by Layton Green
That’s just wrong, Caleb thought, although a wave of terror swallowed his indignation as he fled. The Jabberwock was gaining ground quickly, smashing through saplings in its path and knocking down larger trees with a swish of its mighty tail. Its deafening roar caused fear to pulse through Caleb.
A jagged cave mouth, tucked into a hillside, gave him a spark of hope. He drew closer and realized it was too small for the Jabberwock to fit through. But how deep was it?
Didn’t matter. The chance for an escape gave him a burst of adrenaline, and he raced through the forest as the monster drew closer, the ground-rattling footsteps almost causing Caleb to trip.
A young fir grew near the mouth of the cave. Caleb whipped around it and darted inside, relieved beyond words to find the cave extended deep into the hillside. When he had gone beyond the reach of the Jabberwock, he turned in time to see the monster pull the tree out of the ground, toss it aside, and stick its long neck into the cave mouth.
Startled at how far its neck could reach, Caleb scampered deeper inside, until the poison-green catfish head jerked to a stop. The baleful red eyes stared at Caleb, and the whiskers surrounding the massive puckered maw twitched in the air like live wires.
Jesus Christ, he thought, as the thing strained against the rock, trying to force its way inside. This went on for several minutes until, frustrated by the effort, it snorted and laid its head on the floor of the cave, watching its prey.
With a shiver, Caleb turned to view his surroundings, surprised to find a teal light illuminating the cavern from somewhere in the distance. He walked towards the light and, after rounding a corner, found a small body of water surrounded by phosphorescent mushrooms at the back of the cave. After failing to find another exit, he lay on the cavern floor near the mushrooms, exhausted, trying to block out the breathing and snorting of the Jabberwock. Before long, his eyelids started to flutter. Nervous of falling asleep on that strange world, but not knowing what else to do, he let himself drift.
When Caleb stirred again, it took him a moment to remember where he was. His heart sank when he saw the glowing mushrooms and the cave pool. He was hoping to find escape through his dreams. Almost at once, he heard the heavy exhalations of the Jabberwock, though its breathing sounded more regular, interrupted by snorts that sounded more fitful than angry. He crept around the corner and found the monster’s eyes closed.
Why wouldn’t it just leave? Already weak in the knees from the thing’s presence, Caleb backed away, thinking that if it couldn’t see him when it woke up, it might go away.
Thirst scratched at Caleb’s throat. He bent to sniff the water, and let it trickle through his fingers. It was very cold and seemed natural. Oh well, he thought. If the point of this world is to kill me with dysentery, then so be it.
The water slid cool and fresh down his throat. In fact, it was delicious. He drank his fill, feeling refreshed when he finished. After giving the cave another search for exits or hidden passages, he sat cross-legged near the pool and waited for the monster to leave.
Some time later, he heard scraping on stone, as if the great head was retreating through the cavern. The sounds of breathing ceased, and Caleb released a sigh of relief. He was starving and needed to search the forest for food. He made himself wait a little while longer, giving the beast time to wander away, before he poked his head out of the cave.
Night had fallen, though the temperature outside the cave was still balmy. Stars glittered in the sky. He wished he knew more about the constellations. Maybe he could at least confirm what world he was in.
Just as he started to search for a plant or a nut to eat, he heard a faint crashing through the trees. Dread filled his bones as the noise increased and a throaty roar silenced the crickets and rattled Caleb’s eardrums. He scurried back into the cave just as the Jabberwock bounded into sight. As before, it ran to the cave and thrust its head deep inside. Caleb panted in the back of his hideout, horrified by the monster’s swift return.
Why was it stalking him? Weren’t there tastier things to eat on this world?
Eventually, the Jabberwock calmed down and fell asleep again. Frustrated and starving, Caleb spent another night in the cavern, waking to hunger pangs so acute he felt dizzy. He had no choice, he realized.
He had to eat those mushrooms.
With a deep breath, visions of horrid woodland faeries dancing in his head, he took a long drink of water and bent to sniff the shrooms. They smelled subtle and earthy. The problem was that blue-green phosphorescence they emitted. Were mushrooms supposed to glow? They just looked poisonous.
Running a hand through his hair, hoping his extensive past experience with fungi of the hallucinogenic variety had strengthened his immune system, he took a bite of a medium-size specimen and let it hit his stomach. It tasted nice. He waited a while and felt no ill effects.
After that, he ate ten of the things, washed them down with water, and felt whole again. After pacing the cavern to stretch his legs, he took a nap, until a loud snort from the Jabberwock caused him to jump. Enraged at the thing’s persistence, he grabbed a rock from the cavern floor, rounded the bend, and threw it right at its face. It smacked the Jabberwock on the gill, causing its nostrils to flare and its eyes to burn with hatred. It made a renewed effort to push inside, causing loose stones to fall around the cave mouth.
Maybe not the best idea.
But Caleb was growing desperate. How long could he stay inside this cave before his food source ran out? Or he went insane from loneliness and boredom?
There was someplace he hadn’t explored, he realized. Eager at the thought, he stripped down and plunged into the icy water, wondering if he could handle the cold. The pool was clear, and after a few long dives, he spotted the pebble-strewn bottom. He swam back and forth along the floor, shivering, his lungs close to bursting.
He surfaced and dove two more times before he saw them, lying on the bottom like a gruesome underwater cairn: a loose pile of human bones, stripped of flesh and scattered by the passage of time. After ensuring he had scoured the entire bottom of the pool, he toweled off with his clothes and ran in place to get warm.
So someone else had been here, he thought grimly.
And they hadn’t made it back.
Had something killed his predecessor? Or had that person let himself slip into the cold waters, tired of eking out an existence in a cave on some abandoned world?
Two days passed, and then two more. Every day and night the same. As always, the Jabberwock would eventually retreat from the cave mouth, but every time Caleb ventured outside, it would return within minutes, either alerted by his smell or by some perverse machination of the tower.
Caleb began venturing further into the forest, sprinting in different directions until he heard the Jabberwock return. That practice ceased when he found nothing on his sojourns and almost got caught by the monster. He felt the wind from its iron jaws snapping shut inches behind him as he dove into the recesses of the cavern.
Caleb howled in frustration. He no longer feared death, but he couldn’t die here, not like this. Not with so much to do back on Urfe.
Yet for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a good option besides waiting the Jabberwock out.
The problems with that were twofold. One, he had the sense the monster would never leave, that it had marked Caleb as its prey and would see it through to the bitter end.
And two, the mushrooms were almost gone.
Three more days passed. The food situation was critical. Though he might have imagined it, Caleb began to sense a triumphant gleam in the Jabberwock’s eye, as if it knew the end was near. Scratching at his beard, craving something to eat besides blue mushrooms, Caleb thought for the millionth time about everything that had occurred. The dream, the tower, the trials before this one. Nothing sparked a new idea.
Out of sheer desperation, he did something he had not yet done. He walked right up to the Jabberwock, inches from the tentacles around the ugly maw, and talked to it.
“Listen up, dirt bag. I need to get out of here.”
A snort in response.
“You want to eat me, do you? If I give you a finger, will you go away? An arm?”
The eyes burned like lasers, following Caleb’s every movement.
With a snarl, Caleb reared back and threw a heavy rock he had concealed in his hand right at the monster’s snout. It struck hard, causing it to roar and open its puckered maw.
Exposing something Caleb had never noticed before.
Something which caused him to stare, dumbfounded, at the sight.
Inside the Jabberwock’s mouth, seared like a scar atop its slimy red tongue, was the image of a tapered, ivory-colored spiral identical to the shape of the staircase in Elarion’s Tower.
The monster unleashed a roar that threatened to shatter Caleb’s eardrums. He stood his ground, thinking about what that symbol could mean, as well as his conversation with Humpty Dumpty so many days ago.
What strange words you know! I don’t know what you’re talking about!
Okay, so what the hell is making all that noise, and is it going to eat us?
Why, it’s a Jabberwock, that is. And of course it’s going to eat us.
What do we do?
How would I know? I’m just an egg.
Don’t you know anything helpful? Like how to get out of this world?
There was a little girl once. She looked at me with a very strange expression and said, ‘Humpty, sometimes death is the only escape.’
The Jabberwock continued to roar, opening its maw so wide Caleb thought he might be able to walk inside.
Sometimes death is the only escape.
With a start, Caleb thought he knew the answer—and it absolutely terrified him.
Was Humpty saying he was supposed to let the Jabberwock eat him?
Despite being a ludicrous suggestion, what if he was wrong? What if he stuck his head in that monstrous mouth and the creature ripped it right off his shoulders?
The beast kept roaring, as if to reinforce his conclusion. Go on, it seemed to mock him. Give that great idea a shot.
Old Caleb would have done anything to avoid that terrible pain. He would have waited until the last mushroom was gone, until his emaciated flesh hung from his bones, until his choice was to take the risk or perish. Even then, he probably wouldn’t have had the courage. He would have slipped into the water and drowned, just like those other poor souls, rather than die of hunger or walk into the lion’s den.
And even if he decided to go through with it, what if he was wrong? What if some other solution would present itself at the last moment, when he was on his deathbed?
On the other hand, what if this was the opportunity? Maybe the spiral symbol wasn’t always on the beast’s tongue, and this was a sign. What if it was now or never, bucko?
He took a deep breath, his head spinning. Sometimes death is the only escape.
That phrase didn’t sound like something Alice would have said. Not from what he remembered of the book. It was incongruous, bizarre.
A message.
With a snarl, he stopped thinking it through and trusted his gut, which told him this was exactly the kind of twisted trial the builder of the tower would dream up. “Hey you!” he shouted. “Bend your ugly mug down!”
As Caleb stepped closer, one of the huge red eyes focused on him, and the maw swept downward to gobble him up. As soon as it opened wide, Caleb dove inside. The last thing he saw before those awful jaws closed was the dark tunnel of the Jabberwock’s throat and, at the red throbbing end of it, an open wooden door.
-20-
The frenzied bark of the hyena wolf, evidence that Nagiro had survived the encounter with the shaman, persisted during Mala’s nighttime flight from the Crater of the Snow Moon. Eventually the maddened shrieks and jibbers faded away, the dhampyr no match for the magic-enhanced speed and constitution of the spirit cougar.
The desert persisted in various forms as she ran through the mesas and sprawling highlands, through canyons and valleys, in and around rock formations that grew more and more fantastical. Mala felt the rippling of the feline muscles, the wind in her face, the heat from the noonday sun, and the chill of the desert night. She could see for miles ahead, leap streams as wide as a gladiator pit, hear the bats flapping past her ears at night, smell the paintbrush and the desert lilies and the musk of fleeing game.
A dhampyr could only shift at night, and her cougar form was preternaturally fast. Reaching New Victoria ahead of Nagiro was no longer a problem—as long as her avatar did not dissipate too early.
Yet the dhampyr was not her only worry. Bandits traveled the byways, and even more dangerous were the delver outposts at the reclusive entrances to the southern reaches of the Darklands, concealed behind boulders or inside rock piles. She kept alert for any sign of their presence.
Once the desert receded and the semiarid plains began, she worried about an encounter with the Congregation death squads. She saw three of them, a pair of tusker raiding parties and a larger regiment that included a mix of human mercenaries and Protectorate soldiers. The humans had a wizard with them, a woman whose arrogant chin and cold blue eyes made Mala’s blood run cold. The Mala-cougar slunk into the nearest thicket and went miles out of her way to avoid them.
During the night, she smelled or heard many creatures she would not want to test her mettle against, especially in animal form and without access to her magical items. A few cats larger than she but which had no reason to approach. Packs of wolves she knew she could outrun. And later that night, when trapped on a ledge high above the valley floor, she had to risk a precipitous leap to clear a pygmy basilisk whose secretions would paralyze her.
Yet the most dangerous element to the journey were the intelligent beasts of the Ninth. She saw no sign of the solitary monsters that roamed the deserts, but once she reached the highlands of Caddoland, she had to be wary of rock fiends and burrow wyrms. Luckily, she saw neither, and managed to avoid the scorpion hybrids as well. Just when she thought she would escape the highlands unscathed, a pair of cockatrices cornered her in a gully. The cockatrice, a five-foot lizard with the head of a rooster, was a vicious beast that owed its bizarre existence to a menagerist. They were often used to guard the isolated compounds of wizards in the region.
Mala suffered a flurry of claw and bite wounds before she managed to kill one and escape the other, fleeing before more of their vile kind arrived. Though aching from her wounds, she dared not stop to lick them clean.
After leaving Caddoland, she veered southeast, soon reaching the lakes and forests that signaled the approach of the southeastern corner of the Ninth Protectorate. The spires of New Victoria lay but a few hundred miles away, a pittance to her feline avatar.
At first, she worried she would lose herself in spirit form, and worked hard to think of herself as a human being. Yet the primal thoughts of the cougar never seemed to intrude on her mind, and her thoughts turned to trying to regain her lost memory, whatever part of her the shaman had stolen. Yet there was nothing to remember, not even an itch she felt unable to scratch. She recalled making the bargain, and sensed she had lost someone, but did not know whom. Her memories of her family seemed intact.
But she would always know someone was missing.
Not long after she spied the Great River and followed its swift southern course, the spires of New Victoria appeared on the horizon, glowing like giant colored candles. The sight never failed to move her. For better or for worse, though not even a legal citizen, the city had become her home.
As she reached the outskirts, her form began to shift, and she stopped running as her spirit animal dissolved. There was no pain to the procedure, and soon Mala found herself crouched on the ground in the same clothes she had worn before the transformation, all of her possessions intact. She had not known hunger or thirst while imbued with the constitution of the spirit cougar, but now she was starving and exhausted.
With a firm set to her jaw
, she walked the rest of the way into the city, determined to hire a coach and then collapse into a chair at her favorite pub.
When looking for work or taking the pulse of the city, Mala preferred the pubs and taverns with a more interactive clientele, such as the Gryphon’s Beak or Folly’s Wager or the Minotaur’s Den. When she craved privacy and respite, creature comforts, and the best ale and warm pies in town, she went to The Velvet Temple.
The shrine at which the patrons worshipped was not one of religion, but hearth and hospitality. Located along the boundary between the Thieves Quarter and Live Oak Junction, an artists’ district filled with quirky shops and residences interspersed among the thick foliage, The Velvet Temple charged double the price of other pubs, appealing to Uptown residents who wanted a taste of the edgier arts scene, or a quiet place for a tryst. Neighborhood types from Live Oaks frequented the pub as well, when they had the coin.
After scanning the room with her customary caution, working hard not to collapse before she reached a secluded nook by the fire, Mala slid into the green velvet-coated booth and, with a sigh of pleasure, relaxed for the first time in weeks.
She estimated she had gained two days on the dhampyr, and it would take him some time to locate her inside the city, especially if she desired to stay hidden. She didn’t yet know her course of action, but she had decided one thing for certain on her long cross-country journey from the Barrier Coast.
She wouldn’t use magical means to escape the city, and she wasn’t staying on the run.
She was going to confront the wretched dhampyr.
Here and now. In the city.
This was her town.
If she had a chance to beat the dhampyr, it was in her own territory, with time to plan. Turning over Magelasher might buy her freedom, but that was one thing she was never going to do.