The Tunnels of Woe

Book 1: A Bounty Like No Other

Chapter 2 Part 2: A Passage to Strange Skies

The fiend before them was, but a herald of true terror. Tirro could see black tendrils creeping along the tunnel walls from behind the monstrosity. There they merged and congealed turning to more black masses as the dark visages sprouted more wings and horrid shining blood red eyes till as many as six of the horrendous abominations filled the tunnel.

Just beyond them a deeper black that seemed to push all light aside plodded a laborious course toward the tiny skiff. There at its heart a deep maddening resonance was emanating. Tirro could sense the overflowing evil and dread at the heart of the mass flanked by its horrid guardians who seemed to be crafted in mockery of throne guardians of the Heavens.

A pull laid its slimy overbearing hands on Tirro’s chest holding him rooted in place. Called, commanded, desired, the thing in the tunnels wanted him. The deckhand might have been more confused by this revelation if he wasn’t in the midst of a spiritual battle for his soul and mind. A smothering will telling him to jump from the craft. Toss his trusted arbalest into the murky water, and lose himself to pulsing winged balls of black pulsing their way through the haze to their craft.

Truth be told, not a thought could enter Tirro’s mind to even contemplate a prayer for agonizing pregnant second as he struggled to push back on the presence overcoming his being. His body moved as if an automaton on a magician’s stage. He felt himself walk over to his crossbow, and picked the device up from the cabin then as if in a dream marched himself over to the edge of the skiff. If not for his mother’s strong insistence at his bedtime prayers every day as an even younger lad Tirro would’ve been lost to that all consuming will on his mind and followed its almost unyielding commands.

There the nameless enemy in the tunnels overplayed his hand. A voice slimy as swamp mold, as slick as silk, repugnant as the rot of fish, yet alluring as the sweetest perfume purred and screamed in the Deckhand’s mind.

“Come to the dark. Come to where no master calls. Where all can be as gods. Come down and serve not the master of light. Come be a master, and not serve the tyrant. Come and serve your new god Paladin of the godtree, come and receive the gifts the tyrant denies you.” With each word a spell sang into the air muddling the mind worse than the hardest cyclopes’ liquor or hard brew of the hanging vineyards near the roots of the godtree could manage. Still, mother warned him in every prayer to never trust false gods.

“Pray against them little lion. The rebellious gods’ gifts are filling for a day till they cast you aside like the maids molded crust.” Not much of a reprieve was given, but it was enough to utter one name in his mind.

“Jesus Christ is My Lord,” the thought filled Tirro with new clarity driving back the smothering blanket on his consciousness, but only for the moment. Quickly the driven back spirits filled the void again, and assaulted his mind. With a force of will and another shouted silent prayer Tirro hefted the crossbow, and with shaking hands slowly, ever so slowly, lifted the weapon till he saw nothing but pulsing scarlet eyes. With his last vestiges of sanity he fired the arbalest dropping the weapon as the recoil staggered him in his weakened state.

One of the guardians stopped the bolt in mid air with a guttural squeal and a whipping shadowy tendril. A second later the bolt exploded in light dazzling Tirro, but with little to no effect on the demons besetting them. And yet it was enough.

The deckhand felt the world shift and twist around him as the skiff’s engines whined and huffed like an angered bull surrounded by hounds. Brief streaking images of light stretching flashed before his eyes dazzling him as Tirro rolled to his stomach and struggled to his knees. There ahead of the skiff he could see the tunnels changing as they bent to the will of the machine beneath the deck.

The dirty muck filled walls gave way to smooth black stone that shone like obsidian in the light of their enchanted lanterns. The passage ahead was dark, but with growing light far ahead. Tirro turned toward the helm to see his Uncle slumped over the controls, yet keeping his eyes fixed on their course as he pushed their generators of the deep hard to gain distance from the horror of the tunnels. Behind them the smooth obsidian passage collapsed in cascading rocks that fell silently into the water as they left the resonating waves of sound behind in the nothingness that permeated the twisting passages of dark and elder gods.

A younger deckhand who had paid less mind to his studies might have felt an undue amount of relief at the sight of the blocked tunnel behind their craft. Tirro knew better. Monsters of the passages often sensed the usage of generators, magic, and power of all kinds. Moreover, with this one's strange desire for Tirro the deckhand had no illusions about the abominations ability to follow their trail as it blazed through reality toward a world of solid manifestation.

What world would this be? Tirro imagined not even his Uncle knew as they had no chance to plot a course before engaging the generators thus pushing their craft anywhere that was away from their devilish stalker.

A jolt and then a wave of energy and sound hit the tiny boat as they left the makeshift tunnel through emptiness, and were once again moored in the ordered reality created by the God of Heavens’ armies. The obsidian tunnel changed to bedrock of various browns and muds with twisting roots working a warren around the flowing underground river.

A calm serenity flooded Tirro’s mind as his body sensed the physical world around him settle into a physicality not so easily shifted by the whims of monsters and twisted sons of God in the dark. A sense he always felt whenever they found their way back into port after an expedition. Though Tirro knew he wouldn’t fully calm his mind until he was at home in his humble bunk, and not on a strange world with a monstrosity hunting him in the shadows.

“That was well done Nephew,” Uncle Curroz croaked from the helm his face a contorted mess of fatigue and determination,” Your shot broke me out of yonder fiend’s trance long enough to engage the deep generator. We will see the godtree with living eyes yet. Now get to your post. We haven't found our way to friendly watered woods yet.”

Tirro nodded and dragged himself forward to his station reloading the arbalest as he stumbled forward under the roots and mud. As he walked the waters quickened and the flowing river was fed by many smaller tunnels and passages before spitting them out from under a gnarled tree, and into the open air of the strange world.

The Story Will Continue Every Wednesday.

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