by CW Hawes
“Listen to me, Candy. You have family and friends. You have your work.”
“You know what, Pierce? There’s no work here.” She leaned forward and spoke in almost a whisper. “They don’t worry about money, or disease, or loneliness. Nothing. It’s a perfect world here. And I’m learning their language. Although with all the fucking…” She started giggling. “It doesn’t leave time for much else.” Her voice trailed off into a fit of laughter.
“Candy. Listen to me. I need your help. We all need your help to get out of here. We have to work together.”
“Well, Pierce, Mr Mostyn, sir, I’m not sure I want to help. I kind of like it here.” She stood, spoke something in K’n-yanian to N’ga-yub, and then turned back to Mostyn.
“See you around, Pierce. I’m going to a worship service with my affection group. Sounds like a lot more fucking. Bye!” She wiggled her fingers at Mostyn and left with N’ga-yub.
“Things did not go to your satisfaction, Mostyn?”
He turned and noticed Ger-Hy’la-T’la looking at him. “Oh, everything is just peachy,” he thought back.
“You have such strange expressions. Come, I will take you back to H’tha-dub’s apartment.”
On the way back, Mostyn said nothing. This was not good. How were the others holding up? Or were they? Had they, too, given in to K’n-yanian hedonism?
When he closed the door behind him at H’tha-dub’s place, out of his peripheral vision he saw a shape running towards him. His reflexes kicked in. He dropped, rolled, and was on his feet just in time to watch H’tha-dub land in a heap on the floor.
Mostyn went to her and kneeled beside her. “I’m so terribly sorry,” he said in Spanish. “I just reacted. Are you alright?”
“Oh, Mostyn Pierce!” she exclaimed through her sobs. “I came back and you were not here. I thought you were so angry with me that you left.”
He held her in his arms. “No, I didn’t leave.” He then explained why he’d had to leave the apartment.
“I love you, Mostyn Pierce. Please don’t scare me again.”
“I won’t. At least not intentionally.”
“I did what you asked, and I think you will be very happy with me, Mostyn Pierce. Very happy.”
14
Mostyn was indeed very happy with the information H’tha-dub had gotten for him. How she’d gotten it and from whom, she hadn’t said and Mostyn hadn’t asked. His only concern was if it was reliable.
“Oh, yes, Mostyn Pierce. The information is as reliable as the blue light which is always present.”
And that was good enough for him. From the floor, they’d moved to the sofa and sitting together she’d told him all she knew.
Twice, soldiers from the upper world had tried to force their way through the tunnel and both times the K’n-yanian slaves and y’m-bhi had turned back the top-worlders.
“And to celebrate our victories,” H’tha-dub said, “four of the slain warriors from your world were turned into y’m-bhi to guard the tunnel.”
This news distressed Mostyn. Not only had Bardon underestimated the K’n-yanians, but the K’n-yanians had taken to gloating over their victories and he hoped that wouldn’t have ramifications for him and his people.
She went on to tell him what he’d been secretly fearing. “There are rumors the Council of Executives wants to seal the tunnel through which you came to our world.”
“It’s a logical move,” he’d replied. “I’m surprised they haven’t done so already.”
“I know where the tunnel is. A gate has been put across the entrance and there are guards, but we can get through.”
“That is just about the only good news, but it is good news. Wonderfully good news, as a matter of fact.”
H’tha-dub was ecstatic she’d pleased Mostyn. “But there’s more, Mostyn Pierce.”
“Let’s hear it, then.”
“All the tunnels to your world are closed. The only one now open is the one you opened.”
Mostyn nodded. “Which means our only escape route is our best escape route.”
H’tha-dub continued. “I’ve located all of your people, except for the one called ‘Candy’ and the one called ‘DC’. Your equipment is in an abandoned temple devoted to the worship of Tsathoggua.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes. It is a short journey outside of the city.”
“Why are they being kept there?”
“So no one will touch them. We do not enter the temples of Tsathoggua. He is a very dangerous god.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You know of Tsathoggua?”
“Yes. Are there guards?”
“No. There is no need. No one from this world would enter the place.”
“Even better.”
“Have I done well, Mostyn Pierce?"
“You have done exceedingly well, my sweet, sweet flower.”
“My love.” Her hand touched his face. “Do you want me to remove the prickles?”
“You have a razor?”
“No. What is it?”
Mostyn thought a moment. “A razor is something like a knife, only it’s used to remove hair.”
She laughed. “We have no need for such a thing. I will show you.” She put her hands on his face and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she opened them and removed her hands.
“All gone,” she announced.
“What?” Mostyn got up and went to the bathroom. When he came back, he sat and asked, “How did you do that?”
“I dematerialized them.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Sure as hell wish I could bottle that.”
She giggled. “I made you happy, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.”
“Oh, Mostyn Pierce!” She jumped up, kneeled on the floor before him, and putting her arms around him, gave him a kiss.
Laying her head in his lap, she said, “What a wonderful new experience is this making someone happy.”
In some ways, she’s just a child, he thought. Naïve. Innocent. And yet… His mind went back to the amphitheater and the delight that her fellow K’n-yanians took in the torturing and killing of others. Worse than Rome’s barbarism. This people, H’tha-dub included, were far from being naïve and innocent.
“H’tha-dub?”
“Yes, my darling one?”
“Can your people talk to each other without looking at each other?”
“Oh, yes, Mostyn Pierce. It is a simple act of the will. If I want you to hear me, you do. And if you want me to hear you, I will. It’s just easier for beginners like yourself to focus by looking into someone’s eyes.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?”
“I guess no one thought to do so. We have so very few who must learn to throw their thoughts. I think Pánfilo was the last one.”
Mostyn absorbed what H’tha-dub had told him. The information cleared up the mystery as to how Ger-Hy’la-T’la had spoken to him even though he wasn’t looking at him. Quite an ability.
“Can you read my thoughts?”
“Oh, no, Mostyn Pierce. I cannot look into your mind. I can only will my thoughts to you. I cannot experience your thoughts if you did not will for me to receive them.”
Mostyn breathed a sigh of relief. That was a vital piece of information she’d given him. The K’n-yanians weren’t mind readers. He could continue learning the language and teaching English to H’tha-dub and not have to worry about someone eavesdropping in his mind. Or hers, for that matter.
“Alright, little flower, enough huggy time. We have work to do.”
“We do? Why can’t we stay here and be husband and wife?”
“Because I need to see where the tunnel is located.”
“Do we have to go now?”
“Yes. We’ll be more conspicuous during the rest period.”
H’tha-dub let out a sigh. “Very well. For you, Mostyn Pierce, my love, for you, I’ll take you there.”
“Don’t you w
ant to come to my world? See the stars and the moon? Enjoy all the new experiences?”
Her face brightened and her eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, Mostyn Pierce, I do! Come, I’ll show you. And then we can be husband and wife?”
Mostyn plastered a smile on his face. “Yes. Then we can be husband and wife.”
15
H’tha-dub led Mostyn out of the city by a different route than she’d taken him the previous day.
This time, instead of walking, they rode on the gyaa-yothn, those hideously deformed abhuman creatures. Shockingly morbid, the great floundering black-haired beasts of burden were as universal in K’n-yan as horses were in nineteenth century America and Europe. Although the gyaa-yothn were far more docile and much more intelligent. In fact, they were dangerously intelligent. They’d been a key cause in Zamacona’s failed escape attempt.
Mostyn had looked over his creature before mounting it. There was a decidedly human aspect to its bestiality, in spite of the rudimentary horn that projected from the forehead of its pug-like face. The hands and feet on which the creatures walked or ran were especially humanlike. They were also carnivores, eating the same flesh as the K’n-yanians. Namely, that sub-human slave class specially bred for food. He’d shuddered before climbing onto the creature.
He put aside his revulsion for the thing on which he sat and focused on the route H’tha-dub took through the mostly empty city streets. It was important he commit the way to the tunnel to memory. Just in case she wasn’t around and he needed to leave.
The subterranean metropolis was immense. Its scope rivaled that of any great city on the surface. What was surprising to Mostyn was the lack of people and he asked H’tha-dub about it.
“There used to be many more of us. However, since we can live forever, there is little need for us to increase our numbers. Therefore, few children are born. Less than ten a year. If that many.”
“Don’t any of you die?”
“Yes. Some voluntarily. More because they committed some crime against our race.”
“What do you mean?”
“We K’n-yanians are descended from the original worshipers the Great Old Ones brought with them to this world. In time, we encountered other people and enslaved them. And over the millennia many of those people regained their freedom. They are the freemen. They are not of us, but live with us. They are not K’n-yanians by blood.”
“Don’t they look like you?”
“Yes, for the most part. But they are not of us and are not to mingle with us. They live a long time, but not forever.”
“So how many true K’n-yanians are there?”
“I do not know, Mostyn Pierce. We do not count our numbers. Thousands to be sure. But I do not know the exact number.”
“Who did my team encounter in the tunnels?”
“Probably y’m-bhi, slaves, and freemen.”
Mostyn filed the information away. If the K’n-yanian defense force was composed of no K’n-yanians, just those living-dead beings, sub-human slaves, and freeman, then it might be possible to find a weak link among the freemen. If he could do so, his escape plan would have a much better chance of succeeding. How to find that weak link was the question.
Out of the city they rode, across the park, and into the countryside. The terrain here was rough and not suitable for farming. Not suitable for anything really. Rocky and with little soil to support plant growth.
The road on which they traveled was in a general state of disrepair, indicating it hadn’t been used for a long time. That it was still usable indicated it had been built well. Like those old Roman roads still being used in Europe.
Mostyn looked at his wrist and silently cursed the K’n-yanians for taking his watch. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been traveling. He guessed perhaps an hour, and certainly no more than that. Which meant, to his mind, they’d need eight of the gyaa-yothn and run them as fast as they could to have a chance at making their escape before the alarm was sounded.
“How much further?” he asked.
“I am not sure. I am not good at judging distances, Mostyn Pierce. The opening is a short distance past that rise.”
“So this road goes right there?”
“Yes it does.”
Mostyn nodded in response. That explained why it had fallen into disuse. Once the tunnel had been closed, there was no longer a need for the road. He wondered if that was the case with other abandoned roads. He’d have to look at the maps they found in the library and then check each one out, if he decided they needed to find an alternative route. Of course, trying to reopen a tunnel would be no small feat.
When they crested the rise, Mostyn signaled for H’tha-dub to stop. She reined in her gyaa-yothn. In the distance, Mostyn guessed no more than half a mile away, was a steep rock face that ascended up and up until it met the vast vaulted ceiling of stone far above them. And partway up the wall of rock, at that distance Mostyn couldn’t tell how far, was an opening.
“That’s the tunnel?”
“Yes, Mostyn Pierce. That is the path to your world.”
“Let’s get closer.”
“I do not think that is wise.”
“Why not?”
“There are guards.”
“Precisely. I want to see how many and what they are.”
Mostyn nudged his creature foreword and together he and H’tha-dub closed the gap until they were about fifteen hundred feet away.
There, in front of the gated opening in the cliff face, he saw six hideously deformed y’m-bhi slaves guarding the entrance into the tunnel. How do you kill something that’s already dead? Mostyn asked himself. The flamethrower had worked beautifully, but that was no longer an option. All he could think of was to hack the things to pieces and even then he wasn’t sure the zombie-like deformities wouldn’t somehow continue fighting.
Mostyn studied the lay of the land. From the rise, the terrain dipped down and leveled off. About five hundred feet before the opening the land rose sharply ending in what looked like a flat area before the tunnel entrance.
“That five hundred foot sharp incline is going to be the problem,” Mostyn informed H’tha-dub with his thoughts. “Especially with our former friends standing guard.”
“How will we get passed the y’m-bhi, Mostyn Pierce?”
“I don’t know, for sure. I do, however, have some ideas.”
“What are these ideas?”
“Fire and swords.”
“How will they help?”
“Swords, or axes, to dismember them, and fire to burn them up. Do you have some sort of flammable fuel?”
“I do not know, Mostyn Pierce.”
“What powers the lamps?”
Into his mind came the word “electricity”, and he nodded.
He sent his thoughts back to her. “Do you have any oil or fat?”
“I do not know, Mostyn Pierce. We can ask the slaves when we get back.”
“Good. Let’s go, then.”
Mostyn took one last look at the gated opening and the mutilated forms of his former team members. Revenge. He wanted revenge, but knew that escape was his first priority.
16
Morning. Or what passed for morning in K’n-yan. With the blue light never varying, the rhythm of the rest and active periods had been established by custom millennia ago. At least that is what H’tha-dub had told him, and Mostyn had no real reason to doubt her.
They’d woken to the smell of breakfast, the food set on the table by one of her slaves. As always, the food smelled good. This morning saw eggs, meat, the fungus that seemed to accompany every meal, some type of porridge, and fruit juice on the menu.
Yesterday, when they’d arrived back from their expedition, H’tha-dub had summoned the slaves and asked about oil and fat. She was told those items were regularly used in cooking and they came from the same abhumans that supplied the meat. Mostyn turned a little green at hearing that, thinking of the food he’d eaten that might have been cooked in oil derived from a cor
pse of something that might’ve been his cousin.
However, a different slave informed her that for the wagons and other things that needed lubrication, oil was obtained from a pool only a short distance from the city.
Mostyn asked to see some of the oil and H’tha-dub dispatched the slave to bring them a container of it. In short order, the slave returned with a bowl of dark liquid. Mostyn smelled the substance, touched a finger to it and rubbed the finger against his thumb to feel it, and then touched his finger to his tongue to taste the fluid.
When finished, he looked at H’tha-dub, and in Spanish, said, “This is crude oil. I can use it. I’ll need more. A lot more.” And he indicated the approximate size of the container he wanted filled with oil.
H’tha-dub relayed the information to the slave and sent him off to get the oil.
“I’ll also need sticks of either green wood or something unburnable. About this long.” He held his hands four feet apart.
“How many of these sticks will you need, Mostyn Pierce?”
“A dozen of them. And cloth. I’ll need lots of cloth.”
H’tha-dub sent slaves off to collect the materials. With the slaves off on their errands, she turned to Mostyn. “What are you going to make?”
“Torches, for light and to fight off the y’m-bhi.”
H’tha-dub’s eyes widened and she clapped her hands. “Oh, Mostyn Pierce, you are so very clever.”
“I’ll only be clever if I get us out of here.”
The slaves brought back green wood, metal rods, and the oil. Mostyn decided to use the metal rods. Mostly because they made a better club, in addition to not burning. He sat at the dining room table and tore the cloth into four-foot long strips, each strip about a foot wide. The next step was to wrap the cloth around one end of the rod to form a knob.
He held the finished product at arm’s length before him and admired his handiwork. “Every bit as good as anything made by Indiana Jones.”
“Who is this ‘Indiana Jones’?” H’tha-dub asked.
Mostyn laughed. “A movie character. He would have loved being here.”
