Chapter 18: Shadows and Sparks

The shift over, Sylven stretched, his muscles protesting the limited movement and stooped posture forced by hours of sitting and working at a table all day. His hands still tingled from polishing gears and twisting springs, but his curiosity about the Shy and humans around him kept exhaustion at bay.

Back in the cabinet on his way to the pantry for a snack of some breadcrumbs, he followed Eryl around as she tidied up after the children. She arranged their scattered toys into neat bins, the polished stump of her peg leg as steady as a rooted tree. He'd been hesitant to ask, but his inquisitiveness finally won out.

"Eryl," he began, lowering his voice so as not to wake the sleeping children, "Your leg, what happened?"

A twinge of sadness crossed Eryl's face. "You're wondering how I lost it," she said softly. "It was years ago, under Griff, the old handler. He was cruel, careless. One day, he knocked over a heavy cart. I was too close. It came crashing down on me before I could react."

Sylven's jaw tightened. "And he just… left you like that?"

"The human guard and the other Shy tried their best to save me and patch me up," Eryl said, her voice laced with bitterness. "They did enough to keep me alive but weren’t able to save my leg. I couldn’t work while I was recovering. But the humans never seemed to care that I couldn’t go back to my station. So the others decided I was more useful here, watching over the den and children. It’s better than working around the machines, at least."

Anger boiled in Sylven's chest. “That’s… that’s…” he flushed and clenched his fists, unable to get the words out, but Eryl placed hand on his arm to calm him.

"That’s in the past," she said. "What matters now is keeping these little ones safe. And making sure no one else ends up like me. The humans seem to think I’m totally harmless now, so they don’t even bother to check on me. It gives me time to think... and to keep an eye on things."

From a fold in her tunic, she pulled out a metal rod, its end sharpened to a point, and gave Sylven a knowing wink as she tucked the weapon back into its hiding spot.

Sylven nodded, appreciating her resilience. His gaze drifted towards a couple relaxing near the door, massaging each other’s shoulders. Their quiet laughter was a small beacon of warmth in the dim light.

"That's Niva and Callan," Eryl said, following his gaze. "One of the few pairs that decided to make a life together."

"They seem happy," Sylven observed.

"They are," Eryl confirmed. "It's their way of finding light in the darkness. When you're stuck in a place like this, you either let it crush you, or you find something – or someone – to hold onto."

Sylven's thoughts turned to his own bond with Vikka and Uiska, the faint pulses of their presence a constant reminder that he wasn't truly alone. "Do they regret raising a child in a place like this?" he asked.

Eryl shook her head. "No. The little ones… they give us purpose. Even if this place isn't what we'd want for them, at least we're together."

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As the evening wore on, Sylven explored more of the cabinet that served as their settlement. It was a marvel of adaptation, each Shy couple or family carving out a home for themselves despite the constraints. Space was a luxury, but the structure's corners and compartments allowed for some semblance of privacy and individuality.

Stumbling upon the deepest, darkest alcove of the cabinet, Sylven found himself across from Veyran, the enigmatic Deepshy who seemed content to keep his own company.

"Hi Veyran," Sylven ventured, deciding not to beat around the bush. " I’ve been meaning to ask—how did you end up here? It's not exactly common for Deepshy to wander so far from their cities."

“I appreciate your directness,” Veyran grinned. "Not common, no. But I'm not exactly a common Deepshy." He paused, his gaze growing distant. "I had my reasons for leaving. Call it curiosity. Or a desire to see how the rest of the world lives. Of course, I never expected to be caught and dragged into this mess. But life has a way of surprising you."

Sylven tilted his head. “The others seem to think you’ve got something, maybe even some Arclith, up your sleeve. Or up, uh, elsewhere.”

“Where exactly do you mean?” the Deepshy pressed with a smirk.

“You know, up your bu…behind…” Sylven guiltily blurted out while scratching his head.

Veyran chuckled softly, a sound that was more air than amusement. “They do love their little theories. But I’ll say this—I believe in being prepared. And I’ll use whatever resources I have when the time is right.”

Sylven, intrigued by the ambiguity in Veyran's words, decided not to press further.

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In the morning, thudding footsteps and the pounding clang of the lock being disengaged woke most of the Shy, if Flick’s chirps hadn’t already. Wyatt's voice boomed outside the cabinet, accompanied by the smell of meat and oils. "Food… for today," he said, setting down a plate piled with scraps. He peeked into the windows, his gaze lingering on Sylven. "You… good?"

Sylven nodded, appreciating the boy's effort to communicate. He'd noticed how the other Shy interacted with Wyatt, often slipping him requests for small items or materials. Sylven's mind raced with questions, but he kept them to himself, focusing on getting to know the Shy around him.

As the workday progressed, Sylven found himself assigned to one of the larger workstations, where a Shy woman sat with her head bent over a half-disassembled device. Her auburn hair, loosely tied back, caught the sunlight, and her fingers made quick work of the complicated mechanism.

"Don't just sit there staring," she said without looking up, her voice light and teasing. "Come here and make yourself useful."

"What are you working on?" Sylven asked, approaching her.

"Music box," she replied, holding up a delicate component. "Humans broke it. Again. They're good at that."

"How long have you been fixing their broken toys?"

"Just over two years," she said, glancing up. "Got here not long after finishing my rite. Thought I’d have a daring adventure. Didn't think it’d end with me locked in a glorified cupboard."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"That's rough," Sylven winced.

She shrugged. "Not the life I planned, but you make do. The key is to keep busy." She handed him a pair of tweezers. "Hold this spring steady while I tighten it. And don't let it fly into the abyss."

Sylven smirked, taking the tweezers. "You're surprisingly relaxed about all this."

"Relaxed?" She let out a dry laugh. "You can't stay sane here by stressing yourself out.”

Over the next few days, Sylven settled into the rhythms of the cabinet community. He spent his mornings assisting with repairs, learning the nuances of their work. He often found himself paired with the auburn-haired Shy, Sela. She was patient but didn't coddle him, her teasing remarks lightening the mood.

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The next day, Wyatt appeared in the workshop before the foreman showed up, hesitantly approaching the Shy. “You need?" he asked, holding out a handful of small screws.

Mara stepped forward, smiling. "Thank you, Wyatt. Just what we need," she said in a mix of Shy and human words.

The boy beamed, glancing nervously towards the door. "No tell," he whispered.

The Shy exchanged glances but nodded in agreement. They knew the risks Wyatt was taking. Sylven watched the interaction with interest, noting the warmth with which the others treated the boy.

Later, Sylven turned to Sela. "Do you trust Wyatt?"

"As much as one can trust a human boy," Sela shrugged. "I think he sees us as people at least. Maybe even as… friends."

"Are you learning more from him about the humans or is he learning more about us?" Sylven frowned. “Are we even sure we understand his intentions correctly?”

"I think we know well enough," Sela said after a pause. " But it's not like we have much of a choice."

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That evening, Niva and Callan invited Sylven and Sela to share a meal. They had prepared a stew using leftover grains and a sliver of meat, garnished with bits of vegetables, fresh-grown mushrooms and sprouts, and even one of Flick’s precious gecko eggs.

Sylven tasted the stew and was surprised by its richness. "It's… delicious!"

"I’d say it’s better than some meals I’ve had during the lean winters back in the caldera," Niva said proudly while serving second helpings.

Callan grinned. "You'd be amazed what a bit of creativity – and desperation – can do."

As they ate, they shared stories of their pasts, how they were captured, how they’ve coped since then, and their hopes for the future. As they walked off the meal, Callan showed Sylven a parade of ants creeping into the pantry. The Shy allowed their workers to carry away the less palatable scraps, but that was in exchange for a few goods and services.

"We've tamed, or more like, conditioned, some worker ants to carry small things in and out and bring useful stuff from their nest, like eggs and aphid milk," Callan explained.

“You eat ant eggs?” Sylven asked. As a Sunshy, there was always more satisfying food to hunt or gather out on the prairie to have to resort to insect eggs.

“Don’t knock them till you’ve tried them,” Callan replied. “It was actually Veyran’s suggestion. We hoard them as a delicacy now. Termite eggs taste even better. We get them sometimes, probably when they raid termite nests to take prisoners. The worker ants don't stay tame for long though. Eventually the queen pulls them back in line. And the soldier ants? They’re a pain to deal with."

This prompted a pained gasp from Niva. “Oh… pook Jerrik,” she sighed. Callan turned to hug and comfort her.

“What happened to Jerrik?” Sylven asked the couple.

"You remind me of him," Niva said, her tone guarded.

"Why?" Sylven asked.

"He was strong, defiant, like you," Callan replied. "He was here a year ago – tried to resist."

As the night wore on, the Shy shared more of Jerrik's story. He had been a Sunshy brave, captured while scouting the caldera’s edge. He fought back against the humans at every turn, enduring brutal punishments under the handler Griff's cruel watch. They described the horrors Jerrik had endured, culminating in the infamous ant torture.

"They smeared honey all over his body and set soldier ants loose on him," Niva said grimly. "He was feverish for days, covered in bites. Almost went blind."

“As he recovered, Jerrik started planning his escape,” added Cailan. “He didn’t share much of the details of his plan, because he wasn’t sure it would work yet. It really was just supposed to be a test run.”

"Jerrik was able to carve a whistle that made sounds that were too high for humans to hear,” Sela recounted. “He was going to use it to signal us at each stage of his escape attempt. So we knew that he was able to get past the door at least.”

“Soon after his whistle signaling that he’d gotten out, we heard Griff rushing back, then arguing with the guard outside the door,” Niva continued. “We could hear them hitting each other and throwing stuff around. After the ruckus, we heard the guard running away, calling the others. But we never heard from Jerrik again. His signals just stopped.”

“Griff burst in here raging and started trashing the workshop. We thought maybe he caught and killed Jerrik and then tried to blame the guard for all of it," Callan revealed. "The other humans soon came rushing in. They weren’t happy that he wrecked our work and the equipment. They also didn’t seem to trust in whatever he was saying. So, he was forced out of here."

Griff never returned. His replacement was Wyatt, whose arrival brought a noticeable change in their treatment.

"Wyatt's nice," Niva said. "And the other humans seem to get along with him better than with Griff."

"Also, we think the guard who disappeared at the same time as Jerrik was Wyatt’s father, “Callan added. “We were able to teach the guard a few of our words, and Wyatt already knew those words when he arrived."

Despite the improved conditions under Wyatt, the Shy hadn't grown complacent. Sylven was impressed by their clandestine preparations for the day when they might have no choice but to either fight back or flee. They had hidden compartments, with seams too thin for humans to see, carved into the floors.

"The humans drop all sorts of materials we can repurpose into useful tools… or weapons," Sela revealed, showing Sylven the stash where they stored screws, blades, needles, and even slingshots and a grappling hook. "They think we're just tinkering to amuse ourselves or make the cabinet more comfortable."

They maintained the illusion of cozy industry around Wyatt and the foreman, ensuring the humans saw a productive, passive group.

"We do our best to make Wyatt look good, " Sela stressed. "We work harder and faster now that he’s the handler so that they won’t replace him with someone awful like Griff again. The adults don't pay close attention to him and us, as long as their orders get completed and we don't cause trouble. Or so they believe."

With that, the conversation turned to their own ideas for escape.

"We thought the children could help eventually," Niva admitted. "They were still small enough to fit through the mouse holes. But after Jerrik… the humans plugged every opening."

Sylven's thoughts churned. "We'll find a way," he said quietly. "We have to."

As the others murmured in agreement, Sylven looked over at the children playing in the creche. They were born into captivity but brimming with potential. If they could thrive here, who knows what they could accomplish living free in the caldera. Sylven hoped he could somehow find a way to liberate them all.

As the days passed, Sylven began to notice a shift in the group's mood. His presence, his questions, his drive, had stirred something in them.

One evening, the Shy celebrated Laya’s first birthday. The feast was capped with generous servings of sticky bread pudding topped with egg custard. For most of the kids, it was their introduction to consuming such a large amount of pure sugar, which had been kindly provided by Wyatt, and they were practically bouncing off the walls. Mara watched Sylven with a thoughtful expression all throughout the party.

"You're different," she said finally. The fiery-haired Shy had emerged as the group’s de facto leader.

Sylven hesitated, unsure how to respond. "It's not that I'm different," he said carefully, tempted to reveal to her his bond with Vikka and Uiska. "I just… haven't been here long enough to fit in."

"Don’t fit in. Stay different. You've got this… look," she prodded. "Like you're always thinking of something beyond what’s here. Like you believe there’s a way out for us if we just keep at it."

"Maybe that’s just how I look," Sylven shrugged. "Or maybe I'm just stubborn."

Mara smiled faintly. "Stubborn can be good. Stay stubborn. We could use that. Just don’t be aggressively reckless like Jerrik was,” her voice lowered, revealing a hard edge. “I swore to the sun and stars that Laya would be the last little Sunshy born away from the open skies of the caldera. She’s walking now… soon she’ll be able to run…” The Shy leader took in a long breath as she looked over her kin and kind, doomed to live out their lives crammed into a piece of furniture.

“So, we need to start putting our heads together to figure out how we can get out of here,” she draped an arm over his shoulder conspiratorially. “Even if the humans think we're content to keep churning out their little contraptions, we're not letting them keep us forever. Whatever we have to face out there, however fraught with danger, it’ll still be better than never seeing the sky."

Sylven felt the weight of the secret he was still keeping from his fellow Shy—his link to Vikka and Uiska—allowing him glimpses of the world outside the workshop. He wasn't ready to start explaining it all to the other Shy just yet. But with the first sparks of hope and resistance taking root in their humble community, he knew he needed to come clean soon.

Through the bond, he sent a tentative message to Vikka: I'm learning a lot from the other captives here. It's complicated.

Her response was clear and direct: You'll figure it out. I’ve already started something.