Land of Verne (26 page)

His eye slid to the building next – a regal, white-stoned
splendor that was attached to Simian’s Lair. There were
finely crafted gargoyles upon its walls, a testament to the winged
beings who were now finalizing its construction. It was ordered
there by Magus Nimrel, a man thought to be a powerful wizard from a
far off land, but he never acknowledged those rumors. He simply
smiled and nodded at such whisperings. He had a hard-angled jaw and
rather prominent nose which he would twitch and rub on occasion. It
was thought he could smell dark magic.

And around Simian’s Lair he twitched and rubbed his nose
until it was red.

He faced the Lair, but none could speak to the blank expression
that had descended upon his face.

“Are you ready?” he asked. His voice was dry and
harsh, like the desert winds of Seeto.

All four children nodded. They were to stand guard at the
entrance, preventing any from entering the manor while Magus Nimrel
and some others ventured in.

The four orphans, eldest among all the children that amassed
here, were all he had at his disposal. The City Magistrates wanted
nothing to do with the old manor. In fact, they were prepared to
wall it in. It was only due to Magus Nimrel’s insistence that
they abstained. Besides that, none of the inhabitants of Harkness
had the courage to come within ten yards of the place. Mad cackling
had sometimes been heard coming from the manor in the night.

Magus Nimrel pulled out a green reed. He broke it into four
pieces and gave one to each of them.

“What is this for?” Maddock asked. He turned up his
nose at it. It smelled like bad cheese.

“It is called
strall
,” said Magus Nimrel.
“Chew that and spit it out when it begins to foam. It will
rejuvenate you. Use it only if you need it.”

They hoped they would never need it.

“Be at the ready!” commanded a gruff voice that
startled them. It was Master Rickett, a man of wild, gray hair that
looked as if a windstorm had swept through it. He carried a heavy
sword. Unlike the City constables with their long, thin dueling
swords, his was like a mighty oak among elms. He also carried
pouches of powders at his belt, and was renowned for studying the
children with one eye squinted.

He focused that eye on Roe. “Remember what I told
you,” he said. “If anything comes out of that blasted
manor that doesn’t look like the seven of us, shoot
it.”

Roe nodded, but gulped down the knot in her throat. She could
shoot almost anything, but this was different. The question
wasn’t
if
she could shoot —the question was
what
she would shoot. What could possibly come out of
Simian’s Lair that she would have to shoot? The wings on her
back shivered.

Master Rickett departed, but not before he offered a one-eyed
scowl to a peculiar creature that was bound to a lamppost twenty
yards from where they stood.

“Mimick,” it said, and examined the shackles and
rope that held it. It was a fur-covered mishmash of animal parts.
Its face was somewhat flat, except for its monkey-like lips. Its
fur was spotted on one arm, striped on the other. Tufts of hair
stood up on the top of its head, white as snow, and it had little
black eyes that stared at them with a rather blank look. It had an
extremely long tail that coiled around behind it, swaying in a
slow, hypnotic motion.

It shook its chains and repeated, “Mimick.” That
seemed to be all it could say.

Master Rickett had found the creature lurking around
Simian’s Lair a few days prior. They did not know if it was
male or female, nor did they know if it could say anything other
than what they called it.

The man might have run his sword through it had it not been for
his companion: Madam Patrice. Seemingly ageless, she was a
white-haired woman of poise and presence. It was said she was of
royal birth from ages past, perhaps from the Dominion of Harland,
but no one knew for sure. She stayed Master Rickett’s quick
hand and suggested they study Mimick rather than kill it.

She strode towards them and they all lowered their gaze.

“This will not be an easy chore for any of us,” she
said. “Be prepared for anything, for we do not know what
lives in these walls and whether we can cleanse it of
darkness.” She turned to Maddock. “Remember what I have
taught you in these last few days. Keep your head about you, keep
your wits, and most of all, keep together. Each of you has your own
talents, but together you are a force to be reckoned
with.”

Sari sneezed at Madam Patrice’s mothball-like smell and
drifted backwards with the force of it. “How long will you be
in there?” she asked.

Madam Patrice’s face pinched and she cleared her throat.
“As long as it takes.” Then she turned on her heel and
strode over to meet with Magus Nimrel, Master Rickett and the four
City constables that had been volunteered for the job.

They did not wave or wish anyone farewell. They simply made
their way into Simian’s Lair disappearing into the gaping
entrance that swallowed them in darkness.

The four friends watched for a time, unsure of what to expect.
Eventually they passed the time with a game called Witch’s
Switch and another called Runes. The sun journeyed through the sky
and there was not a sound to be heard except for the occasional
sigh from Mimick.

Twitching his wings in boredom, Widget wandered over to the
funny creature. It cocked its head to the side, studying him.
Widget jumped at it and roared. He stretched out his Gargoyle wings
as if to turn it to stone. Widget was too young for that talent,
but he thought he’d try to scare it.

Mimick didn’t budge. It just simply said,
“Mimick?”

Widget leapt about the tree to which the creature was tied. The
other children rolled their eyes and shook their heads. Mimick
didn’t seem to mind Widget’s antics and a long, pink
tongue dropped out of its mouth, hanging loosely past its rounded
chin.

“Mimick,” it said again.

The others laughed.

Encouraged by his friends’ attention, Widget leapt about
like a frog, and then ran around on all fours imitating a dog.

“Mimick,” repeated Mimick, its head still cocked to
the side and pondering Widget as if he was the oddest thing the
creature had ever met.

Sari floated over to it. “Mimick, where are you
from?”

“Mimick,” it said.

“Can you understand me?” she asked.

“Mimick,” it said again and nodded its head.

The others jumped up from the cobbled sidewalk.
“Woah!”

Maddock took a furtive glance towards the manor to make sure all
was in order and then nudged Sari to continue.

She pointed south. “Are you from the Southlands?”
she asked.

It shook its head.

She continued with the cardinal directions, and learned that
Mimick was from somewhere in the north-west.

“Are there others like you?” she asked.

An explosion behind them whipped them about.

Screams followed, and not human ones. All four youths retrieved
their weapons in swift, practiced motions: rod, bow, dagger, and
sword.

The four constables fled the manor. Their faces were ashen and
their hair had turned white as the full moons. The men’s
mouths were open to scream, but nothing escaped their lips.

Another explosion sounded, carrying with it a howling rush of
air. It reeked of death and refuse.

There was movement inside the entrance, just on the edge of the
darkness, and they saw a creature jumping about, waving to them.
Its tail was swaying in a hypnotic motion.

“Mimick!” it called.

The four friends all looked back to the lamppost where Mimick
was tied, or rather, where it used to be tied. The chains and rope
lay in a heap on the ground.

“Mimick,” it called again, and disappeared into the
shadows of the entrance.

“Mimick!” yelled Sari and Widget. They raced towards
it, into Simian’s Lair.

Maddock and Roe screamed after them to wait, but their calls
went unheeded. Then they, too, ran in.

When they stepped inside, the doors snapped closed behind them,
and Mimick had a strange twinkle in its eye.

The Path of Fear

The Path of Fear

The inside of Simian’s Lair was like a festering welt upon
the land. Its walls were coated in a slime that seemed to slither
by itself. The halls were littered with bones, some of which the
children could not identify. Sari shivered as she passed a painting
of an old man in a gray suit. She could swear he was looking at
her.

 They jumped at the high-pitched scream of a Razorbill
– a black bird with a serrated beak that was meant to cut
flesh. It swept past them and then down the long, dark
corridor.

Maddock pushed against the massive doors with all his strength.
It creaked, but refused to budge.

“Now what do we do?” Roe asked.

Maddock shook his fist at Mimick. “This is all your
fault!”

“Mimick!” called out Mimick. The creature bounded
through the hall. All four chased after it.

They paused at an arched entrance, pondering if they should
enter. Maddock was more hesitant than the rest. The place was
silent and still, like the entire stronghold held its breath.
Maddock knew it was waiting for them. He stepped back.

“Mimick!” called Mimick from within the darkened
entrance and they heard the grating of stone against stone. Mimick
waited in the dark, but the outer surface of the creature undulated
with a green glow.

“I don’t like this,” Maddock said.

“Neither do I,” said Roe, shaking her head.

“Mimick,” Mimick said, and disappeared.

Widget and Sari chased after it. “Mimick!”

The other two rolled their eyes and followed as Mimick bounded
down a spiraled staircase. They yelled for Mimick to come back.
Along the way, Widget nearly tripped on an old torch on the ground.
Sari lit it, summoning the fire with her rod.

The torch lit up with a bright orange flame. It offered them a
sliver of comfort.

“Mimick!” called Mimick again. The four friends
clambered down the stairway after it, practically stumbling on top
of each other. A heavy grinding sounded behind them. A click
followed. Their escape had been sealed. 

Maddock called them to a halt. “Quiet. Listen.”

There was a shuffling from the stairs above.

“Something is following us,” he whispered.

Faint laughter descended from a few flights up, an evil-sounding
cackle that tingled their spines. They continued on the downward
spiral, sweating palms gripping sword, dagger, bow and rod.

Without warning they hit the end of the staircase, each of them
grunting as they bumped into the other before them. Two dismal
tunnels waited.

“Which way do we go?” Roe asked.

“And where is Mimick?” Maddock said.

“Mimick!” it said.

They all turned to find it perched, now behind them, upon the
staircase.

Sari floated forward, holding her glowing rod up. “Mimick,
which way do we go?”

“Mimick,” it said, pointing at Widget.

“Me?” he asked.

“Mimick,” it repeated.

“What does it want?” he asked.

Mimick continued to point.

“Widget, you decide,” Sari said. “That’s
what it’s saying.”

The screaming laughter echoed above.

Widget closed his eyes and waited. Sometimes his gut told him
things, like which way to run. It was how he had survived without
parents for so many years.

He exhaled. “That way.”

He pointed left.

Mimick bounded ahead of them down the leftwards corridor,
glowing once more. The orphans raced after it.

They weaved their way through the tunnels, the laughter
following closely behind.

Maddock brought up the rear and yelled out to the others.
“Don’t look back! Keep running!”

Mimick remained ahead and would pause only to wait for Widget to
shout out directions such as: “Left!”,
“Right!”, “Down!”,
“Forward!”.

They finally paused in a small cavern, each struggling to catch
their breath.

“Chew the
strall
,” gasped Roe. The laughter
was getting closer and they could barely lift their legs.

“But it smells like feet,” Sari said, scrunching up
her face.

“I don’t care if it smells like Master
Rickett’s feet. Chew it!”

So all four chewed on the
strall
, but did not have time
to think about its wretched taste. The menacing laughter was now
around the corner and they were forced to charge forward. But as
they stumbled, a sudden burst of warmth coursed through their
limbs.

The four orphans now sped through the corridors, trying to pay
little heed to the claw marks scored into the stone walls. Though
each wondered what would have the strength to leave such marks and,
worse, what such a creature might do if it found them.

They descended countless stone stairwells and raced through
darkened entranceways. The air was colder here and the stench of
something sinister and wet fouled the air. Sari pinched her nose as
they ran.