In Darkness, We Lie

My people are “bottom dwellers”–that’s what they called us. Born without sight but blessed with lungs to filter the dusty air, long strong fingers to dig through tough granite, sturdy backs to protect against falling debris…the list goes on. All the cards were in our favor to thrive in the “Community”.

And “surface walkers” was what we called them in turn. Lavish in their lifestyle and spoiled by the bounty above. There were countless stories of carnage between countries and humans, spawned from greed. 

Our people once lived alongside the “surface walkers” long long ago before we were forced underground. 

…or so my mother told me. 

“But that’s just a fairytale, Skotádi.” my mother mused casually, weaving her hands through mine. “Even I had trouble believing my mother that ‘surface walkers’ exist.” 

Thus was the general sentiment of the public: “surface walkers” were simply an old wives' tale, told to dramatize what otherwise was stale history. Children grew out of it by the age of 10 like they did with the nail fairy. 

The “Community” was more focused on expanding territory than entertaining these small talks. The Elders hardly addressed the wild controversies championed by the small group of naysayers. 

“Surface dwellers are real and if we don’t prepare ourselves, they will kill us all!” their voices boomed in the caverns. 

These rallies were on the rise recently, their discontent growing with the list of excavation projects. 

My fingers skim across this period’s plan–twice the amount, with the same budget. A tired sigh left my mouth. As the commander of Expansion Unit #5, numbers were something I had to care about. Who’d imagine that the little girl carving symbols into rock tablets would be stuck digging rocks for a living? 

Still, there was honor in this job. 

For a growing population, space and resources were a constant concern. It was up to the 12 excavation teams to search for vital resources for the “Community” to sustain itself. 

I collected myself and organized the logs on my table as my squadron filed in one by one for the morning routine–gears and suits metal clanging but their footsteps in perfect synchronicity.  

A roll call of 10 people. 

“What is the update?”

“Yes, Ma'am!” one spoke. “Reporting: we’ve dug out 60% of our assigned area but we’ve hit an obstacle.” 

I leaned forward on my desk with my hands folded. “Please elaborate.” 

“Yes, when we dug out section DX4, equipment struck something we’ve never dealt with before. Upon closer inspection–we’ve determined that it’s something man-made, rectangular, and hollow. We brought a sample for you to examine.”

The man stepped forward and placed something on my desk. I reached out and grabbed the object. At first touch, I could tell this was organic material, something that was very rare in these parts–especially with such refinement. 

“Furthermore, we sensed life inside of which we cannot determine the risk. We are requesting your directive, Commander Skotádi.”  

Section DX4 was a controversial project. Rather than horizontally, the plan called to excavate up diagonally in search of water pockets and other precious metals. When the project was first announced, there was a public outcry, mainly from the fearmongers who feared “surface walkers”. For that reason, the site was located farther from the “Community”, and cordoned off the public. 

This matter must be handled carefully. 

“...I understand. Please take me there.” 

-------------

“Captain, we’ve already unearthed the box.” 

I approached the box with caution and knelt to investigate. My fingers expertly searched for clues leaving no surface untouched–every rigid bump, splintered corners, and hidden divot. Slowly, the box became clearer in my mind: a large rectangular casket with symbols etched on the sides decorated with countless amulets dangling from thick ropes. 

However, the most curious thing wasn’t the obscure writings but rather the hint of moisture on the wood.

But that would imply this casket was…

“What’s your opinion, Captain?” 

 “Ah yes...it is as you say. This casket appears to be man-made and composed of foreign materials. As its origin is uncertain, we’ll keep it in quarantine and have the research team run tests to determine if it’s a biohazard–” 

“...ughhh.” 

A soft groan rang out in the silence and everybody shutted their mouths–tension taut in the air. 

Without hesitation, I snapped my fingers and clicked my tongue–a signal for my men to stand ready position–as I approached the casket cautiously, hand on the knife strapped to my waist.

My squadron clicked their tongues in confirmation. 

With my heart in my throat, I slowly cut through the rope one by one until the cover loosened. My breathing quickened with every second.

1, 2, 

3….!

As soon as the casket opened up, I reached inside. My hand swept along the perimeters, running into the corners before sliding towards the center until my fingers grazed a lukewarm body. There was a pulse of life, a steady rise and fall of their chest. 

My hands shot up towards their face. Petite with a hint of chubbiness in their cheeks, long wavy hair curling down towards her shoulders. Her face and stature were proportionally that of a young girl. 

Blood was pumping widely in my ears. 

“It’s… a human child,” my voice came out hesitantly. Almost immediately, my squadron began to clamor amongst themselves. 

My hand darted to her wrist and rubbed over smooth skin, not a single bump or indentation. 

“...she is unnamed.” 

The chatter grew chaotic as they fretted over the implications of this. 

Everyone had their names carved on their wrist as their identifier at birth. For a person not to have one could only mean that this child wasn’t one of us.

“...w-where am I?”

Suddenly, the girl woke up.   

-------------

“We’ve sent her to the quarantine room. From her vital signs, she seems to be weak with an acute respiratory infection but there are no signs of external injuries–though we weren’t able to check anything underneath her clothes.” 

The medic’s pick scraped to the next line on his report. 

“We attempted to interrogate her as well, but she refused to speak to us.” the other continued, tapping against the stone.”She keeps crying out for her parents.“

I sighed with exasperation. 

These people had no tact–of course, a little girl who had been trapped in that casket for who knows how long would be afraid to speak with strangers. Possibly in a language that she didn’t understand, 

And judging from the pitch of her voice, the girl was quite young, possibly only 8 or 10. 

“Send a report to the elders,” I responded, pulling my vest around my shoulders and walking out the door. “I will handle the girl myself.”

As I traveled towards the infirmary, my mind was buzzing with a million thoughts: how to approach the girl, how to soothe her worries, how to communicate with her. Comforting a child–a foreign frightened child no less– was beyond my expertise and frankly my pay grade. 

There was an audible yelp when I opened the infirmary doors, followed by scuffling as the girl bumped into the wall, teeth chattering.

“Hello, dear,” I spoke slowly, softening my footsteps so as not to startle her. ”How are you feeling?” 

“A-o-um” the girl croaked.

“You must be thirsty.”

I walked over to a water barrel and brought the cup back to her. 

“Here, drink some water.” 

Seconds went by, and the cup was still in my hand. I felt the wind buffet against my skin and her tiny frustrated grunts, and a couple of times, her fingers grazed my hand. 

When I heard huffs turn to soft sniffles, I sighed, grabbed the girl's hand gingerly, and guided her to the cup.

Without hesitation, she began to inhale the water in large gulps. I took this opportunity to sit beside her on the bed and waited patiently for her to finish. 

“Are you ready to talk now?” 

After some silence, the girl responded with a meek ‘yes’ and scooted a bit closer to me, brushing her shoulders against my arm. 

“Can you tell me your name, little girl?” I asked. 

“Thysía,” the girl answered shily. 

Surprisingly, our language wasn’t too different. Her pronunciation was heavy and unintelligible at times but with context, I can generally understand what Thysía was saying. 

From then on, our relationship improved. Having no one else to depend on, Thysía let her walls down easily, and she slowly warmed up to me. Her naivety eased my own apprehension about her origins. Eventually, a few words turned into full-blown conversations by the end of Week 1. 

From our candid conversations, I’ve gotten to know Thysía better. She was an only child to a young couple living a sheltered life away from the “Royal City”.

In turn, I shared my life growing and living in the “Community”. 

One thing did strike me as peculiar in our conversations. 

“How do you do it, Sko?” she asked me one day, her voice light with childish innocence. “How do you live in the darkness?” 

“‘Darkness’?”

“I can’t see anything in front of me and it’s scary.”

I contemplated it for a moment. This “darkness” is all we’ve known, the impartial overseer of our birth and death. We never questioned its existence nor why the world was designed like this.

For us, there was no fear of “darkness” so her fear puzzled me. 

“I'm afraid I don’t understand what you mean by ‘darkness'.” I said. “Even infants aren’t afraid of the ‘darkness’.”

“It’s–um–opposite of light.”  

“What is ‘light'?” came my natural response. I was a well-educated 24-year-old and was knowledgeable about the natural occurrences of the world. But I’ve never come across this “light” in our texts. 

The girl hummed and remained silent, struggling to explain.

“Ummm, it’s something that helps me see better!” she chirped excitedly. “Light is like a big warm hug!”  

Thysía suddenly embraced me and squeezed tightly. 

“It feels like a big warm blanket and makes all the flowers look so pretty!”  

“Flowers”….yet another thing I didn’t know about. 

“What are flowers?”

Judging from Thysía’s over-dramatic gasp–like someone punched the wind out of her– I was probably the first person to ask such a question.

“So you’ve never seen flowers before?” she asked incredulously, pity lacing her tone. “Umm…oh!”

Thysía took my hand in hers and began to trace symbols in my palm: small squiggles like rolling stones, one curl, then another, and another circle then a straight light down with…ovals? 

What was this monstrosity? 

My mind struggled to conjure an image of what these “flowers” were. As I tried to breathe life into Thysía’s lovely hand drawing, she jumped on me and gushed in my ear. 

“Oh Sko, they're so pretty and colorful! My mommy and daddy always took me to the meadow near the lake to see them!” 

“Colorful”? “Meadow”? “Lake”? 

“They always take me there when all the flowers bloom.” she continued wistfully. “ I was there when Mommy and Daddy told me to play hide and seek in a big box, too!”

Suddenly her excitement tapered off like a toppling rock column and turned somber. 

“...I miss Mommy and Daddy so much…” Thysía whispered tearfully, squeezing my arm tightly before turning away from me. 

All of our conversations were tumultuous like this, with Thysía sharing her world of “light” and “color” before the depression quickly swallowed her enthusiasm. Then she would retreat to her refuge and curl into the blankets. 

Even though every conversation opened fresh wounds for Thysía, I couldn’t but yearn for more, satiate this burning curiosity that was unquenchable by my imagination alone. My nights of dreaming of nothing blossomed into “flowers” of “red”, “blue” and “yellow” dotting the “meadow”.

I wondered if these “flowers” were as pretty as the ones Thysía saw, and idly, I hoped to see the real ones with her one day. 

But Thysía never got better. Her condition worsened with more coughing fits during our conversations. By the end of the first month, she was bedridden and morose, refusing to speak to anyone including me.

Though ill-advised, I had grown fond of Thysía and her decline in health tormented me every night. Her symptoms were clearly because she couldn’t adjust to the “Community” and our treatments weren’t effective. The only option was to return her to where she belonged but to do so, I needed to speak with an elder. 

So here I stood before one of the Elders who was in charge of overseeing the expansion and national security of the “Community”. 

I had known her for years yet I’ve never gotten over the gut-wrenching anxiety every time I walk into her office. 

“Elder Mitéra, I request your permission to excavate upwards in Section DX4.” 

Her chair creaked as she swiveled towards my voice. 

“For what purpose, Commander Skotádi?”

I hesitated, worried about the prying ears in the room. Sensing my discomfort, the elder ordered the guards to leave the room, the last one scurrying out with a loud slam. 

“Please continue.” 

I took a deep breath. 

“It’s the girl we found last week.” I began, “We have provided intensive care but she has not improved. She hasn’t been eating or talking. “

Elder Mitéra hummed and tapped her cane against the floor. 

“And why do you suppose digging upwards would improve her condition?” Her voice was knowing but waited for me to confirm the obvious. 

I clenched my fist.

“...because I suspect she is a ‘surface dweller’ based on her physical conditions and her memories.”

Elder Mitéra didn’t seem surprised by my conclusion like she already knew of their existence. Still, she didn’t respond immediately and I could hear the gears turning in her head.  

“...we have budgeted a certain amount for your team, with certain projects in mind. This will deviate from our timeline significantly.” Came her emotionless voice. 

The elder’s footsteps echoed to my right. 

“Furthermore, this is a matter of national security. Do you know the level of hysteria this would incite if the others knew the existence of ‘surface dwellers’?” 

The elder’s voice rang in my head. True, I have considered the repercussions of returning Thysía to the surface but my conscientiousness refused to let her wither and die in the “darkness” she hated. 

“This will be a task I take on alone.” I declared resolutely, “By my calculations, the surface isn’t far above from where we found the casket and I swear on my title that no one will find out the existence of ‘surface dwellers’.”  

Elder Mitéra said nothing more, not an approval or rejection but I knew her well enough to read between the lines. 

Do as you please but you assume the sole responsibility if others are to find out. 

“I will take my leave, elder,” I said, clapping my hands twice as a sign of respect. “Thank you for your time.”

Just as I opened the door, Elder Mitéra gave me a warning. 

“Commander Skotádi, brace yourself. The child might be affectionate now but unlike the darkness, the light is a fair but cruel arbitrator.”

-------------

For the next few weeks, I assigned my squadron to another project while I worked on Section DX4 alone as promised. Some days I made speedy progress while on others, it came to a standstill. 

I brought Thysía with me every day hoping to get her to talk with me once more and lift her spirits. She had to live until I could make contact with the “Surface”. 

Most of the time she was silent, which was fine for me as I preferred the tranquility of my nails clanging against the earth. 

.

.

.

“...am I really going to go home, Sko?” a small voice asked finally one day 2 weeks into my excavation. 

“Yes, I responded, picking at a clump of wet dirt. “ I feel we are close to the surface now.”

I can already sense a shift in the air. The earthy scent was mixed with more water vapor. There were also fewer hard rocks the further I dug, the more clumps of soft soil. 

“Some more and I’m sure I’ll–” 

Suddenly, something bright shone through the darkness. Something harsh and blinding that burned my eyes, forcing me to turn away. 

I heard a loud shriek behind me followed by cheers. “Oh Sko, please lift me and let me see the light!” Thysía pleaded, clawing my legs. 

I chuckled and hoisted her up to the surface, helping her find her footing on the ridges and pushing her out towards the surface.

As she was swallowed by the light, my heart felt heavy. 

Thysía was finally back where she belonged and though their time together was short, I learned a lot from the little girl. This should be enough. 

But as the melodious laughter echoed beyond the small light tunnel, the memories of those nights dreaming of those “flowers” came rushing back. That desire to see those pretty sights with my own eyes. 

Against my better judgment, I began to crawl toward the surface, letting the warm blanket of light envelope me and share its bounty. As I opened my eyes to behold the “flowers” and vast “meadow”, a blood-curdling scream shattered the silence. 

It was Thysía, and she was pointing straight at me. 

I wanted to ask her what was wrong but the fear in her eyes spoke volumes. She screamed again when my hand reached out to her. Without another word, Thysía turned and ran away, her tiny footsteps fading into the distance until they were gone. 

I stared silently at the patch of dirt where Thysía stood and at the gray world around me. Without another word, I crawled back into the hole. 

Elder Mitéra was right. The light was cruel. Nothing could shield us from the harsh truth. Nothing could hide our flaws under its critical eyes. 

I covered up the hole the next day.