The quieter Guard tugged a strap on his hip and produced a flask made of boven bladder, one that fit in the palm but thick. They shared it. Each man took a drink, a long quaff cool and deep.
Morio licked at his parched, cracking lips. “How refreshing that looks! Mind if I try a sip?”
Then they spat that too, every drop it seemed, onto the corned and seedy ground. This mix did the trick, a magic. It conjured from the ugly mud a circle of soft, sweet-smelling moss. But a moss that suddenly burst into flames. A ring of green fire around the strangers.
Morio spoke to his virtual niece. “I do mind the heat Miss Vaam. Would you please help me stand and get out of this kitchen?”
But the real Vaam had displaced herself leaving nothing behind but an echo, a shape, a false impression made in space.
“Psst, Uncle M. I’m over here.”
Morio snuck a look to his right and saw her glow outside the circle, safe from the flames and out of harm’s way. “That’s my clever girl,” he smiled.
“Talk all you like,” mocked the first Guard at them, “at least while you still can. This moss will have all the say in the end. You’ll get an earful from its fiery tongues before it does you in.”
He paced the loop that entrapped his captives, eyeing their faces for signs of fear. Just as a wildewolf would.
“Brilliant how it works, this plant… the flower of some hotter, darker world and an under one no doubt. Its spores must be spit and wet just so but then — treasure me! — there’s no way to stop it. The stuff grows and grows like a weed gone wild or lichen consumed with hunger and thirst, not to mention a taste for flesh and blood. It’ll lick you to death for yours. You’ll see.”
He paused to study the young shadow woman, the pale reflection of Vaam. “But a pity… such a pretty face. A beautiful bride gone to waste.”
Morio’s cheeks were fever red. He felt the hot upon his skin, more of a melt than a sweltering. The devilish crop was creeping in. Inches away. Tormenting him.
You’re but a butt of your sorry soul
A flick in a bucket of soot
To be kicked
Down into history’s ash hole
Off of your duff, you cinder fella!
Arse son, rear your ugly head!
And dance to the torch song
Of our band
The Conflagrateful Dead
The flames rose high as a funeral pyre — rite from the kings of yore — and reached to cap off Morio with a crown of fire. A crown bejeweled in emerald, one forged by a jealous hand.
He fought to peer through the firewall looking out from the gates of hell. He had something to tell the true young woman.
“Go Miss Vaam. No more to do here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes love, it’s for the best.”
“Yes. I do have someone to find… now that they’ve moved the timeline.”
“Hurry girl, just go. I’ll be fine. Happy to hold down the fort in the meantime.”
“Ogspeed, Uncle M.”
“Take care my dear.”
As Morio watched, a bend in the air sent Vaam’s shape shifting from the room. Her soul poured out through a whirlpool blur. The phantom Vaam followed a little while later, vanishing cold from the floral inferno.
The flares were so tall now that neither Guard noticed.
“I must say that this is quite the pickle,” Morio said to himself aloud. “Not that I would mind one now.”
A demon’s whip nearly seared the map, so he held it higher overhead.
“Instead of dread I need a plan. Hmmm… I’m thinking again of my chum, my dear old pal… How I wish you were here…”
Green sparks festooned his clothes and hair. The blaze reflected in his stare. A smell of sulphur in the air. Phosphorus everywhere.
“I can almost imagine what you would do, Jurykynd, if you were in this stew. So many adventures we lived to tell, not to mention your own had as Miss Vaam’s daddy… By the way, such a lovely child she is. You should be very proud. Anyhow… Isn’t it typically right about now that there should be some kind of intervention? A lucky break? A villain’s mistake? Maybe a miracle or two?”
The green storm swirled around him. It closed in closer with every spin.
“Well if you have any pull at all, this would be the time…”
Mossy mortality was at hand. A maelstrom unleashed to engulf the man.
“Okay, last chance. I’m counting to three…”
He coughed and croaked from the acrid smoke and gasped for a final breath to breathe.
“That works in every fairy story.”
Morio shut his bloodshot eyes.
“One…” The cavalry did not come.
“Two…” But something grabbed his shoe.
“THREEE…” He felt something funny. Bad funny.
“Oh dearie me.”
Thwwwurp.
He was pulled down under from below. Buried alive. Swallowed up whole. Sucked in with a hideous slurp. A devilish kind of sound.
The only sign that remained of him was a hand protruding from the ground, one still clutching his treasured map.
A second gulp took care of that. It was bound to rejoin its owner now. Both lost, drawn into uncharted realms of the netherworld.
The gluttonous pen let out a burp.
The near empty room went silent and dim.
Morio Yoop was gone.
###
To be continued… Look out for the next exciting episode of Lore of the Underlings!
About the Author
John Klobucher is the author of many technical manuals that you’d never want to read. But he is also to blame for Lore of the Underlings, this ill-advised epic adventure that’s available to you in tasty little episodes, with new ones coming — farm-fresh, organic, and cruelty-free — every now and again.
John has also been known to paint a little, including the watercolors used in the cover art for Lore of the Underlings.
John lives in Framingham, Massachusetts, USA with his wife Diane, son Sam, and daughter Mia.
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Other ebook titles by John Klobucher:
Lore of the Underlings: Episode 6 ~ Meeting Minyon
Print titles by John Klobucher:
The Lore Anthology
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For more on the author and the Lore (including podcasts of select episodes), visit loreoftheunderlings.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
What the Lore Is for
Foreword
Translator’s Notes
Episode 1 ~ The Strangers
Episode 2 ~ Return of the Guard
Episode 3 ~ Fyryx
Episode 4 ~ The Letting Pen
Episode 5 ~ Into the Pit
About the Author
The Lore Anthology: Lore of the Underlings: Episodes 1 - 5 Page 12
