nearness of the Dark Regions. The shaft was made entirely of the fabric of the Blue Plane, so where it opened upon the foreign matter of the Dark Regions, it cried silently in protest; a slender throat screaming its revulsion at something unutterably, incomprehensibly vile. Ashurek had to fight to stop himself pressing his hands over his ears – as if that could keep out the terrible scream.
Looking round, he saw that Calorn was also struggling, her face tense. He hoped her courage would hold. Now the dim blue light that had lit their way had blackness seeping into it, and the way grew even narrower and more difficult. It seemed to Ashurek that the tunnel really was a throat, swallowing and constricting against the entry of that blackness.
He turned to Calorn and said, ‘Prepare yourself. We’re there.’
At their next step, their hope of entering the Dark Regions slowly and cautiously was tom away. Gravity spun beneath them, drew them into a vortex. They were falling with sickening speed through darkness. They could have been anywhere, transported to another universe, spinning through space.
Calorn had automatically relaxed her body in preparation for the impact when they hurtled into a black swamp. A shudder of pain jarred through her as she landed. There was a sensation of bouncing, as if the surface was slightly elastic and had absorbed the worst of the impact. She stretched out her hands and touched the black substance to find it had the exact texture and resilience of flesh.
Gagging with revulsion, she snatched her hands away, but it was not the touch of the surface that revolted her. She could sense a terrible evil lying underneath, permeating the whole of the swamp as water fills a sponge. A barely audible gibbering filled her ears, as if a million imps lurked below the surface, a sick swarm that could extinguish the brightest hope with their cruelty. And she could feel herself sinking down towards them as if into a viscous ink. The ground was sodden with evil; she had not known such depravity could exist, such soul-consuming emptiness. Amidst the supernatural malice of the black imps hid human weaknesses: guilt, jealousy, irresponsibility. And the swamp was sucking her down, like an amoeba, to join the infinite horrors within it.
Calorn was brave when faced with something she could fight. Now she was paralysed, but still her instinctive self-control prevented her from voicing terror. As levelly as she could, she called, ‘Ashurek.’ She trembled as the sound of her voice reverberated horribly, as if some venomous monster had spoken the word within her own skull.
There was no reply. Her whole body was stiff with revulsion and denial as she felt the swamp drawing her further into itself. No, she screamed to herself, the Quest, the Silver Staff, Silvren – my life can’t just end, meaninglessly, now –
Then, out of the darkness somewhere above her, she heard the Gorethrian’s voice. ‘Calorn?’ The tone was normal, lacking the terrible echo. ‘I can’t see you.’
‘Ashurek,’ she gasped, unable to still the shuddering of relief in her voice. ‘In the swamp – I can’t move.’
In seconds he had located her, grasped her arms and was hauling her to her feet. He was astonished at the reluctance with which the swamp gave her up. It clung to her like latex, finally relinquishing her with a dreadful sucking shriek.
Still shuddering, she scrubbed black slime from her face, swearing vehemently between coughs. It was several moments before she realised that she and Ashurek were now standing on the fleshy surface.
‘Let’s get off here,’ she said brusquely. She could still feel the rabid corruption gnawing at the soles of her feet.
Ashurek, seeming untouched by it, replied, ‘We cannot. Look around.’ She did so, and found that the darkness was not absolute. She could see Ashurek clearly, and saw also that the spongy mass of the swamp extended in all directions, vanishing into opaque darkness
Looking round, he saw that Calorn was also struggling, her face tense. He hoped her courage would hold. Now the dim blue light that had lit their way had blackness seeping into it, and the way grew even narrower and more difficult. It seemed to Ashurek that the tunnel really was a throat, swallowing and constricting against the entry of that blackness.
He turned to Calorn and said, ‘Prepare yourself. We’re there.’
At their next step, their hope of entering the Dark Regions slowly and cautiously was tom away. Gravity spun beneath them, drew them into a vortex. They were falling with sickening speed through darkness. They could have been anywhere, transported to another universe, spinning through space.
Calorn had automatically relaxed her body in preparation for the impact when they hurtled into a black swamp. A shudder of pain jarred through her as she landed. There was a sensation of bouncing, as if the surface was slightly elastic and had absorbed the worst of the impact. She stretched out her hands and touched the black substance to find it had the exact texture and resilience of flesh.
Gagging with revulsion, she snatched her hands away, but it was not the touch of the surface that revolted her. She could sense a terrible evil lying underneath, permeating the whole of the swamp as water fills a sponge. A barely audible gibbering filled her ears, as if a million imps lurked below the surface, a sick swarm that could extinguish the brightest hope with their cruelty. And she could feel herself sinking down towards them as if into a viscous ink. The ground was sodden with evil; she had not known such depravity could exist, such soul-consuming emptiness. Amidst the supernatural malice of the black imps hid human weaknesses: guilt, jealousy, irresponsibility. And the swamp was sucking her down, like an amoeba, to join the infinite horrors within it.
Calorn was brave when faced with something she could fight. Now she was paralysed, but still her instinctive self-control prevented her from voicing terror. As levelly as she could, she called, ‘Ashurek.’ She trembled as the sound of her voice reverberated horribly, as if some venomous monster had spoken the word within her own skull.
There was no reply. Her whole body was stiff with revulsion and denial as she felt the swamp drawing her further into itself. No, she screamed to herself, the Quest, the Silver Staff, Silvren – my life can’t just end, meaninglessly, now –
Then, out of the darkness somewhere above her, she heard the Gorethrian’s voice. ‘Calorn?’ The tone was normal, lacking the terrible echo. ‘I can’t see you.’
‘Ashurek,’ she gasped, unable to still the shuddering of relief in her voice. ‘In the swamp – I can’t move.’
In seconds he had located her, grasped her arms and was hauling her to her feet. He was astonished at the reluctance with which the swamp gave her up. It clung to her like latex, finally relinquishing her with a dreadful sucking shriek.
Still shuddering, she scrubbed black slime from her face, swearing vehemently between coughs. It was several moments before she realised that she and Ashurek were now standing on the fleshy surface.
‘Let’s get off here,’ she said brusquely. She could still feel the rabid corruption gnawing at the soles of her feet.
Ashurek, seeming untouched by it, replied, ‘We cannot. Look around.’ She did so, and found that the darkness was not absolute. She could see Ashurek clearly, and saw also that the spongy mass of the swamp extended in all directions, vanishing into opaque darkness
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