The Lake of Souls (14 page)

I jumped first. I crouched low, then leaped over the muscular coils of the giant beast. I landed softly, but spun quickly, not wishing to stand with my back to the Grotesque. It hadn’t moved. Stepping aside, I nodded for Harkat to join me. He didn’t leap quite as smoothly, but his feet cleared the monster, and I caught him as he landed, steadying him and muffling the sound.

We checked to make sure we hadn’t disturbed the Grotesque, then faced the tall cylinder and studied the vials resting on see-through shelves within. Those at the top hadn’t been filled, but there were dozens underneath, heavy with the thick poison from the Grotesque’s fangs. The Kulashkas must have been milking the giant for decades to have amassed such a collection.

There was a frosty crystal front to the cylinder. I eased it open, reached inside, and pulled out a vial. It was cool and surprisingly heavy. I slipped it inside my shirt, pulled out a second vial and passed it to Harkat. He held it up to the light of the candles, scrutinizing the liquid inside.

As I was reaching for more vials, there was a shout from just inside the temple door. Looking up, startled, we saw two Kulashka children, a boy and girl. I raised my fingers to my lips and waved at the children, hoping they’d stop shouting, but that only agitated them more. The girl turned and shot out the doorway, doubtless fleeing to wake the adults. The boy remained and raced toward us, yelling and clapping, grabbing a candle to use as a weapon.

I knew instantly that we’d have to forget the rest of the vials. Our only hope was to get out quick, before the Grotesque awoke or the Kulashkas poured into the temple. The pair of vials we’d stolen would have to do. Leaving the door of the cylinder hanging open, I stepped down to where Harkat was waiting, and we got ready to jump. But before we could leap, the Grotesque’s rear section swished back, its head whipped up, and we found ourselves gazing straight into its furious red eye — and at its bared, saber-like fangs!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

W
E FROZE ON THE ALTAR
, mesmerized by the Grotesque’s glinting, demonic eye. As we stood rooted, helpless, its body unfurled and its head rose a yard or two, arcing backward. It was preparing to attack, but by raising its head, it broke eye contact with us. We snapped out of our daze, realized what was about to happen, and dropped to the floor as the monster struck.

One of the Grotesque’s long fangs caught me between my shoulder blades as I hit the floor. It dug into my flesh and ripped down my back. I yelled with pain and fear, rolled over as the beast released me, and slithered behind the crystal cylinder.

The Grotesque jabbed at me as I retreated, but missed. It let out a bellow, like a giant baby’s angry cry, then turned on Harkat. He was lying on his back, with his face and stomach exposed, an easy target. The Grotesque raised itself up to strike. Harkat got ready to throw his vial of poison at it. The Grotesque shrieked fiercely and withdrew a couple of yards, the fingers near its tail carrying it away from Harkat, the fingers near its head wriggling at him like dozens of snakes or eels. A detached part of me noticed that there were small holes on each finger where its nails would be if it was human, and the sweat came out of these holes in steady streams.

Harkat scrambled around to where I was sheltering. “My back!” I gasped, turning so that he could examine it. “How bad is it?”

Harkat studied my wound swiftly, then grunted. “It’s not very deep. It’ll leave the mother of … all scars, but it won’t kill you.”

“Unless there was poison in the fang,” I muttered.

“The Kulashkas milked it,” Harkat said. “Fresh poison couldn’t … have formed already — could it?”

“Not in a snake,” I said, “but there’s no telling with this thing.”

I had no time to worry about it. The Grotesque slid around the altar, to attack us again. We backpedaled, keeping the cylinder between us and the Grotesque’s bobbing head.

“Any plans for … getting out?” Harkat asked, drawing a knife but keeping his vial of poison in his left hand.

“I’m taking this second by second,” I panted.

We retreated steadily, circling around the cylinder again and again, the monster following impatiently, spitting and growling, its tongue flicking between its lips, ready to strike the instant we relaxed our guard. The Kulashka boy was standing on the path to the altar, cheering the Grotesque on.

A minute later, the rest of the Kulashkas poured into the temple. Most were carrying weapons, and their faces were filled with fury. Hurrying to the altar, they spread out around it, crawled over the Grotesque and moved in on us, murder in their angry white eyes.

“This would be a good time to try talking to them,” I said sarcastically to Harkat, but he took my wry advice seriously.

“We mean no harm!” he shouted. “We want to be … your friends.”

The Kulashkas stopped and murmured with astonishment when Harkat spoke. One of the men — I guessed it was their chief — stepped ahead of the others and pointed a spear at us. He shouted a question at Harkat, but we couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“We don’t speak your language,” I said, following Harkat’s lead, keeping one eye on the man and one on the Grotesque, which was still scrabbling after us, though it had pulled back slightly to make room for the Kulashkas. The chief shouted at us again, but slower this time, emphasizing each word. I shook my head. “We can’t understand you!” I cried.

“Friends!” Harkat tried desperately. “Amigos! Comrades! Buddies!”

The Kulashka stared at us uncertainly. Then his expression hardened and he barked something at the rest of his clan. Nodding, they advanced, their weapons raised offensively, herding us toward the fangs of the giant Grotesque.

I stabbed at one of the Kulashka women with my knife, a warning gesture, trying to ward her off, but she ignored me and continued to close in, along with the others. Even the children were converging on us, small knives and spears held tight in their tiny hands.

“Let’s try the poison!” I screamed at Harkat, pulling out my vial. “They might scatter if we throw it at their eyes!”

“OK!” he roared, and held his vial up high.

When the Kulashkas saw the vial in Harkat’s grey hand, they froze with fear and most took a hasty step backward. I was confused by their reaction, but seized on their fear and raised mine as well. When they saw another of the vials, the men, women and children spilled back off the platform, chattering fearfully, wildly waving their hands and weapons at us.

“What’s going on?” I asked Harkat.

“They’re afraid of the … poison,” he said, waving his vial at a handful of the Kulashka women — they screamed and spun away, covering their faces with their hands. “It’s either really sacred … to them, or really dangerous!”

The Grotesque, seeing the Kulashkas grind to a halt, slid over the women and made for Harkat. One of the men darted ahead of the monster and waved his arms at it, shouting at the top of his lungs. The Grotesque paused, then swatted the man aside with its huge head and fixed its gaze on us again. It was snarling now — it meant to throw itself at us and finish us off. I drew back my vial to hurl at the beast, but a woman dashed between me and the Grotesque and waved her arms like the man had. This time the monster didn’t swat the Kulashka aside, but stared fiercely at her as she crooned a song and waved her arms above her head.

When she had the full attention of the Grotesque, the woman stepped away from the altar and led the beast aside. The rest of the Kulashkas filed into the gap the Grotesque had left and stared at us hatefully — but also fearfully.

“Keep your vial up!” Harkat warned me, shaking his at the Kulashkas, who flinched miserably. Following a quick conference, a few of the women chased the children out of the temple and ran after them, leaving only the men and the sturdier, more warlike women.

The chief lowered his spear and again tried to communicate, making gestures with his hands, pointing to the Grotesque, the altar and the vials. We tried making sense of his signals, but couldn’t.

“We don’t understand!” I shouted, frustrated. I pointed to my ears, shook my head and shrugged.

The chief cursed — I didn’t need to speak his language to know that — then took a deep breath and said something to his clan. They hesitated. He barked the words again, and this time they parted, clearing a space between us and the path to the temple doorway. The chief pointed at the path, then us, then back at the path. He looked at us questioningly to see if we understood.

“You’re going to … let us go?” Harkat asked, repeating the Kulashka’s gestures.

The chief smiled, then raised a warning finger. He pointed to the vials in our hands, then at the cylinder behind us. “He wants us to replace the vials first,” I whispered to Harkat.

“But we need the … holy liquid,” Harkat objected.

“This is no time to dig your heels in!” I hissed. “They’ll kill us if we don’t do what they say!”

“What’s to stop them killing … us anyway?” Harkat asked. “The vials are all that’s … keeping us safe. If we abandon them, why shouldn’t they … cut us down dead?”

I licked my lips nervously, gazing at the Kulashka chief, who repeated his gestures, smiling warmly this time. I pointed to his spear when he finished. He looked at it, then tossed it away. He snapped at the rest of the Kulashkas and they too disposed of their weapons. Then they took another few steps away from us, spreading wide their empty hands.

“We have to trust them,” I sighed. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead, put the vials back, and pray they’re people of their word.”

Harkat delayed for another frustrating moment, then nodded gruffly. “OK. But if they kill us on … our way out, I’ll never speak … to you again.”

I laughed at that, then stepped up to the crystal cylinder to return the vial of poison to its rightful place. As I did, a bearded man stumbled out of the shadows of the temple, waving a jug over his head and whooping loudly. “Fear not, lads! The fleet’s here t’ save ye!”

“Spits!” I bellowed. “No! We’re sorting this out! Don’t —”

I never finished. Spits raced past the chief and smashed him over the head with a long curved knife. The chief fell, screaming, blood pumping from his scalp. The other Kulashkas yelled with confusion and anger, then dived for their weapons.

“You moron!” I roared at Spits as he bounded on to the altar. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Saving ye!” the ex-pirate yelled with delight. He was weaving heavily from side to side, drunker than I’d ever seen him, his eyes barely focused. “Gimme that bottle o’ pus,” he grunted, snatching Harkat’s vial from him. “If this is what the freaks is scared of, this is what we’ll let ’em have!”

Spits raised the vial to lob at the Kulashkas. A loud shriek stopped him — the Grotesque was returning! Either the woman controlling it had been distracted by Spits’s wild entrance, or she’d decided to set the beast on us. Either way, it was scampering toward us on its fingers at a frightening speed. In a couple of seconds it would be on us and the fight would be over.

Yelping with a drunken mixture of excitement and terror, Spits tossed the vial at the Grotesque. The glass missed its head, but connected with its long, fleshy body and smashed open. The instant it did, there was a huge explosion and the Grotesque and the floorboards beneath it disappeared in a spray of blood, flesh, bone and splintered wood.

The explosion blasted us from the platform and sent the Kulashkas crashing to the floor like bowling pins. I had just enough presence of mind to cradle my vial close to my chest as I fell, then tucked it inside my shirt to keep it safe as I rolled over onto my back in the aftermath of the blast. I now knew why the Kulashkas were so afraid of the vials — the Grotesque’s venom was liquid explosive!

As I sat up, stunned, ears ringing, eyes stinging, I saw that the Grotesque wasn’t the only casualty. Several of the Kulashkas — those who’d been closest to the monster — were lying dead on the floor. But I hadn’t time to feel sorry for the Grotesque worshippers. The blast had also shattered a couple of the huge pillars supporting the roof, and as I watched, one pillar tipped over and crashed into another, which toppled into another then another, like giant dominoes. Gazing up at the ceiling, I saw a series of cracks run across it, then huge chunks of the roof broke loose and cascaded down around the collapsing pillars. Within a matter of seconds the temple was going to fold in on itself, crushing all who lay within!

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
HOSE
K
ULASHKAS
still alive and alert to the danger fled for the doorway. Some made it to safety, but most were trapped beneath the pillars and roof, which caved in around them as they ran. Stumbling to my feet, I set off after the Kulashkas, but Harkat grabbed me. “We’ll never make it!” he gasped.

“There’s no other way out!” I screamed in reply.

“Have to … shelter!” he yelled, dragging me away from the main path. He hobbled across the floorboards, his green eyes darting from left to right as he watched for falling debris.

“We’re in fer it now!” Spits hollered, popping up beside us, eyes alight with crazy drunken glee. “Face the heavenly stairs and cough up yer prayers!”

Harkat ignored the ex-pirate, dodged a chunk of heavy masonry, paused, then started jumping up and down on the spot. I thought he’d lost his mind, until I saw the hole in the floor where his foot had gone through earlier. Catching on to his plan, I bounced up and down beside him on the fragile floorboards. I didn’t know how deep the pit was beneath, or if we’d be safe in it, but we couldn’t fare any worse below then up here.

“What in the devil’s name are ye —” Spits began. He got no further, because at that point the floor gave way and the three of us plummeted into darkness, yelling wildly as we fell.

We landed in a heap a dozen feet beneath the temple, on a hard stone floor, Spits on top of Harkat and me. Groaning, I shoved Spits off — he’d been knocked out during the landing — and looked up. I saw part of the roof give way far overhead and come crashing down. Yelping, I stumbled to my feet and dragged Spits off to one side, cursing at Harkat to follow. There was a fierce, thunderous roar at our heels as we only just cleared the section of falling roof, which exploded on contact with the floor and showered us with splinters and chips of stone.