after a few hundred yards. The only landmark was an indistinguishable black shape far ahead of them. They seemed to be trapped inside a dark drum, standing precariously on a skin that vibrated with malice.
‘Oh, ye gods,’ she muttered. She tried to move, but each step sent aches of evil shooting through her legs.
‘I was lucky,’ Ashurek grinned. ‘I bounced to my feet when I landed. Obviously the swamp did not want me. Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Calorn snapped. ‘But there are dreadful things in this morass. I can still feel them.’
‘The Regions are formed of evil, as I warned,’ Ashurek said thornily, half to himself. ‘The Serpent designed them cleverly, to contain everything man might fear... or lust after.’ He pointed to the black landmark and said, ‘We’ll make for there, for a start.’
They began to walk, the fleshy surface bouncing slightly at each step. Calorn gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the sadistic hints of horror knifing into her feet. Her glance flickered everywhere, to either side, behind and above them, as she tried to take in everything she could about this unknown Region.
‘Look,’ she said suddenly. ‘Up there.’
He stopped, but she carried on walking, reluctant to stand still on the evil marsh. ‘What?’
‘The tunnel back to H’tebhmella. Can’t you see it, like a faint half-closed eye?’
Then Ashurek understood. The Dark Regions had seemed cave-like to him before, as if enclosed by a low roof of rock. Now he realised that the ‘roof’ was the other side of the Blue Plane. Instead of lying upon the surface, the Dark Regions hung suspended from it, gravity inverted. So they had fallen from the mouth of the tunnel and landed upon the ground; and now their escape route was some forty feet above their heads. As Calorn observed, the faint light emanating from it glowed in the roof-rock like a sorrowful eye.
He cursed to himself, then, catching her up, muttered, ‘We’ll worry about our escape later. Let’s find Silvren first.’ Calorn brushed her long red-brown hair back from her face and smiled to show that it would take a good deal more to daunt her. She was eager to know how he planned to find Silvren, but the restless glitter of his eyes made her realise it was unwise to ask.
Again he felt himself grinning like a skull. The blackness of the Dark Regions matched exactly the blackness of his mood; it was as though the grin was a challenge, daring them to offer some additional evil that might destroy his resolve. Abruptly the challenge was answered.
Something flapped over their heads, uttering an echoing squawk. Ashurek recoiled. In an instant the creature had brought back to him, in exquisite detail, all the suffering of his time in the Dark Regions, which had so broken his spirit that he had agreed to go and take the Egg-Stone from Miril. He remembered the nightmare expansion of time that made him think he had been there for weeks, the insidious, subtle tortures, the grinning faces of the Shana. The feel of the place was the softness of rotten flesh and the hardness of petrified bone. And the smell – punctuated by the acrid stenches of decay and every foulness, the smell was the stomach-turning tang of metal and the dusty, timeless odour of a crypt. The very ground seemed to emanate despair.
And he remembered that Silvren had been imprisoned here for months and months.
The creature flew over again, close to their heads. It uttered a cry that was both mocking and desolate. Ashurek walked faster, as if that could suppress his anguish at the familiarity of the cry that he had heard so often during his internment in the Dark Regions. It still haunted his nightmares.
Despite their increased speed, they seemed to be no closer to the dark edifice. It was as if the shape were slowly edging away from them. And now Calorn was hardly able to take her eyes off it. Colours were crawling across its surface – muddy blues, a parody of pure
‘Oh, ye gods,’ she muttered. She tried to move, but each step sent aches of evil shooting through her legs.
‘I was lucky,’ Ashurek grinned. ‘I bounced to my feet when I landed. Obviously the swamp did not want me. Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Calorn snapped. ‘But there are dreadful things in this morass. I can still feel them.’
‘The Regions are formed of evil, as I warned,’ Ashurek said thornily, half to himself. ‘The Serpent designed them cleverly, to contain everything man might fear... or lust after.’ He pointed to the black landmark and said, ‘We’ll make for there, for a start.’
They began to walk, the fleshy surface bouncing slightly at each step. Calorn gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the sadistic hints of horror knifing into her feet. Her glance flickered everywhere, to either side, behind and above them, as she tried to take in everything she could about this unknown Region.
‘Look,’ she said suddenly. ‘Up there.’
He stopped, but she carried on walking, reluctant to stand still on the evil marsh. ‘What?’
‘The tunnel back to H’tebhmella. Can’t you see it, like a faint half-closed eye?’
Then Ashurek understood. The Dark Regions had seemed cave-like to him before, as if enclosed by a low roof of rock. Now he realised that the ‘roof’ was the other side of the Blue Plane. Instead of lying upon the surface, the Dark Regions hung suspended from it, gravity inverted. So they had fallen from the mouth of the tunnel and landed upon the ground; and now their escape route was some forty feet above their heads. As Calorn observed, the faint light emanating from it glowed in the roof-rock like a sorrowful eye.
He cursed to himself, then, catching her up, muttered, ‘We’ll worry about our escape later. Let’s find Silvren first.’ Calorn brushed her long red-brown hair back from her face and smiled to show that it would take a good deal more to daunt her. She was eager to know how he planned to find Silvren, but the restless glitter of his eyes made her realise it was unwise to ask.
Again he felt himself grinning like a skull. The blackness of the Dark Regions matched exactly the blackness of his mood; it was as though the grin was a challenge, daring them to offer some additional evil that might destroy his resolve. Abruptly the challenge was answered.
Something flapped over their heads, uttering an echoing squawk. Ashurek recoiled. In an instant the creature had brought back to him, in exquisite detail, all the suffering of his time in the Dark Regions, which had so broken his spirit that he had agreed to go and take the Egg-Stone from Miril. He remembered the nightmare expansion of time that made him think he had been there for weeks, the insidious, subtle tortures, the grinning faces of the Shana. The feel of the place was the softness of rotten flesh and the hardness of petrified bone. And the smell – punctuated by the acrid stenches of decay and every foulness, the smell was the stomach-turning tang of metal and the dusty, timeless odour of a crypt. The very ground seemed to emanate despair.
And he remembered that Silvren had been imprisoned here for months and months.
The creature flew over again, close to their heads. It uttered a cry that was both mocking and desolate. Ashurek walked faster, as if that could suppress his anguish at the familiarity of the cry that he had heard so often during his internment in the Dark Regions. It still haunted his nightmares.
Despite their increased speed, they seemed to be no closer to the dark edifice. It was as if the shape were slowly edging away from them. And now Calorn was hardly able to take her eyes off it. Colours were crawling across its surface – muddy blues, a parody of pure
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