Dark Sanity
Chapter Ten

Soal for Coal

Gunthrel came down to where Flint stood in the coliseum and guided him back to Pardashan’s throne room on the other side of the steamy city of Soalace. The kingdom of clockwork, metal, and granite seemed less hostile to Flint since he’d helped its citizens who had been attacked by the fiendish lurkens. Flint stepped into the throne chamber and walked over to the carpeted steps. Pardashan stood up, gesturing at Flint to follow him to the balcony that lay behind the throne, overlooking a chasm lit with an assortment of colorful lava lamps.

“Tell me,” began Pardashan, “why did you help my people? You could’ve used the attack to your advantage and escaped.”

“I don’t let innocent unarmed people die.”

“Is that so?” replied Pardashan, rubbing his white, frail chin. He remained quiet for a moment and then said, “Times have changed, Flint Cross. We are no longer the same noble humans that existed ages ago.”

“Noble?” said Flint, trying not to laugh. “Few humans were noble before the sun flares ruined our civilization. I’ve also unfortunately discovered as of late that they’re still scarce. And no,” he added before Pardashan could interrupt him, “I’m not referring to you. Do you think I like these clothes? Do you think I like these archaic guns? Do you think I was born and raised on the surface?”

“Isn’t every human who has your skin pigment?”

“No,” said Flint, irritated. “My life once meant something. Long ago, it was a life empty of illusions. But then I was betrayed, put here by the tribunal.”

“You have mentioned this tribunal more than once,” said Pardashan. “What is it?”

“I myself don’t even know,” said Flint, frowning. “The tribunal seems to be some kind of seat of power—a dictatorship. I only remember bits and pieces of my former life; they blanked out my memory.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because I started a rebellion,” said Flint. “Don’t ask me why. I still can’t remember my motive. It may have been for the sake of freedom.”

“Freedom from what?”

“Some form of tyranny,” responded Flint. “Like I said, I’m not sure. All I know is that I started a war with the tribunal. I was the leader. People fought and died for me. Even my beloved Hamarah was killed. I eventually lost the war, and since then I was deprived of everything: my liberty, my dignity, my humanity, my sanity—everything. They put me on this backwater planet and turned me into a joke, giving me a fake name, a fake family, a fake home, and fake friends. Meanwhile, the people who were closest to me were nothing more than backstabbing wardens, put here to watch over me and make sure I’d die quietly rather than be a martyr.”

“That is quite a tale,” said Pardashan. He really wasn’t sure if Flint was making this story up, but he felt Flint had no reason to lie since he’d chosen to help the citizens of Soalace instead of escape when he had the chance. “Tell me, what do you intend to do?”

Flint had been staring at the colorful chasm while listening. When asked that question, however, he turned to the side and stared at Pardashan curiously.

“That depends on you,” he said.

“And why is that?”

“You’re the ruler of this kingdom,” said Flint. “I’m your prisoner, and I have no idea how to return to the surface even if I escaped.”

“Despite what you may think,” began Pardashan, “I am an honorable man. I’m not like that tribunal you spoke of. In fact, I am willing to grant you one wish for helping my people. It is my form of gratitude.”

“Are you sure?” asked Flint, startled.

“I am a fair man,” said Pardashan. “Name one thing you desire and I will grant it. If it be returning to the surface so you may replace this tribunal of yours, so be it. Or if there is something else you have in mind, ask.”

Flint brought his eyes down, staring at the chasm again. He took a deep breath, plagued with numerous possibilities. This was an unforeseen turn of events, he thought. Was it true that he’d somehow gotten on Pardashan’s good side? Could he really return to the surface? That was the last thing he expected.

“I have two requests.”

“Do not test my benevolence,” said Pardashan. “You have helped me, and so I am willing to help you. Afterwards, we are even.”

Flint grumbled, thinking hard. “There is a group of survivors in the Northern Territory of Australia,” he said. “They live in an old dusty town called Desonas. It would mean a great deal to me if you and your people could leave them in peace.”

“Excuse me?” scowled Pardashan, his eyebrows creasing. “Are you certain of this? Those people are no longer a part of your life.”

“They are the only real friends I have left,” said Flint. “Let them live in peace.”

“So be it,” said Pardashan, agitated. “They won’t be taken or killed by my men if they’re ever found. But don’t think this sacrifice of yours will make me fond of you.”

“Sacrifice?”

“Don’t be coy with me,” said Pardashan. “I won’t be granting you any other wishes. If you want to play savior rather than get even with that tribunal of yours, be my guest. But that means you’re stuck down here like the rest of us. You’ll have to start a new life here and forget about your previous lives in limbo and the surface.”

“Fine,” said Flint. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

Pardashan squinted harshly at him. “Gunthrel will be your overseer,” he said. “Much work is needed to be done in my city. And a man of your caliber will suit us well. Now leave. I’m done with you.”

“As you wish,” said Flint, leaving the balcony. He returned to the throne chamber and went down the steps, walking over to where Gunthrel stood.

“One last thing,” called out Pardashan.

“Yes?” said Flint, turning around.

“In all the history here in the undertunnels, not once has there ever been a man from the desolate surface of Earth who possessed the strength you have,” said Pardashan. “How did you obtain such power?”

“I’m afraid the only ones who may’ve been able to answer that are dead,” said Flint. “But perhaps one day, if I am lucky, I will remember my past. And if I do, I’ll gladly tell you.”

“Humph…Gunthrel, take him to the Core.”

The armored being bowed and led Flint back to the other side of the city.

“Pardashan said you’re my overseer,” said Flint, walking across the luminous bridge. Not getting a response made him glower. “Tell me, what exactly is the Core?”

“I will explain when we arrive.”

Flint thought Gunthrel sounded like a machine, especially with the life-support mask he had on. They reached the other side of the city and entered the platform. When the door sealed, Gunthrel clicked a button on the panel, which made the platform descend. With the exception of his heavy breathing, Gunthrel stayed quiet.

A minute passed, and the platform was still descending. Flint wondered to himself, just how far down does this platform go? It made him panic. After a few seconds, however, the lift slowed down and came to a stop. The door automatically opened, and a dense cloud of steam puffed inward. It was so dense that Flint couldn’t see ahead. Fortunately for him, it eventually dissipated.

“This way,” said Gunthrel, exiting the platform.

Flint followed him into a resonating chasm with steam filling the air. The floor was made of fine grating. And along the pillars and walls in the chamber were thick metal tubes. Numerous pale men were shoveling what seemed to be coal into fireboxes within boilers, all of which stood next to humming steam engines.

Most of the men looked astonished to see a human from the surface. They surprisingly saluted him and Gunthrel who stomped through the catwalks. To see someone from the surface in the Core of Soalace meant that Pardashan had granted him life and trusted him. That was the only reason why the men here seemed to accept the fact that he came down here, or at least that was what Flint assumed when they greeted him.

Gunthrel eventually reached a boiler far on the eastern side of the chasm. A young man vigorously shoveled coal-like material into the firebox. When he spotted Gunthrel, however, he laid his shovel down on the grating and left his station. Gunthrel gazed at Flint, pointing at the shovel.

“Listen,” began Flint, “I don’t mind working, but I’m not fond of people who are cryptic. If you’re my overseer, then I expect you to respect me as much as I should respect you. And that means explaining my purpose here in English, not sign language.” For a moment, Flint wasn’t sure whether Gunthrel was going to hit him or nod. “Did I do something wrong to get on your shit list?”

“Start working.”

Flint frowned, grabbed the large shovel on the floor, and dug it into the gray material. He then lifted it and hurled the contents into the firebox.

“Easy enough,” said Flint, repeating what he did.

“You didn’t have to kill my friend,” blurted Gunthrel.

Flint stopped working and sighed. “You can’t blame me for that,” he said. “In fact, it wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t capture me. All you had to do was communicate like a normal person.”

“Surface dwellers are nothing more than a reminder of man’s fall,” said Gunthrel.

“Excuse me?” snapped Flint. “You know, I’m getting really tired of your arrogance. All you underground dwellers seem to be indifferent.” He remembered when Amanda and Sarah had called him obnoxious, narcissistic, and indifferent. Though only for a moment, he saw himself inside the tall clockwork armor—a soulless husk that had lost its humanity. The thought of him no longer being human frightened him. He looked down, trying to preserve his empathy. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Work!”

Flint sighed again. “Can you at least explain what the hell I’m doing? Is this for the city, your ships, or what?”

“It’s for everything,” said Gunthrel. “Work and I will explain.” Flint obeyed, continuing to hurl coal-like material into the fuming firebox with his shovel. As he worked, Gunthrel went on, “You come from the surface and know nothing of our ways. The Core is an ingenious engine. It produces oxygen, filters water, recycles steam, and requires little fuel. You probably think this is coal.” Upon seeing Flint nod, he added, “You’re wrong.”

“Then what is it?” asked Flint, digging again.

“When our ancestors created the undertunnels, they produced an extraordinary material that changed humanity forever,” said Gunthrel. “It is what energizes the Core, allowing the flow of steam. It’s as precious as our souls; and so we named it soal. It is the life of our vessels and our greatest defense against the lurkens. Without it, we’re nothing.”

Flint slowed down, staring at the material he’d been hurling into the firebox. “It seems my job is much more important than it appears,” he said.

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

“I know that all too well,” said Flint, grimacing. “My life on the surface seemed real—it appeared real. Yet it wasn’t. I was deceived until the very end.”

“Forget about that life,” said Gunthrel. “You are here now. Lord Pardashan chose me to be your overseer for one reason: he acknowledged that you have a great strength despite your age. You can probably work twice as long as our men here. And you will work a great deal for the sake of Soalace.”

“I’ll work when I have to, but I won’t be treated as a prisoner,” said Flint. “I am a man of freedom, and no one is taking that away from me. Not the tribunal, not Pardashan, and certainly not you. It was my decision to stay here. But mark my words, Gunthrel, one day I will replace a way out of this backwater planet, and I will continue the war I started.”

“Every man has a dream.”

“Indeed,” said Flint, hurling more soal into the firebox.

Gunthrel refused to show it, but he did feel a bit impressed with Flint. “You’ll work eight hours, like the others,” he said. “Then you can leave through the western catwalk.” He pointed to the left, showing Flint the passage. “It will lead you to a hall where the bedchambers are located. You may stay in chamber sixty-two.”

“A fitting number for my age,” said Flint. “Hopefully the room is cozier than the cell I was in earlier.”

“It’s too good for the likes of a surface dweller.”

“I’m not a surface dweller,” replied Flint snappishly. “If anything, I am an outlander. Or perhaps the more appropriate term would be offworlder.”

“If you say so,” said Gunthrel skeptically.

“Anyway,” began Flint, still working, “where the hell did those lurkens come from? And just how many of them are there?”

“Ah, the lurkens,” said Gunthrel. “They are our mortal enemy. In fact, they are our one and only enemy. There are two kinds of lurkens: the slimy monsters that nearly killed you in the molten chasm, and the more human-looking creatures that hide deeper within the dark shadows of abandoned undercities. I replace both to be just as fiendish.”

“What’s the difference between them?”

“One is mindless, and the other is somewhat sentient,” said Gunthrel. “The sentient ones don’t have slime or create cocoons. They somehow control the wilder, senseless fiends.”

“Why are they so violent?” asked Flint. “And where did they come from?”

“We can only assume that they were a failed evolution of humans who attempted to live in the undertunnels,” replied Gunthrel. “Perhaps they couldn’t handle the change. They probably fed on one another until they became what they ate—monsters.”

“Sounds like your people.”

Gunthrel laughed for the first time and said, “We don’t eat people. Pardashan was simply amusing himself by trying to frighten you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had an inmate. Dale works too, though not in this sector. And I can assure you, he certainly hasn’t earned the respect you’ve earned.”

“I almost forgot about him,” said Flint. “He’s a bit crazy but funny. By the way, what sector does he work in, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The waterworks,” said Gunthrel. “See these pipes?”

“I only see huge tubes.”

“They’re actually pipes,” said Gunthrel. “People like Dale help keep this city alive in the waterworks, which is a system that leads to the surface, gathering water when it rains. The water runs through these pipes. And while soal is put in the boilers, the steam engines work their magic by supplying us with energy.”

“I’m very impressed.”

“As I said before, soal is the soul of our city,” said Gunthrel. “Without the life of water or the essence of soal, the undertunnels would be as dead as the surface.”

“I just have one last question.”

“What is it?” replied Gunthrel, irked.

“It’s about the lurkens again,” said Flint. “There seems to be quite a lot of them. Do they ever attack this city?”

“Do they attack?” said Gunthrel derisively. “Why do you think there are so many guards around the city? Why do you think so many of us walk around in armor all the time? Of course they attack, and they attack us frequently. I told you before: they’re our nemesis. As a matter of fact, if they launched a full assault, it is quite possible they’d defeat us.”

“I take it they haven’t tried that yet?”

“They’re not that intelligent,” said Gunthrel. “Actually, the sentient lurkens may have thought about it, but they’re probably too nervous. In fact, they might think that they’d be killed; they are terrified of our flamethrowers. It’s the one thing that holds them back. If we didn’t have fire, I fear we’d be extinct already.”

“They’re deadly,” said Flint, hurling another huddle of soal into the firebox. “Why don’t you launch an assault and get rid of them?”

“Do you think it’s that easy? The acid of the lurkens burns right through our armor. We have lost many brothers and sisters fighting against them. Launching a full assault would be no different than every single one of them invading Soalace. Now enough of your questions, Flint Cross. I’ve said more than I ever should have. You know what to do, and despite how simple it may be, you understand how important it is. In about seven hours, you may retire to your room for the remainder of the day. When you hear a ringing in your bedchamber, it means it’s time to return to work.”

“What about food?” asked Flint.

Gunthrel sighed and said, “Food is supplied in your bedchamber.” He turned, stomping away as he added, “Look alive, people. This isn’t coal; it is soal you’re working with. It is your life and soul.”

Flint gazed at Gunthrel for a moment and smiled at him. Even though they had started out as enemies, he somehow felt that he may have gained a new friend—hopefully his first of many friends here in Soalace. He continued to work, feeling more alive than ever, and didn’t stop until seven long hours passed.