Tears of the Furies m-2

by Christopher Golden

  "Down here!" he called up to them, hands cupped over his mouth.

  Danny could see that Doyle and Ceridwen were helping Eve. He hoped that she was all right. Between the fight with the Hydra and now this, she had been taking quite a beating lately and he wasn’t sure if she was as durable as he was. Ceridwen, at least, seemed a little better. She’d been drag-assing back in the tunnels and he’d thought she was just going to pass out or something.

  As the others made their descent, he took the opportunity to look around. It was a cruel place, rocky with strange, skeletal trees rising up out of the gray dirt like the hands of some animated corpse. Even though the air was still, the strangely shaped leaves rustled, producing a strange grating sound.

  Weird, he thought. Danny began to look more closely at what he believed to be leaves, but the sudden sound of growling distracted him.

  The boy turned, stunned to see the giant dog stalking toward him on wobbly legs. Cerberus hadn’t been killed in the fall after all. Huge chunks of its flesh were missing, and exposed muscle and bone glinted wetly through the various rips and gashes.

  "Give it up," he told the dog as it slowly moved closer.

  The animal continued to growl, bloody strings of saliva dripping from its two remaining mouths. Danny glanced in the direction of his friends, but they were not close enough to lend him a hand. It looked as though he was going to have to deal with this problem on his own.

  "Last chance," he told the animal. "Just get the hell out of here, and we’ll call it even."

  Cerberus continued its inexorable advance.

  "All right," Danny said, reaching up to break away a limb from one of the skeletal trees. The branch came away with a loud snap, followed by a metallic rustling from the weird leaves.

  He turned back to face the dog and saw that the animal had stopped. "Changing your mind?" he asked, a snarling smile on his face.

  Cerberus seemed to have forgotten about him, its two remaining heads looking around as the sounds from the trees began to intensify. Its ears had gone flat against its blocky skulls, and Danny thought that he heard at least one of the heads whimpering.

  What now?

  The dog seemed afraid, and even though he would have liked to think it was because of him, something told him that really wasn’t the case.

  Suddenly Danny realized that the leaves weren’t leaves at all. He watched in awe as the shapes dangling from the trees began to drop, unfurling sleek, angular wings just before hitting the ground and gliding back into the air.

  "Son of a bitch," he whispered in awe, as the strange birds filled the air, their bodies catching the muted light of the Underworld, their feathers like tarnished metal. As he watched them dip and dart about, he trawled his knowledge of mythology, gained mostly from television, for the identity of these strange, metallic creatures.

  One of the birds flew past his face, the side of its wing gently glancing his cheek, and he recoiled from its touch. His hand came away from his face covered in fresh blood. Wait. I remember. Birds, but with metal razors for feathers, some shit like that. Something to do with Hercules.

  The swarming birds cried out, their strange song reminding him of the shriek of a rusty screen door, only much louder. They were agitated, maybe picking up on the vibes from him and Cerberus. Most flew in a shrieking cluster above them, but they were starting to dip lower, single members of the flock dropping down from the sky, razor-sharp wings coming dangerously close.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Cerberus leaving, its heads and body tucked low to the ground as it began to trot. The flock apparently didn’t care for the dog’s sudden movement. Their grating cries grew louder, and more of them glided down from the sky, the touch of their wings slicing into rotting, broken flesh of the hound. Danny could hear the giant dog yelping in pain as it fled across the barren landscape, shrieking birds in pursuit.

  Then Cerberus fell and the birds swarmed him. Even at that distance, Danny could hear the dog whimpering and he almost felt bad.

  Almost.

  Most of the razor birds had left with Cerberus, and Danny used the opportunity hurry to the cliff to meet his friends. They were almost to the bottom.

  "You all right?" Eve asked weakly. "You look like total shit." She smiled at him then, and he knew that she was okay, despite the fact that she was covered in drying blood.

  "You guys might want to hurry," he said, looking back over his shoulder. Only one or two of the birds were visible in the dark gloom of the cavernous sky. Most of them were still savaging Cerberus, and perhaps they would roost there for a time.

  "What now, Daniel?" Conan Doyle sounded a bit exasperated.

  "I think we’re okay." He reached out to help Eve with the final step to the Underworld floor. "But there were these crazy birds made of metal and — "

  "Stymphalia," Conan Doyle interrupted.

  "Whatever," Danny agreed. "They’re nasty."

  Conan Doyle nodded as he removed his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. Both Eve and Ceridwen were sitting on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff path. Eve was already starting to look better, but now that he could see more clearly, Danny wished he could say the same about Ceridwen. The Faerie sorceress sat with her face buried in her hands. She might have gotten her second wind before, but it seemed like she had just about used it up.

  Danny caught Conan Doyle’s eye. "Is she okay?"

  The mage nodded, going to her side and putting a gentle hand on her arm. "This place seems to be having a debilitating effect." Danny noticed an uncharacteristic touch of concern in the man’s voice.

  Ceridwen leaned her head back against his chest and looked up into his eyes. "Don’t be concerned," she told them all while speaking directly to Conan Doyle. "Give me a chance to acclimate myself, and I’m sure I’ll be fine."

  Eve was up now, walking around, stretching her legs. But Danny saw her freeze in mid-step, and she turned toward him. "Hey, kid. Your friends are back."

  She gestured with her chin to a rocky hill, where at least a dozen Stymphalia perched, watching them silently. More fluttered down from the sky with a metallic clatter.

  Conan Doyle frowned as he watched Eve and Danny, in the twisted landscape of this new level of the Underworld. They were gesturing to one another, but for the moment seemed in no danger. He turned his attention once more to Ceridwen with an ache in his heart that only resonated more deeply when he caught her gazing at him. Something was happening here, between them. The caution, the resentment, the echo of the past was being stripped away.

  It frightened him. He had caused her so much pain before that he knew he ought to keep her at arm’s length. But Conan Doyle did not know if even he had the strength for that. Particularly not now. Her normally pale skin was starting to turn an unhealthy gray, and it looked as though she were having a difficult time staying awake.

  "I’m sorry," he said.

  Ceridwen smiled weakly. "For what? This is not your doing, Arthur. You spend far too much time blaming yourself for things not in your control."

  "If I had known this damnable place would have such an effect on you, I would have — "

  "You would have done exactly as you have done." The sorceress cut him off. "I am not the focus of this mission." She stood and moved to him, reminding him of an old woman who had sat too long in a cold winter chill. "Drive your concerns for me from your mind," she said, placing the palm of her hand against his face, her cool touch providing a moment’s respite from the heat of the Underworld. "Stopping Nigel Gull should be your focus."

  He took her into his arms then, and he could not stop himself. In the tongue of the Faerie he whispered to her. "For so long I had lost my heart. So many years that I stopped noticing it was gone. But now I have found it again, and the fear of losing it weighs heavily upon me."

  Ceridwen pulled away and placed a hand on his chest, searching for the beat of his heart. Finding it, she smiled and was about to speak when a screeching din filled th
e air.

  "Lord, what now?" Doyle muttered as he turned to see Eve and Danny walking backward toward them.

  Beyond them, a flock of screeching, razor-winged birds filled the sky.

  The Stymphalia had returned.

  Conan Doyle and Ceridwen moved as best they could to meet Eve and Danny. The four of them gathered there on that hellish plain, and gazed at the glittering, screeching cloud coming toward them.

  "Wish I knew what pissed them off so bad," Danny said.

  Conan Doyle did not have time dwell on the question. The angry flock was quickly descending and he had to act if he and his charges were to survive the onslaught.

  He took hold of Ceridwen’s hand. "Lend me what strength you have to spare." The sorceress nodded, gripping his fingers tightly, and he felt a surge of power flow into his body.

  "Is this it?" Eve asked, panic in her tone as the birds wailed above them. "We’re going to drive them off by joining hands and singing Give Peace a Chance?"

  "Eve," Conan Doyle snarled. "Stay close, and do shut up."

  He attempted to blot out the sounds of the angry Stymphalian Birds, concentrating on a spell of protection. Where normally such a spell would flow from his lips, immediately providing the protection they so desperately needed, Conan Doyle found that his familiar magicks were not inclined to work efficiently in the Underworld. Even with Ceridwen’s strength added to his, the task of summoning a shield was exhausting and quite painful.

  The birds unleashed their first wave, the more ferocious of their number diving down to touch razor-sharp feathers to delicate flesh.

  "Doyle!" he heard Eve snap. "We’re waiting."

  The birds’ cries were louder, more frenzied. He flinched as one flew past his arm, slicing through the material of his suit coat and the shirt beneath. He could feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his arm.

  "We’re going to be cut to fucking ribbons!" Danny yelled, and Conan Doyle sensed that the boy was about to bolt.

  "Stay where you are," he commanded, feeling the troublesome magick begin to bend to his wishes.

  The air around them hummed as the enchantment began to coalesce into the shield he had cast. The Stymphalia collided with the crackling sphere, their metal bodies falling to the ground in an explosion of cold, white sparks. It took everything Conan Doyle had — and what Ceridwen was continuing to give him — to maintain the bubble of magickal force. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold it.

  The birds grew even more furious, descending in a ravening cluster, a blizzard of razor blades. Doyle and his companions were blind to the world outside as sparks exploded in the air around their protective sphere with the birds’ relentless onslaught. Conan Doyle felt Ceridwen’s grip begin to weaken and glanced over to see his woman struggling to stay upright.

  "Hold on, love. Hold on."

  The sphere began to waver and one of the Stymphalia managed to break through. Conan Doyle cried as the bird landed atop his head, sinking its needle-like beak into his scalp.

  Eve was the first to react, swatting the animal to the ground and stamping on it with the heel of her boot.

  "My thanks, Eve," he gasped, a warm stream of blood from his scalp tickling the back of his neck.

  Ceridwen fell to her knees, her pale flesh tinted more green than ever. She had given all she could, but it still was not enough. The magickal sphere of protection threatened to buckle.

  "Eve, I want you to listen to me," Conan Doyle said through gritted teeth. "I can’t keep this up much longer. When the sphere falls, I want you and Danny to take Ceridwen and run. I’m certain that there are caves nearby where you can find shelter and hold off any further attack."

  "What about you?" she asked. "Don’t even think about telling me you plan to stay here because — "

  "I will hold them off so you can get a healthy head start. Please, when my magick fails, take Ceridwen and Danny away from here."

  Eve came around to face him. There was rage and a hint of fear on her beautiful yet tired features. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she screamed, the birds outside riled even more by her display of anger. "You’re an arch mage for Christ’s sake, and you’re going to allow some metal fucking birds to end your life?!"

  Conan Doyle shook his head sadly. "My magick is not working as it should here. The power in this place is different, more ancient. Cerdiwen cannot wield the elements of this place as she should. They are not eager to be tamed, they fight her at every turn. And the magick is similar. Unfamiliar to me."

  He looked into her eyes and saw that she was speechless, a rarity for her. Then Eve nodded. "I’ll get them out. But then I’m coming back for you."

  He was weakening far faster then he would have imagined. All they had were moments, and he looked to see that they were ready. Eve held Ceridwen in her arms and Conan Doyle’s heart was wrenched by how frail the sorceress looked.

  The magick fought to slip away from him, and he fell to his knees, straining to hold on to his control. The Stymphalian Birds continued to swarm around the sphere, screeching excitedly, as if they knew that their dogged patience was about to be rewarded. But then, above their cries of savagery, Arthur Conan Doyle heard something else.

  A voice raised in song.

  The magickal shielding fell away with a fleeting whisper, but somehow they remained safe.

  "Should we be running?" Eve asked, warily watching the swarm of razor-feathered birds that flew above their heads.

  "Listen," Conan Doyle said.

  The song grew louder, stronger, and he could just about make out the words. Its message was one of peace and serenity, and it was sung in a language that even the Stymphalia could understand. Where the sky had once been filled with winged death, it was now suddenly clear, the razor birds darting into the distant shadows of the cavern, convinced to be elsewhere. Conan Doyle could still hear their screeching cries, but they were far away now.

  And though the threat had been dispersed, the song continued to fill the air and Conan Doyle watched as Nigel Gull, singing out gloriously in the voice of Orpheus, approached, his Wicked following like obedient dogs at his heels.

  "Hello, Arthur," Gull said. He could not help but smile. To see Conan Doyle so helpless, it was absolutely priceless.

  "Nigel. I suppose we owe you a bit of thanks."

  Gull waved his words away. "Not at all, old friend. You were in a fix, and I was happy to oblige. Would you not do the same for me?"

  "Of course they would have," Hawkins agreed.

  Jezebel giggled, biting at a fingernail with her dainty mouth.

  Conan Doyle remained silent, ignoring the commentary, and turned to check the condition of his people. Despite his words, Gull wondered if the man would have left him and his operatives to the mercies of the razor birds had the situation been reversed. For in truth he would not himself have bothered with saving Sir Arthur and his Menagerie if he did not still need something from them. He would have quite enjoyed watching them all die horribly.

  Gull watched as Conan Doyle took Ceridwen from Eve’s arms and laid her upon the ground. He caught the demon boy watching him with a steely, untrusting gaze. This is one to watch, Gull thought, returning his attentions to Doyle and his lover.

  "What seems to be the problem?" he asked with an attempt at concern. It was so difficult to muster.

  "Nothing that leaving this place won’t cure," Conan Doyle said as he rose from Ceridwen’s side and stalked toward Gull. "Why are you here, Nigel? What purpose could you possibly have in this damnable place?"

  Hawkins chuckled as he moved to stand beside his employer. "The old man knows you well, sir," he said with a sneer. "Type of bloke thinks he’s smarter than all the rest. Two steps ahead of everyone else."

  Conan Doyle barely acknowledged the silver-haired man, his eyes boring into Gull. "Why?" he asked again.

  Nigel gazed around at the black, gnarled trees that grew sparsely across the charcoal gray earth of this place. There were other landscapes here —
the terrain changed almost constantly as one traveled through the Underworld — but this place was almost pretty in comparison. "There is something I need, here. Something that will help me gain a prize I’ve long been denied."

  Conan Doyle laughed disdainfully and it took all the self-control that Gull could muster to not slap the condescending smirk from his face.

  "What is it now, Nigel?" the mage asked. "What forbidden treasure has tempted you beyond the limits of rational thinking this time?"

  Gull wanted to tell him. To explain that there was no ancient book or scroll, or object of power to sell to the highest bidder. Instead, he swallowed painfully, the dry air of the Underworld making his throat ache, and stepped closer to the man who had insulted him so.

  "Matters of the heart, dear boy," he whispered, leaning forward slightly so that Conan Doyle was sure to hear. "Matters of the heart."

  Conan Doyle’s face screwed up in confusion, and Gull was certain that the infuriating man wanted to know more, but Gull’s patience was gone and they had to move on.

  "What the devil are you talking about man, matters of the…"

  Gull raised a misshapen hand to silence him. "I’ve said enough and wasted too much time with you." He scanned the skies of the forbidden world. "In case you haven’t noticed, this can be quite a dangerous place, and to stay put for too long can mean your demise."

  His stare locked with Conan Doyle’s. "We have to leave."

  "And where are we going?" his adversary asked grimly, straightening his jacket as though he could look presentable down in this ancient hell.

  Gull cleared his throat, preparing to once again sing. "You’re not going anywhere. I require only Eve."

  Alarm flashed in Conan Doyle’s eyes and a crackle of golden light flared from his fingertips, but Gull would have no such resistance. He sang out a single note in the voice of Orpheus, freezing the Menagerie where they stood. Conan Doyle gritted his teeth, attempting to fight the paralyzing command of that song, but to no avail.

  Gull paused to rest his vocal cords, gesturing toward Eve. "This way, dear lady. We have an appointment with the Erinyes."