A World Darkly (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 3)

by John Triptych

  Valerie sighed. Something was affecting his mind. It had to be his guilt. “Paul, Elizabeth’s dead! You’re still alive!”

  Paul shook his head. “No, you’re wrong. She’s nearby. I saw a glimpse of her every time I turn my head. It’s like she’s hiding from me, just around the corner of my eye.”

  Valerie frowned. It looked like he was under some form of spell. She needed to break him out of it. “Paul, you’ve gotta listen to me. Elizabeth is dead. She died a long time ago. You and me, we got sent to Hell because of that demon. This place is playing with our minds. It somehow increases the guilt we feel and turns it against us. That thing you’re feeling about your dead wife is part of the power in this place. You’ve got to free yourself of it.”

  “Go away,” Paul said softly. His face was a mask of stone, unyielding, lifeless. Without hope. “Just leave me alone.”

  A sudden sense of despair swept over her. She was about to lose him forever. Valerie tried her best to get those dark thoughts out of her mind. For that brief moment, she sensed Paul was already lost and she might as well give up on him. The times that she remembered being with him kept her strength up, and fueled her will. It was like a lone figure facing off against an uncountable horde of gloom, but it was enough and it thrust her back into the present once more. “Paul, I know it’s hard to think about anything else but you’ve got to try. You need to let go of the past and focus on what’s happening now. You remember being pulled into the darkness don’t you? Right after you summoned that demon. You remember now?”

  “It pulled us in and it killed us,” Paul said. “It sent me into this place. There was fire all around me and I was in pain. It’s over. We tried and we lost. Time to let it all go.”

  “No! We can still fight this! You’re a mythology professor for chrissakes! If there’s somebody who can find a way out of Hell, it’s you,” Valerie said.

  Paul seemed to be in a daze. “Dante. When he described the inferno it gave me nightmares. Now that I’m here, it’s worse than I ever imagined. If this is where we end up, then what’s the point of it all?”

  “We’re not dead yet, Paul! I came from another part of Hell just to find you! I traveled across so many different worlds, along a river pulled by Charon just to get to you! If I can do this, then so can you!”

  Paul just stared blankly into space. “It’s all hopeless. In the end, we will be here again. So what’s the point of going on? The only guarantee in life is death. That will bring us back to square one.”

  “The point is that we keep fighting, Paul! People are depending on us! The whole country is in big trouble and we can help them,” Valerie said. “You remember the two kids that you saved from that wendigo? They’re with my mama and they need us. They need you.”

  Paul shook his head slowly. “I…I remember. But what good am I to them? I haven’t done anything to help anybody. Everybody is dead because of me. Sometimes they come into this house to visit me. All of them. My graduate assistant, that professor I met in England, even those two guys from the embassy. Let’s not even mention all the cops and soldiers that were under me in the museum. All gone. Because of me.”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” Valerie said. “You tried your best with the limited facts that we had at the time. It’s not too late yet. We can still help the country out.”

  Paul looked up at her. Hs mouth began to tremble. “I-I can’t do it, Val. I don’t want the responsibility of having all those people risking their lives for something I may get wrong. Then once the crap happens, the blame will go to me. It always does.”

  “All we can do is try,” Valerie said softly. “You won’t bear this burden alone. I’m with you. I didn’t come all this way to give up now, and I wanted to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  Valerie smiled at him. “That I love you. I will go to wherever you are just to find you and be with you. Not even all the demons of Hell could stop me from doing that.”

  A spark of hope was in his eyes. She could feel it. Paul smiled back as he stood up. Valerie pushed her heels as high as she could go and stretched out her arms. Paul hesitated at first, but somehow he was able to summon his inner reserves as he pulled himself up from the cot and reached out to her. The moment their hands clasped, the room began to swirl around them. The wind suddenly picked up and a monstrous howl seemed to come from everywhere. Valerie grimaced as she used all her effort to pull herself closer to him. Paul sensed her devotion as his own willpower picked up and he held on tighter. This time, they would not be separated, he swore to himself. The vortex intensified as everything around them began to lose cohesion. By the time they both were in each other’s arms, their love had developed its own kind of power that shielded them from the increasing chaos all around.

  When they both came to their senses, they found themselves lying on a white sandy beach. Paul got up first as he pulled Valerie to her feet, their clasped hands never loosening their grip. The sky above them was a multitude of colors that swayed like a daytime aurora borealis. They both could feel a soft breeze that came from somewhere in the endless blue skies above.

  “I must congratulate you,” a voice behind them said. “I have never witnessed this before.”

  They both turned. Valerie realized the old wanderer had been standing behind them. The old man’s bony hand held his tattered cloak closer to his body as he smiled at them.

  Paul still wore his glasses and he adjusted them slightly as he stared back at the old man. “Who are you?”

  Valerie giggled as she hugged Paul tightly. “Now that’s a long story.”

  16. The Secret Prisoner

  Alabama

  Like Shreveport, much of the city of Mobile was now underwater. After the rains and floods had sunk most of the metropolis, the remaining survivors attached wooden platforms on the sides of the high-rise buildings in the city center to form a continuous pier. The waterline had reached up to the first five floors of many of the hotels and bank buildings, and the river wharf had become a part of the Gulf of Mexico. Much of the country’s coastline had been changed irrevocably. All along the South, half-sunken cities now dominated the area.

  Tyrone Gatlin got up from his cot behind the bar counter and looked out through the glass windows of the riverboat. The night sky was dominated by the torch lights that ringed the city wharf. The Nimrod had been docked for two days, as the crew made repairs and new recruits were brought in. This would be their final supply stop, before the ship headed northeast along the twisting currents of the Alabama River, then finally up into Georgia. He had heard stories that something strange happened to the Talladega National Forest north of Montgomery. News reports stated that the forest itself had experienced an unprecedented plant growth. Giant trees had suddenly appeared overnight and swallowed up the surrounding towns. Anyone who dared to venture into its vast, overgrown terrain never came back. Rumors about ghosts and monsters inhabiting the forest began to circulate from refugees that had abandoned that whole region had become commonplace.

  As he got to the front of the bar counter, Tyrone buttoned up his plaid shirt and put his boots on. His wounds were pretty much superficial, but he was given light duty after the pirate attack. The resupply and repairs had been completed and most of the crew were busy enjoying themselves in the numerous bars that dotted along the sides of the wharf. They were having one final night of fun since the Nimrod would be casting off at dawn. Tyrone was still being inundated by strange dreams, and as they got closer to Georgia, he could no longer get any proper rest. There were many times when he would just lie in his cot and keep his eyes open. He was too fearful to sleep now. Images of snakes swimming across the flooded lands and flocks of owls that covered the sky crowded his mind every time he slumbered.

  Tyrone walked towards the back of the hall and into the engine room. Eight-Ball Jackson was still there as he leaned beside one of the wooden columns while talking on the rotary intercom. Tyrone smiled to himself. Eight-Ball wasn’t into booze o
r women, and he almost never left the engine room either. It was almost as if he was married to the diesel engine of the ship. The paddlewheel spokes had been patched up and the Nimrod was all set to go.

  Eight-Ball placed the old phone receiver back in its vertical cradle. “The captain wants you.”

  Tyrone nodded. “He’s up in the wheel house, right?”

  “That he is.”

  Tyrone smirked. “Eight-Ball, do you have a family?”

  “Nope. Why?”

  Tyrone grinned and shook his head. “Just asking is all. Seems you care more about this engine than human beings.”

  Eight-Ball looked away from him. “I had a wife, kids and grandkids once. They all be dead now.”

  Tyrone looked down. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know ‘bout that.”

  “S’ okay,” Eight-Ball said wistfully. “It was the floods that killed ‘em. I was working in another riverboat at that time when all hell broke loose. It must have rained for forty days and forty nights. That was when a tsunami hit my home town. Killed pretty much everybody. Never even found them bodies. After that, I went back to the only thing I knew about. The captain had heard of me and sought me out. Been with him ever since.”

  “Thanks for telling me,” Tyrone said softly.

  Eight-Ball took a wrench from a toolbox lying nearby and started tinkering with the engine block. “You better get to the captain now. He be waiting.”

  “Right, okay. See you around.”

  Tyrone walked out of the engine room, went past the main hall and started running up the stairs. The wound in his arm had torn part of his triceps, but it was more or less still functional. There was also a pink scar on his forehead but he felt he was luckier than the ones who didn’t make it. Two crewmembers were so badly wounded, they had to be helped off the boat, and another four men had decided to quit the moment they got to Mobile. JJ Glanton and the others were busy recruiting in the bars for their replacements.

  When he opened the door to the pilot house, he saw Captain Pillinger hunched over a map. Just like Eight-Ball, it seemed that the captain never left the helm of the ship. Tyrone sensed that both the captain and the chief engineer were the heart and soul of the vessel. Without either of them, the Nimrod would be doomed.

  Captain Pillinger glanced at him before turning his attention back to the map. “You feeling better now, Gatlin?”

  ‘I’ve been okay for awhile now, Captain,” Tyrone said sheepishly. “Anything you need me to do, I’m up for it.”

  Pillinger turned to face him as he leaned back on the table. “If you think those pirates were bad, this next bit is gonna be the most dangerous part of the journey. I’ve got faith in you since you proved yourself to everyone on this boat. So far, we’ve only encountered other men. Now we will be going up against things that aren’t part of the natural order.”

  Tyrone scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve fought the Aztecs and their demons. I’ve been hit by these dreams every time I close my eyes. I think I’m pretty much ready for anything now.”

  Pillinger had a surprised look on his face. “These dreams you are having, tell me about them.”

  “Can’t really tell you much,” Tyrone said. “I just could remember moving along the waterways, seeing the stunted trees and the fog coming out of the black waters. Then I sense some sort of spirit guiding me on as I seem to float deeper into the woods. Once I’m surrounded by trees I could sense something big making its way towards me. Then, the next thing I know I’m face to face with a giant snake. Even though I oughta be scared, I’m not. I try to reach out to it and it seems to want to guide me somewhere. Then a flock of owls come out of nowhere and fly all around us like a swarm of bees. Then I wake up. It’s just a stupid dream that keeps on repeating itself, Captain.”

  Pillinger nodded. He had a serious look in his face. “I’m going to tell you the real reason why I accepted you as a deckhand on my ship. Two days before you went and confronted me in this cabin, I had a dream of my own.”

  “You, Captain?”

  “Yeah,” Pillinger said as he looked down. “I actually dreamt of you.”

  Tyrone was surprised. “Me?”

  Pillinger crossed his arms. “Yeah. Ever since my last expedition, I kept dreaming about the time I lost my son. Just a few days before we met, I dreamed about my son again and in it, he told me to make sure a black man was part of the crew. I thought he meant Eight-Ball but he corrected me. He told me that a younger man, a deserter from the Army, would beg me for safe passage on my boat, all the way to the swamplands. When I woke up, I thought nothing more of it until you came up here and did exactly what my son had told me would happen.”

  Tyrone exhaled loudly. “I-I didn’t know ‘bout that.”

  “I never told anyone about my dream,” Pillinger said. “Not Glanton and not Eight-Ball, or any of the other crew. I nearly had to shoot my first officer just to stop him from killing you. It was against my better judgment, but I had a feeling you were the one that my son was talking about. Now for some strange reason, it’s all coming together.”

  Tyrone didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

  “The things that have been happening in this world has convinced me there are other things out there I just don’t know about. That there may be life after death. I asked about you before we left Shreveport and a little black girl told me you were a shaman. Is that true?”

  Tyrone shrugged. “I-I don’t know, Captain. All I know is I’m getting dreams from what seems to be an Indian god so I decided to worship him. I’ve been pretty lucky so far since I ain’t been killed yet.”

  “You’ve gotta be a shaman,” Pillinger said. “What other explanation is there?”

  “Maybe I am. I dunno for sure, Captain.”

  “I’ve gotta ask you a favor,” Pillinger said. “Do you think …you could find a way to reach my son?”

  Tyrone looked away. “I-I dunno, Captain. I don’t think I’ve ever dreamt about your son. I dunno what he even looks like.”

  Pillinger moved towards him and clasped his shoulders with his large hands. “Promise me that if anything happens to me, at least tell my son I loved him. If you can find a way to contact him for me, tell him daddy always thinks about him.”

  Tyrone stared back at him blankly. “I-I’ll try, Captain. It would help if I know what he looks like.”

  Pillinger took a step back as he pulled out a set of keys from his pants pocket and gave it to him. “Go to my quarters. My son’s picture is on the table beside my bunk. Take a look at it and bring it up here for me.”

  “Okay, Captain.”

  Tyrone turned around and walked out of the pilot house. As he made his way down the stairs to the upper deck, he felt confused. The captain clearly thought he was a shaman of some sort, even though he had never thought of himself as such. Now he had a dilemma. Should he try and just fake his way up to the captain’s good graces by pretending to be in contact with his dead son? The only other alternative was to try and find a way to actually make contact with the dead, but he had no idea on how to go about it. As he got to the door of the captain’s cabin, he placed the key in the lock and twisted it. The door gave way without any resistance and he went inside.

  The captain’s personal quarters had white painted wood paneling, just like the other staterooms in the ship. A large bunk bed lay to the side, near the window. The rest of the room was dominated by tables and cabinets. As Tyrone moved over to where the bed was, he noticed a small picture frame had been placed on top of a side table. He picked it up and took a look. The still portrait was that of a young man with chestnut brown hair and high-boned, freckled cheeks. Tyrone tried his best to remember, but he couldn’t recall having recognized the man in any of his dreams.

  “Hey,” a tiny, high-pitched voice within the room said.

  Tyrone nearly dropped the picture as he juggled it in his trembling hands. He looked around nervously but he didn’t see anyone else in the room. “Who s-said th-that?”

/>   “Down here.”

  Tyrone instantly looked down. Underneath one of the side tables was a large wooden box, it was the size of a small trunk, around two feet high and a foot and a half in width. There was an antique golden lock at its front. The edges of the box had gold linings. The black lacquered wood had ornate carvings of distorted faces and animal symbols that were evidently done by an exquisite craftsman.

  “I’m in here,” the voice said. “You need to let me out, Tyrone.”

  Tyrone took two steps back and instantly fell on top of another table. Papers, pens, books and assorted bric-a-bracs fell to the floor. There was something weird inside the box and Tyrone was speechless with a sudden fright.

  The voice coming from the box was slightly muffled. “Come on, Tyrone, you have to let me out. The Master of Breath doesn’t like it when one of his servants is trapped like this.”

  Tyrone blinked several times. “W-what are you?”

  “As I said, I’m one of the people of the lands.”

  “How did you get into that box?”

  “I was caught in a net by one of these greedy humans. Then I was placed in this box by a magician. Only a shaman who serves the Master of Breath has the power to release me. So hurry up.”

  Tyrone held up the keychain and began to sort through the numerous keys to see if there was one that matched the ornate lock on the box. “I don’t know which key to use.”

  “It’s not part of that bunch,” the voice said. “The golden key is with the captain. It’s around his neck. You must take it from him.”

  “What? Look, he trusts me now. He even asked if I could somehow communicate with his dead son,” Tyrone said. “He gave me a chance to join his crew. I can’t just betray him like this because a voice in a box tells me so. This has got to be some sort of trick.”

  “No trick, I’m a real being, and I’m trapped in this box.”

  Tyrone rapidly shook his head. “You can’t be human if you’re in a small box like that. You could be anything.”