Page 192 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1
P. 192

simply settles upon the surface of things, surrounding them,
            sealing them off. Thus, light offers only superficial insights,
            the outside of things. Or, put another way, light is only skin
            deep. By contrast, darkness is the absence of the apparent,
            it is the inner quality of things, the deepest truth. It is what’s
            left after all obstacles to understanding are removed, what
            lies behind or under the light. From this, I realized, there
            was but one place to go for the answers I sought.
               The door was hardly visible  beneath  the heaping
            desolation of the unclean alley, and seemed unlikely to lead
            to anything but the lowliest accommodations. Once beyond
            the door, I encountered a species of darkness I had come to
            expect from the forgotten corners of the metropolis, having
            some portion of its construction owing to an elder blackness
            that could, should it choose, stand firmly against even the
            brightest  light.  However,  these  shadows were  not  to  be
            trusted, as they answered only to the lords of Nighthead.
               The  tunnel  beyond  the  door  was winding,  remarking
            upon the basest kind of usage, sporting litter and dampness
            as a chameleon puts on the colors of its surroundings,
            tempting  one to put aside curiosity  and accept  illusion.
            Only after I’d traveled further than any casual observer, did
            the passageway offer hints to its ultimate destination, and
            to those who might walk its lengths. Granted, normal eyes
            would never have seen past the alien dark—even with the
            assistance of artificial light, trespassers would only confront
            darkling illusion, tricking all but the most through inquiries.
            But I spoke some portion of the shadow’s lexicon, and so
            was admitted a sliver of insight.
               There were batteries filled with darkness at every turn—
            objects that had set for miniature  eternities  beyond even
            the weakest touch of light, filling with a pitch that defied
            the stars. Everything here had been infused with the oldest
            shades. The stone of the floor had been inlaid with grave-
            dust. Alien bones that had lain under the earth longer than
            mankind had walked upon it scattered the floor. The walls
                                                     The Red Son | 195
   187   188   189   190   191   192   193   194   195   196   197