dark Universe

The pace of irrevocable change had been furious and relentless. And he grimly suspected that things would, could never be the same. Certainly, the malevolent beings in their outlandish attire of loosely fitting cloths had laid claim to all the worlds and passages and were now taking over with vehement determination. He was sure, too, that the design of hot spring failures and dwindling water level was but another phase of their scheme.

And while all these things had happened he had squandered his time searching for something trivial, nursing the belief that Light was desirable. He had let the solid things of material worth slip from his grasp as he chased a whimsical breeze down an endless corridor.

Things may have been different had he, instead, organized the Levels and led the fight for Survival. There might even have been hope of returning to a normal pattern of existence, with Della as his Unification partner. Perhaps he might not even have found out she was — Different.

But it was too late now. He was a virtual prisoner in the very world which he had expected would provide the key to his futile quest for Light. And both he and the Zivvers were themselves helpless captives of the monsters who ruled the corridors.

He pushed the food aside and ran a hand through his hair. Outside, the world was animate with the audible effects of an activity period in full swing — loud conversation, children at play and, more remotely, the sound of rocks being piled on rocks as workers continued sealing off the entrance. Listlessly, he made a note of the fact that the latter noises were an excellent echo source.

But, more directly, he concerned himself with the despair which came with his conviction that he would find nothing different here — nothing to justify having extended his search for Darkness and Light to this world.

Among the nearer audible effects he recognized Della’s voice coming from the next shack. It was a happy, excited voice that leaped from subject to subject with a bubbling rapidity and was at times obscured by the effusive words of several other women. From bits of the conversation he gathered that she had quickly located all her Zivver relatives.

The curtains parted and Mogan stood in the entrance. His bulky form, silhouetted only by back sounding, coarsely punctured the silence of the shack.

The Zivver leader beckoned with a distinctive twist of his head. “It’s about time we made sure you’re one of us.”

Jared feigned an indifferent shrug and followed him outside.

Mogan led the way alongside a row of dwelling units as many other Zivvers fell in behind them.

They reached a clearing and the leader drew to a halt. “We’re going to have a little rough-and-tumble — just you and me.”

Frowning obtusely, Jared listened up at the man.

“That’s the surest way to find out whether you’re really zivving, don’t you agree?” Mogan said, spreading his hands.

And Jared heard that they were huge hands, altogether commensurate with the size of the man. “I suppose it is,” he agreed, with just a tinge of futility.

A figure broke out of the crowd and he recognized Della as she started toward him, concern heavy in the shallowness of her breathing. But someone caught her arm and drew her back.

“Ready?” Mogan asked.

Jared braced himself. “Ready.”

But apparently the Zivver leader wasn’t ready — not just yet.

“All right, Owlson,” he shouted, facing the party that was still working at the entrance. “I want complete silence over there.”

Then he turned to those around him. “Nobody makes a sound — understand?”

Jared concealed his hopelessness and said sarcastically, “You’re forgetting I can still smell.” He realized gratefully that Mogan had also forgotten about the noise of the waterfall which, thank Light, couldn’t be silenced.

“Oh, we’re not finished with the preparations,” the other laughed.

Several Zivvers seized Jared’s arms while another caught his hair and twisted his head back. Then wads of coarse, moist substance were stuffed into his ears and forced up his nostrils — mud!

Released into an odorless, soundless void, he brought his hands up to his face. But before he could dig the clay from his ears, Mogan closed in and locked his neck in a rocklike grip. He was wrenched off his feet and hurled violently to the ground.

Disoriented because there was no sound or scent to guide him, he sprang up and delivered a blow that landed on nothing and succeeded only in throwing him off balance again.

Dimly, he heard the laughter that ifitered through the mud in his ears. But the sound was too vague to bear any impressions of Mogan’s whereabouts. Fists swinging, Jared stumbled forward, circling — until the Zivver leader clouted him on the back of his neck and flattened him once more.

When he tried to rise this time, a fist pounded into his face, almost taking his head off. And he would have been convinced the following blow did accomplish that purpose if unconsciousness had not deprived him of the ability to be sure of anything.

Eventually, he responded to the stinging splash of water against his face and raised himself on an elbow. The mud had fallen from one of his ears and he could hear the circle of men who stood zivving menacingly down on him.

From within the crowd came the voices of Mogan and Della:

“Of course I knew he wasn’t a Zivver,” the girl was maintaining.

Irately, Mogan reminded, “And yet you brought him here.”

“ He brought me .” She laughed scornfully. “I couldn’t have made it by myself. My only chance was to let him think I believed he was a Zivver too.”

“Why didn’t you tell us the truth before this?”

“And give him a chance to turn on me before you could stop him? Anyway, I knew you’d find out for yourself sooner or later.”

Jared shook his head dully, remembering Leah’s warning against the girl and his own doubts from time to time. If he had been able to listen beyond the lobe of his ear, he might have heard that she was using him all along merely as an escort in her search for the Zivver World.

He tried to rise, but someone planted a foot on his shoulder and pressed him back against the ground.

“What’s he doing here?” Mogan asked the girl.

“I don’t know exactly. He’s hunting for something and he thinks he might find it here.”

“What?”

“Darkness.”

Mogan made his way over and hauled Jared to his feet. “What did you come here for?”

Jared said nothing.

“Were you trying to find this world so you could lead a raid on it?”

When that drew no response, the leader added, “Or are you helping the monsters locate us?”

Still Jared offered no reply.

“We’ll let you think it over awhile. You might realize a frank tongue could make things easier for you.”

Jared, however, sensed there would be no leniency. For, as long as he was alive, they would always fear he might escape and carry out whatever purpose they suspected he was concealing.

Trussed with fiber rope, he was taken halfway across the world and shoved into a dwelling unit not too far from the roaring cataract. It was a cramped shack whose wall openings were barred with stout manna stems.

Several times during his first period of confinement Jared entertained the idea of escape. Breaking out of the manna shack, he heard, would be relatively simple — if he could manage to free his hands. His wrists, however, were too securely bound.

But escape to — what? With the main entrance already blocked by the work party and the barrier it was erecting and with the savage currents of the underground river facing him in the other direction, freedom from the shack would be meaningless.