Solomon's Arrow

by J. Dalton Jennings

  The tunnel had dead-ended and, shockingly, the child was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where did she go?” Gloria croaked, her voice faltering.

  Bram was at a loss. His eyes flicked back and forth hoping to spot an opening through which the girl might have fled, but saw none. It was impossible. She couldn’t have vanished into thin air. There had to be an explanation.

  Solomon grabbed his arm. “We have to get out of here,” he barked.

  The man was right. Bram spun around, only to find an unexpectedly bewildering sight: the tunnel was closed off. They were trapped inside, but how? The tunnel hadn’t collapsed. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he hissed.

  Solomon stepped up beside him. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Waters.”

  Gloria stood silently to his left, arms crossed.

  “I have no idea how this happened,” Bram admitted. “In any event, we need to break though the wall and return to the main tunnel before our air runs out. Gloria, what about your survival training? Has it prepared you for anything like this?”

  From the corner of his eye, Bram saw Solomon turn and stiffen. The enigmatic Brazilian let out a sharp gasp of surprise. What was happening? Had the child returned? Whirling around, he saw something that made his mind boggle. Standing at the far end of the tunnel was Jennifer, his long-dead fiancée. But it was impossible. How could she even be here? It had to be another illusion, but her image was so compelling. It called to him. She smiled exactly as she should. She looked exactly as she had, so many years ago. His head was spinning, dizzy with the thought of their reunion.

  Stumbling toward Jennifer, Bram heard Gloria utter her brother’s name. How odd. She was walking toward a spot a few feet away from Jennifer—but no one was there. As for Solomon, he was kneeling, sobbing, holding his arms out for someone named Selena. Despite being aware of these bizarre proceedings, Bram’s focus was on Jennifer. He desperately wanted to hold her in his arms. His mind barely registered the fact that the ground beneath her feet was covered in fine, hair-like cilia.

  Bram rushed into Jennifer’s outstretched arms and wrapped her in an embrace he’d longed for a thousand times over the years. “Jennifer … darling … I’ve missed you so much.” He sighed in ecstasy, unable to feel the fungal tendrils worming their way beneath his skin.

  19

  Tears of joy streamed down Solomon’s cheeks. His heart overflowed from the sheer joy of holding his beloved daughter in his arms. Pulling her close, he kissed her cheek; it was clammy, but he attributed that to being underground. In his blissful haze, he failed to consider why his daughter was underground, on an alien planet.

  “Daddy’s missed you so much,” he sobbed in Spanish. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m so happy you’re alive. I feared the worst, but you’re alive … you’re alive!”

  Solomon didn’t want to let Selena go. The moment he saw her he’d dropped his flashlight, collapsed to his knees, and enfolded her in his arms, overwhelmed with unadulterated joy. It was a miracle! Yes, a miracle Selena was here … but where was her mother? She must be close by. He could barely breathe at the thought of holding Maria in his arms.

  Weak with ecstasy, Solomon lifted his tear-stained cheeks and silently thanked the Lord for being merciful. As he did so, Selena began to push against him, struggling to free herself. In the zeal of their reunion, was he holding her too tightly? “What is it, sweetheart?”

  Gazing into his daughter’s angelic face, which was lit from below by the flashlight, Solomon saw that she was frightened—no, terrified. He glanced over his shoulder, thinking that one the monstrous snakes that caused him to flee the cavern was slithering up from behind. But no, the tunnel was blocked. There was nothing to cause Selena’s fear. When he turned around and looked into her eyes, he saw that her fear was directed at him.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Don’t you recognize me?” He held her at arm’s length, a note of anguish in his voice.

  Her struggles increased. “Let me go! You’re hurting me!” she cried.

  “But I’m your daddy, Selena. I’d never hurt you.” Solomon didn’t think he was holding her too tightly. “Please, don’t act this way. It’s been so long since I’ve held you in my—”

  Solomon’s voice trailed away as he stared in horror. His daughter’s face was changing from fearful to furious. She was snarling at him, and her teeth—her teeth! They’d transformed, turning fanglike, animalistic.

  “Let me go, or I’ll rip your throat out,” she growled, using a guttural, menacing tone of voice.

  In his shock, Solomon almost released his grip, but he couldn’t. He was frozen in disbelief, unable to comprehend her sudden change from smiling, adorable girl to a snarling demon.

  She began to weep; her face wracked with pain. “Please, daddy, let go,” she pleaded, struggling even harder. “I’m … I’m—” Her body began to shake.

  Unable to breathe, feeling like his heart was in his throat, Solomon watched as the distorted image of his daughter wavered, becoming transparent. His eyes locked onto hers one last time before the vision of his long-dead daughter faded from view. In her place stood a crumbling latticework of desiccated tendrils—a fungus that was turning dark brown, dying, turning to dust before his very eyes.

  In agony, Solomon felt as though he’d lost his daughter all over again. He was hurting. Most of his pain was emotional—but, he realized, there was also a physical element involved.

  Tearing his gaze from the crumbling fungal tendrils, Solomon looked down at his hands and arms: they were covered in pinpricks, which were seeping blood. The fungus had been feeding off him. Then it hit him, he’d seen the Ghosts of Yggdrasil: the fungus had projected an image of Selena into his mind, as a lure to draw him into its grip and keep him there to devour. But he was toxic.

  The whole thing had felt so real … the image of Selena had felt so real, so present, so there, that he almost …

  Oh my God, the others!

  He spotted Gloria’s flashlight first. It lay on the ground near her feet casting its harsh, white light against the tunnel wall. Snatching up his PID, Solomon cast its light in her direction, only to see what he feared most—Gloria entwined in fungal tendrils! The silken threads were emerging from the ground beneath her feet, covering her, engulfing her. If he didn’t do something to help her, she’d die.

  Waters stood a few feet away from her, his eyes rolled up in his head. The deadly fungus also covered his body—but it was writhing, squirming, struggling to find purchase. The fungus was fighting to subdue the psychic detective, but unlike the cluster that attacked Solomon and died in the process, the tendrils assaulting Waters were still healthy.

  Feeling lightheaded from the fungal assault, Solomon struggled to his feet and made a beeline to Gloria. Whatever else he did, he had to save her—even if Waters died in the process.

  •

  Bram was certain that Jennifer’s arms weren’t clutching him tightly. The moment he touched her, he knew that something inhuman was pressing against his flesh. But the creature looked exactly like his fiancée. How could that be? It had to be a trick, an illusion … but how? How could an illusion feel so real?!

  Have to focus…

  Have to push past the illusion … see the creature for what it really is …

  Must … not … give in …

  Must … fight to … see … it … for … what it … really is …

  Calling on every last wisp of his psychic reserves, Bram pushed back against the power invading his mind, a power that was making him perceive a vision he so desperately wanted to hold on to, despite knowing it was illusory, a false construct, that it couldn’t possibly be his Jennifer.

  The creature had never encountered someone like Bram Waters: his psychic abilities were, in many respects, on par with its own—a fact that instilled confusion and even fear throughout its neural pathways. Over the many eons of its existence, all its other prey (including the occasional human) had succumbed quickly to
its illusions, each illusion personalized to draw its prey close enough to capture and consume. But this human was different … this human was fighting back, which was a great surprise; even more than its painful encounter with the poison-blooded human, which was also a surprise. Luckily, the threat was quickly neutralized by casting aside the affected tissue before the poison spread, spoiling more than a single tendril cluster.

  Sensing the alien was caught off-guard, Bram fought even harder to free himself. The initial illusion, which began with a vision of Jennifer, had morphed into a near overwhelming psychic assault, showing one image after another, hammering away at his mental fortitude. He couldn’t allow that strategy to continue, for the creature would soon wear down his resistance to the point he’d buckle under the pressure.

  Somewhere in the distance he heard a voice—Chavez’s voice. It was distorted, and he sensed a frantic quality, which was understandable: Solomon was, in all likelihood, also under attack. Unfortunately, there was nothing Bram could do; he had his own battle to contend with. Reading the alien’s thoughts, he knew it was valiantly trying to push past his defenses in an effort to inject him with a powerful neurotoxin. And if that happened, all was lost.

  Not since his long-ago showdown with the psychotic Conrad Snow had Bram been engaged in such a monumental battle of wills. At least against Snow he’d faced a human opponent; this was a battle on a vastly different scale, and much more difficult.

  One thing was certain: to defeat the creature, he must overcome his fear. It was fear that held him back, that prevented his chakras from aligning properly. On a normal day, Bram’s energy centers didn’t need to be fully aligned to effectively use his powers. If truth be told, he dreaded aligning all his chakras. He’d done so rarely, and briefly. His fear stemmed from his childhood, after aligning them for the first time. He’d opened up all his chakras in unison and spun them at maximum speed, charging them to their fullest. A coil of supercharged energy shot up from his scrotal region, surged through each chakra in turn then exited through the top of his skull. It was like a circuit breaker being flipped: he’d passed out and spent the next four days in a coma. From then on he’d held back, opening his chakras no more than eighty percent at any one time. Even during his encounter with Snow, he’d opened them little more than a second, which, thankfully, allowed him to escape the bastard’s arctic fortress.

  This time was different: Bram needed to open his chakras to their fullest and keep them open for an extended period of time if he ever hoped of freeing himself. He prayed for enough strength to endure activating the energy center located at the base of the spine: the Kundalini Chakra, also known colloquially as the Coiled Serpent of Light.

  Time was running out. He could sense the alien marshalling its resources, poised to act. Its cascading images were surging, becoming a rapid blur. Ignoring the disturbing imagery, Bram centered his attention on his chakras, clearing his mind of nearly all his fears.

  His energy centers were opening up, blooming like flowers beneath a springtime sun. The last of Bram’s fears dissipated; his chakras fell into alignment; his spiritual energy surged; his powers increased … but it wasn’t enough to break the creature’s grip. He had to risk it. He had to unleash his Kundalini chakra, the Coiled Serpent of Light.

  He felt stinging pinpricks: the creature’s tendrils were piercing his skin. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer. He had to do it. He had to act and act now.

  Dropping the last of his defenses, Bram unleashed the sleeping giant curled at the base of his spine. The Kundalini energy immediately sprang to life, unfurling and swelling, surging upward through his other seven chakras, supercharging them until every cell was bursting with power.

  A blast of psychic energy inundated the fungal tendrils squirming around his body, triggering the few that managed to push past his defenses to beat a hasty retreat. The creature had never encountered such a powerful psychic pressure and was scared, more so than at any other point in its existence. Fear cascaded across its neural network, building in intensity until it reached the central core, located thousands of miles away. An ancient slumbering intelligence took notice.

  Bram paid little attention to the creature’s fearful reaction. For the first time in his life he felt a profound connection to the universe … writ large. Since he could remember, he’d been able to connect with the world around him, but this time—this time—his consciousness was expanding exponentially, escalating beyond the material world and crossing into the spiritual. He was experiencing more than a familiar connection with the world around him—he was becoming One with everything.

  At which point, Bram’s consciousness promptly left his body and entered a higher realm of perception. All that he knew of himself disappeared. His awareness expanded to the point that his consciousness became tuned to the universe on a cosmic level, which caused a vast amount of information to avail itself to his soul. It felt as though every tidbit of knowledge that had ever been discovered, or would ever be discovered, was flooding through his mental latticework—that the very fabric of eternity had been laid out at his spiritual fingertips.

  That which had once been Bram Waters possessed no knowledge of the passage of time. All he knew, other than the endless knowledge that permeated him, was an intense, all-encompassing love, which saturated the entire universe, including his own nameless spirit. Eventually, however, time resumed, and he began to perceive the universe from a distance, seeing an immense panorama of exquisite galaxies.

  A flicker of self-interest intruded on his spiritual vision: the briefest glimmer of concern for his body’s personal safety flashed across his awareness. At that very moment, he remembered who he was and what was happening to him on New Terra.

  An inexorable force began to drag his spirit from the cosmic realm and push it firmly into the physical, and in so doing, the entire abundance of knowledge he acquired was sucked from his consciousness, leaving a mere scaffold of memory to hold onto, to agonizingly remind him of his profoundly uplifting experience.

  Bram’s eyes blinked open and he found himself on his knees. The fungal tendrils no longer covered his body. His defensive stand had succeeded, but it had also cost him: he was forever changed by the experience. He now knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, of a spiritual existence beyond the physical world. This knowledge comforted him and saddened him in a strangely optimistic way. Lightheaded, Bram forced his chin to rise from his chest. He heard Solomon Chavez calling him in a panic, but his watering eyes were locked on the image he saw before him: a woman, who appeared no older than thirty, stood before him, wearing a floral sundress, her shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair soft and radiant. Bram was shaken by the sight: the woman looked exactly like his mother, before her untimely death.

  Sensing Bram’s emotional turmoil, the fungal mind altered the illusion, morphing from his mother into an old man wearing a tan robe, his long, gray hair and beard immaculately groomed. An apprehensive expression lined the wizened, angular face.

  •

  “Waters! Get away from that thing and help me!” Solomon yelled. He was attempting, once again, to approach Gloria Muldoon’s rigid, seemingly lifeless body.

  Only a minute before, the creature that attacked him had shriveled and died, yet it seemed like an eternity had passed. He’d been trying to help Gloria, but his every attempt had failed. Coiled around Gloria’s body was a huge, fearsome-looking snake that lunged toward him each time he drew near. The snake looked like a miniature version of the ones they’d escaped from earlier. It might be one of their offspring, but in all likelihood it was another illusion, like the false Selena. Gloria was covered in fungal tendrils, but Solomon hesitated testing that hypothesis for one simple reason: he was deathly afraid of the creature’s two-inch fangs.

  Perhaps that was it, he thought. Whatever this creature was, perhaps it was using his fear against him … perhaps there were no snakes in the tunnels … perhaps he and his companions had each been shown something different, som
ething that would strike a personalized fear into their individual hearts.

  With the snake’s cold, reptilian eyes following his every move, Solomon glanced once more at Bram Waters. The psychic detective was on his knees, staring at empty space. In front of him, a cluster of undulating tendrils, which only moments before had suddenly released him, were now keeping their distance. It had been a strange sight to behold: the tendrils that attacked Waters had squirmed like worms—unlike the fungus that attacked him; it clamped onto him and shriveled up like a water lily in the Sahara desert. But why? Was the plant virus that altered his chromosomes somehow responsible? Had his body reacted to the threat and released a counter-agent, a poison that invaded the fungus, thus killing it? That was the only explanation that made any sense. But what of Waters’ reaction to the fungus? His body had begun to glow and, as it glowed, his face had taken on a serene expression seconds before the fungus stopped its squirming and released its grip.

  “Dammit, Waters,” he yelled, “snap out of it! I need some help over here!”

  Solomon watched anxiously as Bram slowly turned to look over his shoulder. The man’s eyes appeared haunted. And yet, when he beheld Gloria’s predicament, his expression changed to one of shock and horror. Scrambling to his feet, Bram tore his gaze from Gloria and faced the cluster of fungal tendrils directly in front of him.

  “Let her go, damn you!” he roared.

  Solomon was taken aback by Waters’ unexpected outburst. Who was he speaking to? Surely not the fungal cluster, a plant compelled by predatory impulse and not an actual sentient being.

  “It’s a fucking mushroom! An illusion!” he bellowed. “It’s making me see a snake wrapped around Gloria. What you’re seeing, it’s not real!”

  Bram edged away from the fungal cluster and faced Solomon. “I see a … I see a whole crap-load of spiders,” he rasped. “I know they’re not real—the fungus is. Get out of my head!” he screamed, at the nearby cluster. “You’re killing her! Let her go, damn you!”