Danuta Reah - The Forge - Fire and Ice

Trapped. There goes my commission.

There’s a passageway made out of marble. It looks like something only a person would be able to make. I head down the passageway, it’s so narrow that I have to crawl.

‘Lance, no human has ever lived on this planet, have they?’

That is correct. There have never been any humans that have settled on this planet. If there had been, the planet would not have been deemed fit for possible resource mining. That structure you are seeing must be part of a natural formation. Formed over time by a combination of weathering and erosion.

The passageway opens up into a larger hall with carvings etched into the wall. ‘This doesn’t look like any kind of “natural formation” that I’ve ever seen.’

I light my torch. At a push of a button, the synthetic flame flickers to life and casts shadows on the walls that surround me. The warmth of it is appreciated on this planet, a beacon of hope against the encroaching darkness and isolation.

I approach the wall with the largest set of carvings. Most of them are indecipherable and look to be some kind of ancient writing. However, one stands out among the others. It’s a two-legged figure that looks almost like a person with a few key differences; its eyes are much wider and it has appendages that look like wings sprouting out of its back. It’s holding a vibrant red ball of fire in its hand, the only part of the wall with a dash of colour.

This figure could easily be an angel of some kind. What are the chances two planets would have this in common? Unless there’s a connection to earth out here on this planet, the other side of the universe.

Lance’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

The company is advising you to go back to your shuttle. There is nothing more of interest to be found here.

‘I can’t go back, I need to find a way out first.’ I deactivate Lance with a swipe of my hand, then force my eyes away from the carving and walk further into the temple-like structure. More of the carvings line the wall, all of them are depicted holding fire.

It gets warmer the further I walk down the hallway, even my torch burns brighter. The flame curves towards the end of the hall, as if pulled by an invisible force.

Unfortunately, the hallway ends in a dead end. Unless there’s another way out I’m going to be trapped down here until a rescue team arrives. If a rescue team arrives. The fire already burns on two scones set into the wall in front of me, which explains the heat. One either side of the biggest carving yet. It depicts one of the angelic figures, handing down fire to what seem to be people. Actual people.

A dull ache begins at the back of my head, which soon turns into a blinding pain. My torch clatters to the ground as the strength leaves my hands in a sudden rush.

We appreciate your years of service, but you have violated the terms and service of your contract. As such, I regret to inform you that you are being terminated by order of the company. Effective immediately. I am instructed to make your death as humane as possible.’

‘I deactivated you! You shouldn’t be able to do anything.’ My words have no force behind them and come out as a whisper. What I really want to do is shout, but my strength has already left me.

Fear coils in my gut. Lance never lies, the company have signed my death warrant. I slide down the wall when my legs can no longer support my weight.

I am always with you, James. The deactivation is simply to give you the illusion of privacy.

This monstrosity is in everyone’s heads at all times. It kills at the company’s beck and call.

My last thought is of my family. I hope they’ll be okay.

Lance listens, indifferent to my plight, then starts to send a transmission to the company when its work is done: As requested, I will log the information that I gathered from his implant and relay it to you. An alien settlement has been found, the flame located here appears to be the eternal energy source you have been searching for.

End of transmission.

the end

About the author

Rachel Lovat is a writer who has enjoyed writing about anything and everything sci-fi for as long as she can remember. It’s a genre that calls her back time and time again and will no doubt continue to do so in the future. Inspiration is never far away for Rachel. Learn more about her on her blog https://writingeveninarainstorm.home.blog/

The familiar sounds outside the house soothed me as I lay uncomfortable on the rigid frame of my bed. The crackling flames drifted through the air like the voice of a close friend, a lullaby of comfort and security that assured me of another safe night’s sleep. The accompanying footsteps of my father reinforced this sensation as he patrolled outside. He was a sentinel, forever watchful over the barrier that separated us and what lay beyond the flames. He would be relieved part way through the night by Jacob’s father, the knowledge of which disturbed my peaceful thoughts.

Throughout the harsh, gruelling struggle that was life, Jacob had become my closest friend. We had grown up together and resided within the same dishevelled shack almost our entire lives. He was a boy I could depend on, a pillar of strength for me to lean on and a ray of humour in an otherwise bleak and lifeless void. However, I bore no similar feelings towards his father, William. Whereas my own was an example of strength, resilience and courage, Jacob’s father was unreliable, his mental capacity almost diminished through severe trauma. Our group’s numbers had begun to dwindle and so every last man and woman had been forced to pull their weight, but since the loss of Jacob’s mother, William had become a shadow of his former self.

He attempted to continue, to push through the pain but it was clear the light inside of him had extinguished. He had become careless, unfocused and jealous of my parents. I knew in my heart that he would bring no malice upon us, but any weakness could prove to be the downfall of us all. The flames which surrounded our dwellings had to be constantly tended throughout the night; protected so it could protect us from the Cold Ones.

I had never seen one, but my father said they came at night. Horrifying nightmares from the deepest pits of the abyss, they watch us from the edge of the light. They bring with them the chill of death; their only purpose to feed off the warmth of the living. During the day they hide themselves, shying away from the dim light of the sun that struggles through the ashen clouds above us. My father said that we may be the last ones left alive, that the Cold Ones had already feasted upon the other survivors and that is why they watch us so fervently, waiting for their chance.

I spent many a night peering through the window out into the darkness of the forest, straining to see beyond the crimson light of the flames to discern the form of those who would observe us, of those who would prey upon us if given the opportunity. No matter how many hours I watched, no creature betrayed its location. I often wondered whether the Cold Ones truly existed; that was until Jacob’s mother went missing.

She had an illness. Occasionally her mind was not her own and she would suffer terrible fits. Her personality would change in an instant. She would become an entirely different person. Both personalities were pleasant and harmless, but her alternative persona would perform acts a sane person would not contemplate. One such episode caused her to leave the safety of our settlement as the sun began to set. Unknown to us at the time, she had left the safety of the shack to collect mushrooms from the forest, seemingly unaware of the impending danger the night would bring. By the time William noticed she was missing, it was already too late.