by G R Jordan
When it came to questions of how other species copulated, Kirkgordon had drawn down the curtains of his mind and retired for the night. But in the room was a bed and on the bed was a couple. What particular species of couple, he didn’t know. How the male, if that was indeed the male, was causing the female to howl like that he didn’t know. He knew roughly what they were doing but it wasn’t like anything he had done. Or seen done. Or even heard about.
The blue-skinned male stood up. Kirkgordon had assumed this was the male but then, despite the creature’s nakedness, there was no evidence as such to confirm this theory. The female had thrown a cover over herself and was shouting in a language Kirkgordon didn’t understand. English and French weren’t high on the schooling checklist this side of the portal.
Kirkgordon glanced back through the door to see Austerley being dragged towards him by the shadow, followed by an array of hoods at the far end of the corridor. Kirkgordon drew his bow and fired an arrow down the corridor. He heard the roar of a giant with a club and the sound of some frog-heads being pummelled. But then he felt a blow to the side of his own head.
Kirkgordon rolled with the strike, enabling him to clear his attacker. As he looked up he saw the blue creature just as the shadow descended upon it. Its lover howled and the creature began to crumble in terror before being dispatched to the far wall with the brush of a shadowy hand.
“Out of the window, Archer!”
Kirkgordon stood groggily and pulled Nefol onto his shoulder again. The window frame was wooden with a glass pane and Kirkgordon used the point of his bow to smash through it. Looking down, he saw a cart of what appeared to be straw. He swung his legs out the window, then glanced back before letting himself and Nefol drop the single storey. His last view was of some hooded figures reaching the door and Austerley yelling as he was dragged across the room.
As soon as Kirkgordon’s legs hit the cart, his nostrils were assaulted by a gross smell. It reminded him of running through the sewers but the stench was stronger. Ah, shit! Literally. With an unwieldy splat, Austerley’s backside sent more of the cart’s contents into the air. A shadow descended the wall.
“Grab Austerley, Bogey! We need to lose the frogs. They’ll just hop down from up there.”
Kirkgordon slung Nefol over his shoulder again and almost ran into a frog-man as it landed in front of him. Without stopping, he grabbed an arrow from his quiver and drove it into the creature’s leg. On his way past he saw the frog-man’s face turn the grey of marble.
The bogeyman, following behind and dragging Austerley, slipped round the newly formed statue of the frog-man. However, he wasn’t accustomed to manoeuvring loads and Austerley’s head cracked off the marble, knocking him senseless. Kirkgordon headed for the nearest alley without turning round. Once inside it, he ran from one alley to another, criss-crossing and double-tracking back to confuse his pursuers. After a breathless ten minutes, he stopped in a quiet alley, panting hard, and set Nefol down gently against the wall.
“I think we lost them,” he said to the air. “I take it that as Austerley is now here, albeit knocked out, you managed to keep up with me.”
“Your friend is quite a burden, but I managed, Archer.”
“Good. We’ll take five right here. I think we lost them anyway as his foot has gone down. It’s barely throbbing now.” Kirkgordon thought for a moment. “This is a damned mess, Bogey. Do you know where we are?”
“Roughly, Archer, roughly.”
“Good, so you’ll be able to get us to your friend?”
“Oh, yes,” came the deep voice.
“I’m totally out of my depth here, trying to sneak around. It’s Dagon’s city, so it’s no wonder they found us so easily.”
“I think you overestimate Dagon’s influence. He has no control here and the numbers of frog-men we have encountered is not normal. I think they found us by another method, one which if we do not solve will bring them here again.”
“Austerley’s foot. So, what? We just get rid of it?”
“You saw it, Archer. It moved towards them. It has an evil that sought its own kind. They will come again because the foot is drawing them here.”
“But there’s no way I am going to chop his foot off.”
“Well then, we shall be hunted by these creatures and there is no doubt a horde of them concealed here in the city. I do not give our chances of survival high odds. Well, your chances, actually, I can slope into any dark corner. You really need—.”
“Shush!” ordered Kirkgordon. The bogeyman fell silent and the sound of splatting feet could be heard. “Dammit,” he said under his breath.
“They come. I told you. And now you will be caught.” There seemed to be a weight in the air as if something was thinking heavily. “I cannot let Kilon’s friend be captured.”
Without further warning, a shadow circled Austerley’s leg and Kirkgordon saw the foot snap off at the ankle. The was a sickening crack as the bone split. Kirkgordon stood in shock as a shadowy hand threw the blackened foot away.
Austerley woke up screaming. “Argh! My foot, my bloody foot, arrgghhhhhh!”
Kirkgordon raced to the newly created stump to see if he could help but the rejected foot caught his attention. It was coming back towards them. In what he would remember only as the most surreal event in his life, Kirkgordon was kicked in the forehead by the singular foot. The foot then moved towards Austerley and stifled his cries by placing itself on his throat. Austerley’s hands shot to the foot but he began to choke.
“Help, I’m getting killed by my own foot.” Austerley’s legs were thrashing wildly and Kirkgordon staggered over to help him. Pulling hard, Kirkgordon could not understand the incredible leverage the foot had. He couldn’t move it. Then a pair of shadowy hands surrounded his and with the next pull the foot became loose. Extending their pull, the bogeyman and Kirkgordon managed to throw the foot down the alley.
“Get round the corner,” shouted Kirkgordon. “Take them both and then hang onto a wall or something. It’s going to get draughty.”
Several hoods were appearing at the far end of the alley as Kirkgordon drew his bow with one of his vortex arrows. As soon as he saw that Nefol and Austerley’s bodies had been dragged around the corner behind him, he fired the arrow into the ground at the end of the alley. The wind rose up and a large vortex formed. Several hooded figures disappeared into the swirling blackness, but the foot held firm.
As the wind increased, Kirkgordon saw the foot begin to slide towards the vortex but it was leaving behind a black liquid in the air. The foot, bloodied and bruised, sailed into the darkness and Kirkgordon watched horrified as the blackness started to move towards him. Soon the liquid reached him and began to engulf his face.
He saw a pair of red eyes set deep into a black face. Two enormous wings with sharp talons reached out from the torso. The demon sat on top of a ruined tower surrounded by countless bodies, mutilated and broken. Blood flowed like a river across the dead, and a high-pitched wailing destroyed all other sounds. He saw Havers skewered with a stake, Austerley hanging by his neck, Nefol with her back broken into right angles and Calandra disembowelled. All was despair. All was death. The air stank of corpses and his own flesh began to shred and fall away. A heaviness overcame him and he sank to his knees.
Stand!
“No, it can’t be. It will not come to this.” Tears flowed down Kirkgordon’s face and he fought to keep himself from rolling into a miserable ball on the floor. He drew his hands into fists and planted them in front of him. Pushing down hard, he forced himself to stand and look up at the demon sat on high. The eyes were from the island. He remembered them rising to the surface, full of hatred and dark loathing. His body was shaking, just as Austerley’s had upon that platform, and a deep dark mood had overtaken his mind. Was there no beacon, no light amongst this display of evil? Dear God, help me. Wherever you are, just help me now.
“Stand!”
The voice had come from behind. It was firm but
calm, like a resolute rallying call on a goal-line defence. Something gripped his shoulder. He tilted his head to look but the object gripping him was so incredibly bright he had to stop. Kirkgordon smiled.
Getting to his feet, Kirkgordon looked ahead past all the devastation to the demon. There was no glimmer of a cheeky smile from the beast, no cocky voice, just plain despair. Bland and remorseless. There was nothing to like about this devil. Inside, Kirkgordon shook and fought to keep the oppression from his mind. Again the voice spoke and again he felt the hand on his shoulder.
“Stand!”
As Kirkgordon stood looking at Dagon, he felt the hand leave his shoulder. At first his legs began to buckle, until the light that had been on his shoulder moved in front of him. Placing a hand up to avoid the glare, he watched the edges of its progress. The brightness moved past Calandra and he saw her stand, magnificent again, face determined. One minute Nefol was broken and then she was standing alert, her face showing that sullen disappointment of a teenager as she looked at Kirkgordon, which made him laugh. Pale, hanging Austerley became the shambling professor he had seen when they first met. And Havers stood too. But he was still skewered. Still bleeding.
The darkness began to rise and Kirkgordon felt the oppression lift from his mind. He took his bow in hand and took an arrow from his quiver. The flashings were white and glinted in the bleak landscape. He drew and shot at the demon on high. The arrow pierced the creature’s left wing and a pit of fire opened beneath. For a moment it seemed Dagon would rise on his wings but instead he toppled into the fiery pit, the smell of which came on a sulphuric wind to Kirkgordon’s nostrils.
And then he was back in the street with the vortex. He could hear the wind, the cries of frog-men disappearing into the opening. But he couldn’t see. Reaching to his face with his hands, he touched the blackness that had enveloped him. Pulling hard, he found it wouldn’t move but instead just entangled his hands. Scraping hard around his left eye he found a small gap and opened his eye. The vortex was at its peak but he could tell it would soon diminish.
This had better work, Kirkgordon thought, and he ran straight at the vortex. He got right to the edge of the vortex and bent forward into the swirling stramash. The darkness began to slip from his face and he held his position, feeling none of the vortex’s effects as he was the one who had drawn the arrow. As the blackness peeled from his face, he was able to look around and saw that he had no feet, his body stopping at the torso. So, part of him was here and part back in the real world. Well, in that world, anyway.
There was complete blackness around except for several frog-men swirling uncontrollably. Although their bulbous eyes were those of an amphibian, Kirkgordon swore he could see terror in them. A terror born of having seen an approaching doom. Then, coming towards him in the blackness, was a bear. It opened its mouth and roared. A passing frog-man was grabbed by a crab’s claw that was emerging from the side of the bear. The creature grew in size as it came closer, and Kirkgordon remembered the street fight in Dillingham. As a second claw came at him from the side he withdrew the top half of his body from the vortex.
The wind was dying and the opening was beginning to shrink as Kirkgordon wondered just where the other side of the vortex was. In these last few years he had had to ask this sort of question too many times and it wasn’t helping his mind one bit. As long as they stay there, he thought.
Cries from faraway streets caused him to break free from his thoughts and he realized he needed to get away before anyone nearby felt brave enough to take a look. Turning around, Kirkgordon exited the street at the far end and found a large shadow overlooking his two friends.
“Right, Bogeyman, get us to Kilon and fast. We really don’t need to be on the street and Austerley needs some attention.”
*
Calandra opened the door of the pool room and was relieved to find an empty annex. On the far side were some cupboards and on opening them she found some white robes. As if she would dress in that! A further search produced some grey habits like the frog-men wore and Calandra took two of them, throwing one to the girl she had rescued. The girl nodded and put on the robe. Calandra’s staff was too long to hide so she broke it in two and carried the pieces within her habit. Now to make a move before anyone came back. There were two doors from the annexe other than that which she had used to enter. One had a black door with many bolts; the other was a flimsy affair. The black door won.
There were large stone steps, too large for a human to descend comfortably, leading into the dark, dank gloom below. The walls were damp and the musty odour almost made Calandra choke. The whole ambiance reminded Calandra of something. She looked closely at the walls and saw that the structure wasn’t very old but still had an underlying wetness. It was like the building had been dropped into a marshland, and yet they were high up a tower. The smells and tastes of the island came back to her.
The steps were distinctly wet in the middle, as if hikers had walked over them after tramping through the bogs. But on closer examination, the footprint turned out to be a flipper-print. The island… Innsmouth… Dagon… EOD… oh, no! Calandra’s head swam at the thought. She had expected Farthington and a proper scrap but she had hoped, prayed, never to see that demon again. Poor Austerley. The demon would be looking for him.
The terror started to grab her mind and Calandra was forced to do and not think. Signalling the girl behind her to keep following, she descended the steps which, after a few spirals, opened out into a corridor. Calandra walked deftly along the cold floor until she reached two more wooden doors. There were voices coming from behind one. Or rather, there were croaks. The other room seemed to be in silence and Calandra cautiously opened the door. Inside was what looked like a store cupboard with some shelving, most of it collapsing. A large headstone lay against the back wall and Calandra signalled the girl to come forward and hide behind the stone. As Calandra helped her into position, she caught a glance at the girl’s face, terrified and eyes wide open. Calandra tried to smile but it was forced and obvious. And my cold hands probably don’t help either, she thought.
There was much commotion coming from the room next door and Calandra heard the door begin to open. Swiftly and quietly she closed the store cupboard door. Hop, hop, hop. She never got used to that sound. She heard at least three sets of flippers and waited until she was sure they were going down the corridor. Then, gingerly, she opened the door a touch. It was a party of three and they were just about visible in the gloom of the corridor. Two wore habits such as Calandra was wearing herself, but the other wore an outfit she remembered only too well. Her hand reached over her mouth to suppress a gasp.
The last time she had seen that garb, Churchy had been firing arrows at the wearer. High above the sea on a platform, surrounded by chanting frog- and fish-men, Indy had worn that smock when he had summoned and then banished Dagon. It was a special outfit, made for summoning, made for bringing darkness to a world. Calandra was permanently cold and her skin was like ice but now she felt a shiver. Not again, she thought.
Once she had seen the party ascend the stairs, she motioned to the girl to stay hidden and went by herself to the other room. On opening the door, she was confronted by pictures and murals of Dagon and Mother Hydra, frog- and fish-men, devastation and squalor. Calandra tried not to focus too hard on any picture but she felt the heaviness come and then the tears. Stop trembling, she rebuked herself, and her mind recalled Havers falling into that rabid crowd of hooded amphibians.
Come on, girl, come on, this isn’t helping. Check the room, check for anything useful, that’s why you came in. Have a look.
There was a desk, mouldy and full of woodworm, on top of which were some old manuscripts and a worn leather book. None of the writing made any sense to Calandra but she recognized Dagon in some of the pictures. She stuffed the loose sheets inside the book and secreted it inside her jacket.
As she carried out a last scan for something useful, Calandra heard that dreaded sound again.
Hop, hop, hop. At least it was only a single set of flippers. Calandra drew her broken staff, held a piece in each hand and placed herself behind the door, just out of reach of its arc. Before, the fighting had been chaotic and she had run on instinct, but this was different. And that song ran though her head. Something about the waiting being the hardest part. Hop, hop, hop. The door swung open and a hooded figure entered the room with a single leap.
Calandra brought both sticks down on its head and then followed up with ten more blows at pace. Its legs buckled and it tumbled to the ground. Calandra dragged the prone body to the corner of the room. It was time to move again. She would be stuck here if a crowd came. Returning to the store room, she took the girl by the hand and led her into the corridor. Then she heard it again. Hop, hop, hop. From the far end of the corridor. Hell, no. Quickly Calandra ducked into the main room with the girl and shut the door silently. Hop, hop, hop. There were at least five different hops, she reckoned. Damn.
Calandra looked around the room for any other way out. There was only one lit candle providing the light and the corners were in shadow. Pocketing her sticks, she began tracing the walls with her hands. No one would build a dead end in their main office, especially if they were holding anything precious. There must be a way out. Please God, there must be.
The girl joined her search but on the other side of the room. Hands slid over moist walls and Calandra felt a fungus under her hands. Hop, hop, hop. Halfway down the corridor now. Come on girl, look, Cally, look. It wasn’t the initial struggle that worried her. Five of them in a tight space; she could work that and only have to take on at most two at a time. It was the warning they would shout to the rest. Or maybe it was already too late. Maybe they had found the dead hydra. Focus, Cally, focus.
Hop, hop, hop. It was nearly outside now. The girl grunted at Calandra. Turning, she saw the girl pointing at a section of the wall. Calandra ran over and pushed the girl aside. There was a loose stone. Hop, hop, hop. Right outside now. One brick came free. Then another. Move, Cally, move! Dammit, it’s not fast enough. Hop, hop, hop. Calandra took her sticks and began to beat the wall; large chunks fell apart. Beyond, she could see a small chamber, reminiscent of a priest-hole. The door started to swing open.
