The World of Sharlain

by Peter Ponzo

  Clayton looked through the rear view mirror, but couldn't see his brother. Just past the next intersection he pulled to the curb, stopped the car and looked over his shoulder.

  Gordon Chaplain had vanished. On the back seat lay an amulet, glowing.

  "Jesus Christ! You said the words. Gordon, you said the bloody words!"

  *****

  Day came early to the mountain and the slopes were laden with morning mist of gray. Dark lay the valley below, the silver stream wending its way with a shining that came ghostly through the haze. The giant bird moved darkly across the amber sky, wings arched, gliding into the maw of the valley, dissolving in the glow that was Dragomir.

  Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, staring up from where he lay, listening to the thin sounds of the morning wind which swept down the mountain into the valley. For some time he lay without motion, without thought, without word more than a breath.

  He raised himself to his elbow, turned to see down into the valley with its gown of mist, still and silent but for the whispering wind. He rose unsteady to his feet and gazed into the distance, his hand arched above his brow. Across the emptiness, across to the far side of the valley rose the dark and shadowy hills, rising from the shroud, soaring into the dim light of morning.

  He stood on a ledge, a finger of stone which ran across the scarred face of a mountain. Before him, the valley. Behind him a black cavern, a dark and open mouth in the face of the cliff which rose vertical and cold from his feet to beyond his vision. He staggered back against the hard rock, into the cave, into the darkness until the day was but a circle of light. There he fell, collapsed, closed his eyes, collected his thoughts.

  Had he come to the World of Sharlain?

  Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, sat up, breathing heavily the thin air, feeling the cold stone by his side, gazing at the mouth of the cave. How long had he lay, dreaming? His eyes began to see in the darkness, walls rising to a vaulted ceiling, the depths vanishing into black. He rose and walked into the blackness, against the cold wall, groping. From the floor a dim light illuminated a stairwell. He placed his foot upon the first step, breathing softly, his breath a mist before his face. The light brightened and he took yet another step and it brightened once more and he took another step. Twenty seven steps, down into the belly of the mountain, each step brightening his way until he reached the cavern below, bathed in ochre light, ceiling soaring to unimaginable heights, the far wall too remote to observe. He stood on the last step and gazed out across the vast expanse; spires of stone rose forbidding to the ceiling.

  A path of small tiles wound its way to beyond the spires and he stepped onto the first tile, warily, his arms raised to either side, and he followed where it led until the path stopped before a golden tower of stone. Embedded in the base of the tower a plate of gold surmounted by two embossed dragons, each with nostrils flaring, flaming.

  An inscription:

  Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

  The words to open the Door of Monash, from the World of Sharlain. He reached out to rub the brass, to repeat the words, to reenter his world. There was a noise, scraping, approaching from the depths of the cavern, then a wheezing. He turned and peered into the darkness. The light that had emanated from the stairs now vanished into a black void. It came closer, the scraping, the wheezing.

  *****

  They all met at Peter's house that same night: Thomas Barclay, Clayton Chaplain, Peter Jacobs and his wife, Gloria, who insisted upon staying and listening.

  "I tell you he just vanished ... right out of the back seat," groaned Clayton.

  "C'mon Clay," said Peter. "He must have fallen out of the car or maybe got out at a stop light or maybe -"

  "No, he just disappeared. He had this amulet in his hand and said the words Borgo-nom ... no, I won't say it. If I do, I might just vanish too."

  "Hey!" cried Tom. "I got it! That's the Door of whatzit, you just rub the amulet and say the words and presto! Gone through that goddam door." He turned to Gloria. "Sorry for the swear word. Just got carried away."

  Gloria smiled. "If that amulet is the way to get into this other world," she said, "then what do you want to do Clayton? Do you want to test this theory?" She looked in turn at the others. They were all silent.

  "This is crazy," muttered Peter Jacobs. "Rub this thing and enter another world? We can't really believe that, can we?"

  "But I thought you and Clay did believe in this other world," cried Tom. "You two were always talking about it, I guarantee. And what about the report I made on old man Woller, at the hospital? Doesn't it sound like he came from the Sharly-world?"

  Peter grunted. "We should stay right here. We shouldn't try to go where we don't belong."

  "Anybody game to try?" Gloria whispered, certain that it would dismay her husband, but eager to test the theory.

  "Me!" cried Tom. "I want to go!"

  Peter moaned and they all looked at him. "It sounds pretty weird to me. If it really is the way into this other world then we should be pretty careful. I mean, we should try it on a dog or something."

  "That's great," said Gloria. "We just teach the dog to say that borgo phrase."

  "I'll try it!" shouted Tom. "Let me try it! I'll be the guinea piggy!"

  "I don't think any of us should try it," said Peter.

  Clayton coughed twice and they all looked at him, waiting for him to speak. He looked so much like Gordon and they always deferred to Gordon when he wanted to speak. Clayton coughed once more, then spoke slowly.

  "I've got to follow Gordon into the world of Sharlain," said Clayton. "You don't have to, but he's my brother. I do have to go."

  "I'm going too," said Tom emphatically. "You ain't leaving me behind, that I guarantee."

  "Maybe two is enough," moaned Peter. "Maybe somebody should stay back, just in case."

  "Peter Jacobs," said Gloria sternly. "You stay here. I'll go along with Clay and Tom."

  "What! Not on your life!" cried Peter. "This isn't a joy ride and -"

  "A joy ride? Is that what I'm supposed to think? Why? Because I'm a woman? If anybody goes to Sharlain, I'm going along. And that's final."

  Clayton couldn't keep from grinning. Gloria was full of fire and he had learned to admire and respect her in just the hour since they had met. She was also as smart as a whip and he, for one, would vote in favor of her joining him. Come to think of it, it might even be better if Peter did stay behind.

  "Peter, maybe you're right," said Clayton slowly, as though he was about to say something cerebral. "Somebody does have to stay back. If those who go don't return in some prescribed length of time then the person who stays behind must send in a, a -"

  "Posse," Tom said, grinning. "Send in a posse."

  "Right. Okay, let's decide who goes. I'm going for sure. Who else?"

  "Me! That I guarantee," cried Tom.

  "Right. Tom goes." Clayton waited, knowing who would speak next.

  "And yours truly," said Gloria, frowning at Peter. "Don't worry dear, I'll be sure to pack my lipstick and face powder."

  "That's settled," said Clayton. "Peter, you'll stay behind. Here's the phone number of my number two man, Tony Shugart. He's the person to contact if -"

  "No! Gloria doesn't go!" cried Peter. "I'll go. Gloria can stay back and -"

  "Not on your life, to coin your phrase," said Gloria quietly. "If you want to come along then somebody else can stay behind. And don't bother to argue. I have the amulet and it's the key to the Door, right?"

  "You have the amulet? How did -"

  "Uh," muttered Clayton apologetically, "I just let Gloria see it, after we sat down. I guess she's got us, Peter. She does indeed have the amulet." He covered a slight grin with his hand.

  "But she doesn't know the words! You can't get into Sharlain without the words!" Peter leaned back, exuding confidence for the first time.

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan," whispered Gloria, a huge g
rin on her face.

  "Wait! Don't say it! You'll just vanish ... uh, you're still here? You didn't disappear," said Peter, staring at his wife, then at Clayton.

  "Because she doesn't hold the amulet," said Clayton. "Gloria. Can you get the thing? We should start right away. Who knows what trouble Gordon is in, already."

  Gloria left the room. Peter was sweating. "How did she know the words? I can't even remember them?" he muttered.

  "They're written on the amulet, and she has a good memory it seems," Clayton said.

  When Gloria returned she was carrying a large knapsack filled with sandwiches and soft drinks. She had also changed into jeans and a sweater. On the sweater was the amulet, shining. She stopped for a moment, gazed at the others sitting around the kitchen table, then continued into the living room. They all followed her, sitting then waiting for her to speak. It was clear that she was going to be a force to reckon with and Clayton was pleased.

  "Clayton, you go first," she said, handing him the amulet. "Don't hold on to it, just put it on the table and place your hand on it. I'd like to have it remain here after you're gone. Tom, you're next. Then I go. Peter, sweetheart, remember the phone number Clayton gave you. If we're not back in ... what, a week? If we're not back in a week then send in the troops."

  They watched Clayton, no one daring to breath. He laid the amulet carefully on the table and held his hand poised over the small gold ring. He took one last look at the others staring at him, not saying a word. He took a deep breath, rubbed the amulet and chanted the words:

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

  It was Tom who gasped. Clayton had vanished.

  "I didn't really believe it could happen," Tom said softly, then, excitedly, "I still can't believe it! He just ... just, poof, gone. Can you figure that? It's a miracle, I guarantee."

  Peter's mouth was open, staring at the place where Clayton had been, then at the amulet. Gloria pointed to Tom, then to the seat next to the table. She seemed so calm.

  "Tom, just touch it and say the words."

  Tom lowered his hulk slowly into the chair where Clayton had been, placed his hands carefully between his knees, raised his head, closed his eyes and began to mumble as though he were praying:

  "Borgo borgo ... uh, borgo."

  "Here, Tom," said Gloria. "I've written it out for you." She handed him the slip of paper. Tom placed it beside the golden brooch, on the table. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his hands still clasped together between his knees.

  "Tom?" whispered Gloria. "The amulet. You've got to touch it."

  Tom opened one eye, slipped out one hand and placed it gently on the amulet.

  "Borgo nom achewan no nopawno agerwan."

  Tom said it slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

  Then he vanished.

  Peter's mouth was still open, then he looked at Gloria, then he grabbed for the amulet.

  "Borgo ... borgo uh, what the hell is it?"

  He picked up the amulet and began to read the words from the inscription.

  "Borgo-nom achewan-"

  "Peter! No! Don't hold on to the amulet!"

  Gloria screamed and jumped over the table and fell sprawling on the sofa. Peter immediately dropped the amulet and helped her up.

  "Gloria! I'm so sorry sweetheart. Are you hurt?"

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan," she chanted, quickly.

  And disappeared.

  Third Interim

  Now everyone would enter the World of Sharlain and see, themselves, the strangeness of this world, for here do horses fly and ghosts dance in a night sky. Seeing is believing, perhaps. But with seeing, does understanding come easily? I think not, for I understand but little of this world. I am old, yet I understand but little. With age comes wisdom. Is that truly so? I might ask, and you attempt to answer: why two vaulted caverns beneath two mountains, yet only one with golden tower and guardian beast? Alas, I know not ... but let me continue, for you will be the judge and you may possess the understanding when my tale is ended.

  CHAPTER 6

  The World of Sharlain

  Gordon Chaplain heard the wheezing, the scraping, saw the dim shadow, the long arms. He looked left and right for an exit, but there was none. An arm rose, claws silhouetted against the dim light, then a second clawed arm, and the creature hurried forward, eager, wheezing. Gordon staggered back, felt the tower, turned and stared at the inscription at the base. It was too dark, yet he knew the phrase.

  His hand slid across the smooth plate.

  He mouthed the words:

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

  When he opened his eyes he was standing on a grassy plain which reached to the horizon, to blue hills rising against a bright sky, a sky without sun but glowing eagerly in burnt sienna and orange. To his right a mountain rising from the plain, a dark patch near the peak betraying the presence of a cave with its ledge of stone. Within the sinister mountain, unheard, the beast cried out and the scraping continued.

  Now, behind him, the sounds of pounding hooves. He turned and saw the flowing capes of dark horsemen, racing, their beasts winged and black. Of a sudden they rose, five horsemen on winged creatures, rising easily into the air. The pounding stopped and Gordon Chaplain stood in silence, watching the approach, until they hovered above him, the voice of the beasts hoarse and deep.

  The largest creature descended, not a horse but a black devil, the robe of the horseman swirling violent and ebony about him, a long arm extending from beneath the black robe. Gordon Chaplain was dragged into the folds, the beast howled, snorted, rose with a great beating of wings.

  They disappeared beyond the blue hills, beyond the sky of burnt sienna and orange, and Gordon Chaplain was afraid.

  *****

  A day in the World of Sharlain passed into tentative and starless night and a new day began.

  Clayton Chaplain found himself on a ledge reaching precarious from the rising stone that was the mountainside. He turned quickly and walked into the cave, saw the opening in the cold floor, descended the stairs and they brightened with each step, and he reached the path of tiles and set out across the expansive vault toward a golden tower with an embossed plate at its base. He knelt before the gold plate and read the familiar inscription.

  Then, a noise, beyond the path of tiles, to the stairs which led to the cave on the side of the mountain. A scraping, a wheezing. Clayton moved past the golden tower and peered into the darkness, now brightening, now glowing amber in increments. Clayton Chaplain waited, staring past the spires of stone. A dark hulk appeared on the last stair, tall and grotesque, moving slowly across the tiles, hunched, moaning, hands stretched before it, groping. Then a voice, weak and trembling.

  "Clay?"

  It was Thomas Barclay.

  "Thomas! Over here!"

  Thomas almost collapsed when he heard the voice of Clayton Chaplain echoing from beyond the golden tower.

  "Jeesuz, Clay. Where the hell are you?"

  Clayton walked out from behind the tower, hands raised, waving at the frozen figure standing darkly against the glowing vault. When Thomas Barclay reached him, he pointed a finger at the golden plate at the base of the tower.

  "That's how we get back. The words, the gorbo words, they're written on the plate."

  "I don't like this place one bit. Let's try it now."

  Thomas Barclay reached toward the plate, but Clayton Chaplain held his arm.

  "No, we have a job to do, and we must do it here, in Sharlain. Let's go back to the stairs. Gloria should be there now."

  They retraced their steps across the path of tiles and stood at the foot of the stairs. Tom placed his foot upon the first step and called up into the dark hollow which rose into the ceiling.

  "Glory! Are you up there?" He waited and called again. Glory? Why had he called her that?

  A rustling, across the floor, wheezing, beyond the first spire of stone.
A long and hairy arm, then a bulbous body, slimy and green, a head with jaws opening to a red tongue which flickered in the light. The giant creature slithered across the floor toward the stairs, dragging several thin black arms terminating in toothed claws, its head rising as it approached, with eyes yellow on stalks which shivered above its head.

  "Christ," shouted Thomas Barclay, too loudly. "A monster! Get up these stairs!"

  Up the stairs, dimming with each step, they reached the cavern now dark but for a shaft of light streaking across the floor from the mouth of the cave. Thomas stopped, breathing heavily, but Clayton continued until he stood on the ledge, gazing over the valley now bright without mist in the glow of a sky without sun. He saw the grassy fields below, the silver stream winding across the valley, and several dark birds winging toward the blue hills.

  "Pretty sight, eh what?"

  Gloria Jacobs spoke. She stood in the shadows, just inside the mouth of the cave, gazing in awe at the blue hills and bright sky.

  A cry from inside the cave. Thomas Barclay, in the grasp of a giant creature with arms that stretched twenty stairs. Clayton ran to his side, scooping a rock from the floor of the cave, hurling it at the hairy black arm. Gloria screamed at the hairy beast, running to Thomas' side, pulling at the arm.

  "Wait!" Thomas yelled. "I'll take care of him!"

  He pulled the thin black arm to his face and bit it off. The creature scraped and wheezed and vanished, slithering again into the stairwell.

  "Not exactly lobster bisque," Tom grunted, backing toward the mouth of the cave, spitting pieces of scaly flesh to the floor. Gloria cried with delight, putting her arms about his huge frame, planting a kiss on his reddened cheek.

  Clayton grinned. His face gleamed with perspiration, but he grinned. "One down, how many to go?" he whispered, as though the walls listened.

  Gloria walked to the ledge, peering to either side, down into the bright valley.

  "We can make it down. See? The rocks, jutting out from the cliff. It'll be enough."

  Thomas looked over her shoulder at the narrow projections, then at his own belly, then back at Clayton who stood in the mouth of the cave. Gloria began the descent without further comment, her slim body hugging the rocky cliff, her feet carefully placed in a crevice, the knapsack swaying on her back. Clayton walked to the edge and looked down.