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part five.
IP: 82.14.67.140
Posted on September 10, 2012 at 02:43:23 AM by georgia

Warning: the following part contains aggressive, repulsive and potentially frightening material. As this part is not essential for the story, we recommend that younger or more sensitive readers skip it.

Part five Beneath Mount Etna, Sicily, Earth Rhaegar began to cough as the dust that the rock had thrown up finally began to settle. He had thrown himself backwards, out of the way of the descending boulders, landing solidly with his back against the nearest wall. It was far from smooth, and a protuberance had impacted with the base of his back. Gar winced as he climbed back to his feet and peered out into the darkness, squinting in the hopes of detecting other bodies in amongst the blackness. He could feel a bruise forming. He could feel a bruise forming. Cursing under his breath the deity pushed his hand to the injured area, and tried to direct his magic towards it. Nothing happened. He tried again, this time trying to channel it into night vision. Still, nothing. “Brilliant,” Gar growled to himself, bending down to collect his axe from where he had dropped it in his haste to avoid the rock fall, “as if this whole bloody week could get any worse.” “Hi, Darling,” Mallos’ voice ripped through the gloom, “don’t look now, but I think we’re alone.” “Sorþinn,” Gar growled in reply, lapsing into Old Norse in his irritation, “I spoke too soon.” Reluctantly, he moved towards the sound of his companion’s voice, until he could just about make out the Spaniard’s rough outline, “and here was I thinking I was going to find you with a nice boulder-shaped dent in your thick head.” “Rhaegar!” Mallos said, sounding hurt “I never knew you could be so mean!” It pained him to admit it, but with his divinity being inconveniently absent, Rhaegar’s axe was now too large and heavy to make an effective weapon for someone of his chosen size and build. This was not a fact however, that anything on any of the many worlds could drive the Dane to confess to Mallos. He adjusted his grip upon the weapon’s wooden handle, and, praying that its own magic had not been removed too, urged it to transform into a lighter version. This it did, only not quite in the way he had hoped. Rhaegar had suddenly found himself to be the proud owner of a fifteenth century, European, poleaxe. Rolling his eyes, and cursing whatever magic had deprived him of his own, the deity tried again. It was to no avail. The axe was stuck in its new shape, and it took all of Gar’s self-control not to fling it at the nearest looming rock pile. Mallos would be sure to notice that. “We should press on,” Gar said, with a glance in the Spaniard’s general direction. He was standing a little too close for the Dane’s comfort. Then again, Rhaegar would regard himself as being too close to Mallos even if they were standing on opposite edges of the solar system. “It’s dark – maybe we should hold hands?” Mallos suggested innocently. Gar snarled, and strode off ahead, not caring, in that instant, whether he lost his companion in the darkness. They pushed on along the tunnel with gar keeping his right hand against the stones of the wall in an attempt to stop them from getting turned around. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder, and spun around, bringing up the head of the poleaxe and pointing the sharpened spike that capped it, directly at Mallos’ throat. “We don’t want to lose each other, do we, dear?” the Spaniard asked with a smirk, holding up his hands casually. “Oh, no,” Gar responded, clenching his jaw, “perish the thought.” Turning back towards the front, Gar took a few further steps forwards, his boots clipping against a cluster of pebbles that had gathered upon the floor. Moments later, he felt a hand upon his shoulder again. In one swift movement, he had turned around, his clenched fist colliding with Mallos’ jaw. “You don’t touch me, Ormstunga,” he snarled, his temper worsened by the throbbing sensation that was rapidly developing in his knuckles. “Have it your way,” Mallos replied, raising a hand to his face, “we’ll just have to talk to each other then. We’re overdue a catch-up” he added brightly, as if suddenly struck by the most exciting idea. Trying his best to ignore his companion, Gar moved off again through the darkness using the wooden shaft of his poleaxe, like a blind man would a stick. The plan however, was not without its pitfalls, and, at the exact moment that Rhaegar’s shins collided with a low-lying rock, Mallos spoke again. “So...Rhaegar...found a nice girl yet?” “I’ve met a couple who could put you through a window. I like that in a woman,” Gar responded from between clenched teeth. “Wow!” Mallos returned, sounding impressed, “and they actually slept with you? I thought big women liked big men, or, well...men with big...” “Had some trouble yourself, have you?” the Dane retorted, “besides, Mallos, who said it would need to be a big woman to smack you around?” “Ouch,” sniffed the Spaniard, feigning offence, but Gar could practically smell his grin through the blackness, “I’m not sure I deserved that.” “Blondes or brunettes?” “Red heads.” “Dark eyes, or blue?” “Dark.” Mallos’ questions retained all the constrained energy of a puppy on a very short lead, but Gar, who had given up on trying to stop his companion from speaking, had been reduced to giving very weary replies. He had gone past being angry, Mallos had become more of irritation, like that single fly on a hot day, that will just not leave you alone, and there’s nothing you can do about it. “Legs or b— ” The Dane froze, raising his hand for silence, as he strained his ears in an attempt to hear it again. A deep rumbling sound, like a blade being rubbed with a whetstone, only much lower. An unnatural sound that forced the deity to suppress a shudder. It sounded again, louder than before, and both Originals stood frozen in their places. “Where do you think it’s coming from?” Mallos asked, suddenly all seriousness. Gar shrugged, shaking his head. He had never heard anything like it before, and the sound seemed to be both nowhere, and everywhere, at the same time. “I can’t tell,” Gar hissed, trying to keep as quiet as possible, “but, if we’re just hearing it now, I’d guess that we’re heading towards it.” “I’m inclined to agree,” Mallos replied, “proceed with caution?” Rhaegar nodded. “Proceed in quiet,” he growled back. It was getting hotter. Gar didn’t know what he had expected, they were heading towards the earth’s molten core, after all, and, they were without magic. In itself, that was a worrying thought, by rights, nothing without magic could hope to survive such conditions, yet here he and Mallos were. That meant, that whatever it was they were looking for, was in control of their life-support. It also meant that it had the power to withdraw it at any time. The sound came again, distinctly louder than before, and longer in duration. It seemed to race past them, swooping down the empty tunnels and beating at their eardrums with a renewed ferocity. The silence that followed, however, was perhaps even worse than the noise had been. Perfect silence. The pebbles beneath their feet made no sound, and even the sound of their own breathing had gone mute in the darkness. Slowly, very slowly, a second sound crept through the curtain of oppressive quiet, a sound that seemed magnified...but familiar. Gar had spent enough time watching wild animals to know it anywhere. “Was that..?” Mallos asked, edging forwards, his voice apparently returned to him, “Claws,” agreed the Dane with a nod of his head, exchanging a meaningful look with the Spaniard, “very long claws.” The tunnel they were in seemed narrower than before, but still they had not moved. In the darkness Rhaegar glanced between the two walls on either side of him feeling increasingly like prey in a trap. It was not a feeling he appreciated. “Whatever it is,” Mallos said reasonably, “I think it knows exactly where we are, and moving isn’t going to change that. Personally, I’d feel better if we kept walking.” “Into the jaws of the beast?” Gar asked, the corner of his mouth perking upwards, unseen in the blackness . “Nothing quite so dramatic, I hope,” Mallos replied, moving forwards and travelling onwards down the narrow passage. “Bloody rabbit warren, this place is turning out to be,” Rhaegar cursed in frustration as he attempted to navigate his way along the latest stone corridor, practically bent double in an attempt to stop the top of his head from colliding with the jagged ceiling. Mallos had gone ahead after the previous sound with no obvious increase in caution. Gar paused, a long quiet sound, akin to a hiss, echoed around the inside of his left ear. He shook his head, in an attempt to clear it, brushing the side of his face against the hot surface of the metal plates that encased his shoulders. It came again, this time to his right, he could almost feel it ticking the inside of his head, and he shook it again, more forcefully, as he raised his fingers to his temples. They rubbed against the damp surface of his skin as the noise, the irritating noise began to crackle and dance in his other ear again. It was as if there was a crowd in his head, a chorus of shouting voices increasing steadily in number and volume until they stopped sounding like voices and just became noise. “Can you hear that?” the Dane demanded of Mallos with a growl. He received no answer, but he heard his companion pause, before making his way slowly back down the tunnel. “Hear what?” the Spaniard replied, his voice remaining calm and level. Gar was about to snap a reply, when it happened again, only this time it was clearer, a voice broke through the noise and droned something in a tongue that Rhaegar neither knew, nor recognised. “Get out of my head,” he snarled, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, as the whispering became more insistent, joined by more voices, reciting the same words as the first, like a group of chanting monks. “Shut up!” Gar roared, moving his hands away from his eyes and back to his ears, his breath quickening as he realised, with alarm, that, although he still did not understand the words being spoken, he could feel their meaning. They knew him. “Talk to me,” Mallos said coaxingly, taking care to keep his distance as his fellow deity grew increasingly agitated. “Rhaegar,” he pressed, more firmly, hoping to attract the Dane’s attention with the use of his full name, “tell me what’s happening.” “They won’t stop,” Gar hissed reluctantly through gritted teeth, his head feeling as if it were about to split in two, “inside my head, they know...” he broke off, as he released a cry of pain, his axe dropping from his hands to clatter to a stop upon the floor as he crashed into the closest wall. He felt as if he were being dragged down into himself, carried by the voices. He was not in control of his body, and the pain was increasing as the chanting continued to increase in volume and urgency. That terrible thought pushed through, finally, fighting its way through the front through the sea of panic, a single clear voice, like a single singing child against the backdrop of the din, his own voice, you are going to die. “NO!” Gar shouted, trying to force himself back to his feet, and instead simply veering dangerously into the opposite wall. “Hrafnasueltir, hrafnasueltir, get. Out. Of. My. HEAD.” “Stop!” Mallos’ voice joined the din, “stop for a moment, and think. The more you panic, the worse it gets, you have to calm down or you’re going to bring the tunnel down on our heads. It’s trying to get to us. Concentrate on something, anything but what you’re hearing, and focus.” Rhaegar shot some curse words in the Spaniard’s direction as he buried his head in his hands, but he obeyed, gulping down air in an attempt to steady himself. Gradually, the Dane’s breathing slowed, as he focused his attention upon a familiar face and flowing locks of rich red hair, the chanting began to retreat. It did not leave, but it was quiet enough for Rhaegar to climb back to his feet and collect his axe from the floor. The Dane’s ears were ringing, his head throbbing just behind his eyes so that his vision lacked its usual crispness. “Let’s move,” he managed through cracked lips, his rich purple eyes surrounded by dark circles, his voice itself a little cracked. They pressed on, rounding a bend in the tunnel which, suddenly opened out into a great chamber, almost completely circular, the sides jagged and lined with strange flickering lanterns. Mallos moved into the centre of the room, his black eyes quickly flicking back and forth as he took in the details of their new situation with a practiced mind. Gar took the opportunity to sit. A strong gust of wind weaved its way into the chamber, wrapping itself around the two originals where they stood as the lights within the lanterns began to flicker and dance with an increased ferocity, a great wailing sound, too high to be natural, and so loud that it soon had both of them clapping their hands over their ears. The volume grew steadily, the lights changing colour to a sick blood-red, and then, suddenly, the lights cut, and the pair were plunged into total darkness, and utter silence. “Have you moved?” Mallos’ voice hissed through the blackness. “No,” Gar called back. “I’ll come to you then.” The Dane listened for the shuffle of feet, the tiny clicking of scattered pebbles or even the gentle in and out of the Spaniard’s breath. The air felt thick, suddenly shrouded in a hot and sticky mist, but slowly, slowly, a smell began to rise, a smell that Gar knew well. “Mallos,” he shouted urgently into the dark, “stand still, right now.” The sound of footfalls slowed, and Gar exhaled his relief, but, before they had stopped entirely, he heard a sickening thunk. The smell was growing stronger, percolating through the cavern at an alarming rate. “Don’t look down,” the Dane called, “just stay still...” One single lantern spluttered back into life, hovering upon the back wall like a ghost, spilling a soft blue light over Mallos and the thing at his feet. A young woman, hardly older than twenty, with mid-length raven black hair, her black eyes glassy, staring upwards, unseeingly, at the ceiling. A dark pool of glutinous blood had spread itself out across the front panel of her blue dress, staining the pale white of her skin, crimson on snow. Rhaegar peered at her through the gloom, he did not recognise her, was sure he had never seen her in his life. He glanced at Mallos, and stopped. The expression on the Spaniard’s face was unmistakable: he knew her, and he cared. The Dane did not move as he watched Mallos crouch down beside the girl, blocking her face from Gar’s view. Mallos didn’t move, but his shoulders stiffened and the atmosphere shifted ominously. Gar looked back at the girl. Half of her face had been torn away. He turned back to Mallos quickly, raising himself from the floor so that he was standing once more, just as the other original staggered away, falling over something else laid upon the floor. A second misty blue lantern spluttered into life, just in time to throw the face of the second body into sharp relief. Her olive skin and sharp cheekbones reminded Rhaegar very much of Mallos himself. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail, her right arm lying across her chest. Mallos had gone pale. “Who are they?” Gar asked Mallos, trying to regain his attention, trying to make him focus. Mallos didn’t appear to hear him at all, his dark eyes fixed upon the corpses of the two women. A spluttering sound, the sound of someone choking caused both the deities’ heads to snap to the left, each seeing the outline of the same small figure, stepping from the darkness and out into the eyrie light of the cavern. He looked to be around ten years old, his hair colour indistinguishable since layers of dried blood had congealed in it. His little mouth hung open, blood swimming atop his tongue, bubbling forth as he tried to take another gasp, his left hand reaching out in Mallos’ direction, green eyes begging for help as his right squeezed at his own throat. Slowly, his fingers dropped away, revealing a great weeping hole in his neck, and, in that instant, the lights flicked back on. Rhaegar saw Mallos moved forwards out of the corner of his eye, the Spaniard making straight for the boy. Reacting quickly, the Dane kicked the metal base of the pole axe upwards, and grabbed hold of it so that he had one hand on either side of the wooden handle. He intercepted Mallos, barrelling into his chest at speed, until the Spaniard’s back collided with the wall of the cavern. Gar pinned him there, the pole pressing against the other man’s collar bone in order to keep him still. “They’re not real,” Rhaegar growled, bracing his arms against Mallos’ struggling, “I’ve put enough bodies in the ground to know the difference.” His words didn’t seem to help. He could still hear the spluttering child behind him, heard the travesty of a child’s voice whisper, help me! Mallos struggled again with surprising force, managing to move an inch forwards before Rhaegar forced him back again. “You said something was trying to get to us,” he pressed, his voice rising in volume urgently, “the voices were for me, this is for you. Shut. Them. Out!” The Cavern began to shake; the lights flickering again as rocks began to tumble from the ceiling; the wall at Mallos’ back vibrating violently. One moment it was there, all hard stone and sharp edges, and the next it was gone. Rhaegar felt himself thrown forwards into the black abyss, his chest colliding with Mallos’ as they both tumbled backwards into the depths of the unknown, leaving behind the littered corpses, as the disembodied voice took up its furious wailing once more.

Written by Merlin.

Replies:

• part six. - By georgia September 10, 2012 at 02:43:10 AM
• part seven. - By georgia September 10, 2012 at 02:42:56 AM
• part eight. - By georgia September 10, 2012 at 02:42:50 AM
• part nine. - By georgia September 10, 2012 at 02:42:40 AM
• part ten. - By georgia September 10, 2012 at 02:42:30 AM
• epilogue - By georgia September 10, 2012 at 02:42:21 AM

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