The Darkest Shadow - Part One

[hewasneverborn]

Hi, just a bit of an intro before I get into it.

I used to write stories about Confrontation as I really loved the world Rackham created, but when the game died, my interest in writing about the world died too. Recently Malifaux has rekindled my desire to come up with stories about this crazy new land - primarily the areas that the sanctioned stories barely delve into. There is a lot of blank space between events in the books that I can play around with. Its an open frontier just like the one in the story, and hopefully will be just as unknown and exciting a journey of discovery for us all...

The Darkest Shadow

Part One:

With a grinding screech the train came to a halt. The force of the breaking train threw the ‘guests’ of carriage seven to the floor. A few of the men became tangled in the long chains that held each of them to the central post of the prison car. Those prisoners nearest the small barred windows scrambled the get a first glimpse at their new home, pressing their dirty and worn faces close to the grimy carriage walls in order to get the best view. The prisoners closer to the centre of the carriage pulled on the chains of those by the windows to try and stop them blocking their view, which caused fights to break out. The general tension in the carriage had finally boiled over.

One prisoner sat alone, silently waiting by the door of the car. From just outside he heard the sounds of Guild warders loading their weapons. As this sound became audible to the other prisoners they stopped their fighting; suddenly becoming united against a much more implacable foe. They shot furtive looks at one another – looking for a leader who would bring them salvation at the last gasp, but found no eyes that held the resolve. From the platform outside they heard the loud call of the Station Guard, calling out an infamous greeting: “Last stop – Malifaux. Welcome through the breach Ladies and Gentlemen!”

The train’s steam whistle blew a couple of times to rouse the slumbering regular passengers, that was, any passengers calm enough to take the journey through the breach on their backs. The Convict could hear the doors opening and the regular passengers emerge. The bustle of the station could be heard now that the train’s engine had fallen silent. The Convict cocked his ear to the noise outside. The sounds of every day life had been denied to him for so long now, and so he closed his eyes for a moment, pretending that he was one of those people, those lucky free souls not ten feet from his current position.

He pressed his head back against the cold metal-reinforced walls of the carriage and took a moment to reflect on the journey. The Breach was unlike anything he had ever felt; for a brief moment he had been more aware than he had previously though possible, and had experienced vivid waking dreams. Since that moment he felt different somehow, refreshed and clarified, like being a bath in a saloon after days of travel. The other prisoners had been going crazy as they passed through. Some had gnashed their teeth and flailed their arms like they were in an imaginary bar fight, while others rocked back and forth weeping, crying out apologies to people long since gone. The worst one was Denton Jenks - who had been as quiet as a church mouse up until that point, and had giggled insanely ever since.

So that was it then, the Convict thought, I’m now in Malifaux. He had never been particularly fearful about anything in his life, but this was different. He was a long way from his kin, from anyone who gave a damn whether he lived or died. He concern at being here was for good reason. It was a well established fact that prisoners rarely made it back from Malifaux. They came to work in the mines on their knees, or in the whorehouse on their backs – and he knew he wasn’t pretty enough for the latter. Working on a chain gang out in the wilds would be the sure death of him, whether through endless toil or through something a lot worse. The papers Earthside were teeming with lurid reports of all kinds of terrible monsters that could rip a man to shreds in a heartbeat - or worse. Being the mindless slave to some Rezzer bastard for all eternity was hardly what he had in mind for his ‘retirement years’.

His thoughts were interrupted by the carriage door being unlocked. It swung forcefully inwards, hitting the wall with a clatter. The Guild guards entered the compartment, rifles first, and the lead warder called out to the prisoners “Convicts will comply or be shot.” At this, the prisoners stood as one - they knew that there wasn’t a person in the world that would blink an eye if a warder dropped them there and then. The Guild had paid for them, and could act how they wanted, especially here in Malifaux, where the Guild operated with its own mandate. They prisoners stood mute as they were chained to each other and marched from the carriage onto the platform and from there to holding pens deep within the station.

Within those pens, with no natural light and no outside company, the Convict lost track of the time. He thought they had been in that hole for at least a couple of days, with not enough bread or water to sustain them for the duration. Men had fought, and a couple had been beaten to death for the few scraps they had managed to claim. Didn’t matter to those Guild bastards though, they left a collection of spent soul stones nearby just to ensure the dead men would still have a use: powering all their infernal contraptions. The Convict had managed to claim a decent enough share of the food, though a few prisoners had challenged him for it, he could hold his own in a fight, and most of the dangerous ones knew this so left him alone. There was plenty of easy prey in here to keep them busy until the guards came for them again.

Around what he thought to be the third day, the prisoners were finally collected and put into Guild wagons for the journey north. Almost no care or attention was given to keeping them safe from the elements, well fed, or watered. The Guild rationale was that if they survived long enough to work, then they would get something to keep them doing that - weak men made bad miners. The Convict intended to hunker down and stay alive for as long as possible; giving him time to formulate and execute an escape plan. It would not be easy, as unlike Earthside one could not count on coming across homesteads or easy food sources. The local animals here were more likely to take a bite out of you than the other way round. Unfortunately the alternative was a slow painful death, and so he would have to risk the wilds and whatever else he encountered.

Of all the prisoners, the Convict was the most guarded and watchful, and this made the Guild guards pay him close attention. They deemed him to be the running type, and so a number of them had made up their minds to put him into situations where he was unlikely to survive and let fate take him off their hands. The leader of the Guild contingent was a stern yet youthful Captain named R. Ryan Bridger, who was as shrewd as he was ruthless. He forbade his guards from killing any prisoners that did not present an immediate problem. Losing useful paid labour before they had done a lick of work made for bad business, and if the shipments were light, then it would be his head on the block. What happened to men after the endless toil had taken its toll, well, that was out of his hands…

He had personally overseen three years worth of chain gangs out in the middle of nowhere, all with the aim of furthering his career. Bringing home a great deal of soulstone was a sure way of gaining the advances necessary to live a comfortable life, and his youthful command was a testament to this. Captain Bridger had recently acquired the rights to mine a new area of the northern territories, one somewhat distant from the current troubles involving the Arcanist Witch. This claim had initially been difficult to attain, but fortune had smiled upon him with the sudden and unexplained death of the previous owner. The Death Marshals had been called in over the crime, and had performed a thorough investigation clearing Bridger of any impropriety. R. Ryan Bridger had not questioned his good luck; he merely stumped up the scrip necessary to bribe the zoning official and now was well on course to be a powerful and wealthy man.

The prisoners were supplied to at great cost him by his paymasters in the Guild and completed the final, costly, element of his plan. Earthside governments paid the Guild to take them away, transport them, and then the Guild worked them to death providing soulstone which was sold back to those governments for a princely sum. Due to the exorbitant costs of the men, he paid a small amount for the bare minimum nutrients to keep most of them alive, and for the extra hands to keep them all in line.

Opportunities like this were only possible in this land – Bridger had been born into a poor claiming family on Earth, yet was living it up like a king here. Soon he would have enough to move back to his hometown and lord it up for all to see. He didn’t think enough of Malfaux to want to stay much longer. Even in the few years he had been here, he had seen too many strange sights to be comfortable. The whole place was just too odd; it seemed to want to be rid of men. Bridger wasn’t a big enough fool to think as some did that Malifaux and the surrounding lands could be tamed. This last trip would hopefully be his last.

The journey to the prospect site lasted a week and was plagued with all kinds of problems. The weather, which was usually so stable in proximity to the Breach, ranged from extreme heat in the badlands to torrential rain in the foothills. The expedition wasn’t prepared for this, as they had rarely encountered inclement weather. Some supplies and equipment were lost in what was reported to have been a gentle creek on the last survey map, but when the expedition reached it they found a raging river that was barely fordable. The prisoners muttered about “bad omens” and the crazy talk began to unsettle the guards. Then there was the matter of Denton Jenks. None of the other prisoners would tolerate being within ten feet of him, and none of the guards had the balls to shoot the crazy bastard. Jenks had begun to talk to himself, quietly at first, but with ever increasing animation and clarity. His endless chatter with his ‘friends’ was keeping eyes off the Convict though, and in that Jenks was doing a great job. The Convict didn’t hold as much stock in omens and the talk of the deranged as the others did. He just kept his head low, and did as he was told.

The prospect site was little more than a small hole in the side of a mountain. Some ancient equipment sat rusting outside, the age of it seemed to suggest that it had been worked long before men had crossed the Breach. The site was isolated from the surrounding areas by way of being on an oblique bluff, and without the map the party may have gone straight past it without being aware it was there. It was eerie and quiet, devoid of even a single soaring bird that had been quite common in the foothills. It had a pervasive sense of foreboding, and after an ill starred journey, it was making the men even more restless.

The guards quickly set the prisoners to work, building a rudimentary camp, preparing a sluice for the mountain stream adjacent to the mine entrance, and shoring up the framework to protect against any rock movements that may have occurred since the last time it had been worked.

As it was late in the day by the time the tasks were complete, the tents were pitched and campfires created. The prisoners were permitted some food, and as a reward for their services (and a bribe against trouble) were given a tot of rum per man. All the convicts welcomed it gladly – this place gave them the creeps. None of those men would ever dare admit it but none of them wanted to go into that mine. It wasn’t just the fact that they anticipated being worked to death in there; the mine gave them an odd sensation whenever any of them strayed too close, like someone had just walked over their grave. It didn’t help either that the horses would not bear being within 30 feet of the entrance. In fact, the only soul who seemed to not be bothered by the mind was Denton Jenks. He had to be restrained from running down into the mine any chance he got.

When sleep was finally permitted, every man experienced a restless night and had dreams filled with demented visions. Each of these mad scenes concerned the mine. It was as if every means the subconscious had was being deployed to try and prevent the dreamer from entering that place.

The Convict got as much sleep as he could, though in his heart he knew something bad lay waiting for him down that mine shaft. Whatever the Breach had done to him seemed to be having peculiar effects. From time to time, odd shapes and figures were visible to him out the corner of his eye. But when he looked over toward the mine, they became perfectly visible. Just beyond the darkness he could see things that made his skin crawl. Swirling dark shapes flowing between those of crooked men and things altogether less human. On every level he knew that he shouldn’t go into the mine, but what choice did he have? It was the only chance of salvation too.

Before dawn, the guards roused those prisoners that had managed to grab more than a couple of hours of sleep, and then fed the men with a horrid-tasting gruel. After they had finished, Captain Bridger had the men corralled in front of the mine and then mounted his horse, to better address the gathered men.

“Work is freedom. Work is salvation. This is all any of you men here should concern yourselves with. You have been abandoned by those Earthside. To them you are nothing. You all had your chances and you squandered them with thievery, whoring, and killing. This place is a chance to wipe the slate clean and pay your due. The Guild values you. The Guild will keep you. But… you must earn these two things, and the work will not be easy or enjoyable. Anyone who tries to escape will be shot. Anyone who tries to undermine my authority will be shot. There is no court of peers here – I’m the judge and the executioner and I assure you gentlemen, I enjoy all my jobs. Now get to work!”

The guards set the men into action with a few well placed blows, and with that, the mining operation began. Despite their fears and reservations, the convicts could not refuse the order to enter the mine. The loaded and cocked rifles of the Guildsmen were a more immediate threat. Free of his restraints, Denton Jenks made a beeline into the darkness, whooping with joy. Needless to say, this only heightened the anxiety of the others entering with him, prisoners and guards alike. The Convict was one of the first into the mine, and so had been given a lamp to help guide the other prisoners down into the shaft.

The walls were oddly smooth, unlike any mine he had seen back home. He suspected that in some time past the stream outside had swelled and caused the mine to fill, though the layers of dust and dry dirt in the chamber gave him some comfort that such an event had been some time ago. The stone was jet black and dimly reflective, and as the light hit it he could see dim images of himself and those nearest to him. It reminded him of a hall of mirrors he’d once visited with his wife and child back Earthside. The sudden thoughts of his previous life caused him great pain. He had tried hard to forget them, but his mind kept torturing him with small glimpses of a happier time, before the bad times came…He forced his mind into the present. The imminent threat was real. The frightful shapes were still there before him, just beyond the light of the lamp. They leered at him and beckoned him further into the mine. The deeper he got, the more animated the shapes became. The Convict wasn’t sure whether this place was haunted or if his mind was just trying to punish him again, but it didn’t matter. The deeper he went, the worse he felt, and he could sense the others felt it too. Whatever was wrong with this place was not his doing. He just didn’t want it to be his undoing.

Deeper and deeper the party went, expecting to see signs of mining, but it soon became apparent that whatever work had occurred here had been at a greater depth than they expected. A number of forks in the pathway had been met, and at each one a few guards and a few prisoners had let the main group so that a more comprehensive search for the soulstone cache could be found.

Captain Bridger was directing the main group, albeit from a secure position near the rear of the party. He felt the unease of the men, and his own personal disquiet too. He’d been in this land long enough to understand that a corrupt power had infested it. Earthside, he might have dismissed all these signs as mere superstition, but here, it was foolish to dismiss anything. When he had first arrived, he had laughed at the fanciful reports of monsters and the like as the scaremongering of the Guilds’ propaganda. His first glimpse behind the veil of sanity came out of the blue. He had been assigned to guard a wagon train bearing soulstone back to the city when they had been waylaid by what he first though as bandits. It was only when he saw that their attackers weren’t just men, they were very dead men, that he realised that all the stories were true. In the back of his mind, R. Ryan Bridger began to wonder how he had managed to come across this claim so ‘easily’. His doubts were suddenly interrupted by shouts up ahead.

Further down into the darkness the cries of Denton Jenks were now audible to all. He was crying with joy, and calling out to them to “Come and see!” To say it was having the opposite effect was an understatement. The prisoners had to be forced at the point of a rifle to continue toward the sounds. Within moments the narrow tunnel walls opened up into a vast cavern, its limits not full visible with the limited light the party carried. Below on the cavern floor they could just make out the frenzied activity of Jenks – he was running around in circles like a mad march hare. As they came closer, they could see he was running around something large, clapping his hands with joy and calling out to them to “come and see where my friend is hiding!”

Captain Bridger ordered the soulstone generator deployed and the prisoners got to work hooking it up to a lamp stand. The dull throbbing of the device reverberated off the walls and caused an uncomfortable sound. The lamp slowly came to life, the light thin and sickly at first, but soon becoming stronger as the generator kicked into gear. Gasps of amazement broke out among the crew. All around them, embedded in the rocks and roof of the now apparent and huge cavern, were huge clumps of soulstone, just waiting to be harvested. Captain Bridger whistled loudly before exclaiming “Looks like you got your work cut out boys!” Bridger could barely contain his delight. He has stumbled into possession of one of the largest soulstone deposits he had ever seen! All the previous doubts were banished from his mind by a powerful and uncontrollable greed. “Get the mining equipment, and start excavations immediately!” he bellowed. Yet no one made a move to do anything at his command.

Bridger saw that the majority of the group had collected around something a little way off. He barged his way through guards and convicts to get a look at what they were gawping at. In the centre, he froze completely in utter awe. Denton Jenks was on his knees, his arms outstretched, hugging what appeared to be a soulstone of immense size and clarity. Jenks looked up at Bridger, and with tears of joy in his eyes proclaimed loudly “We have found him!”

To be continued…

[Darkcloud]

now that's what I call a cliffhanger. good writing

[elril]

Pretty good tale so far. My compliments