The Black Tower: The Complete Series

by David R. Beshears

  The world glowed a dark, shadowy orange-red, the light reflecting from the dark rocky dome of the cavern; the light emanated from a wide river that flowed across the heart of the great chamber. The water was black and red and orange and rust. It moved slowly, gently, winnowing its way across the cavern, passing directly in front of them.

  A small dock jutted from the bank directly ahead. Tied to the dock was a wooden longboat. Glowing lanterns hung from its high stern and bow. Near the stern stood a tall, dark figure dressed in black cloak, his face hidden in shadow beneath the hood. Several small cloth sacks hung from a thin rope tied around his waist.

  He said nothing. He waited.

  “Crap and double crap,” grumbled Owen. “We’re in Hell.”

  Episode Seven / Chapter One

  “If that’s the Ferryman—” Quinn wondered aloud.

  “Of course it’s the Ferryman,” said Owen.

  “Then that would be the River Styx.”

  “Of course it’s the River Styx.”

  Somehow, Owen’s grousing always put their troubles into a bizarrely twisted perspective. It was how she dealt with the world, and Quinn had begun going along for the ride.

  “Styx?” asked Ramos.

  “From Greek myth,” Quinn said quickly, before Owen had a chance to jump on the corporal. “One of a number of rivers of the Underworld. The Ferryman takes the souls of the dead across to the other side.”

  “To Hell,” Owen said sharply.

  “More precisely, to the realm of the dead,” said Church. “For many, the Underworld is where life originated and where all must return.”

  “And for many, it’s Hell,” Owen stated. “Which do you think they’re going for here?”

  Church sighed. “Yes. There is that.”

  “What do you suggest we do, Doctor?” asked Quinn.

  “The intent is clear. The Adversary would have us cross.”

  “Yeah… you all let me know how that works out for you,” said Owen.

  “Oh come, Liz. You would abandon us now?” asked Church. “Is your curiosity not piqued?”

  On the boat, the Ferryman lifted a hand, held it out palm up.

  “I am curious about one thing, Nate. How do you suggest we pay the man? Anyone here carrying any half-pennies? Drachmas? Anything? How ‘bout quarters?”

  “Oh my,” sighed Church.

  “Ya’ gotta pay the Ferryman. Them’s the rules.”

  “And if we don’t?” asked Ramos.

  “If you can’t pay, you wander the banks of the River Styx as a wraith for eternity.”

  Asher took a step calmly forward, looked up and down the river. The bank sloped gently to the water’s edge, the soil dark and barren. There were no signs of wraiths, wandering or otherwise.

  Asher was tired. The last few floors had beaten him down, mind, spirit and body. He was tempted to drop to the ground, to sit and just wait for the whole wraithing thing to happen.

  But of course he couldn’t. He would push on. He would always push on.

  This was the twenty-first floor. Oh man, they had a long way to go.

  He walked to the river’s edge and up onto the wooden dock. The floating pier shifted slightly as he approached and stepped down into the boat.

  The Ferryman continued to hold out his hand, palm up. The long, bony fingers were pale and leathery.

  “Sorry friend,” said Asher. “I must have left my wallet in my other pants.”

  The Ferryman stretched his hand out another few inches. Asher could just see the darkly shadowed face beneath the hood. The cream-colored skin was stretched taut across bone and streaked with thin dark lines. The eyes were hidden in black sockets.

  Asher stepped back and sat on a wooden plank bench. He could feel a trembling in his chest, tried mightily not to let it show. He had thought he didn’t care anymore, and was surprised to realize that he did. A helluva time to find that out.

  “Actually, I believe our host has already made arrangements,” he said. He stared down at the bottom of the boat, guardedly lifted his gaze up toward the Ferryman.

  As he watched, two silver-colored coins materialized in the palm of the outstretched hand. The Ferryman curled his fingers closed. He brought his hand back and dropped the coins into one of the sacks hanging from his belt.

  Asher let out a long shuddered breath. After taking in and letting out another, he looked over at the rest of the team. They were still standing on the bank, but had gathered nearer the dock.

  “We’re good to go,” he managed to say, and with that Lieutenant Quinn started ahead, the others falling in behind him. The Ferryman collected two coins for each passenger as each stepped into the boat and settled onto the benches.

  “This is so not a good idea,” said Owen, finding her spot.

  Sgt. Costa released the lines and was the last to climb into the boat. “What other choice do we have, Doctor Owen? This is the path we’ve been given, our passage paid for. The portal to the next floor must be on the other side.”

  “Oh, we have most-assuredly paid for our own passage, Sergeant,” Owen stated ominously. “On credit. There will come a reckoning.”

  §

  The crossing itself was uneventful, for the most part. The Ferryman never spoke, seldom looked at his passengers. He guided the boat as it wound its way through currents and eddies and worked its way toward the far shore. Twice something in the water bumped into the wooden hull, but it never showed itself.

  After about twenty minutes, Lt. Quinn stood and studied the approaching cliff wall of the distant shore. A few minutes more and he could make out a small pier jutting out into the river from an inlet set into the base of the cliffs. This looked to be the only location anywhere along the shore that was accessible, with the sloping riverbank at that point some forty feet wide and twenty feet deep. To either side of this little beach the towering cliffs rose directly up from river and reached nearly to the ceiling of the great cavern in tall, thin spires.

  There was movement part way up the cliff, a shifting of shadows among the shadows.

  “What is that?” asked Quinn.

  “Some kind of creature,” said Lisa. She was standing beside Quinn now, as were several others.

  “Cerberus,” said Asher. He had remained seated, and spoke without looking to the shore.

  “I believe you’re right, Peter,” said Church. He could make out the creature more clearly now. Jet black, three large heads and a single thick, writhing mane.

  “What do we do now?” asked Ramos.

  “Not to worry, Corporal,” said Church. “Cerberus is there to keep folks from leaving, not entering.”

  “That’s gotta make you wonder now, doesn’t it?” Owen said with a sly snicker.

  The longboat glided the rest of the way to the pier, bumped up beside it and came to an easy stop. Sgt. Costa climbed out and fastened the lines.

  “What now?” she wondered aloud, not really asking anyone in particular. She glanced up the cliff, but couldn’t see Cerberus. His shadow had blended fully into the other shadows.

  She looked back then at the others, all of whom were standing now and making ready to disembark. Behind them in the stern, the Ferryman raised a hand and pointed.

  There was a tunnel opening directly ahead at the base of the cliff. Appearing at first as a smear of black set into the rock wall, rust-colored light began to bleed out from within and out onto the sandy ground outside.

  The group gathered near the mouth of the tunnel, some glancing anxiously about, several nervously adjusting their small backpacks.

  Costa looked determinedly into the tunnel. It led straight into the hillside for twenty paces before fading into darkness. The light came from a pair of torches mounted on the wall midway along the tunnel.

  Quinn stepped up beside her. “Slow and cautious, Sergeant,” he said.

  Owen moved up beside them both. “Might I suggest running headlong into the mouth of the beast and we’ll see what happens?”

&
nbsp; Costa shifted the shoulder strap of her backpack. “I think I’ll follow the lieutenant’s orders, Ma’am.”

  “Of course you will, dear,” Owen said smoothly.

  §

  The tunnels wound and twisted, forked and forked again, descended and then ascended again. The rough-hewn reddish rock walls and ceiling forever pushed in on them from either side and from above, the smooth-worn floor a constant reminder that the route they travelled had been trod a million times before over thousands of years.

  Each time it grew almost too dark to see, there would come a flickering of light from beyond the next bend, and beyond the next bend they would find torches mounted on the walls. These they would take and use to guide their way so long as the flames lasted.

  After uncounted hours in the claustrophobic tunnels, the cavern they stepped into felt large. It was perhaps a hundred feet across, the dome-like ceiling forty feet above them reflecting back the glow of the lava that bubbled in a dozen pools that pockmarked the floor.

  “Someone’s been watching way too much Doug McClure,” said Owen.

  “I’m glad of the opportunity to stretch my arms,” said Lieutenant Quinn. He stepped out ahead of the others, studied the chamber more closely. “A dead end?” he asked.

  “There’s a way out over there.” Lisa pointed directly across the way.

  “Don’t look now, boys and girls, but we are not alone,” said Owen. She indicated the walls around them.

  “I don’t see anything,” said Lisa.

  “Them ain’t shadows, girl.” The walls were covered in black splotches, each one to two feet across. They seemed to writhe, shrink and expand.

  “We haven’t seen our friends in a while,” said Church. They had been crossing paths with the Acolyte’s minions going all the way back to the first floor.

  “The Acolyte,” Asher said calmly. He was looking at another tunnel access far to their left. A tall, thin figure stood unmoving, hands clasped before him.

  Even at this distance, Owen thought she could see a thin smile cross the Acolyte’s face. The expression sent creepy-crawlies up her spine. She looked quickly back to the walls.

  “Oh, this can’t be good,” she grumbled.

  As they watched, the inky black masses began to take shape; swelling and writhing, taking on form and dimension. Thin, spindly legs sprouted, each ending in a set of sharp claws. The creatures’ heads were rat-like, with long snouts, ears set far back on the skull. As the creatures continued to evolve, their fur turned from pitch black to gray and then to dark brown.

  Their tails were monkey’s tails; tails that rolled and unrolled, curled and twisted.

  The creatures all turned their heads at the same time; big, bulging black eyes, all looking to the group of humans standing just inside the chamber.

  “Holy crap,” whispered Owen.

  “Yes ma’am,” said Ramos. “We finally agree on something.”

  “Shall we take our leave?” asked Church.

  “Yes we shall, Doctor,” said Quinn. He reached back and brought out the crude knife he kept in a sheath pocket on his pack. “Everyone… back away easy, no sudden moves.”

  The soft, hushing sound of shoes sliding across the floor. At that very instant, the sound of sharp claws scratching across rock; a shudder of movement as every creature moved just a fraction.

  And they waited.

  “Oh, boy,” Owen sighed. “This is so not going to end well.”

  “New plan,” said Quinn. “On the count of one, we run like hell.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Costa. “I like that plan.”

  Again, the sound of sharp claws on rock, all in a rush, and another shudder of movement. The creatures had all inched another fraction closer. All those black, empty eyes watched.

  “Everybody ready,” said Quinn. “And… one.”

  Quinn made sure the others made it back into the tunnel ahead of him before leaving the cavern himself. Backing out and then turning and running, he heard the creatures’ scrabbling and scratching as they rushed toward the tunnel.

  As they drew nearer, Quinn could sense them closing in on him as he hurried through the tunnel. He could feel their presence. As he ran, the others ahead of him, he knew the creatures were right behind him. He heard the whispering rush of claws and fur getting nearer and nearer.

  And something more…

  That faint whispering was reaching into his mind; ethereal tendrils just touching his thoughts, brushing across random images, past and present and some not his at all.

  The walls to either side were suddenly alive with the creatures. They leapt at the running humans, grabbed at them, grasping and clawing and biting. Everyone kept running, pulling and swiping at the little monsters. Those with knives in hand, however primitive, stabbed at them.

  Quinn pulled one off and swung it hard against the wall. He quickly reached out and grabbed at another that was holding onto Owen’s backpack with its hind legs as it repeatedly scratched and clawed at her arm and shoulder. Pulling it away by the head, he stabbed at its throat.

  Sgt. Costa had worked her way to the front of the group, slashing at creatures attacking her comrades as she passed, fighting off those that dared to attack her directly.

  There was an opening up ahead on the right. Costa recalled that it led to a small cave, large enough to accommodate everyone, at the same time defendable. She stopped before the opening and directed the others in as she fought to keep the creatures out.

  She and Lt. Quinn were the last into the cave, fighting the creatures off with knives and fists until the attackers finally gave up and retreated back down the tunnel.

  Episode Seven / Chapter Two

  Quinn gave Asher a pat on the shoulder and left him to stand watch at the opening to the tunnel. Looking about the small chamber, he had to fight back a grimace.

  Everyone had visible injuries. Most were minor, some not so minor. Lisa Powell was tending to Dr. Owen, who had suffered a number of deep claw scratches and bite wounds. Susan was looking after Sgt. Costa, with Church hovering over them both. The sergeant had taken the brunt of the attack during her defense of the rest of the team. She would be all right, but could be counted among the walking wounded.

  They had used the majority of their first aid supplies many floors ago and now relied primarily on water from their canteens and strips of cloth torn from the most ragged of their clothes. Alcohol had come in handy when they had it some floors back, but that was long gone. They did make use of needle and sewing thread they had acquired somewhere along the way.

  Quinn stepped past a grumbling Dr. Owen and knelt down beside Cpl. Ramos, who was fussing with the radio.

  “Corporal?” he asked.

  “Nothing serious, sir.” One of the creatures had gone after the radio during their run through the tunnel. The radio’s canvas jacket hadn’t fared too well, and one of the knobs was missing, but other than that it had survived the ordeal better than had some of the team members.

  “Good to hear,” said Quinn. “How about yourself?”

  “I’m fine, sir. He was after the radio more than me.”

  “Smart little buggers.” Quinn rose to his feet. His bandaged right hand throbbed where he had taken several deep claw wounds. He also had scratches to his back, which would need cleaning when he had time. He turned and spoke to the group.

  “It looks like we’re about as safe here as we can hope for, so we’ll stay put for a bit and catch our breath.”

  “What then, Lieutenant?” asked Asher. He glanced over at Quinn before turning his attention back to the tunnel. “Sooner or later, we’re back out there.”

  “I’m all for staying right here for just as long as we can,” said Lisa. She was busily cleaning a bite wound on Owen’s arm.

  “We don’t have the supplies to stay here,” said Owen. “Nor the restroom facilities.”

  “Yes, well, Doctor Owen’s facility concerns aside, Professor Asher is right,” said Quinn. “The portal to the next
floor is somewhere out there. So out there is where we have to go.”

  “After we catch our breath,” Lisa stated firmly.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” agreed Quinn. He looked back to Ramos. “How long to the comm window, Corporal?”

  “About forty minutes, Sir.”

  “Comm window? Really?” asked Owen. “What the hell can they do? And I do mean that literally.”

  §

  Susan and Church sat with their backs against the rear wall of the cave, Susan wiping her hands clean with a damp cloth. Church watched Sgt. Costa move across the cave toward the opening leading out to the tunnel, to where Asher stood watch.

  “A nice job dressing the sergeant’s wounds, Susan.”

  Susan only shrugged. They had all become quite skilled at dressing one another’s wounds.

  “She is quite the competent young woman,” Church said casually.

  Susan glanced over at Costa, who was now relieving Asher. “We wouldn’t have survived this long without her.”

  “I suppose not,” he sighed noncommittally. “But then, we each have our part to play.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Susan chided. “The way you and Doctor Banister go on and on about her…”

  “Hmm… I suppose so.”

  Asher stepped around those sitting about the cave and worked his way over to the wall on their left. He sat, leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes, arms resting on his raised knees.

  “I grow increasingly concerned about our young Professor Asher,” said Church, watching Asher. “He is… darker… of late. These past floors in particular have taken their toll.”

  “Peter takes this place more personally than the rest of us.”

  “More so even than the lieutenant?”

  “For Lt. Quinn it is a matter of duty. It is much the same with all of us, one way or another. We all have something. Responsibilities. For Peter, there is only the immediacy of the floor we are on, and the mind games.”

  “I do regret that I was quite harsh with the man regarding his role in Wes and Private Carmody being left behind.”

  “The Adversary and his Acolyte created those circumstances, Doctor. And just who was the real target of that exercise?”