by Tom Fletcher
Eyes wasn’t in his gill. His gurney lay empty. He must have made his own way out, but he couldn’t see, so maybe somebody was helping him – Churr, Alan hoped.
Something heavy landed on top of the Sanctuary and it released a thick cloud of the mind-altering dust. Choking on the stuff, he made his way back towards the trunk, wondering as he stepped between the praying Pilgrims where Ippil was, and Weddle. He wondered if he should just get down on his knees and pray himself – maybe that would be the best thing, to pray for himself, and for Billy, and Marion. Perhaps he should give up his own pathetic quest to save his son, and put his faith in … something else. It couldn’t be any more ineffectual than he was, even if it didn’t work at all. Besides, this wasn’t some abstract god; this wasn’t Old Green, or the Holy Toad. This was a real, living entity, with real, tangible powers.
No. No. He felt his knees bending and forced himself to straighten up again. He was nearly at the trunk now. He joined the queue, the devout all about him: a sea of bowed heads. And all around them was that awful noise: the screaming and crying; the inordinately loud wailing of a baby that was not a baby. Something was pattering onto the canopy above them.
The Clawbaby was the only opponent that Nora had not simply neutralised, as far as Alan was aware. He didn’t want it to hurt her. And Spider; really, he didn’t stand a chance. He was almost overwhelmed with guilt. But the Clawbaby’s crying turned into Billy’s crying and he saw his son’s tear-stained face, and Marion’s bruises and he pushed his way through. He could see Tromo in his mind’s eye, sneering at him. He remembered Tromo’s face from the Modest Mills massacre – he remembered all of their faces, leering in the flickering light of the fires. There was something in his way and he struggled past it. He could hear shouting close by and he speeded up. When he paid attention he realised he was pushing Pilgrims off the narrow spiral staircase, though they weren’t falling far, and they were getting a soft landing – unlike the poor sods being pushed from the much larger wooden walkway by the Clawbaby.
Something inside him smiled at the echoes in action, but the smile did not reach his face. He could feel those hands clawing at his back as Pilgrims raced up behind him and he spun around, pulling his long knives from his boots as he did so. The Pilgrims behind him pulled back when he waved one knife at them. He held the other out the other way, pointing up the steps, and the Pilgrims in front of him moved faster now, trying to put as much space as possible between the steel and their bodies. Alan followed them, his weapons still drawn, keeping at a distance those who would grab him and throw him down.
He was getting there, but he’d soon be into the branches, with Pilgrims coming at him from all directions – those who were not busy with their worshipping, that is. He had to get the mushrooms and get out before the Clawbaby got here, for it would.
And then it did. There was a hush, somehow; a not-quite-total silence falling. The screaming stopped, and the crying, until the only sound was the chanting, clean and pure, and Alan wanted very badly to fall down and join in. In that moment he believed in its power.
But the moment did not last long enough, and with a great ripping noise, the Clawbaby tore through the side of the Sanctuary and stepped in, its green eyes glowing, its black rags billowing, its bulk bringing with it its own darkness. Alan drew his breath and the Clawbaby’s green eyes found his. Nora and Spider were dead, then.
The thing started laughing. ‘Wild Alan,’ it said, its voice a whisper, yet loud enough to fill the Sanctuary. Its voice was a pollutant, and the Pilgrims all turned and the screaming began again. ‘It is a shame for you that those metal steeds cannot carry you up and down all of the stairs in the Discard.’ Its voice carried above all of the other noise – unless only he, Wild Alan, could hear it.
Wild Alan.
The Clawbaby spoke like a Pyramidder.
Alan threw himself up the stairs, forcing his way past the Pilgrims who were blocking his path. Many of them were now on their way down, trying to join the headlong rush out of the Sanctuary, and he tried not to knock them over the edge, but in fact they were throwing each other off in their rush to save themselves. Evidently not even the Giving Beast’s influence could negate the natural instinct for self-preservation.
The Pilgrims whose role it was to guard the Sanctuary were rushing the Clawbaby, but their staffs were bouncing harmlessly off it. One started making his way to the bottom of the steps, having spotted Alan’s knives, but there were a lot of greycloaks between them and soon the stick-spinner was caught in a tide pulling him in the wrong direction.
Alan jumped from the staircase onto a wide branch and from there pulled himself up onto the next one, escaping the stampede on the walkway. He was nearly there. He could hear the Clawbaby laughing, and when he took a moment to look briefly over his shoulder he saw that the beast was spearing its attackers on one of the staffs, one after the other, like one of the Cavern Tavern’s cat kebabs.
‘Where are you going, friend Alan? Are you still hoping to escape me?’
‘What do you want?’ Alan raced up the trunk, clambering from branch to branch.
‘I want to take your life from you, as you took mine.’
‘What? You’re here, aren’t you? You are obviously not dead.’
‘Who do you hate, Alan?’
Alan froze.
‘You remember those words, don’t you?’ The Clawbaby was fighting as it spoke, and yet there was no trace of exertion in its voice. ‘How pathetic of you to pretend that you do not kill, when you have killed so many.’
Alan found that his cheeks were wet, but he forced himself to continue the climb. He was level with the Terrarium now, but there were still Pilgrims chanting in the branches around him: the most devout. They would not be happy with him. The Green Benedictions stood out, shone out, called out to him. He moved towards the glass.
A figure dropped down from a higher branch. ‘Halt.’
‘Ippil.’
Ippil was dressed differently; she was wearing trousers and her chest was bound. She held a wickedly curved blade in her left hand. She dropped into a fighter’s stance. ‘You are the lowliest,’ she said, ‘the most unworthy. You have brought horror with you and you would let it rip us limb from limb while you pillage our Sanctuary.’
‘I’m not arguing.’
‘You do not wish to defend yourself?’
‘You don’t know half of what I’ve done. You think I’m bad, but I’m even worse than you think. As for my intentions, you are absolutely right: I’ve come for the Benediction and I will not leave without it. I did not mean for that thing below to follow me, but I did not try to stop it. But I did not know you were here, Ippil – you Pilgrims, I mean – at our destination. I did not expect to find a safe haven and good people at the end of our journey. If I had, I would have taken steps to throw the beast from our trail. And since arriving, I have been so fixated on the completion of my quest that I did not consider what would happen when it finally caught up with us.’
‘But it’s here now – and that doesn’t change your plans?’
Alan bit his lip and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Ippil. If I had to choose between saving hundreds of Pilgrims and my family, I would choose my family. As it is, I don’t think I can save you anyway.’
‘You’re using us to enable your actions and your escape.’
‘Yes.’
Ippil swung at him and he parried with his long knife, then stepped backwards. Her face was full of hate, and she was trained, strong and careful. She moved slowly, purposefully.
More Pilgrims were running along the branches to the sides of the Sanctuary. She was forcing him to move backwards, away from the Terrarium, and further from the staircase and the Clawbaby too. If it came up now – he risked a glance, and yes, there it was, at the bottom of the steps, though it was moving slowly – then Ippil would be between it and him. But it would be between him and the Terrarium.
He didn’t want to fight. He was tired and weak. Then Ipp
il struck again, and he blocked her blade with one knife and tried to strike with the other. But he felt the block fail, and Ippil’s sword sent his weapon spinning through the air as her blade bit into his knuckles. He jerked, shouting, and missed his target, instead nicking her shaven skull – not deeply, but enough to send her darting backwards. She clamped one hand to her head.
‘Ippil,’ he said urgently, ‘behind you!’
But his warning came too late; by the time he’d seen Churr appear on one of the ledges and spoken, she had pulled the trigger of the crossbow – the crossbow Alan had given her – and a bolt was erupting from the Pilgrim’s neck.
Ippil gargled and clutched vainly at her throat.
‘Fucking hell,’ Alan said. He watched Ippil’s blood flow and felt as if his own spirit was leaving him. The Pilgrim fell still and Alan was utterly emptied.
He found Churr’s eyes. ‘I wish you hadn’t.’
‘I didn’t do it for you.’ Churr grinned wildly, pointing the weapon at Alan. Her eyes were alive. ‘Dok is mine now. Don’t you see? This is how it begins! Daunt’s major supplier is gone and in their place is me. And I’m not going to fulfil that function.’
‘You killed the Boatman.’
‘That’s right: a major link in Daunt’s chain. I gave him a third mouth and spilled him into the swamp. Everyone else was too busy with the croc to notice.’
‘Somebody else will take his place.’
‘Eventually, I’m sure. But right now, the more disruption, the better.’
‘Alan!’
Alan didn’t want to turn his back on Churr so he moved backwards a bit more and looked down. He felt a kind of strength return: that was Spider’s voice – Nora and Spider had come back. They were alive. They were coming up the staircase – they were running. Alan didn’t know where they’d been and right then he didn’t care. They came up behind the Clawbaby, which whipped around, its bundled claws hissing through the air, all metal death, and battered them both from their feet.
‘Churr,’ Alan said, ‘how are you going to hold it? Against Daunt?’
‘The afflicted will support me in return for their treatment.’
‘But how will you treat them? You don’t have the knowledge or the expertise.’
‘I know more than you think.’
‘Well, then, this is where we part ways. All the best, Churr. Thank you for your help.’
‘You go and get your mushrooms. But we’re not done yet. You still owe me for getting you down here. I’m sure I’ll find a use for you in future.’ Churr lowered the crossbow. ‘We’ll meet again.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
She stepped to one side and threw Ippil’s body to the ground below.
Alan approached the Terrarium. The Pilgrims who had remained were gone. He looked down. Nora was moving around the Clawbaby with her customary speed and grace, slicing and punching, reaching deep into it with her hands. It was not welcoming her attentions. The Pilgrims must have hurt it a little because it was moving more slowly than it had been at The Cup and Skull. Spider was jabbing at it when he could. The two of them looked like flies on a frog.
Alan placed one hand on the cold glass. The Giving Beast was still inhaling and exhaling, and the branches and the Terrarium still rose and fell in sync. Alan could see his reflection staring back at him. It did not look like him. It was too skinny and hollow-eyed. Beyond the reflection, green chaos thrived and the Green Benedictions beckoned. Alan took a deep breath, brought one knee up to his chest, and drove his boot right into the Giving Beast’s heart.
The glass shattered, hung in the air for a moment, and then fell like a sheet of white water, raining down onto the staircase below with a sound like bells. A complex fragrance escaped: something fresh and green but mingled with rot. Everything shook, and the Giving Beast inhaled, the sound of the air rushing in like a discordant accordion, like a scream, and it didn’t stop inhaling; it swelled right up, and up, and up, and up, and the branches flew upwards, and the trunk stretched out, and the canopy thinned. All of the gills widened and patients slid from their alcoves on the wooden gurneys, some of them falling all the way down to the floor. A howl of rage came from beneath and Alan saw that the Clawbaby had slid and fallen too, but Nora and Spider had been able to cling on.
He plunged a hand into the mass of plants before him and anchored himself, then went about plucking the Green Benedictions from the sodden remains of the book with his other hand. He cursed himself for having nothing better to put them in than his pocket, but it probably didn’t matter if they were crushed, he hoped.
Their value was not in their life.
27
A Speedy Getaway
The Clawbaby’s fall had given Nora and Spider the chance to join Alan at the top of the giant fungus trunk and they arrived as he grabbed the last of the Benedictions. The three of them glanced briefly at each other as the Sanctuary reached the peak of its expansion. Everything fell still for an instant, then the collapse began. Alan didn’t know whether it was the Sanctuary was screaming or him and his companions, but they held on tightly as the trunk snapped back, their hair and clothes whipping around in the rushing air.
They lost their grip and were thrown onto a branch – Spider lost his footing and slipped over the edge, but caught hold of the branch and hung there.
Beneath them, the Clawbaby was slowly climbing up.
‘We’ll split up,’ Nora said breathlessly. ‘We’ll attack it from different branches, from different angles. It cannot win.’
‘It can,’ Alan said. ‘Remember the knife in its head? It’s not human – it’s not like us. It will defeat us. At best we can escape it, but only temporarily.’
‘Alan,’ the Clawbaby said, its voice that terrible rough gurgle, ‘Alan, my friend. Let your fellow travellers go. Disband the remnants of your little party. It’s you I’m here for. Only you. Only ever you.’
Spider wasn’t able to pull himself up without dropping his knife. He tried, failed, and remained dangling.
‘Let them go, Alan. Anybody who remains by your side will die there.’
Alan grabbed Spider’s arms and pulled him up. ‘Go,’ he said, ‘you go – Nora, you go too. The thing’s right. This is all my doing.’
‘How?’ Spider said, rolling onto his back. ‘How is it? This is a trick. This is the Pyramid, or Daunt, somebody trying to stop you, Alan.’
‘Spider is right,’ Nora said. ‘And besides, together, we can beat it.’
‘No,’ Alan said, ‘it is my doing. It said something to me – it said, “Who do you hate?” I know what it’s talking about.’
‘We cannot discuss this now,’ Nora said. ‘It is nearly upon us. It is time to fight.’
‘Your girlfriend ran,’ Spider said. ‘You go too. Be with her.’
‘There are lots of things we don’t know,’ Nora said, ‘but one thing we do know is that if I go, you will both most certainly die.’ She leaped to a nearby branch. ‘I don’t want that to happen.’
‘Please go,’ Alan said.
‘It’s not your choice,’ Nora said.
Spider clambered to his feet. The Clawbaby was laughing now.
Alan moved to another branch, and then walked along it and positioned himself above the wooden walkway so that the Clawbaby would have to pass beneath him. It stopped before it did so and looked up.
‘Remember, Alan?’ it said.
The Sanctuary had stopped breathing. There were muffled sounds of Pilgrims and the afflicted, but they were distant; Alan pictured an exodus.
The Clawbaby’s words were loud and clear. ‘Do you remember that day in Modest Mills? Do you remember what you did?’
‘I remember,’ Alan said.
‘Did you think there were no consequences?’
‘I know fine well how terrible the consequences were.’
‘For Modest Mills, yes, but for those of us inside the Pyramid?’
Alan didn’t say anything.
‘For t
hose whom you hate, Alan?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I am. I am truly sorry.’
‘I was a baby, Alan,’ the Clawbaby said. ‘I was not much younger than you yourself.’ It looked as if it was shrugging its shoulders. The black mass of its body was shifting and splitting and a squall of baby wails spilled out of it, then as quickly faded away. ‘I am still a baby,’ it said, and briefly they saw the shape of an infant revealed within its cloud of what looked like dust or smoke – not rags, as Alan had originally thought, but a shroud of black dust. The baby was in its chest, below the point from which its green eyes glowed. ‘My life, as one might understand such a thing, ended on that dreadful day. My life ended and something else began. You are my killer and my midwife, Alan.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘You don’t mean to do anything. You just move from one incident to the next, playing on.’ The Clawbaby gathered its dust once more and closed itself up. ‘Until now. Now it ends. And then I can rest.’
‘You want me to die,’ Alan said, ‘and that’s fine. I can understand that. Maybe I should. But let me save my son first.’
A stomach-churning cackle rose from the creature on the stairs. ‘You want to atone?’ It shuddered with laughter. ‘I think not, friend Alan.’ Then it darted forward with unexpected speed and Alan found himself jumping down and landing on its back. He sank into it, finding himself coated with ash and dust, the taste of smoke filling his mouth. With one arm round its neck he pummelled its head, but his fist did nothing; it felt like punching mud.
Then he stabbed it in its crown – not the baby’s crown, but whatever housed those green orbs – and the knife went in right up to the hilt, and it howled, and cried and its glow dimmed and it stumbled on the steps. Alan didn’t let go, but it spun around and slammed its back, and Alan, into the trunk, and Alan’s spine cracked and he screamed and slid from the Clawbaby onto his arse and white light shone inside his skull. He opened his eyes to see the thing drawing back its horrid metal hands of a million blades, readying itself to punch him through the stomach, and behind it was the warm orange blur of the Sanctuary, its spores doing nothing whatsoever to calm down the Clawbaby, and a soul-rending pain tore through him at the thought of dying here, so far from Billy and Marion, so far from home. Though he didn’t know where home was, exactly, he knew it wasn’t here, deep in the bowels of Gleam; ruined by his own foolishness.
