A Strange Tale

by James Somers

  Baanna had no trouble sniffing out the others of their group. Percival was glad to see Violet safely out of harms way. She almost immediately seized him in a tight hug, clearly happy to see the Lycans hadn’t torn him to pieces. She fought back tears, trying to smile instead. She had no words.

  Percival imagined a glowing sphere of yellow light above them in the central chamber and surveyed their team. Five of Sir Bane’s Griffin Order Knights had survived apart from himself. Widow Black may have chipped a nail, but had suffered little else throughout the ordeal. “Sir Bane, I’m sorry for the loss of your men back there,” Percival said. It seemed like the appropriate thing to say as a leader. He really hated that they had sacrificed their lives. “It all seems so pointless—a waste.”

  “Not a waste,” Bane said. “They died honorably in battle, fighting for the hope of a new Master Caretaker who might bring lasting peace between the imagined worlds and Urbane. The rest of us are willing to die for the same.”

  Brave words, Percival thought. He knew Bane meant what he had said. The Griffin Order Knight had the kind of courage that inspired him. Percival only hoped he wouldn’t disappoint his new friends or the grand dream they longed to bring to fruition.

  Violet stood, waiting on her emotions to die down enough to actually say something. Percival smiled at her…it was weird seeing her so distraught over him. Deep down, he liked it. Violet started to smile then her expression broke into sheer terror. Master Baanna, standing next to Violet, drew his blade faster than Percival could follow.

  He turned, looking for the source of their alarm as Violet screamed. A huge rat sat hunched in one of the tunnel entrances leading into the chamber. When Violet screamed bloody murder, the rat screeched then turned back down the tunnel, running away.

  Percival, still startled, tried to calm Violet down. He knew her one overriding fear was rats, and this man-sized specimen had sent her into complete panic. “We’ve got to leave this place, immediately!” Sir Bane said, grabbing Percival’s arm.

  “Just give her a minute,” Percival said. “She hates rats, but she’ll get it together.”

  “No!” Bane insisted. “We must leave now! That rat didn’t run away, it went to get reinforcements!”

  Percival tried to swallow, his throat suddenly very dry. He envisioned an entire horde of vermin descending upon them from every dark orifice in this burrow. “All right, let’s get moving.”

  “Which way do we go?” Widow Black insisted. She appeared alert, but not particularly frightened. Percival noticed little sparks of power arcing randomly from points on her body to other locations as though her power were barely contained.

  “I’m not sure,” Percival said, looking to Sir Bane for some reassurance, some direction from a man who seemed to know about this realm first hand. “If we go back the way we came, we’ll run into the Lycans again.”

  Sir Bane tried to pick a direction, becoming confused. “I don’t know, either,” he said. “There isn’t any light coming from the tunnels, no way of knowing if we’re just walking deeper into their nest.”

  As it turned out, they didn’t have any more time to worry about their direction. The rats had found their group. Violet screamed again as human-sized rodents flooded into the central chamber from every tunnel opening available. The feeding frenzy had begun.

  FEEDING FRENZY

  The rats did not wait for everyone to compose themselves. There would be no negotiating with them. Huge rat incisors, the kind that could gnaw through concrete and steel in Percival’s world, descended upon them en masse. Swords sang through fur and flesh. Lightning from Widow Black cracked through the bodies of vermin, knocking them across the chamber two and three at a time. Percival worked his twin large caliber werewolf killers, silver bullets ripping through flesh and bone. The dank air of the burrow grew humid with body heat and spilled blood. Still they came, endlessly it seemed.

  Percival had lost sight of almost everything except brown rat fur, snapping jaws, claws and rat blood. Already, he was covered in gore, longing to be anywhere but here. Violet had somehow managed to will herself from panic to fury. He heard, more than saw, her tearing into their enemies as fast as they could find her in the melee.

  Then, Percival was grabbed by his clothing and yanked backward into a tunnel as the screeching rats pursued them. He had the vague understanding that Sir Bane was the one pulling him along, and he could hear several familiar voices from their group echoing from the tunnel ahead. Behind them, the rats filled the central chamber, many wounded quite badly, others feeding upon their fallen. The rest took up pursuit quickly.

  Percival kept firing his pistols, imagining new ammunition into the extended clips every five to ten seconds. Relentlessly, the vermin pursued after them, though they were forced to get past the bodies building up in the tunnel. Percival’s powder flashes acted like strobes, creating a horrifying effect. Light, dark, then light again—every other second illuminated the encroaching horde of filth on their heels—bloody jaws gnashing furiously—their endless screeching a cacophony of terror. These creatures knew no fear or remorse, only incessant hunger.

  Percival stumbled on a root winding through the tunnel wall and down into the dirt floor. It gave him an idea. He noticed other roots dangling half chewed through the ceiling. It would do. Percival called for the roots to grow, and grow they did, coming down fast, filling the tunnel like many layers of prison bars.

  The rats, pushing past their dead, hit the roots full force, but came no further. Immediately they set their mighty incisors to gnawing at the obstruction. Percival turned, running after the others, hoping they would gain a moments peace in order to find a way out.

  When Percival emerged into a broader space, he found Violet, Baanna, Widow Black, Sir Bane, and only two of his knights. The rest, he assumed, had perished somewhere among the horde of rats. Widow Black had conjured a swirling red energy, like a mist hanging above their heads, illuminating the new chamber they were in.

  Percival walked forward, searching, and stepped into ankle deep water.

  “Most of this chamber is flooded,” Widow Black said. “I can see more intersecting tunnels, but they are on the far side across the water.”

  “How deep does it get?” Percival asked. He could hear the rats gnawing their way through his root barrier in the tunnel behind him.

  “Deep enough to make swimming necessary,” Widow Black said. “The other tunnels are underwater as well.”

  “Isn’t there any other way out?” Violet asked. She looked nervous again. Percival noticed her clothing and hair caked with blood. At least it wasn’t hers.

  He surveyed the chamber for himself. It seemed Widow Black might be right in her assessment. Percival couldn’t find any other tunnels leading away except for the one they had come by. They were trapped here with not much ground to fight upon.

  Sir Bane stepped forward. His sword dangled from his hand. Its gleam had been swallowed up by crimson filth caked upon the blade, much like Sir Bane himself. “We will make our final stand here then,” he declared.

  Bane and his knights looked as ragged as the rest of them. Everyone was tired, pushed beyond their limits. Even Percival wondered what hope they had left, but he pushed the thought from him. He couldn’t give up. He had been put through all of this for a reason. There had to be a way.

  The rats would not wait for philosophy. They were ravenous, and their next meal awaited them in the flooded chamber where they only came to drink or leave excrement. The roots didn’t last long against the wall of rats chewing their way through.

  The leaders burst through the last of the thick roots Percival had placed in their path, heading for the chamber beyond. When they reached the tunnel’s end, the rats issued forth, barely waiting to attack when they saw their prey waiting near the water’s edge with their weapons ready to strike.

  Percival readied his werewolf killers, filled with silver bullets, which did little for rats in comparison, but was certainly better th
an he could manage with a sword. Violet turned her fear to anger again. She had no intention of going down without a fight. Sir Bane and his last two knights readied swords, with Baanna doing the same. The orangutan had been sitting cross-legged with his blade upon his lap a moment ago—perhaps in a meditative trance of some kind. Widow Black stood stoically, as though nothing in this place could possibly touch her. Her beauty had not been marred, hair still flowing as though underwater, her power hanging like a static charge in the air around them.

  For their part, the rats appeared to contemplate none of these things. They did what they did despite cowardice or resolve, beauty or ugliness, fleeing or standing to fight. However, as they descended upon Percival’s group, a piercing screech resounded above the din.

  All of the rats halted their advance, turning toward the tunnel, even now overflowing with vermin. From within, the shrieking of rats under attack grew to deafening levels. Those upon the small shore, with Percival and the others, ignored their prey, shooting past them into the dark water flooding the chamber.

  From the tunnel, huge insects—a cross between ants and roaches—surged into the chamber, attacking the rats. Their pincher-type mandibles sliced easily through flesh and bone, literally rending one from the other. Sir Bane was the first to react to the changing tide of the battle. “Renders!” he cried. “Everyone into the water!”

  Percival backed away quickly toward the water. He almost turned away, but saw a Render scuttling after him. He turned, firing both pistols in staccato fashion, expending both clips. The ordinance sparked on the creature’s keratin exoskeleton, ricocheting away into the mud walls beyond.

  The Render reared up, ready to launch toward him, its razor sharp mandibles clicking and slicing the air, antennae reaching to grope Percival’s blood soaked garments. Violet thrust forward with her sword, jamming the long blade deep within its churning mouthparts. The huge bug flopped backward onto its back, six legs kicking madly. Sir Bane grabbed Percival up, one arm around his waist, then hurled him out over the dark water.

  He splashed into the deep, sinking beneath the surface, wondering what nasty things might be in the water with him. Percival groped for the surface, finding it with a frenzy of kicking and paddling, his heavy pistols doing everything to hinder his efforts. When he breached the surface, taking in a deep gasping breath, Percival found a huge rat head treading through the water beside him. In fact, there were many rats swimming through the water around him, but none of them paid him any mind. They were too busy escaping the Renders that had descended upon their nest.

  Percival tried to calm down. He had nowhere to go, so he floated until they had passed then he made his way toward the others treading out into the deeper water themselves. The Renders had decimated the rats within the flooded chamber in seconds, at least those on the shore. Shrieks issuing from the tunnel testified to further slaughter in the catacombs beyond. However, none of the insects had gone into the water.

  “What happened?” Percival asked, reaching Sir Bane. “Why haven’t the Renders followed us into the water?”

  Baanna had perched on the burly knight’s back, not particularly caring for the water himself. Violet came swimming up to them, her sword dragging through the water behind her. Widow Black hovered over the water, nearby, watching the insects tear flesh from bone and discard the picked-clean rat skeletons before moving on.

  Sir Bane stood dripping, watching the Renders, his broad sword held near the water’s surface, ready. “Renders shun water,” he said. “They pull moisture from the air, but will not drink it or wander into pools of water.”

  “Why did they attack the rats?” Violet asked. “Is this their nest instead of the rats’?

  “Blood.”

  Everyone turned to Widow Black’s floating form. She looked at them, a slight smirk on her face, most likely due to the fact they had all been forced into submersion in the putrid water while she remained spotless. “Blood,” she said again. “Renders can smell it from miles away, like sharks.”

  “She’s right,” Sir Bane confirmed. “That’s why I threw you into the water, Percival. We were all soaked in blood from fighting off the vermin. But even that scent won’t get them into water.”

  The Renders standing upon the shore waved their antennae in unison—a hundred hairy whips lashing the air around them, scenting for more prey. Finding nothing more of interest within the flooded chamber, they began to retreat.

  Percival watched them go, relieved that the ordeal seemed to be over. Then epiphany struck him. “We have to follow them back to their lair,” he proffered.

  The entire group looked at him like he had just suggested leaping from a cliff.

  “He’s right,” Violet agreed, though clearly she didn’t enjoy the idea. “The Render’s Lair is our objective. What better way to find it than follow them home?”

  One of Sir Bane’s knights spoke up then. “But we’ll be attacked,” he said. “Did you not see what happened to those rats? Picked clean before they could—”

  Sir Bane’s smoldering glare shut the man’s mouth quickly. Clearly he had spoken without permission from his superior, not to mention voicing fear rather than courage. Sir Bane kept his icy stare on his subordinate a moment longer for good measure before addressing the others. “Percival and Violet are correct,” he said. “And I think we might be safe, if we can get the smell of blood out of our clothing.”

  “I’m sure,” Widow Black began, “Percival, with his powerful magic, can transform your clothing.”

  Violet glared at the woman, but she was still correct. “That’s a good idea,” Percival said. “Let’s get out of this water, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  RENDER’S LAIR

  By the time they emerged from the rats’ underground nest, Percival had their group imagined grime-free in new armor and clothing. There would be no scent of blood to attract the deadly insects to them now, and according to both Sir Bane and Widow Black’s testimony, the Renders would ignore everything else.

  Following the creatures had turned out to be much easier than supposed. They trod down the undergrowth beneath their marching throng in a swathe nearly ten feet wide and half a mile long. All Percival and the others had to do was follow the very obvious path. When they reached the end of their short jaunt, they found a mound much like a huge anthill rising nearly fifteen feet above ground.

  “I don’t see any of them around,” Violet said. “Should we just go in?”

  Percival looked to Sir Bane and Widow Black. So far they both appeared to have the most knowledge of Horrif-I’s different attractions. “What else should we know about these Renders before we go in?”

  Sir Bane waited for Widow Black to offer something. When she didn’t, he interrupted the awkward silence. “Renders usually won’t bother anything that doesn’t have the scent of blood on it,” he said. “They are purely opportunists, taking prey from other predators once blood has been shed. They come in force and move fast.”

  “So, they’re just going to let us waltz inside their nest and take blood from their queen?” Violet asked. “Somehow I doubt it could be that easy.”

  Percival looked at Violet then Sir Bane. “I have to agree with her, Sir Bane. I just don’t think Lord Pipsqueak would give us that kind of break.”

  “And you’re wise to think so, Percival,” Widow Black interrupted. She approached Percival, passing her palm across his cheek, tracing down his neck with a long fingernail precariously close to his pulsing carotid then down his chest and away. She watched Violet for a reaction the whole time.

  Percival also glanced Violet’s way, but she apparently wasn’t going to give Widow Black the satisfaction this time. He was glad to see that. “What do you mean?” Percival asked as she turned her back to them and the imposing mound.

  “I mean the Queen Render will command her army of drones to annihilate anyone who approaches her chamber,” Widow Black said. “Her eggs are produced inside that chamber. She will not risk thei
r harm. As soon as she notices an intruder, she will release a chemical signal, causing the Renders to kill anything foreign within the nest.”

  “I knew it,” Violet said, exasperated.

  Percival looked to Sir Bane for confirmation. He still wasn’t sure about Widow Black’s loyalties, despite her coming on this quest with them. The warning he had received about not asking for help from any denizen of Horrif-I still resounded in his mind. Nevertheless, Sir Bane nodded. “I’m not as well versed on these creatures as Widow Black,” Sir Bane said. “However, it does sound like normal insect behavior. I’ve only known one man to survive an encounter with Renders. He happened to enter their nest unknowingly. They investigated, but did not attack him. I suppose they must not have perceived him as a threat.”

  Percival considered the information he’d been given. When he looked at their group, swords on display and electrical discharge flying about, he knew they had a problem. “If we don’t want to be perceived as a threat, we had better put away all of our weapons,” he said. Sir Bane and his remaining knights sheathed their swords, as did Baanna and Violet.

  Widow Black was examining them all curiously. “I’m afraid that means you too, Widow Black,” Percival said. He was trying to be firm without being insulting.

  “Me?” she said.

  “The lightning thing,” Percival indicated. “It would probably be better for us all if you didn’t spark like that.” Right now, he was hoping Violet wouldn’t take up the subject with any jokes at Widow Black’s expense. Although, he realized he may have just opened up the door for it. When the moment passed without comment, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  For her part, Widow Black reined in her energies completely, if not happily. Percival looked them over, housing his own werewolf killers in their thigh-mounted holsters, concluding they were now ready to enter the Render’s Lair. Percival took another survey of their surroundings. Fortunately, there were no signs of any werewolves. He wondered if, perhaps, one part of the Trial finished where the next began. At least that might be some relief, but he wasn’t about to hold his breath.

  Sir Bane started forward toward the Render’s Lair, but Percival stepped ahead of him. “I appreciate the sentiment, Sir Bane, but perhaps it’s time I led this quest, as I’m meant to.” He hoped he hadn’t insulted the brave knight. He also hoped he hadn’t just stepped into a position he wasn’t ready to actually handle when things got rough. And they most certainly would.

  Sir Bane halted, smiling, then bowed at the waist. “It would be my honor, Sir Percival, to follow your leadership from here on out.”

  The rest of the group, except Widow Black who seemed bored by such a mushy display, lined up behind Percival. Master Baanna even gave him a simian smile and head bobble. Percival took a deep breath then started toward the mound towering before him.

  The earth comprising the mound had been packed together and covered with some sort of shiny resin, making the entire cone appear glazed over. There were plenty of crevices to be found and climbing it was surprisingly easy. Percival only hoped this leg of their journey might be completed without incident. However, the Queen Render’s chamber loomed before them—the one thing they had to accomplish while they were inside the nest. If any of their party became injured, even the slightest scrape, they would all be killed trying to flee, and the Trial would be over. That thought made him turn to the others immediately with last minute advice.

  “Watch yourselves,” Percival said in a high pitched whisper. “If you fall, or cut yourselves….” The sudden recognition on their faces told him they understood completely. As they began climbing again, Percival sensed that everyone had just grown ultra cautious with every move they made. They had essentially become a terrified group of hemophiliacs, trying desperately not to loose one drop of blood, or else.

  When they finally reached the top of the mound, Percival surveyed the area. The forest stood around them, but most of the trees had died near the mound. He supposed the Renders must be responsible for killing off the underground root systems of the trees. He looked down into the large hole leading into the heart of the Render’s domain.

  The entrance was about six feet across, and the darkness revealed nothing of what awaited them within. Percival took a chance and imagined a ball of light into being—a soft yellow wisp of photons swirling upon themselves, waiting to be loosed. He sent the ball down the hole where it dispersed into a multitude of smaller orbs, running along the network of Render tunnels to take up stations and provide light for their master. The soft glow returned to him at the entrance, revealing rough notches dug into the side of the tunnel as it descended. Percival turned to the others waiting behind him then started to climb down into the mound.

  The tunnel went straight down for some time before diverting into several intersecting branches. The conjured light had the desired effect, allowing Percival’s group to see their way, if only dimly at times. When Percival reached the base where the tunnels branched away, a Render heaved its large body toward him from an alcove. The huge bug slammed Percival against the wall, pressing upon him with its front legs.

  Violet screamed. Sir Bane looked down at Percival his hand flying to his sword instinctively. “A sentry!” he shouted.

  Percival had been shocked by the sudden attack, but tried to wave the knight back. “Wait!” Percival said. The insect’s mouthparts churned inches from his chest while the creature’s long antennae swept over his head, down along his face, his shoulders, then back again. What would it do now? Had he seemed a threat? Would the Render smell the blood coursing through his veins, or hear the pulse pounding rhythm of the heart pumping it and tear him limb from limb in a feeding frenzy?

  All these thoughts assaulted Percival as the Render held him securely against the wall. Still, he sensed that this was only an inspection of some kind. Surely the beast could have killed him before he ever saw it coming. Sir Bane held fast to the descending tunnel wall, watching—intent on driving his sword through the Render if it tried to harm Percival. The others could only watch helplessly.

  Though it seemed like an eternity, it must have only been a minute before the Render sentry climbed down and returned to its recess in the tunnel wall. Everyone watched the insect saunter away seemingly without a care. Percival realized he had been holding his breath the entire time. He exhaled cautiously, not wanting to do anything that might arouse the sentry’s attention again.

  He looked up at Sir Bane and the others still clinging to the tunnel wall. Percival carefully pushed away from the wall to stand upright in the tunnel. “I guess we’re not a threat?” he offered, feeling very relieved to still be alive.

  Sir Bane let himself down the last few footholds to the tunnel floor, allowing the others behind him to do the same. Even after they had assembled with Percival, the sentry showed no signs of displeasure, though its antennae continually swept the air near them. “All right then,” Percival said, satisfied. “Hurdle number one is behind us. Now, how do we find the Queen Render?”

  To his dismay, none of his group seemed to have any solution to this problem. Percival knew, for their size, that such nesting insects might have tunnels spanning nearly a kilometer or more around them. Still, the Queen would likely be centralized, easily accessible to her drone workers.

  Percival started down one of the tunnel branches, passing one of the small swirling orbs of light he had sent before them into the nest. He had no way of knowing if this was the correct path. But going somewhere seemed better than waiting around the entrance until trouble found them. Percival observed the floating light orb and got an idea.

  The others watched, puzzled, as Percival called all of the smaller orbs back to him. Like fairies headed for supper, they zoomed back through the tunnels, heeding their creator’s call, leaving darkness in their wake. Wisps of yellow light dissolved into the greater whole, floating gently over Percival’s palm. He smiled at Violet, but revealed nothing of his plan. She looked like she would ask him, but didn�
��t.

  Percival inclined his head to the ball of photons swirling about like fireflies in a fishbowl and whispered his new command. “Lay out the way to the Queen Render’s Egg Chamber.” He imagined that these particles of light had some small measure of consciousness to them, enough intelligence to heed these simple instructions anyway.

  The photons buzzed even faster upon receiving his command. The greater orb swelled then burst—a hundred smaller wisps of light shooting before and behind them. The light in the tunnel receded until only darkness remained. Percival was still trying to figure out what he had done wrong when light grew in the passage before them.

  They watched as photon wisps backtracked up the tunnel toward their master, leaving a particle trail for Percival to follow. He smiled back at the others. “I guess it worked.”

  Violet was smiling, clearly proud that he had come up with such a cool idea and executed it so well. Everyone else looked dumbfounded but willing to follow. Percival started down the trail laid out for him. Down it took them, deeper into the ground, deeper into Render’s Lair.

  BETRAYAL

  Through bisecting tunnels, passing singularly minded drones marching to their tasks, Percival and his band followed the pulsing trail of his photon wisps. The way always seemed to carry them farther into the earth, and after at least a half hour of briskly paced walking they had no idea how far from the surface they had come. Still, once they had the blood of the Render Queen, a portal was supposed to carry them to their next destination.

  At least, Percival hoped there would be a portal. It certainly had occurred to all of them that any attempt to get anything from the Queen’s body would identify them as a huge threat. Beyond that, Percival had no idea how much time they would have before the entire nest, thousands of giant insects, would descend upon them. He and his friends had barely managed to stave off the rats—the same rats who had fled, or perished before the Renders.

  For there part, the Renders remained essentially oblivious to the enemies within their midst. They were aware of Percival and the others. They just didn’t seem to care. Drones marched in lines through the tunnels, sometimes along the floor, at other times along the side walls, even the ceiling. Their flat bodies easily made the best use of their limited commuting space.

  Renders who passed them going in the same direction usually carried food—balls of flesh and fur mashed together for easy consumption. When the insects passed going the opposite direction, some carried what appeared to be larval Renders. Either way, Percival and the others had to move out of their way as best they could. None of them wanted to find out if the big bugs would knock them out of the way to get by. No one wanted to be the first to bleed down in this hole.

  As they traveled deeper into the nest, Percival marveled at his little photon wisps. They had behaved like intelligent fireflies, traveling throughout the nest then tracking back to him at the entrance, leaving an easy to follow trail to the Queen Render. As they neared the central chamber, Percival realized his tiny creations had done their duty well. This had to be the Queen’s chamber.

  Percival looked back to his company. “Well, here goes nothing, I suppose.”

  Sir Bane quickly caught him by the shoulder. “Wait,” he said. “How will you get the blood from the Queen?”

  He considered it for a moment then held out his hand, imagining a large syringe with a heavy gauge needle there. Percival examined the device, concluding it would do the trick nicely if he could just get close enough to her.

  “I know these workers don’t care about us being here,” Violet said, “but I’m not so sure the Queen will be as understanding. Doesn’t the Queen act as the brains around here?”

  Percival surveyed their group. “She’s got a point,” he concluded. Percival closed his eyes, concentrating on an idea he’d just had. When he opened them, he declared, “We’re invisible. Let’s go.”

  Each of their team looked at the others—perplexed by what they considered must be a failed effort. “Begging your pardon, Percival,” Sir Bane said. “I can still see all of you.”

  Percival grinned. “Sure, you can, but they can’t,” he said. “Trust me, Sir Bane. I’m starting to get a good handle on this power.”

  Sir Bane looked at himself again then at Percival, who showed no sign of wavering confidence. “All right, Percival,” he said. “I trust you.”

  The drone Renders had shown hardly any interest in Percival’s group since the first sentry, so it would be difficult to judge his invisibility by their reaction. The Queen would be the real test. Only, by then it would be too late to fix his blunder.

  Percival surveyed the entrance to the chamber. Render drones came and went at a steady pace, some taking larva with them to some other chamber. He made his way over, away from the others. He knew how he would draw the blood from the Queen Render as soon as he saw her lying within the chamber. Great engorged veins, filled with the stuff, ran along the outer membrane of a huge egg sack attached to the end of her body.

  The queen was nearly ten times larger than any other Renders he had seen. Almost certainly, the others had been forced to construct the rest of the nest around her great bulk. When Percival entered the chamber, she barely reacted. She may have sensed a change in temperature or scent, but did not look in his direction.

  He scooted along the wall trying to remain out of the flow of traffic. Eggs were received by drones at the far end and arranged along the vast floor where they could mature to their larval stage. From that point, it appeared they were taken to a place where their ravenous appetites wouldn’t bring harm to the eggs.

  Percival watched the process with fascination. However, the imminent danger they were in soon snapped him out of his wonder. Time to get the job done and get out of here, he thought. He brought out the syringe and needle combination in his hand—the kind kids had nightmares about before going to the doctor.

  Percival gathered his courage and started toward the egg sack. Everything changed in an instant. The queen bucked from her squat position, now alert. The Render drones surged toward Percival. It all happened so fast he didn’t have time to react. This was it. He was going to die. Then the Render drones passed him, headed for the chamber entrance he had come by.

  His companions were trying to get inside, battling furiously with Renders attacking them from the tunnels beyond. Something’s happened, Percival thought. Sir Bane and his two remaining knights were fighting off Renders, while Violet and Baanna came through into the Queen’s Egg Chamber. Percival saw blood dripping from a wound on Violet’s hand. She had been injured. Almost certainly her blood was the cause of this sudden frenzy. The Renders were after Violet.

  Baanna saw the Renders coming for him and Violet. He flew from her side with his blade energized then came down on top of the first Render, driving the blade through its armor plate. Immediately, Baanna lunged for the second in line while the third carried on toward Violet and her bleeding hand. She saw the beast and went for her sword. It wouldn’t be enough.

  Percival rocketed after the huge insect, unleashing the full fury of his werewolf killers. Silver bullets blazed fiery trails across the chamber, at first ricocheting off the tough exoskeleton, then smashing through as Percival imagined higher caliber shells in his ammunition clips. The bloodthirsty Render drove into the dirt, dead at Violet’s feet just in time.

  “Get the Queen’s blood, Percival!” Sir Bane shouted above the hissing clicking din of frenzied Renders. “We must get out of here quickly!”

  Percival wanted to assist Violet, to make her safe, but he knew Sir Bane was right. All of this would be for nothing without the blood they needed to destroy Queen Lilith. He turned, running toward the Queen Render still anchored to her massive egg sack. The veins pulsed upon its surface, full of her milky blood. The huge bug hissed at him and tried to ensnare him with her long forelegs. Percival called more vines, springing up around the Queen to lash her to the ground. Immediately, Render drones came to her aid, chewing at the
vines, but Percival paid them little attention. He was focused on one goal, getting that Render blood from the Queen.

  He reached the egg sack, picked a pulsating vein quickly, then jammed the needle in. It pierced the egg sack’s leathery translucent hide easily. Percival sensed a Render closing fast at his back. He turned just as Sir Bane beheaded the beast with his broadsword. “Hurry, Percival,” he said.

  Percival returned to his work with Bane guarding his back. He pulled the syringe plunger, and the milky fluid filled the syringe. He hoped he had enough. Removing the needle, he twisted it off the syringe and discarded it. He shoved the syringe into an inside pocket of his coat and called for the others.

  To Percival’s surprise, the next portal sprang into view at the far end of the chamber. He’d been wondering how they might call for it. But to his dismay, Renders were filling the chamber at an ever increasing rate. Soon they would all be overwhelmed. The others gathered to him, fighting off the bugs as best they could.

  One of Sir Bane’s knights was taken from behind and pulled into the mass of writhing insects. Sir Bane and the remaining knight leaped into the fray after him. The second knight managed to grab the foot of the first, but was hauled into the mass of monsters before he could regain his balance. Sir Bane was seized next, but Baanna dashed his blade down upon the Render before he could be overwhelmed. Sir Bane came free, but they quickly realized the two knights were already gone.

  Despair flooded Percival’s mind at that moment. How many precious moments before they were all dragged into the gesticulating jaws of hundreds of bloodthirsty Renders to be torn limb from limb and consumed? Then he remembered something. Renders don’t like water.

  Immediately, Percival called forth water, gushing from the rocky ground all around them. Waterspouts issued into the Queen Render’s lair. Renders began to flee from the flood, but it quickly overwhelmed them. Percival and his friends tried to anchor themselves to anything they could get a hold on. The water filled the chamber, covering the Queen, lifting her buoyant egg sack off the chamber floor. Her screeching cries were soon drowned out as her drones scuttled helplessly adrift in the rising tide.

  Percival, in his distress, had called for a torrent—a flood that was threatening to take them away with the deadly mass of Renders. The water lifted Percival, Violet, Sir Bane and Baanna toward the roof of the egg chamber. The Render drones flailed helplessly, swirling around them on the surface of the rising water. The portal had already been swallowed up, but still glowed bright neon green beneath the water, casting the entire chamber in horrid, water-swirled hues.

  “We have to get through that portal,” Sir Bane insisted.

  Violet was trying to stay close to Percival, having never been the best swimmer. Percival treaded water, keeping a firm grip on Violet’s sleeve. “We’re going to have to dive down to it!” Percival yelled. The sound of water gushing from the walls was swallowed up, though the water kept rising.

  “What?” Violet protested. “I can’t do that!”

  Renders bodies bounced around them, beginning to pile as the water drew nearer to the ceiling. “The longer we wait, the further down we’ll have to go,” Percival reasoned. “No matter what, we’re going to have to go.”

  Violet leered at him. She knew she would have to do this, but she clearly didn’t like it. Percival nodded, smiling at her with the hope of being reassuring. “Trust me,” he said. “You can do this.”

  Having understood the plan, Sir Bane and Baanna dipped below the water’s surface—the bugs having begun to crowd them out. Hundreds of Render legs kicked the air furiously, floating helplessly on their armored backs like overturned tortoises. Percival pushed several away as he prepared to go under with Violet. “Take a huge deep breath and hold it like your life depended on it,” he instructed.

  Violet spluttered, spitting water out of her mouth as she tried to keep her head above water. “It does depend on it!”

  Percival winked at her and drew in a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks like a startled blowfish. She followed his example, and they plunged beneath the surface together. Percival opened his eyes in the brackish water, eerily illuminated by the neon green of the portal below.

  In the ghostly light, Percival saw Renders tumbling about like wayward asteroids beneath the carpet of bodies on the surface. There was no more room on top for them. The current swirled around them and Percival noticed he was having a very difficult time swimming toward the portal ahead. He kicked furiously, wishing for and receiving a pair of diving fins in place of his shoes. Instantly, he felt them propel him and Violet forward, despite the current issuing out through the Render tunnels.

  Ahead, Percival saw the portal swallow the form of Sir Bane. It hummed continuously with power—a vibration Percival felt churning over his skin as they approached. Baanna passed safely through after Sir Bane. Percival took a moment to pass his hand over his coat where the syringe had been tucked away. He was relieved to find it still there. He gave several more hard kicks with his fins and surged through the portal with Violet in tow.

  DEAD CITY

  Through their ordeal with the Renders—Violet’s bleeding hand, the swarm and their tenuous escape—Percival had wondered at the back of his mind where one of their group had gone missing. He had assumed that perhaps she had been killed in the first moments of the Render’s attack, but it seemed unlikely. “What happened to Widow Black?” he finally asked.

  The others, all of them standing there soaking wet, looked at him apprehensively. Violet spoke up. “She betrayed us,” she said. “I knew all along that she couldn’t be trusted.”

  “What are you talking about?” Percival asked. “I assumed she must have been killed or something.

  “While we were waiting in the tunnel for you to get the Queen Render’s blood, she grabbed my hand and laid it open with one of her fingernails,” Violet explained. “Then she disappeared.”

  Percival wanted to kick himself. “I should have known,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “I was told not to accept anyone from Horrif-I on our team. I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “A woman could see through her in a second,” Violet said, sounding vindicated. Sir Bane and Percival looked at one another, feeling slightly guilty because Violet was probably right. They glanced at Baanna who grinned widely, shaking his head.

  The portal had deposited them upon a desolate hillside overlooking a broken-down wall with an iron gate. The title “Necropolis” had been fashioned within the wrought iron over the dilapidated gate. Dense fog hovered around the top of the wall that stood several feet taller than a man. The stone was gray like nearly everything else in view. Even the sky was gray—a starless cover of cloud with only a giant full moon peeking through in places. They could see nothing of the city beyond except for a few crumbling tombstones just beyond the gate.

  Around them, a desolate landscape of gnarled dead trees, sandy barren soil and scrub stretched out as far as they could see. The city beyond the wall, apparently, was the center of everything here in this realm. As far as Percival could tell, this place would be the least inviting that they’d experienced—which was saying a lot.

  “Do you smell that?” Violet asked, wrinkling her nose. “It smells like…like…”

  “The Dead,” Sir Bane said. “This is the Necropolis, the City of the Dead.”

  Percival watched the knight as he stared at the gate of the city. He seemed to be in a trance—horror inscribed upon his face. “Are you all right, Sir Bane?”

  The knight blinked twice then looked at Percival as if only now realizing anyone else was standing with him. He swallowed hard, seeming parched. “I’ve heard tales of this place,” he tried to explain. “Horrible things have happened…horrible things dwell here.”

  Percival couldn’t believe how unglued this brave knight had become. After all, the man had just faced werewolves, rats, and Renders, not to mention losing all of his men in the process. Why was he so afraid now, just standing outside
the gate?

  Guessing at Percival’s thoughts, Sir Bane grabbed his shoulder. “Can’t you feel it, boy?” His eyes had become bloodshot—wide-pupils—crazy looking. He sniffed at the dank air. “We’re breathing terror itself!”

  Violet knocked Bane’s hand away from Percival’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with you? You’re talking crazy. None of us wants to be here, but you’ve got to hold it together!”

  Percival stepped away from them, a shiver coming over him. Violet turned from Sir Bane, noticing as Percival rubbed his hands over his arms like he was cold. His eyes were drawn back to the gate of the Necropolis as its rusted hinges began to squeal and squeak ever so lightly. It might have been the wind, but he couldn’t feel the slightest breeze. In fact, the air was so stale and rotten that Percival wondered if the wind ever blew here.

  The gate slowly opened toward them. It swung out, stopping perpendicular with the wall. They all stared, waiting tensely for some horror to issue forth from the fog toward them, but nothing did. Instead, the disturbance came from behind them. A fierce growling drew their attention to the wasteland. Percival thought, for a moment, that the werewolves had returned—followed them to this realm somehow. He was wrong.

  Hyenas prowled through the scrub—hundreds of them. Low giggling calls resounded throughout their steadily advancing line. Percival had read about these calls before.

  “Are they laughing?” Violet asked, inching closer to Percival.

  “No,” he said. “It’s a sign of aggression. They’re organizing their attack.”

  The hyenas closed the distance—now only one hundred yards away. Suddenly composed, Sir Bane drew his broadsword. “We’ll rout these mangy curs then!” he announced.

  “No, there are too many,” Percival said. His eyes fell on the open gate behind them. “We’re meant to go into the Necropolis. That’s why we’re here.”

  “I’d rather take my chances with the hyenas,” Sir Bane said, seeming shaky again. “Flesh and blood can be killed. What lies within that wall cannot.” Without waiting for Percival’s reply, Sir Bane charged the leading Hyena. The beast was taken aback, leaping away, its mane bristling. The second was slower to back away. Sir Bane smote it across the bridge of its snout, smashing its powerful jaws. The wounded creature fled immediately, whooping mournfully for its injury.

  But though Sir Bane’s surprise offense had caught them off guard, the pack soon reorganized and began to flank Percival’s entire group. “We’ve got to go now!” Percival commanded. Violet and Baanna followed as Percival retreated to the open gate of the Necropolis. Sir Bane, seeing that he was about to be hemmed in, began a grudging retreat as well. He backed away, holding his broadsword before him, daring any of the other hyenas to approach him. The wounded creature had been swallowed up by the ever increasing reinforcements, the pack building to nearly a thousand and approaching behind the front line from every direction.

  “Hurry!” Percival demanded as he ran through the gate. Violet and Baanna entered on his heels. Percival waited impatiently, holding the wrought iron gate with both hands, ready to slam it shut. Sir Bane turned, running the last twenty yards as the pack of hyenas surged forward after him. He stopped at the gate, grabbing hold to help Percival shut it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Pull!” Sir Bane shouted.

  “I’m trying!” Percival protested.

  Master Baanna leaped after them, getting his own handful of iron and pulling with all of his simian might. Still, the gate would not move even a centimeter for all their grunting and straining. The hyenas charged toward them, a line of gnashing teeth, wild eyes and frenzied bloodthirstiness. Percival screamed, feeling as though he’d torn the muscles in his arms completely away from the bones, but to no avail.

  Then, five feet away, the entire pack came to a grinding halt. Hundreds and hundreds of the foul beasts stood there, heads lowered and panting, but they did not advance. Percival, Sir Bane and Baanna stood dumbfounded, sweating bullets and wondering why in the world they had not been torn limb from limb.

  Slowly, Percival released his white-knuckle grip on the wrought iron gate and began to step back. “Why aren’t they eating us?” he whispered.

  Sir Bane also let go of the gate, stepping back next to Percival. “Nothing living ventures here—neither young nor old and worn—all who come through wrought iron gate—will join the dead so they have sworn.” He recited the rhyme mechanically, as though it had been ingrained into his mind from earliest childhood.

  Percival and Violet stared at Sir Bane until he blinked, coming out of his trance again to look at them. “What was that?” Violet asked.

  Sir Bane flushed. “Nothing but a children’s rhyme, I thought. Nevertheless, it appears to hold true.”

  Indeed, the hyenas made no further move toward them. Instead, they stood watching Percival and the others on the other side of the wall. The hinges squealed again, and the wrought iron gate slammed shut of its own volition. Percival jumped, although he’d already been expecting something to happen. The pack of spotted hyenas took up their giggling again and began to disperse, their interest apparently sated.

  Percival squinted at them. “Did they—?”

  “—Herd us through the gate of the Necropolis like cattle to the slaughter?” Sir Bane finished. “Of course they did. That is probably the only reason they wander this plain.”

  Percival shut his eyes, sighing through growing guilt. “I’m sorry,” he began.

  “Don’t fret, Percival,” Sir Bane said. “There was nothing else we could have done. The hyenas present a gruesome prospect. Not even someone who fears the Necropolis, as I do, would remain outside the gate to face the numbers we saw.”

  It made Percival feel a little better for him to say so, but he didn’t like the idea that what lay on this side of the wall was probably far worse.

  They found themselves standing at the beginning of a far reaching graveyard, its headstones cracked, slanting and covered with lichen. Trees were sparsely scattered through the cemetery with much the same appearance of those seen in the wasteland beyond the wall. For a few moments no one spoke. Listening, they heard the distant rustle of footsteps through dried leaves. Yet, when they looked for the source, nothing presented itself.

  On this side of the wall, the fog was patchy at best. It seemed to hang near the buildings and scattered lighting of the small city beyond the distant border of the graveyard. “It’s strange,” Sir Bane said. “For some reason I expected the city to be totally dark.”

  Percival had noticed it too. There were even electric lights, some of them flickering as though perpetually on the verge of going out. In fact, the entire city seemed to have been based upon some war torn city like World War II era London or Berlin. Many of the buildings appeared to be nothing more than dilapidated shells—their windows busted and walls falling in. “I’ve seen places like this in video games,” Percival said. “If this realm is culled from mankind’s imaginings then we’re meant to be scared. The flickering lights, fog, and everything else was designed to promote fear.”

  “Well, it’s working,” Violet affirmed. “A video game or comic book is one thing, but we’re all standing in the middle of this.”

  Percival nodded. “You’re right. That does make a big difference.”

  Baanna pointed toward the middle of the city with a long, hairy finger. He started edging forward, beckoning with his hand. “I think he wants us to follow him,” Violet said.

  “Yeah, I guess we’d better get moving,” Percival said. “We’ll never get the Mortal Dagger standing around out here.” He started to follow Baanna with Violet.

  Sir Bane stood rigid, looking back at the closed gate and beyond. The hyenas had dispersed, for the most part, but they were still visible. He looked back at the others and the city beyond. Defeated, he started after them.

  They had only walked fifty yards into the graveyard, when a moaning cry echoed off the wall behind them. They froze and turned, searching for the source
of the noise. A shadow clawed its way up the wall, gradually—first the upper torso, then it folded and unfolded as legs gathered beneath it. The moaning became grunting at times in the process.

  “What is that?” Violet asked—her voice trembling noticeably.

  Sir Bane didn’t even blink. “The Dead.”

  As though on cue, hands popped through the moist earth among the tombstones around them. They clawed upward, bringing gangrenous sallow faces after them, then torsos, and finally whole creatures, as if this lifeless earth was birthing all of its damnable children at once. “When the living are present, the Dead will rise,” Sir Bane recited.

  Violet stammered. “Stop doing that!”

  “RUN!” Percival bellowed. And they all did without any need for negotiation.

  Row after row of gravestones passed in a blur. But the dead were rising all along the way. The scent of the living had summoned them to feed. Percival’s leg caught on something, and he went flying through the air for a moment, landing hard in a tumble across the moist ground. Still, he scrabbled to get up, taking just a moment to glance back at the bony hand which had popped up in his path and tripped him.

  Another hand erupted from the earth, latching onto his left forearm. Violet and Baanna were well ahead him, running and not looking back. Percival tried to free himself from the iron grip of the crusty skeletal claw. The head came up covered in a mass of writhing maggots. Wide gray eyes found him as the jaw opened to feast.

  Sir Bane’s broadsword cut the air with a swish, dividing the creature’s head from its body. The knight grabbed Percival, hauling him to his feet, madly kicking the rest of the dead thing away. “Don’t stop for anything,” he said as they started running again.

  It seemed like an eternity before they reached the edge of the graveyard. But when they did, Percival found Violet and Baanna waiting anxiously, trying to get their breath before continuing. Sir Bane heaved in great labored breaths, bending to place his hands on his knees. Percival was just as tired. “Where is the Asylum?” he asked, gulping at the air.

  Sir Bane managed to raise an arm, pointing toward a hill rising a little above the rest of the city. “It’s up there,” he said. “At the center of all this madness.”

  Percival turned back toward the graveyard, surveying the scene. A mass exodus of the Dead had taken place—possibly every grave emptied. However, the Dead were in no hurry, lumbering like drunks through the tombstones, some faster than others, but none very quick. Percival’s resolve returned. “This isn’t as bad as I would have thought,” he said, still trying to catch his breath. “We can outrun them easily.”

  “That kind of overconfidence will be your end, Percival,” Sir Bane said. “Look toward the city!”

  When he did, Percival found more of the Dead emerging from ruined buildings. Everywhere he laid his eyes corpses in various stages of decomposition dragged their grotesque forms toward him and his friends. His stomach felt queasy, like the ground had fallen away, allowing him to plummet suddenly.

  “We can’t outrun what is closing in on every side,” Sir Bane said, hopelessly. “And we can’t fight numbers that will quickly overrun us.”

  Master Baanna’s sword came to life in his hand, a brilliant ghostly green light enveloping the silver blade.

  “Baanna is right,” Violet said, holding up her own sword ready to fight. “We can’t give up!”

  Percival drew his werewolf killers from their dual shoulder holsters and fired at the nearest zombies. “I’ve seen this in movies,” he said. He struck them each in the head, but to his surprise they didn’t fall, despite blasting away much of their skulls. “I don’t understand,” he said. “That always works!”

  Sir Bane raised his sword as the Dead continued toward them. Soon they would be totally surrounded and unable to run in any direction to escape. “They are already dead,” he scolded. “What can a bullet do against that?”

  “Fire!” Violet said. “That would destroy them.”

  Percival had already considered fire, but the Dead were perilously close already. How would they fight off zombies engulfed in flame?

  As if reading his thoughts, Sir Bane said, “They are too close. They would burn us to cinders before they fell.”

  Percival tried frantically to think. What could he conjure that would stand any chance against a bunch of walking carrion? Several thoughts ran through his mind at once—an old Alfred Hitchcock movie, a passage from the Book of Ezekiel, and another almost identical passage from the Book of Revelation about creatures called by God to a great feast. “That’s it!” Percival declared.

  “What?” Violet asked. But Percival was already deep in concentration, his head tilted to the gray, moonlit sky, his eyes closed.

  The Dead closed in, arms reaching for the living—sweet, delicious. There was no way out, no gap where they might slip through to safety. The Dead encircled their living prey completely—an ever shrinking circle—a noose cinched around its victim’s neck. And then a great noise of flapping descended to them all.

  Despite there grunting and moaning, even the Dead noticed the unusual noise, turning their crusty heads skyward to find the source. Percival had never seen a frightened zombie before now. He had clearly made the right choice.

  Thousands of black-winged birds descended upon the Necropolis, like World War II bombers on a midnight run. A screeching cawing cacophony fell to Percival’s ears as crows and vultures of every sort flew upon their carrion prey. A feast had been called and these scavengers now enjoyed the role of predator, hunting down as much gangrenous flesh as they liked.

  The zombies, for their part, had become nearly hysterical at the turning of tables. Percival almost laughed at the hilarity of the scene. The grim, gruesome, and grizzly situation had transformed into pure chaos as the Dead ran aimlessly about, trying their best to swat away the ravenous birds pecking feverishly at their decomposing bodies. Zombies collided with one another—tripping, stumbling, falling into heaps—upon which hundreds of birds descended to feed, reducing them to bones and tattered scraps of clothing in minutes.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Percival commanded. The others tore themselves away from the astonishing scene, following Percival through the streets, up the hill, toward the creepy abandoned asylum looming in the moonlight before them.

  THE ASYLUM

  Passing through the carrion carnage Percival had created proved to be less than difficult. Only occasionally had a particularly courageous zombie managed to free himself from the birds long enough to attack Percival and his friends. In each case, Sir Bane or Violet had quickly dispatched the creature with their swords, leaving the headless fiend scrabbling about on the ground while vultures and crows lit upon it to have their fill.

  Once they had ascended the hill in the middle of the Necropolis, they found the dingy white walls of the Asylum waiting for them. The building seemed solid enough, despite some busted windows. It appeared to be only one level with the basement somewhere below. “Only one floor,” Percival said with some obvious relief.

  “Don’t be deceived by it, Percival,” Sir Bane warned. What we’ve seen already in the Necropolis probably won’t compare with the danger we’ll find here.”

  They hurried to the door, lining up behind Percival. “No matter what,” he said, “stick together.”