The Realm of the Drells

by Kenneth Zeigler

  With both hands the warrior plunged his dagger into the muscular tentacle, once, twice, three times, bringing forth great gushes of nearly fluorescent blood. The tentacle released him, yet rather than retreat, he advanced upon the central mass of flesh and muscle, at the very heart of the tentacles, stalks, and mouths. The dagger was driven deep into slimy flesh and muscle countless numbers of times, until all life had flown from the beast. He withdrew the dagger a final time, and facing his people, raising the blood stained blade into air.

  Wulvers and humans alike rose defiantly to their feet, shouting and clapping, hailing the conqueror. In the midst of their despair they had found a hero. Even Connie, in her anguish, hailed the champion, for this precious moment was theirs.

  Yet their victory was short lived. A minute later the conqueror dropped to his knees, overcome by the lethal sting of the beast. He collapsed to the ground, joining the creature in death.

  Dre Kon rose to his feet in anger, storming to the balcony of his royal box, high above the arena floor. He glared at humans and wulvers along the far side of the arena. “You’ll regret your insolence!” he roared. “The games ahead shall bring you, all of you, to your knees.”

  Dre Kon turned to the site of the battle. It took but a glance to engulf the beast and its conqueror in a blinding ball of blue flame that persisted for but a moment. When its luminance faded, nothing remained to bear witness to the last battle of the brave warrior.

  “All of your victories, all of your glories, are nothing in our sight,” taunted Dre Kon, pointing a gaunt and accusing finger at the crowd.

  A door along the wall of the arena burst open. Four victims, dressed in the filthy garb of the human slaves were escorted into the arena by eight burly black hooded executioners. Yet as the barefoot victims drew nearer, it became apparent that only two were humans. Dre Kon had selected a young male and female of each race for his next insidious game. The four were taken to four tall posts set deep into the ground in the middle of the arena. These were the gray stalks of the great mushrooms of the lower caverns, as hard and resilient as oak. Their nearly indestructible nature would serve Dre Kon’s purposes well.

  The backs of the victims were slammed against the heavy posts, their wrists chained behind them. Heavy black chains were drawn from the ground, pulled tightly about the waists, ankles, and necks of the terrified youths to bind them securely to the stakes. The executioners took large shovels and proceeded to dig into a prepared heap of dried dung. They piled the filth deep about their victim’s feet, fuel for the blaze to come.

  Debbie shivered, driven to despair by the terrible spectacle. Had she been the root cause of all of this? Perhaps it should have been her down there, not these innocents. There were tears in her eyes when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t give up hope, child,” said Lukor. His voice was quiet yet his resolve seemed unwavering. “You must remain strong, for da day may yet be won. Kadra and da others will succeed, I feel it.”

  “I can’t bear to watch this,” wept Debbie. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

  “We must wait,” replied Lukor gazing into the gem that would call forth the beginning of their rebellion. “Put da terrors ya see before ya out of yer mind. Concentrate on our revenge, fill yer soul with hate fer da drells, let nothing else abide there.”

  The eight executioners had completed the grim task of heaping the foul tinder about their victim’s feet. One of them raised a torch to the sky, it ignited in a flash of blue fluorescence. For a moment he stood there, awaiting a sign from his drell master.

  The bound youths gazed at their friends and family in the stands above them, horror in their eyes, as the blaze was kindled. The fire spread with surprising swiftness, crackling and popping, burning with an intense heat. The wulver youths cried forth in anguish as the flames grew ever nearer, ever hotter. The faint murmurs of the two humans could not be heard above the crackling of the fire or the howls of their counterparts, yet their frenzied struggling spoke of their terror.

  Soon the flames caressed flesh and fur, singeing and then charring them, filling the air with a terrible stench. The four victims wiggled wildly to escape the burning touch of the fire that danced about them, yet their bonds held firm. The flames engulfed them, even as the executioners relentlessly stoked the blaze. It was several minutes before the howls emanating from the inferno fell silent, leaving only the roar of the towering flames, and popping of flesh to bear testimony to their presence.

  “Debbie’s terror had reached a point almost beyond human endurance. Someone had to do something. This was inhuman. She prayed like she’d never prayed before but it seemed in vain. Yet there was something else in Debbie’s soul, a presence, weak and nebulous. For several minutes it persisted, like a voice deep within her. Its tone was kind and compassionate, yet too faint for her to discern the words. Then for but a precious moment it cleared becoming almost as real as the events around her.

  “Don’t despair child,” said a woman’s voice. “All is not lost. Remember your dream? Stand ready.”

  “That voice, it sounded like Ron’s Aunt Sybil, Debbie was sure of it. Then another voice emerged from the background noise of her confused mind. This voice was far more familiar.

  “My love, don’t give up or give in,” said David. “We both see and hear what’s going on. The tales of our deaths have greatly exaggerated. The drells tried to blow up the FENS instrument but they failed. I don’t think they know that yet so keep it to yourself. It might be best if they think we’re dead. By the way, we killed at least one and probably two more of them here on Earth.”

  “Oh David, you’ve got to tell Dr. Wilson to get these people out of here,” whispered Debbie.

  “We can’t, at least not yet,” said David. “FENS is down. They’re working on it, but it’s going to take time. I don’t know how much.” There was a pause. “We’re losing the link. “I’ll try and get back to you if I can. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” said Debbie.

  The presence vanished. Debbie found herself confronted by the horror once more.

  “Are you alright?” Lukor asked, leaning in her direction.

  “I am now,” whispered Debbie. “I’ve just spoken to David. I don’t know how but I did. The drells are lying, they didn’t destroy the FENS machine or the scientists. There is still hope.”

  Lukor nodded but didn’t reply. Debbie wasn’t sure if he believed her or not, but it wasn’t important. The important thing was that there was still hope.

  Chapter 23

  Claudia found Ron in the FENS laboratory assisting Dwayne with the inductor assembly. She hesitated. They looked very busy but this was important, she’d have to interrupt him. “Dr. Griego, we have an emergency in room 136,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I think you’d better come and see.”

  Ron looked up at Claudia and then back at Dwayne.

  “You go ahead, doc,” said Dwayne. “I can handle it from here.”

  Ron followed Claudia, who seemed indeed upset.

  “It’s one of the patients who came in last night,” said Claudia, leading Ron quickly down the hall. “I don’t understand it. He’s running a fever of 115.”

  “No, that’s impossible,” objected Ron, “the instruments must be giving you a false reading.”

  “Then you come and see for yourself,” objected Claudia, something between anger and panic in her voice.

  Ron’s attitude softened. “OK, Claudia, let’s take a look.”

  Entering room 136 Ron discovered Dr. Wilson, Dr. Morgan, and two nurses frantically working on the boy. His skin was fiery red, covered with boils that were literally undulating from second to second.

  “He’s almost too hot to touch!” exclaimed Morgan, “How is that possible?”

  “We need to get him into an ice bath, hurry,” ordered Wilson.

  It became very clear to Ron that there was nothing he could do. His presence would only complicate mat
ters. He stepped back out into the hallway.

  “There’s more,” said Claudia, practically pulling Ron to Debbie’s room. “Your aunt had been in there with her hand on Debbie for over an hour. David went in about fifteen minutes ago. Then things really got crazy. Something has happened that I just can’t understand.”

  Ron found Sybil sitting in a chair, her hand upon Debbie’s head. David sat in his wheel chair beside her, his hand on hers, and the place where both hands were in contact was actually glowing.

  “What’s causing that?” asked Claudia.

  “I don’t know,” replied Ron, drawing closer.

  It was then that Detective Hicks walked into the room with another middle aged man wearing a dark suit and tie. Hicks looked over at Ron. He seemed about to speak yet seeing how Ron and Claudia were focused on something else seemed to have changed his mind. He quietly walked up to Debbie’s bedside along with the other gentleman. They both stared in wide eyed wonder at the pair of luminous hands.

  “What is that?” asked the stranger.

  Hicks shrugged. “I’m not sure, Bill,” he admitted. “The things that are happening in this place are, well, redefining my definition of reality. That’s why I asked you to come here.”

  The entire group examined the situation from several angles but did not touch either Sybil or David.

  “How long has this been going on?” whispered Hicks.

  “At least fifteen minutes,” whispered Claudia.

  Hicks turned to Ron. Ron just shrugged.

  The whole group just watched for another five minutes before David suddenly looked up followed quickly by his aunt. The glow faded away.

  Sybil looked to David, “I wasn’t able to make solid contact with Debbie until you came. Thank you David.”

  David only nodded.

  “How close are you to getting FENS back on line?” asked Sybil, turning to Ron. Her tone spoke of the urgency of her request.

  “Soon,” replied Ron, “maybe by this evening.”

  “You might not have that long,” said David. He turned to Sybil. “We were really there, weren’t we?”

  “We were,” confirmed Sybil, “but it took both of us to make it work.”

  “I still don’t know exactly what we did,” admitted David. “I felt like I was in Debbie’s mind, seeing through her eyes. But how is that possible?”

  “Through the spirit,” replied Sybil. “My spirit followed her silver thread to the other world. I could see what was happening, but try as I might I couldn’t communicate with her until you joined me.”

  Ron shook his head. “I wish you’d explain to me what’s going on.”

  “All you need to know for now is that the children are in some great subterranean arena on the other side,” said Sybil. “Unless we intervene there is no telling how many will die. I saw them burn two of the children at the stake and they are in the process of crucifying Connie.”

  “What!” gasped Ron.

  “The child in 136,” gasped Claudia. “He had a fever of 115. His name is Juan, he’s from Sonora, Mexico.”

  “Burned at the stake,” said Ron.

  Hicks and his associate looked at each other in confusion.

  “Come on, we’ll talk on the way,” said Ron, heading back toward room 136 only to see the poor youth being wheeled into the hallway a blood stained sheet over him. Dr. Wilson stood at the door. He appeared so very pale.

  “What could have happened over there that caused that?” Wilson asked.

  “I think we need to have a meeting but not until I’ve been to see Connie,” said Ron, heading on down the hall.

  A moment later Sybil and David followed.

  Connie didn’t look any different. That was until Ron lifted the sheets to view her wrists and ankles. They were bright red. She was hemorrhaging internally.

  Again Ron was on the move this time to the FENS lab. He arrived just in time to see Dwayne screwing the access panel back in place.

  “Finished,” announced Dwayne.

  “Bless you,” said Sybil. She turned to her nephew. “How long before we can use it to get Connie out of there?”

  “Four hours,” said Ron. It will take that long to get the coils down to cryogenic temperature.”

  “Three hours and fifty minutes,” corrected Dwayne. “I turned on the coolant flow ten minutes ago. It’s already at negative five. I assumed you’d want to test it right away. And no, I can’t get it ready any faster. You don’t cool the coil from room temperature to -440 Fahrenheit just like that, unless you want to destroy the only spare coil you’ve got.”

  Ron turned to the stranger among them, the man who had come in with Detective Hicks.

  “This is Bill Davis,” said Hicks, “special agent Bill Davis of the FBI. We’ve been friends since high school. I really needed some guidance when it came to this case. I asked him to come in unofficially, as an advisor. I thought we could use his expertise. Doctors, you can’t go this alone.”

  There was a long moment of silence. The others looked about at one another.

  “You can’t,” confirmed Davis. “This thing is just too big. Look, I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m not going to stand in your way. The lives of these kids are just too important. No one can suddenly step in and second guess you at this point. Alan thought he needed a second opinion so he called me. I assure you that no one else in the government knows about what is going on here. At least no one I’m aware of. I’m here to help, to advise you, but that’s all. You’re in charge. What do you want to do?”

  “We need to get Connie back,” said Wilson. “That has to be our top priority.”

  “I agree,” said Davis. “And then?”

  “We bring these other kids home,” said Wilson, “the ones in most immediate need of medical care first.”

  “I agree,” repeated Davis. “Alan showed me some of the photos, but I’d like to see the other evidence if one of you has time to show me.”

  “I will,” said Wilson. “I’ll leave it up to my team to set up the order of treatment and get FENS ready. I figure we have about three hours.”

  “Thank you,” said Special Agent Davis. “If I know the whole story I might be able to help you more.”

  The team got to work. They had a lot to do in the next hours. They could only hope that they weren’t too late.

  The strike team descended through a series of narrow and difficult passageways whose floors were littered with rocks. There was no source of illumination beyond the crystals they held in their hands. The going was slow, slower than they liked. Time was not their ally.

  Yes, Kadra had traveled this route before, but she was dismayed at just how much she had forgotten. Twice they’d had to backtrack and it had cost them time. Yet now she was smelling that odor she remembered from the first journey here, that odor of death. Now it was a mission of following her nose as much as following the map.

  The cave opened up ahead of them into the largest tunnel they had encountered thus far, and at its end, in the growing illumination, she saw a landmark she remembered only too well; the web, about two hundred feet away.

  Here the tunnel had an arching appearance to it, almost circular, far too regular to have been formed by natural processes. It didn’t have the appearance of the caverns of their home either. Those were natural caverns further excavated with picks and shovels. The walls of this cavern appeared as if they had somehow been melted and then spun, with concentric grooves all around. The floor was level with very little rubble. It had the texture of melted rock. That was as she had remembered it. But now there was something else. Here and there, especially toward the edges of the tunnel, could be found patches of some sort of goo. It adhered to her sandals as she walked over it. No, she didn’t remember it being like this.

  Kadra practically jumped out of her fur when she saw the shadowy form of a gigantic spider at least eight or nine feet in length. It stood motionless near the left side of the tunnel about a hundred feet away. The group c
autiously approached it. They had drawn to within about thirty feet when they realized that it was dead, little more than a hollow desiccated shell. Even still it was a frightening thing to behold.

  “Ya think this one made the web?” asked Lemnock, looking to Kadra.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Kadra, “but I don’t think so. The strands of the web are too thick for this thing to have made them. This one might be one of its young.”

  “Or its mate,” whispered Camron. “On Earth there is a species of spider called the black widow. The female is much larger than the male. After mating the female kills her lover.”

  “How pleasant,” said Satar, an enormous wolver who stood nearly a head taller than any of his fellows. “And before this day is out I’d hazard to wager we’ll all know just how much bigger she is.”

  “Da bigger they are da harder they fall,” interjected Marlock.

  That comment drew an expression of disapproval from Satar.

  “Present company excluded, of course,” added Marlock. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you fall.”

  “And ya won’t.” said Satar. “The bigger this thing is the greater the glory when I slay it.”

  Kadra and Lemnock exchanged glances but made no further comments. The only thing bigger than Satar was his ego. Still, he was a good wulver to have around in a crisis. They moved on toward the web.

  The web stretched the entire way across the tunnel radiating out from the center. It was every bit as big as Kadra had remembered. Still, the number of bones scattered about seemed to be much greater. It became obvious that the only way through would be to either cut or burn a portion of it away. There’d be no slipping through it.

  “Be careful,” warned Kadra, “it’s very sticky.”

  Lemnock reached forward to touch it. He withdrew his finger with no effect. “No it isn’t.”

  Camron stepped forward, touching one of the threads radiating out from the center. “These aren’t.” Then he ever so gently touched one of the threads that joined the radiating threads. It stuck to his finger for but a second. “Yeah, but these are. It’s how a spider navigates its own web. The radiating threads have no glue, the ones that cross them do.”