The Crawling Shadows Between Stars

Escaped the force, must’ve hidden in the shadows for wars....

His shoes slipped, not gripping properly, his balance off, missing something, but he crawled up over the edge anyway.

Just around the corner, lights shining through the dark....

He could hear voices.

"—dragging it everywhere. It’s taller than she is.”

"Hah, it's almost—"

Voices floating through the night, past the quiet rush of traffic, a clatter interrupting them.

"What—?"

The ground lurched under his feet.

A thin crack of warm light beckoned, spilling across dark vines and small pots, the scent of warm flesh inside. Their voices hissed softly, and ears perked, nose snuffling along the edge, nudging at a potted-plant with a scent that made it crinkle.

"Is... is it a felid?"

The curtains shifted, light spearing out, blinding.

And eyes the strange colour of clear lakes and shifting seas stared back.

Dray jerked away, the jagged edges of a torn-apart hatch yawning, dimming glow-filaments throwing an eerie light over broken and slumped shapes. His head— He shook it violently, trembling hand pressed to his throbbing skull. What—

That wasn't— wasn't blood seeping in shadowy pools over the floor, was it? Those shapes— it was dark, faces turned away from him. Panicking, heaving at the trapdoor. Too late.

"Dray?"

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. Stov. Stov was there, he wasn't dead. Dray shook his head, a shaky laugh stuttering out. Why would he be dead? They'd escaped. "Nothing. I just... thought I saw something."

Erold's nervous laugh echoed him. "Yeah, it looks like somewhere you'd get murdered. There's no undead therrolves haunting it, right?"

"No." Stov herded them in, and Dray reluctantly let himself be pushed under the crumpled hatch, gripping at his shoulder.

"Not the last time we checked," he tried joking. It fell flat.

Neri shivered. "It really is a mess."

"And it's where you get off." Stov turned as the dented, ruined hole loomed, the trapdoor hanging off its hinges. "Thanks, but I can take it from here."

"No you sluhking can't—"

The darkness stretched down, faint glimmers of rungs fading into nothing but empty, endless space, down, down, voices echoing off invisible walls, ringing and overlapping. Frantic babbling, trying to get away, terrified.

Eyes peering into the dark haunted him....

He clenched his eyelids shut, taking a step back from the void sucking him into some kind of twisted nightmare. "Just let them come, Stov. You're really going to send them home by themselves?"

Couldn't waste time arguing about it. The back of his neck crawled. Wasn't safe here. There were distorted wails rising in the distance....

"See? Even Dray thinks we should come."

Stov grunted mulishly, and Dray turned to see him shifting a pack on his back. "You're lucky I brought extra food and blankets."

"And now there are more people to help share the weight! That's a bonus," Neri said cheerfully.

Dray tried a smile he thought fit better, taking another step back and gesturing to the warped hole. "Stov was just planning to eat the load down when he got tired."

A laugh answered him, white teeth flashing in a maskless face, and he fought to keep the smile in place. Wind whistled through the jagged edges of the hatch. Nothing between them and the coming night.

"Dray, after me. Neri next, Erold last. You fall, and I'll drag you to Hahll with me." Stov clambered through and slid down, disappearing from view.

Dray clenched his hands. Just leave them until last? Shadows crawled where the mask cut off his vision, distant whispers creeping closer on the wind. Turning to Erold, he gestured him down. "Niff that. You next."

Eyes narrowed at him. "No, you're going next."

"We don't have time to argue." He shoved down something jagged, digging blunt nails into his palms, flesh squishing like putty.

"Then you go down quickly, and we'll follow quickly."

Jrahking— He ground his teeth until they tingled. Didn't have time to out-stubborn him, either. Shihk. "Fine."

He turned and dropped into the darkness, a pale face swirling in the dizzying light of his MIP, a voice that didn't sound right muffling the wind rushing in his ears. Hadn't been a growl. Hadn't been. All the blood drained from a pale oval, a thudding heartbeat in his ears.

His feet thumped into ringing metal, jolting him out of it just as his knees crumpled and his tailbone cracked into the floor. "Agh—"

"Do you ever slow down?"

A groan with a rusty edge scraped out of his throat, and he gripped at his neck, shrinking back from the clawing hands reaching for him.

"...You okay?"

Stov. Dray shook his head, startling as something flapped on his face. Mask. Forgotten about it. "Fine. Just not... nf... paying attention."

The hand helped him back to his feet as the others landed, guiding him down, down, into flickering shadows and soft echoes rasping over shuttle cradles. Faint light glimmered through dust motes, veined shapes creeping in the darkness. The whispers followed them down dark stairs, shivering along his spine before the broken door wedged shut behind them, cutting it out.

Couldn't even get down the first step without nearly faceplanting, the ground all twisted under him. Snarling a soft curse, a hesitant query following him, he forced himself to focus and remember how his own niffing legs worked, resisting the urge to just crawl down.

Crawl?

"Is it hurting more?"

He twitched, barely aware of his hand digging into his shoulder, and fought down a spasm in his throat. "I— a little."

"On a scale?"

A crack in the wall loomed under pale lights as they finally left the stairs. He shivered, fighting the urge to back away, a raggedy silhouette crawling in ahead of him. On the edge of hearing, a whisper loomed.... "Evening shade."

"That doesn't sound like 'a little'. C'mon. Keep up."

Crawling wasn't easier—didn't work right, too slow. He shuffled after, breathing slow and even, holding his heartbeat in his teeth to keep it from pulsing in his ears. "Started... in—mmf—the shade. Sometimes better. Sometimes worse. Consistently... worse, now."

Could feel it throbbing with his pulse, slightly deeper with every beat, every moment....

"Mf. Tight part coming up. Hope you're skinnier this time."

He huffed out a half-breath, reaching for a jagged edge. Long shadows stretched out, hesitating when he did, and he flexed them slowly, a tight wad curling up in his throat. Fingers? They didn't look right gripping at the sides, pulling him as he wriggled through. "Hey... Stov."

A flattened face with glinting eyes—Stov's eyes—turned to look at him as he heaved out into the tunnel. "What?"

He opened his mouth, and shut it again, turning away from the hint of a pale neck and tendons standing out, nausea shifting in his gut, an itch-ache in his teeth. "Nothing."

Those eyes followed him, gleaming out of the endless darkness. "You can take your mask off. None of us need them down here."

His hand shifted to hold it on instead of reaching underneath. "No."

Their steps squished, echoing under a steady drip, quiet breathing rasping under the pulse in his ears. "It's itching?"

"It's nothing." Watching him, always watching him—gleaming, waiting; prowling. "Stop— stop staring at me. Why're you staring at me?"

The shadows drifted back, naked skin turning away, bare muscles tight and fat tongues scraping at cracked, darker flesh. Stov's eyes narrowed, and Dray pressed tighter on the mask, hunching his shoulders. Wasn’t right, but— Please just....

"Fine." They turned away. "No one's watching you."

A shuddering breath loosened his lungs, the itch of stares off his skin. Still there, in the corners of his eyes, though. They gleamed in the shadows edging the light, pools of darkness clinging to his feet.

He took out his hand again, unfurling long, shaking things that looked too much like clutching twigs, thin and pale—skeletal. There was a thread, a thin vein, faint and purple under his wrist. Black. Pulsing. Veins wriggling down his hands and fire burning under his skin.

They clenched shut again, phantom flames snuffed out with a shaky breath.

It wasn't real. None of this was real. It was just a dream. He'd wake up and the throb in his shoulder would be gone, and the whispers and the twisting shadows would disappear. There'd be 'Tia, and there'd be Erold, and Mum and Dad.

It wasn't real.

"You okay?"

He jerked his head up, but no eyes glowed in the shadows, just a tap catching his shaking shoulder. Swallowing, he clenched at his wrist, light bleeding red through the cracks. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head violently, mask flapping. "I... I don't know. Everything's... I'm acting weird?"

Stov's snort caught him by surprise. "You're always weird."

A short laugh escaped him. "Hey."

A light shove. "Who else decides to learn how to stitch so he can make the world's biggest floffie? You were sluhking weird before they were handing out awards."

"Pff." He unstuck his grip to shove back. "How else was I supposed to make it?"

"You still had to recruit Neri in the end."

"Yeah, well. Stitching's hard. And you know how hard 'Tia was hugging that thing." He huffed a soft laugh to himself. "It would've popped if I did it."

Had that... been just two days ago? It was all hazy. Felt like days. Weeks spent with a shivering feeling of wrongness creeping up from the bottom of his soul and crawling under his skin, eating away everything underneath it and starting to poke out the cracks....

Like strained, badly done stitches, just about to snap.

"Probably. That test piece fell apart with one tug."

"I don't think it was that bad," a voice floated from behind.

Endless tunnels with roots dripping on his head passed by as he clambered up a ladder, twisted feet prowling silently in the corners of his eyes. A faint whisper on the edge of hearing, a shift in the air.... His hand clenched around his itching wrist again, digging into the fabric. "Needed to be good, though. Better."

"Stitching's girly, anyway," Erold said loudly, and he nearly flinched. Forgotten they were all there. Couldn't see them, just eyes. Weren't looking at him, though.

"There are men who stitch, too," Neri said, and he saw her eyes roll.

He laughed, stumbling on something squishy, dark shapes littering the floor. Echoes crept into his ears like a red light in the distance, shapes he couldn't make out. "’Rold just secretly wants to pick up tailoring. Should... take it up as a profession...."

D-dizzy. He stumbled, dull pain crawling up his spine into his skull, spearing behind his eyes. Could... could hear a song, music creeping across the walls. Pressing long dark things against his eyes, he hissed softly, the sound of footsteps hitching.

"Dray?" Could barely hear Stov’s voice past the throbbing in his head.

"I-I don't know, I just—" his hands trembled, and he gritted his teeth, fighting back the tightness in his throat "—hurts. Light. It hurts."

The tunnel swirled, swooping past his ears, and he had to catch himself, a jolt jarring through his knee.

"Dammit, it's not even sixth yet." Stov's gritted voice and his hand caught up with him. "Is it the bite?"

"No." He tried to catch his breath, hunching his shoulders against a hollow ache twisting in his chest and the pressure clutching his skull, making his stomach twist. Something— something—

A rising note froze him, lifting from the end of his spine and curling under his ribs.

He lifted his head, opening his mouth, pulse thudding hard enough to shake him. A call, a voice, a song that wanted an answer, that needed an answer. A....

"Shihk, they're in the tunnels."

A howl.