Wellespawn Rising
Prologue
“Life is for the bloody taking”; the thought flashed through his mind as he took another cautious step. That expression had been a mantra of his Grandfather’s, thrown at him as a young man whenever he ignored a question concerning his future or responded with something inappropriate that his grandfather didn’t want to hear. His disrespect was often rewarded with a sharp thwack of his grandfather’s cane, leaving him a sore limb or back. He hoped today a sharp thwack was all he got but deep down he doubted it somehow.
He took another step, his sole slipping slightly on still sopping seaweed and he threw his palms out for balance. This place was obviously perilous. The wet rocks underneath were so slippery they could topple him, smashing his frail bones if he fell; or the blackness in front of his eyes was so void of light it threatened to keep him prisoner here until the seas returned. And if none of that got him, the silence that surrounded him was so deadly that, if broken, it threatened to forewarn those deep within the cave, which inevitably would lead to his painful demise - a pain far worse than that of a sharp thwack.
He knew where he was going but it was so dark he couldn’t tell if he was headed in the right direction, and that was if he was even in the right cave. He’d seen an old drawing of the subterranean grotto hidden away in the back of someone’s memoirs, unaware at the time of its importance. It was an image of that old drawing that had stayed in his mind to this day, lucid and clear. He never knew why. His mind did things like that; it was strong and reliable, which was just as well as now it was having to compensate for the failure of his body - a body that continued to let him down on a daily basis. In fact, it was only in the darkness and silence, in that moment, that he began to comprehend fully how weak he’d become. As his wasted muscles trembled, as his shrivelled heart beat pathetically in his chest, as his blackened lungs wheezed like old, used bellows at a Steam Fair, he was reminded of when he was young and healthy and he wished he had his old charm, his old strength, and his old prowess once again.
He took another step, feeling the crunch of a crab first before then hearing the splitting crack of cartilage in the deadly silence. He stopped rigid and waited for death to take him. The sound had seemed so loud inside the cavern; it seemed almost inevitable that they would have heard and instant death would have ensued. He waited and listened for some time.
Nothing.
His panic waned and he waited for a moment more to catch his breath. He was relieved to be alive, even if it wasn’t for long. His leg trembled and he felt the disappointed at just how pathetic his cancerous illness had made him. It was consuming his wasted carcass from inside out, giving him just days to live. That was why he was here and why he felt he had no option to give up. It was do or die…literally, and that thought calmed him a little. What did he have to lose?
As he waited there in the darkness taking deep breaths, he listened to the stillness, to the steady beat of three drips that echoed around the cave, and to the silence in between. Occasionally, he could hear the sea’s faint roar as it beat at the cliffs outside and he felt the brush of a cool breeze as it whistled through the cave and out a yet-undiscovered exit.
He began to feel very present and to comprehend the timelessness within the cave. It had been here for thousands of years. He wondered in how many people’s footsteps he now followed and how many of those had succeeded. He doubted it was many.
He had to hand it to the occupants of the cave; it was quite a shrewd deterrent. A lair set deep into the mountain whose only access was through a deep ravine untouchable by any source of light and which flooded every twelve hours. It was almost impenetrable! Of course he’d brought a small torch but somehow it was no surprise that that didn’t work here either.
Most people would have been put off, but not him. He’d figured out that the chances of overcoming this challenge were, in fact, very low, but that just spurred him on. In fact, it gave him considerable encouragement because he’d reasoned that the incumbents would not expect anyone to reach their lair. He would, therefore, have the element of surprise and that was the only way his plan was ever going to succeed.
His idea, his plan, had come about when he’d tried to find a way to stop his teenage nephew from stealing his whisky. Hiding it behind some books in his study had only lead to disappointment when he’d found the bottle empty just a few weeks later. Alternative methods were required and a quick search online had come up with lockable bottle tops…and the idea had been born. It was simple, yet so effective; it was almost guaranteed to work. He’d been fortunate in that he’d already seen the sketch of the ravine in the memoirs of an old Benedictine Monk - a monk blacker than most perhaps. The monk had been granted unprecedented access to their lair back in the year 530 AD and he had sketched a route through the ravine to help himself remember. The sketch was unlabelled and anyone seeing the picture would be none the wiser. But he knew. In the drawing he had seen a single, solitary stalagmite - the shape of the stalagmite unmistakably matched the legend; he’d been certain - one hundred percent. It was that and the bottle top that had come together to give him his greatest idea…he’d thought it was unbeatable and yet now the doubt was creeping in. As he stood in the middle of pitch black darkness, of all the times it could have come, now the doubt crept back in.
‘What if I’m in the wrong cave? ‘
Sweat began to break out on his forehead and he found himself pondering about turning randomly and setting off in a new direction, feeling his way in the darkness. He knew it would be suicide. He would never find the stalagmite before the tide turned.
‘No,’ he thought, ‘I need to have faith. It will be here.’
He continued on, his feet sliding forward, feeling and probing; his hands outstretched. He swung his arms back and forth hoping to hit the stalagmite beyond which the old stone stairway would lead him up into their lair; to his future.
If he didn’t find the stalagmite, then there was no way back. He might be able to reach the wall where he’d dropped into the ravine, but that was just it, he’d dropped into the ravine. It was about a twelve foot drop of faith into pitch black darkness, which he’d done. However, it was only after landing that he’d realised this was a one-way trip.
“There!” he thought and his heart missed a beat.
His left hand had suddenly brushed against something cold. With both hands he felt his way forward further and he almost cried out in relief when his arms wrapped around cold, wet stone.
It was a stalagmite.
Still gripping it with both hands, he held his arms out directly in front of him and carefully shuffled around the stalagmite until his hands felt the deep indentation on the opposite side. Then he slowly turned until his back was against the stalagmite and he could feel the indentation between his shoulder blades. He took a deep breath and gave a silent sigh.
He felt confident now, knowing that he’d been correct. It had been a sketch of this ravine and if he stuck to his plan then he would find what he’d come for.
Putting his arms up, he walked forward, out into the darkness once again, leaving behind the stalagmite. One step, two step. His feet shuffled forward, sliding over the smooth, wet stones. Three step, four step. His arms shook at the apprehension. Five step, six step. He began to see colours in the darkness, rings of light like halos floating in space. Seven step, eight step. His arms struck the side of the cave but relief was still not coming. Putting his body flat against the wall, he shuffled right until he came to a gap no more than a foot wide. Now he felt relief as he slipped into the gap knowing that he’d succeeded. As he followed the wall around he found himself on the other side and as he turned around he then allowed himself to slide to the floor, his hand on his chest, a quiet sigh of relief escaping his lips.
He’d done it.
Ahead he could see the faintest glow of light highlighting the top of a stairway. In the darkness, the light seemed positively illuminating like an exit sign drawing him up and out of the ravine. Now inspired, he stood and climbed the steps carefully, knowing the hardest part was yet to come and not wanting to indicate his presence to anyone.
The stairway was carved out of the mountain side creating a tunnel up to what he guessed would be a plateau. He counted eighty-six steps, something he couldn’t help doing, and his frail heart pumped hard as he reached the top.
He peered out of the tunnel and held back in the darkness whilst surveying the space beyond. His eyes took a little while to adjust to the mottled light that lazily spewed itself around the cave; its source unknown. He was looking out into a chamber. It was mammoth and set deep within the mountain with stalagmites and stalactites that dotted the surfaces like fangs poised to strike. Strewn throughout the chamber were skeletal carcasses; piles and piles of bleached white bones, cleaned of all sinew and flesh. Whatever lived here had been living here for a long time and these animals had kept them alive…
A chill shot down his spine.
Sitting on top of one pile of bones was a skull - it was human; he was certain. And as he looked further he saw more and more of them. Jesus! ‘These things really are formidable,’ he thought to himself almost respectfully.
A sound reached his ears and that chill turned to ice. He froze, fear pushing goosebumps up on his skin; his eyes wide and alert. It was a screech; definitely a human screech. It wasn’t nearby but it was certain proof that they were here. If he’d been able to at that point, he may well have turned back. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, dark blue, acrylic bottle wrapped in rubber. He held it up and shook it gently to check the tiny seeds were still inside. He closed his fist over the bottle and held it for a moment against his chest, trying to generate a little confidence for the task ahead. Then he put his hands around the bottle lock and pulled it off the bottle, checking the four digit code on the top was set. He’d had to curse the bottle lock to make sure his plan worked but he was sure it would be enough. With the curse in place, it was impossible to guess the code combination on the lock. That too was very simple but yet again very effective and his success relied on it. He let the cork hang by the small, red cord against the bottle neck and then he reached into his jacket with his right-hand and withdrew a long, thin blade. He stepped out into the chamber.
It didn’t take long before they found him. He crept around piles of bones, looking all around as he went, but soon realising that these bones were not randomly placed and that he was being forced along a set path towards the centre of the cavern. He inched his way around another pile which consisted of just human skulls and there he froze.
She was there…simply standing there.
She was naked. Her wrinkled, grey skin sagged limply across her distended flesh and oozing pus dripped onto the floor; her skin’s translucent colouring allowed him to see the dark purple or black veins that pumped the evil from her soul. Her spine hunched forward and her huge breasts, like old waterskins, swung freely in front of her oversized belly. Her head tilted to one side watching him through white eyes that just stared out like a bird watching its prey. In her right hand he noticed a delicate twig that she held between her thumb and forefinger; the source of all her power, the source of her life. Then her balding head twitched and a few strands of her white hair fell across her face like a spider’s web set to catch its prey. He was motionless. He didn’t know if she could see him through those blind eyes but he knew she was aware of his presence. He watched her, taking in this vision of vulgarity with repulsion and his stomach churned when the most revolting smell hit his nostrils. He wanted to gag but he held his poise, his life depending on it.
She cocked her head to the left and for a moment he thought perhaps he’d got away with it. Then her mouth opened slowly, like a waxing moon, and a screech erupted so piercingly he dropped to his knees, covering his ears and closing his eyes. “Siiiiisssssttteeerrrrssss” she screeched.
It rang throughout the chamber like fingernails on a chalkboard and when he opened his eyes, there was another one next to her, standing exactly the same, her head cocked; watching him like a raven. Then to his horror, he felt the razor sharp nails of a third stroking the side of his neck and he smelled the stench of her soul from behind him. He stood up to her gentle caress and visibly shook as he noticed a fourth standing just a couple of metres away on his left.
The nails continued to caress his skin and he trembled as he felt them pushing hard into his jugular as though it was taking all her willpower to stop herself simply opening his flesh, freeing his lifeblood and letting it flow through her cold, callous claws. There was no dialogue…not a sound. They all just stared at him; looking into his soul, learning his secrets; his desires; It was like they were all talking to each other without him being able to hear and he knew he couldn’t allow that - if they were talking, then they were plotting, and he was soon to be dead.
He decided to act.
Holding up the blue bottle, he gave it a shake and, for a brief moment, he felt all their attention waiver as they heard the little seeds shuffle inside the bottle, the tiny movements briefly drawing them in, impossible to avoid. In that instant, he parried the claw away and swung around, until he was behind the horror, the long blade trained against her neck.
Screeches of anger filled the chamber like an orchestra of bird cries and the hands came up, each one holding their threadlike sticks, each one wanting death, each one pointed at him.
“Get in the bottle,” he shouted in the bitch’s ear needing her to comply quickly. He knew that once she was in there he was saved, but she didn’t go. “Satan will eat you,” came a discordant cry.
A spark of fiery lightning flashed by his left ear, a pot-shot from the nearest of the four and he began to tremble. Lifting the bottle again he shook it in front of the woman he had in his grasp.
“Get in the bottle!” he cried desperately yet still she did not go. However, this time he felt her resolve wane as the little seeds shook, the tiny movement riveting, like the movement of a mouse pulling at a cat; unable to look away, unable to stay the urge to pounce. He stepped back, pulling the woman with him to give himself cover from the others.
Then he shook the bottle a third time. The seeds jumped like fleas and drew her in, drew in her mind, drew in her attention, and trapped her soul. She had no choice; in an instant she was gone.
Immediately, he jammed in the cork and swiped his thumb over the code.
“Ha!…HA!” he said triumphantly, the relief briefly overcoming him, and then added quickly “If you kill me you’ll never see her again!”
He held up the bottle for them to see.
The other three stopped in their tracks and looked at him, uncertain if it was a bluff. He could almost feel their intuition, their insight stabbing at his mind, at his being, learning the truth. Then an unseen force whipped the bottle from his hand onto the floor and he watched as the code on the lock span through a million different combinations.
But he knew he’d beaten them.
There was another screech in his ears, this time it was frustration, and the bottle stopped, motionless. The horrors stood for a moment longer staring at him, learning what they could, and then they just simply turned around and shuffled away. He realised they’d accepted what had happened; they knew they could not undo what he had done and, if they killed him; it could never be undone. To smash the bottle would destroy her soul; to leave the bottle would imprison her forever. They had to play his game.
“What do you want?” came a dissonant voice in his head, the sound jarring and offset like a car screeching to a halt.
“You know what I want,” he called out to them his voice sounding distant and lost, “if you want to see your sister again you will get it for me…an exchange.”
They carried on walking, shuffling, their long toe nails clacking against the chamber floor, no acknowledgement that they’d even heard him and slowly they disappeared.
He waited for a moment wondering what he should do next. His body was tired and he wanted to rest but he felt he had some work to do yet before he was able to. Then, all of a sudden, a shadow appeared in front of him, as though someone had simply turned the sun on. It seemed like just any shadow but yet he could see detail or features of what he could only describe as the oldest child he had ever seen. It was difficult to see the detail and it seemed that the features were clearer if he didn’t look at it directly, but when he saw those eyes he was immediately repelled backwards. What he saw was a loneliness so acute it almost crushed his heart where it beat.
The shadow watched him for a moment and then it lifted its hand and pointed. He heard a voice in his head and he followed the finger over to a small tunnel he hadn’t seen before.
“The sisters accept your demands,” said the voice in his head, “and they have commanded me to show you an exit. When the time is right, I will come to you.”
It picked up a skull off the floor.
“You will know me by this symbol,” it said holding the skull up high, “Now, Go!” He hesitated wondering if it was a trick, but then decided that he did still have the captured sister in his bottle. What choice did he have anyway? He began to walk towards the tunnel. As he went, carrying his prisoner from the cave, other shadows started to appear, filling the space all around him. Then, a chorus of wailing began. It started as just a tiny whisper like a child’s breath but it grew until it filled the chamber like a symphony of the undead. It made the hairs on his neck stand tall and it caused blood to trickle from his ears - the longing, the emptiness, the despair. As he listened, he understood a message in that sound that filled him with dread. He would regret ever stepping foot uninvited into their lair.
‘What choice did I have?” he thought to himself as he left the cave behind, his hands pressed tightly over his ears. And with that understanding he smiled. He would guard the prisoner with his life, literally, because inside this bottle was magic. And the first thing she was going to do was heal him of his cancer.
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