by Adams, Tom
She turned to Merrick. “You did this, didn’t you.”
“I did,” he said, “and I think it may have been a mistake.”
~~~
A swell of frustration rose within Arun.
The reward of patience is the bounty of a considered act, he quoted to himself.
Inaction is the comforting refuge of the vanquished, came another.
Damn those gnostics—always contradicting themselves.
A sound like discharging electricity jarred him out of his meditations. He looked out from his place of concealment and saw the Necrolytes move further into the chamber, towards the source of disturbance. He sprang forward, following them in.
Beyond the doorway, he saw Merrick dispatch the first Necrolyte with a mind-bullet, but the second had raised its javelin. Arun reached out, grabbed the shaft before the Necrolyte could launch it, and with a dexterity trained by years of discipline, used the beast’s own weapon to lock it in a stranglehold. With a final jerk, the martial arts master ended its pitiful life.
“What happened?” he asked Merrick.
“No time to explain,” came the reply. “We need to get out of here.”
“Which way?”
“Let Celestia lead. Shamon’s behind the gateway, but he’s got some fallout to deal with—and his method of transit isn’t exactly instantaneous.”
“What about Lotus?”
“Don’t ask,” said Celestia.
Arun took one look at Merrick. Wisdom told him to hold the questions.
They sprinted through limestone corridors. Apart from their footfalls, the passages were silent as the crypt. They had surrendered stealth to the goal of speed.
“Where are we headed?” Merrick asked, his words punctuated by laboured breathing.
“There’s a natural inlet beyond the next chamber where a stream sinks underground. I think we can escape through it,” Celestia said.
Arun bounded alongside the Psychonaut. “Sounds like we’re going to get wet.”
“We’re wet already,” replied Merrick, remembering the scene beyond the gateway. The Amorphic had teemed over them, battering them with slippery, frog-like limbs, but Celestia and he were not the object of their intent. Merrick had seen to that by planting a seed of purpose in their primitive minds. In time, Shamon would coax them back under his control, but as a delaying tactic, it was perfect. He would never have known to try it if Shamon hadn’t boasted of his conquest.
They entered the chamber Celestia had referred to, only to have their way barred by a figure dressed in what looked like a cassock. His arm extended towards them, a four-fingered hand lifted upwards. In its centre was an eye, twitching left to right, observing their approach.
“Get behind me,” Merrick said, “I’ll deal with this.”
“No,” Celestia said. “Wait a moment. I believe he means us no harm.”
She was right. Merrick sensed the man’s confusion and fear. “Who are you?” he said.
“I’m Destain,” the man replied, backing away. “You’re not Ukurum.”
Merrick looked at his face. The eyes were closed. No; where the orbits should have been, there was skin—as if he had been born without the gift of sight.
“I see you escaping from Shamon’s fortress, into dawn’s first light. But a legion of Ukurum will follow—”
The sound of a bell cut short Destain’s words; it was deafening, deep and resonant.
“They will soon be upon us,” Destain said.
“To whom is your allegiance?” Arun said.
“To the truth.”
“Look, we’ve no time for a philosophical debate,” Merrick said. “Are you coming with us, or are you staying in this festering pit?”
“I’m coming,” he said without hesitation.
Celestia jogged towards a door on the far side. “This way.”
It was unlocked. On the other side ran a passage, snaking upwards. Merrick heard the sound of falling water as they ran in its direction.
Destain kept behind Celestia but in front of Merrick. The guy was in his thirties, Merrick guessed, but despite his apparent lack of sight seemed to sprint with the grace of a gazelle. Such contradictions didn’t phase Merrick anymore. He’d seen more fantastical sights this night.
The bell continued to toll, and from above, the heavy, military sound of an approaching horde could be heard.
A look of panic crossed Destain’s face. “Necrolytes.”
“How much further, Celestia?” Merrick said.
“Through here.” Celestia stopped in front of a fissure in the wall. It was just wide enough to admit them one by one. Merrick could taste the calcium-laden air and feel the dampness on his skin, though the only light was the faint glow from a small aperture high up. The sound of water, tumbling over rocks and down a sinkhole had eclipsed that of the bell.
“I can’t see anything,” Merrick said.
“There are hand and footholds,” Celestia said, obviously sensing the contours of the subterranean escarpment. “I can’t see the detail, but I think we can feel our way.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Merrick said.
“There are two futures ahead.” Destain had raised his voice above the torrent.
“What’s he saying?” Merrick said to Arun.
“Two options will be open to us above ground,” Destain continued, “if we remain here below, then there is no choice, we’ll be taken.”
“Just what we need,” Merrick said under his breath “Mother fucking Shipton.”
“Keep moving,” Arun said. We’re committed now.”
Merrick felt the coarse rock rasp against his hands as he began to scale the cavern wall. The last time he’d climbed in earnest was back in his university days. A trip to the Peak District with Mike and the troupe. He tried to blot out the memory of his embarrassing freeze just before the summit of Stanage Edge. Mike had coaxed him up the last defiant metre of the rock face, but the spectre of his muscles locking again came back to haunt him—and he was climbing blind this time.
Lumps of grit fell on him from Celestia’s boots as she edged her way up. He spat out lime repeatedly, coughing out dust and blinking his streaming eyes to remove the irritating powder. He knew he was doling out similar fare on Arun and Destain.
As he reached up for the next handhold, fumbling in the blackness, the rock beneath his foot gave way. His chin slammed into the wall and fingers clawed at the rock in desperation.
Fear, blacker than the cavern’s gloom fired its pins and needles into his panicked brain. His feet scrambled for purchase but he found none. Biceps locked in a tetanus-like contraction as he hung there, suspended.
“Are you okay?” Celestia’s voice from above. Merrick couldn’t answer. His tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Was this where it ended? Plunging backwards into the darkness then dashed on the rocks below?
~~~
Chapter 26
The mob rules
The difference between overwhelming relief and stark terror are like opposite ends of a pendulum swing. An extreme of emotion, present in the twinkling of an eye is reversed in a plunging arc to arrive at the other pole.
This was Merrick’s experience as he felt the reassuring pressure of a hand on his foot, supporting him from below.
“Vertigo won’t kill you,” said the voice in the darkness, “but indecision will.” It was Destain.
Merrick’s words were still blocked in his throat, adhering together in a frustrating bolus.
“I’m going to lift you up,” Destain said. “Look for another handhold. If you can’t find one above, then reach out to the side—and breathe slowly. Hyperventilating isn’t going to help you at all.”
“I’m sorry to break into your thoughts,” Arun said from further down, “only I can hear the Ukurum below. They’ve followed our trail into the cavern”
“Shut out the distraction,” Destain said. “Can you reach out to me with your mind?”
Merrick re
leased an exploratory tendril of psychonautic energy. It was drawn immediately to the deep reservoir of Destain’s consciousness. He soaked in the comforting water of reassurance and immediately felt the knot of muscles ease and his mind unlock.
Reaching out to the side, his fingers found a satisfying niche. Water cascaded an arm’s length away, wetting the rock, but his fingers detected no slipperiness. He tested the handhold with a partial transferal of weight. It held, and he still had Destain’s support if it gave way. He pulled on the handhold, lifting himself up inch by inch. His free foot found another purchase allowing him to ascend, free of Destain’s grip. All the time, the stranger’s presence built a wellspring of confidence.
Merrick heard crumbling rocks fall much further below them, and knew their enemies would be upon them soon. He stole a glance up. The circular glow of dawn was bright, and he could see the unmistakable silhouette of Celestia’s bob-cut against the tequila sky.
“It’s not far to go,” he heard her say. “But hurry. Difficulté—it rises from below.”
Precious seconds later, Merrick hauled himself up through the rock aperture. He had to climb through the margins of the torrent, but a skerrick of water wasn’t going to impede him now.
On the surface, he took in the morning air. He’d never been so glad to see daylight. Destain and Arun emerged a minute later.
“No time to rest,” Arun said. They’ll be upon us in minutes.”
“We’re about a half mile from our vehicle,” Celestia said. “We must run like the wind.”
It was all Merrick could do to keep up with her. Six months in the country, eating the frugal but nutritious Turkmen diet, together with the regular workouts with Arun, had raised his fitness to a peak. But Celestia could give Paula Radcliffe a run for her money.
They had covered a few hundred yards when Celestia drew to a halt.
“What is it?” Merrick said.
“A presence ahead,” she replied.
“Who?”
Arun narrowed his eyes, staring at the umbra of undergrowth on the skyline. “The shadows—they move.”
Merrick linked minds with Celestia. They’re Amorphic, he sent.
Oui, and no longer under your control.
“It is time to make your decision,” Destain said.
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t keep stating the fucking obvious,” Merrick said. “Perhaps you could give me some options with that clairvoyance of yours.
“Fight or flight,” Destain replied. “I can see no further detail, but one choice leads to disaster.”
“And the other?”
“Significant loss.”
“Thanks a fucking bunch.”
The mob approached. It moved like oil flowing over the landscape.
“There must be hundreds of them,” Arun said.
“Thousands.” Celestia corrected him.
Merrick stared as a familiar figure ahead of the throng, coalesced from the shadows. Prongs of sunlight, breaking over the mountains behind, lit up the tall frame of a woman; face hideously scarred, the bearing confident, even regal.
“Theta,” Merrick said.
“Certainement, the bitch doesn’t die easily.”
Theta signalled the Amorphic to halt. Flanking her were a regiment of Necrolytes, mouths slobbering with vicious intent. “Merrick Whyte,” she said. The sound carried across the rugged landscape. “Jagur Shamon offered you the hand of allegiance, yet you chose to spurn him. He rarely gives such an invitation, and it is never offered twice.”
“Well forgive me for giving your master the brush-off,” Merrick replied, “but I choose my sleeping partners with great care.”
Theta sneered. The wounds to her face mutated her mouth into a repulsive rictus. “Yet evidence shows that your choices in that area have been misplaced.
The words stung Merrick, but he told himself the Ukurum lieutenant was needling him, trying to offset his resolve.
She hesitates, came Celestia’s mind, fearing us despite the superiority of numbers.
Suggestions? Merrick sent.
We can’t resist them all, and they have the advantage of higher ground. If we flee, they’ll run us down. We can outrun Necrolytes over a short distance, but they never tire. They’ll have worn us down within fifteen minutes or so.
If only we had a way to distract them.
I may be able to help here. Destain had joined them in the mental link-up. I can create multiple diversions.
“You’re mind-speaking, aren’t you.” Arun’s voice—out loud. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“Looks like we’re gonna make a run for it, Arun,” Merrick said. “Destain has a distraction planned.”
“Your silence is the resigned quietude of animals before the slaughter.” Theta’s harsh voice crackled again. “Accept your fate and receive a swift death. Resist, and your demise will be slow and agonising. I’m hoping you resist.”
Merrick smiled. “Your sado-masochistic offer is so appealing. Where does Shamon dig you fucks up from?”
Theta didn’t reply, choosing to raise her hand instead. A signal.
“Necrolytes behind,” Arun said. “She was waiting until they closed the gap.”
Theta dropped her arm, triggering a battle-cry from the horde and their descent down the hill. The thunder of feet was like the pounding of war drums.
Merrick didn’t know what was more terrifying—the silent Amorphic or the roaring of the Necrolytes. “Now would be a good time for your distraction,” Merrick said.
Destain responded. Duplications of their bodies streamed out at Destain’s unspoken command. The myriad illusions sprung in all directions taking diagonal trajectories to each other, forwards and backwards. Each illusion separated every second at an exponential rate, until Merrick couldn’t keep track.
The effect on the Ukurum was bewilderment. They switched focus left and right, looking for a target and finding none. Theta screeched her rage but was at a loss to direct her commands.
“Move,” Celestia said. “Keep close. We’ll skirt that hill to the right and circle round to the jeep.”
“Do not strike out at them,” Destain said. “My illusion relies on them not knowing the real from the unreal.”
The Outcasts sprinted off to the north. Merrick found it hard to differentiate between the illusions and his companions, and kept flicking into mind-meld with Celestia to keep on course. Their illusions numbered in thousands now, and the Ukurum lashed out in an anarchic shambles.
They threaded through a breach in the Necrolytes’ ranks and made for open ground. Merrick was starting to believe they had escaped when he noticed Arun no longer accompanied them.
“We’ve lost Arun,” he said. They stopped and looked behind, only to see the Vietnamese fending off a Necrolyte.
“They have the luck of the accursed,” Destain said.
The Necrolyte was different to its brethren. A black crest of hair adorned its scalp. A general of some sort, twice the size of Arun. It jabbed at him with a cruel-looking halberd. Arun did his best to avoid the thrusts, jumping and feinting alternately. But, despite his agility, and the convergence of several duplicates, the Necrolyte was forcing him backwards.
Merrick blinked as he saw the master of Vovinam disappear into thin air, then appear a second later—further away from the monstrosity. But he was tiring. Merrick could see the perspiration running off him in sheets, his stances less elegant and his step less assured. Merrick tried to focus his psychonautic energy, but it was impossible when his friend kept dancing around the target like a weasel.
“I’m going back,” Celestia said.
Merrick sprang after her. “I’m with you.”
“The horde sense us,” Destain shouted after them. “The general is calling them.”
Merrick watched in despair as the Necrolyte threw Arun to the ground with a side-swipe of the halberd. The sun flashed off its weapon as the beast brought it down on the prostrate man. Arun rolled to the side with t
he speed of a rattlesnake, but it wasn’t quick enough. The blade sliced through his upper arm, severing it from the shoulder. Bright red arterial blood squirted onto the dry sand as Arun looked at the place his arm used to be.
Celestia came upon the general in seconds, launching herself into a flying drop-kick. The beast sensed her and thrust the pommel of its halberd back, striking her full in the chest. She fell to the floor, winded.
Shock threatened to numb Merrick into inaction, until he heard Destain’s gentle whisper in his mind. You must strike now—concentrate on the target.
Merrick shut out the image of Celestia’s prostrate form; turned his attention from Arun, twisting in agony from his wound, ignored the approach of the Ukurum—and zoned in on the Necrolyte. Time dripped like glycerine as the creature swivelled on its feet towards him. It sensed Merrick’s pent up energy and fixed reptilian eyes on him. They burrowed into his psyche, piercing his mind with their malevolence. A descending bovine groan buzzed in his ears, like a sonic lance, threatening to break his mind. He cried out as the accumulated evil of centuries pressed down on him like a mountain of earth—suffocating and relentless.
Release the energy, sent Destain, before it’s too late.
With a warrior yell, Merrick opened the lid in his third eye and a stream of psychonautic fury erupted towards the Necrolyte. The beast offered resistance, but it was as a sandbank before a tsunami. The centre of its chest began to glow like hot embers, the fire radiating out through its ribcage.
It exploded. Burst apart, covering Celestia and Arun with its cremated flesh and ichor. The front rank of the approaching Ukurum were sprayed with the sickly yellow fluid as they ground to a halt, clearly appalled at the loss of their leader.
“Advance!” came Theta’s voice from the throng. “They are on the defensive. Crush them with your might.”
Merrick sensed the danger, but his rising psychonautic magma was not spent. He unleashed it on the Amorphic. Their defences were nothing compared to the vanquished Necrolyte and their white, greasy bodies disintegrated as Merrick’s wave of mind energy swept through them like a flame thrower. The magnitude of his power, rather than diminishing, rose in amplitude. It cut a swathe through hundreds of Ukurum. Despite the gravity of the situation, Merrick became caught up in euphoria—yet he detected a seed of doubt at his core. Was he controlling the energy, or was it controlling him?