by A. L. Brooks
‘That there be Appleford Terminus,’ Hawkmoth told him, indicating the station building beyond the base of the hill. ‘Built during the golden age of railcourse travel.’
It were indeed a majestic old thing. High arches ran along its sides in place of walls. And a replica garetrain were suspended on a steel frame above the entrance hall. Vacant ticket booths could be seen running away into the darkened interior where the northwun and southwun railcourses converged. Modern lamp posts trailed the street outside.
Away from station, in the northwun railyards, one of the monstrous garetrains were parked. A number of its carriages had been knocked off track. By the looks of it, they had been assaulted by boulders that had dislodged (perhaps during a boom shake) and tumbled downhill. Parts of the terminal itself had sustained similar damage; there were evidence of sections of the building having been crushed, areas where the old roof had caved in.
The station lay on the outskirts of Appleford Town where Gargaron saw townhouses and shops situated around a vast circular track. He had heard that folk in this region were fond of racing mountain hounds. And most towns hereabouts bragged hound tracks.
No-one spoke for a while. Perhaps all were hoping to catch sounds of some slumbering beast, or the hiss of Dark Ones, or a snickering of witches waiting in ambush. Yet the Terminal, like the town, looked deserted, and but for the breeze moaning through its arches, the place were as quiet as ghosts. There were no movement down there, other than dust on the wind. And like Appleford Town, it were sullied with carcasses of the dead. Folk who had succumbed to the initial shockwaves, or been torn to bits by packs of Dark Ones, lay decomposing where they had fallen.
Grimah’s ears were pulled back, he hefted side to side, uneasy. Gargaron gently pressed his palms against the sides of his mount’s two heads, hoping to glean from the horse what troubled it. It seemed Grimah had sensed naught but a foul odour on the air, though there were something alien and odd about it.
‘Where be this beastie then you spoke of, Hawkmoth?’ Locke asked.
Both Hawkmoth and Gargaron deployed their spyglasses. Gargaron focused his on windows, arched doorways, hoping to spy creatures hidden beyond in the gloom. Areas where the terminal roof had collapsed gave light to interiors where ordinarily there would have been none without the aid of lanterns or glowstones. He saw and detected no creature nor witch.
Hawkmoth scanned the length of the building. Unlike Gargaron’s spyglass, Hawkmoth’s had the ability to switch between light spectrums and pick up on arcane planes. Yet, he, like Gargaron failed to detect anything out of the ordinary. It unnerved him more than it brought him relief. Something were amiss here. And he could not say what.
‘What do you see?’ Melai asked them both.
‘I see naught,’ the giant answered her.
‘As do I,’ came Hawkmoth’s rely.
Locke sighed, as if disappointed. ‘Oh, so whatever menace may have been here has since fled. Or perished. Saving us the job. Pity.’
‘Let us not be too hasty,’ Hawkmoth warned. ‘I may have detected naught with my spyglass but my senses tell me something lurks down there still.’
‘Something does lurk there,’ they were surprised to hear Melai say. ‘I hear its whispers, I can.’
All eyes went to her. ‘Whispers?’ Hawkmoth asked her.
‘Aye,’ she said, her brow furrowed as if finger nails picked at the insides of her skull. ‘Though… it be a language I do not know.’
Locke frowned. ‘Intriguing. You can converse telepathically?’
‘No, I cannot. With none but my home trees, that is. I simply hear it on the breeze.’ Her troubled eyes scanned the terminal thoughtfully, as if she were listening in on some private conversation the others could not hear. ‘This thing knows we’re here,’ she reported. ‘It watches us as we speak.’
That sent a cold creeping sensation up Gargaron’s spine. And they all gazed down hill as if the entire station now were suddenly alive and sentient and waiting.
‘Can you ascertain what this creature be?’ Hawkmoth asked her. ‘Is there more than one?’
‘Sorry, no. I have spent too many years sheltered amongst Mother Thoonsk to understand what I am hearing, let alone offer a guess as to what I think it might be. As for numbers… it’s difficult to tell… But aye, there be more than a single entity down there.’
‘Dark Ones?’ Gargaron asked her.
‘I am not certain.’
‘Witches?’ said Locke.
‘I cannot tell.’
3
Storm clouds pushed onwards, heaving out a chilled fore wind that curled mischievously about them, that whispered and moaned through the station, plucking at vegetation, making grass and weeds dance wildly. Distant thunder grumbled.
Hawkmoth hefted his sidesack around and rummaged through it. He pulled out a small stone canister. He pulled off its lid and out zipped a handful of small black flies that buzzed about his face. Squinting one eye against their attention, he groaned some command and off they flew, vanishing from sight downhill.
‘What be they?’ Melai asked intrigued.
‘Little spies of my own devising,’ Hawkmoth said somewhat guardedly as he watched them fly from him. ‘With some help from my wife, I might add.’ He fell silent, his gaze on the terminus. After a while he said, ‘They pass for flies. But who would suspect such critters as being capable of gathering intelligence?’
A minute or two later they returned, one here, another there. They lit upon Hawkmoth’s cheeks and crawled up into his eyes. Locke, positioned closest the sorcerer, saw them jab tiny proboscises into his retina. The sorcerer barely flinched. It were here that Hawkmoth saw what his miniscule spies had seen: strange creatures hibernating in darkened corners of the terminus.
When they were done, the flies each withdrew their proboscis and flew readily back into their stone vessel where Hawkmoth had placed a small portion of cured meat as reward.
‘Undead,’ they heard Hawkmoth murmur as he put the vessel away.
‘Undead?’ Gargaron enquired.
‘Aye. And they sleep.’
Melai remained wary, for the creature she could hear whispering were not undead but something else.
Gargaron eyed the garetrain waiting out in the railyards. ‘Right then, if they sleep then we can be off with that train before they know it.’
‘Should we not wake them first?’ Locke asked grinning. ‘I would very much like these undead to meet my moonblade.’
Hawkmoth glanced across at him. ‘I’d be careful what I wished for, Locke, if I were you.’
4
They descended Devil’s Knee spaced apart, Gargaron and Melai astride Grimah, Hawkmoth on Razor (the steed’s green eyes aglow), and Locke upon Zebra. They gave the terminal (and its hidden menace) a wide berth, veering directly for the garetrain.
Near the base of Devil’s Knee however, Zebra hesitated, as if sensing some imminent threat.
Hawkmoth put up a hand, ordering his companions to halt. The company came to a standstill. All eyes fixed firstly on Locke’s serpent and then on the terminal.
From here they could see the railcourse winding its way beneath the vast protruding roof of the building, away to vacant platforms where the dead littered seats and walkways and footbridges. Here they spied a second garetrain. In station. One, previously unseen from top of hill. It lay closer to Gargaron and his friends than the one in the railyards, though would have proved more troublesome to extricate due to the mass of roof dropped upon it and rubble strewn about.
A soft rain began to fall. ‘Locke,’ Hawkmoth said, ‘What worries your Zebra?’
Locke grinned and shrugged. ‘I could not tell you. But she senses something.’
5
They left the terminal at their backs and, with the hill to the right and the carriages to their left, they followed the rail line out into the train yards, weaving around huge boulders. As they neared the garetrain it were confirmed that three carriages remained u
ntouched by the boulders. And enormous carriages they were too, designed to cater for all the varied sized folk the realm had to offer. Even giants. Though it were quickly apparent that they were tangled up in some sort of hefty vine.
‘A curious finding,’ Hawkmoth declared.
‘What be it?’ Melai asked.
‘I am uncertain,’ Hawkmoth said. ‘Some plant by the looks of it.’
Melai thought otherwise. Yet could not say why. She felt her senses clouded by whatever were hiding within the terminal. ‘Alive or dead?’
‘I cannot say. Either way, we need deal with it for, see there, it tethers our train to ground.’
‘Leave it to me,’ Locke said, stretching his arms out, readying himself for some heavy lifting.
‘Very well then crabman, you and Gargaron see to this entanglement, if you don’t mind. And Melai, fly high and be at guard. Keep an eye on the terminal. The moment you see something emerge, you call out. I shall check the locomotive for its arcane drive keys. And if needs be then I shall set about finding them. I need not stress that we must work swiftly here.’ He made to move off when he stopped. ‘Oh, by the way, mind you each stay clear of the rail beam. Especially you Melai if you be in flight. It shall come into being as soon as I manage to activate the engine. Stray nowhere near it. Any of you. It will cut you in two as easily as molten iron through fat.’
Melai, crouched upon Grimah’s shoulders. ‘What be a rail beam?’
Hawkmoth indicated a series of tall steel columns, ones that curved inwards at their peaks forming what looked to be a broken hoop. Each column stood evenly spaced apart, perhaps forty paces from one to the next. And tall they were. Double the height of Gargaron. They ran out along the length of the train and away into the gloomy distance.
‘Once I open the drive keys, energy from the arcane planes will be funneled along this corridor of line-braces. It holds the energy beam beneath which the garetrain is propelled. It be searing cold. Like I said, be nowhere near it once it be activated. Heed me? Now, let us get to work.’
Melai unslung her bow, prepping herself to do as Hawkmoth had instructed. Gargaron gently gripped her shoulder. ‘How be your wing and arm?’ he asked.
‘Better. And if you are worried about me, be not. I can manage this.’
He nodded. ‘Right then. Stay safe.’
She fluttered her wings, leapt from Grimah’s shoulders, and flew high, spiraling away into the air above the train yards…
6
Locke dismounted his serpent, casting his eyes over the vine choked carriages of the train they hoped to thieve. ‘Take this side, giant. I’ll work the other.’ And off he went, serpent in tow.
Gargaron dismounted and crouched to get a clearer look at the subject. The vines resembled arms, he thought, long clinging arms. There were an endless mass of them, with an endless amount of elbow joints and each “arm” culminated in extended fingers.
He had naught seen anything like it. Brawny Twisters came closest but their branches were quite unlike these. This be naught but a shrubbery mimicking some creature’s limbs.
He lowered himself to his belly and scoured the space beneath carriage, half expecting to find some fiend staring back at him. But the space were empty, with no obvious signs as to where these “arms” originated. It were evident enough though that whatever it were, it had designs on staying put: its branches were not only dug down into earyth but were wrapped around the columns of line-braces.
Gargaron straightened and eyed the carriage windows. They were dusty and the day dark enough so that it were not easy getting a clear picture of the interior. But Gargaron were almost certain now that something were in there, and these “arms”, whatever their purpose, belonged to it. He would have hauled open one of the doors for a look but the thick covering of vines prevented such an action.
‘One way to find out,’ he murmured, and reaching out, he took one of the knotted branches and tugged. It did not give. It were like new rope tethered tight and unyielding. He strengthened his grip, leaned back, and this time put his weight behind it. The branch cracked, swung loose, and a pained wail emanated from somewhere.
Gargaron let go. And stood there, listening. What were that? He looked around at Grimah. His horse were a tad pensive, but no more than he’d been at top of hill. He gazed back along the rail course toward the terminus—naught there but rain and dislodged boulders and collapsed bits of roof, and the silent, unmoving, dead.
‘Giant?’ Locke called out from opposite side of carriage. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Aye. What were it?’
‘No idea.’
Gargaron called up to Melai. ‘You see anything?’ She were barely visible in the darkened sky above.
‘The way be clear,’ she called back. ‘The sound came from that vine.’
‘This vine?’
‘What other vine be there?’
Locke called out again. ‘Right then, giant, what say we tackle this with greater coercion?’
‘What do you have in mind?’ Gargaron answered.
‘Our blades.’
Gargaron bit his lip thoughtfully. He withdrew his sword. ‘Right then,’ he called. ‘How coercive were you thinking?’
A hideous squeal were suddenly heard from inside the carriage and Gargaron guessed Locke had made first strike. ‘Guess there be no turning back now,’ Gargaron grunted. He pulled back his sword and swung it into the entanglement.
7
Another squeal. Again from inside carriage. Though Gargaron did not expect the branches to recoil so violently. But recoil they did, taking much of the mass of tangles with it, as if he had just severed the appendage of some beast. He backed up, wary, watching it, waiting for it to lash out at him in defence. Though nothing of the sort transpired.
He wound back his sword arm to strike a second blow when he heard some distant howl. And this one did not come from the carriage’s interior.
He looked around. As he did, the air around him sucked against his clothes and hair as if some mighty gale had swept across the terminus and its railyards. He heard Melai squeal and looked up just in time to watch some invisible force swat her across the rail yards.
Gargaron gasped and went to race after her but he came aware of some ground-footed shadow rushing toward him.
He turned and saw some hell hound galloping at him. It had long, razored forelegs, and gnashing teeth. It ran like a dog yet it bore no hind legs, the lower end of its torso disappeared into a mass of blue flame; as if half of it were of the physical realm and half of it were contained within a plane known only to ghosts.
It closed on him quickly, he had almost no time to react. Though as he gathered up his sword, Grimah bought him crucial moments, charging headlong at the monster. Horse and hound crashed into each other, the puffy sound of meat and bone crunching together were loud and raw, and they piled heavily into ground, a burst of dirt and stones and clods of weed exploding at impact.
Grimah floundered on his back, legs in the air, the creature on top of him, blue flame flaring. Gargaron sprung forward with great sword in hand just as the beast were scrambling to its feet. He sliced its growling head from its neck and despite the growing rain, the grass on the railcourse shoulders took instantly to fire as the beast’s body crashed to ground.
Another howling monster emerged from between carriages, hurtling at Gargaron, and another leapt from top of train. Gargaron barely had enough time to cut the first in half before he spun with his sword and caught the other in mid-flight, skewering it straight through its torso.
Yet another came charging. He caught sight of it almost too late but brought his sword around in time to skewer this one too. Only to have another come scrambling over carriage top. He spun and slung his sword, catapulting his skewered attackers into it and sheer impact took the newcomer to ground where it scrabbled manically to its feet.
Grimah, having struggled to hooves, lunged at it, chomping both jaws into its face. Blood spurted from the creat
ure’s mouth, and pale blue flames flared from its body, and as it went to ground, Gargaron took its head off.
Gargaron took a moment to catch his breath. But could hear more of these beasties charging out from the terminal. ‘Grimah,’ he said, unhitching his shield. ‘Find Melai!’
His steed seemed reluctant to leave him.
‘Grimah! To Melai, I say! Go!’
Grimah made a noise of disapproval but obeyed. As steed dashed off, Gargaron heard the squealing train whistle suddenly piercing the air. He backed up from the garetrain. The “arms” from the entanglement had retracted from the line-braces and he spied the searing rail beam above the carriages alive now an, running beyond sight away northways. So, Hawkmoth has the engine awake, he thought. ‘Locke,’ he called. ‘Our train be leaving. Do you see Melai?’
There came no answer. ‘Locke?’
He heard growls and squeals growing closer and he turned and spied monsters racing feverishly toward him. Five, six of them. More behind them. ‘You lot can come to me,’ he murmured. With that he turned and dashed between carriages, taking off after Grimah.
8
The train yards were a mess of engines and boxcars and open freight wagons and empty lines of passenger cars. Gargaron charged up between two separate lines of boxcars, calling Melai’s name. Then ducked between a divide only to be faced with more carriages. ‘Blast!’ He charged at the wall of train in front of him and scrambled up its side, pulling himself to its roof. A better all-round view were revealed to him up there, at least. Appleford terminal away to his left and around to his right, he saw the glowing beam line alive and buzzing and with it the garetrain slowly pushing its way through the railyards.
‘Pray you hold the train, sorcerer,’ Gargaron murmured as he clambered along carriage roof.