Wodi could see the others at the ferry and he felt the rush of freedom. We’re going to make it! he thought. We’re going to survive!
Then, he saw Jules.
* * *
Marlon ran toward the ferry with a pack of ghouls not far behind. He saw Peter fumbling with the rope that tied the ferry to a post nearby; brandishing his knife, he slashed the rope in one smooth motion, then continued on while Peter wondered why his rope had suddenly gone limp. Marlon splashed into the shallows and stumbled onto the ferry. “Saul! Peter!” he cried. “Keep your spears up! Don’t let them onto the ferry!”
“What are you going to do?” said Peter.
Marlon sawed at the rope that spanned the river and passed through the hoop in the post in the middle of the ferry.
“No, Marlon!” said Peter. “We need to start pulling this thing across!”
“No time!” said Marlon. Already several ghouls gathered in the shallows while others clambered onto the post that held the river-spanning rope aloft. Like spiders they crawled down the length of it, intending to drop down on the humans in the ferry below.
“I don’t think you should cut the rope!” Hermann shouted. “Marlon, let’s just pull the ferry across!”
“We can’t pull the ferry and keep those ghouls off of us at the same time, the river’s too rough for only one or two people to pull the ferry!”
“But if you cut it - Marlon, stop and listen to me! - if you cut it, the river’s just going to whip this thing right down the river!”
“That’s why we’ve got to hold onto the rope with everything we got!”
Iduna grasped the rope, eyes intent on the far shore. Hermann grimaced, then did the same. Peter and Saul shouted and stabbed at the ghouls massing nearby. Their movements and Marlon’s sawing set the ferry rocking wildly, and Marlon knew they could not trust the ferry to remain stable – especially outside of the shallows, where the river ran wild.
“Wodi!” he shouted hoarsely. “You got about ten seconds to get on here, buddy!”
* * *
Jules had smelled danger as soon as the first ghoul had spotted them and run to the leader. He took off deeper into the woods, intent on being as far away from both groups of idiots as possible. But he had taken numerous wrong turns and, completely out of breath, he somehow ended up stumbling into the clearing and froze at the sight of the pack of ravening ghouls.
Suddenly Wodi was beside him. “Let’s go!” Wodi shouted. “Nobody gets left behind!”
Wodi dragged the old man behind him, but the way to the ferry was blocked by shrieking ghouls. Wodi saw the others looking at him, fending off ghouls and unsure what to do. Wodi looked back and saw the leader pull his black spear from the ground. He might have been smiling, but his mouth was twisted with scar tissue and unreadable. Wodi’s thoughts were interrupted when many ghouls, smelling his predicament, broke away from the bank and hounded them. Wodi cried out and swung his spear, knocking their knives and sticks away – but still they pressed on.
“Come on!” said Wodi, pulling the old man up the rise over the bank under which he had originally hidden. He could hear feet slapping the ground behind him. He staggered up the bank, exhausted, but the old man felt a burst of energy and ran ahead of Wodi. He teetered at the top, arms swinging as if he planned on flying to safety, then he fell over the side into the rushing river. Wodi fell to his knees at the top. Ghouls clambered up on all sides.
Wodi heard screams, then saw the ferry come loose and swing about in a wide arc through the raging torrent. While his companions held tight to their end of the rope and the post in the middle of the ferry, Wodi saw a handful of ghouls spill from the shorn rope and tumble into others on the shore. As Wodi’s friends rocketed through the river and crashed safely on the other side, no less than six ghouls spilled into the river, shrieking and bobbing as they were whisked away.
Wodi laughed. “At least they made it. At least they made it!”
He stood. The large ghoul glared at him and lifted high the black spear. Wodi extended his middle finger, sucked in one last breath of air, then fell backwards from the bank. He was swallowed by the freezing tide and spirited away from the killing grounds.
Chapter Seven
Child of Destruction
Excerpts from Karli Grego’s introduction to Dogman: Son of the Wasteland, published in Haven in 191 FH:
It is no small thorn in the side of rational humanity that homo canis, or the “dogmen,” thrive in a world where we could not. While they do have sharp canine teeth and are exceedingly hairy, forget the cartoonish depiction of dog-headed men found in popular media. According to our Founders, the reality of these bestial subhumans is far worse. This feral offshoot of our family tree earned their name because of their haggard appearance, their willingness to fight and die, and the slavish devotion given to their superiors.
…
We know that dogman culture tends toward extreme misogyny, an inability to consider consequences beyond the moment of action, and a powerful drive to prove oneself to figures of authority. They organize themselves through a patriarchal mishmash of bickering oligarchic tribes ruled by warmongers and witch-doctors. They prefer to fight with or flee from flesh demons rather than make sacrifices; unfortunately, having a common foe does not mean they would ever form an alliance with humans, for they consider us their weaker cousin.
…
They cannot crossbreed with humans, but they consider human women to be highly desirable. A chief gains much merit among the tribes if he has a large harem of human sex slaves.
...
Be it known that a pack of dogmen can decimate entire settlements of well-armed men.
* * *
The ghoul pack-leader urinated uncontrollably as he watched the humans scramble off the stolen ferry and disappear into the woods on the far shore. What a clan of powerful warlords! No doubt their magic was potent as well. He moaned until he choked on a great wad of mucus, wondering what he could have possibly done to stop them.
Slowly the others gathered around and prostrated themselves at his feet, white heads shaking with sorrow. After the river had done its terrible work, his party was now reduced to half its size. Pathetic! The pack leader kicked one white head, looked about for someone to blame, then kicked another white head.
He stamped his spear and considered their options. Staying here was out of the question, for there was no longer any ferry to guard. Following the humans and attacking their warrior, who could scream magic words capable of breaking their resolve, was also out of the question.
Or was it? He found his best scout, the slope-headed ghoul who had first spotted the invaders, and slapped his side with the butt of his spear. He bent his fingers and made the sign of the great lord of the forest, then pointed to the East. The runner must go, he must tell the lord what had happened. The pack-leader knew that the lord of the forest was capable of influencing those who had faith in him. He could give them strength in battle – strength enough to kill the invaders!
The runner squawked and made a sign at his throat. He had not the words to tell the forest lord what had happened.
The pack-leader whistled, stupefied at the runner’s ignorance. He made the sign of faith and touched it to his forehead. Did the runner not know that the great lord had his ways of getting what information he needed, even from a simpleton such as him? The runner nodded and took off, loping through the forest.
The leader looked at his pack. Their beady black eyes were filled with devotion. He knew the time for kicking them and whacking them with his spear was over. Now, they must hunt. He made the sign of revenge and tapped it against his chest. Many of the ghouls understood and nodded, and the others saw their companions nodding, so they nodded as well.
They would have their revenge! The leader howled and ran along the shore. The others followed, their cold eyes full of death-lust. Soon, the lord of the forest would possess them with his spirit. With his power, they would find the humans and make
them envy the dead!
* * *
Wodi was sucked into the river, a rushing black void flinging him to the end of the world, a violent hurricane with no air to breathe. He saw dark motes buzzing in his vision like flies gathering on a corpse. He knew that his life could be snuffed out at any moment. Crushing cold, endless black, movement without end – just when he realized that his will was nothing compared to this force of nature, he was flung upward to the surface. Bright light pierced his eyes and he sucked in air.
He heard shrieking, then realized that at least five ghouls were with him. They flung their limbs about, mouths wide with panic.
Calm, stay calm! Wodi thought, rhythmically beating his hands and feet against the unending wave. He watched one ghoul waste the last reserves of its strength, then its head disappeared beneath the water with a delicate plop.
The river passed beneath a curving roof of tree limbs. All was dark inside the ribcage of the giant, but the hideous shrieking of the ghouls echoed in layers of agony, a prayer screamed during torture. One voice choked, gasped, then was absorbed by the endless river.
Once more the river took them into light, blinding and brilliant, then flashing through broken webs far above. Wodi watched as two ghouls silently wrestled in a contest to use one another as a raft. It was an awkward embrace with gritted teeth and greedy fingers. Both sank beneath the surface.
Wodi was exhausted from treading, but all at once the river picked up speed once more, then he was sucked beneath the surface. There was no air, only crushing weight. A hideous white limb slid against his leg and he jerked away from it. It was the limp body of a dead ghoul and, as he watched it, it set to dancing in tune to the river’s whim, then it disappeared into darkness. Wodi was full of revulsion – then another form came near and Wodi grasped its skull, determined to jam his thumbs into its eye sockets.
It was an old man. It was Salem Jules! Wodi grasped the limp old man’s arm, then decided there was nothing he could do to help and released the old man. At that moment the river flung him back to the surface once again and he could breathe.
The river widened, and slowed, and went into a great wall of mist. Milky white became all.
Tall boulders were interspersed throughout the mist, black islands that towered above the boy. The river was exhausted and offered no struggle. Wodi heard a startled groan near him, turned, and saw the head of the old man nearby.
“You’re alive?” said Wodi.
“Not if you don’t gimme a hand,” said Jules.
Wodi drifted towards the man, checked himself, then said, “I can see a place to rest just ahead.” Then he pushed away from Jules.
“I don’t see nothin’,” said Jules.
“Well, I do,” said Wodi, casting about in the mist.
After a few moments the old man said, “I’m drownin’.”
Wodi ignored him and paddled on. They came to a niche of glistening clay among the rocks. They drifted into the shallows, rose, and stumbled into the crevice. There was a broken path nestled among the towers and the mist, and they climbed through it. The old man sat on a step to rest, and Wodi climbed to a rocky aerie, where he sat and watched. He was in a cloud where the sound of rushing water beat like a memory. The tops of black rocks cut into the cloud, and white birds with crusted eyes slept like statues. They did not fly, but waited patiently to eat the worms that infested their own bodies. The worms tunneled even into the flesh, and the birds had to be careful not to eat the worms that held shut various veins and capillary ducts, for a great feast could unstop a plug and allow death to enter.
Sometimes the mist parted, and Wodi saw that he was directly below the sheer mountains that guarded the western end of the valley. The river opened into wide pool down below and drifted into a great cavern at the base of the mountains. An echo of the river’s descent flowed out, and the boy wondered how deep into the world he would have fallen if he had not surfaced when he did.
The old man sneezed below, and Wodi said, “Jules, you gonna make it?”
A tired voice down below said, “I’m about half dead.”
“We’ll rest a while, then.”
Something like a pig’s sigh came from the old man, and Wodi heard him turning, moving stones for a pillow, and the boy leaned forward to rest, too, but did not sleep in that place.
* * *
The ghoul runner dashed through the woods on all fours. He leaped over creeks and twisted around thorny oaks, unmindful of ancient clan piss-markers because he was on the lord’s business.
He came to the highlands where the trees were bent and cracked, weighed down by a crystalline plague that sent shafts of light winking at the ghoul. He heard a flute playing, the shifting senseless melody of the wind dancing through the distant towers. Suddenly the forest ended and his feet clattered against a floor of glass. A field of pink crystal towers stretched far above him at all angles. He could dimly make out the pulsing of soft, dark membranes behind the glass. The hollow, lonely song shrieked at the edge of his awareness.
Something large moved far above the ghoul, like the shadow of a great spider without joints, and the ghoul immediately shut his eyes and bowed low. A dark shadow hovered over him and he felt cold. Something like fingers moved inside his mind, sorting through memories. The hiss of soft static rang in his ears and hot breath tickled his spine. Rivulets of mucus poured onto the ground and ran between his fingers. He dared not move, dared not breathe.
The static turned into a violent hiss as the connection was forced deeper. The ghoul saw images behind his own eyes. He saw the place where the invaders had crossed the river, saw eyes opening wherever they went – eyes, eyes, eyes – opening everywhere as the shadow of the lord of the forest passed over little animals and insects. He saw the two humans who had fallen in the river, then saw them consigned to oblivion for they were irrelevant, chomped up in the mouth of the water and swallowed. Finally he saw his own comrades running, then stumbling along the bank. By their faith their minds were like open doorways, and he saw their thoughts becoming still and their steps becoming sure as they ran. They no longer felt exhaustion, worry, sorrow, hunger, thirst, or anything beyond a grinding death-lust as the currents of their thought were shifted and molded like buzzing, living clay.
As the vision receded, the ghoul was left with the impression that he would soon be freed from the shackles of the flesh. He would join with something immortal. Something wet and powerful hugged his neck and the back of his head. There was a violent, sucking, jarring motion, then warmth and the sensation of gliding through a long tunnel. His extremities were gone, his body left far behind. As he travelled through the dark tunnel he heard a multitude of voices greeting him, singing from the belly in the skull of the lord called Blindness.
* * *
The old man woke and saw the boy kneeling over him.
“We should go,” said Wodi.
“You’re in charge, eh?” said Jules, grimacing. He sat up painfully and wiped condensation from his hair.
The two looked at one another. Their clothes, made of Haven-gray moth web and wool, were soaked and shredded. Wodi helped Jules up and said, “You look like a flutter-fly coming out of its cocoon!”
“Feel like a dead dog gettin’ rolled in a grave,” said Jules. “Well, boss, you find any restaurants in the area?”
Wodi reached behind him and produced two long, heavy branches he had found. He gave one staff to Jules, then said, “We might find one up the road a bit.” Wodi paused as he regarded the narrow path that led up through the stones, then said, “Listen, I didn’t mean to boss you around earlier. It’s just… the others have the nutrimilk, you know? If we don’t find them soon, our options for food are going to get stranger and stranger by the minute.”
“I wouldn’t eat a goddamn thing I found in this hellhole!” said Jules.
“Yeah, you say that now,” said Wodi, smiling. “It’s hard enough putting up with you as it is! I don’t want to deal with you when you’re hungry.”
“The mouth on you!” said Jules. “In my time, I used to make life hell for pencil-necks like you. I’m a mess o’ trouble. You know that?”
Wodi walked along the tiered path of stones and said, “When we get back to Haven, and if I’ve got a few hours to spare, you can tell me all about it.”
“Listen, pipsqueak. I once tied a hungry dog to the front of a car and ran it into a guy so the dog could bite his ass,” Jules said proudly. “I’m like a gun or somethin’, I don’t look dangerous ’til I go off in your ass. If anybody messes with me, they better leave the whole planet, cause it’s his ass otherwise.”
The two clambered over the wet boulders that lined the river basin. The sun shone like a dim, gray star through the mist. The hum of the water died far below. They heard a sharp cracking ahead, as if two stones were struck against one another, over and over. They approached the sound cautiously. The old man leaned against a boulder while Wodi moved ahead, low, his staff clutched in both hands. Suddenly a fierce wind rode by and carried the fog away with it. On a wide plateau, beneath a rise of stone, stooped a lone boy with his back to the pair. He was a wiry, hairy boy of Wodi’s stature. He wore crude leather jerkins and had red, arcane tattoos along his arms and back. A sword in a rough sheath was strapped to his back. The boy pounded one rock with another, then grunted in satisfaction when he produced a particularly loud sound.
[Demonworld #1] Demonworld Page 9
