by Steve Feasey
‘I think that the nocturnal inhabitants of this place are keen for us to leave,’ Alexa said, keeping her eyes fixed on the shadows for any sign that the natives might be planning to do something more than just hiss at them.
‘We’ll be gone from here soon,’ the Ashnon replied. ‘They’ll just have to wait a little while longer.’
A grating sound above them caused them to momentarily forget the shadow dwellers and look up to see the metal shutters slide back across each other to reveal the narrow black passageway beyond.
Alexa started forward, but the Ashnon stopped her with an outstretched arm. ‘You might want to wait a moment or two,’ it said.
Fresh muck spewed down from the overhead opening, spattering Alexa’s shoes and trousers. Something solid plopped down into the muck and rolled over to one side, and when Alexa looked over to see what it was, the hollowed-out eyes of a horned skull stared back at her mockingly.
‘Quickly – we must go now before the chute closes again. It will not remain open for long,’ the Ashnon said, grabbing her by the elbow and urging her towards the still dripping opening.
She jumped up, her fingers only just maintaining their grip on the slippery wet rim of the tunnel entrance. The Ashnon gave her a push from beneath, and Alexa heaved herself up into the blackness.
‘Move forward so that I can get up too. Quickly,’ the Ashnon called from below.
Alexa had believed that nothing could smell as bad as the fetid stink she had just come from. Now, inside the rubbish chute, she knew she’d been wrong. The tunnel was narrow, forcing her on to all fours, so that her hands, feet and lower legs were submerged in liquid filth. The smell was vile. It was so overpowering that it stung her eyes, forcing her to clamp them shut as she gagged repeatedly. She finally managed to control the heaving of her stomach, and she opened her eyes again, blinking through the tears. The dim light from outside revealed the space through which she would have to crawl, and a wave of panic swept through her. If anything, the tunnel narrowed even further up ahead, and she knew that she would be forced to get down on her belly to inch her way through the space. A loud sob escaped her, the fear piling in on itself and taking her over completely. She wanted to get out of this place. She felt as though the walls were contracting, squeezing in on her. She tried to back up, but panic gripped her and she froze, her body refusing to respond to the commands she sent to it. She could hear the demon imploring her from below, telling her to crawl forward so that it could get up into the tunnel behind her; the Ashnon’s voice was getting louder and more frantic as it reminded her that the chute would not stay open for long. Alexa forced her hand to move forward again, and it sank down into something soft and yielding, which popped beneath the pressure and released yet another foul odour into the enclosed space. She was dimly aware that the Ashnon had leaped up to hang on to the rim of the tunnel opening behind her, and she could feel the demon desperately shoving at the backs of her legs and feet with its one free hand, urging her to advance. It was shouting into the tunnel at her now, its voice harsh and desperate. It was saying something about the opening and about her making her way through the tunnel alone. Its words finally hit home. If she did not move, she would be stuck in this hell … on her own. She shook her head and tried to combat the fear that had all but taken her over. She knew that she had to make herself move forward.
There was a grinding sound behind her. The metal iris began to slide shut, the circular opening narrowing in diameter until it was nothing more than a spot, and then that too disappeared as the exit closed completely.
She was left in the darkness. Alone.
The black was absolute. There was nothing. No tendril of light reached down into the void from the tunnel up ahead, and the only sounds were the drip-dripping of something from the tunnel roof and her own ragged breathing. Something banged on the door behind her, the sound causing her to jump in alarm. She turned her head a little – no other movement was possible in the confined space – and listened.
‘Alexa!’ the Ashnon called out, its voice muffled by the thick metal separating them. ‘Alexa, can you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ she cried out. She winced; the sound, amplified by the confined space, hurt her ears.
‘You need to go forward, Alexa. The tunnel is in constant use. It will become full again, and you do not want to be inside it when that happens. You need to make your way through it.’ The Ashnon paused before adding, ‘I will find another way inside and then I will find you.’
The creature waited for a reply. After a moment or so, it called out again. ‘Alexa?’
She didn’t want to shout again. The noise reminded her of just how tight a space she was in. Instead, she concentrated hard. She closed her eyes and formed the familiar words of the spell, concentrating on projecting the words into the Ashnon’s head.
‘I’m not good with small spaces. I know I should have said something, but I thought I’d be able to cope. I’m sorry.’
There was a pause as the Ashnon took this in. ‘You can do this, Alexa,’ it shouted from behind the metal shutters. ‘You can make it through there.’ There was a bang on the door again as if the Ashnon had jumped up and given it a slap with its hand. ‘I’ll see you at the other end.’
‘You told me there was no other way in. No way past the Fae gates.’
‘I will not be in the same form as I am now, but I’ll be there. Now go!’
Alexa took a deep breath, ignoring the stench that filled her lungs. She put her hand out, and shuffled her knees forward, and began her long trip up through the tunnel.
14
The crimson gloom that had descended over the landscape lent the shadows cast by the high walls an eerie, bloody quality that was difficult to see through. Even so, Trey could tell that the fortress was laid out in the classic style of castles he’d visited on school trips when he was younger: the outer ward, which they were crossing now, was enclosed by the main curtain wall, with its guard towers and archers. He and Dreck were heading towards the inner curtain wall, and beyond this would be the keep and the Great Hall.
Trey wondered at the lack of guards on this side of the walls. The only nether-creature that they had encountered – a shambling, babbling thing covered from head to toe in long black quills – was clearly so drunk that it could hardly stand, let alone question their right to be there.
As they approached the inner curtain wall Trey could see that there were a number of business premises set into it. Three or four of these still had their lights on, the sickly glow spilling out of the windows into the courtyard. Raucous noise – shouts, laughter, arguments and singing – could be heard coming from the open windows of these establishments, and it was clear to Trey that they were all hostelries of some kind. Judging from the racket, they must be very busy. Trying to stick to the shadows, Trey and Dreck approached an arched gateway set in the wall.
‘The Crimson Fang,’ Dreck said, nodding towards one of the hostelries to their right. ‘Busier in there than usual.’
Trey stopped, reaching out to halt the Fire Imp and turning him about. ‘You’ve been here before? Inside the castle?’
Dreck shrugged and turned his back on the teenager again. ‘My favourite drinking den.’
The tone of the Fire Imp’s voice suggested that he’d be more than happy to join the other nether-creatures currently inside the Crimson Fang, and Trey had a sudden uneasy feeling about Dreck’s intimate knowledge of the castle grounds. He was about to question the demon further when a door was flung open to their left, the action accompanied by the forceful ejection of a pig-faced creature that was sent sprawling to the ground by a huge, muscular demon with a cruel-looking mouth.
‘And stay out!’ the bigger demon shouted after Pigface, spitting in the nether-creature’s direction. ‘If you ever come back, I’ll rip your stinking face off and feed it back to you!’
‘Come on,’ Dreck said, quickly taking Trey by the elbow and steering him towards the darkness of the archway b
etween two of the buildings.
They passed unimpeded through the covered alley and emerged into the inner ward beyond. They both stopped and stared up at the ghastly construction that was the centrepiece of the citadel. It was clear to Trey that this edifice – unlike most castle keeps – was not designed to be the last bastion of defence: there were no stone walls, no arrow loops or murder holes with which to repel would– be attackers. No, the purpose of this structure was to strike fear into the heart of any would-be attacker, to make them consider the consequences of an unsuccessful assault.
The walls of the keep were made up of hundreds, possibly thousands, of cages, all of different shapes and sizes, stacked together in a chaotic manner to create a vast pyramidal structure. The cages were bound together by great lengths of chain, hooks and metal claws providing the links.
And the cages were occupied. Even from this distance, it was clear to Trey that most of the nether-creatures inside the cages were dead or dying, and that they had been killed in the most heinous and vile ways imaginable. Every cage was a testimony to torture and misery, and some of the victims were still undergoing their punishment; groans and cries drifted out across the courtyard to Trey’s and Dreck’s ears. There were creatures crawling over the surface of the structure: terrible-looking things with green luminous eyes that peered into the cages and occasionally reached in to try to grab an occupant. Trey could see one of them sitting atop one of the cages gnawing on what he thought might have been a dismembered foot.
‘Please don’t tell me that Alexa is in one of those,’ Trey said in a small voice.
Dreck was staring up at the structure with a strange look on his face. ‘No, these cages are for the Netherworld enemies of Molok. They are not for humans. He has other … lodgings for those guests.’ The Fire Imp turned to look at him. ‘You have to admit that it’s a powerful incentive not to cross the demon lord. A little theatrical for my tastes, but it’s had the desired effect on most of Molok’s enemies through the centuries.’
‘And how do we get in?’ Trey asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the appalling vista before him.
‘The door is over there,’ Dreck said, pointing straight ahead.
‘That’s it? That’s your plan? To just walk in the front door?’ Trey heard trepidation in his own voice.
‘Have you a better one?’
Trey knew that it wasn’t just the the Fire Imp’s apparent lack of a plan that was causing him consternation: he had no wish to get any closer to the terrible structure, and the idea of approaching those death-filled cages caused an icy shiver to knife its way down his spine. Eventually he took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘No, I haven’t. OK, the front door it is. I just hope that the doorbell is working.’
Trey followed the Fire Imp across the open space towards the doorway. With each step his unease grew. There were no guards of any kind in sight. No roaming security, no lookouts, no towers filled with archers. The lack of defences bothered him. It made no sense to leave the place so open to invasion.
As they approached the entrance Trey’s eyes were drawn towards the blackness of the opening. Dreck stood in front of it, looking into the void with what the teenager thought was an expression of awe.
‘What is it?’ Trey asked, now standing at the Fire Imp’s side.
‘A Fae gate. Impassable to any living creature of flesh and blood. Anyone foolish enough to try to enter through it will be destroyed in seconds.’
The teenager looked into the blackness. It seemed harmless enough. He was about to say so when he heard the tiny voices for the first time. He leaned forward a little, hoping to get a clue as to what they were saying. They were indistinct at first, just a babble of tiny whispers, but suddenly words began to form out of the noise.
Come, Trey. Enter the gate. Your friends are already here. Come. Walk through. No harm will come to you.
The flute-like sound of the Fae’s imploring voices filled his head, and Trey was momentarily beguiled by the beauty of the cries. But he was certain that there was powerful magic at play here, and he shook his head as if he might rattle loose the voices that had taken up residence there. They were insistent. He looked over at his companion. ‘Is there another way in?’ he said loudly. ‘I don’t like this one little bit.’
‘Why would there be another way in?’ Trey noticed the reverential tone in which Dreck spoke about the gate, and it bothered him. ‘This gate has been here for over a hundred years, and the Fae have guarded this place well for all that time.’
‘You seem to know an awful lot about it,’ Trey said.
‘I should do. I installed it.’
‘What?’
‘There are two of them – this one and the one that guards the Great Hall. I installed them both.’
Trey stared at the Fire Imp. ‘You were responsible for building this place?’ He looked up at the horrific construction again.
Dreck gave a little shake of his head, his eyes never leaving the Fae gate. ‘No, just the security. Just the entrances.’
‘Did Tom know about this?’
‘Let’s go, shall we?’ Dreck said, as if he had not heard the question. He took a couple of steps towards the entrance, stopping just short of the curtain of blackness, and turned to face the teenager.
‘I thought you said that it was impassable. That nothing could enter without being destroyed.’ The voices were insistent in Trey’s head, and he found it difficult to form his own words over the din.
‘That is true … for anyone not wearing this.’ The Fire Imp held up his right hand and gestured to the ring on his forefinger.
‘And what is that?’
‘A key. A key to pass through the Fae gate. Step forward. I will have to link arms with you. We need to be in physical contact to be able to pass through together.’
‘Do all the inhabitants of the castle wear one of those then?’
Dreck gave the teenager a strange look. ‘No. Molok controls the Fae gate from within the castle. He decides who can, and who cannot, pass through this portal.’
‘But you’ve got a key?’ Trey eyed the Fire Imp suspiciously.
‘One of the perks of installing a security system is that you always know how to get around it.’ Dreck looked about them, ensuring that they were still unobserved. ‘We really must enter now.’
Trey hesitated. He stared at the blackness again and noted how the voices had gone silent, as if the Fae too were waiting for him to make up his mind.
‘I’m not going in there with these things on my wrists,’ he said, looking at his guide.
‘I think it would be better to keep them on.’
‘I don’t.’
Dreck stared at the boy for a moment before giving a little shrug. ‘Fair enough. I suppose they’ve served their purpose now.’ He stepped forward, pulling a small key from a pouch hanging from his belt. He undid the handcuffs and stepped back, watching the boy massage the feeling back into his hands and forearms. ‘Shall we go, or shall we stand here in plain view of anyone who comes along?’
Trey looked at the Fire Imp’s outstretched hand. He paused a moment, and then took it in his own.
The voices started up again. They were louder now, and the imploring tone had gone, replaced with an undisguised anger. The creatures, hidden in the darkness, hissed and spat. Some screeched, their words impossible to make out among the cacophony of noise and ire. But while Trey was unable to pick out what they were saying, he was aware that their hatred was directed not at him but at the nether-creature at his side. He caught the words ‘traitor’ and ‘deceiver’ as Dreck pulled his hand and they stepped into the darkness.
15
Lucien hit the djinn, backhanding the creature with a blow that was meant more as a means of getting its attention than an attempt to hurt it in any meaningful way. The Grell spat out a mouthful of black gore and smiled back at the vampire through bloodied teeth. Lucien had been questioning the nether-creature for nearly an hour now, and it showed no sign
s of revealing the information that he hoped it knew.
‘You can hit me as much as you like, but I will not betray Caliban to you. Should I do that, the punishment that he will mete out would be far greater than anything you could do to me.’
‘I shouldn’t be too sure of that, Grell,’ Lucien said, glaring at the creature tied to the chair. They were in a basement beneath a building, which Moriel had suggested would be an ideal place for the interrogation.
They’d had a tip-off from one of Moriel’s spies suggesting the Grell was close to Caliban and might know his whereabouts, and the Arel had acted swiftly to capture it and bring it here. The vampire had convinced Moriel to let him talk to the demon first, and to his surprise the battle-angel had agreed. When Lucien had walked into the subterranean vault, closing the heavy door behind him, he was in no doubt that it had been used by Moriel before: large metal rings were set into the walls, and from these hung heavy chains and manacles. The stone floor beneath these was stained almost black with dried patches of what he assumed to be blood. The place had an oppressive feel to it, but if the Grell was intimidated by its surroundings, it was doing a good job of hiding it.
‘This is your last chance. I won’t ask you again,’ Lucien said, leaning in close to the Grell and trying to ignore the foul smell emanating from the nether-creature. ‘So I suggest you do your best to remember something of use to me, something to help me locate my brother.’
The Grell’s response was to spit in the vampire’s face, and Lucien straightened up, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiping away the blood and saliva.
‘That wasn’t very nice,’ he said, the coldness in his voice unmistakable.