by Unknown
Mark skipped back as the Firbolg went down on its knees. With one hand it reached for him, but he was out of its grasp now and wouldn’t be going back. Strongshield forgot about him again, trying instead to feed a clawed hand inside its mouth to pluck the offending glasses out. They were obviously wedged too deep. The monster retched once more and then went fully down on the ground, letting out a deep sigh of air that smelled like month old fish guts left to hang in the sun. When it next tried to inhale, nothing happened and its face was now almost as dark as the surrounding rock.
Strongshield stretched out along the corridor, its massive bulk almost jamming the entire space wall to wall, but even as Mark watched he saw it convulse a couple of times, then sink lower like a deflating bouncy castle. The scythes clicked, then folded in and disappeared inside the chambers in its arms. Nothing else moved.
Mark blinked at the fallen monstrosity in disbelief.
His vision was slightly blurry, but he didn’t need twenty-twenty eyesight to see the truth.
For years those NHS spectacles had been Mark’s social downfall, now they were his saving grace.
He wondered how he’d get along without them. There was no way he was going to put his arm inside that horrific mouth to pull them out. Strongshield was welcome to keep them, he decided.
He felt mightily pleased with himself, but the sensation was only fleeting. Something more important invaded his mind.
‘Rip!’
He ran over and went to his knees beside the dog.
Rip lay as still and silent as did the dead Firbolg.
20
‘Please, please, please...don’t be dead!’
Mark shook Rip’s shoulder, but the dog didn’t respond. It just laid perfectly still, its back to the wall and its four paws all crossed over each other. His pink tongue drooped out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Oh, no...’
Mark shook the dog again, a little rougher this time.
‘Please wake up. Please?’
He tried to lift the dog, to try to roll him nearer so he could cradle him, but the dog felt too heavy. Distractedly Mark wondered if the weight of an Egyptian god was inside the dog, but no. It wasn’t that. Just dead weight.
Mark felt the tears stream down his face. Normally he was embarrassed by his emotions; for a start he’d never cried in front of his parents when they’d told him the terrible news about Jake, he had held them back as they were crying enough for the entire world. He thought that if he cried for Jake then he wouldn’t be able stop, so he held it all back. Now, all the grief came flooding out, centred on this dog that he’d only known for a day or so. But the tears were for everyone that he’d lost.
There was a movement beside him.
‘Mark?’
He looked but his vision was streaked with thick tears. He wiped a hand over his eyes but it didn’t help. He scrubbed his face with the front of his shirt, sniffed down the snot gathering in his throat. Coughed a couple of times. Looked for the owner of the voice.
A head popped out of a pipe in the wall, defying the dimensions of the small circular hole it extended out of.
‘Mark. You’re still alive?’
Mark nodded dumbly up at Tu. The little man looked from him to the settling bulk of Sreng Strongshield. Then back at Mark again.
‘You did it. You killed one of the Firbolg champions?’
‘I didn’t kill him,’ Mark said. The satisfaction he’d felt when seeing the monster collapse was like a distant memory, something he could reach for if he wanted to, but his grief over Rip was too strong. ‘He just ate something that didn’t agree with him.’
Tu chuckled.
‘I wasn’t making a joke, Tu. How can you laugh when Rip has been killed?’
‘Killed? Rip? Oh, you mean Ammut?’ Tu squirmed all the way out of the pipe. Mark tried not to watch: the little man’s body elongated like he was made only from fluid within his skin – like a worm – and slithered down the wall next to Rip. There he stood up, again appearing whole and solid.
‘I thought you were going to meet me at the great chamber, Tu?’
‘We weren’t sure you’d make it. We waited to see what would happen first.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Mark said, disconsolately.
Tu studied Strongshield. ‘Hee-hee! Something he ate...’
‘I told you I wasn’t joking. How can you laugh at a time like this?’
Tu turned and looked at Rip. He stuck out his bottom lip. Looking glum, he dug a hand in his trouser pocket. ‘I’ve been saving this for a special occasion.’
He was holding a chocolate biscuit that had no place in this crazy world.
Tu shrugged. ‘I told you that we sometimes go and check on the progress of humanity. They make good biscuits these days...and I have a sweet tooth. After all the veg I occasionally need something with a little more taste!’
Mark was astounded. He watched Tu peel off the wrapper, a look of wistful remorse on the little man’s face. Then Tu crouched down next to Rip’s head. ‘Does the wittle puppy want a chocky bicky?’
The result was amazing.
Rip went from being dead still, to up-right faster than Mark could follow. The dog sat down, tongue lolling, wiggling his backside and lifting a paw to the little man.
Tu snapped off the top third of the biscuit and held it out to Rip. The dog slurped the gift out of his little hand and sat there chewing with a smug look on his face. ‘You clever devil,’ Tu said. ‘I knew you were only playing around. You smelled the biscuit in my pocket earlier and knew I’d have to give you some.’
Rip wiggled his backside again, his tail sweeping the floor.
Mark was dumbstruck.
He looked from Rip to the little man. Tu, discretely snapped off another third of the biscuit, glanced around and then popped it into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed. Then he blinked at Mark’s expression. ‘Don’t worry, I saved some for you.’
Robotically Mark accepted the gift. Not that he was averse to chocolate biscuits – not by any stretch of the imagination – but he was too stunned to place the sweet morsel in his mouth. When he looked down at it, Rip’s nose was less than an inch from it. Drool hung from his tongue.
‘You were only pretending?’ Mark didn’t know whether to be angry or delighted.
Delighted won out.
He dropped to his knees throwing his arms around the dog and hugging him. To heck with displaying his emotions! He laughed loudly, admonishing and then praising the dog with equal enthusiasm.
Rip grumbled and huffed, but enjoyed the attention. But he was more interested in the chocky bicky. Mark fed it to him, watching the frown on Tu’s face out the corner of his eye. He saw the little man’s shoulders lift in a shrug, then he dug into his pocket and pulled out another biscuit.
‘Two for the price of one at the Larchwood village store,’ he said. ‘How could I turn down an offer like that?’
Mark wondered how the heck Tu could wander into the village shop, looking as he did. Maybe Old Man Tanner ran errands for him? Or perhaps Tu squirmed in through the letterbox to do his shopping when the store was closed. In the end he gave up, it didn’t really matter. He was just happy that Rip had survived his encounter with the Firbolg.
This time Tu gobbled down two-thirds of the biscuit and offered only the bottom third to Rip. Both the little man and Rip stood looking at each other, chewing in synchronised satisfaction.
Now that he thought about it, Mark would have enjoyed a bite, but he wasn’t complaining.
He patted Rip on his shoulders, marvelling that the dog had managed to escape serious injury – any injury for that matter – and said, ‘Come on, you sly old dog. We’ve got my friends to save.’
Rip woofed in agreement. Licked some melted chocolate from his nose, then dipped his head in thanks to Tu.
Mark collected the shotgun and sword, surprised that he could actually see so clearly now that his tears had dried. Another strange effect o
f this weird world?
Tu had squirmed back into the pipe, but – in direct contrast to the possible – had twisted round so his head was sticking out the end. ‘I’d better keep off the biscuits from now on. It’s getting to be a bit of a squeeze getting in and out of here.’
He pulled his head into the pipe with a plop.
Mark blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to watching the man’s Tuatha-style disappearing act. Not without a queasy feeling at any rate.
‘The great chamber...’ Tu’s voice echoed from the pipe.
‘I’m going,’ Mark laughed.
Turning to Rip he kneeled down beside him. He wrapped an arm around the dog and pulled him close. ‘Don’t ever do that to me again, you rogue.’
Rip danced his eyebrows, then pulled out of Mark’s embrace and trotted away, leaving Mark to shake his head in amusement.
Mark followed.
Sreng Strongshield’s body almost blocked the entire passage, but there was enough room to get by if they stepped over one of his outstretched arms. Mark had the nasty feeling that as he did so the monster would jump up, grab him and finish what he’d started. But, it appeared, Rip was the only one good at playing possum. They passed the giant by then walked around the piles of ashes that were all that was left of the first two Firbolg.
The feeling that he’d been very lucky indeed didn’t escape Mark; however he was also slightly emboldened by his success up until now. He wondered if Jake would have been proud of him. This time there weren’t any tears, just a mild feeling of pride that he’d become a warrior just like his brother.
They came to a crossroad in the tunnel. The way stretched ahead of them, lost in darkness, while to each side Mark saw that the tunnels were narrower, but were brightly lit by torches. He wasn’t sure which he preferred. The light made the going easier, but it also made him an easier target.
‘Where to now, Rip?’ Hopefully Mark pointed ahead with the tip of the sword.
Rip shook his head, pointed his nose towards the passage on the left.
Mark sighed, but there was nothing else for it. He had to go where the danger lay because that was where he’d find Shax and Amy. He was all for that except there he’d also find Skathalos.
He stepped out onto the crossroads and turned so he was facing along the corridor. From a long way off came a note that swelled then fell before swelling again. ‘Is that someone singing? I’m surprised anyone could feel good enough to sing a song.’
Rip snorted, then set off down the passage they’d chosen.
So, Mark thought, it isn’t singing then?
21
The singing seemed to get louder the further they progressed along the passageway, but the nearer they came to the source the less Mark could make out the words. If indeed they were words. If they were it was in a language he’d never heard of before, and the tongue that twisted them into the lilting tune wasn’t human.
He carried the sword as though it was a medieval torch, held up at the side, as if brandishing it, expecting at any second to be assailed by the latest monstrosity that Skathalos would throw against him.
Occasionally both Mark and Rip came to a standstill, listening intently to new sounds in the corridor. There were the softest of clicks and the infrequent bump of something a little more solid striking stone. Each time Mark concluded that it was merely the subtle movement of Tu and the little Tuatha men progressing via their secret ways.
‘How far have we to go now, Rip?’
They had come to yet another crossroads and Mark watched as the dog sat down. It lifted a paw and then patted the ground three times. The dog’s explanation didn’t mean much to Mark: was he counting miles, minutes or days? Whatever it was the dog frowned and Mark could tell what he meant this time.
‘We’re getting near and the danger is growing?’
Rip jiggled his eyebrows.
When he stood up he took the latest left turn, but this time he crept forwards more stealthily and with his shoulders bunched in readiness to leap aside.
Mark studied the passage. Whereas the ones before had been formed from slick black stone, featureless but for the occasional pipe or duct, this passage had been decorated with magnificent friezes, chiselled from the rock by master artisans. Mark thought that the pictograms were awesome works of art – even if he couldn’t make much sense of the weird and almost hallucinogenic images. They were swirls and geometric shapes that all blended in to the next and when he tried to stare at them for too long it was as though the patterns melted and flowed and became like a viscous river of tar that disobeyed the law of gravity by following a vertical rather than horizontal plane.
Watching the patterns was almost hypnotic. In fact he could just stand there forever and become lost in trying to find order in the chaotic flow. It was so random and beautiful and...
Something nipped him hard.
‘Ouch!’
Looking down he saw that Rip was poised to bite his backside a second time.
‘What are you doing?’ His whisper came out a little harsher than he meant.
Rip jabbed his nose in the direction of the walls, then at Mark. He bugged his eyes then swung his head round in circles. Then he looked directly at Mark and shook his head.
Mark understood the dog quite clearly.
‘The patterns are a trap? They mesmerize you and hold you until Skathalos’ henchmen come and get you?’
The dog grinned at Mark.
Mark couldn’t help glancing again at the patterns.
‘They are incredible...’
Rip bared his teeth.
‘OK! OK! I won’t look. I promise.’
Rip scooted round behind him, nudging him forward.
‘Hey, I’m not a sheep. Give over!’
But Rip wouldn’t give over, he continued herding Mark through the passageway like he was a recalcitrant lamb.
The dog’s actions had the desired result. It got Mark’s mind off the weird patterns and back on the task at hand.
Mark became aware of the strange music he’d heard earlier. It had never stopped, he supposed, it had just been pushed from his mind by the hypnotic effect of the pictograms. Now that he was nearer to the source it didn’t so much sound like singing as it did the continuous moaning of many voices lifted in sorrow.
They came to another crossroads, and this time Mark was reluctant to follow Rip around the latest left turn, dreading what he might see.
Except he knew that to save his friends he had to.
He hitched his shotgun on his shoulder, raised the sword up and stepped around the bend.
What he found was worse than anything he could ever anticipate.
It was another passage. Artists had been at work here as well, but the ones that had wielded the chisels this time were of the diabolical variety.
The walls were covered floor to ceiling by the faces of men, women and children. These moved and flowed like the pattern in the preceding corridor, but this was much more awful. Mark stared in disbelief and horror. The faces were alive, trapped forever in this twisting frieze of rock. From their agonised faces their voices moaned and screamed and sobbed in torment.
Mark didn’t need Rip’s wisdom to know what this meant.
Skathalos took the heads of his victims, stole their life force but this was where he condemned their souls.
Even as he realised it, something even more terrible surged to the surface of the wall. Unlike the other figures, this one wasn’t just a head but an entire human shape. It was hazy and ill formed at first, but as he gaped at it, the features became more defined.
Mark stepped back, shaking his head in horror.
The figure looking back at him was that of Old Man Tanner. The old man smiled sadly at him – his look saying at least you’ve made it this far - before melting back into the rock wall.
Now Mark knew what the old man meant when he said he was only partly dead. Skathalos hadn’t just taken his head; he’d taken his entire being, trappin
g it along with his spirit for all eternity in this wall. The Tanner who’d escaped from this world was little more than a hollow shell who only existed through the will of his conscious mind. No wonder he was able to disappear when he didn’t actually exist in the real world.
‘Oh, Dear God,’ Mark said. This insane place wasn’t Oz or Narnia or anything from the fables. ‘Mr Tanner’s trapped in Hell.’
When Rip bit him this time it was a lot gentler than before. The dog shook his head and there was deep sadness in the depths of his chocolate eyes. He took a step forwards, jerked his head.
Mark took no coaxing to follow this time. He couldn’t look at the tortuous features of those trapped here for all eternity.
Before he knew it he was running and a new set of moans had joined those of the people in the stone. If he had both hands free he would most likely have jammed his palms over his ears, but he couldn’t avoid the perpetual crying. If he could have closed his eyes to avoid looking he would have too.
As it was, the end of the corridor couldn’t come soon enough.
Finally coming to the end he shuddered to halt.
He tried not to, but his eyes searched the walls, hoping that he was beyond the images of the faces in the stone. There were less here, but there were still crying faces. One of them drew his gaze and he sobbed loudly.
‘I wish I knew where I was going to die!’ moaned the tiny figure.
Mark cried now, huge tears streaming from his eyes.
‘No! No! How can this be? Jake didn’t die here...’
His brother’s face twisted in torment, sight unseeing, unaware of Mark so close by. Mark sobbed, reached out tentatively to touch the tiny face. Then his gaze was pulled away from Jake and another little face there with its distinctive sticky-out ears caught his attention. Beside it, cut in stone was a girl who opened her mouth in a silent scream showing the braces on her teeth.