The Bestiarum Vocabulum (TRES LIBRORUM PROHIBITUM)

by Dean M. Drinkel

  He thought the man had cut himself on something in the water, although there was nothing but mud and smooth rocks...

  Timothy blundered through the pool. There was water in his eyes and he couldn't see. His lamp had gone out. He tripped and fell headlong again. Blood blossomed around him, dying the choppy little wavelets an opaque pink.

  Simon reached his friend and grabbed his arm, pulling him up. Timothy spluttered and gasped for breath.

  "It's alright, man," Simon told him. "It's okay."

  He dragged him towards the beach. Timothy was panicked, disorientated, and fought against him.

  "Something bit me," Timothy gasped. "Something fucking bit me."

  "Bit you? Come on, man. You fell and..."

  Timothy spun around, almost losing his balance. His wide eyes searched the water. For the first time, Simon saw the wound on his arm, and it turned his stomach. The arm of Timothy's wetsuit was shredded. The fabric hung in black, white and red tatters.

  "You feel that?" Timothy whispered. "Oh God. It's in here with us!"

  He ran for the beach. The water dragged at him and he ended up half-wading, half-swimming.

  "Tim, what...?"

  Something brushed Simon's leg. It was no more than a light touch, like a submerged log. Through the thick suit he hardly felt it. But it made him freeze. A log, he thought. That's all. Hidden in the mud, stirred up...

  The reassuring thought lasted only until a shape flashed through the water and attacked Timothy's leg. Timothy had time to cry out again before he was pulled down.

  This time Simon was close enough to catch him. He glimpsed something silver-white in the water, a flash and then gone, then a fresh cloud of crimson bloomed around Timothy's legs.

  Simon grabbed his friend and hauled him onto the beach. It was a feat he could never have managed under normal circumstances, since Timothy was taller and heavier than him, but adrenaline did the work. He dropped Timothy onto the mud.

  "What the fuck?" Simon asked in a breathless voice.

  He searched the pool but saw no sign of the silver creature. With so much silt stirred up it could have hidden anywhere.

  Timothy groaned. The left leg of his wetsuit was shredded like the arm. Simon realised the white and red tatters mixed with the black were shreds of pulverised flesh. It looked like someone had attacked him with a circular saw.

  At the bottom of Simon's bag was a first aid kit. It contained nothing more substantial than sticking plasters, Paracetamol, a few bandages and a heat-retaining blanket, but Simon didn't know what else to do. He found some support bandages at the bottom of the kit. He pressed one to Timothy's arm, the other to his leg.

  "Did you see?" Timothy asked. His teeth chattered. "Tell m-me I didn't imagine it."

  "I saw it." Simon pressed down on the bandages. His knowledge of first aid went no further than putting pressure on the wound.

  "Seriously, what w-was it?"

  "I don't know. Quit squirming." It was difficult to hold both bandages at once. Simon cast around for something else to cover the injuries. "Here, put your hand here." Timothy seemed incapable. Simon had to take the man's hand and press it over the injured arm.

  "There. Hold it. Okay?"

  Simon let go while he unzipped his wetsuit and struggled out of the top half. He stripped off the t-shirt he wore underneath, wadded it and pressed it against the leg wound.

  Up until then he'd run on adrenaline, his actions automatic and unthinking, but as he slowed down, the first edge of panic caught him. Warm blood seeped through the bandages. Simon didn't know how much blood Timothy had lost. It looked like a lot. He also didn't know if he'd done enough to stem the bleeding. All he knew was he had to get his friend to the surface, fast.

  He looked at the tunnel where they'd come in, calculating how far it was up the climbs and pitches, how long it would take to make the return trip. If he hurried...

  Amongst the ripples on the water he glimpsed a flash of something silver. It made his heart stutter.

  An elongated fin, like that of a shark, broke the surface. It crossed Simon's line of sight then switched back on itself.

  "A shark," Simon said aloud. "Holy crap, a shark!"

  Timothy lifted his head in time to see the fin disappear as the creature dived. "Are you kidding? How'd a shark get in here?"

  "There's definitely a link to the lake." The knowledge was hollow now, eclipsed by more important events. "It must've swum in." Simon wracked his brains for a species of freshwater shark indigenous to the area, but came up blank.

  The stirred-up mud was settling now. It was still difficult to see anything below the surface because of the way the light reflected. Simon thought he saw the creature again, circling in front of the mud-bank, but it could have been a reflection. From nose to tail, the shark was maybe a metre long.

  "I'll scare it off," Simon said.

  "Be careful," Timothy warned. "It's k-kinda aggressive."

  "It probably thought you were a fish." Simon relit Timothy's carbide lamp, placing it on the ground to throw some meagre heat, then wrapped the space-blanket from the first aid kit around Timothy's shoulders. The crinkly foil blanket looked insubstantial but would help keep him warm.

  Simon pulled on the top half of his wetsuit, told Timothy to keep pressure on the wounds, then picked up his bag. He carried a Swiss Army knife for emergencies-although he'd never expected an emergency like this-but nothing better. He opened the larger of the blades on the knife, a two-inch metal spike which at least had a decent edge. Simon kept it sharp in case he needed to cut climbing ropes.

  Taking a breath to steady his nerves, Simon stepped into the pool. He stayed near the edge, not venturing far enough for the water to reach the top of his wellies. Even that quickened his breathing. He gripped the knife.

  When the fin broke the surface again, Simon stamped his feet and shouted, his voice rebounding around the chamber.

  The fin slowed, twitching back and forth. Simon shouted again, splashing his feet, kicking up water. The body of the creature was still hidden, but Simon saw the fin turn towards him as if seeking him out. He shouted louder.

  "I don't think it's scared," Timothy said.

  Simon was inclined to agree. Some less aggressive breeds of shark could be frightened off. But this one...

  "Look out!" Timothy yelled.

  The fin twitched again then raced towards the shore, directly at Simon. He jumped backwards. The mud grabbed his boots and almost tripped him. He scrambled up the bank as the creature raced into the shallows. It turned at the last second to veer away. Simon glimpsed the pointed snout of the creature. The mouth was open, revealing the teeth for a fraction of a second. The uncertain light must have played tricks on Simon, because instead of rows of serrated teeth, he saw a spiral, wedged sideways into the jaw like a conical drill bit.

  "I d-don't think it's scared," Timothy said again.

  Simon didn't answer. Cold sweat inched down his spine. His palms were slick, affecting his grip on the knife. "It's okay," he said, although his voice sounded weak. "It just...took me by surprise."

  Buoyed by his own bravado, he stepped into the water again, ignoring the pounding of his heart. The fin had disappeared, and he was acutely aware the shark could be anywhere.

  He stamped his feet, sloshing water and mud, sending ripples leaping away. This time he didn't shout because the echoes unnerved him. They made him sound hysterical.

  Scant seconds passed before there was a movement in his peripheral vision. The shark darted in to the shore, jaw gaping, arrowing through the silty water. If Simon hadn't turned at that exact moment he wouldn't have seen it coming. As it was, he had just enough time to scramble back onto the bank.

  "Seriously, dude," Timothy said. "You're giving me a heart attack. C-cut it out."

  Simon retreated up the mud-bank. His legs were trembling so much he had to sit down before he fell. He put down the knife and wiped his sweaty hands on his legs.

  "If we k-keep quiet,
maybe it'll go away," Timothy suggested.

  Simon glanced at him. The man's face was filmed with sweat. "You think that's likely?"

  "S-sure. Shark's have no attention span. It'll g-get bored and swim off."

  Simon didn't feel able to argue. His stomach was twisted in knots and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. There didn't seem any option but to wait and hope the creature would leave. But they couldn't wait long. Timothy was fading - Simon could tell just by looking. Blood dripped from the lacerations, forming puddles in the dimpled mud.

  "I've gotta get help," Simon said. "You're not in any state to climb those pitches."

  Timothy looked like he would argue, then nodded. "No. No, I am not."

  "Best thing I can do is go on my own, right? Get up there fast, raise the alarm..."

  "It m-makes sense, s-sure."

  "Otherwise it might be, what? Five hours at least before someone reports us missing? I can be out of here in two hours, if I hurry."

  Timothy let out a strained laugh. "No way you can do the ascent in two hours. N-not on the best d-day of your life."

  Simon checked his watch. "Alright," he said, "we'll give it half an hour, okay? Half an hour for the goddamn thing to fuck off. If it's not gone by then..."

  He trailed off, because he wasn't sure what he would do then.

  Timothy lifted the padding on his arm to check underneath. "Keep it in place," Simon told him. "Don't fiddle with it."

  "Just checking." Timothy adjusted the space-blanket around his shoulders. "It's starting to hurt."

  "We've got Paracetamol. That's about it."

  "No, I mean...that's good, right? It wasn't hurting before because I was in shock. But n-now..." Timothy frowned at the stutter. "Now," he said with more care, "it's hurting. So I must be getting better."

  Simon chuckled. "Depends on your definition of better, I suppose."

  They lapsed into silence, watching the fin pass back and forth across the pool. Every time Timothy shifted position his space-blanket crinkled. Sometimes the fin would vanish from sight for a few seconds, and Simon would hold his breath, hoping it was gone for good, but always it resurfaced. On occasion it came close enough to the shore for Simon to see the sleek silver form beneath the surface.

  Simon felt the stillness of the chamber settling around them. Usually it was a familiar, comforting sensation--the knowledge that this ancient watercourse had existed for centuries before man, and would continue for centuries after, and that his own brief moment of noise and movement through its depths was of no more consequence than a stone dropped into deep water. Once the ripples of his passing settled, there would be silence, with no evidence he was ever there.

  Yes, usually it was comforting. The caves were permanent, unchangeable. But today he felt the silence press on him like a weight from above. For the first time in a long while, Simon considered the possibility he might die below ground.

  The fin slipped beneath the surface, reappeared, sank again. The creature made slow circuits of the chamber. It can't know we're still here. Simon grimaced in frustration. Why wouldn't it leave?

  His eyes drifted back to the dead fish. At least they knew now what had killed it. And he remembered what it reminded him of. The elongated head and broad eyes were similar to a type of coelacanth that had once populated this area - but which was long extinct.

  "Hey," Simon said. "I've had an idea."

  "Lovely." Timothy sounded like he was dozing. "Is it brilliant?"

  "Probably not." Simon stood and went to the shore. He nudged the dead fish with his boot. "I'm gonna run for the exit."

  Timothy looked at the tunnel that led out of the chamber. "Long way to run," he noted.

  "Through there, into the next chamber, then I can get up into that hanging gallery and stay above the water. It'll take longer, but I can traverse back to the pitch."

  "That's still a hundred yards of water. At least."

  "I can make it," Simon said with a surety he didn't feel.

  He put his helmet back on but left his bag. Apart from his knife, all he needed were his karabiners and other rappel gear, and those were clipped to his belt. They had left the ropes in situ for the return climb. He sat down to take off his wellies. Boots would only slow him down. Then he crouched next to Timothy to check the makeshift bandages weren't going to slip off.

  "Stay awake, yeah?" Simon said. "It won't be fun down here on your own, but I'll be back as quick as I can. Four hours, okay? Two there, two back...maybe half an hour for faffing."

  "Don't hurry on my b-behalf." Timothy managed a weak smile.

  Simon patted his shoulder and tucked the space-blanket around him. "Four hours," he repeated. "Set your alarm."

  Before he could change his mind, Simon strode to the water and gingerly picked up the dead fish, then lobbed it into the pool as far from the exit as possible. He misjudged slightly and the fish slapped the wall before plopping into the water.

  For a moment he thought it hadn't worked; that the shark would ignore the bait. Maybe the fish had been dead for too long...

  The fin slowed, then switched around. It hesitated as the shark sniffed the water. Then it caught the scent and shot forward towards the fish.

  "Alright," Simon breathed. "Here I go."

  He ran into the pool. The mud sucked at his feet and the water dragged his legs. Within a few yards he was struggling. Fear urged him to speed up, but he knew if he did he would fall. Instead he forced himself to stride at a steady pace, using his arms as the water rose to his chest.

  He was less than halfway to the tunnel when Timothy yelled his name.

  Simon twisted round. At the far wall was an expanding patch of ripples. A few scraps of pale flesh floated on the surface. The fin had vanished.

  "Get back here!" Timothy yelled.

  Simon wasted a fraction of a second measuring the distance between himself and the mud-bank, and the equivalent distance through the tunnel to the exit. Then he kept running. He couldn't turn back.

  As the water got deeper he threw himself headlong into a front crawl. He kicked his legs out, expecting at any moment to feel that spiral-saw of teeth rip into his flesh.

  He reached the entrance to the tunnel. The floor there was choked with fist-sized rocks, and he scrambled over them in two feet of water. The passage was arched like a railway tunnel, low enough in places to make him duck. Simon risked glancing back. In that frozen instant he saw the surface of the pool raked by tiny waves as the fin cut through the water. It was coming straight for him.

  Simon half-climbed and half-fell into the tunnel. The walls were so close he could touch both of them with his elbows. He stumbled backwards through the water, unable to tear his gaze away from the shark, praying it might baulk at entering the narrow confines of the tunnel.

  At the last moment the creature did hesitate. It veered away. Simon stopped, certain any small noise on his part would grab its attention.

  "Here!" Timothy yelled at the shark. He'd struggled to his feet and staggered to the water's edge. He stamped in the wet mud, sending ripples across the pool. "Over here!"

  The fin twitched. Simon held his breath.

  "Over here! Goddammit, come here, you stupid shark!"

  Simon was trembling. His hands were so cold he could barely feel the knife in his hand. He couldn't hold his breath any longer and took in a gasp of air.

  Without warning, the shark darted into the tunnel mouth.

  Simon stumbled back but wasn't nearly fast enough. The shark shot forward, so close to the surface now that Simon saw it clearly for the first time - black eyes in a ghost-white face, distended mouth with that vicious spiral of teeth. In his panic he forgot his knife and instead tried to run. His feet went from under him and he fell backwards. Freezing water slapped him in the face. The flame of his lamp went out. He was blind, his eyes full of water, his limbs threshing in futile defence.

  He glimpsed the silver shape an instant before the jaws closed on his left arm. He opened his mouth t
o scream and water flooded his airways. As the jaws closed it felt like his arm was being dragged into the clogs of a machine, the spiral of teeth snagging his flesh and pulling it in.

  Simon struck out with his other hand. More by luck that judgement the blade of the knife sunk into the creature's flank. The shark twisted, ripping at Simon's arm. White heat flared through his skull, so intense his vision blacked out. He stabbed again. The creature worked its jaw, masticating the flesh of his arm, shaking its head back and forth as it attempted to tear loose a huge chunk of muscle.

  There was no air in Simon's lungs. Every fibre of his body urged him to breathe but he knew he would suck in nothing but water. Jolts of electric fire shot up his arm each time the shark flexed its jaws.

  In desperation, Simon jammed the knife into the creature's face. The metal sank into something soft. Simon wrenched the blade back and forth, feeling it grind against cartilage.

  With one final, vicious twist, the shark released Simon's arm. His head broke the surface and air burst into his lungs.

  Now the shark was fighting to get away, its bulk pinned between Simon's body and the wall of the tunnel. Simon still held the knife, buried in the shark's head. As his vision cleared he saw the blade had penetrated to one side of its left eye. The black eyeball bulged from its socket.

  Simon leaned his weight on the knife, using his legs to pin the shark in place, preventing it escaping. It thrashed and bucked wildly, its tail whipping the water into froth. Simon couldn't hold onto it.

  As the shark broke loose, Simon twisted the knife with enough force to snap the blade, leaving two inches of metal embedded in the creature's flesh.

  The shark swam away but the fight had gone out of it. It listed to one side, its silvery flank breaching the surface. The metallic tang of its blood filled the air.

  Simon dropped the broken knife and grabbed the creature's tail. The shark tried to turn around to bite him, but couldn't summon the strength.

  Slowly, with grim determination, Simon waded back towards the mud-bank, towing the dying shark.

  Timothy was at the edge of the pool. "Holy shit," he said. "I thought you were dead."

  "Get out of the water." It was an effort to speak; Simon's throat was raw from near-drowning. "You're injured."