The Lamp
Story — Teaser Excerpt
The following is an excerpt from the forthcoming TrueDark Rising novel. It takes place in Farshadow, approximately 150 years after the founding, in the years following the dismantling of the Nightsun.
"I was a keeper of the flame in days of old," said Old Berlain. "Back in the days when they needed more than one man to keep the flame alive, back when men actually feared the darkness, back when we knew what was good for us! Aye, back in the days when we had the Nightsun—"
"Wasn't the Nightsun a tremendous waste of wood, though, gramps?" asked Ben.
"A waste?" exclaimed Old Berlain. "Do you call the safety of Farshadow a lost cause? Sure, we have the Temple of Knowledge now, but there's a reason we didn't need them back in the days when you could see the Nightsun from every rooftop and when every room had a lamp to keep away the TrueDark—"
"Father," called Ben's mother, "there's no need to be scaring the boy with your horror stories just before bedtime. I find it easier to sleep in the darkness than in the light."
"You find it easier because you've forgotten what was once well known," retorted Old Berlain. "The boy needs to know the truth. Not some fancy modern stories about how the Temple has proven that there never was anything in the darkness. Hah! Next, the Order of Word will say that they've discovered there was never any such thing as joy."
"Joy exists," said Ben's mother. "I'm feeling it right now. You should tell a different story, Father. Something about the natural sway of life between bliss and misery and back again."
"Back when we had the Nightsun, there was no misery," said Old Berlain. "Men were a lot happier back in the day than they are now. Just look outside!"
Ben obediently looked outside into the darkening streets of Farshadow. It was brighter inside the house because Old Berlain was crazy and insisted on keeping a lamp by his side at all times, but he could still see the shapes of men moving about.
"Back when we had the Nightsun," said Old Berlain, "men didn't have to skulk about in the darkness, tripping over loose stones as they do now."
"What loose stones?" asked Ben. "Nowadays, there are none."
"We only began to notice them when we couldn't see them," said Old Berlain. "That's why they're all fixed now, because we started tripping over them in the dark. But no matter how many loose stones you fix — there's always another. Sure, we have fewer loose stones, but more injuries due to loose stones. Just look at the way all those men walk — slower than during the day, when we have the Sun. It's because they can't trust their own feet."
"Doesn't seem that much slower to me," said Ben, doubtfully.
"I didn't say much slower," said Old Berlain. "For all I know, there might be some that walk faster, as though to prove that there's nothing to fear in the darkness. But there's something that tells you to go slower, especially when the Sun goes down completely — and doubly especially when the dark is total." Old Berlain said these last words in an ominous tone.
"You mean TrueDark," said Ben. "When there's no light at all."
"Aye," said Old Berlain. "Not the Sun, not a fire, not even a spark. That's when the darkness has weight to it. That's when things stir within Deepmere. And if you're out walking and you don't notice the light fading — if you don't notice the air going cold and the silence pressing in — then you won't know you've walked into it until it's too late."
"Then you could slip into TrueDark, and not even know it—" whispered Ben.
"Take a piece of wisdom from a crazy old man, Ben," said Old Berlain. "I don't care if the whole city thinks you're crazy. I don't care if you have to spend the rest of your life with the Sparkless, shoveling ash at the edge of town. I don't care if you don't believe it. But carry a lamp with you, wherever you go, and never let it go out."
Ben checked to see that his mother wasn't listening before he replied, "If I wanted to get one — where could I get one? And where could I get the oil for it?"
"I — I don't know," said Old Berlain. "You can use ordinary Redgill oil to fuel a lantern, but where you could get the lantern itself in this day and age — most of the people I know who still carry lanterns inherited them from dead ancestors. Flame-lines, they call them. Lamps lit from lamps lit from lamps, traced all the way back to the Nightsun itself before they put it out. Some made their own, but those makeshift lanterns are liable to go out at any moment, and they don't come with good lighting mechanisms—"
They shared a moment of silence as the boy and his grandfather stared at the lantern on the bedside table. As the night grew darker and the street became invisible in black, the lamp seemed to shine ever brighter. Ben knew that the shining light would mark his house clearly from amongst the others and prove to all who looked upon its luminous windows that here lived an impious man who did not believe in the true light, the enlightenment of the mind — but he didn't care. He loved his grandfather.
"Boy—" said Old Berlain, "if — if I offered you this lamp as a gift, would you take it and promise to take care of it?"
"With all my heart," whispered Ben. "But gramps — don't you need it yourself to keep away the TrueDark from your bedside?"
"I'll spend my last days trying to find another," said Old Berlain. "But I'm going to die sooner or later, Ben. If I die a year earlier than I otherwise would have, consumed by the TrueDark — I'll not regret it if it means I can pass down my father's light to you. So, take it, and promise me you'll take care of it and never throw it away even if men mock you for bearing it."
"I promise," said Ben.
"Then I can die easy," said Old Berlain. "Or at least I can spend my last few years easy, as I try to find another lantern, and either fail or succeed, whichever. I don't care. What few things I own I leave you when I die, Ben. But not one is more valuable than this."
"I know," said Ben, picking up the lantern. It was surprisingly heavy. "Thank you, gramps. What else does it do besides keeping away the TrueDark?"
"It squeaks a little when you open the door to put more oil in," said Old Berlain.
"I mean—" said Ben, "does it do anything special? Can you use it as a weapon? Can I blast away the Borrowed Eyes with it? Will it bring eternal joy and true love?"
"Boy," said Old Berlain, "there's a scrap of truth to what your mother says about how life sways between joy and sorrow, as there is to most things she says. A lantern isn't going to make your days all glad ones. But when the dark days do come, as they come all the time — a light is a good thing to have. Even if your days were all days of sorrow and darkness, with that lantern by your side, I think you could bear it. The lantern won't make you happy — but it will make you strong."
"I think I understand," said Ben. "Thank you, gramps. And goodnight. Should I sleep in your room from now on so that you don't have to miss the light?"
"So long as I know that you have it," said Old Berlain, "I think I'll be okay. Goodnight, Ben. Oh, I think I just remembered something — you know that thing that these enlightened people are calling nightmares?"
"Yeah," said Ben.
"I have no idea what they mean by it," said Old Berlain. "Strange, frightening dreams that mar your sleep? I've lived a long time and never heard of such things until they tore down the Nightsun. Nor have I had any in my life. So, you were asking about that lantern's powers, boy — I think keeping nightmares away might be one of them."
Ben grinned and left the room. He walked through the small dark halls of his house, bearing the lantern. It was almost like it was day again — he could see where the walls were without having to feel for them. He didn't have to listen for the breathing of his family in case he might bump into them—
"Ben, what are you doing with your grandfather's light?" asked his mother, who was feeling her way along the wall, going toward her bedroom.
"It's my light now," said Ben.
His mother sighed. "Why must you believe such nonsense, Ben? It's bad enough that my own father is Sparkless and shunned by polite company. Do you mean to go down the same path as he's gone?"
"Maybe," said Ben. "Don't you love gramps, mom?"
"I do, son," said his mother.
"Then why don't you believe him?" asked Ben. "Do you think he's trying to lie to us? Do you think he's crazy?"
His mother sighed and passed on into the darkness without an answer. Ben didn't press her. Instead, he walked on to his room — a small room with little furniture, but there was enough room on the shelf for the lantern. It was funny how much friendlier his room appeared at nighttime when there was a bit of forbidden light in here. He lay down in his bed and tried to sleep. But he slept little. He kept waking up and admiring the lantern, which was still burning.
The story continues...