Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

His heart beat with a strange rhythm. The palm of his hand was soaked with a cold sweat. With every step he took, his breathing grew quicker and shallower. He knew he needed answers to these questions, and he knew that he needed to free himself from the evil of the Shadow Man. He knew that Elder Aristarchus was the only man in Ura-chan who could possibly help him. But he hadn't quite considered the fact that he might not like what he was going to find out.

Laban glanced back down at the dark lines scribbled across the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, double-checking that he was in the right place. He looked up at the building in front of him. He had seen it before, but never had the chance to enter. He always thought it was a strange building; it was long and thin, and the roof was formed from one continuous arch of corrugated metal, starting in the ground on one side, curving upward high above their heads, and finishing back down in the ground on the other side. To him, it looked more like a giant tin can, half buried in the ground, than a building.

The massive sliding doors at the front end of the building stood slightly ajar. Through the small crack, just wide enough to fit a person, issued a cacophonous symphony of metal clanging against metal, sparks of electricity, and other mechanical noises that Laban didn't recognize.

He inched slowly towards the doorway, poking his head through the opening just enough to see what was going on inside. What he saw reminded him of what a field rat might look like if it were hit by a direct blast from an energy-staff—if only the rat were fifty feet long and made of metal. The great bulk of the machine—whatever it was—was mostly hidden underneath an old, oil-stained canvas sheet. Its metal innards had been extracted and were strewn about the open floor of the building in no discernable pattern. A man stood by the mess, rummaging through a disorganized box of wrenches while another man, dark goggles covering his eyes, crouched over the machine's open wound, using a welding torch on a twisted length of pipe. Laban had to shield his eyes against the blinding, blue flashes of light that sparked off the superheated metal.

Laban tried to quietly step inside, but his foot accidentally knocked against the door. The sharp clunk echoed loudly across the cavernous, metal walls. Both men immediately looked up from their work. The welding man switched off the torch and removed the goggles from his face. It was Elder Aristarchus. His elderly—and slightly oil-smudged—face beamed.

"My dear boy!" he exclaimed. "I'm very glad that to see that you've made it home from your expedition. I trust that everything went well."

Aristarchus gave Laban handshake that was so enthusiastic he thought his shoulder might have come out of its socket.

"Er... yeah. It was fine," Laban stammered, stepping the rest of the way inside and meeting the two men in the middle of the floor. "Just a little short, is all. Just not enough food around, I guess." Laban had been told not to tell anyone about the War'acks. Officially, the reason that they left was that they simply couldn't find enough food.

"Don't worry, child," he said, waving the words away with his hand. "We're just glad that all of you made it back safely."

"Some of us," Laban corrected. A flicker of sadness passed through the wrinkles on Aristarchus' face. He quickly pushed it away, forcing a crooked smile.

"Yes," he said. "Well. I suppose not everyone can be so fortunate. But, onto less grim matters! I suppose you have come here because you have finally wanted to inspect this project I have been working on."

He motioned towards whatever was hiding under the sheet with a grandiose gesture of his arms.

"I... um... well, I certainly am curious now," Laban stammered.