Darkness is a Hungry Thing

Darkness is a Hungry Thing 

Kiran clambered up the tree, fast, not paying attention to the scratchy bark as it dug into his hands, as it caught on his trousers. The Keeper is coming. Every time she walked the streets there was a buzz in the village, whispered voices, a hum over the earth. The Keeper is coming. 

When he thought he’d climbed high enough, he planted a sandaled foot on one of the branches, pushing against it, testing its strength. Satisfied, Kiran crouched down, wrapping his hands around the wood, crawling across the branch, moving further from the trunk. Only when the branch began to sag beneath his weight did he stop and lower himself into a sitting position, allowing his legs to dangle in the air, swinging back and forth. 

Kiran reached out, grabbing fistfulls of the small branches and leaves that blocked his view, shoving them out of the way, brittle twigs snapping and twisting under his fingers. If someone saw him doing this, harming “the nature that provided for them,” he’d of course be in trouble. And if the Keeper saw him, he’d probably be dead, taken to the Pillars. He smiled. That was why he’d chosen a high branch. He’d be out of view. 

Kiran always thought himself different from the others in the village. They were shallow, spineless, with their drooping heads and downcast eyes. They were always like that, but it was so much more noticeable on the rare occasion the Keeper showed her face. 

The Keeper is our savior, everyone said. They would talk in hushed tones of how she’d built this village centuries ago, how she allowed them a place within it out of her abundant kindness, her goodwill. She was pure. She was divine. That was why she was still alive after all these centuries, as beautiful and youthful as the day she’d first stepped foot on this land. A goddess, people in the village whispered with their subdued voices, the hum of the words like a drone of bugs in the air. 

“There she is,” Kiran whispered to the leaves and the branches. 

He watched as the Keeper walked between rows of houses, saw her smile benevolently at the people she passed. Not that they saw her smile. Their eyes were fixed on the dirt, their heads weighed down with something they called respect. Kiran called it fear. 

The Keeper wore a white dress, knee length. Clean. Spotless. Her dark hair was pinned up, curls wrapped loosely, her face painted to highlight her beauty. Every time she appeared, she was wearing something new, something no one else in the village could be found wearing. Once, a young girl had tried to mimic one of the Keeper’s fine dresses. She’d made it herself, creating it to be nearly identical, and she’d worn it the next time the Keeper walked through the village. Then she’d been taken to the Pillars, never seen again. Her dress had been an “atrocious sign of disrespect,” in the Keeper’s own words, and everyone had agreed with their silence, noses pointing to the earth. Now the incident seemed entirely forgotten. 

The Keeper stopped walking, and Kiran eyebrows rose as he stretched forward, shoved away more leaves, a few of them dislodging from their branches and floating to the ground. She turned to face someone, stretched out her hand. Kiran pushed at even more stubborn branches. Why had she stopped? Only one reason. Then who— 

Kiran inhaled sharply, and the breath caught in his throat, stopping there, choking him. No. The Keeper rested a slim hand on Darian’s shoulder, and Kiran could see even from the distance his brother’s wide eyes. No no no. She was saying something, her lips moving with words Kiran was much too far away to hear, and suddenly he wished he was down there, wished for the first time to be among the others with their bowed heads and averted eyes. 

She started walking again, back the way she’d come, her hand still lodged on Darian’s shoulder, and he walked with her, his head low, feet moving voluntarily but his shoulders twisted, as if trying to stay back. Kiran knew where they were going. The Pillars. 

Kiran shuffled backward, frantic, letting the branches snap back to their original position, not caring if anyone saw or heard. He scrambled toward the trunk of the tree, leaves and twigs catching in his thick hair, scraping his skin. He reached the trunk, grabbing it, sliding toward the ground, old bark dislodging and falling as he did, sticking to his trousers, scratching his legs. As soon as his feet touched down, he ran, fast, faster than he ever had before, avoiding the shifting rocks and the raised roots, knowing where to step. He reached the street, running in front of the rows of people who lined the pavement, and many of them didn’t even turn their heads upward as he passed, as his feet pounded on the dirt they stared at. 

He could see them just ahead. The Keeper. His brother. What was Kiran going to do when he reached them? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t let her take Darian. If she did— Hands grabbed him, wrapped around him, stopped him with a jolt. Firm hands, strong arms. 

“Let go,” Kiran hissed, his words low because he couldn’t shout. Then he’d be taken too. His mother whispered in his ear, unconcerned, distant. “Quiet, child.” 

Kiran fought her grip, but she had always been strong, unmoveable. Stronger than him. The moment passed, and Darian was so far away, too far. Breath entered Kiran’s lungs, at first fast, then slow, slower. Stay calm. But Darien… Stay. Calm. 

Kiran took a deep breath, and his mother let go. He looked at her, meeting her dull green eyes. He’d always been told he looked so much like his mother. It’s those eyes, people would whisper. They’re identical. Kiran respectfully disagreed. His eyes were not those emotionless, 

absent ones his mother wore. He liked to think his were vibrant, full of life. Like his father’s were. 

Kiran glanced in the direction the Keeper had retreated. She was gone, and so was Darian. 

He glared at his mother. “He’s dead, and you know it.” 

His mother smiled sweetly. She shook her head as if she pitied him. “No, child. He’s with your father.” 

Kiran scowled. Yeah, they were both dead. 

His eyes wandered down the path, into the distance, and he had to remind himself that his brother wasn’t gone yet, not really. It was Darian, after all, and Kiran wouldn’t abandon him. Would Darian do anything he could to get Kiran back? Well, no. But would Kiran do anything for Darian? Yes, absolutely. Even if it meant going against the Keeper? He smiled. He was the only one crazy enough to do that. 

Kiran said nothing more to his mother, walking back to his house in silence. He threw open the front door, not bothering to close it, and went straight to his room. This door he slammed shut behind him before taking a few steps toward his bed and falling onto it. Kiran didn’t want to look at his brother’s side of the room, the neatly folded clothes, the carefully made bed. Kiran’s side wasn’t nearly as nice, but that’s where his eyes stayed, going over the piles of clothes on the floor, the trinkets pushed against the walls, his rock collection piled on the desk he and his brother were supposed to share. Darian had never liked the rocks Kiran brought home, but it wasn’t like Kiran could just get rid of them. He’d been adding to the pile since he learned to walk. 

Kiran stared at the ceiling, waiting for time to pass. He’d go after Darian, get him back. He couldn’t yet, though. Not while the sun was out, while the people of the village were moving about. 

Eventually, his mother came into the house. He heard her walking across the floor, moving things around, going in and out of the door. She didn’t look for him, and he hadn’t expected her to. She just continued on as if nothing had happened. 

Kiran waited, impatient. He layed in his bed, tapped his fingers against the bedding, stood up and layed back down. Some time he spent digging slivers from his hands, shoved under his skin by the tree, and he spent another portion of time organizing the rocks on the desk. He arranged them in groups by color, orange-brown ones and white ones and the ones that sparkled in the sun. When he was done, there were clusters of color dotting the wood. He smiled to himself. When Darian got back, he’d say something about Kiran’s rocks taking up even more space now that they were spread out. He’d complain about it, but Kiran knew Darian wasn’t going to do anything to change it. 

Kiran sat at that desk, staring out the window, watching the sun’s slow descent. A gentle breeze blew across his face, carrying with it the sound of crickets, the scent of dirt and leaves. The wind was cold, setting into his flesh, digging into his bones. As the sun dipped behind the trees, casting an orange glow across the horizon, Kiran knew the orange was supposed to be warm, but all he felt was that chilly darkness. 

He took a deep breath. It was time to head out. 

The door to Kiran’s bedroom swung open easily, and he snuck through, closing it quietly behind him. He moved toward the exit of the house, and not even the boards creaked underneath as he reached for the door. He knew where to step. 

“Where are you going?” The words were soft, a scuttling whisper. 

Kiran turned around. His mother sat at the kitchen table. A fork was wrapped in her large hand, but the only thing in front of her was an empty ceramic plate. No trace of food, nothing. He took a deep breath, putting on a smile. “I need some air.” 

His mother’s face remained unchanged, eyes open, mouth slightly parted. A single blink. “Where are you going?” she repeated in that quiet, whispery voice. 

Kiran was no liar. “I’m going after Darian.” 

She looked at him quizzically. “You can’t, child.” A slight shake of her head, like he was a child, like he needed someone to explain to him how the world worked. “He’s with the Keeper now.” 

“She’s going to kill him,” Kiran said, trying in vain to keep his voice even. His mother shook her head. “All is safe with the Keeper. You mustn’t try to take things from her.” 

“He’s my brother,” Kiran hissed. “He’s your son. Don’t you care what happens to him?” He twisted the doorknob, felt that chilled wind reach a sliver of his back. 

“It’s illegal to venture to the Pillars uninvited.” There was something threatening in her soft tone that didn’t match her expression. “The Keeper will not be pleased.” Kiran shook his head and stepped outside, leaving his mother behind. 

The sun had fully descended below the earth, and only the ghost of its light remained, vibrant, the color of blood. Kiran walked through the village, feet crunching on the gravel, and he was the only one outside, just as he thought he would be. There was no curfew in the village, but no one was ever out after dark. The Keeper did not appreciate noise once night had arrived. 

Kiran wandered to the edge of the village, to the part of the forest they were forbidden to enter. That was the Keeper’s most prominent rule. No one must enter the Pillars. It was her territory, her section of the forest, and it was where the Keeper would bring “criminals,” the people who didn’t abide by her rules. Those people never came back. 

Kiran took a deep breath. The thick wall of trees extended from the ground before him, the bark nearly black with the color of night, stretching upward, the earth’s thick, crooked fingers reaching toward the sky. Kiran took another deep breath and stepped inside. 

There was no light in the forest, the black of night being pulled into the leaves, the ground, the air itself, and the dirt beneath Kiran’s feet was nonexistent, replaced by a tangled mess of gnarled roots. Kiran stumbled along, struggling to find good footing between the unfamiliar trees. He didn’t know what he was looking for or where he was going, but he knew the way he’d come. He could take some comfort in the fact that he always had a knack for finding his way around. 

“Darian!” Kiran called as loud as he dared. He wasn’t scared. Of course not. But the forest seemed to demand whispers and look down on shouts. “Darian.” 

Kiran slowly picked his way along, staring at the darkness of the roots beneath, not that he could see anything. One step at a time, he moved forward. Step after step after— A cry of surprise erupted from Kiran’s throat as his foot found nothing but open air ahead. He fell forward, panic rising in his chest, his hands flailing, frantically searching for something, anything. 

His fingers wrapped around a branch tightly, desperately, and his hand slid along it, down, down, his weight too much… His second hand swung up, found the branch, and the sliding stopped. He took a deep breath, his heart flopping in his chest, a fish in a basket, but it 

started to slow, its beat gradually returning to normal. He climbed up the branch carefully, worried it wouldn’t support his weight much longer, that it would snap and he would fall, but then his feet were on the ground and he was safe, kneeling, his hands clutching the roots beneath him. With more care than he’d ever exhibited before, Kiran reached out a hand, feeling the ground beneath him, finding where it ended and the hole began, and then he leaned over, looking into the inky darkness below, knowing he wouldn’t see anything but needing to try. 

“Darian?” he asked quietly, his voice the volume everyone in the village talked, that low hated hum. He received no reply, but had he really expected to? 

Staring into that void, a darkness, a feeling of danger wrapped around his chest, clutched his beating heart with frozen fingers, squeezed, and an unfamiliar fear crawled into his mind, prodding his skull with centipede legs. Maybe it was the smell of the pit, a sickly sweet smell, or maybe it was that deep darkness, almost tangible. Or maybe it was the feeling he was being watched. 

Kiran threw a glance over his shoulder, and there she was. The Keeper. A white dress, this one different from before, descended to the ground, flowing, trailing behind her, draping over the tangle of roots. She seemed to glow in the darkness; she was the only thing Kiran could see, and he could see her perfectly, every feature, when he couldn’t even see his own hands. “What are you doing here, boy?” she asked. 

Kiran’s voice disappeared in his throat, and it took him a long time to find it again. “Darian. Where is he?” 

“Who does that name belong to?” 

“My brother.” 

The Keeper smiled, her blood-red lips stretching, her gray eyes dead. “I am not sure I know him.” 

Kiran stood, his throat dry. “You took him. Today. Give him back.” 

The Keeper shook her head. “Are you making demands, boy?” Her words were soft, gentle, delicately falling from her mouth. Her eyes, though, showed the words’ true intent. They swept up the letters, made them dangerous. 

Kiran was aware of the pit behind him, only a step away. It was all he could think about as the Keeper took a step toward him. 

“The boy you seek will not be returned to you.” 

“Let him go,” Kiran whispered. 

“He is gone. Those who break the rules must not remain.” 

Kiran choked on the thick, dark air. “What did you do?” 

“The boy has given me his years.” 

What? Kiran opened his mouth, but he could no longer force out words. 

There was a thin hand on his shoulder, the Keeper’s, and he was trapped by her, by the crooked trees and the dark pit. He felt the weight of that hand, too heavy, and something drained from him. His emotion, his strength, his will. And the Keeper grew brighter in the darkness, those painted lips smiling, that stain of red. Kiran crumpled and fell backward. Darkness. She’d taken his years, too.