The Lore Anthology: Lore of the Underlings: Episodes 1 - 5 (14 page)

Taan-syr called out once again. His tone had an added urgency. “Master Guard
— the Treasuror awaits!”

Syar-ull’s sneering turned to rage. He roared and hurled his machine, still thrashing, into the hungry muck. It sank in seconds and slipped from sight, all but for a thin single finger blade that scratched and fought a valiant fight. Then down it went too, gone and not seen again, sucked up by the pit.

“There shall be blood for this.” The dark Guard whirled and stormed to the ledge. “I don’t care whose it is.”

Morio watched him ascend the ramp and leave the Letting Pen behind. “Until we meet again,” he sighed.

With a mighty effort did Taan-syr’s two pull the young man from the greedy mud. He was too exhausted to do battle. His limbs weighed heavy as lead. They dragged him off toward the ramp by both arms, though it took every ounce of strength they had.

“Ho! This one’s thick as a chevox bull.”

“Hoo! Like old Sovereign himself.”

“True, but you know what the Finder says.”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall!”

John Cap stole a last look at his friends. As loud as he could he pledged to them. “Stay alive! I will find you…”

Then he was taken, bound in vines, and gone through the storied door.

“Stay strong John,” whispered Vaam.

Morio waved the map. “See you soon!”

The men who remained encircled the twain with a special roll of sweetgrass, one that knew how to make a loop. Then they each reached for pouches slung at their sides and pulled from them smartly a handful of something. These were grains or seeds or corns of some kind. They popped them into their mouths.

Morio felt the need to pipe up. “I don’t know if these popcorns are part of the feast that was promised just now by your master chef, but it would be sweet if you’d share some with us.”

Not a word said either Guard. Instead they orbited the friends, spitting the seeds at their feet as they went. Seven times they walked around until they were all spit out.

“Do you know of devil’s moss?” at last asked one of the pikesmen. “Well you’ll soon learn more than you’d ever like…” But he suddenly stopped mid-thought. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes.

That’s because for a moment the whole room had rippled, as if gone liquid, turned to pool. And the ripples came from where Vaam stood, strange beauty still unsoiled by the mud and yet untouched by the muck.
Young lady of the lake of wakes. Pebble of gray on golden pond aflood in oilweed light. But the moment passed and the waters went calm in the time it took for a single wink… or a double take.

The first piker asked, “Did you see that?”

The second simply shook his head.

“No matter.
Let’s get on with this.”

The quieter Guard tugged a strap on his hip and produced a flask made of boven bladder, one that fit in the palm but thick. They shared it. Each man took a drink, a long quaff cool and deep.

Morio licked at his parched, cracking lips. “How refreshing that looks! Mind if I try a sip?”

Then they spat that too, every drop it seemed, onto the corned and seedy ground. This mix did the trick, a magic. It conjured from the ugly mud a circle of soft, sweet-smelling moss. But a moss that suddenly burst into flames.
A ring of green fire around the strangers.

Morio spoke to his virtual niece. “I do mind the heat Miss Vaam. Would you please help me stand and get out of this kitchen?”

But the real Vaam had displaced herself leaving nothing behind but an echo, a shape, a false impression made in space.

“Psst, Uncle M.
I’m over here.”

Morio snuck a look to his right and saw her glow outside the circle, safe from the flames and out of harm’s way. “That’s my clever girl,” he smiled.

“Talk all you like,” mocked the first Guard at them, “at least while you still can. This moss will have all the say in the end. You’ll get an earful from its fiery tongues before it does you in.”

He paced the loop that entrapped his captives, eyeing their faces for signs of fear.
Just as a wildewolf would.

“Brilliant how it works, this plant… the flower of some hotter, darker world and an under one no doubt.
Its spores must be spit and wet just so but then — treasure me! — there’s no way to stop it. The stuff grows and grows like a weed gone wild or lichen consumed with hunger and thirst, not to mention a taste for flesh and blood. It’ll lick you to death for yours. You’ll see.”

He paused to study the young shadow woman, the pale reflection of Vaam.
“But a pity… such a pretty face. A beautiful bride gone to waste.”

Morio’s cheeks were fever red. He felt the hot upon his skin, more of a melt than a sweltering. The devilish crop was creeping in.
Inches away. Tormenting him.

You’re but a butt of your sorry soul

A flick in a bucket of soot

To be kicked

Down into history’s ash hole

Off of your duff, you cinder fella!

Arse son, rear your ugly head!

And dance to the torch song

Of our band

The Conflagrateful Dead

The flames rose high as a funeral pyre
— rite from the kings of yore — and reached to cap off Morio with a crown of fire. A crown bejeweled in emerald, one forged by a jealous hand.

He fought to peer through the firewall looking out from the gates of hell. He had something to tell the true young woman.

“Go Miss Vaam. No more to do here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes love, it’s for the best.”

“Yes. I do have someone to find… now that they’ve moved the timeline.”

“Hurry girl, just go. I’ll be fine. Happy to hold down the fort in the meantime.”

“Ogspeed, Uncle M.”

“Take care my dear.”

As Morio watched, a bend in the air sent Vaam’s shape shifting from the room. Her soul poured out through a whirlpool blur. The phantom Vaam followed a little while later, vanishing cold from the floral inferno.

The flares were so tall now that neither Guard noticed.

“I must say that this is quite the pickle,” Morio said to himself aloud. “Not that I would mind one now.”

A demon’s whip nearly seared the map, so he held it higher overhead.

“Instead of dread I need a plan. Hmmm… I’m thinking again of my chum, my dear old pal… How I wish you were here…”

Green sparks festooned his clothes and hair. The blaze reflected in his stare.
A smell of sulphur in the air. Phosphorus everywhere.

“I can almost imagine what you would do,
Jurykynd, if you were in this stew. So many adventures we lived to tell, not to mention your own had as Miss Vaam’s daddy… By the way, such a lovely child she is. You should be very proud. Anyhow… Isn’t it typically right about now that there should be some kind of intervention? A lucky break? A villain’s mistake? Maybe a miracle or two?”

The green storm swirled around him. It closed in closer with every spin.

“Well if you have any pull at all, this would be the time…”

Mossy mortality was at hand. A maelstrom unleashed to engulf the man.

“Okay, last chance. I’m counting to three…”

He coughed and croaked from the acrid smoke and gasped for a final breath to breathe.

“That works in every fairy story.”

Morio shut his bloodshot eyes.

“One…” The cavalry did not come.

“Two…” But something grabbed his shoe.

“THREEE…” He felt something funny. Bad funny.

“Oh dearie me.”

Thwwwurp.

He was pulled down under from below. Buried alive. Swallowed up whole. Sucked in with a hideous slurp. A devilish kind of sound.

The only sign that remained of him was a hand protruding from the ground, one still clutching his treasured map.

A second gulp took care of that. It was bound to rejoin its owner now. Both lost, drawn into uncharted realms of the netherworld.

The
gluttonous pen let out a burp.

The near empty room went silent and dim.

Morio Yoop was gone.

###

To be continued
…
Look out for the next exciting episode of
Lore of the Underlings
!

About the Author

John Klobucher is the author of many technical manuals that you’d never want to read. But he is also to blame for
Lore of the Underlings
, this ill-advised epic adventure that’s available to you in tasty little episodes, with new ones coming — farm-fresh, organic, and cruelty-free — every now and again.

John has also been known to paint a little, including the watercolors used in the cover art for
Lore of the Underlings
.

John lives in Framingham, Massachusetts, USA with his wife Diane, son Sam, and daughter Mia.

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Other
ebook titles by John Klobucher:

Lore of the Underlings: Episode
6 ~ Meeting Minyon

Print titles by John Klobucher:

The Lore Anthology

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For more on the author and the
Lore
(including podcasts of select episodes), visit
loreoftheunderlings.com