The Wanderer's Tale

by David Bilsborough

  Then there came the barely audible sound of something large flying through the air, followed by a sickening crunch right next to Gapp. A second later, the body of one of his captors fell, severed in two.

  Shlepp!

  To Gapp’s mind that name suddenly seemed the fairest, most melodious and poetic of appellations, chiming triumphantly in his soul. His chance had come! The fruit-pruner momentarily forgotten, Gapp moved back from the chasm’s edge and shouted the hound’s name above the clangour of babbling voices and liquid growling.

  ‘Shlepp! Shlepp! It’s me, Gapp! Over here, boy!’

  Shrieks arose from the Jordiske all about him, and the sound of ripping flesh continued with renewed frenzy. There was a flurry of bewildered shouting and warbling from over the other side of the abyss. Pandemonium reigned.

  ‘Shlepp!’ Gapp called out again, slipping and almost losing his balance in a widening pool of gore at his feet. ‘Over here! Over here!’

  Something collided heavily with him, knocking him to the ground. He leapt back to his feet without hesitation and again called out.

  ‘Shlepp! Over here! Over he-earrghh!’

  A sharp blow raked across his already lacerated face and his head was wrenched back by the hair. Then, beyond belief, he was thrust violently over the lip of the chasm.

  Mouth gaping wide in a scream that could not emerge, Gapp plunged headfirst into the blackness of the void. There was no up, no down; just emptiness, and a rushing of wind that ripped the air out of his lungs. Time stood frozen. The battle above was no more.

  A pressure began to build under his armpits, and Gapp realized he was moving through the air in a sweeping arc. He had been attached to some sort of loose harness suspended from the beams far above, and he was now swinging across the abyss to the other side!

  He rose to the zenith of his arc and, just as he felt himself reach a point of weightlessness, rough hands snatched him from out of the dark. Once again he was slapped across the face, this time so violently he believed his entire face had been ripped off. For a few seconds he blacked out, then through a morass of pain he heard shrieks of damnation from the other side of the chasm as the lost souls were torn apart.

  His chances! Where had his chances gone? As he was hastily unfastened from his bonds and borne off down yet another tunnel, his mind reeled in disorientation. What of his promised chances?

  Held in sharp pincers by his useless, floundering flippers, he knew that Hope was behind him now, on the far side of a bottomless chasm, and he felt the crushing despair of one realizing he will never see the world of men again.

  As Gapp was hauled away deeper into the earth, the hound of Yulfric finished his grisly work. But too late. Shlepp’s final howl, an elegiac dirge for the damned, followed turtle-boy down the tunnels, then echoed into silence.

  Blood-pounding, hammer-sounding, bounding along tunnels resounding with rasping gasping, mile after mile, sharp bile in the throat, dried throat, dried by noxious air, nightmare-weaving, heaving gulps of air, scorching the lungs, his frail casing of human flesh ready to explode, little boy wandered too far into the woods, pushed along these wormholes of stone, all alone, moan and groan . . .

  Barely conscious now, Gapp’s mind had been left far behind. There was that dull red glow visible again, and it became all he was aware of. This time, though, it was stronger. Getting stronger with each moment that passed.

  Soon Gapp could see a little more clearly. The walls around him were a garish red, and he wondered if this was because they flowed with blood. The Jordiske, too, burned with the scarlet fires of a demon.

  Ahead, where the light originated, a dull, rhythmic pounding could be heard, its thump, thump, thump matching the beat of his heart. Before long the tunnel all around him reverberated strongly. As it thundered through his stomach, Gapp began to feel very sick. It brought to him primordial, ancestral memories. Tribal memories. Palaeolithic. Old fears laid bare. Was he about to be sacrificed? Eaten? Alive, perhaps? Or did they have something even worse in store? The nausea rose up in him, and it would not be held down.

  It was warm, now. No, not warm – hot! Ivy creepers of noxious steam snaked up his nostrils from their unravelling garlands below. They smelt of mud; of boiling mud. The corn dollies were coming alive.

  Louder than before, the pounding shook the whole tunnel and the red glow waxed into a bright orange glare. A moment later, they emerged from the stifling confines of the vena cava and into the great open atrium of the Heart of Jordiske-Home.

  Here, after the darkness of the tunnels, the light was blinding and the heat insufferable. The pounding reached a climax, and was joined by the roar of a hundred bestial voices echoing deafeningly throughout the cavern. With the feel of lead in his guts and a memory of some dreadful familiarity at the back of his mind, Gapp stared through the swimming in his eyes at his surroundings.

  It did not look good. It did not look good at all. He had been dragged down to what must surely be the most enormous cavern in the whole world. At least to his eyes it was, though to be sure his eyes were not up to much at the moment. The various susurrations and distant echoes from all around did suggest an immense space about him. And the air currents – bringing with them the odours of boiling mud, sweat and meat gone bad – were almost like the wind. As he tried to focus he began to make out globes of firelight all over the place, near and far. Firepits? Some were near enough for him to see the shapes of the Jordiske within their glow; others, more distant, were mere points of light. There must have been an infinite number of floor levels in this cavern, for the fires were everywhere, up, down and on every side, each suspended in the darkness like an orange star in the sky.

  Towards the nearest of these he was dragged: a small group of Jordiske with torches around a flame-pit. The fire seemed to give off more smoke than light, and lit up only its immediate surroundings. Beyond that, all was darkness, so that to Gapp it looked like a tiny world of dancing red light, inhabited by only a dozen or so Jordiske, which hung all alone in the vast emptiness of space.

  Some of the creatures leant or squatted against boulders, picking at their various facial orifices with long, grimy claws, or else combing the teeming insect life out of their matted hair. Gapp was reminded of the spiders in Yulfric’s wine cellar. Two were fighting, ignored by the others, butting each other viciously with a sound like a hammer striking an over-ripe melon; they rolled about the floor, occasionally disappearing from the halo of firelight, until eventually one of them did not come back. Another Jordiske, aided by a smaller assistant, was crouching upon all fours while building up the firepit. Judging from the leathery flaps of hide that hung from its chest to drag along the ash-covered ground, this one must have been an old Jord-Hag.

  The rest of them watched Gapp approach and salivated. Claws twitched. Eyes bulged. Lice crawled. And then others began to appear in the circle of firelight.

  He was shoved headlong towards them, and instantly they were upon him. Long fingers snatched and grabbed at him from every side, while harsh voices hissed evilly. The horrible little devils were swarming all over him, till he felt his sanity drowning in a murky swamp of death-fear.

  He was flung down onto his knees beside the firepit, and once again his head was yanked back by the hair. Skull-like visages leered and spat at him. He could feel their cold saliva running down his face like itchy tears.

  Wild-eyed, he was forced to behold the Jord-Hag that now approached. In one hand she held a little stone pot, in the other what looked like a painting brush. She grinned insanely at him, and even from here he could smell the slugs that crawled over her cold skin. But what held the young Aescal’s attention most was the primitive stone knife slung at her waist. It had that look of painful tearing to its rough, jagged edge, and Gapp’s neck felt dreadfully exposed. The blood pumping madly through his arteries had never before seemed as precious as it did now.

  The others gathered around. The breath rattled strangely in their throats. Some hissed or growl
ed like cats. All were eager, all expectant, all anticipating. Their stinking exhalations hit the boy’s face like a cold, acidic vapour. They watched while the old witch swayed about before the victim, a mantis taking time before the strike, savouring the dish before the meal.

  Now she dipped the brush into the pot, and it came out coated in a viscous liquid that glowed toxically and reeked of sulphur. The Jordiske holding him from behind gripped tighter. Gapp knew that he could never break that grip. An involuntary whimper escaped from his throat.

  Then the brush came down, and instantly Gapp’s entire existence was a world of pure agony. As the vile unguent sought out every laceration on his face and sent geysers of burning agony down each nerve ending, the boy’s whole body succumbed to a violent fit of spasms. A seething gale howled through his brain and the only thing he had in his mind was an image of an eel convulsing in a frying pan. The drum-beating was now so intense that he thought he was inside one of them, being tossed around like a pea in a whistle.

  The madness gradually subsided, but the pain and nausea went on. His head was then forced back up further to behold the Jord-Hag now withdrawing the stone knife from its hoop.

  She raised it in front of him. Slowly. Everything went still. He stopped breathing. He could not move a muscle. She filled his vision, a ghastly old crone, withered with age, eaten away by malice, disease and invertebrates, glowing red with fire.

  A second ticked by.

  Then the knife sprang for his throat . . .

  From somewhere to the right there came a sudden rush of air, and the knife was gone, along with the taloned hand that had held it. There followed a gout of arterial spray and a stifled squeal.

  Another second ticked by, a second of silence so thick one could have choked on it. The Jordiske just stood there, all rooted to the spot, staring in disbelief, each single ocular vein swelling with the cold liquids that churned within it. Had they been capable, they might have gaped.

  In the next second, a set of strong teeth with a familiar hot, fishy breath hooked itself under Gapp’s collar, hauled him up off the ground, and launched him like a missile out of the circle of firelight and into the all-enveloping darkness.

  ‘Shlepp? How?’

  But Shlepp’s mouth was too full to answer, even if he could. Instead he bounded away through the darkness, madly, unthinkingly, using only instinct to guide him, just as it had led him here.

  From behind them went up a shuddering howl. The alarm had gone up, and the hunt was on.

  Over crags, fissures and mud pools Shlepp sprinted, the boy dangling from his powerful jaws like a rabbit, never stopping once. In their mad dash, Gapp felt as though he were being shaken to pieces. But he was free, and not even for the blood of Pel-Adan was he going to try to struggle out of the forest hound’s grip. By the Holy Greatsword, this brute was fast and didn’t pause once – it was as if he knew this place like the back of his paw. Boulders he swerved around, chasms he skirted, and all the while Shlepp threaded his way easily through the haloes of firelight and their leaping inhabitants.

  But there was a randomness to his transit that made Gapp now realize that Shlepp was picking his way not with any particular direction, but simply keeping moving in order to avoid the growling, spitting shapes that were all around them now, for at home in their environment the Jordiske were already beginning to hem their quarry in.

  Suddenly a dark shape sprang out from one side, so suddenly that neither boy nor hound had time to anticipate it. Shlepp swerved instantly, without a thought, and succeeded in avoiding it, but he could not avoid the slash of talons that scored deeply across his flank. Feeling neither pain nor fear, he plunged on. There were further looming shapes in the semi-darkness all about them, and all the boy could do now was to put his trust in his saviour.

  After a few terrifying minutes Gapp became aware that there were no longer any globes of firelight to be seen ahead, and the angry sounds of their pursuers were falling away. Moments later, Shlepp slowed down, and finally let go of him.

  Gapp lurched to his feet and whirled around in alarm, staring into the cold darkness on all sides. He could see nothing, but could still hear much. Above the rapid drip-drip-drip-drip of a nearby pool, the clamour of the enraged multitude of Jordiske was getting closer with every second.

  ‘Shlepp, you’re incredible!’ he gasped ‘You really—’

  But Shlepp had no time for this. He tugged at the boy’s hand, pulling him on. Whether he knew where he was going, he certainly was not going to hang around here. Pausing only to take firm hold of the animal’s tail, Gapp stumbled blindly after him through the lightless tunnels.

  It was quiet here. Quiet and close. They had left far behind the vast and echoing cavern with its stinking smoke and stuffiness, and were plunging down some sort of winding passage. It was cold here, with a continual sprinkle of moisture from above, almost like light winter rain.

  Was that why the Jordiske were not following them? Because this was not their territory? That seemed highly unlikely to Gapp – only a few minutes away from their heartland? The thought stole chillingly into his heart that they were only being allowed to proceed this way because it would lead to yet more Jordiske.

  No, it was something else. It had to be something about this particular tunnel they had by chance found themselves in. Something that frightened even the Jordiske . . .

  No, best not to start thinking along those lines. He was scared enough already.

  It was not long before the blackness again began to give way to a pale light. A moment later, he sighed thankfully as he saw the palest glimmer of daylight reflected off the slick, mossy surface of the tunnel wall.

  Not hesitating even for a second, he followed Shlepp along the final stretch of the passage. Gapp was exhausted, both physically and mentally, from the horrors of the past few hours, and staggered on through a spray of icy water, no longer caring about what lay ahead.

  Then he was out.

  For a minute or two he could not see a thing. He just stood there blinking in the blinding daylight, gasping and spluttering, hardly able to keep upright. But he could feel the wide space all around him, hear the low moaning of the wind high in the treetops. He breathed in deeply the fragrance of moss and wet leaf mould that mingled so sweetly with the wind-carried smell of far-off rain clouds. It seemed the most beautiful moment he had ever experienced in his life.

  Only now did he remember the pain; his face burned so terribly that he wondered if he still had any of it left. He dropped to his knees and convulsively splashed water from an icy rill repeatedly over his searing lacerations, flushing every last trace of the vile unguent from their raw and ragged pinkness until he was sure they were purged of their corrosive torment.

  He still did not know where he was. The brilliance of the unaccustomed light had abated somewhat and familiar shapes were coming into view, but everything remained blurred, out of focus . . .

  Again his hands went up to his face, and he groaned in dismay. He should have known it. After all that face-raking, the Jordiske may not have torn his features away, but they had succeeded in ripping off his spectacles.

  But I’m alive, he breathed. And that was all that mattered.

  ‘Shlepp,’ he croaked, his smile broadening as his watering eyes began to adjust, ‘you’re a miracle – a complete miracle!’

  He leant heavily against the wall of the cave mouth, and paused for a moment to enjoy the warmth of the setting sun upon his chilled body.

  ‘I don’t know how you did it, by Scytha I don’t . . . but I think I’m in love with you.’

  The rancid, smoky, sweaty odour from his garments drifted up his nose, and reminded him of the stifling pit from which he had been delivered. He chose to ignore the memory of it, but could not suppress a shiver at the sudden coldness he felt.

  Suddenly his eyes snapped open fully, and looked straight into the eyes of the creature in front of him.

  It was not a Jordiske.

  That he coul
d see at a glance, even with blurred vision. About the same height as he himself, if a little slighter of build, the creature was staring back at him without any movement whatsoever. At first Gapp thought it was a Polg, recalling what he had seen of the few of that race that had passed through Nordwas. But no, it was apparent that this was more animal than person . . . probably.

  Though standing on two legs, it did so with a slightly hunched posture, not entirely unlike a Jordiske. Its feet were large and splayed, it had a long prehensile tail that flicked nervously like a hunting cat’s, and its hide was sparsely coated in mottled brown, curly hair. Its large and pointed ears moved independently of each other, trembling slightly at the tips. And it met Gapp’s stare with eyes as large and green as apples.

  In one tiny, clawed fist it held a short spear, little more than a sharpened stick. Other than that, and an ancient leather pouch strapped about its waist, it carried no possessions, nor wore any clothes. Though it did not look as threatening as a cave network full of Jordiske, the southerner was afforded little assurance.

  ‘Shlepp!’ he called out. ‘. . . Shlepp?’

  But Shlepp was not there. Gapp glanced around hurriedly, still trying to focus on the blurred shapes that swam into view. Squinting hard, he saw that he had emerged into a small grove ringed about by low rocks, but otherwise open to the forest.

  ‘Shlepp!’ he snapped. ‘What are you doing? Come here!’

  Shlepp was sniffing around at the cave mouth still. He was clearly as aware of the newcomer as was Gapp, but hardly gave it a passing glance. The hound seemed more interested in the scuttling movements amongst the dead leaves than with their new guest.

  Cool . . . the boy observed. He turned back to the creature. Both regarded each other in silence, neither prepared to make the first move. Eventually, however, the ‘half-person’ seemed satisfied (after much sniffing and cocking its head) and carefully backed away. It moved with slow, painstaking care, all the while trembling – or rather vibrating – like a bat.