by David Simms
Luke?
Muddy wished Poe could sing another song for him. One that would heal her so she’d never hurt again. If she could sing just a few notes for the twin, to rescue him from the experience of whatever he’d encountered, maybe she could help herself. If not, he’d still be there for her.
The lava stream had turned their way and sped up. There were only about ten more steps and they’d reach the eye. A ledge jutted out from the opening and sloped down. Underneath, magma flowed from a trio of holes.
How could they pass over those without getting burned?
“Muddy!” Poe called to him. The lava stream had cut them off from the next stair by a good three feet. Steam rose up and blinded him.
Could they jump it? Would the steam burn them too much?
He counted the boards the group had in their possession. Most were still in decent shape.
“Muddy!” Corey yelled from two stairs below. Multiple hands had him in their grasp.
Lyra and Poe jumped down each with a board in their hands and began swinging away. One by one, the zombie things fell away. It took a few hits before they relinquished their hold. Muddy noticed that some looked past the group and into the eye. Could they be desperate to escape, too? Or did they just want the lot of them to join their legion?
The girls swung until Corey was free enough to join the batting practice. As hard as they swung, the more they knocked off the tower of bodies, the more the zombies came, as steady as the lava. Fear skittered along Muddy’s arms and down his back. Had it come to this, to escape drowning—twice—only to die this way? He couldn’t bear the thought that his friends could die and yet it seemed they might all perish from fire or gnashing teeth.
From above, Otis called. “Boss, you ready?”
What? Boss? “Otis?” Confusion washed over him. “What are you talking about? We’re dying here.”
“Not yet, bud!” The slam of wood against rock with the hiss of steam called out to his ears. “Now get your bums up here and fast! Hurry!”
Corey, Lyra, and Muddy turned tail and moved fast, climbing the remaining stairs to where Otis stood, smiling.
He had laid each plank across the gap, two layers deep. They just barely covered the flow of liquid rock. Solid, but the fire riding the magma was already touching them.
“Move. This wood will be ash in about a minute.”
Thank you, Muddy mouthed. His friend just nodded.
Lyra went first to help Luke across, followed by Poe and Otis. Muddy and Corey brought up the rear as fingers nipped at their heels.
One zombie had Corey’s shoe and was opening its mouth to clamp its jaw on his ankle when the board snapped in half. The thing tumbled into the stream and melted in seconds.
“My shoe!” Corey just sat there, looking at his sock. “It ate my shoe!”
Shock? He punched his friend in the arm then pulled at him. “I’ll buy you a fresh new pair when we get home, maybe even one that matches this time. Now, move!” The big guy slipped what remained of the shoe back on his foot and continued upwards.
They caught up to the others and saw that the eye stood only a body’s length above them. The lava waterfall aimed at them was an illusion. It burst from the three holes, all right, but once it had cleared the gap, a path showed itself to be safe for those who dared to come this far.
We made it!, Muddy screamed inside. But the zombies pushed onwards. They knocked each other into the gap and stood on top of their own fellow zombies to get across.
“Lift!” Corey didn’t need a second direction. All of them jumped to reach the upper edge of the ledge and began pulling themselves up onto it. The girls went first, again, but Poe flashed a stake of wood, ready to protect and stab anything that might be up there waiting. Lyra pulled Luke and Otis onto the ledge.
Finally, Muddy and Corey jumped, and even though fire burned in the guitarist’s biceps, he managed to pull himself up. He’d made it. Both of them did. They rolled onto the ledge proper and away from the probing hands. Oddly, many of the creatures had begun backing down. Maybe they simply realized they couldn’t reach their prey or escape.
“Are we done?” Poe finally broke down. “This is worse than being at home,” she cried. “It never ends.”
Muddy took her in his own shaking arms, and held her. “No, it’s not that bad. We’re all here. We’ve made it. Look.”
They peered into the eye and saw a sheer glass plate with a pictograph of the gauntlet they’d just passed etched into it in a massive circle. Had they gone in a circle? No way, it depicted ups-and-downs and definitely the crazed subterranean floors where they began.
“Look,” Corey said. He moved his hand over the map of places they’d passed, with the songs from Aerosmith, Rolling Stones, Black Sabbath, Springsteen, Rush, and now Zeppelin. The ocean of the sirens with the Deep Purple song was also shown. All of these songs they knew, ones they played, both live and on Guitar Hero.
So this was where they were born? Was this were the bands found the inspiration?
What in the world? Was this planned? How? Did the slaves know this would be the way in? Out? How did these songs happen to be picked; were they the most dangerous ones the workers could find?
“Wow,” Otis mused. “Rock radio will never sound the same to me again.”
Poe backed away. “Guys, I don’t think I can sing any of these after today.”
“Now, what?” Lyra looked into the picture and although she’d likely met the writers of the tunes inscribed on the wall, she still didn’t know what was coming next.
Suddenly, Muddy realized something. Someone or something had engineered this nightmare, knowing they’d keep going in order to save his brother. His mind went cold as he backed up.
“What are you doing?” He didn’t even process who had said it. He barely heard the words.
He knew. They knew. They always knew. But, why? With a deep breath, he steeled himself and launched forward at full throttle.
He dove straight through the map, hands and head first, sounding the final note of the blues scale of the deadly path they chose. The sheer surface exploded in near silence as he broke it into a myriad of pieces. That note reverberated throughout him, sending a shockwave through his bones that allowed a flow of energy back into him. He tumbled down a slight slope, or embankment, and rolled to a halt, feeling like he could take down anything in this world.
He heard his name called and someone else telling the others to come on, that it was safe—in his voice.
But his mouth already hung open. In silence.
Who spoke in his voice? He turned to warn the others, but knew they’d already heard his call. He barely heard the others sliding down to meet him. It didn’t matter much now. Nothing really did. Only finishing this job did; right here, right now, and not stopping until he led everyone out alive.
“We’ve been waiting,” they said.
“It was a little tiring, watching you fight through all those trials, but you made it.”
“Now you can play your last song for us.”
He tried to say something, but fear smothered his voice.
“Death is by far the prettiest song we’ve ever heard,” came one discordant voice.
“Always was,” sounded another in dissonance.
“Always will be,” finished the third.
“Welcome to the tower of the Dark Muse.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Zack?”
“Hello, brother.” But it wasn’t his voice. Not quite.
“Muddy,” Poe said, “what’s going on?” She and the others gathered next to him after emerging from the slide.
As his knees buckled, he found a steadier voice. “I’m not sure, but I think we have one more song to play. A good one, I hope.”
The three voices sounded as one. “As your last should be.”
So that’s what they look like. No wonder they’re called the Tritons.
Muddy nearly wet himself. Each of them stood about eight
feet tall. Three arms sprung from their middle section—their abdomens? They stood on three legs, three long legs which had several joints, just like a spider. But that wasn’t what frightened him the most. It was their heads.
A triangular shaped skull topped each one, dwarfing their bodies, definitely not in proper proportion. They appeared almost hammerhead-like. Eyes, they had a few. How many, Muddy couldn’t tell as they were segmented, almost like that of a fly or spider. Yet those creatures didn’t have the human focus that these things did. Each bore multiple stares into Muddy and the others. An evilness he had never felt before burned into his mind, emanating from the orbs on those massive heads.
The band’s saving grace was the lack of crushing jaws or razor teeth they had faced earlier in their mission. Each open mouth sported a toothless opening, resembling the beak of a hawk rather than a shark.
That scared him more than any zombie or mouth creature ever could. Corey, Poe and Otis trembled with him. The twins stood frozen in their spots, but Luke had clearly seen death on its way and needed more help—soon. Still, the teen refused to give in to the moment.
As Muddy took in the entire Triton from head to three feet, he found himself shaking, despite his hatred for them and what they’d put his brother and friends through. Head, eyes, blade-like arms with something within them he couldn’t discern. Their legs were smooth, muscular and gleaming as though covered by some sort of exoskeleton. They appeared sleek and powerful. He imagined the speed and dexterity they had. Escape would be futile, even if they could find a route to escape. Getting in was a horror; getting out was an even bigger nightmare to consider, so he didn’t. Hopefully, the twins would help there. Yet he didn’t come this far to run away. Instead, he took in the scene around him and saw a palace of sorts.
Paintings or etchings lined the walls of the odd, geometric-shaped room. Muddy recalled the word Corey used to describe the room with twelve equal sides. This one had more and each section was a different size. He attempted to count the number of sides, but confusion filled his vision and blurred his focus as the high walls surrounded them in a silvery hue. The floor beneath their feet comprised of thousands of triangular tiles, every single one a polished black.
Many openings spread above the Tritons’ heads and Muddy knew, somehow, that they were now at the apex of the mountain. Even though he couldn’t discern any glass or other material, Muddy felt no breeze. There should be some incoming wind, but the thin tapestries strung from the ceiling hung stagnant. He recalled the immense height of the peak they saw when they were miles away. There had to be a way down; one that wouldn’t kill them.
He mentally catalogued the items around him, just in case. Windows, tapestries, images, Tritons—everything mattered. He swore each pictograph depicted a song that spun on every classic radio station, from various styles, from composers of many eras, each of them idolized in some way.
Hendrix and Elvis hung on one wall. Buddy Holly and Mozart hung on another. Janis Joplin, Randy Rhoads, John Coltrane, Robert Johnson and others smiled down from the one behind them. On the right side, John Lennon, George Harrison, Bon Scott and Paul McCartney gazed in awe from lifelike life cells that appeared to be a something between a painting and photograph.
“Whoa,” Otis said. “I thought you only dealt in dead dudes here.”
“All gave their innermost magic for the betterment of the River and more.”
The drummer and Muddy looked at each other. They heard Poe chuckle and turned to see her smile, in spite of their situation.
“Um…” He looked at the beings attempting to frighten them. “McCartney’s still kicking. You do know that, right?”
The three turned to each other slightly. Whispers fluttered and limbs flitted that denoted some communication. “We were told otherwise.”
Poe stood there, leaning ahead of Muddy. “I think he’s even still touring. You might want to check your facts before immortalizing someone.”
A sound brought him back to lock eyes with the center being. Fear splashed over him colder than the River which nearly claimed him.
It demanded his attention. All of theirs. Now.
“We’ll give you a choice.”
“I don’t think so. Heard that already today,” Otis said, his own voice breaking. “We came to take Zack home. That’s our only choice.”
“Where is he?” Muddy struggled to keep his voice steady.
The three Tritons laughed in tones, a chord that pained all of them. Muddy watched the light fade from Poe’s eyes right before his legs gave out. The band dropped to their knees and blacked out as one. Muddy regained consciousness moments later, realizing something crucial had occurred in that small amount of time.
“Go ahead,” spoke the one in the middle. “We were hoping you would take him, but we’re not sure if he still wants to leave us.”
“What’s the price?”
No answer.
“Tell us!”
“Give us your music and leave. Or leave her here with us.” They pointed at Poe, but Muddy already knew what they wanted. “And you.”
“No!” He would give his life for the band—his friends, his family, but would never give up Poe, even if he died with her.
“Why?” Poe cried. “What do you need him for? Us? You have the greatest minds in history coming through here all the time. We’re just kids.”
“But you have something they couldn’t give us,” said the trio in an augmented triad. “Yes, you have something else.”
Muddy rushed them, not knowing what they meant.
The trio turned together and struck a chord he wished he’d never heard. He crumbled and felt blood drip from his ears as darkness swirled around him.
* * * *
Groggy, he fought back. Not now. Not again. He couldn’t fail the band or his brother. He regained consciousness seconds later, his friends surrounding him.
The group faced the Tritons in a semi-circle. Even without instruments, Muddy knew they all felt the power of the River flowing within them.
“We want my brother,” he said boldly. “You can keep me.”
They laughed once more in that painful chord and he fell to his knees again. “Take him, if you can.”
They gestured upwards to the right where Zack now lived.
They looked at Muddy’s brother—and gasped.
Zack hung in a prism-like machine with metallic strings holding him up. Each string entered him from a different place in his arms, his legs, his chest. Others entered near his heart, neck and skull. They had turned him into a living human instrument.
The structure rose up over twelve feet off the floor and stretched out at least six feet on either side of his torso. He resembled a flimsy Ferris wheel, scaffolding, or clock bred with the inner organs of a piano.
Corey whistled. “Geez, they turned him into a musical machine version of DaVinci’s ‘Vitruvian Man.’ The perfect proportion.”
Otis looked at him incredulously. “Seriously? Zack’s up there and you’re giving another history lesson?”
The bigger teen shook his head. “No, spaz. It was meant to show how man is the perfect proportion in architecture. It depicted the measurements of the universe’s ideal design for many things.”
The smaller boy snorted. “If only he lived to see how low humans have sunk since his time. Perfection, my bony—”
“I know, but look!” He pointed at Zack’s face.
Zack’s eyes were open and pleading with Muddy as they met each other’s gaze. They spoke to Muddy, clear in their intent.
Help me. Or kill me.
A strange music emanated from the machine.
* * * *
“Look what you’ve done to him!” Poe began to cry. “Is he still alive?”
“Yes,” they replied in a diminished chord that kept the band in pain and off-guard. “Actually, he’s growing stronger, just like he’d hoped. Like we’d hoped he would.”
“But he looks like he’s dying! He’s a prisone
r in there. You’re no better than Hitler or Dr. Frankenstein!”
Did they just smile?
“Only his body,” they said, “the strings, the machine will keep his energy, his music, alive. For us. For it. Unless you wish to take his place.”
One of them unfurled an arm and plucked a string from Zack’s side. It rang in a pitch-perfect tone. The harmonics echoed off every wall and sounded beautiful.
The other two joined in and began to play him, beautiful music emanating from his being, hooked up to their palace. He screamed with each note, songs of pain, and they thrived on it. Each stood on a side of Muddy’s brother, with one directly underneath and limbs churning like artists, teasing out a melody and harmony that sounded both sweet and bitter as notes radiated from all parts of him. His face contorted in agony with each stroke. The quintet writhed on the floor, the power of the song paralyzing them in pain. “Join your brother. All of us would enjoy it. All.” They elicited a pure song from him, his very essence.
This was their future, Muddy thought. The Tritons had planned on either killing them all or milking them dry, as they had done to his brother.
Poe stared, incredulous. She looked beyond Zack. “They really did expect us.”
Four new, empty harnesses hung on the walls.
Corey pushed himself up, in pain but also in determination as he rushed the machine and its operators. He was immediately dropped by a slash of their arms and a piercing wail that pained all of them. The sax player rolled on the floor in obvious agony. A thin wound opened up across his chest.
“What do you want?” Muddy cried. “Why us?”
“We have the brother and the muse is strong in him, like the others who came before him. He wanted to stay, to learn; a mistake, that curiosity of his. He is weak, even though the music in him is strong.”
“We can mold him our way. The others, the ones whose songs built the trials you passed, they would never enter our world. Not the way this boy did or like you did.”
Muddy felt his entire world unravel inside his mind.