by Mike Miller
Chapter XLV
Inside the Yeti’s Lair
Everything was black as Conrad drifted through the ether. His old, weary frame felt delightfully weightless as he floated. The delirious senselessness of it all was so refreshing, reminding him of a lazy afternoon spent napping in a hammock on the Suez. The sensation was wonderful, not just for the soothing peacefulness upon his senses but doubly delightful from the absence of pain.
Then his left shoulder mashed into an unrelenting and hard surface. Soon the rest of his body splattered against the jagged floor in a mess of hurt. Conrad fought to right himself, using both hands to lift himself from the cold ground.
Enough light filtered into the large cavern from unknown sources for Conrad to confirm he was in the presence of the beast. But now the monster was walking away from him. The thing placed its hands upon long columns of rock as it navigated through this labyrinth before nimbly hopping up and out of the area to disappear down a side passage above him.
Noticing that while he had been relieved of his pack of gear, Conrad was still dressed in warm enough clothing to tolerate this cold, new place. But he still shivered as he tightened his outer coat around his body.
Surveying the area, Conrad found himself in the midst of a vast cavern of astounding height and scope. From both the floor and the ceiling there protruded large spikes of rock. Some joined together in the middle to forge entire columns of stone. He rose to his feet and walked forward before something crunched underfoot.
Pausing at the strange interruption, Conrad reached for the object and held the small item aloft to better inspect it. His eyes focused in the darkness and discovered that he was holding a severed hand.
Dropping the dead appendage back onto the ground, Conrad backed away nervously as it landed with a soft squish upon the hard floor.
“That’ll be you soon, mate,” a voice said.
Conrad whirled around and found himself still alone. “Relax, partner,” the unmistakable voice said soothingly. “I can’t believe it either.”
Douglas emerged from across the cave, and Conrad wearily retreated as his old friend approached.
“So no matter what happens to us, we both still end up in this frigid hell together, eh?” Douglas mused.
“Bloody poetic,” said Conrad, still circling away from Douglas while distrust burned in his eyes.
“You know,” Douglas said walking over to a small mound on the floor. “We could have had it all, mate, and you had to go and muck it up.” He reached down and began sifting through the pile with two hands. Conrad’s eyes further adjusted to the dim light and saw that Douglas was digging through a pile of cadavers, perhaps a dozen miscellaneous body parts haphazardly reassembled together on the ground.
“Me?” Conrad scoffed defiantly. “You’re the blasted imbecile who led us onto this damned trip. We were never tracking any royal gold! This was all an excuse to dope up.”
Douglas picked up a skull that had most of its flesh removed. He peeled away some dried skin to expose smooth bone. “And still you lecture me, you fool!” Douglas shrieked wildly. Just as suddenly he laughed. “Gold, opium, in this world they’re the same. They’re both worth more than either of us to the right man.”
Douglas accusingly pointed at Conrad while the rest of his hand clutched the dead head. “If you had just believed in the ‘dammed trip’ and trusted me, then we could’ve been wealthy together.”
“What treasure?” Conrad cried with a dismissive laugh. “It’s all gone. Where the hell did it go?”
“It’s here,” argued Douglas. “Somewhere in this lair. Don’t you see? This thing scavenges everything. When it took me, it took an armful of loot with it. Why, even its tail carried a dead man back home.”
Though Conrad himself was spared and abducted likewise to Douglas’ account, the story still caused the corporal to chuckle at the absurdity. “And if you hadn’t slain Baxter, or whatever you did to him, maybe we all could have withstood that monster’s assault.”
Douglas grew strangely calm and silent. Conrad relaxed into a seat, but kept his eyes guardedly watching Douglas.
“I cannot believe my eyes and ears,” Douglas groaned impatiently. “After all this time, you still have scores to settle about the treasure, the Negro, who was right upon what. How utterly juvenile.”
Conrad knew his old mate well enough to tell that he was swelling with rage. “You’re off your onion, man,” Conrad snapped back defiantly.
Douglas flung the decapitated head at Conrad, who ducked under the missile. But Douglas was already charging forward, and just as Conrad rose, he was already being tackled by his old mate.
The force sent Conrad back into a pillar of stone from which the two men bounced and fell onto the floor.
“How dare you?” Douglas screamed as his hands clawed for Conrad’s throat. “Still you doubt me, and everything I’ve ever done for you!”
Conrad would have repudiated the remark, if he were not so busy fighting for breath. Douglas’ cold hands slid around Conrad’s throat and began to throttle him. The air being strangled from his body, Conrad tried to rip away the arms, but Douglas was powered by some uncanny source of berserk strength. A few soft blows to the body did little to soften the freakish hold.
Suddenly Douglas was knocked aside onto the ground. Conrad gasped for air as the monster sauntered past him and picked up Douglas as if the spindly warrior were a child’s doll. With one hand wrapped around Douglas’ torso, the monster inspected this unruly prisoner.
“Oh, piss off, you smelly hellspawn,” Douglas said with bitter disgust. His throat rattled with phlegm, and he projected a wad of spit onto the beast’s cheek. The creature recoiled at the attack, and Douglas cackled with laughter. As the monster grew angry at the impudence, Douglas continued gleefully.
In one simple, barely perceptible gesture, the monster squeezed down upon Douglas’ chest, and the cracking of his ribcage disgusted Conrad enough to avert his eyes at the horrifying sight.
Douglas moaned loudly, his breath short as his lungs bubbled with both air and fluid. The monster laid the defeated man down upon the ground, even propping him in a seat, a caricature of comfort though Douglas was riddled with pain.
Once the monster had lumbered away and hopped out of the room again, Conrad went over to Douglas’ side and nursed the paralysed man in his arms.
“Did--? Did you--?” Douglas sputtered, his eyes weakly unfocused as they looked past Conrad’s hovering head. His voice was strained and hollow. “Did you see that?” he finally managed.
“Sure, mate,” Conrad said, helplessly pitying the old fool. For even though their relationship had greatly soured over the disastrous week, Conrad could not deny a great sorrow for this suffering man.
“I got-- Got--” Douglas’ body spasmed as it fought for life. He choked violently, and blood spat from his mouth down his chest. “I got him good,” he said with a groan and a grin.
Chapter XLVI
The Others Arrive at the Top
Though Jah had disappeared up the path awhile ago, Baxter refused to concede to his ruthless pace and chase after him. By now he just knew that he would eventually catch up to the enthusiastic boy so long as he faithfully followed his trail. When Baxter came to a long corridor of blue ice, he found his headstrong companion kneeling down on the ground.
Upon approaching the scene closer, Baxter saw what Jah saw, a thin trickle of blood bound in the ice, as if the clear crystal ground had a human vein running just beneath its invisible skin. While the trail of death had gone soft lately, it had unmistakably returned.
Baxter’s stopping to investigate the oddity caused Jah to promptly abandon the scene and wander forward, as if he did not want to share the space. Though the blood was part of the ice, Baxter was still compelled to test the observation with his hand to ensure the strange phenomenon was no hallucination. “What do you imagine happened here?” Baxter asked aloud.
Jah was now frozen in his walk, examining
a large arabesque webbing of red adorning the walls and ceiling ahead. A cynical look back towards the soldier communicated enough of an answer. Jah simply added, “Yeti,” then resumed his march.
Dumbstruck by the sheer breadth of the work, Baxter approached the vast tapestry in gaping awe as if coming upon a masterpiece in a museum. He walked slowly into the heart of the crackled design, concerned that the broken schisms running through the ice from the ceiling to the floor might delicately shatter from his footfalls. Several epicentres of violence crushed into the ice marked points where something had violently smashed against the hard exterior. These crumpled indentations radiated broken slivers outwards from the collisions like frozen ripples in a pond. While dark red splotches of blood were mostly concentrated at these impact zones, the blood also trickled between each mark, tracing the liquid’s owner as it moved from one hit to the next. When Baxter finally realised how the eerie display of slaughter had so entranced him, he shivered with disgust, and averted his eyes to move onwards.
A strange cry whined from around the corner, startling Baxter. He unholstered his weapon, still loaded to fire, and advanced cautiously around the blind bend, prepared for any ambush.
Standing at the end of the icy corridor’s path was Rudy the mule. The beaten but alive pack animal made Baxter smile at the pleasant surprise, and the animal whinnied a familiar greeting. “Hey, Rudy,” he said with beaming friendliness. “How are you?” he asked while petting its head. The animal shivered at his touch, but approached to fondly nestle itself against the soldier. He wrapped his other arm around the animal’s neck and embraced it fondly with a massaging hug.
Looking into the creature’s eyes, he could detect fatigue and exhaustion. The sparkle of life was barely kindled within the mule. He felt sorry for the beast but also pleased at its miraculous survival. Upon inspecting the animal further, he noticed splashes of blood decorating its hide like stripes, though Baxter could not detect any wounds to the animal itself. Though the dumb donkey could not speak, its hide related an extraordinary tale.
He saw that Jah had plodded forward onto a snowy embankment, perhaps in complete oblivion to the remarkable discovery of this surviving animal at this altitude. Baxter grabbed the animal’s reins and led it forward. Slinging his equipment onto the beast’s back did not faze the animal in the slightest. In fact the animal was almost happy to contribute once again via the transport of goods.
The tunnel of ice opened up into a slope of snow, now exposing the fullness of the sky overhead which began to turn a rosy pink with the twilight sun. Now the infinite ceiling of their world was lit with a pale yellow, which still illuminated the white ice about Baxter, but gave it a faded and aged look, as if the snow had been an old, stained linen.
Up the slow marched the eager Jah along the renewed trail of blood, and Baxter was quick to pounce after him. The thick powder gobbled his feet to his knees, but something in Baxter made the thigh-high trudging move easily, as if his body knew it would be rewarded with rest if it could just ascend this final jaunt. The mule followed along dutifully, almost having to wait for Baxter to awkwardly trudge forward first to have permission to follow. Watching the monk above him, it was difficult to comprehend that he could so easily glide over the surface of the snow, as he was somehow above sinking into its slush. When Jah’s black silhouette vanished over the lip of the hill, Baxter redoubled his efforts, gritting his teeth with burning sinew to march up the long hill.
The going was not facile for the mule, but it did not complain.
Reaching the top of the summit, Baxter’s legs gradually emerged from the depths of the snow, finding purchase upon solid ground that held him aloft. He finally broke free from the trappings of the soft snow, his feet dancing forward upon solid though slippery ice. Here upon the plateau of this latest climb was a broad and flat sheet of ice. It took the weary soldier a moment to realise that he was now standing atop a frozen lake, the only possible explanation for so perfectly flat and level a surface.
The strange evenness of the ground was also offset by the stunning peculiarity of the atmosphere around him. While the blue sky was especially bright and pure, it thinned out into a dull layer of white and gray, where the thick rolling clouds in the sky now surrounded this mountain’s summit like an infinite moat. While the distant silhouettes of far-off mountains were barely visible like effervescent spectres rising from the ground, this new part of the world was the crown that rested atop the alpine terrain. There was the lake and the peak beyond it, almost perched at the far precipice like a castle whose twisted spires upwards represented the final and ultimate point of the mountain.
Breaking his mesmerised trance, Baxter saw Jah steadily pacing across the lake. Tepidly testing the strength of the surface with his toe, Baxter eventually trusted the ground enough to rest his full weight upon it, though with cautious confidence.
He nervously watched as the donkey clopped onto the icy service too. But just like the rickety bridge, the animal effortlessly waltzed across the slippery surface.
Ahead a good few dozen paces, Jah removed his staff from his back to hold by his side. The gesture alarmed Baxter, as it seemed there was but one need the boy ever really had for the weapon. The intangible buzz of a building battle began to rattle Baxter, and it alarmed him when he realised he was thoroughly unprepared.
“Wait,” Baxter hollered as he broke into a run, slipping as he began his stride.
The word did more than give the monk pause, it made him turn with a look of frustration and irritation at the unfounded interruption. “What?” he barked in a huffy snort.
“What exactly are we doing?” asked Baxter.
After studying the ass for a moment, Jah said, “I see you found a pet.”
“And you would just leave this poor thing alone?” Baxter said. “He could be useful.” To support the argument, the donkey’s tail listlessly slapped at its hide with a weak thwack.
Jah snorted in contempt. “I already have a useless pet.”
The callousness of the remark stung. “What are we doing here, Jah?” Baxter asked with added gravitas to redirect the conversation back to his pleasing.
“We are crossing to the beast’s lair,” Jah explained, holding his staff out so that its blunted tip pointed at the final peak ahead. With the gesture on the oversized rod akin to a conjurer’s wave of a wand, the manoeuvre magically revealed a hidden opening in the wall of ice, as if the sun’s slightest shift had created just the right amount of shadow for Baxter to now spy a wide hole in the rocky peak before them. The broken arch reminded Baxter of a howling mouth.
“I know,” fibbed Baxter, late to realise that their journey truly was nearing completion. “But how are we going to go about that, eh? What’s your plan?”
This confused the Asian. He quizzically looked back at the earnest African wondering almost if the question was serious or a deceptive test. “We will enter its home and kill it.”
“Yes, I know.” Baxter worked to stifle his frustration. “But how exactly? In what manner?”
Again Jah was confused by the question. “With my strength. My staff. I suppose you may shoot it.”
“Your staff,” scoffed a bewildered Baxter. “A stick.”
“Yes,” Jah brought the end quickly down upon the ice. The blow splintered the surface and made the burly soldier flinch from the unexpected strike. “It is stronger than you think, Englishman. It has been specially treated to be harder than iron. It stopped your metal bullets.”
The veracity of the statement did force Baxter to reconsider his doubt. “Still,” he began slowly, “we should try to formulate a plan.”
“I see,” said Jah. “Are you a coward?”
“What? No.” Baxter was confounded by the irrational logical leap. “No,” he reasserted. “But I could tell you from my experience, I know a certain susceptible weakness to the beast.”
“Oh?” said Jah disinterestedly.
Baxter smiled assuredly. “Absolutely. I know th
e Yeti does not like fire.”
Jah nodded slowly with a blank, unfazed expression, which piqued Baxter. “I know,” said Jah. “Of course.”
Baxter said, ‘Of course? What do you mean?”
“All animals are afraid of fire. Even you. How much do you enjoy being burned?” Jah explained. Before Baxter could interject, Jah continued, “We waste time. Let us just go.” He turned to walk onwards. “I do not need your assistance, Baxter, so you are still free to leave.”
The sudden temptation to simply club the stubborn young boy passed, and Baxter trotted along. “This has nothing to do with cowardice, Jah, or whatever strange pride drives you forward in such an obstinate manner. But if we use strategy and cunning and teamwork, those tactics will help assure our victory over the Yeti.”
“Oh, so you doubt my ability to defeat the monster?” Jah did not bother to look at Baxter, yet swelled his chest with nonchalant gusto in response.
“No, no,” though Baxter definitely doubted the boy’s ability to conquer the Yeti. This cub of a warrior, though quite scrappy, fleet and powerful, could easily be squashed by the monstrosity in a heartbeat. It was tempting to simply declare the truth of the matter, yet Baxter knew that confidence was also a vital element to success.
“Good,” said Jah. “You may help or not, just please stay out of my way.”
So Baxter resolved to devise his own plan, difficult given the wild uncertainty of the headstrong Jah. If anything, the boy appeared to yearn to be the bait, so Baxter considered what few options he possessed to determine the best manner in which to slay the demon. “As you please,” said Baxter.
Then he thought about how if he were lucky, then they would arrive to find Conrad and company having already slain the beast and in possession of their fortune. Baxter grinned at the notion.
A bleak bray from Rudy said otherwise.
Chapter XLVII