The Helm of Darkness

His heart pounded furiously. Each breath caused his chest to heave in protest. The burn at the back of his throat and in his neck made it hard to do anything, but it was a reminder that he was alive for the moment. Perhaps not for much longer.

His legs fought hard against the pain that slowly enveloped them like an encroaching desert, and his feet pounded against the uneven floor, agony present in every step. Sharp branches snapped hungrily through his skin and wild growth slapped him in the face from all sides. In a normal situation he would have been worried about the insects and reptiles that inhabited the jungle, but it was the mammals who were on a rampage, threatening to crush him underfoot.

They were out for his blood.

So far they were successful in getting it.

The steady flow down his arm had been bandaged with a torn piece of his jacket as he ran, but the triage hadn’t done much. A dark red stream was still trickling from the wound and dripped from his elbow. He was not faint before the sight of the blood - he was more distressed that there was worse yet to come. The tribe in this part of the jungle used noxious poisons in their hunts, and he couldn’t tell whether his exhaustion was from him running through the jungle, or if it was the jungle running through him.

Just a few days ago he had been eating with these very same people. They had helped him make arrangements to get the rest of the way up the river and deeper towards the source. They had caught and cooked fish together, and the tribe’s shaman had provided him with his protection for the remainder of his trip. They had told him that their chief, who died several weeks ago, would protect him as he moved further into the jungle, and that his spirit would keep rival tribes and enemies at bay.

He wasn’t sure if the chief’s spirit had been busy or whether they had changed their minds. What he did know was that the arrow had almost caught him in the side, and he was lucky to get away with just a scratch - or he would have been, if he didn’t feel worse with every new step.

He stumbled forward, but forced himself to stay on his feet. Behind him they were calling for him, howling like hyenas from within the dense growth. It sent a primal chill down his spine. They were hunting him. They knew these lands, and he was running blindly, clueless as to where he should go. Forwards. Forwards and away from them. That was his only option. He knew the river was nearby. Maybe there was a waterfall he could throw himself off. Being dashed against jagged rocks seemed a quicker and less-painful death than the flaying he looked to receive.

It would be a very undignified end to the life of Nathaniel Felton.

That was the only civilized thought that passed through his mind as he forced his way up a muddy incline, with one arm bloodied and the other clutching a cloth-wrapped bundle against his chest. He had been a revered member of society once upon a time, and now he was trekking through a jungle. It would seem he would die as he had lived - surrounded by vicious and unforgiving people who bayed for blood.

He could not even claim to be dying in some god-forsaken place. There were many gods here, and none of them seemed to be his friend. The newly-purchased clothing he’d bought at the start of this misadventure were tattered and ripped, and many of the objects he had brought with him to help navigate the uncharted territories had either been left at his camp, or lost along the way. The Belgians and the natives that were supposed to help him were missing, and he could only assume the worst for them. Their fates were in God’s hands now, but at least for the moment his life was his own and he intended on fighting for it.

Suddenly he wasn’t forcing himself uphill any more. The ground levelled out and he had to steady himself again to adapt to the change. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he pushed into a clearing which quickly descended towards the enormous roar of the river. The rushing waters barred his progress further, and he knew that the currents weren’t the only giants that lurked beneath the frothy surface. His eyes swept quickly from side to side, looking for a way to ford the river or somewhere he could run. There was no civilization for miles, and the nearest trading post was far downstream. He was completely alone in the heart of the most savage place in the world.

Or so he thought.

A sudden ringing of bells drew his attention to a noise-belching vessel from upriver.

“Ahoy Mr Felton! Good morning!” called out a voice from a small ship. A tanned, older gentleman waved from the small steamship. Nathaniel recognized the man in the off-white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and immediately signalled in return.

“Come closer!” he beckoned frantically. “Quickly! Quickly!” He waded out into the deepest part of the shallows, keeping the wrapped bundle in the air as high as he could manage. It was no mean feat when considering how heavy his arms felt, and the added weight of the package did nothing to make any of this easier.

The ship slowly turned and began its approach, but against his own better judgement Nathaniel’s eyes turned backwards to the treeline. The shouts deep in the undergrowth were getting closer, and he took a few desperate steps further out towards the river, trying to close the distance between himself and his rescuer. A part of him felt compelled to give up and just drop into the rushing waters as lassitude dragged at him like a clawed animal, giving him its reassurance that death was easier than continuing to struggle. The water slapped against his side and only made the battle harder. His breath came more and more quickly as the boat came close. Nathaniel’s eyes focused intently on the water around him and at his feet, but he couldn’t see the rocks where his steps were, and suddenly found he had made the mistake of overextending.

His foot slipped without warning, and he disappeared beneath the onslaught of water. Only his arm remained free, thrust out with the precious item in its vice-like grip. It was the only thought he could keep to his mind, as he was otherwise frantically engaged in struggling find another foothold. He panicked. Bubbles of precious air swam past his face as he was bucked across the shallows and along with the water, swept away as easily as a leaf, and he feared for a moment that he might be carried the full length down the river at any second. His stomach lurched, but fortune favoured him at last and he felt something sturdy hit his foot. He pushed up with all the energy he could muster, emerging and stealing a heaving breath that almost made him faint.

“Come on! Give me your hand!” the man on the boat called out. The vessel was just a few feet away from him and a pair of arms reached from the side desperately. Nathaniel tried reached out, but he didn’t have the strength to do so. He grasped at what he could with his free arm, and gasped as he felt something seize around it. He suddenly found himself being pulled up by strong hands. They hauled him over the side of the boat, grabbing at his jacket and shirt - or what was left of them - and heaved him onto the deck.

The muffled sounds of shouting were close behind him. Splashes and thuds began to surround him, like a hailstorm suddenly enveloping the ship. Nathaniel didn’t have the ability to turn his mind to what the sounds meant. He spread out against the floor, absorbing huge lungfuls of air and coughed fitfully. His body burned all the more fiercely, and even as he tried to recover his attention turned to the precious cargo he had been carrying and protecting this entire time.

Unfurling the layers of cloth around it, his breath caught as he inspected the delicate book within. His eyes struggled to focus, whether from delirium or exhaustion, but the book seemed unharmed. It was hard to tell considering its age, but it looked no worse than when he’d retrieved it. Relief swept over him, but it was short-lived. Gunshots pierced the air and Nathaniel pressed tightly against the deck. He didn’t dare to lift his head to look around, and after what felt like a hundred explosions there was an uneasy and sickly silence. He knew immediately afterwards what had happened, and that he should have stood and stopped it. Every detonation was another round of paralysis that ran through his system, but it paled in comparison to the aftermath.

“That got them.” The words were spoken so lightly and in such a carefree manner that it didn’t actually sink in until the rifle was propped up against the bulwark and the ship rumbled with renewed life. Nathaniel pulled himself together and peered warily over the side, dreading what he expected to see.

Bodies lay sprawled along the edge of the river. Primitive weapons aly at their sides, and the red spray of blood was spread across the ground in all directions. Multiple bullet wounds adorned each of the tribe’s warriors. His eyes rushed from one to the next, lingering on each of them in disbelief as his stomach turned at the sight. His hand came up to brush his hair back and pushed the wiry hair of his moustache back into formation.

“You shot them,” he breathed, looking to the man at the helm of the small steamship. His hair was also wet and had been slicked back, though his own moustache looked relatively pristine and untouched. His thin glasses were firmly pushed against the bridge of his nose and looked undisturbed. The tall man was both a doctor of science and a professor, and one of Nathaniel’s colleagues in this area of the uncharted world.

With the Belgians and natives missing or dead, he might be the only one left.

Nathaniel’s eyes fell to the tome on the deck before him, and then over to the Winchester rifle with a heavy sigh. Was the book worth it? Silas Rowe seemed to think so. He had been the one to suggest the venture in the first place. Everyone else had heartily agreed to the testament. The European men who now lay dead in the jungle, and the warriors bleeding into the river’s edge, were only a few who had spilled blood for its contents.

“I did,” Silas confirmed at last, his manner hard and stoic. “And a great deal less than they shot at you or I, you may notice.” Nathaniel’s concerns clearly didn’t weigh him down and he remained focused on navigating further down the river, avoiding the rocks in the shallows. “Did you get it? Is it intact?”

“You killed them,” Nathaniel repeated, grasping the side of the boat to steady himself as they rocked with the current. “They were practically unarmed!” He was angry, and he felt it, but his body seemed unable to be as furious as he felt it should be. The shock was so severe that nothing else seemed to fully register.

“They were armed enough to get you,” Silas noted, gesturing with academic disapproval at the wrapped wound on his arm. “What do you think they were going to do to you, Nathaniel? Death would have been the least of your worries.”

“We came here to obtain the book! Not to murder the people of a native tribe! You should have let the Belgians stay with the boats. I told you I could do this alone!” Nathaniel argued, bracing himself tightly against the side of the boat.

“Oh do stop your petulant complaining and act like less of an infant,” Rowe snapped, turning his attention to the book that lay on the deck unchecked and unhandled. “Forget the barbarians in the trees and the Belgians in the ground, Nathaniel. Focus on what this means for civilization! Success! Success, and prestige. Funding for more of these expeditions!”

Nathaniel shook his head slowly, but all he could manage was a deep, sickly groan of an exhale and a long moment of silence. At least one of them should revere the dead, he thought scathingly.

“Neither of us are fraught for finances,” Nathaniel pointed out at last, rubbing his head sorely. The relatively-new steamship was a prime example. De Heerser looked practically pristine in its shining glory, and yet was somehow familiar, and it took a moment before Nathaniel suddenly recognized the Belgian vessel.

“It’s not as though I bought this ship, Mr Felton. Edward Maes is leasing it to me by the day,” Silas clarified, detecting his colleague’s gaze.

“Mr Maes is dead, along with everyone else,” Nathaniel frowned. He would have wondered why Silas had not noticed that, but he was sure that he had.

“Tragic,” the older man shrugged. “Well, I suppose it is as though I bought this ship after all.” He thumbed the side of his nose before gesturing at the rifle. “Please do right by the both of us and get ready to use that weapon. There are large animals on these waters and they’re going to be rather riled up after this debacle.”

Nathaniel slowly pulled the rifle into his arms despite his better judgement and looked out across the choppy waters in search of anything coming towards them. Several creatures on the distant shore were lounging in the sun and turned to regard the pair as they passed. The remnants of another ship were nearby, not far from the shore where it had overturned. It was an unsettling sight and he gripped the weapon tighter, tearing his attention away to check the other side of the boat instead.

“How did you know I was going to be here, Silas?” he asked at last, scanning the northern shoreline.

“I knew where you were going, Nathaniel. I also knew those savages would drive you towards the river if our information was correct.” Once again he spoke casually, and afforded himself a moment away from the helm of the ship to quickly step aside and retrieve the book from the deck. Turning it over in his hand, he inspected it and lazily walked back to make a slight correction to their course.

“Is that the text?” Nathaniel checked after watching the professor’s examination in silent reverence. He prayed that it was. After everything that had been sacrificed for the sake of a few pages between two pieces of leather, it seemed unfair that this should all be for nothing. Silas contemplated in silence and began to turn slowly from page to page, unmoving except to glance up and adjust their ship, or to push his glasses further up his nose and to lean in further.

Nathaniel sighed and turned away, scanning across the water. For a moment he wished that he was in the company of someone more sociable, but on reflection found himself relieved that he didn’t have to hear any more of Rowe’s contempt for the lives of the locals. He hadn’t worked with Silas much in the past, and this was not a mistake he would be repeating.

Nathaniel was not unfamiliar with world travel, and had come a long way on the expedition Silas had arranged, only to experience heat stroke, be eaten alive by insects, and now apparently to die from a poison with their prize in hand. He took in a shaky breath and sat down at the stern, resting the back of his head over the side and staring at the sky between the trees. Grey clouds loomed in the distance, signalling that rain was on the way. This wasn’t his first trip to Africa. It wasn’t his first time in the jungle, and he did not intend on subjecting himself to a downpour if he could help it.

Especially not on a river.

“Excellent!” Silas exclaimed suddenly, slapping the pages with the back of his hand. “This is precisely what we’re looking for! Liber Omnia! At last!” He breathed and clutched the book tighter. “We did it, Mr Felton.” Nathaniel looked up, seeing that Silas was suddenly there with a hand stretched out. Reaching to meet in the middle, the professor shook it firmly and pulled him up to his feet with surprising strength. “Rather, I should congratulate you. It was you who successfully entered the unknown and braved its dangers, and the reports and papers will reflect that. Mark my words.” He turned back, steering them closer to the shore and away from the wildly rushing current in the center of the river. “Now we can finally find our next step.”

“Next step?” Nathaniel asked with a frown. “I don’t believe you contacted me regarding anything even vaguely resembling a ‘next step’. The book was our goal.”

“We’re seekers of truth, Nathaniel. This book will reveal a road that will lead us to great things,” Silas explained, looking over his shoulder at Nathaniel. “We’re going to be heading to the Mediterranean, Mr Felton. Somewhere much less humid.”

Nathaniel looked on with concern, not sure that he was willing to embark upon more expeditions with this man. “Next we’re going to the south coast of Europa. Therein, we’ll find ourselves the Cap of Invisibility.”

“The…” Nathaniel didn’t even dare to repeat it and just stood there unable to really do much of anything. In all these years he had never found such an item, and it was not through lack of trying. He would have never known about the book were Silas not the one to enlist his aid, and it seemed that this ‘Liber Omnia’ that the professor was an artifact itself. Still, the book was one thing, but the Helm of Darkness? Nathaniel had always been in awe of the Greek mythos, but had ultimately found precious little of it - if any.

“Yes, Nathaniel. Our hunt is only just beginning,” Silas nodded, slowing their speed and turning to right a table that had been knocked over. He spread the Liber Omnia across it carefully and Nathaniel couldn’t help but feel drawn to the pages, using the rifle as a walking stick. His hand came up to smooth through the hairs of his moustache and beard as he marveled at each gorgeous, intricately-detailed page.

There it was, portrayed before his very eyes. The Helm of Darkness. A swirling maelstrom of ink clouded the pages and the words slowly assembled themselves before him as though seeping in from the rest of the book. They took their time in describing the times the helm had been used and depicted an image of a helmet that was as lifelike as a photograph. More information flooded the page in a myriad of languages. Arabic. Greek. It was difficult to follow, yet somehow the book seemed to recognize where his attention was and filled each part of the page with content.

None of it was in any way related to Europa, however, and finally he conceded defeat and looked to Rowe for answers.

“I don’t see what you’re referring to,” he admitted at last with a reluctant huff. “You’re telling me there’s something here saying where this is?”

“The south coast of Europa,” Silas repeated, tapping a small mark in the corner that depicted what looked like waves and a trident, and something that looked like a star constellation. Nathaniel recognized it after a moment.

“Is that Taurus?” he asked, turning his head a little to get a better angle.

“Indeed it is, Mr Felton,” Silas grinned, pushing his glasses up further. “I am sure we can both see the links here. The bull, the water, and most specifically…” He tapped the trident several times. “... a god.”

“Europa!” he exclaimed, though ‘Eureka’ seemed just as apt. Nathaniel understood at last. Europa, the beautiful woman of mythology, whom Zeus had turned himself into a bull for. She jumped onto his back, and he swam across the ocean with her.

“Crete.” They said it simultaneously - Nathaniel with the sudden shock of realization, and Silas with more steadfast certainty. The professor gave a thin smile and nodded.

“Crete, where Europa became queen. That is where we find the Helm of Darkness.”

“If it still exists there,” Nathaniel pointed out. “This book must be decades old, if not centuries! We can’t even be sure that it was in Crete in the first place. There’s no mention of it ever being there.”

“The book is accurate, Mr Felton. Do not trouble yourself on that matter. Liber Omnia is not the title given to some piece of unsubstantiated journalism that is erroneous and ill-researched!” He sounded almost personally affronted and Nathaniel opted to remain silent. “This is a comprehensive tome of knowledge. Never incorrect! It is there, and we’re going to find it. First the Cap of Invisibility, and eventually, well…”

Nathaniel felt an uneasiness settle deep in his stomach. One which was not derived from the wound in his arm or the ache in his chest.

“I would be devastated to think you did not trust me with your ultimate intentions, Silas. We’re working for the same goals. We have for years.” He chose his words carefully and straightened up, trying to conceal the distrust he felt. He brought the rifle up into his hands slowly, taking several steps away in as casual a manner as he could manage, scanning the distance.

“The future, Mr Felton. The future that is coming for us at a remarkable pace. Simply frightening. Can you not feel it? Abandon your thoughts of a civilized world! Instead prepare to embrace one of blind, pathological acceptance of one another as equals regardless of class or status. A disgusting perversion of society where the morally just and righteous are considered as worthy as the profane and sin-begotten.”

The words were sudden, and possessive of a bluntness that Nathaniel had slowly began to develop a familiarity with. He knew of Silas chiefly by reputation only, but it seemed to be well-earned. Nathaniel couldn’t really appreciate what was being said and struggled to follow along with what seemed to be ravings of a madman.

“You’re suggesting a fall of civilization?” he guessed, not sure what he was expecting to hear in response, and very keen to know what empirical evidence the professor had to substantiate his theory.

“Worse than that, Mr Felton. A civilization crumbles and another takes its place. This is something far more sinister. An idea.” Silas exhaled the word with a shake of his head. “The idea that the savages of these jungles, the cruel people of the Orient, and the upstanding western gentleman are one and the same is abhorrent, and yet this is what people will believe. The future we have worked for - the one we have built with the blood of our own people - is being put in jeopardy by those too willing to accept the corruption seeping into our society.”

“This is the idea that you are so terrified of seeing become a reality?” Nathaniel asked, raising an eyebrow warily. He didn’t know what it was but even in the heat and humidity he could feel his hairs standing on end. It wasn’t what Silas was suggesting, but more the way that he was suggesting such a thing. Was he going to fight the unification of the human race? “How are you going to achieve this, Professor Rowe?” Nathaniel asked, keeping his voice even.

Silas considered the question for a little while, then casually turned through the pages of the book until he reached what he was looking for. He turned the book to display what he was looking at, and Nathaniel read it several times before looking to Silas to see whether he was being serious. There was only cold sobriety on his face.

“The Apple of Discord?”

“Precisely,” the professor confirmed. “We shall need the Helm of Darkness to reach it.” Nathaniel waited for an explanation, but Silas didn’t seem to think that was necessary. Instead he chose a different topic altogether. “With the Apple we’ll be able to make sure everyone remembers their place. Mankind’s future will be strong, and not built on the foundations of the untrustworthy rejects from the far-flung corners of the world and the sewers beneath us.”

“How are you suggesting to keep the ‘rejects’ from your utopia, professor?” Nathaniel asked.

“I propose that we remove them from the equation entirely,” Silas answered unapologetically. “One swoop, and all the problems of the civilized world become a single footnote in the annals of history. The barbarians of Africa, the backwards-thinkers of Asia… even those mongrel vikings, and the cretins that live in the slums of our very own London.”

“You’re suggesting we purge whole regions of the world? A genocide?”

Silas shook his head slowly, and maintained a neutral face as he closed up the book and pulled it to his chest. “Oh no, Nathaniel. Genocide paints us forever as murderers no matter the argument. A war has us celebrated as victors and conquerors that brought the iron wheel of progress to the starving world.”

His words were not the scary part. It was the sense of truthfulness and righteousness that Nathaniel felt to be behind them.

“Conquer them, or run them down, or cut them up in the spokes?” Nathaniel asked, raising the rifle up to point squarely at Silas’s chest. His hands shook a little and he took in a breath to steady himself, shaking his head in refusal at the professor. “No. I won’t be a party to this, Mr Rowe.”

“Put the rifle down, Mr Felton. You’re being ridiculous,” Silas ordered, looking calm and unperturbed despite looking down the barrel of a weapon he’d used to kill numerous people moments before. “You’re not going to stop the march of progress.”

“I’m not going to just pretend that I’m in agreement with any of this,” Nathaniel refused. “This is not going to happen.” His hand tightened as Silas shifted suddenly. The professor reached down and drew a concealed sidearm from beneath his jacket and smoothly brought it up to point back. Another breath came and went, and with a small shake Nathaniel clutched tightly and pulled the trigger. There was an empty click and nothing else. His eyes dropped to the weapon immediately and he pulled it again, only then realizing that the cartridge was empty.

“Not your lucky day, Mr Felton,” the professor shrugged apologetically. “I’m would like the rifle back, if you don’t mind.” He brandished his Enfield and slowly pulled back the hammer with a cold click. Nathaniel’s eyes focused unwillingly on the end of the weapon and waited with the anticipation of the detonation, and the flash, and what would soon be darkness and nothing.

The sound erupted suddenly and he was sent falling to the side, grasping futilely and hitting the deck. It took him a moment to realize that he was not alone, and more importantly that he had not been shot.

Silas also stumbled as their ship was hit by the current that they had drifted into, and was dragging them along with it. Nathaniel rushed to get to his feet, bracing himself against the side of the ship and watching as the professor rushed to try and navigate them out of the current. He knew there was no use for the rifle as a firearm, but he quickly changed his grip and swung hard with it. Silas caught sight of it just in time to duck out of the way, firing a shot with his Enfield past Nathaniel and somewhere into the churning waters.

Seizing control of the ship for a moment, Nathaniel spun their course in the direction of the nearest shoreline as they surged along with the busy river. His eyes fell back on Silas who looked alarmed and alert, already preparing to fire another shot and scrambling to his feet. He was gripping part of the ship to help himself up, and Nathaniel saw he had dropped the book to the ground. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him they were quickly coming upon shallow water, and without any alternatives available to him he hurled the Winchester rifle at Silas as hard as he could.

The professor avoided it, but only barely, and Nathaniel quickly grabbed and seized the book from the deck. He didn’t have another option and turned with the Liber Omnia in hand, vaulting over the side of the boat and into the waters below. He didn’t even consider what beasts may be down there waiting for him, focused only on wading through the waters with the book held above the waterline as he rushed towards the sanctuary of the land.

His muscles burned with renewed ferocity, but he was spurred on with the splash of water less than a foot from where he was as a bullet tore up the river around him. Kicking and pushing on with every last ounce of energy he had, he pulled himself to the shore and kept going. Another shot caught him in the side, and he staggered into the undergrowth with all the speed he could muster, hearing the sounds of more explosions in the distance and thuds around him as the bullets pounded into the jungle on all sides.

From the ship Silas looked on, watching the object of the long hunt disappearing in the hands of the very man he had expected to give it up so easily, and he whispered a curse into the air before throwing the Winchester rifle to the deck in frustration. Turning to look across the river, he could see a few figures between the trees that were watching them at a great distance. Running his hand down the side of his face, he sighed at the state of matters and spat another curse in Felton’s direction.

He was supposed to be done handling matters with the tribes here. Having the Liber Omnia was supposed to be the ticket out of Africa and onto further matters. Apparently he was going to have more use for the hunters across the river, and he would be reminding them about the importance of their venomous weapons in hunting their prey. Giving a last glance in the direction of the endless jungle, he began to turn the steamship around. He would need to return to the tribe, barter another agreement with the chieftain, and to explain how Nathaniel had gunned down the other hunters mercilessly.

“You think you’re going to stop this, Mr Felton,” he muttered to himself, finding his breaths coming hard. “I’ll make damn sure that you do not.”