by Amy Cross
Suddenly there's a scream. A man's horrified scream. I instinctively step towards the window to look, but Darla grabs my arm and holds me back. She has a determined look on her face, and she clearly doesn't want me sticking my head out there.
"Loom People," she hisses.
I pause. "Why are they screaming?" I ask.
She looks at me as if I'm stupid. "They're not," she whispers. "That's some poor fucker they've caught".
Somewhere outside, nearby, there's the sound of a struggle.
"What are they doing to him?" I ask.
"Probably just knocking him out. The Flesh Weavers like their victims to be alive when they're fed into the looms, so they tell the Loom People to bring them without killing them".
There's a sudden thudding sound nearby.
"A Flesh Weaver," Darla whispers. "There's always one with a pack of Loom People, to make sure that they don't do anything stupid. Just keep quiet".
The thudding continues, like something very heavy walking close by, and it seems to be getting closer. For a moment, I start to worry that this Weaver creature has sniffed us out, but suddenly the walking stops. I stare at the window, looking out at the street. Part of me expects something hideous to suddenly appear, looking straight in at us. But we wait a couple of minutes, and finally I turn to Darla.
She shrugs.
We wait another minute or so.
"I think it's okay," Darla whispers.
I nod. "Whatever that things is, I don't want to meet one," I say, relaxing a little.
"You and me both," Darla says. "Weavers are horrible, vicious things. They'll strip the flesh off your body the first chance they get". She pauses. "I dated one once. Just for a couple of weeks. Wasn't worth the hassle". She smiles to herself. "Well, we weren't really dating, we were just -"
There's suddenly a horrific scream at the window. We both turn to see some kind of creature looking straight in at us. It's so tall, it has had to bend down to look in. Wearing a dark cloak, it has only its face visible: a kind of flesh mess of old-looking skin and a large, screaming mouth with razor-sharp teeth not only inside but also on the outside, covering its lips.
"Flesh Weaver," Darla says, the colour draining from her face. She grabs my arm and pulls me through into another room, as we hear the sound of something smashing against the stone.
"You dated one of those?" I ask, out of breath.
"I thought I could change him," she says as the whole building shakes. The ceiling starts to crack and little pieces of stone falls onto us. "Fortunately, Weavers are too big to get into buildings like this". The building shakes again. "Unfortunately, they're strong enough to smash their way through walls, and they usually send Loom People to do their dirty work". She grabs my arm and we head over to another door. In the next room, there's a set of stairs and we run up to the next floor.
"I thought he'd gone," I say.
"So did I," Darla says, looking around for an escape route. "But then I realised we didn't hear him leaving. I realised that right before he appeared at the window. Right before. Damn it, why didn't I realise a few seconds earlier?" She turns to me. "Sometimes I'm so stupid, I take my own breath away".
The building shakes again, and there's a loud cracking sound.
"What does it want?" I ask. "Just to kill us, right?"
Darla shakes her head. "It doesn't want to kill us. It wants to strip off all our flesh and run it through its looms to create fabrics for its temples. The killing us part is just an unfortunate by-product of the skinning us part".
I look at her.
"Seriously," she says. "It's basically an angry habidasher, just with a lot more teeth".
"But we're werewolves," I say. "So we'd survive all that".
"Yeah..." she says, seeming a little awkward. "Did I mention that when it's skinned us, it'll probably eat us?"
"No," I say, as the whole building shakes again. "You didn't".
Darla turns to me. "You have to shift into your wolf form," she says.
"I can't," I say. "I don't know how".
"You've done it before," she says. "Do it again".
"I can't!" I shout at her. "I've only been a werewolf for a few weeks. I still don't know how to -"
"Ssshhh!" Darla says. We listen for a moment. "It's stopped". Suddenly there's a noise downstairs, like knives being sharpened. "Loom People," she says. "Right, we have to get out of here. Wolf. Do it!" And with that, she shifts her body, becoming a beautiful, dark-haired wolf with piercing blue eyes. I've never had a proper chance to see Darla in her wolf form before, and it's a stunning sight.
"I can't do it," I say.
She looks up at me. It's strange, but looking at her eyes, I can tell that it's still Darla in there looking back at me. I turn as I hear the sound of sharpening knives coming closer. Backing towards the window, I look out and see a nearby low rooftop that I could probably get onto. I climb onto the ledge, take one look behind, see a dark shape appear at the top of the stairs, and I jump.
When I land on the rooftop, something's different. It takes me a second to realise, but I look down and see that I have paws instead of hands. It's happened again. I must have changed form in mid-air. I look over and see Darla, still in her wolf form, landing next to me. She glances at me and then runs, and I follow.
As a wolf, I can run so much faster than before, and I can jump so much further. I let Darla take the lead, and together we run and leap from building-top to building-top, never even stopping to look back. The city flashes past beneath us, and I feel so free. The more I run, the more energy I feel I have, and soon it's as if I couldn't stop running even if I tried. I don't even think about the danger, I just jump from building-top to building-top, even when the gap seems too large, even when we're going up onto higher and higher buildings. It feels as if there's nothing I can't do, as if there's no way anything could ever stop me. This must be what it's like to be a real werewolf, then. To be Darla. To be Duncan. To be free and strong, to be safe from everything.
Why do they ever change into their human forms? I think I'd be happy to be like this forever, just running and running and running -
Suddenly something appears ahead. Darla and I barely have time to register that it's a Flesh Weaver before it reaches out knife-like hands at each of us. I see Darla run straight into the knives, crashing to the ground in a spray of blood. I manage to leap just beneath the other knives, although I feel them slice through my thigh. Before I know what's happening, I'm at the edge of the building-top. I try to pull up, so I can turn around and help Darla, but it's too late and I topple straight over the edge.
I didn't realise how high up we were.
I fall.
And fall.
And fall.
And I smash head-first into the stone street below, breaking every bone in my head and neck.
Everything goes black.
6
Now that I'm close, I can hear Duncan's voice in my mind. He's scared. He's terrified. He knows that I'm coming, and he knows that his body isn't healing fast enough. Wherever he is, whichever crack he's hiding in, he knows that I'll find him, and he knows that this time I'll finish the job properly. He knows he's going to die soon. No wonder he's panicking. But that's good. I want him to panic. I want him to die in fear.
Can you hear me, Duncan? I know your powers are strong. Not as strong as mine, but strong nevertheless. You should be able to hear me by now. Not just sense my presence, but actually hear my thoughts. So hear this: I should have made sure you stayed dead last time. I made a small mistake; I underestimated you. Everyone makes mistakes occasionally, but I will not make the same mistake twice. I will finish you off this time, and I will cause you more pain than you ever dreamed possible.
Do you remember when I first found you? You were dying in the gutter. London has almost finished you off, and I rescued you. I offered you everything. I offered to make you in my own mould. I offered to turn you into something special. But you turned me down. You continu
ed to fraternise with humans. You showed no respect for my advice. So I have no choice but to kill you. That's what fathers do to sons who disappoint them. Even if you are not my biological child, you are my son in so many other ways. And I am your master. And as your master I have the right to choose when you die.
I choose today.
7
I open my eyes slowly.
That fall would have killed a human. But fortunately, I'm no longer human. Getting to my feet, I find I'm back in my human form. I put a hand up to feel my head, and find that the bones have already healed. I don't know how long I was unconscious for, but I don't think it was too long. I look up at the top of the building from which I fell.
Darla!
I rush into the building and try to find the stairs, but there don't seem to be any. I have to get back up there, I have to make sure Darla's okay. The last I saw, she was falling to the ground under a flash of knives. She's tough, like me, but that Flesh Weaver creature looked dangerous and I don't want to leave her in his clutches. Try as I might, though, I can't find the stairs that lead up to the top of the building.
Suddenly I hear a noise somewhere nearby. I look over and realise there's a sound coming from one of the other rooms. It sounds like someone sharpening knives. I bolt out the door and into the street, where I come face to face with the Flesh Weaver. He leans down to me and roars, his foul breath filling my nostrils. I try to turn and run, but I slip and fall hard against the dusty rock road. Before I can get up, I feel something grab my feet and haul me into the air. Hanging upside down, I find myself looking straight into the eyes of the creature.
"Let us go," I say, trying to sound calm. I have no idea whether these Flesh Weavers can understand what I'm saying, and I can't see Darla anywhere. Am I too late? Did he already skin and eat her? I try to hold it together, try to remain calm. "We're more trouble than you realise. Just let us go and we'll be on our way. I promise. Just let us -"
The creature roars at me. Despite the intelligence in its eyes, it seems to still be a brutal, violent animal. Its dark eyes stare at me, scanning me, perhaps trying to work out what to do with me.
"Put her down," says a female voice from somewhere nearby.
The Flesh Weaver immediately turns to look along the road. The way he's holding me, I can't see what he's looking at.
"Put her down now!" the female voice insists.
Surprisingly, it looks like the Flesh Weaver is actually thinking about what the woman is saying. And equally surprisingly, he suddenly drops me onto the ground, turns and stomps away.
"Get up," says the female voice. "It's not safe here".
I scramble to my feet and turn to find a middle-aged woman standing before me. She has long, slightly curly reddish hair, with dark brown eyes, and she's wearing what looks like a medieval kind of costume, complete with very open and revealing cleavage. But she also has a kind face, and she's smiling at me, and - let's not forget - she just saved my life.
"Azael," she says. She reaches out a hand and we shake. "Looks like you upset a Flesh Weaver".
"I didn't mean to," I say.
"Don't worry," Azael replies, with a hint of an Irish accent. "It's kind of impossible to not upset a Flesh Weaver. They're born upset and they die upset. It's what they do". She smiles at me, almost as if she knows some kind of secret and finds it terribly funny. "You don't belong here".
"I have to find Darla!" I say, hurrying along the street. I'm not entirely sure where Darla would be, but I have to get back on that roof.
"If the Flesh Weaver took her," Azael says, keeping pace with me, "you'd be better off not trying. She'll be dead already. They don't hang about". We reach a street intersection, but I'm still not sure which way to go. "The Flesh Weavers are getting desperate," Azael adds. "Time was, you wouldn't see them out and about at all, they'd leave all the dirty work to the Loom People. These days, the Weavers are out hunting for themselves. It's a sad state of affairs".
Spotting a door into one of the buildings, I rush inside and soon I find a set of steps. I rush up, with Azael following me, and we soon reach the roof where I last saw Darla. But there's no sign of her, just two distinct patches of blood on the ground: the first, mine, is small and spotty; the second, Darla's, is much larger... She lost a lot of blood. She'll be able to recover, of course, unless the Flesh Weaver goes through with the idea of eating her.
"I came here to rescue my friend," I say plaintively. "And now I've lost my other friend as well. We've only been here an hour or so".
"The Underworld's a dangerous place," Azael says, putting a hand on my shoulder.
"You do okay," I say, turning to her. "How do you survive? How did you get that Flesh Weaver to leave me alone?"
"I know their weak spot," she says, grinning. "Kick 'em in the balls". She pauses. "Seriously, I've learned a trick or two. I can teach you if you like".
"I won't be staying," I say. "I'm here to rescue my friend -"
"Which one?" Azael asks. "The one you came down here to rescue, or the one you lost after you got here?"
I stare at her. It's almost as if she's finding the whole situation amusing. "Both," I say firmly.
"Don't take this the wrong way," she replies, her voice taking on a serious tone, "but you've got no chance. The best you can do is pick one and pray you get a lucky break. If you try to go for them both, none of you's gonna get out of here alive".
I look at the patch of Darla's blood. "I'll take my chances," I say.
"I like that," Azael says, coming over and putting an arm around my shoulder. "You refuse to give up, even when the odds are stacked against you. So I tell you what. I'll give you a hand. I'll let you in on a few secrets, like how to make a Flesh Weaver leave you alone. That way, at least you've got a fighting chance of surviving for the next few hours. Deal?"
An hour later, sitting in Azael's home, I warm my hands on a fire. It's getting dark outside, obviously not because of the sun but because the phosphorescent moss on the walls is going through the 'down' phase of its circadian rhythm. Azael has prepared some food for me, some kind of moss broth, which sounds un-appetising but actually smells pretty good as it's on her stove, bubbling away.
"I've been down here for a long, long time," Azael says as we wait for the broth to be ready. There's something in her voice that makes me believe her instantly; though she seems fairly young, like she's in her early 30s, she has a weight and a heft to her voice that sounds ancient. "Too long. But I have to stay here now -"
"Why?" I ask, interrupting.
She shakes her head. "I just do. I can't go home. Not ever".
"I know the feeling," I say.
She smiles. "I have a life down here. I eat well, I'm safe, I study the creatures". She takes a book from a table and hands it to me. "I've become quite the zoologist," she says as I look through page after page of hand-drawn sketches of what look like unimaginable creatures. "I study them. I learn how they work. That's one of the reasons I knew how to get rid of that Flesh Weaver. So I keep busy. And there's so many things living down here, I'll never get finished with my work".
"What are you"? I ask.
She gives me a curious look.
"I mean..."I pause. "Sorry, that sounded rude. But you're obviously not human".
She smiles. "I'm... well, there are lots of names for things like me. The most common is 'witch'. So you can call me a witch if you like, even though I can't do any magic. Magic isn't real. Science, though, I'm very good at. Very, very good at. And you know what?" She takes the book from my hands and closes it. "If you know scientific facts that other people don't know, and you use them right, it looks like magic".
"You could still leave," I say.
"No," she says.
"You don't want to," I continue. "You choose to stay down here. But you could, if you wanted, just walk out of here and go back to the surface world".
"And maybe I will one day," she says, her voice suddenly sounding awkward and uncomfortable. "When I'm ready".
She stirs the broth. "You could leave too. You could walk out of the Underworld right now".
"I can't," I say. "I have to save my friends".
"Like I said," she says, a hint of sadness in her voice, "you're gonna have to choose one. You can't rescue them both".
I open my mouth to reply, but instead I think about what she's saying. I can't leave Duncan down here, I just can't. I came all this way to save him. But what about Darla? Don't I owe it to her to get her out of this mess? And if I choose to save Darla... then what?
"You're in love," Azael says.
"No!" I shoot back.
"Aye, you are," she says. "With this Duncan guy. What do you think, are you and he gonna get married one day and raise little humans?"
"We're not human," I say. "We're werewolves".
Azael raises an eyebrow. "Really?" she says. "Well I did wonder, but it's nice to have it confirmed. I don't get to meet many werewolves down here these days". She pours some broth into a bowl for me. "But you're gonna have to face up to the truth. If you decide to rescue Duncan, there are consequences to that decision. And one of the consequences is that you will never be able to rescue Darla as well. She hands me the bowl of broth. "Choose wisely".
8
The Flesh Weaver screams, an ear-piercing scream that echoes around us. I lean down and bite a chunk of flesh from its face. It flails about beneath me as I remain on its chest, holding it down. In my wolf form, I'm more than a match for even a large Flesh Weaver such as this one. I can torture him all night if necessary, and I wouldn't mind. Torturing these creatures is fun, because they bleed so readily and they produce new blood almost instantly to replace any that is lost. Bleeding out a Flesh Weaver is a difficult task, and a long one, but I don't mind challenges.
"I can smell them on you," I say, speaking even though I am in my wolf form. "The two girls who came here. I can smell their blood on your knives. Do you have them?"
The Flesh Weaver stares at me, its dark eyes burning with hatred. I lean down and clamp my jaws around one of its eyes and rib it from the socket, spitting it out onto the ground. Blood pours from the wound and the creature screams again, struggling, fighting back at me with all its power. But it's useless: it's dying, and it knows this. All it can do now is give me what I want so that I at least grant this miserable animal a painless death. But still it holds out on me. Still it stubbornly refuses to give me what I want.