The Land of Perfect Dark

It stood in front of me... The darkness fell from the sky and spanned to the left and right of me into the horizon. It formed a wall of black ichor, dead yet alive, and impermeable by light.

It stood here for generations... Impassable to time and invincible in form. All magic, from flame to light, fazed through it, eaten by it, forgotten in it.

It stood expectantly, gnawing at my curiosity and boldness. What if my finger touched the darkness? Would it gobble me up in a hungry whirlpool of shadow? Or would it let me pass into its fold, show me its innards, let me see the unseen? I slowly stuck out a finger.

"You might want to rethink that," a wise voice beckoned behind me.

With that thought in mind, I retracted my hand.

"It's always the young ones that get lost in it," the man with grey hair continued.

I was not that young, but I was old enough to not protest. "Do you know what's beyond it, old man?"

The grandpa's face lightened at my question. It was always like this: young men live the stories, and old men live to tell them.

"It's a city long unseen, one with riches boundless, enough to fill an ocean. But it was not always so." He waved a hand towards the night wall. "Lumen was a small capital once. Few people to feed and even less food to feed them. With little wealth to speak of, plagues that made rocks sick and neighbours that wished for this barren land, its little king had few decisions to take."

"Did this king have a name?"

"Of course! Of course he had. Every man has a name. But this one's trapped beyond this wall. There's no man who walks the earth that knows his name."

I wanted to contradict him, to impart him on the secret, for him to remember the man that built the Land of Perfect Dark. But I held it back… This was his story to tell, not mine.

His eyes stood on me for a moment, probably noticing my confliction. "But one doesn't need to know a name to tell a tale, does he?"

"I guess not. Names fade, stories remain."

"Stories remained indeed, since the days that king walked the earth. It was so long ago, men prayed to other gods and those gods listened. The king prayed for rain, for harvest, for a way to save his people. And Asura heard him. The god, more benevolent during those times, promised the king generous rain, plentiful harvest and a hand to save his people. But there was a price... not even gods listen for free."

My mind rummaged for what the king should've given: his crown... his kingdom...

"His soul. That was what was asked. One soul for the life of many... It was not a difficult decision. And so, he promised Asura his soul. Years passed, years like none before: the sun was gentler, the soil was giving and the populace happier. And the king was happy too. The queen had given him a daughter. It's been said that if she smiled at the gods, they couldn't but smile back."

My eyes imagined what should've been remembered. "So beautiful."

"So beautiful indeed. She'd grow to be quite a young lady. But as it was, growing was not meant for her. Before even a chance at becoming a woman, she fell to sickness, her body frail and yielding. Doctors, alchemists and mages came in droves to her bed, but none found a cure for her sickness. With the princess at death's door and with no hope left, a stranger with no face brought a sprinkle of hope."

"A stranger with no face..." If only he knew the man whose face none remembers. The king's name might've been lost to time, but this man's face was purposefully forgotten.

The grandpa seated himself on the grass. "The stranger proclaimed he knew what the princess suffered from. His words spoke of a disease of the soul, a rotting, a decay, a punishment from beyond us, mortals. Any questions the king had, he did not answer. But he promised a ritual. A ritual that shall heal the girl. Answer me this: do you have kids, young one?"

"I do," I responded, imagining her face.

"Then you know a parent would do anything for their child." 

"I do."

"This was the second time the king was presented with an easy decision. And the second time he had to promise something in return. But just as his name, this promise remained beyond this barrier. If he fulfilled it or not, we can only wonder. But as you can see," he waved to the wall of shadow. "One might be pessimistic in regard to it. We do remember what the stranger said, however. Since the sickness was not of body, but of soul, it would take a soul to heal another. We know it now as:"

"As Death Bond," I said.

"Quite ironic if you asked me. Bonding souls together and putting one's death on the other's shoulders... how ironical magic can be. With all to lose, the king took the chance presented to him and let the stranger perform the ritual, binding the king’s soul to his daughter. Once complete, the girl slowly recovered. The disease never fully went away, but a burden is easier when shared. However, if the princess were to suffer a fatal wound, the king's body would die. And otherwise, if Asura asked for the king's soul, he'd take the girl's instead."

"Catastrophes never come in pairs," I said, reminiscing about times almost forgotten.

"What a fitting saying... The third catastrophe was what anyone would expect — the god asking for what was promised. It should've been another easy choice. Give two souls and save the rest. But when the king looked at his daughter, when he saw the sun reflecting in her eyes, her gait in the gardens’ morning dew, he couldn't surrender her. He begged for time, to let her marry, let her love, let her live. But he knew that gods, always, take what they are promised. And so, he came up with a plan to leave the kingdom, along with his family. But gods are of boundless power, boundless anger, boundless spite. Asura ordered the sun to stop shining then demanded the darkness to rise, harden and mould itself into a wall. Men can enter, but no man shall escape, that was the way it was and still is. Under the eclipse, the Land of Perfect Dark was formed, a cage, a prison and a coffin for all the people of Lumen. A cautionary tale for those who want to trick a god."

"Quite the tale," I said as I approached the wall.

"Quite the tale, indeed. And since you're so keen on stepping in, you mind doing me a favour?"

I turned to him, ready to accept his favour.

"If you see my son in there, tell him he's missed. It's been a while since he entered, but who knows? Some people don't die easily, do they?"

I gave him a knowing smirk as I stepped through the threshold. The darkness engulfed me, the black ichor drenching my skin and clothes in an eerie wetness. And just like that, I was through, into the darkest of nights. I felt my body over, all in one piece and all dry.

I looked up at the sky and blinked at the eclipsed sun. It blinked back.