Tome of the Undergates - Sam Sykes

‘SHE SAID THE TOME IS-’

‘I HEARD WHAT SHE SAID!’ the shict snapped back violently. ‘The deafness wore off ages ago, you stupid monkey.’

‘Oh.’ He smiled meekly. ‘Well, great.’

‘Yeah-’

‘This. . is rather a lot to take in,’ Asper said breathlessly, as though just recovering from some unpleasant coitus. ‘Demons upon demons, tomes and diseases. . it’s hard to decide what to do next.’

‘If you’re an idiot, I suppose,’ Denaos replied. ‘Obviously, we run.’

‘It’s obvious to everyone without a spine, I suppose.’

‘I can guarantee you if we decide to go this route, the only spine you’ll be seeing is your own as some Abysmyth … Deepshriek. . or whatever rips it out and force-feeds it to you.’ He cast a glance about the circle. ‘Listen, I hate to reinforce your beliefs in my cowardice as much as I hate to be forced to be the voice of reason again, but let’s consider a few things.

‘First of all,’ he held up a finger, ‘we can’t harm the Abysmyths and it’s a decent bet we won’t be able to harm something with an even weirder-sounding name. Secondly,’ he gestured over his shoulder towards the carnage at the other end of the beach, ‘someone else seems to have tried to “cleanse” them without much luck.’

‘You speak of the longfaces,’ Greenhair replied.

‘Seems they get around, too.’ Denaos rolled his eyes.

‘I witnessed them. . from afar. I saw the fire and ice they wrought upon the land.’ She leaned back, as though reminiscing fondly. ‘They were tall, powerful, skin the colour of a bruise and eyes the colour of milk. There were many, females all but for one male, the one who slew the Abysmyth with a spear of ice.’

‘I take it these longfaces didn’t take the tome.’

‘No. By that time, the servants of the Deepshriek had taken it into their temple.’

Lenk paused, stared hard at her. ‘What temple?’

She regarded him unflinchingly. ‘I will show you.’

‘Well, that’s. .’ Denaos could not find the words to describe the sight looming before him. ‘That’s. . uh. .’

‘Impressive,’ Lenk muttered.

‘Ominous.’ Dreadaeleon nodded.

‘Vile.’ Asper blanched.

‘Yeah,’ the rogue said, ‘something like that.’

Like the hand of some drowning stone giant, scraping futilely at the sky as he took his final breath, the granite tower rose to claw at the orange clouds above. A plague of algae scarred its great hide, holes riddling its weathered skin like rocky wounds.

Brackish waves licked against the tower’s base, rising and falling to expose the sturdy reef it had been wrought upon. Each time the waves recoiled from the stones, a jagged chorus of rusted spears, blades and spikes embedded in the rocks glistened unpleasantly with the fading sun.

Stomachs writhed collectively as the companions stared upon the impressive mass of impaled corpses in varying stages of decay held fast by the red spikes. Amongst the panoply, a few protrusions impaled incautious sea creatures; many more bore arms with fingers, legs with toes, bodies swaddled by clothing.

Lenk still had trouble believing they hadn’t seen it before. Even ensconced on the far side of the island from where they had crashed, the thing was imposing enough to command attention from miles around.

‘This is their temple,’ Greenhair explained with a shudder. ‘They conduct their rites and sermons within.’ She narrowed her eyes upon the tower. ‘Mortals once lived here, long ago. In those days, they called it “Irontide”.’

‘And they aren’t here any more?’ Asper pointedly turned her head away as the waves recoiled once more. ‘Who. . or what drove them away? The demons?’

‘Other men.’ Denaos spoke before the siren could. ‘Irontide has a rather colourful repute amongst certain circles.’

‘Circles that begin and end in activities I’ve doubtless no pleasure in hearing about,’ the priestess muttered. ‘But do go on.’

‘Fair enough.’ The rogue shrugged. ‘As you probably know, the main export of the Toha Nations is rum, that being the only place in the world the drink’s made. As a result, Toha was quick to extort as much tax gold as they could from other nations desiring the drink. Seeing a profit to be made, pirates were quick to sell illicit barrels of the stuff for far cheaper.

‘Towers of this design,’ he gestured for emphasis, ‘were originally storehouses and protection against the Toha Navy.’ He pointed to the stone-scarred reaches of the tower’s battlements. ‘You can see there what the Navy’s catapults thought of that.’

‘I see.’ Asper swallowed hard. ‘And. . the spikes?’

‘First, they were for protection. Then they were used to make examples.’

‘Disgusting.’ She grimaced. ‘What a vile trick that so many lives should be wasted over a drink that has no purpose but to turn good people into sleazy harlots and swillers.’

‘That’s not entirely fair,’ he replied brusquely. ‘The same, after all, could be said of any faith.’

‘You’re actually comparing a house and faith of the Gods to smuggling?’

‘They seem fairly alike to me. Crime and religion are the only two things that people are willing to both die for and kill over.’

‘Regardless of who lived here for whatever reason,’ Lenk interjected, taking a step forwards, ‘it appears to have new residents.’

It was plain to see what he spoke of.

Plain and gruesome against the setting sun, a flock of feathers and bulbous eyes formed a white and writhing crown atop the giant. They milled about in great numbers, offering glimpses of hooked noses and yellow teeth that chattered endlessly.

‘Omens,’ he muttered.

‘Ah yes,’ Greenhair said coldly, ‘the choir.’

Before Lenk could make any agreement, something caught his eye. At the centre of the huddled mass of parasites, a particularly large white tumour pulsated and writhed. He squinted; though it was larger than anything with feathers had a right to be, he could discern no features. He glanced over his shoulder, beckoned to Kataria.

‘Have a look.’

She nodded, stalking up beside him, and stared long at the tower. The assembled, in turn, stared long at her, expectant as a grimace crossed her face.

‘What is it?’ Lenk dared to ask.

‘I really have no idea.’ Her grimace became a frown as she squinted, trying to find the words. ‘It’s. . big. . like one of the Omens, except. . bigger. I don’t know. . it’s got hands and a face, but. . it’s upside-down, all angular.’ She scratched her head. ‘Well. . hell.’

‘As good a descriptor as any,’ the young man muttered. ‘How many Omens?’

‘At least twenty, though they all move around so much it’s hard to tell.’

‘Scavengers.’ Greenhair’s voice was rife with loathing. ‘They feed on the dead and grow glutted on suffering. What you have seen, Notch-ear, is their. . enlightened form.’

‘Form?’ Asper’s eyes went wide. ‘Omens. . change?’

‘As they feed, yes. They are heralds, after all, and as they change, so too does the Kraken Queen grow in strength.’ She frowned. ‘To see one here, so soon, is. . troubling.’

‘They don’t seem to have seen us,’ Kataria noted.

‘Nor will they, should we keep our distance,’ Greenhair replied. ‘In their smallest form, they are unthinking, oblivious. The greater one is present to ensure that they attack only what they are meant to attack.’

‘A watchdog.’ Lenk nodded. ‘With a pack of flesh-eating seagulls. Makes sense, given the circumstances.’

‘Not to mention a bunch of filthy, corpse-laden spikes,’ Kataria grunted, ‘and, if Omens are heralds, there’re enough of them to suggest quite a few Abysmyths inside.’

‘And that’s where the tome was taken.’ Lenk bit his lower lip, sighed. ‘Lovely.’

‘Lovely, indeed.’ Denaos clapped his hands together. ‘Rusted spikes to skewer us, Omens to eat us afterwards, Abysmyths waiting to tear us apart barring more fortunate fates.’ He giggled, not a little hysterical. ‘If we’re really fortunate, a shark will eat us before we ever set foot on it.’ His giggle became a cackle. ‘No, if Silf truly loves us, he’ll send a lightning bolt to strike us down before we even try.’

At that, he flung out his arms and looked to the sky expectantly. All he received, however, was a stagger forwards as Gariath shoved his way to the front.

‘A death from a weak God for a weak rat,’ he growled, ‘the best you could hope for.’

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ Kataria interrupted. ‘No one, as yet, has said anything about going in.’

‘Of course we’re going in there,’ Denaos snapped. ‘It’s completely brainless, bereft of any logical reason and totally suicidal. Why wouldn’t we go in there?’

‘It does look fairly impenetrable.’ Asper frowned once for the fortress and twice for the fact that she agreed with the rogue. ‘It’s too far to swim without being made into meat for the Omens and I doubt we could get our little boat over there even once we’ve repaired it.’ She squinted. ‘I can’t even see a way in.’

‘There is but one,’ Greenhair said. ‘On the other side, amidst the rocks, there is a concealed opening. Seals slumbered by it before the Deepshriek desecrated this place.’

‘Regardless,’ Lenk muttered, ‘there’s no way to reach it alive. If we aren’t dashed against the spikes by a wave, the Omens will gnaw us to pieces.’

‘Not necessarily.’ Dreadaeleon scratched his chin. ‘I mean, watchdogs aren’t the brightest things in the world. Toss a piece of meat out and you can sneak by one, easily.’ He glanced to Denaos. ‘I suspect you’d probably know more about that than I would, though.’

‘You want to distract them?’ The rogue scoffed. ‘You plan to strip naked, smear yourself with faeces and do the jolly Omen mating dance?’ He paused, tapped his cheek thoughtfully. ‘That might work.’

‘Hm. . I’m not sure,’ the boy replied, oblivious. ‘I might be able to do something about it, though. They’re scavengers, right? Gluttons?’ At a nod from Greenhair, he glanced out to sea. ‘So, if they are anything like watchdogs, they’re probably attracted to blood. In that case, all we need to do is turn the water from blue to red.’

‘Oh, is that all?’ Denaos sneered.

‘It’s not too difficult. In fact, with a glamer, it should be rather easy. . in theory.’

‘Nothing with magic is ever easy, in theory or in practice, ’ Denaos replied. ‘And what in Silf ’s name is a. . glamer, anyway?’

‘Glamer,’ Dreadaeleon said, ‘from the word “glimmer”. It’s just a small spectromancy spell, one of the lesser schools. It works on the theory of bending light to produce an image.’ He held up a finger. ‘To wit.’

His hand danced in front of his face for a moment, a brief murmur expulsed from his lips. His skin shimmered, blinked, then distorted and when he turned back to the companions, he had full lips, long eyelashes and delicate angles. He batted his eyes and gave a demure giggle.

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