POCKET
Cass awoke to a scene out of nightmare. All around her was the void, yet she was not in it any more. She tried to turn and see just how far it was, but couldn’t manage, and it was only then that she realized that she was bound to a flat slab of some kind, arms and legs out in spreadeagle fashion, while something also held her through the neck and waist rings, making much movement impossible.
After the first few fuzzy moments she remembered what had happened—remembered Dar’s crazy lunge—and then what?
The slab was angled slightly upward, so she had a view of what was in front of her. It was in fact an eerie and impossible scene, an outcrop of reddish rock rising up perhaps fifty meters over which spilled a small waterfall whose effluent landed in a pool below but did not seem to either drain to a creek or flood. There was a cave in back of the waterfall, but it was impossible to tell who or what might be inside. Around the pool were a number of palm trees and small bushes, and there seemed to be a few trees and bushes growing here and there all around the place. The void was just in back of the large rock, and she couldn’t imagine where the water was coming from.
She was not alone. It seemed that there were an endless number of slabs set back from the pool area in an eerie sort of amphitheater, and while it was difficult to see much at that level she was certain that each slab held someone, similarly bound as she was.
Around the pool and waterfall there were—shapes. She was far enough away and at a bad angle so that at first she could not identify them, but suddenly she knew what they were. They were women, very much like those bodies at the massacre site. Primitive, part animal, some scampering about with animal-like motions, others crouched down and eating or gnawing on something. They looked like the visions of Hell painted by the church in sermon after sermon. In fact, except for the eerie warm light the whole scene resembled a painting of Hell that hung in the temple at Anchor Logh.
For a moment her upbringing broke through her skepticism. Have I died? she wondered. Did Dar’s blow or the attackers of the train kill me? But no, she decided at last. She might have believed it if she hadn’t seen those bodies, but she knew better. Those were real savages who attacked, and so were these. She wondered, though, if Dar had gone on to kill Matson and thus allow the second train to be overrun as well. She could hear, but not see, the noises of mules off to her right.
Suddenly the savage women near the pool stopped what they were doing and scattered, making agitated noises. From the cave behind the small waterfall emerged a group of four of the women carrying on their shoulders a body seemingly strapped to a cross-like structure made of wood. They walked through the waterfall and down a small path to the right side of it, then around the pool, finally approaching Cass and the others on the slabs. There was a neatly drilled hole in the rock at the base of the grisly amphitheater, and the structure and its occupant were hoisted into place so that the base of the cross was securely in the hole. It swayed a moment, but then settled and held firm. Cass gasped as she finally recognized the figure on the cross.
It was Dar.
He looked dazed and only semi-conscious, but in some pain. He seemed to be bound with tight metal clamps around his wrists and by strong rope through the neck and waist rings. It held him secure and helpless, but hardly comfortably.
A large figure now emerged from the cave and walked slowly down the path, around the pool, and up to the hapless man on the cross. This newcomer was dressed entirely in black robes without adornment of any kind, although he wore a large golden medal on a chain around his neck. It was impossible to tell what was stamped on the round medallion from Cass’s vantage point.
The primitive women seemed to treat this dark one with reverence and awe, and gathered silently to watch. It was hard to do much counting, but there seemed to be no more than seven or eight of them.
The dark one threw back his hood to reveal a round, distinguished looking face with a carefully cropped goatee and short hair, black once but now tinged with gray. He looked over at the savage women and made a gesture, and they prostrated themselves and virtually grovelled at him. He smiled and turned to the ones on the slabs.
“Why, hello!” he said cheerfully, in a cultured if highly accented voice, almost as if he hadn’t really noticed them before. “You are all doubtlessly wondering why I’ve brought you here today, not to mention where this is, who I am, and what will happen now. I shall be most happy to explain it all to you.”
He gave a benign smile and then continued. “I am Roaring Mountain, high priest of the powers of darkness, anointed so by the Seven Who Come Before, which you might know as the Seven Who Wait.”
There were a few sounds at this, but no great outcry. Most of them had expected as much, if nothing else, from the familiar scenario.
“This is my holy place,” he went on, “my temple, if you will, a place of life in the midst of the void established for my own and Hell’s convenience. No, you are not dead, nor are you dreaming. You have instead received a signal honor. You have gone to Hell while still alive.”
He sighed, but it was clear that he was quite a ham actor and enjoying every moment of this.
“Now, then, that takes care of two of the questions. As to what I, and my followers, and this place are doing here—we are, quite simply, guarding one of the seven gates to Hell. It is not far from here, and while it is guarded by a different sort we can take it, given sufficient personnel, at the time and convenience of our own choosing. And that, of course, is what you are doing here.”
Cass could already see, with some horror, where he was going with this, but like the rest she could do nothing but watch.
“When we struck our first blow not long ago, we had thirty-five soldiers in the cause, but many of them were outcasts in the void and thus did not have the reason or discipline to be more than, shall we say, rifle fodder. Only ten now remain, alas, but there is cheer, for now we have an additional twenty-six of you.”
Cass began doing some mental arithmetic. Ar-den’s train had twenty-four survivors, plus her, plus Dar, there. She felt at least a tingle of excitement and relief that Matson had obviously beaten off the attack. Roaring Mountain had obviously lost too many in the first attack, which must have been nearly suicidal, to have a chance of taking theirs. So she’d been abducted by Dar, who’d escaped the train and been taken prisoner by these people. She had to wonder if Dar had enough sense left in his head to have some second thoughts about that. There was no doubt that this strange man was the same one Matson had guessed was behind it all. Roaring Mountain. Rory Montagne.
“Now, what we will require to eventually liberate this gate I estimate at about one hundred smart, dedicated troops. The attack on the first train brought us a tremendous quantity of arms and ammunition which we are still cataloging, not to mention explosives and other useful devices. It also brought us twenty-five fresh, sharp young people to be the vanguard of that new army.”
Cass frowned. Twenty-five? That couldn’t be right.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” the dark man went on. “Me? Work for Hell? Never! But consider—it was your own church that cast you out. It was your own kind who branded you, tortured you, then sold you as slaves. It is they who deserve the punishment, not you! See! With your own group rode one of the harlots of the church!” He snapped his fingers, and two of his savages went out of view and came back with a small figure dressed in a white robe, hands bound. But it couldn’t be a novice—this woman had a fair amount of hair.
Cass gaped, recognizing Lani instantly. So that was how they’d gotten her out of the Anchor. She looked uncertain and frightened, but she looked up at the man on the cross and gave a short cry as she recognized Dar. The demonic priest’s eyebrows went up. “Ah, then you know this fellow. Very good. Darkness provides symmetry, always. Now look only at me!” He reached out and pulled her face around until he was staring down into her eyes. She stiffened, then seemed to relax so well that the two savages had to help support her.
“J
ust like all the others,” the dark man sneered, an expression of madness creeping over his face. “Just like all those harlots in robes who are the chief whores, selling out their people and themselves. It is an abomination for women to so rule and control men!” He reached;down and ripped off the white robe, revealing her voluptuous naked body. She had, Cass had to admit to herself, one hell of a body.
This, too, did not escape the attention of Roaring Mountain. His madness faded into a broad grin, and he made a few signs with his hand in front of her face. She stiffened, almost like a statue, and the dark man motioned the support away. At that moment Dar seemed to come to. He groaned and looked down at the little scene in front of him in confusion. “Lani?” he managed.
Roaring Mountain turned and looked at the man on the cross. “Well, this is unexpected timing. You, sir, present me with a problem. A moral dilemma, if you will. On the one hand, you defected, bringing with you a much-appreciated offering. On the other hand, Hell’s minions in this holy cause must be female, for it is fitting that the just cause of Hell be carried out by those very types who oppose us so desperately. Nor, of course, could I allow the distraction of you to be around while we get about our work. Tell me—this girl here. Sister, perhaps? Or lover?”
Dar still seemed completely confused by the situation. “Lover,” he responded.
“Ah! So they start their whoring younger than even I believed.” He thought for a moment, then nodded to himself. From his robe he produced a large, sharp knife similar to the one Matson had. “To kill you would be an injustice. Therefore, we must be delivered from temptation and all will work out.” He turned to Lani. “Girl? Open your eyes and look upon the man up there.”
She did, although still in a trance-like state.
“Do you know him?”
“It is Dar,” she responded woodenly.
He nodded. “And you want Dar, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You know what you want from him. You can see it hanging there, can’t you?”
Lani seemed to tremble slightly. “Yes. Oh, yes.”
“But who do you belong to now? Who must have your total devotion?”
“You, Master.”
“Then you must prove your devotion. You must give me what you want most.” He handed her the knife, and she took it. “Now go to that which you want most and bring it to me.”
They all held their collective breaths, but the savages seemed amused as well as fascinated by the grisly sadism of their master.
Lani walked over to Dar, the knife outstretched. At last he understood at least this much and screamed, “Lani! In the name of all that’s holy, no! Please!” he sobbed.
The knife moved. Dar screamed, and suddenly there was blood all over. The girl knelt down and picked up the severed genitals and brought them back to Roaring Mountain, laying both the grisly object and the knife at his feet, kneeling in front of them.
Sparks flashed from the dark man’s hand, and Dar stopped screaming and was still. The blood and wound on him vanished, and in the pubic region there was a very natural-looking female vaginal cavity, complete with pubic hair.
“He is otherwise unchanged,” Roaring Mountain told his captive audience. “I took the model from his own lady love, so in this sense they are one.” He chuckled over his gruesome humor. “Dar! Awaken free of pain!”
Dar’s body moved, then his eyes opened and again he looked confused. Two of the savages released his bonds and he fell limply to the rocky floor but soon shook his head and got up. All of the onlookers who could still either bear to watch or hadn’t passed out just from the shock and horror of the scene waited to see what would happen now.
“Arise, Lani,” the priest of Hell commanded, and she did. “Girl, you have been punished for your sins and purged of them. Boy, you have also received justice. Do you both understand that?”
Both just nodded.
“Very well. Then the two of you are the vanguard of our new army. You, Dar, will be my general, and you, Lani, will be his aide. Both of you will lead, together, the mighty crusade. Do you agree?”
Lani, still mostly under his spell, breathed, “Yes, Master.” Dar, who still hadn’t sorted it all out, asked, “Then we’ll be together?”
“Yes, of course. You have paid a high price for it, why not?”
Dar nodded and squeezed Lani’s hand. The sight was bizarre. “Then we’ll fight for you.”
Roaring Mountain sighed. “Ah, true love conquers all. Both of you can go back in the cave and get to know each other better if you wish. We have more business here.”
Cass had watched the whole thing and felt sick at it, but she found her emotions mixed. Those two certainly deserved each other, that was for sure, and she felt little pity about their enduring fate, either, for Roaring Mountain had obviously greatly enhanced their lust for one another while rendering that lust impossible to consummate the way they wanted it. The true sickness in the scene was the dark one below, and his powers, which were obviously real—or were they? Matson’s had certainly looked real, and they were but illusions.
Roaring Mountain approached the slabs and looked down at his first helpless captive. For a while he caressed, cajoled, and stroked her helpless figure in a scene of particular horror considering that the onlookers could only witness their own fate. It looked like rape was inevitable, but suddenly the dark one stopped, that look of mad fury coming back into his face. “All the same! All the same!” he snapped, sounding both insane and violent. Suddenly Cass realized the source of that madness and that insane hatred. It was the only thing that made sense.
Roaring Mountain was himself full of lust, but he was also impotent. The man with the power to make women worship him and to change the sex of another couldn’t get it up himself. How he must be filled with hate! No wonder he could abide no normal male around. Dar, in fact, would have to be his favorite, for the mad wizard had bestowed on the boy the ultimate impotence.
“Nonetheless, you are mine! ” he roared, and made a pass over the girl with his right hand. Two of the savages then ran up and undid the bonds, and the dark one held out his hand and pulled the hapless girl to her feet.
She was transformed. She was in fact extremely well built herself, although it was impossible to know how much had been exaggerated by Roaring Mountain’s frustrations. From her extremely narrow waist down her body was now covered in a fine brown hair terminating in two very large cloven hooves which the legs had been reconfigured to support, and from the end of her spinal column now grew a short, stubby, goat-like tail. She had a rich head of hair once more, too, of the same brownish color, but her face below her eyes had elongated a good five centimeters, giving her what could only be described as a pug-like snout. Finally, through her hair, rose two short, blunt goat-like horns.
“Behold the first of a new race,” Roaring Mountain thundered. “This shall be the model for the future of all harlots of World!” He sounded coldly furious now, and stretched out both hands at the captive multitude. At the end he issued some commands, and the first row was released. All were helped to their feet, and all looked exactly like the first creature he had made.
Cass, in the third row, could only wait for it with mounting horror. Far worse than the transformation, for there was nothing permanent in the Flux and anything done could be undone, was the totally silent submissiveness of the newly made creatures who but moments before had been captive girls just like she. The dark priest did the second row, and they became as the first. It was only when the first group came up to unbind the second that they were close enough for Cass to see the depth of the transformation. In one way, Roaring Mountain was right—this was a whole new race, and she was next to join it!
Well, at least I’ll finally have some tits, she thought inanely, her grip on sanity very, very thin.
“Hold!” commanded a deep, booming, authoritarian voice behind them, and Roaring Mountain stopped, then turned and himself dropped to his knees, as did all the savages an
d transformees, following his lead.
The speaker and object of this worship walked into view. He was enormous, standing fully three meters high and fully proportioned with muscles to match. He also had a goat-like head with huge ram’s horns, deep purple skin covering his human-looking body, and he wore a loose-fitting robe of crimson satin open at the chest but tied off with a belt at the waist.
“Oh, great Prince of Hell, we welcome thee,” Roaring Mountain intoned.
“Oh, get up from there,” the giant goat-man muttered disgustedly. “We have business to discuss.”
“I was just in the holy process of—” the dark priest began, getting up hastily.
“Of turning excellent raw material into mindless savages. Yes, I know. I’m beginning to wonder about you, I really am. I fear the hangups that attracted us to one another may be too much for you to do a decent job. Well, we’ll see.” The creature looked up at the dozen or so girls still tied down. “You couldn’t be satisfied with the one train. No, you had to go after another one without replacing your losses from the first attack.” He sighed. “Sometimes, oh Roaring Mountain, I think I should transform you into a giant asshole.”
The priest looked stricken. “Please, Master! I can explain!”
“Bullshit! I went and carved this homey pocket in a very convenient location and handed you the nucleus of an army. If you had any sense you’d have struck at the first train, forgotten the second, and now be well on your way to training that expanded force. Instead, here you are creating a new wild animal species with barely more than you had before! Worse, yet, you didn’t take that second train. They’ll be back in force, hunting for this pocket now.”
The priest looked suddenly concerned. “Then hadn’t we better do something?”
The goat-man cleared his throat impatiently. “Yes, I think we better. Any captives from that second train? I mean, any you haven’t already transformed into mindless idiots?”
“One, Master—no, two!” He looked up at Cass and pointed. “That one there, for example.”
Spirits of Flux and Anchor Page 11
