The Psychonaut_Book 1

by Tom G. H. Adams

  “Move,” Celestia said. “Keep close. We’ll skirt that hill to the right and circle round to the jeep.”

  “Do not strike out at them,” Destain said. “My illusion relies on them not knowing the real from the unreal.”

  The Outcasts sprinted off to the north. Merrick found it hard to differentiate between the illusions and his companions, and kept flicking into mind-meld with Celestia to keep on course. Their illusions numbered in thousands now, and the Ukurum lashed out in an anarchic shambles.

  They threaded through a breach in the Necrolytes’ ranks and made for open ground. Merrick was starting to believe they had escaped when he noticed Arun no longer accompanied them.

  “We’ve lost Arun,” he said. They stopped and looked behind, only to see the Vietnamese fending off a Necrolyte.

  “They have the luck of the accursed,” Destain said.

  The Necrolyte was different to its brethren. A black crest of hair adorned its scalp. A general of some sort, twice the size of Arun. It jabbed at him with a cruel-looking halberd. Arun did his best to avoid the thrusts, jumping and feinting alternately. But, despite his agility, and the convergence of several duplicates, the Necrolyte was forcing him backwards.

  Merrick blinked as he saw the master of Vovinam disappear into thin air, then appear a second later—further away from the monstrosity. But he was tiring. Merrick could see the perspiration running off him in sheets, his stances less elegant and his step less assured. Merrick tried to focus his psychonautic energy, but it was impossible when his friend kept dancing around the target like a weasel.

  “I’m going back,” Celestia said.

  Merrick sprang after her. “I’m with you.”

  “The horde sense us,” Destain shouted after them. “The general is calling them.”

  Merrick watched in despair as the Necrolyte threw Arun to the ground with a side-swipe of the halberd. The sun flashed off its weapon as the beast brought it down on the prostrate man. Arun rolled to the side with the speed of a rattlesnake, but it wasn’t quick enough. The blade sliced through his upper arm, severing it from the shoulder. Bright red arterial blood squirted onto the dry sand as Arun looked at the place his arm used to be.

  Celestia came upon the general in seconds, launching herself into a flying drop-kick. The beast sensed her and thrust the pommel of its halberd back, striking her full in the chest. She fell to the floor, winded.

  Shock threatened to numb Merrick into inaction, until he heard Destain’s gentle whisper in his mind. You must strike now—concentrate on the target.

  Merrick shut out the image of Celestia’s prostrate form; turned his attention from Arun, twisting in agony from his wound, ignored the approach of the Ukurum—and zoned in on the Necrolyte. Time dripped like glycerine as the creature swivelled on its feet towards him. It sensed Merrick’s pent up energy and fixed reptilian eyes on him. They burrowed into his psyche, piercing his mind with their malevolence. A descending bovine groan buzzed in his ears, like a sonic lance, threatening to break his mind. He cried out as the accumulated evil of centuries pressed down on him like a mountain of earth—suffocating and relentless.

  Release the energy, sent Destain, before it’s too late.

  With a warrior yell, Merrick opened the lid in his third eye and a stream of psychonautic fury erupted towards the Necrolyte. The beast offered resistance, but it was as a sandbank before a tsunami. The centre of its chest began to glow like hot embers, the fire radiating out through its ribcage.

  It exploded. Burst apart, covering Celestia and Arun with its cremated flesh and ichor. The front rank of the approaching Ukurum were sprayed with the sickly yellow fluid as they ground to a halt, clearly appalled at the loss of their leader.

  “Advance!” came Theta’s voice from the throng. “They are on the defensive. Crush them with your might.”

  Merrick sensed the danger, but his rising psychonautic magma was not spent. He unleashed it on the Amorphic. Their defences were nothing compared to the vanquished Necrolyte and their white, greasy bodies disintegrated as Merrick’s wave of mind energy swept through them like a flame thrower. The magnitude of his power, rather than diminishing, rose in amplitude. It cut a swathe through hundreds of Ukurum. Despite the gravity of the situation, Merrick became caught up in euphoria—yet he detected a seed of doubt at his core. Was he controlling the energy, or was it controlling him?

  Destain cried above the maelstrom. It is enough. Rein it in.

  Merrick was on his knees, trying to execute the equivalent of capping a gushing oil well with with a bottle top.

  I can’t control it, he sent.

  You can, came the authoritative reply. But you have to want it. If you continue, your power will consume us all.

  With a gargantuan effort, Merrick forced his errant third eye to close, remembering the techniques Arun had taught him. Slowly, but measurably, the energy diminished. After what seemed like hours, it reduced to a trickle and the mayhem was stemmed.

  Merrick lifted his head to a scene of utter carnage. Bodies, both Necrolyte and Amorphic, lay on the sand. Some were piled on top of each other, others so mutilated they no longer resembled anything recognisable. In the distance, remnants of Ukurum flew back to their underground lair. Theta was nowhere to be seen.

  A cry of pain brought his attention back to the companions. Celestia staggered to her feet and limped towards Arun, who was beyond agony.

  “We must stem the flow of blood,” Destain said, “otherwise he will be dead in minutes.” He ran over to join Celestia while Merrick followed with a staggering gait.

  Destain stooped over the shaking form of the Vietnamese. “Your belt—quickly,” he said to Merrick.

  Merrick unbuckled it and passed it over. “Can we save him?”

  “It’s possible, but not likely,” he said. “Celestia, wrap the belt round his upper arm—tight. I have something that will ease his pain. The clairvoyant reached into his tunic and took out a small vial. “Merrick, lift up his head.” He took off the stopper while Celestia coiled the belt round what was left of Arun’s arm.

  “Swallow this,” Destain said. The Vietnamese couldn’t have heard him as there was no response. “My friend—hear me. You must take the potion.”

  Arun’s lips parted a little and Destain allowed three drops of a dark brown liquid to fall on his tongue.

  “What is it?” Celestia asked.

  “A painkiller—stronger than heroin.”

  “His arm, it is still bleeding.” The arterial squirting might have stopped, but copious amounts of Arun’s lifeblood emptied out of the wound, darkening the sand beneath.

  “Here, help me smear this ointment over the stump.”

  Destain was a walking apothecary. Out of another pocket he pulled a jar and twisted off the lid. “It is a coagulant. If this doesn’t work, we have lost him.” They both busied themselves, smearing the ointment over Arun’s stump.

  Merrick stood back out of the way and scanned the battlefield. Was it him who caused all this destruction? He tried to tell himself that the fallen Ukurum were only monsters, intent on the Outcast’s elimination. But they were still sentient beings. The Amorphic, in particular, were slaves to Shamon, created to follow his commands. He cast his eyes downward to blot out the evidence of his complicity, but the black raven of condemnation alighted on his shoulder, speaking its words of judgement. So much death; and now he was going to lose Arun as well.

  “Are you okay?” he said to Celestia.

  “Oui, I’ll live.”

  “There is less bleeding now,” Destain said, “but he needs a transfusion. He’s going into shock and my skills are insufficient.”

  “We have to get him back to the jeep,” Celestia said, “if it’s still there.”

  Merrick gathered his reserves of strength, ready to carry his fallen comrade, but the sound of a distant vehicle caused him to look up. “We’ve got company. Can you tell who it is?”

 
“They are Hierophants,” Celestia said.

  “Jason?”

  “Oui—and three others.”

  “Frying pans and fires,” he said. “can we take them?”

  “I could be wrong, but I sense they aren’t hostile.”

  Merrick melded with Celestia’s mind; it didn’t escape his attention that she acquiesced without hesitation. A sign of their increasing bond. “You’re right. Let’s see what he has to say.”

  The vehicle descended into a trough in the ridged landscape then emerged on the crest of the next rise. Merrick could see it was a type of half-track. The driver brought it to a halt in a cloud of dust, several feet from them. The engine kept running.

  Jason jumped out and ran over to them. “Seems like every time I let you out of my sight, you raise the body count higher.” He wore a bedouin-like headdress but Merrick could see the steel in his eyes, mixed with just a tiny amount of fear.

  “What do you want, Jason?”

  “My original intent was damage limitation, but it looks like we’re too late for that.”

  Merrick shook his head. “Look, I don’t have time for this shit. Arun’s dying. We need to get him out of here.”

  Jason looked down at Arun. The Vietnamese’s face was pallid, his breath shallow. “Yes, he looks in a bad way. Lift him into the half track. We can get him to a clinic I know within thirty minutes—but it’s likely to be half an hour too long.”

  “Take him,” said Merrick. “We’ll make our own way back.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. These guys will stay behind and clear up. You can come with us.”

  Merrick looked at the multitude of charred, disintegrated bodies. “You’re kidding right? There must be over a thousand dead here.”

  “Merrick,” Celestia interrupted, “Arun is slipping away. We need to get him to this clinic of Jason’s.”

  Merrick shook his head again but reached down to lift Arun. Destain helped him carry their wounded comrade to the back of the half-track.

  “Lay him flat on the seat and cover him with those blankets,” Jason said.

  Celestia sat with Arun in the back while Merrick rode shotgun with Jason as driver. The half-track rose up the incline with its engine revving at high speed. Merrick looked over his shoulder at the three Hierophants they had left behind. They stood at ease, in the military sense, each of their arms raised in a summoning gesture.

  Merrick raised his voice above the growl of the diesel engine. “What are they doing?”

  “They have skills,” replied the Thaumaturgist. “Give them an hour and this basin of land will be unrecognisable, covered in the shifting dunes of the desert.”

  “The bodies will be found in the end,” Merrick stated.

  “In all likelihood. It’ll keep archaeologists busy for the next twenty years trying to figure out the anthropology.”

  “Will this defeat be a set-back for Shamon?”

  “I imagine so. It takes a long time to recruit and build the army you just wiped out.”

  “How did you know we were here?”

  “A breach of the ether. You can’t hide this sort of conflict. All we had to do was follow the psychic trail.”

  Merrick pondered the wisdom of revealing some of what he knew to Jason. His allegiance was questionable, but in the end, he figured there was nothing to lose by sharing intelligence—after all, they faced a common enemy. “Shamon has access to a gateway,” he said. “He’s building an army from beyond.”

  Jason shifted gears to accelerate the half-track across the plain. “That, I didn’t know.”

  Merrick could see the city up ahead and wondered if they could get medical help in time. He looked round and saw Celestia with Arun’s head in her lap. Destain loosened the belt-tourniquet for a moment, but as soon as he did so, blood started to poor forth from the stump again. He tightened it up immediately.

  It’s not like there’s a limb to save, Merrick thought

  He couldn’t tell whether Arun was still alive or not. The half-track bounced along the trail so much he couldn’t tell if the Vietnamese was breathing. He reached out to the man’s mind. There was still a flicker of life in there, but it was as small as a spluttering match.

  He set his face to the trail once again, finding it heart-rending to keep watching the wounded man. He didn’t do death well. His mind drifted to another time and place, a different person to the one he was now.

  He opens the door a crack to check if she’s still sleeping and sees her sitting upright in bed, reading a book. He enters.

  “I brought you a cup of tea,” he whispers, as if excessive volume might shake her emaciated form to pieces.

  “Oh Merrick, you shouldn’t have.”

  “Well I was making one myself, so I thought ... might as well.”

  Looking at her, he realises this will be an enduring memory; propped up against a mound of pillows, blue floral nightie clashing with the vulgar, orange, seventies headboard—but most of all, the smell. Her lavender perfume does little to hide the lurking stench of cancer. He pictures it advancing in her body, metastases taking hold in every organ and multiplying like poisonous growths.

  She smiles, and he can see the effort it takes to accomplish this small thing—and loves her the more for it. “How was the birdwatching?”

  He sits down on the edge of the bed. “I saw a black-tailed godwit.”

  “That’s one for your British list isn’t it?”

  “Yes, the bloke next to me in the hide says their numbers have gone up on all the migration routes.”

  He takes a sip of tea and looks at the floor.

  “What is it dear? I know you want to say something.”

  He shifts uncomfortably, then says, “Mum, why did Dad go away?”

  She sighs and looks out the window. “It’s complicated,” she says at last.

  “Did he not want to be with us? I keep thinking maybe I made him angry, or—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. Your father had an uncommon job, and in the end its demands drew him away.”

  “But what could be more important than your family?”

  “Nothing. He placed us above everything else. Especially you, Merrick—he adored you. That’s why it’s so hard to reconcile. His love for us meant he had no choice but to leave.”

  She starts to cough, a terrible rasp deep in her lungs. Whatever is down there doesn’t want to come up. He rubs her back as she leans forward and feels the vertebrae, like a miniature mountain range beneath the thin material of her nightie.

  After a while it subsides and she lies back again, exhausted. He helps her take the medication and knows she will drift off to sleep shortly.

  “Do you want me to stay home tomorrow?”

  “No dear, I’ll be fine. They’re sending one of the Macmillan nurses round to look after me. You get yourself to school, you’ve missed enough time as it is.”

  He smiles and tucks her in. As he pulls his hand away, she clasps it.

  “Merrick, don’t you worry about me. I’ve got a lot more fight left in me yet.”

  This too proves to be a white lie, as three days later she is dead.

  The sound of a blaring horn brought Merrick back to the present. The half-track attracted attention and Jason’s demeanor told him he wasn’t comfortable with it.

  “How far?” Celestia said.

  “Five minutes. Get ready to lift him straight out when we arrive. Every minute counts.”

  Jason turned into a narrow alleyway that left only one inch clearance between the walls and the half-track’s battered sides. A group of children blocked the way ahead and Jason pressed on the horn in impatience as they took their time to clear.

  Round the next turn, he took a sharp right through a columned entrance in a brick wall and drove into an open courtyard. The place appeared to be deserted.

  “This is a clinic?” Merrick said.

  “Not to the general public, no
,” Jason said as he brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt. “Carry Arun over to the door. I’ll try and get someone’s attention.”

  Merrick wasn’t filled with confidence. The building looked like a dilapidated laundry. Windows were open on all floors and washing hung out on lines between the building and the outer wall.

  Someone had answered the door to Jason’s battering. They conversed with machine-gun etiquette and the man, a dusky-skinned native, looked agitated. Despite appearances, Jason seemed to have won him over and he signalled them to bring Arun’s diminished body inside.

  Once in the building, the appearance was more typical of a medical establishment. It had the same disinfectant smell you got in hospitals the world over, but the paint peeled off the walls and a three-legged cat limped across the corridor, mewling pathetically. Two medics came to help and laid Arun on a gurney. One attached an oxygen mask to his face while the other wheeled him into a small room.

  “Best leave them to it,” Jason said. “We’ll only get in the way.”

  “I beg to differ,” Destain said. “The staff here are all Hierophants?”

  “Of course,” Jason said.

  “Then they need to know the treatment I have administered already.” He didn’t wait for a reply and rushed after the medics.

  That left the three of them in the corridor.

  “So what happens now?” Merrick said.

  Jason turned to him. “Now, Whyte, you apologise; for setting back our struggle by decades, not to mention leaving me with a permanent limp after our last encounter—”

  “Now wait a fucking minute—”

  “Know this, I’m using every last ounce of restraint I have to stop myself from decking you.”

  ~~~

  Chapter 27

  Like the beat of a heart

  Jason held Merrick’s stare, his pupils dilated, fist raised.

  Go on, matey-boy, make my day, Merrick thought.