by J. Thorn
A faint ringing hovered in the air and seemed to be coming from the crystals themselves. It vibrated through the cavern like the wings of the hummingbird.
I looked past Toman and his bleeding hand to the other men. Sicklemore, the captain, and Burton Ford all stood in a line, their gaze transfixed by the stone altar behind the runs of crystal. I stepped past the men and wove my way between the crystal columns until I stood in front of the altar. Two vertical spires of carved stone rose up on each side, set apart at the length of two men. The top piece rested on the two spires, high enough that I could not touch the top with my outstretched hands.
The altar differed from the quartz surrounding it in a way I cannot entirely describe. The spires felt old, ancient, as if the quartz had taken millennia to grow up around it. I stepped closer to the spires to examine the craftsmanship of the carvings.
I felt a sense of danger, fear creeping and pulling me towards the temple like the tide of the Great Sea tugs at the sand on the beachhead. Murmurs broke out, and I spun to look at the rest of the expedition. Toman continued stroking his injured hand, mumbling incoherently while the other three men remained still, statuesque. The murmurs grew, and they sounded angry. I heard shouts in tongues foreign and cries of agony that began to rise from the stone. I heard men pitched in battle, women dying in childbirth, and children burning alive.
Before I could pull myself from the audible tragedy, I saw I had come within a mere breath of the left spire. I watched my hand reach out for it, the protruding tongue of a demon grasping the twisted body of a child in talons. It grinned through pointed teeth, and moisture dripped from its mouth like sacred blood. Its voice shook me from my daze.
“Rayna is next. I’m going to stick my tongue in her before I slice from pubic to throat. Taste the juice, her blood.”
I froze, almost unable to stand amongst the growing din. The sounds that began as murmurs had crested into a frenzy of wailing. The voices would cry out and beg for mercy, and at other moments swell into a painful crescendo of noise. I saw my own hand rising to touch the demon carved from the stone. My fingers brushed the wing on its back, and the immense heat caused my skin to blister. Tendrils of smoke rose from my hand where the skin contacted the demon, and the vile odor of my own burning flesh filled my nostrils.
I placed both hands over my ears in an attempt to drown out the misery of the lost souls, but it did not relieve much of my suffering, or theirs.
Other carved figures on the spire began to move. The demon that spoke to me resumed the devouring of the form in his clutches. Above that demon, another creature shook its head from stony sleep. The beast wore two heads and brandished its sharpened penis like a sword. It thrust the weapon into a woman carved on the relief, first causing her agony, and then death. I saw winged creatures crawling over the stone, shaking the long sleep from their feathers.
Toman yelled and got my attention. When I turned to face him, he was chewing on the thumb of his injured hand. His face had lost all color in the sickening flame, and the amber taint of blood covered his arm. He cried and mumbled nonsensically while tearing into his own flesh with blood-stained teeth. I saw two of his other fingers lying in the dirt, already cast from his profane meal. He tore them off and spit them out, one at a time. I grabbed his injured arm and pulled him back from the crystals and up the tunnel. I yanked Toman around a corner and sat him on a stone beyond the view of the subterranean temple. Outside of the evil grasp and hidden from view, he emerged from the state into one of shock.
“My hand, my hand. Who has disfigured me this way?” he asked.
The whites of his eyes rolled up, and his body shut down to protect him from the pain. Making sure that he continued breathing and wrapping the bleeding hand in a rag, I left Toman and turned towards the temple.
My feet stuck to the earth, refusing to move forward. I pushed with all my might, like a man wading through the swampy mud. When I turned the corner and once again faced the temple, my breath hitched in my chest and threatened to burn my lungs. I felt my eyes bulge, and sounds emerged from my mouth, foreign to my creator. If I could have summoned Him that moment, I would have asked to be delivered from this life and spared what my eyes saw.
Russell lay hunched over a stone, his arms splayed to the side with his hands balled into fists. His head turned left and right, repeatedly and with great force so that beads of sweat and spittle flew from his lips. The captain’s britches lay bunched at his ankle leaving him exposed from the waist down. Sicklemore stood behind the captain and between his legs. His britches also lay at his feet. I saw the pale reflection of Sicklemore’s bare nethers as he thrust into the captain in the manner of wild dogs. He screamed and yelled, his arms waving and occasionally punching the captain in the ribs.
I turned from the explicit scene to see Sir Burton Ford in a peculiar motion. He had stripped himself of all garments, walking back and forth in front of the temple without a stitch. His arms waved frantically, stopping only to pull tufts of hair from his head. He would drop the bloody roots and mangled tuft to the ground in front of the temple. Every third or fourth pace, Ford would stop and smash his face into the stone spires. The beasts and demons that spoke to me earlier stood covered in Burton’s blood.
I ran to him first, grasping at articles of clothing he had discarded and left on the angled crystals protecting the altar. I grabbed his arm, and the force of the shock sent me backwards into the cavern wall. He turned and spoke, but not of his voice.
“Where is she?”
“Who?” I replied
Burton laughed, baring a grin with newly vacated spaces. “The whore. The one they call Patience.”
I shook my head and pulled on his arm with a greater resolve.
“You best keep her in your sights, Master Jaithe.” The demonic voice cackled my name in mock admiration before Ford’s body collapsed to the ground.
I lifted the man and put him over my shoulder, as he was of a light stature. Toman remained where I had left him, unmoved and unchanged. I placed Ford next to him and sat. I felt my breathing becoming labored and forced. It could have been my mortal powers telling me not to return to that place, but I could not leave men to that fate, even those of the caliber of the captain and his apprenticed mapmaker.
When I had secured a spot for Ford and returned to the temple, the captain and Sicklemore had consummated their profane act and now stood, face to face, as pugilists on the verge of confrontation.
“Gonna rip the skin from yer face,” said the captain.
Sicklemore stood, unfazed by the threat. The men replaced their britches prior to squaring off with each other.
“We must leave,” I shouted to them.
Both men turned and smiled at me, the grin of lunatics. The murmurs rose again, this time cresting at a pitched level that forced me to double over and ball up on the ground in an effort to save myself. Russell and Sicklemore appeared unfazed by the noise and strode towards me with their fists ready to deliver blows.
I struggled to my feet and came up with a heavy rock in my right hand. I lunged at Sicklemore, thinking that it would be wise to take the stronger of the two down first, while I still had my wits. I struck him in the jaw with the rock, and he dropped to the earth. The captain stopped, turning his head sideways like a dog trying to understand its master. I grabbed Sicklemore by one ankle and dragged him up the path until we reached the resting spot of Toman and Ford. The indentation in the cavern wall now resembled an infirmary, complete with three unresponsive patients.
Before I made my final descent into the temple, I heard the captain singing. His voice reverberated over the crystals and felt like the sharp stinging of bees that had penetrated my ear canal. He stopped as I approached.
“I want the gold, Jaithe. And if I don’t get it, I’m gonna stick my nally in yer Rayna till she bleeds.”
“She’s alive?” I asked.
Russell nodded, grinning and giggling at the same time.
“If you hurt he
r, I’ll destroy you,” I said.
The captain replied, “When I’m done with her, Shella’s next.”
I stood and gazed at the spirit that had taken the captain. It had left a part of him in control, but he had not enough strength to shake his puppet master. For the sake of my daughter and my sanity, I placated the monster.
“Fine, but not now, and not with the imbeciles we brought with us. The revelation will be of my hand, of my choosing. Your abuse of my flesh and blood will not bring you wealth.”
I saw the cognition in his eyes and felt the parting of the controlling force. The captain’s body collapsed to the ground. I ran and hovered over him. He reeked of blood, feces, and other profane substances, but his chest continued its up-and-down pulse. I managed to get him out of the cavern, and we joined the others in the alcove. By the time I had placed the captain’s head on the ground, exhaustion pulled me into unconsciousness.
We awoke at once, as if shaken by the Left Hand. The men rubbed and examined their wounds, weary and unsure whether the Sun God remained in the sky or not.
“A bizarre illness has taken us all. We need to find our way out and convalesce,” I said.
The men agreed with their eyes.
Captain Russell and Michael Sicklemore stood and walked towards the opening of the cavern that led up towards the surface. The captain stopped and then came back, about to turn into the profane temple. I put an arm on his and shook my head. Our eyes locked for several moments, long enough that I wondered whether the beast that had invaded his soul had truly left. He pulled his broken teeth into a yellow grin and spoke.
“Be time enough for more ‘xplorin’, I guess. ‘Nother opportunity to exchange precious metals for precious flesh.”
I squinted and tilted my head sideways as a look shot across the captain’s face. It wiped the expression away and replaced it with a new one as quick as the sea bird dives into the surf. He straightened up and turned back towards the other men, who were now struggling to get their feet to function.
“Spent ‘nough time rumblin’ through the dark stank. Let’s hope the Moon Goddess is still high and the shooters be ripe on the vine.”
Ford shrugged and shook his head, and Toman grinned like a man on the gallows. Sicklemore moved ahead, not speaking a word to any of us the entire trip out of the cave.
Brinton met us at the first turn at the back of our domicile and shared the news of the Commonwealth. I fought the urge to run back into the cavern, prostrate myself before the gods of the underworld, and take my pain into oblivion.
—Edward Jaithe
***
“You keepin’ yer mouth shut and hidin’ from the others?”
“I ain’t talked to nobody.”
“Yer lyin’.”
“Then stick it in my mouth to shut me up.”
Toman dropped his satchel to the ground and moaned as Patience thrust her cold hands into his pants. He looked at the top of her head and pretended not to see the lice scurrying across her scalp. The hot breath on his private area made him heave.
“Think I’m gonna take it this time, drop it right down my gullet.”
Toman shivered and closed his eyes. He decided to let Patience do what she needed to do.
***
Sir Burton Ford came calling on Jaithe and Shella several days after the journey into the mountain. He smiled at them both and tipped his hat to Shella before addressing Jaithe.
“There is business on the beachhead that we need to discuss. Matters of utmost importance.”
Shella took the cue and hurried from the cave with two pails and Brinton in tow. Jaithe waved Ford to a chair. The bright afternoon sun pierced the cold air of the Dark Time, offering relief from the grays but not from the chill. Burton wrinkled his nose at the odors of several humans living in a cave.
“I may know of what you speak,” said Jaithe.
“I’m not sure you do, sir.”
“How do you feel, Burton?”
“About the news?”
“About the expedition inside the earth. Do you feel right?”
Burton shook his head and thought for a moment. He scratched his chin and leaned into the conversation while whispering to Jaithe.
“I have not felt right since we climbed out of the tunnel. My physical ailments remain unexplained, and I feel a heavy weight on my head. My thoughts are clouded with visions I’d rather not share, fantasies of the most inappropriate magnitude.”
Jaithe nodded and stirred the embers of the fire. “There is much about the expedition that my mind has locked away and hidden from memory. There are others, however, that sit on my conscious. I’m fearful that the captain and his henchman may share those same thoughts.”
Ford waited.
“I am sorry, Sir Ford. I may need to confide in you in regards to that expedition, but I cannot do so now. I believe we have other pressing matters to discuss.”
“Yes, Jaithe, we do have pressing matters to discuss. It appears as though the scabble have stirred up the emotions of those of the Commonwealth.”
“Scabble?” Jaithe asked.
“The middling sort, the newcomers to the commonwealth.”
Jaithe shook his head to indicate understanding but could not bring himself to use the derogatory term just yet.
“How have the newcomers managed this?” asked Jaithe.
“Land claims.”
Jaithe shrugged, waiting for the explanation. Ford smiled and enjoyed the genesis of the tale like an accomplished painter stepping to a blank canvas.
“The King has allowed the settlers of the Commonwealth to make their own land claims. Correct?”
“Yes, but many here do not bother with the material. We live in caves and look for the Ways.”
“Just how many can hold that virtue as you do, Master Jaithe?”
Ford continued without allowing Jaithe to answer.
“Some of your countrymen, those of weaker faith, shall we say, have laid claim to regions once inhabited by the Naturals. Only He knows what resources these lands may yield.”
“This has not been discussed in council.”
“Why would it have been? Men do not have a legitimate claim and would have no reason to legislate it.”
“So you’re saying that the scabble are bickering with the originals of the Commonwealth over land they don’t possess?”
“Land with unknown riches.”
“Have you seen these riches with your own eyes?”
“I don’t have to. And neither do they. The perception of wealth can drive men to the ends of the earth and the edges of their sanity.”
Jaithe exhaled and lifted his pipe from a hook in the wall. He motioned towards Ford, who waved at the pipe with one hand in a polite refusal of the offer. “Is the company behind it?”
“I am uncertain as to the origin of the dispute. It would seem, on the surface, that the crown would not permit the scabble to usurp the deed of the original landholders, especially with the King’s gold at stake. However, one never knows if the company is in bed with the King. Should that be the case, the crown could be making a play to snatch the entire Commonwealth from any diversified interests.”
“I can’t possibly stop the scabble from seizing land and displacing members of the Commonwealth. If the captain gives implicit permission, they will run rampant over the settlement.”
Ford nodded and folded his hands on his chest. He waited for Jaithe to finish his pipe before speaking again. “You and I share interests. I find your presence engaging, enlightening. My hope is that the original members of the Commonwealth remain as a beacon of light in what could become a very dark place.”
“I respect you, Burton. However, my destiny lies with Him and the Ways. I’d just as soon pack up and head further up the river to distance myself from the scabble and their wicked intentions.”
Chapter 22
“Ain’t never had no place to shake off the worries of the day before the scabble arrived.”
&n
bsp; Aiden looked at Toman and sat back in his chair. Toman grinned through gray teeth, his hair slicked back and greasy. Aiden sighed and motioned for Toman to sit. The draft sliced through the rickety wood and helped to whisk away the smell of stale ale and smoke.
“I’m here to recruit some of the scabble into the Ways. Hoping to save a few, if we can.”
“You doing the job while drinking spirits?” Aiden pushed up his sleeves and looked about the makeshift pub in the village center.
“He ain’t around, and I ain’t gonna tell ’em nuthin’.”
“What do you want?” asked Aiden.
“A moment of yer time, to start,” replied Toman.
A woman approached, her skirt flipping high and twirling about her knees. Aiden looked away.
“Git out, whore,” said Toman.
“C’mon, honey. You and I can git it out like we did last night.”
Aiden shrugged as Toman rolled his eyes.
“Don’t bother me now, Doris, I’m busy. I’ll poke it in ya later.”
The woman spun and twirled away from the table and towards another group of rowdy scabble.
“I must get back to Jaithe and the families remaining in the caves.”
“Whatcha got in dem caves, boy?”
Aiden straightened ,and his right arm thrust out to Toman’s neck. He pulled the man’s collar tight and leaned over the table to speak into his face.
“Nothing about the Ways prevents a follower from using whatever be necessary to remove threats.” He released Toman’s shirt and pushed him backwards in the chair. A few of the scabble looked in their direction, but lost interest when the disagreement did not escalate.
“Does He say anything ‘bout hoardin’ gold?”
“What are you getting at, Toman?”
“You think that Ford ain’t no scabble just ‘cause he gots the fancy threads and the knowin’ of the words?”
“You challenging his character?”
