“Where are we?” he asked.
“Somewhere within the lighthouse.”
Zen frowned. “But this is a street.”
“No, it looks like a street. This is a big place and it all depends where you look from. Here, light refracts differently. The Shadowland is a law unto itself.”
Zen flinched, his hand burning up.
“Does it hurt?”
“Do you need to ask?” He sucked air through his teeth.
“How did it happen?”
“The undertaker attacked me. But I imagine you already know that.” Even though he didn't want to risk angering Melantha, he couldn't let the incident go unspoken.
Melantha shrugged. “That which doesn't kill me makes me stronger.”
Zen gritted his teeth. Bullshit. That which doesn't kill me will just try harder next time. He’d wanted to hear her deny it, wanted to hear the shock in her voice that someone tried to kill her son, wanted her to beg for his forgiveness, but she remained stoically detached; uninterested; not how he expected a mother to react. He wanted to see tears. Remorse. Christ, the woman gave him to a couple of drugged up hippies who had trouble even knowing what day it was, never mind anything else. At least she could show a bit of regret. A bit of emotion. Anything; especially as she rated honour so highly.
He stared at his mother, trying to fathom her thoughts. She pursed her lips, the emotion he wanted to see developing like a photograph from an instant camera.
Unfortunately, it wasn't the emotion he hoped for.
Zen took a step back. Had he upset her with his questions?
Melantha opened her mouth, a gash in the mask of scars. She let out a thin snarl.
Zen started shaking; watched as his mother reached into her skirt and pulled out a small knife.
The emotion on her face was anger.
CHAPTER 29
Verity wandered the lighthouse parapets as though in a dream.
Sounds of pain and ecstasy emanated from the buildings lining the walls, one blurring into the other.
Bridges spanned the lighthouse, ranging from spindly narrow walkways to large brick structures. Some led to the other side of the lighthouse, while others didn't seem to lead anywhere. Some went up, some went down. A spiral staircase wound its way around the wall; in places, only a few feet wide, in others, closer to fifty. The buildings also varied in size. Some were the size of a dog kennel, others the size of a mansion.
She peered over the edge of the stairs and saw she was still very high, and it made her feel quite dizzy.
A series of loud bangs emanated from outside, the sound so distant as to be almost unnoticeable. Curious, she crawled on her hands and knees to a small, circular window set deep into the thick wall. The walls felt cold and slimy, and she had the strangest notion of crawling through an artery.
She unfastened the latch, pushed the window open, and shuffled to the edge to peer down. She felt a lot safer lying prone in the narrow gap than she did on the staircase. Wispy black clouds obscured a lot of the view, and the buffeting wind took her breath away, but in the breaks in the cloud, she spotted flashes of fire far below; orange flares and blue explosions that sizzled and crackled on the wind.
Melantha and her army were here. The thought quickened her heart.
She quickly shuffled back out and hurried down the steps. Her thighs ached, but the descent proved easier than climbing.
Strange winged creatures spiralled in the air, rising on curious whirlwinds that possessed a life of their own.
The stairs narrowed to only a few feet in width, and Verity leaned against the wall and shuffled sideways. She held her breath and looked straight out in front, pressing her hands to the wall to anchor herself.
One of the devilish whirlwinds spun perilously close, flaying her with grit that stung her eyes. She watched as the pillar of wind danced away, only to dart back seconds later with renewed vigour. It tugged at her hair and clothes, almost taking on human form, reaching out with numerous malformed limbs that wanted to pluck her from the ledge.
Verity let out a little squeal, the sound instantly stolen by the wind.
One of the flying creatures winged towards her. About a foot in length, it had a saw-shaped beak and independent eyes that rolled in their sockets.
Verity swatted the creature away, which only aggravated it.
A strange rasping sound originated from the creature as it moved its beak.
Panicked, Verity moved faster, but the ledge narrowed too much to allow her to run so she shuffled sideways. The creature swooped towards her, and she raised her hands to ward it off. Grit covered the uneven ground, and she felt her feet start to slide. She tried to grab the wall, but it proved too smooth.
She flailed her arms in the air as she started to fall. Heart in her throat, Verity gazed into the chasm below and realised she could do little to stop her momentum.
She heard the creature emit a victorious cry; heard the ghostly wind cheering.
With one last attempt at stopping her descent, she reached out, grabbed the edge of the stairs, and just managed to get one hand up in time. Her fingers scratched to find a purchase and pain flared along her arm as the single limb arrested her fall. For a second, she thought her arm was going to be wrenched from its socket, and then she grabbed the ledge with her other hand, evenly distributing the weight.
The flying creature winged perilously close.
Verity dangled precariously over the abyss; felt sick.
She couldn't hold on much longer, and she tried to pull herself up, but she wasn't strong enough. Pain flared from the cuts on her body as the wounds reopened and her muscles screamed in agony.
It couldn't end like this, surely. She hadn't gone through all that pain to fall to her death.
Summoning every ounce of strength, she hoisted herself up, her chest scraping against sharp bricks. When high enough, she put one elbow on the ledge, then the other, her feet scrabbling against the wall to procure a foothold.
Once up, she rolled onto the ledge and lay on her back, trying to catch her breath. Her limbs burned, but she was alive.
The creature gave a loud cry and then wheeled away, soaring into the shadows higher up.
When her heart slowed its frantic beat, she sat up, wincing at the pain the movement elicited.
The quicker she reached the ground, the safer she would feel, so she picked herself up and continued descending, her legs shaking uncontrollably.
She didn't know how long it took to reach the bottom of the lighthouse. Time seemed like an abstract concept in the Shadowland, but she gave a relieved sigh when she stepped onto level ground. She glanced back up, couldn't believe how far she had come.
Her previous life now seemed hazy, a distant memory or a dream, this the only reality she had ever known.
She wondered whether the painful wounds fuelled her disparaging thoughts. Perhaps the pain created ephemeral, illusory realities. Perhaps it induced this place. On the other hand, it could have created the other place, the one she remembered before this where there were no monsters. Was this a hallucination? Or was her previous life the hallucination? Which was the dream, and which the reality?
She wondered whether she might be suffering from a form of shock. Even worse, that she might be going mad. It only confused her more; distorting reality.
But she didn't have time to ponder her situation as there were more pressing matters to deal with. Screams and shouts rang out, but she couldn't tell whether they were sounds of battle, or just the general background patter.
A confusing warren of buildings stretched before her; a small citadel within the safety of the lighthouse, and she stood deliberating which way to proceed.
Eventually, she decided to make for the source of the noise.
The streets appeared deserted, abandoned like a surreal ghost town. If it wasn't for the screams, she could imagine she was all alone.
She rounded a corner, the agonising cries now louder than ever, and stared in
horror at the sight of Melantha's army flailing on tall wooden stakes. Those that weren't already dead soon would be as a hoard of creatures on overlooking balconies slashed at them, tearing away strips of flesh and hanging it like grotesque bunting from the eaves.
The creatures looked like small imps with four arms and bluish skin.
Entrails hung like grotesque ropes from some of the bodies, and the imps played with them, enacting what looked like a bizarre dance around a Maypole. Verity covered her mouth with her hand in the hope of stopping herself from being sick. They were toying with them, playing a grotesque game of cat and mouse.
She looked away and noticed something glinting on the ground and she walked over and squatted down, frowning.
A set of teeth.
Leo's teeth.
She picked them up, holding them in the palm of her hand like a precious jewel. He wouldn't have just left them lying around.
A low rumble rang out and she turned on her heels, a graceful pirouette to see Melantha’s dog come skulking out of the shadows, its teeth bared and bloody.
The dog's growl got progressively louder as it closed the gap between them, its eyes sparkling with killer lust.
It stood on its hind legs and started to transform, long, sharp claws growing from hand-like appendages.
Then it pounced, all gnashing teeth and fierce claws.
CHAPTER 30
Zen stood frozen to the spot, terrified.
Melantha raised the knife, her expression furious.
“Wait,” Zen shrieked, bringing his hands up to protect himself.
But Melantha didn't wait. She leapt through the air and Zen prepared himself to die. He flinched in anticipation of the pain the knife would induce, but Melantha continued past and he wheeled in surprise to watch his mother spear the gecko creature that had pursued him through the alley.
The creature flicked its long tongue out and drummed its tail on the ground, but it offered no resistance as Melantha drove the knife home. It almost seemed to welcome death, its face adopting a smile before it fell to the ground.
Melantha composed herself and turned towards Zen and said, “It's you and me, son. Kon del tut o nai shai dela tut wi o vast. He who willingly gives you a finger will also give you the whole hand. Will you give me your hand?” She looked at him, her face conveying enthusiasm that verged on madness.
Zen didn't answer. Too confused to think straight, and too afraid he would say the wrong thing. What did she want of him?
As if she read his mind, Melantha said, “I need your support. Together we can beat them. Together we can make them all pay. Everyone. Are you with me?”
Zen nodded. What choice did he have?
Melantha grinned. She wrung her hands as if wringing necks.
Zen knew she was mad. Nobody sane harboured such hatred and anger, and even if they did, they wouldn't act on what they felt.
“Remember your bet?” a voice whispered from the shadows.
Zen felt his blood run cold as he recognised the albino man's voice.
“It's time,” the albino man said. “The dice are cast, the wheel's spinning, the cards are dealt.”
Melantha turned and surveyed the buildings. “Who's that?” she asked, a devious grin splitting her lips. “It's him, isn't it? The pale leech.” She looked at Zen for verification, although her expression said she already knew she was right.
Zen gave a slight nod.
“I knew you'd come eventually,” Melantha said, addressing the shadows. “Now why don't you come out and face me.”
“Kill her,” the albino man hissed, his voice seeming to come from numerous shadows and many mouths. “Kill her, now.”
Zen covered his ears with his hands, the resultant pain from his injured hand preferable to the voice, because he didn't want to listen. The voice sounded hypnotic; taunting him.
Melantha hurried towards a doorway and pulled a skulking man out into the street. His muscles rippled; and although physically more than capable, he didn't resist.
Zen watched, intrigued as the man's expression turned from one of avarice to one of sycophantic devotion; the expression looked sickly. His blue eyes melted as he looked at Melantha, and although he had seen it before, Zen still couldn't believe the change his mother induced in people.
It was magic.
Evil.
Bloody fantastic.
Just imagine, with a power like that he could shag any girl in the world. Models, film stars, pop stars, they would all kneel before him and suck the cock of their God; they would all be putty in his hands. And Melantha could help him. Perhaps the pain would be worth it if he could become a living God.
Melantha looked at the man she had grabbed with nothing but disgust. She pursed her lips, deliberating before handing him her knife. The man accepted it like the crown jewels, he now their protector.
“Cut yourself,” she said.
The man licked his lips as though fighting an internal dilemma before putting the blade of the knife to his wrist and drawing it across the skin. A thin red line appeared, a scratch.
“Deeper,” Melantha cooed.
The man licked his lips and groaned in rapture. He put the blade back onto his wrist and made a second cut, just above the first, but deeper, much deeper. Zen could see the layers of skin part like tissue paper.
The man grimaced.
“Deeper,” Melantha whispered. “Deeper.”
The man obeyed, the knife sinking into his arm. He sweated, his teeth gritted, but he didn't stop cutting.
Although sickened by the sight, Zen couldn't look away. He watched mesmerised as the man continued to hack at his own flesh, sawing through sinew and muscle, the blood a lubricant that sprayed his face as he severed a main artery, the blood pumping in time to his heart like a grotesque fountain. With the muscle severed, the man's hand flopped uselessly, but he didn't stop cutting. When the blade hit bone, he continued to saw; the sound chilled Zen's blood and he looked away as the man dropped to the ground. If Melantha possessed an ounce of sanity, Zen knew she would have enlisted the man’s help with her power, not turned it against him.
A shape flashed out of the shadows; the albino man whirling and dancing with an arsenal of sharp steel that spun magically around his hands.
Zen let out a little whimper of fright and turned towards Melantha, noticed her walking down the street, searching doorways.
He wanted to cry out to her, but his mouth wouldn't work. He tried to swallow, but couldn't, tried to run, but couldn't, tried to move, but couldn't. Paralysed, he stared at the albino man as he flew at him, grinning as much as the curved blades he employed so expertly. The whirling steel left faint phosphorescent trails in its wake like fireworks, an echo of movement so fast that it blurred like propeller blades.
“You lose,” the albino man said, laughing as he lunged with his spinning blades.
CHAPTER 31
The dog sailed towards Verity with its teeth bared, snarling.
She ducked, but wasn't quick enough. The beast's claws caught her shoulder, tore fresh wounds, causing her to stumble back and collapse.
Pain shot up her back as she hit the ground and the creature knocked some of the wind out of her as it landed on her stomach, causing further pain as it aggravated her injuries.
She hardly dared look up, but she had to. If she was going to die, she was going to look death straight in the eye.
She wished she hadn't.
The beast slobbered over her, a web of saliva hanging from its maw as it lowered its head to feast.
A scream rang out, and Verity wondered how she made the noise without opening her mouth. It took her a moment to realise she hadn't screamed. Someone else had. The noise originated behind the beast. It lifted its maw, its nostrils flared as it sniffed the air, its head turning, eyes as black as coal.
The sound of displaced air replaced the scream and Verity saw a flash of movement that took the beast by surprise. The next moment its maw headed for her face again,
but this time in a languid movement, its tongue lolling. She moved her head aside as the beast's head hit the spot where her face had been. She watched it roll away. Decapitated.
She looked up at the headless body, a fountain of blood spraying into the air before its muscles gave way and it collapsed on top of her, a dead weight.
“Are you okay?” a gummy voice asked.
Verity looked up at Leo with tears in her eyes. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. He sheathed his sword, bent down to help roll the beast’s carcass off her chest, and then helped her to her feet.
She hugged him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Leo ... I ... I …” She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.
“I know,” Leo said. “I know.” He stroked her head and patted her back.
Verity winced as her wounds throbbed, but she couldn't let go. Not yet. She needed the comfort and security his embrace afforded.
Remembering the teeth she had found, she regrettably pulled out of his hold and held them out to him. “I found these ... I thought you were dead.”
Leo accepted them and slipped them back in his mouth. “No, I just spit the bloody things out when something attacked me. I think the thing was more frightened than me after that. You should have seen its face. It almost had a fit before it hightailed it out of here.” He laughed and pushed his teeth out a bit, as if reconstructing the event.
Verity laughed along with him, finding it hard to stop once she started.
She wiped her eyes, the pain from where the beast’s claws dug in now starting to filter through. She inspected the wound; it looked no worse than those that already marred her torso, and it certainly wasn't as painful.
Growls filled the air, and Verity turned, alarmed to see the imps that had been playing around the grotesque Maypole advancing towards them, using their legs and four arms in unison to propel them along.
“Run,” Leo screeched, grabbing Verity's hand and dragging her after him.
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