Farling's Wall, page 9
Esling bravely stepped in to obstruct the golem. She caught a glimpse of the zombie-like face and fled back cringing to Baus’s side.
Paiesmy, now vengefully roused, bounded up from the hub and quietly snatched a lasso. She snuck behind the golem and arched a loop. While Poli whirled away in the hub, she tossed the loop around the golem’s neck and worked with adder-like efficiency.
The golem sprang back, arms twisted in orang-utan menace. Loeitch pitched herself into the fray, tripping the golem with her goad and making a grab for the table with its half-finished bowl of spider soup.
The golem whirled, swatted at Loeitch’s midsection.
She flung the spider soup in its eyes.
The golem thrashed about and Paiesmy rammed the goad into its face. The thing toppled to the ground. She heaved her spindly frame onto its back while Loeitch pulled hard on the lasso round its neck.
The creature groaned; it twitched limbs in anguish. It made a gurgling sound and stung Paiesmy a smarting blow to the chest. The owlish Wickle only tightened her grip on the lasso while she wound loops round its baked clay legs.
Huffing and puffing, the Wickles now rocked back and forth like ranch hands, sneering at their abominable catch. The golem stared back at them like a black buckler in a net. The Wickles regarded the creature with clinical interest. Its gaze of inhuman wrath was not unlike an incarnate demon, certainly one not lacking a primal intelligence.
“What is the thing?” Loeitch hissed.
“Some ghoul intent on bringing us harm,” growled Paiesmy. “We have outwitted it.”
Loeitch opened her eyes with cynical disgust. “Look—a pulsing node throbs in its shoulder. It exudes a flux. I feel my own mind being tugged by it, as if some sheer exotic horror beckons me to comply to its will.”
Paiesmy gave a sombre grunt.
With the help of Poli’s halberd, the two pried out the moolstone and the golem twisted, grimacing and yowling with an almost inhuman desolation. It could do nothing to prevent the extraction and almost at once, it underwent a macabre change—the brooding mass became an entity of rippling excitation—a primal, ancient unpredictability, as if the powers of evil and good lay concentrated in that husk.
The Wickles remained surprised but unmoved. Forces of nature warred in the creature. Instantly it became a sterile hulk, a thing of bleak otherworldliness, one that could feel no emotion or pang of warmth or compassion as a living creature could.
Baus and Valere were stricken with revulsion. Sagging astride their posts, they assessed the situation with almost psychotic despair. The golem’s head was outlandishly oversized, its torso was blasted with sand and rippled with mud; a pair of slimy, goggling eyes bulged out of its sockets, and a worm ribbon of lips dominated the ugly face. While the creature writhed, each motion seemed to unravel as part of a larger dream. Baus marvelled upon the monster’s strength and freakish resilience. Yet the Wickles had won the battle against its lunatic fortitude; they had defeated the undefeatable with their own ingenuity. Better yet, how could the outlaws use the situation to their advantage?
Loeitch waved the moolstone in front of the golem’s sand-blasted face. “What is this, ghoul?”
The golem’s expression remained implacable.
“It won’t tell us anything,” Loeitch mumbled.
“Then we must induce it.”
“How?”
“Chain the miscreant in the hub and we will enforce rigour. Secrets will be dislodged!—as in the case of Poli.”
Loeitch put a hand of doubt to her lips. “Only grooms are permitted in the hub—not creatures of weird nature like this obscene hobgoblin.”
Paiesmy controlled her irritation. “Loeitch, sometimes you are an absolute bore. We have occasion to bend the rules at various times.”
“Save your denigrations for other uncouth saps,” growled Loeitch. “If Graeitch returns without warning—she might catch us in this state of chaos—”
Paiesmy gave her lips an insolent curl. “Graeitch is not here, and likely will never return. We have no better idea how our sibling met her fate, other than that this miscreant has likely dragged her away somewhere. If we probe the creature’s knowledge, perhaps we will find an answer.”
“Perhaps,” grumbled Loeitch. She looked sceptically upon the golem. A new understanding gleamed in her eyes.
Paiesmy began to show a familiar zealotish glint in the whites of her own. “Indecent forces have been unleashed upon our persons, Loeitch. From nether-realms comes a beast hindering our purpose. Take note! The ‘Beyond’ has given us a signal. From Poli’s lips came a rare insight into an interdimensional mission—a hint that we had never thought possible. Now we must entertain a path of wisdom and plod along without fear. We must hold fast like sailors on unfriendly tides, assuming the principles of martyrs and soldiers on a greater vision of battle!”
Loeitch blew out her cheeks. “Enough of your bombast, Paiesmy! I shall not be drowned in your pedagogy.”
“Take care, Loeitch!” Paiesmy looked frowningly upon her mocking face and lack of faith. “How you continually enjoy belittling my ardour and my creed is beyond me!”
Loeitch ignored her. The two stitched the golem up in chicken wire and Loeitch went to fetch more from the shed, also a net with which to wrap the golem tightly. It took both their efforts to drag the creature down to the pit, but once they did, they began levering the monster to a standing position, affixing the shape in the slot opposite Poli.
Poli stared amazed. The Wickles set to a course of industry, pitching the wheel into a frenzied motion.
“By the order of ‘Beyond’, I bid you speak!” thundered Paiesmy. “Cretin! Make penitent your centres to the higher orders! We are watchful, take heed!” The golem glared; it’s ferret-like eyes shot straight ahead and Paiesmy spoke in a loud, lugubrious voice. “Who sent you? For what purpose?”
The creature deigned no reply.
Disgusted with its reticence, Paiesmy pitched a blight upon its knees. It howled. Loeitch wound the crank to multiple tensions. The drum rotated with a fiendish intensity; Paiesmy stabbed out at its plexuses with a goat hoof, goblin root and witch-flax.
To no avail.
Paiesmy ordered her sister to fetch the node that they had extracted from its shoulder.
Loeitch returned, bearing the medallion. The object glittered with strange hues—maroon, macaroon, lead pink. Paiesmy grabbed the disc and began stuffing it into the creature’s maw.
The creature bent nearly over double. It became a cruel caricature of paroxysm and anguish. Out spat the node; it uttered a chittering guttural in coughing, jerking spasms. Several nether tongues spilled from its mouth. Organs not meant for speech, suddenly framed unearthly phonemes.
The voice was clear, dry, filled with a sylphian dread, perhaps a dryad’s voice, then at times a caterwauling tomcat’s, then at once a low, garbled menace, muffled in its delivery like that of an otherworldly omen. From ‘Beyond’ came the golem speaking with a chilling conviction:
“The future is everlasting! I speak through the voice of Nlion—Spirit of Sighs and Sorrows! Fear now, Wickles! You must destroy my husk if you wish to live, but I shall remain aware of your presence for eternity. I dwell in planes above your intellects. ‘Destiny’ precedes all that which can be witnessed. You cannot hinder me. Of my form’s master and designer, ’tis one of the neomancers of the New Order, who created my husk from scratch—from magic marsh clay through the physicochemical vitalism of REO-GENESIS. The intrepid has sent me on a mission to retrieve the black-haired man of the sea, to escort the ganglestick-wielder to the neomancer’s Cave under the single phantom elm betwixt Desenion and Mismerion ! …”
Baus gave his neck a startled shudder. Black haired man of the sea? Who could that be but him? Neomancer of the New Order? None other than Aurimag!
So … it had been Aurimag’s golem after all! thought Baus with a sinister chill. An awful dread came over him. The monster had been sent to procure him!
A dozen dissonant memories floated back to mind.
An eerie reverie enveloped him, interrupted by Paiesmy’s snuffling grunt ringing out in the air: “Fiend! How did you find our sanctuary?”
The golem answered without protest: “East and south I fled, guided by the moolstone, which you clutch in your hand. You removed the talisman from my flesh and thus have released me from my master’s covenant. I thank you. But be wary!—lest I break free and commit acts of horror which you would not care to imagine …”
Baus shook himself out of his uneasy trance. While Loeitch and Paiesmy remained intent on interrogation of the golem, he took occasion to whisper several instructions at Esling who hovered nearby. With a quick nod, she hopped to the kitchen. From its wall brace she acquired Lolispar and made not a sound. Hastily she cut Baus free.
Loose at last, he rubbed his wrists with satisfaction and took Lolispar. He stroked the smooth edge with a fiendish anticipation and hobbled over to the post to free Valere. With relish, he cut the seaman loose who likewise furtively retrieved his own sword from the kitchen wall; he clutched it with an insidious rapture.
Baus motioned the seaman toward the cauldron. The two stood grimacing with meaning. The broth was bubbling with a barbarous intensity. It was topped with fresh spider soup and the pungent odours permeated the dome. A perfect medium, thought Baus malevolently. Grinning, he helped Valere lift the vessel over to the lip of the hub and they carried it awkwardly by its handle. They efforted not to spill the contents lest they scald themselves and alert the grotesques.
The Wickles remained engrossed in their interrogation of the golem, hooting and gnashing.
“… Graeitch is now the plaything of my master!” came the golem’s awful caterwaul. “The witch dwells in a small glass tube while not otherwise occupied with performing on my master’s puppet stage. The spectacle is paralleled only by the fates of his other neomancer prisoners.”
“This erstwhile ‘master’ of yours—” croaked Loeitch “—why is he so given to droll and cruel punishments? Describe the wretch!”
The golem proceeded to describe an unflattering version of Aurimag, as he was last seen ravaged by Fang. When Poli was farthest from the rotating edge, Baus gave a tiny signal. With a mighty heave, he and Valere upended the cauldron into the pit. There was a splash and singeing of flesh. The residents, other than Poli, jerked and thrashed, engulfed by a gush of hot steam and liquid.
The Wickles lurched sideways, uttering screeches that had barely been heard in the Honey Home.
The din did not pass unheeded. The Wickles treading in Rastule glade became alerted and at once thought ‘mishap’ and pounded on the door.
Esling bounded over on nimble feet to barricade the door from possible intrusion. Through the small window, a babble of voices inquired of the wellness of the grooms. Esling hastily assured everyone that all was well.
Baus nodded approval. He took Valere aside; together they descended into the hub, wielding goads and swords. Poli was still harnessed. He was a dazed and lay tongue-lolling. Soon he was loosed from his braces and fell limp to the ground. Thoughts of vengeance raged thickly on the outlaws’ minds. The Wickles cowered and gulped, quivering in their heaps of scalded flesh.
The golem, black as goblin’s shadow, sat erect in its brace. The hot spider soup had caused it no mishap. Its small green eyes gleamed and now its long brow glistened. To the Wickles’ right, without its domino, the golem had an odd feral look with its back-sloping brow and bulging mud body. It strained at its braces and Baus guessed it would not hesitate to crack their skulls if given the chance.
Valere gave a disapproving frown. “’Tis an ugly spook, if I’ve ever seen one.”
“I could hardly agree more,” said Baus. “Nevertheless, we must act swiftly before the fiend breaks loose itself and the other Wickles discover us.”
Valere grunted. Slapping Poli to attention, they dragged him to the centre of the drum well away from the Wickles who sagged in wracked piles of vileness.
Baus returned topside; he began searching for items of utility. Gradually, Poli came to and upon scrutinizing the two cringing grotesques before him, he recognized them for what they were and strove to wreak havoc on their persons.
Valere pulled him back. While the Wickles burbled and moaned in agony, with skin seared and popping of bubbles, Poli shouted imprecations. Exercising a minimum of delicacy, Valere helped him heave Paiesmy into the brace he had just vacated. They manacled her tight and applied a similar lashing of Loeitch to the adjacent brace.
The two Wickles gave hoarse shrieks which were ignored. The pain-ridden howls gave pleasure to Valere. He gagged them with articles of their own clothing, and the two freemen took turns applying goads to various sections of the Wickles’ bodies, while the other laughingly twirled the crank.
The drum whirled with a hostile intent.
Baus, who had been ransacking the place for weapons, finally hissed down at the two to curb their sports. “We must prepare for departure!” Though disappointed, they halted their amusements.
Baus whistled down with impatience. He had only acquired a few dry crusts of bread, a kitchen knife, and a small hand-held moth-lamp; he was in foul mood.
Poli and Valere reluctantly climbed out of the hub. They found Baus and Esling peering intently out the window.
Esling gave a dry hiss: “I can spy only Gladdus and Eelrid loitering about the glade. The two will drift off to their domes soon enough. It will be possible then for me to lead you past Farling’s Wall.”
Baus returned her a curt nod. “Very good, Esling. None of us are in moods for awkward explanations from your Wickle friends.”
“They’re no friends of mine,” she retorted.
The time was clearly early evening and few Wickles remained roaming the glade. Only a dusky light glimmered between the plumes of high clouds. The tallest zizasters cast a melancholy shadow over the meadow.
On Esling’s signal, the foursome stole across the communal ground. Silently they loped off into the eerie woods. The little Wickle led them on a twisting trail along secret routes, away from the Wickle residences. Through carpets of bullbush and tongue-thistle, they skulked, on through waist-high mushroom and ostrich-stalk. Fairy castles of fungi clung to the elder trees like fantastic bladders. Only Galta, the screech owl, possibly noticed their passage but she sat immobile on her tall zizaster. She was a half drowsy white-faced creature that did not recognize the incongruence of their passage in the twilight.
On ginger feet the fugitives crept around the back of her perch. They cautiously edged their way past her trunk through a drooping cluster of huge blue mushrooms.
The passage went not unnoticed. With a cantankerous hoot, Galta suddenly reared herself erect and squawked and hopped from branch to branch, ruffling feathers.
Baus looked up into the glinting malice of those blue hooded eyes. On wide silver wings, the owl-girl scudded back through the gaps like a phantom shadow. Darting between green-leafed limbs, she fled back to the glade where the Wickles lived.
Within moments, sounds of near-distant commotion came to everyone’s ears.
“They’re coming!” cried Esling fearfully.
Baus stopped short; he cocked his head. His grimace was rich with alarm and dread. There was the quiet thrum of gathering bodies and also thudding feet, the snapping of twigs, squawks, and rattling threats.
Baus gazed back through the dusky spaces with tense reflection. Numerous fates could befall them now, none good.
He put his feet to good use while the others followed suit. He saw glimpses of half human faces and macabre limbs through the trees—bird, elk, parakeet, bat, bear, frog, fox.
He shouldered Valere on. “Run, if you wish to live!”
In a dog-tailed scramble they fled deeper into the forest. Their sweat ran full and took them grim distances.
Esling was quickest, as fleet-footed as a doe, vaulting between mushrooms and over creeks.
Over mossy-covered stones, fallen trunks and burbling brooks they scrambled and Baus and Valere helped drag Poli along, who was suffering still groggy health from his hub nightmare. The Wickles were hard on their tail and galloped furiously, mowing over toadstools and yellow spindle-rod. It seemed the whole clan was out to capture them.
The three outlaws loped after Esling with desperation rich in their eyes.
Esling slipped over the leaves like a sylph; humus and blackroot kicked up in her wake while the others stumbled on near legs of straw.
The path weaved, then it parted; Esling took a sudden turn. The low ground was marked with stumps and tussocks. The Wickle herded the fugitives closer to Farling’s Wall. The way was damp and slippery and great roots piled up in their path. Baus and Valere found the way impossible, almost absurdly so, and stumbled often. They loped after the Wickle as best they could, dragging Poli along with force.
Esling veered aside and disappeared into a hollow filled with bottle-green mist. Farling’s Wall was still a great distance ahead. All could see the upper flanks of the rampart floating in the mist—great greasy smears of wood taunting them in the sylvan gloom.
Baus’s blood ran cold. The thought of being caught in these dank lowlands made his flesh crawl. The Wickles, gripped in various phases of oestrus, were capable of horrendous acts at this time. Guided by the image, Baus urged his feet to new speed. Gladdus, swiftest of the Wickles, was on his heels. She snapped and howled. Baus could feel her fox-like breath lusting after him and her paws pounding with fervid and lusty enthusiasm.
He jerked around, hoofed her in the jowl. The fox-creature spun in a circle, landing on her haunch.
Esling re-discovered the forest path soon enough and the men struck after her. She arrived at Farling’s Wall, clawing her way to the low squat door drowned in the weeds.
The door wrenched open. With a grunt, the companions burst through.
Not a moment too soon.
The Wickle army surged against the wall like a ton of battering rams. Milling and pressing, the onslaught struck, stabbing and jabbing with beaks, tongues, talons and claws menacing the wall. The elderbeasts struck at one another, trying to oust their peers and squeeze through the orifice.
