by Daniel Kozuh
Norman did, at first, feel bad for her. Apparently, because of him, Pasha was living in a literal shithole. However, after they got her speaking again, details emerged that made Norman feel a little better about himself.
Pasha was no humble nun, traveling the countryside and preaching the good word. She was a Pentecostal huckster, forcing peasants to pay exorbitant prices for copies of The Volumes and paintings of The Author. She held revival-like events, claiming that, if people believed, and gave enough gold, The Author will put them in a Volume, as well. Pasha had made a tidy living from preaching the word of Norman.
Then, one night, after a particularly rambunctious audience at Larrowton, a stranger approached Pasha.
“He was this big, fat man,” Pasha said, “and he claimed to have knowledge about you and The Volumes.”
“Wrence,” Norman groaned.
“Correct. Although, he was still going by ‘Lawrence’ at that time. He was this bratty little know-it-all twit. He kept wanting to see the original Volumes. I should have just given it to him. Next thing I know, I am being wheeled around in a wooden jail cell, being tortured by a pack of repulsive goblins.”
Everyone looked at Rick.
“Yeah,” Rick grumbled, “They’re pretty gross, all right.”
“Anyway,” Pasha continued, “Wrence didn’t have his overcompensating tower, or any of any of his powers, yet. He only had this journal, filled with crazy words, and me. I spent day and night going over these segments that he had handwritten, trying to decipher their meaning. But from what I could tell these were only fragments. Nonsense, really. Wrence was also looking for something. Every day, he had his growing hordes searching for whatever it was – mostly around The Forest of Kath – but the elves weren’t having it.”
Norman pulled The Verisimillion closer to his body.
“I am glad we never found whatever Wrence was looking for. Just the few words he gave me held more magic than existed in all of Lingeria. When I pronounced them correctly, the air would energize around me. Little pops of lightning would sizzle through the air and wind would blow from nowhere.’
‘So, finally, Wrence made me take the most powerful words and put them together.” Pasha pulled her legs into herself and started to chew on her thumbnail. “I did what he commanded. I shouldn’t have, but I did. We found this wide-open field, up near The Valley of Garthan. And, uh, I said the thing. Nothing happened, at first. Then, there was this thunder – like no thunder I had ever heard before. It shook the ground and sounded like demons, screaming.’
‘Right above me, the sky ripped open and a dark cloud started to form. It got bigger and blacker and the goblins started to flee. It wasn’t a normal sort of black, though – it was nothing; a void; emptiness. I could feel it start to pull on me, like someone had reached inside of me and tried to yank out my soul. I looked up at The Thick Shadow (as they now call it) and realized that it wasn’t all dark. There was a pinprick of white, directly in the center. It was a pure, radiant white eye that only I could see, and I felt that it could see me, too. The white grew hotter and brighter than the sun, but I couldn’t look away, until my entire vision was whitewashed. The weird thing was, for a little while after, I didn’t even mind that I was blind. That light was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”
Pasha took a deep breath and let it out sharply.
“After that –” Pasha now seemed exhausted, “- everything changed. Wrence fled with The Volumes and the new supernatural abilities that seemed to have arrived with The Pitch Black, as I wanted to call it.”
“Oh … ‘The Pitch Black’ – I that’s a good one,” Roe whispered to Norman.
“He built that damned tower, corrupted Kroü The Valiant, and The Pitch Black can’t be closed. I’ve spent every day since trying to find a fix for all of this mess.” Pasha gestured to a pile of scrolls in the corner, covered in the scribblings of a blind woman.
“When you aren’t gambling,” added Tahra.
“A lady needs a hobby,” Pasha said.
Norman said, “I may not be a god, but I think that I have been brought here to stop Wrence.”
“How do you mean?” Pasha asked.
Norman did his best to recap his backstory and the backstory that Lawrence confessed to him on the grand tower tour. It still took some time and Roe, who had heard this several times, fell asleep in a small circle on the floor, like a cold dog.
“So, I do have some good news,” Norman finished. “We actually found The Verisimillion, at great risk to our own lives.”
“You did? Where is it?” Pasha asked.
“Right here, at my side,” Norman patted it needlessly.
“You brought it here?” Pasha shouted. “To my home? Are you trying to get me killed?!”
“No,” Norman said. “But we need your help.”
“You’re the worst,” Pasha said. “Do you bring nothing but pain and suffering everywhere you go?”
“Pretty much,” replied Tahra.
“But none of us can read it,” Norman implored.
“And I can?” the blind woman asked, waving her hands in front of her useless orbs.
“What if I just, like, read it to you?” Norman tried.
“And unleash some colossal Needle-Faced Fire Owl on the world?! Look at the damage one individual phrase has caused! I would take one-hundred-to-one odds that you are all going to die, if you attempt this.”
“Could you at least look after the book, while we figure out what to do?” Norman felt like giving up.
“No!” she yelled. “I want it out of my room, out of my sewers, out of my city, out of Lingeria! You should destroy it!”
“That’s what I said,” Tahra added.
“Please – just one day.” Norman held the book out and pressed it against her arm.
“No,” she said, knocking the book away.
“You are the only one we can trust.”
“I’ll just gamble it away,” she lied.
“No, you won’t. You love books, I know you do.”
“Not this one!” Pasha grabbed the book out of Norman’s hand and lifted it in the air to throw it away. Instantly, when her bare hand touched the book, her eyeballs were wiped clean and her irises returned to a normal soft blue.
Pasha gasped, stunned with the sudden gift of sight. She took in the image of her room and guests, until she got to Rick.
“Goblin!” Pasha screamed and pitched the book at his face. Immediately, her eyes glazed over, and she was blind again.
Norman picked The Verisimillion off the ground and placed it back into Pasha’s hands. The cloudiness lifted again. “Looks like you are coming with us,” Norman said, and smiled.
A throaty, forlorn howl echoed through the tunnels.
“Janey,” Norman said. He ran to the ladder and climbed up.
Calamity Jane was yanking at her leash with such force that the gate was coming away from the wall. When she saw Norman, she ran to him, almost bowling him over. Her howl was now replaced with a scratching whine.
“What is it, girl?” Norman asked. His answer came in the form of the sound of fists, pounding on gate after gate at the far end of the street and moving towards them in rapid succession.
Norman leaned into the sewer opening. “We have company!” He untied Janey and awkwardly carried the seventy pounds of terrified coonhound down the ladder. Then, climbing back up, he pulled the gate closed.
****
“I am not coming with you. That book spells certain death,” Pasha protested.
“Chances are, they think you are helping us,” Norman said. “They will probably kill you anyway.”
“A bet I am willing to take,” Pasha said, folding her arms.
An idea struck Roe, and he pushed himself between Norman and Pasha. “Bet, you know what? Yes. We shall bet for it. If I win, you come with us. If you win, then we will leave you in peace.”
Pasha’s face crinkled. She knew this was most likely a trick, but the primal
force of her addiction couldn’t be subdued.
“A game?” shouted Tahra. “We don’t have time for silly games!”
“Bah, okay, it is a bet,” Pasha relented. “What is the game?”
“A simple Highpoint bar-betting game, called ‘Frog and Toad’. Do you have a few coins?”
Pasha made everyone turn around, while she pulled a brick from the wall and retrieved two Lingerian pennies, from her safe deposit hole.
“We also need … Aha!” Roe grabbed Pasha’s teacup and poured the remnants to the ground. He walked to the opposite side of the room and placed the cup on the ground, near the impatient Tahra, and walked back.
“Okay, so we each get a coin and the object of the game is to …” Roe balanced the thin coin on top of his thumb and index finger. He then launched the coin into the air. “… flick the coin and make it land in the cup.” The coin spun, end over end, across the room. It landed in the dirt, nowhere near the cup, rolling until it knocked into Tahra’s foot, and fell flat. “Obviously, one would hope to do better than that.”
Tahra picked up the coin. Roe jogged over and retrieved it from her.
“Make sense?” Roe said, coming back to stand by Pasha.
“Yes, it makes sense,” Pasha grunted, feeling that she was being talked down to.
“Okay, you can go first,” Roe said.
Pasha held The Verisimillion in her left hand, as she balanced the coin atop her dominant right hand. She squinted, lined up her shot, and snapped her thumb into the air. The coin shot out towards the cup, but it didn’t have the necessary arch. It hit the slimy floor, a foot before its target, with such forced that it skipped over the mug and skidded a few more feet.
“Nice first try,” Roe said, sincerely.
Pasha retrieved her coin and came back.
Roe swung his arm, to loosen the muscles. “Okay, my turn.” Roe turned his back to Pasha and put his left arm straight out, as if measuring or balancing or aiming. He lowered his right arm by his thigh and suddenly it looked as though he was giving a thumbs-up to the cup.
Ding! Roe’s coin bounced around the rim of the mug and settled at the bottom.
“Well, Jesus Christ!” Roe shouted, triumphantly. “On the first go!”
“I didn’t even see the coin cross the room,” guffawed the amazed Pasha.
“Can’t blink when you play me in Frog and Toad.” Roe blew on his thumb.
What Norman had noticed (and Pasha had not), was that Tahra never handed Roe his coin back. She held it in her palm until he pretended to flick it and then simply let it fall into the cup from above. It was a juvenile, but necessary, hustle.
“Best three out of five,” Pasha pleaded.
“We are running out of time,” Norman said. “Get your things together.”
It took some effort to get Pasha to leave. She took her time, loading a canvas satchel with books, tchotchkes, and a burlap blanket.
“Do you really need all of that?” Norman griped.
“I don’t know where we are going,” Pasha replied. “I don’t know what I will need.”
“Please hurry,” Norman said.
“Do any these tunnels leave the city?” Tahra was strategizing.
“Of course. I just have to remember which one,” Pasha said.
“Then, lead the way.” Tahra pushed the woman in front of everyone and they started into the bowels of the cesspit.
Pasha, clutching The Verisimillion, led the team through miles of channels, stopping at every intersection and debating with herself which way to turn. Everyone grew irritated. They had most certainly gone in several circles.
After a few hours, everyone’s shoes were heavy and soaked in sewer water. Norman’s legs were fatigued, and he had to hold himself up against the wet brick to keep from sliding into the mess.
“She doesn’t know where she’s going,” complained Roe, like an overtired child.
“If you think you know better, then by all means,” Pasha bit back. “This way,” she pointed, with little confidence.
The light in the burrows was dim; the source was through occasional openings cut into the street curbs. Even that meagre light became infrequent, as the drains clogged with garbage and debris from the street.
Norman did his best to keep everyone motivated and moving. At one point, he heard footsteps splashing far behind him. “C’mon, Roe, keep up!” he shouted.
“I’m right here,” Roe said, actually a few feet in front of him.
Norman froze. Everyone was accounted for and the footsteps he heard had stopped.
“Pasha?” Norman’s voice was small and quivering, “What else lives down here?”
“Oh, lots of things,” Pasha replied, casually.
“Something is following us,” Norman said.
Tahra and Rick pulled out their weapons and joined Norman at the back of the group, starring into the blackness. Nobody moved or made a noise.
Unexpectedly, an arrow shot past Rick’s head and into the void. Everyone looked at Roe.
“Sorry,” Roe said. “Fingers are wet.”
A deathly roar answered Roe’s volley.
“I think I hit something,” Roe squeaked.
To Norman, the creature that charged at them seemed to have the body of a giant, hairless ape. It had arms longer than its legs and used all four limbs to propel itself forward. Enormous paws slapped on the ground. Craggy, pale skin, from a lifetime of surviving in dank, moist conditions, hung loosely from its bones. Its face was long and oval, little in the way of eyes or a nose, just a wide, predatory mouth filling the facial space. The beast took up the entire cavity of the passageway, even slouching to avoid hitting the top of the eight-foot-high ceiling.
“Run!” Norman screamed.
Norman sprinted away from the oncoming attack, caring little about which way to go. Everyone joined him in fleeing the monster, taking any turn he could in hopes of losing it. The canals grew darker and darker, as more trash blocked the gutters. Only thin, sharp beams of light lit the way.
“Ten-to-one we don’t make it out of these sewers alive,” Pasha said, as they ran.
When it became so dark that Norman was feeling his way along the clammy walls, he realized that the darkness had a purpose, for the monster.
“Hold on,” he whispered to his group. “Look at the drains.” Thick clumps of mud, paper, garbage, and wood had been plastered over the holes from the inside.
A piercing snap shot through the darkness, from the colossal ape. Then anothers. “Sonar,” he said. “It’s using echolocation to find us. Light. We need light! Break open all of the drains.”
Using their swords, Tahra and Rick stabbed at the plugs, as if they were disgusting piñatas, cutting them down until the brilliant sun lit the area.
The beast turned the corner and found them. Rampaging forward, it broke into the sunlight and screamed, as the brightness hit its sensitive skin. The attacker withdrew to the edge of the shadows, covering its eyes with his forearm, bearing its teeth, and slamming its fists against the crumbly wall.
Tahra and Rick raised their weapons, preparing to charge.
“Wait!” Norman halted their attack. In the light he could see six engorged teats along the creature’s belly. “It isn’t hunting. It is protecting. It probably has offspring close by. Let’s just back away and I bet it will leave us alone.”
“I’ll take that bet. What kind of odds do you want?” Pasha said, instinctively.
Retreating backwards, breaking down the drain plugs along the way to be safe, the team finally found a path saturated in light and heard no evidence that the creature had followed them. They came to another fork in the road. Pasha looked down one passage, then the other, and then back again.
“I know what’s wrong,” she finally said. She handed The Verisimillion to Norman and let her eyes glaze over. “I didn’t learn these tunnels by sight.”
She stood blind for a moment and listened down each tunnel, head cocked slightly.
&n
bsp; “This way.” She pointed to the left. “Please, give me your arm.” She wrapped her tiny arm around Norman’s and led the way.
****
Pasha heard it first, but soon everyone could make out the sound of cascading water. Spirits and paces picked up as they rounded a corner and saw a round expulsion outlet, spewing the sewage out a ten-foot drop into a vile pond of frothy slop.
One by one, the travelers descended a rust-eaten ladder, knowing that if any desiccated rung gave out, they would be tossed into the murky soup. Tahra simply tossed a horrified Calamity Jane down to Rick.
All were safe on the ground, they started their slog thought the swampy grassland. Tire-sized mushrooms thrived off the compost-rich soil, fist-sized cicadas stuck motionless to moss-covered mangroves, screaming their mating call. Perched on towering, bald cypress trees, a winged raptor squawked and displayed its impressive wingspan.
Pasha, who had taken the book back, estimated that they had come out on the west edge of The Red City. They continued in this direction, until the everglade was thin (but still provided coverage for everyone to remain unseen).
Finding a dry patch of soft Spanish Moss, everyone decided it was best to take a break. Pasha pulled a rolled burlap blanket from her sack and unfurled it on the ground. Tucked within the rolls of the quilt was a flint, a machete, eating utensils, a sweater, a compass, and assorted primitive pieces of survival gear.
“Okay,” Pasha said. “You boys go hunt and I’ll make us a nice big lunch.”
“Excuse me,” Tahra spat. “I will hunt as well.”
“Fine, fine,” Pasha said.
“And I will not hunt,” Roe said, reclining on the blanket.
“Then you will not eat,” Pasha replied. “Go gather firewood.”
“I will help Roe,” Norman decided, not wishing to wrestle with any swamp things.
Tahra and Rick returned with a soaking sack full of kill. And they both seemed much happier than when they departed. Lunch was a low-country-boil of crawfish, shrimp, snails, anaconda, and a few species Norman couldn’t identify. Pasha, who was wise to put a pot in her bag, cooked the proteins in a stew of swamp-water, mushroom, and wild onion she had harvested.
Everyone ate, heartily, with Norman picking and choosing the most recognizable meats, and then splayed out on Pasha’s blanket, with full bellies and heavy eyelids.