by G R Jordan
No, the cold didn’t bother him, unlike the chill that Calandra exuded. For a woman to whom he felt so closely drawn, he was constantly taken aback by the icy sharpness of her touch. Her leather jacket flapped as she paced quickly back toward him after completing a short scouting mission. He watched the black T-shirt hug her ample curves and enjoyed the black jeans snug around her thighs. Dammit, he missed Alana.
The train journey out of Moscow was uneventful and they had hiked for about four hours through the night after the bus routes had run out. To him it looked like any agricultural landscape in rural Russia, but Calandra had said this was the place. So many weird places around us, thought Kirkgordon, and we pass them every day. Like the crypt. Oh, damn Austerley and his desires. Ostriches had it so good. He wished he too could live a life of ignorance. But now he had been introduced to all this, he knew the inner compunction to stand in the fight against the unholy would be too strong. Although he and God were on a bout of silence, he knew he hadn’t jumped the fence. Yes, he addressed his ultimate master, you and me need a conversation about all this one day.
Calandra’s contact had been good. Apparently, in the days when she still could warm you with her touch, he had been a count of an old order and he had caused her some disservice. Debts had been called from whatever creature he was now, and an arrangement had been arrived at with Austerley’s kidnappers. Nothing had been said about who they were and they seemed to have bought the story about destroying the manuscript. Or, they may not have done, Kirkgordon mused. Either way, they wanted it, and Calandra and himself were saving them from searching. Only when the kidnappers arrived would they see if Austerley was with them and know whether the bluff had worked.
“Beside the orange digger, the one with the broken bucket.” Calandra smiled as she whispered this detail. In some ways she was like Austerley. Already she was relishing the storm that was coming and she had talked animatedly about what new beast or creature she might see. The Nightgaunts had been more than enough for Kirkgordon, who was used to being able to weigh the odds. Usually they were at least fifty-fifty, or, better still, stacked in his favour. In this strange world he was wandering like a young child: ignorant, wide-eyed and slightly scared. The odds were not measurable when he didn’t know what was in the pack. Calandra stowed the manuscript inside her jacket. It made sense as she was the stronger fighter. He hoped she was a damn good one. The Nightgaunts moved so swiftly and their talons had cut serious gorges into him. He could still feel his wounds, despite whatever ointment Calandra had put on him. Still, the physical pain was one thing. The mental horror, the shaking that his brain was going through just from the mere presence of these things on this dear earth, was too much. Austerley, although he had nights of wild terror, had learnt to embrace these changes, learnt to form some sort of appreciation. Austerley’s contact in the alley had provoked only disgust in Kirkgordon, but Austerley had been almost pleased to see the thing. He had wondered at its beauty, for pity’s sake.
Calandra was another thing entirely. No, not thing, person. Kirkgordon was convinced she was a person, even though she didn’t fit any particular category of person in his head. At least one could appreciate her beauty. Also, she had deep bonds of respect and trust with Austerley. But she was worried. Kirkgordon had seen this in stronger parties before – usually he was that party, so he knew the game well. She was overcompensating with positivity. Telling the lesser party that all would be okay, over and over. She was trying to appear insurmountable. He would need to watch her back.
“They’ll come up from over there. See the tunnel reaching into the ground about three foot wide? There. That’s where. How many, I can’t say.”
Kirkgordon watched as Calandra picked up the staff she had carried with her from the room they had hidden away in. A staff seemed little protection from these creatures that were coming.
“Are you proficient with that thing?” Calandra threw Kirkgordon a mean and dirty look. She twisted the centre of the staff and two blades emerged from either end. A strong push about three quarters of the way along the staff opened a secret compartment and some ten knives dropped into her free hand to be quickly secreted on her person.
“Stand behind me when they come. I’ll draw them close and you can pick and hit on the run.” She was doing it again. Overprotective. Kirkgordon reached into his pocket and felt the small knife he had taken from her armoury in the flat. Calandra had had some extensive weaponry but he was unable to use just about all of it. Why she had picked out this staff, even with its hidden extras, he just didn’t know. The sound of a car arriving brought his thoughts to a close.
It was a black limousine, the type of which Kirkgordon recognized as that he had been driven in at the airport. It drove up to the field they were in, cruising across the hard ground. From the passenger side an older, balding man dressed in a black suit, its crispness contrasting with his decrepit appearance, got out. He looked like he was ill, skin peeling in places and eyes wide and sombre. Reaching the rear door of the vehicle, he opened it with surprising alacrity for one so old. A familiar face emerged.
“Ah, Kirkgordon. You are rather unusual for an employee. However, you do have the manuscript as requested and so I think the return of your colleague is a fair arrangement for your services. Also I am happy to present your fee on deliverance of the document. With an added bonus for your quick work.” Farthington’s smile had the slickness of caramel and was probably just as sickly too. “As for your present company, I will be happy to let bygones be bygones, despite the injury she caused to me.” Calandra sneered.
“Show me Austerley, then we talk.”
“No doubt your colleague has mentioned we have other friends at our disposal. A more pleasant candour would be appreciated. No need for this to turn out nasty.”
“Austerley! Please.” Kirkgordon was scanning everywhere but he could not find any extras except for the man from the car and presumably a driver. Maybe another one or two inside as well.
“Very well, Kirkgordon.” Farthington turned back to the car, reopening the rear door. “Mr Austerley, please step out.”
A shaking figure emerged and the face that looked up at Kirkgordon was indeed Austerley but not the same one that had left him in the room on that cursed street. He had scratch marks all over his face, some much deeper than others. Shoulders hunched, he walked, or rather stumbled, towards Kirkgordon.
“Mr Austerley has been most helpful. And now the manuscript.”
“What the hell have you done to him?” raged Calandra. The staff in her hand was now spinning in front of her. Austerley had dropped to his knees, clearly exhausted. Calandra made a beeline for Farthington who was standing beside him. The staff twirled at a manic pace and gleamed white at its ends. Farthington just smiled as she approached, and Kirkgordon watched the hole Calandra had pointed out earlier turn black as a sudden explosion of winged creatures emerged from it.
“Calandra, Nightgaunts!” roared Kirkgordon, drawing the knife from his jacket. Kirkgordon counted six Nightgaunts emerging; one came directly toward him while the others raced at Calandra, forming a protective line in front of Farthington. Even in the light of the day, their total blackness was shocking and the absence of eyes and mouth positively unholy. Kirkgordon forced himself to concentrate on his sole attacker rather than watch the fate of his colleagues.
Last time the speed of the Nightgaunts had surprised him but now he was ready for their agility. Hopefully his guile would be enough to counteract it. Setting down from flight about five feet in front of him, the gaunt coiled, ready to pounce. Kirkgordon froze to the spot, eyes fixed on his foe, carefully watching the talons hanging from the black arms. The gaunt suddenly launched forward, swinging its right arm, which Kirkgordon narrowly avoided by rolling to his right before scrambling back up to his feet. Turning, the gaunt again coiled for a second pounce. This time as it leaped forward its left arm swung the deadly shredding talons. This time rolling to his left, Kirkgordon was unfortunate t
o receive a slight raking to his back. The pain was palpable but he regained his stance. Dammit, he thought, this will have to end soon. It stared with its inadequacy of eyes, a sensation that was deeply troubling the recesses of Kirkgordon’s mind. It seems to be thinking, he thought. Good.
Coiling tight before releasing, this time the gaunt swung both arms as it leaped at him. Sensing the opportunity, Kirkgordon sprang straight into the gaunt, feeling its arms encompass him, but not before he managed to position his arms, and hence his knife, above the wrapping limbs. Struggling against the pressure imposed by the gaunt’s arms and the pain of the talons yet again ripping through the jacket into his flesh, he grabbed its head with his left hand and sliced hard with his blade through its neck. They fell together in a heap and the arms constricted tighter for a brief moment before falling limp. His heart beat hard, his breath struggled and he raised his head to see how his friends were faring.
Extremely well was the answer. Calandra was standing in front of Austerley surrounded by three gaunt corpses and two others were prone on the ground, howling in agony. Looking closer, Kirkgordon could see she wasn’t fully resting on her left leg, which had a serious gouge in it and was bleeding intently. She was smiling, however, and started to demand things of Farthington.
“Who’s it for? Who’s after the music? Your protection’s gone, little man, time to start piping a tune if you don’t want to be lying side by side with these faceless scum!”
Calandra was putting everything into this questioning and it worried Kirkgordon. She was too keen, too pushy. Surely there was no rush now that the Nightgaunts were disabled? Some slightly more subtle but effective methods came to mind but then he realized that Calandra was hurrying for a reason. That leg did not look good.
“Protection?” laughed Farthington. He threw his head back and gave a theatrical laugh which reverberated around the whole area. The voice did not seem entirely earthly. “You have no idea who I am, do you? Or indeed what I am? Now hand me that manuscript or you will find out. You will look into the face of a hell you cannot comprehend. Остерегайтесь дыхание дракона, Mr Austerley!” And the laughter became raucous.
Kirkgordon looked directly at Austerley and saw a face full of dread and panic. Normally, Indy took pronouncements with ease but this was different. Despite his state of abuse and fatigue, his body was finding new ways to tremble. As he caught Kirkgordon’s eye, he just shook his head, eyes wide in disbelief.
“What, Indy, what did he say?”
“Go! … We need… need to… go! Остерегайтесь дыхание дракона. Вот дерьмо!” Calandra seemed to be caught in a moment of panic, shaking where she stood. But she regrouped and started spinning her staff, which started glowing white at either end. At least someone’s got a handle on what’s happening, thought Kirkgordon, reassured But then the ground started to shake. The source of the tremor was only twenty feet from Kirkgordon. Turning his head he saw something wilder than anything he had seen before.
Farthington was no longer standing there. The figure in his place was at least a foot taller. Metamorphosis is something that people rarely imagine; they usually think only about the difference between what was and what is. Like the butterfly, we put the changes inside a cocoon, invisible to the normal world. There was no cocoon around what was happening here. First, the neck extended, clicking with each vertebrae extended in the spine. Swelling like a rapidly inflated balloon, the legs took on a proportion difficult to comprehend. Expanding and remoulding, the face’s smooth human roundness was replaced with a sharpness of anger and hate. Despite hearing Austerley hit the ground in a faint, Kirkgordon couldn’t take his eyes off an enormous sprouting tail which finally reached some ten feet. It was proportionate to the giant twenty-foot dragon that now graced the ground where Farthington had stood.
Time-lapsed nature films suddenly sprung into Kirkgordon’s mind. This was particularly apt considering the way that two extra necks sprung out from the shoulders before a head manifested itself onto each of these writhing stems. All three heads now had an extended jaw, inside of which were forming sharpened teeth. Pointed ears emerged from the side of each head, and scales formed across the whole body of the beast. Yet Kirkgordon could still see, inset into the sockets of each visage, the eyes of Farthington. Kirkgordon’s nerves were shot to pieces and he could feel his legs trembling. Deep in his core, the warrior spirit was yelling at him to stand and fight, but his mind was racing wildly.
The dragon that was Farthington now stood some twelve foot tall with heads that moved with abandon in front of and around each other. To see them was to see a melee of horror before your very eyes. Kirkgordon was transfixed with blackest wonder until a terrible cry broke the air.
“змей Горыныч, die!” yelled Calandra, throwing her jacket to the ground before her wings erupted from her back, spreading out to their full width of some ten feet. She took to the air in a charge at the dragon while spinning her staff with both hands until it began to glow white, forming a luminous circle. Kirkgordon stared at the impending collision and marvelled as the staff took one of the heads clean off at the neck. However, another head managed to grab Calandra’s leg, whipping her upwards before letting her fly through the air behind the beast, crashing into a pile of broken-down vehicles. The beast turned towards her and its central head let off a blast of fire just to the left of Calandra, causing the truck’s engine cowling to catch fire and burn with a dull orange. The dragon then walked towards its decapitated head, stooped down and let his wounded neck conjoin with its missing appendage. A swift and miraculous healing took place and by the time the neck had righted itself there was no wound to be seen. Turning again toward Calandra, the beast slowly moved in.
The terror inside Kirkgordon forced his brain into thought. He realized that the dragon believed Calandra had the manuscript. If not, surely she would have been fried by now. Calandra was lying groggy on the ground beside the burning truck. It was one of those moments when there is no sense, just a crazy plan and a wild hope. Blast it, here goes!
“Farthington!” Kirkgordon addressed the dragon. “You want the music sheet, I got it. If you want it, you’ll need to rip this old pro apart to get it. And that ain’t been done yet!” Except by those Nightgaunts, an inner voice murmured. It’s never encouragement from the voices at these times, thought Kirkgordon. His address was having the desired effect; the great beast swung round to face him. The ground shook as the dragon rumbled forward and Kirkgordon prayed he had anticipated this right. He won’t fry me. He knows I’ll be looking for his heads to attack. So he’ll use the other weapon. Come on big boy, Farthington keeps his weapons in the dark until he needs them. He’s pure subterfuge. Come on.
The dragon was approximately ten feet from Kirkgordon when it suddenly stopped. Without any hesitation, it spun on its heels, whipping its huge tail around, the barbed end of which was sailing directly for Kirkgordon’s head. Anticipation was everything and Kirkgordon was well ahead of this game. He ducked the flailing appendage and raced hard towards Calandra. She had landed on her back so the rolled-up manuscript tucked into the back of her trousers was not visible. On reaching Calandra, he slid into her and pushed her over onto her front before ripping the sheet music from her garments. He passed the manuscript from his right hand to his left as he quickly stood up again. The stomping footsteps of an irate dragon rang loud in his ears but he dared not stop to look. With his left hand he casually tossed the manuscript onto the burning hood of the truck where the dried parchment quickly started to blaze.
Gunshots are extreme to an eardrum but never had Kirkgordon heard such a sound as now emanated from the dragon. As he started to run he clasped his ears with his hands to protect them. Such a roar must have been heard from miles away. Kirkgordon was heading towards Austerley who was starting to stir, the roar bringing him back to consciousness. Behind Kirkgordon, the dragon’s charge could be heard. As he was approaching Austerley, Kirkgor
don heard the beast take in a large breath. Operating on pure instinct, his mind associated with this sound a plan of action and he grabbed a car door lying casually on the ground and skidded to a halt in front of Austerley. As he turned his head to face his foe the fiery blast was already on its way.
The ball of heat was nearly on him before he managed to place the car door in front of his unprotected body. It was only his shoes that caught fire but the searing heat came from all around. Austerley was more fortunate, as his distance behind the shield meant much of the blaze had dissipated by the time it reached him. Screaming at the pain, Kirkgordon managed to force his yell into a phrase. “Out! We need an out!”
Glancing over the top of his protective barrier, Kirkgordon saw the dragon advancing but he also saw Calandra on her knees drawing on the ground with the end of her staff. A hand grabbed his shoulder as an unsteady Austerley sought to seek shelter behind the hot and gently blazing car door. Fighting the pain in his feet, which were starting to blister, Kirkgordon desperately tried to form a plan to get back to Calandra. He hoped he knew what she was doing.
“Austerley, stay close and tight. Oh, and this is going to hurt!” The grip on his shoulder got stronger as Austerley took in the message. As the dragon formerly known as Farthington advanced, Kirkgordon, holding the car door in front of him, wheeled into his position. Suddenly he stopped.
“Churchy, keep moving! Bloody hell, keep moving! It’ll fry us!” shouted Austerley.
“No, it won’t,” Kirkgordon stated calmly, “but it will whack us with that tail.” It has to want the door off us, he thought. Please God, let me have this right! Within a blink of an eye, the tail came into Kirkgordon’s upper right view and he braced himself for the collision. Austerley, however, was still drinking in Kirkgordon’s last statement and promptly fainted at the thought of it. His body did not have time to hit the ground as he and his would-be protector were swept off their feet along with the car door, which was seeing more action now than it ever had in its vehicular life. The landing blow for Austerley would have been more substantial if not for his passive state, and he cushioned Kirkgordon’s fall as well as that of the car door. Calandra’s voice boomed and the end of her staff lit up. The markings she had drawn on the ground came alive with a shimmering white. She grabbed her friends by their necks, one with each hand, and hauled them inside the pattern she had drawn. Suddenly the ground swallowed them up. They were gone.