Secrets Best Left Unknown

There was another resounding crash as the lightening split apart the sky in a brilliant and blinding flash of white. The heavens seemed to open and an unforgiving fountain of miserable wetness spewed from above and battered the quiet city with a certain air of vengeance.

He was like a walking mop that could only bleed droplets of water, as if it were too old, too tired to try and absorb everything it touched. His red hair clung to his clammy skin—stringy and flat. His boots squished noiselessly, but he could still feel the uncomfortable slosh of each step shiver up his spine. He looked awful; and it was a wonder that he still smiled so cheerfully.

Mathais began to hum softly to himself, running one hand across his forehead to push away the soaked locks. His hair fell limply back into place, though parted enough now to allow the elegant cerulean of his eyes the ability to blink ‘hello’ to the outside world. With a little hop to his step he continued merrily on his way.

He did seem out of place. There was not a soul in sight. Not a person to offer a blanket, no one to nod welcoming or usher him over to a warm crackling fire. In fact, the place he ambled down so joyfully was, in fact, not inviting at all. It seemed as though he walked down an endless hallway—one of those dimly lit foreboding corridors that led everywhere but somewhere.

He began to whistle as he came to a stop in front of a lone door and he reached into his back pocket. With a flick of his wrist the lock-pick unfolded. It glimmered excitedly in what little light offered from the ominously pulsating white orbs suspended every fifteen-or-so-feet along the ceiling—producing enough light to hush panic and just enough to encourage one to leave. Mathais had never seen such a source of light before; candles and torches were still an essential here in this dreary city.

However, from his experiences, Mathais knew that the strange phenomenon of lights and other strange devices were all just typical of the Research Facilities. You weren’t supposed to even be able to make it this far. There was only one door (guarded by a dozen or so men) and absolutely no windows. Luckily for Mathais, he had stumbled across an old floor plan of the previous building that had once stood here, along with those blueprints were the detailed description of the aged and long forgotten tunnel system.  It was only a matter of exploration to find if the passageways were still useable.

The tunnels unfortunately ran underneath the cobblestone street and all the rain surged into them—especially when it rained as hard as it did now. Many of the passages had been abandoned and left to Mother Nature to attempt to work back into Her loving care. While making his way here Mathais had tripped over one too many disorienting vines and it had sent him head first into a raging pool of rainwater.  He was lucky to have not drowned.
He, however, wasn’t just curious to explore this ‘off-limits’ building. He was absolutely certain there were things within these walls that he could steal and then sell for outrageous prices to neighboring Kingdoms. Why else would this place be guarded as well, if not better, than the Kings chambers itself?

Click, click went the little silvery lock-pick. Just two motions, nothing fancy, and the metal iron lock fell away, only to clatter loudly against the stone flooring. Mathais grimaced slightly as he could hear the noise roll down the hallway in both directions. He stood a moment longer and water dripped periodically from under his chin as it collected, became too heavy to burden and then finally gave into gravity.

Mathais decided that no one would come to investigate—the shuffling of armor could be heard as easily as the locks reverberating crash against the floor. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out with a thief’s graceful fingers and took hold of the door handle. His heart beat furiously in his chest. What would he find? Treasure, an undisclosed project—maybe even plans to overthrow the neighboring Kingdom? Anything, anything would do. Just so long as he could carry it.

As he willed his wrist to turn, something lurched him back. Fingers clamped mercilessly over his mouth to suppress a startled cry that was rising in his throat.  He felt himself being thrown off balance—his back was arched painfully in a way that sent dots of white across his vision when he tried to struggle. His arm was forced to twist behind his back and his hand was being contorted painfully. He was most positive that it was becoming dislocated.

“You’re too loud,” came a voice, soft, matter-of-factly.

Mathais kept his eyes squeezed shut for a moment longer, teeth grinding together, brow knitted tightly with thoughts of escape. Slowly, however, the sound of the voice, and the familiarity of it sunk in.

He tried to open his eyes, but the grimace of pain only allowed him to weakly open one. He did, however, manage a pain-filled grin. “Ryshar,” he greeted, “how good to see you.”

The pain subsided as his partner released his grip. Mathais shamelessly let himself fall to his knees as he attempted to allow blood circulation back through his wrist.  

Mathais was use to Ryshar’s antics. The ivory-blond man enjoyed showing off his killer-like prowl. It was Mathais fault for not keeping a look out. Ryshar was constantly belittling him by catching him off guard. The fact was, however, that Mathais enjoyed this painful game of adult tag. He could only dream of the day when he would finally catch Ryshar unbeknownst. That day would be a beautiful day indeed.
“I grew bored.” Ryshar finally said quietly after deciding that Mathais was not going to say anything clever. “You’ll enjoy my company.”

Mathais gave him a glare, “You should have just come with me in the first place instead of stalking me…” the Elf muttered softly and slowly he gained his footing. He cradled his throbbing right wrist carefully; at least Ryshar had been kind enough to go for his less dominant hand.  “You didn’t need to be so aggressive.” Mathais said sniffing indigently. Ryshar did not respond, so instead the Elf looked the other up and down. “Why aren’t you wet?” he asked flatly.

Ryshar titled his head ever so slightly, and his white bangs traced the front of his pale face. His golden eyes seemed to glow mysteriously from behind the snowy veil of hair. The corner of his lips twitched into the slightest of smiles.

Ryshar was indeed unaccompanied by the pains of wet clothing. His white intricate garments didn’t even have so much of a smudge of dirt. The sash even, that damned long waist sash that Mathais couldn’t understand how it didn’t get in the way was unremarkable as it hung mockingly from the Ryshar’s slim hips.

Ryshar continued to smirk teasingly and did not answer.

Mathais scoffed, “Fine, whatever.” He turned back to the door, grabbed hold of the doorknob and shoved it open. It creaked loudly, and even Ryshar gave a furtive and uneasy glance both ways down the hall.

The room was uncomfortably dark, though, expectantly so. Why would they keep everything lit when no one was here?

Dink, dink.  It was soft sound, almost unnoticeable. But to Mathais’s sensitive hearing, it was loud enough.

“What was that?” Mathais asked quickly, taking a step backwards towards the open door, and consequently right into Ryshar who was following closely.

The man of unknown origins gave the other a shove. “Go,” he said flatly, “it was nothing.”

“I need a light. Stop pushing.” Mathais huffed, reaching into his belt pouch. Ryshar gave him another urgent push and the thief spun about to knock the others hands away. “Hold on will you?” he hissed.

Dink, dink. It was louder this time.

Mathais froze. “You had to have heard that?” he asked almost pleadingly.

Ryshar’s eyes seemed to drift slowly, scanning the impenetrable darkness. Mathais could tell that his friend had indeed heard that same, strangely sickening tapping.

Mathais’s eyes were suddenly assaulted by a burst of hot smoldering light and he flinched away, “Damn you, Ryshar. Tell me when you do those sort of things.” In his anger his accent became thicker, and had Ryshar not known him well he probably would have not understood what the other man had said.

“Look.” Ryshar said softly, lifting the torch. Mathais was momentarily surprised to see that his partner even carried something so large and cumbersome, but had he looked closer he would have noticed that his friend had actually acquired the torch on a rack upon entering. Slowly Mathais allowed his gaze to retreat back to the room that had before been drenched in darkness.

For the most part it was empty. There were tables filled with mostly vacant alchemy flasks, though a few bubbled mysteriously. The room was a curious plain white, very uninviting and repelling.

Maybe that was the noise? Mathais thought anxiously as he watched one flask bubble angrily. For some reason he doubted that was the case.

It did not take long for Mathais to realize that most of the full flasks all had tubes winding dizzily towards a shielded off area. Watery green, purples and blues traveled towards the curtain in tiny tubes, while away from them traveled thick reds, yellows and oranges—all of which ended in more flasks, all bubbling hissing and swirling.

Mathais began to grow visibly uneasy, “Ryshar… I don’t like this.”

Dink, dink.

Mathais felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as his eyes instinctively turned to the puzzling corner.

It had come from there, and he knew it.

Ryshar stood quietly for a moment, until he began to make his way towards the blinding white curtain hanging innocently in the corner.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mathais snapped. “Stop it. Ryshar!”

The ivory-haired man did not listen; instead he thrust the torch into the Elves hands and continued onward in determination. As he reached the curtain, his fingers slowly took hold of the strangely soft material. For some reason Ryshar instantly thought of the silken sheets his mother had abandoned him in as a child—seemingly a lifetime ago. He hesitated for a moment, a little perturbed by the random thought, but eventually he slowly drew the sheet back.

Ryshar, however, instantly slammed it back into place, and reeled backwards, his feet shuffling uncharacteristically loud, his golden eyes wide with terror. He bumped against one of the tables and the flasks jittered together dangerously.

“What? What?” Mathais asked, growing increasingly more panicked. “What was it? Ryshar?”

Ryshar’s widened eyes, and unusual show of emotions was enough to let Mathais realize that something terrible was behind that curtain, something horrifying enough to force someone so stoic like Ryshar to react so violently.

“We must leave.” Ryshar said suddenly, slowly straightening as he attempted to regain his composure. Mathais could see that his friend was trembling ever so slightly. “There’s nothing here for us.”

“What did you see?” Mathais asked desperately, taking several steps forward. “What—“

Dink, dink.

They both instantly turned to look in the direction they knew the noise to come from.  “Damn it all to hell!” Mathais snarled, storming towards the loosely hanging drape. He no longer felt fearful; he just had to know what in damnations that noise was. For all he knew, Ryshar was bullshitting him.

He grabbed the curtain and threw it aside. It ripped from the hooks, and the tearing sound caused Mathais to grit his teeth with annoyance.  In an ironic twist of fate, the whole thing fell on top of the redhead. Angrily he thrust the white sheet away, trying to keep from catching the bastard thing on fire.

Then there was a moment where Mathais could not think. He could only stare numbly, obediently allowing his mind to process what he was seeing.

What the curtains hid was something indeed terrifying. An atrocity to life—
Something that, just by existing, mocked everything that was beautiful and sacred in the world.

What it was exactly was hard to describe. Two pairs of blood-shot cobalt eyes stared pleadingly from behind a bubbling full-length jar. Two hands were raised against the glass, the fingers curled into fists.

Then suddenly, with crippling realization Mathais realized the source of the noise—it was tapping. This creature had been tapping on the glass.

Mathais took a step back and his eyes searched the thing that was floating in the thick liquid. The blinding paleness its skin was harsh against the black and blue bruises surrounding the tubes that jutted in and out of the creature, slipping into a body crevice here, shooting out another one there. Tubes seemed to be stuffed down the two separate mouths—two separate heads. With rapidly mounting horror, Mathais now understood what he was staring at.

It was a two-headed boy. It was a perfectly formed human being, all except for the two heads.

“Ryhsar… what…?” Mathais muttered softly, shaking his head. One of the curled fists—the left one— slowly, as if in pain, drew back and then knocked its knuckles against the glass—dink, dink. Mathais’s mouth worked silently, and he shook his head. “Ryshar… I think he wants help,” he whispered, horrified.

“No.” Ryshar said flatly, and his fingers curled about Mathais’s upper arm. “We have to go. Now.”

“What?” Mathais asked, astounded. “How can you say that? Ryshar, look at him!” He gestured angrily with his torch-burdened hand at the disturbingly humanoid creature.

“I can’t.” Ryshar said quietly. Mathais slowly looked at his friend and was a little surprised to see that the golden piercing eyes did not scowl callously at him. Instead, they were locked firmly on the floor. “We must go. Rounds will be coming.”

“I can’t leave him here.” Mathais argued, jerking his arm free.

This time Ryshar did glower at him, “It’s a monster, Mathais. There is nothing we can do for it.”

“He’s not! He’s asking for help.” Mathais shot back, he turned his gaze to the boy and shaking, he raised his own hand up and slowly reached for the jar. He hesitated, watching the blue eyes following the motion. After a moment, he placed his hand against the outside of the jar, just barely below the creatures lazily floating fist.

In an awful way, the ghostly eyes raised together to stare into Mathais’s blue gaze. The redhead shuddered and looked away. “…We can’t leave him.”

“Mathais. Listen to me.” Ryshar wrenched the other about and placed both hands on the others shoulders. “Whatever it is, it can’t survive outside of that thing. Can’t you understand that? If we remove it from there it will die.” Ryshar took a deep breath, letting it hiss out between his teeth. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Dink, dink.

Ryshar shuddered and looked away from the sound, but Mathais looked back to the pitiful creature. The thing, he noticed, despite all the tubes twisting down its throat, was attempting to talk and Mathias briefly wondered if it even knew how to. Its fingers spread apart, and the palm pressed hard against the glass, no longer an awkward fist.

The heads seemed to twitch slightly, and then suddenly one leg jerked violently and a tube was dislodged. Color slowly started to leak into the water. It was like a puff of dark blue slowly spreading into the liquid, like a breath of hot air on a cold winter night.

There was a moment of eerie silence when suddenly a blaring screech sounded.

Mathais swore loudly and dropped the torch so he could slam his palms to his ears, and luckily it simply rolled away, still alight. Ryshar was already backing away with his hands over his ears.  

Squinting between the pains of the blaring alarm, Mathais somehow noticed a needle brushing jerky, violent black lines on a piece of paper. Above the needle was a light that was flashing hectically.  He had never seen anything like it before.

“We have to go!” Ryshar was screaming, and by the fourth time, Mathais finally heard him.

Mathais shook his head violently back in refusal.

“Damn you.” Ryshar hissed, and he pulled out a dagger from his hip.  He started forward at Mathais and the thief was sure that his friend was going to stab him with rage, but much to his stunned surprise Ryshar bashed the hilt against the glass jar holding the two-head creature.

Mathais gawked at the spider web of cracks slowly spreading across the glass. The boy-thing was smiling now, both pairs of eyes were widening attentively at the cracking glass. Did it know it was surely doomed if its container was smashed?

Mathais decided it did. Whatever it was, it wanted to die.

Mathais quickly turned to grab the closest hard looking thing he could and smashed it against the glass right after Ryshar had made his third blow to the jar. In a magnificent burst of shards, the jar exploded and water, along with the creature, tumbled from it. There were snapping noises as tubes dislodged, spraying colors like fireworks into the air.

The smell caused the two friends to stagger away in disgust, doing their best to avoid as much of the sickly water as possible. The creature was splayed on its back, its eyes blinking widely.

The alarm continued to blare so painfully the men could feel their eyes pulsating. The awful smell began to cause their knees to shake and the water was slowly drifting towards the torch—when that went out it’d be nearly impossible to escape swiftly.

“Who’s there?” Someone screamed. Ryshar hadn’t heard him, but he had sensed him. His hand shot towards his thigh and away again. The man at the doorway fell away in a shower of red as a small throwing knife caught him in the throat.

By the time Mathais returned his gaze to the two-headed boy, its eyes were closed and its chest ceased to rise and fall with haggard gasps of air. It had grown still, and ashen gray. The smiles though, still grinned boldly from each of the faces.

This time, it was Mathais who grabbed Ryshar’s arm. “Let’s go.” He mouthed. Ryshar didn’t need more prompting. He shoved the other along and the two hurdled over the bleeding man in the doorway. Following Ryshar, the two-veered right—the opposite way Mathais had come.

Of course, Mathais thought numbly, Of course Ryshar knows an easier way in and out. That’s why he wasn’t wet.

“Here. Stop here.” Ryshar pushed on a wall that wasn’t quite as flush as its companions and a small door swung open. The golden-eyed assassin didn’t give Mathais a chance to ask questions and simply shoved him through the door before following and jerking it shut. They were left in an awkward darkness, breathing in uneven aching gasps.

“Ryshar…” Mathais voice started, but he paused to take several more breaths. “Ryshar….”

“Don’t.” The other hissed quietly. From the sound of Mathais voice, Ryshar could tell the other was on the ground. Whether he had tripped when being pushed in, or had he collapsed there in horror Ryshar didn’t care to know. “Forget about it, Mathais.”

“But Ryshar…”

“Just. Don’t.” Ryshar felt out for the wall then leaned heavily against it, his head dropping in despair. He was not someone who had much respect for life—he was an assassin after all. Yet, there was something profoundly disturbing about what they had seen. Were the leaders of this city so indifferent to life that they would dehumanize something with such obvious maliciousness? It had been in pain… so much pain.

“Did we do the right thing?” Mathais whispered.

Ryshar took a moment to register that Mathais had said something. “Damn it, Mathais.” Ryshar snapped, kicking the other hard as he stepped over him. “Hurry up, or you can stay down here and rot.” He was jerked to a stop as he felt something tugging him back. Unable to see, Ryshar swept his hand back and realized that Mathais was clutching the sash hanging from his waist. “Let go, damn it,” he snarled.

“Please, Ryshar…” Mathais voice trembled with child-like hesitance and Ryshar was reminded of how young his red-haired companion was. “Do you think we did the right thing?”

Ryshar let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He hesitated. “Yes… Yes I do.” He finally said.

Ryshar could hear Mathais’s boots scrapping on the floor as he found his footing. The vice-like grip on the assassins sash loosened, but did not go completely slack.

“…I hope so. Let’s go.”

Ryshar tried to shake the remorseful sound of his best friends voice and started down the dark passageway, the tips of his fingers scanning the dry and crumbling tunnel walls.  As he made his way through the maze, visions of the two-headed boys smiles caused his heart to ache with emotions he never thought himself capable of having.

For years to come those smiles would haunt his dreams.