Sherlock Holmes: The Shadow From Beyond (16 page)

Foodstuffs and supplies were aplenty as the returning army plundered and raped the land of all it offered, what wasn’t offered was simply taken. Villages and towns were stripped of their meager stocks, leaving locals to seek out a living in the dry dust or slowly starve to death. I pleaded with the soldiers to be lenient, but they showed no concern for my words. I gave what I could from my personal supply, but it was far from enough.

There was little threat from any large enemy force along the homeward route, as by now most of the main opposition had been defeated and scattered. But rebellious sympathizers, Saracens they were called, would sporadically launch surprise attacks via ambush leaving as much death in their wake as possible. The Saracens had sworn to uphold their Jihad or Holy War on the Western infidels until the last, through further generations if needed, until the end of days. Their beliefs were profound and un-swayed, and to sacrifice oneself in the name of this cause was one of the greatest acts they could achieve in their lifetime. Their prophet Muhammad would reward their ultimate sacrifice in the next life, they believed, so they threw themselves into the fray without abandon. Fierce and proud warriors all, Saracen rebels fought with the passion of men possessed by deep conviction.

These guerrilla groups were never large enough to cause more than a few losses and injury to our group, but their constant threat meant that the returning Crusaders were always vigilant, with eyes scanning the horizon by day, and alert sentries posted by night.

Eventually our group made its way through Libya, and we were somewhere deep in northern Egypt when one late afternoon the rebel Saracens took advantage of a fierce sandstorm to make a surprise attack from the surrounding dessert. They descended from the dunes and hillsides like shadows, dark specters against the beige mist, howling their war cries of “Allahu Akbar!!” - “God is great!” and “In’a’al mayteen ehlak!” - “Damn you to Death” More commonly translated as; “Death to the infidels!”

The visibility in the swirling sandstorm was next to none, and chaotic fighting was heard all around within the whirling vortex. I stumbled along with my scarf tight about my nose and mouth, trying to find some cover from the biting wind. Two rebels emerged like ghosts from the beige wall of sand in front of me, brandishing their famous scimitars, long swords with great curving blades. Hatred and murder gleamed in their eyes as they stepped toward me. An easy kill this lone friar, they must have thought, this prophet of a false god, this blasphemer.

I believed that my life was surely at its end, so I began to pray for my soul, but at that very moment their advance was intercepted by three soldiers from our group who stepped in from the side, swords held high. I fell back as the blades came down. The clash of metal, the gasps and grunts of physical battle, the barbarism of man in its primal form for self-preservation, were all characteristics of the melee that played out before me. It was all over within minutes. The two Muslims were down and bloodied, on an ethereal voyage to the beyond, perhaps to meet their prophet in paradise.

One of the crusader soldiers wrapped a tourniquet around a deep gash in his forearm, while the others stood guard. I could only just mumble my thanks before another pair of disoriented crusaders stumbled into our group out of the blinding vortex, swelling our numbers to six.

The sandstorm whipped up violently, visibility was reduced to no more than the hand held out in front of your face. Our small band, now separated from the main body of soldiers, stumbled about the battlefield disoriented. All the while the sounds of the battle raged wildly around us. Although we heard the rebel forces, we saw none and not a soul approached.

One of our soldiers had spotted a large dark mass on the horizon in the near distance so we made towards it, arms held high to defend against the biting sand. The blurred mass took form as we advanced and soon a large rocky cliff face stood before us. We felt along its edge hoping to find some cover from the raging storm, perhaps an outcrop of rock or stone barrier, any type of shelter was welcomed. Our prayers were answered when one of the soldiers exclaimed triumphantly that he had found something ahead.

We gathered at his location to find a cave entrance gaping before us, about five feet high and three feet wide. One would say it was a door more than a cave opening as it seemed to have been excavated by hand and was not naturally created. We ducked to enter the space beyond, and found ourselves within a small alcove lit only by the natural light streaming in from outside. The back of the cave extended into darkness and sight was lost to us after about ten feet. Judging by the draught of cool air that wafted against our faces from the darkness below the cave passage must have descended further into the rock beyond.

Presently none of the rebels had followed us to this refuge. Few could have seen us flee from the storm as all outside was a tan sheen of gusting sand that reduced vision to a minimum, so for now we were safe. Yet the fight was far from over and the sounds of violent action continued to beset us from outside. One of the Crusaders suggested we return to aid our brothers in battle, and that to stay within this stone recess was cowardly.

“What good will us hiding do?” he frothed. Another reminded him that we were not hiding but waiting out conditions that we could not fight in even if we so desired.

“I can hardly see my gauntlet in front of my face and you expect us to dodge rebel blades! Suicide! When the gusts die down we will join our comrades in battle, but until then we tend our injuries and regain our energy.”

As he was the highest ranking of the soldiers in our group nobody argued the point, and soon the soldiers were busy cleaning wounds and checking equipment. After another half an hour the storm outside had yet to abate in any way, in fact it seemed only to be getting worse.

One soldier, who had ventured deeper into the cave to scout, spoke of a tunnel complex he discovered, with multiple passages leading off into the darkness. He reported seeing nothing but of hearing noises emanating from within the recess, noises that seemed to be growing louder, closer. He described it as a scuttling of movement, perhaps of footsteps and the low sounds of some foreign tongue barely audible. The scout also added that there was the smell of something unwashed, rotten, and drifting upon the breeze from below.

Fearing an ambush by Muslim rebels who may have entered the caves via a rear entrance, the soldiers decided to investigate. I, armed with a small axe they gave me, was ordered to remain behind and guard this entrance in case someone may stumble in from the storm, friend or foe.

The Crusaders lit their torches and branched off into the subterranean passages beyond, swords at the ready. Soon their shadows were lost to the gloom.

Many minutes passed before I heard the first scream from the darkness, sharp and high, then abruptly cut off. Other screams followed soon after, all hellish in terror and fright, all the voices of the Crusader soldiers alone. At first I was sure the Saracens had found an alternate entrance to the caves and that they were now attacking us from behind, yet the sounds echoing up from the underground were not of battle, there were no swords clanging or shields thumping, no taunting cries from Saracen rebels. They were obviously sounds of human origin, victim sounds, of pain, terror, suffering. Travelling upwards on the chill draught I also heard the tearing of flesh, the breaking of bones. These sounds were sure to me, yet there were more sounds intermixed; a strange piping of odd musical notes, a light gibbering of madness, these were sounds completely unfamiliar to me, alien, but entwined nonetheless with the screams of my fellow party members. Within moments they ceased, replaced by deep thuds of something heavy and wet that now reverberated up from the tunnels below.

I was terrified. I trembled violently and clutched the small axe tightly to my breast for security. Soon my fear reached its apex and I was forced to act. In a panicked state I decided to run from the cave, back into the howling sandstorm outside and away from the unknown threat.

As I exited from the entrance and took a few steps into the wailing mists, I noticed vague forms that approached in the blurred sheen; they were not fellow Crusader soldiers but Muslim rebels! Suddenly there was a frantic yelling of orders and battle cries as the rebels noticed me and ran toward my direction. One of them withdrew his Jambiya from its intricate sheath. The traditional nine inch dagger had a deadly curved blade able to inflict tremendous damage when use in slashing mode, it was truly a wicked and feared instrument.

I stepped back a pace, options swirled within my tormented mind. Death or torture at the hands of my enemy surely awaited me outside; my only other choice was to face the unknown horrors of the darkness within! What to do? For a second I was lost in thought, but then turned quickly back to the cave entrance, grabbed my crucifix tightly in my free hand and prayed to God to protect me as I hurried back into the cavern.

I ran to the back of the cave alcove and then randomly down one of the many tunnels that branched off from its sides.

Behind me I heard the Muslim rebels enter the cave and spread out in dogged pursuit.

Onward I stumbled. Fear gripped my heart as strong as my grip on the crucifix in hand. My drained face was as white as the knuckles that held it. I had no torch or light and groped along the passage blindly. Often I fell, but every time regained balance and pressed on. The tunnel descended deeper and I could sense many other passages that lead off to the sides, their gaping black openings bid me enter, but I kept going straight ahead and down.

Suddenly shrieks of human agony rose from somewhere close behind me; a high pitched screaming intermixed with strange sounds of the unknown echoed upon the stone! The rebels must have discovered what the Crusader soldiers had stumbled upon, or perhaps were discovered themselves, any chance meeting bringing about the inevitable. Logic escaped me and was replaced by the purely primal emotion of fear! Onward I staggered into the almost impenetrable darkness. All was pitch about me, and the winding passage was strewn with many rocks and crags. I stumbled frequently and was left battered and torn. Eventually my axe was lost from my grip, it slipped between cracks in the stone floor and out of reach. I held my crucifix closer then, and prayers continued to spill from my mouth. Can God hear me down in these pits, in this unholy place? Was I in Hell?

At one point the sound of something heavy moved up ahead, the ground shook as the large mass approached. I quickly took refuge in a small side passage and crouched low behind a group of stalagmites just as the huge lumbering form pressed through the cavern I had only moments ago vacated. I could not see it properly in the gloom but the creature was darker than the void that surrounded me, an inky cloud of malignant blasphemy that seemed to absorb what little light existed even in the pitch blackness. It made very little sound, perhaps a light buzzing and emitted a strange unknown smell, ancient and other worldly from beyond the bounds of time. I shivered and prayed silently as it slowly oozed by and up the passage, and did not leave the cover of those rock formations for what seemed an hour afterwards. Eventually I found the strength to press onward, but made sure to go in the opposite direction to that of the thing that passed before me. It had ascended so I continued to descend.

After a while the narrow tunnel became wider, opening up into a much vaster sub-terrain cavern. Strange glowing luminous fungi coated the walls here and offered some dim illumination. It was an eerie green glow that penetrated the gloom, one that added to the already alien atmosphere.

I clambered over a ridge to behold a sight never expected under these tons of rock, the crumbling structure of an ancient temple complex. I gasped in shock and surprise at the size of the building that rose before me. How it could exist here deep under the hillside, this cyclopean wonder of fathomless antiquity was simply beyond me. Sharply angled and multi-tiered, the temple climbed so high up into the cavern that its top was lost in the darkness above.

I approached cautiously worried that the structure may not be vacant, but other than my echoing footfalls all was still. As I stood at its base I noticed that the immense stones that made up its construction were covered in carvings of ancient glyphs and ornamentation of bewildering origin. I felt the cold stone underhand and wondered at who it was that laboured to build this monument, and again at how it managed to be located in such a remote place. There was no time to search for a door to its interior as suddenly, way up in the darkness behind, the cries of horror had begun anew, far away but still holding the promise of tortured death.

I hastily continued toward the opposite side of the large cavern until I reached the far wall, there I located a narrow stairway leading upward and out of the cavern through a small doorway. A very light breeze crept in from these stairs; it was like the breath of a dying man, faint and cold, but fresh. I breathed in deeply and filled my lungs with the cool air. I felt revitalized, motivated that all was not yet lost, I had found hope. So I continuing forward, groping along the archaic stairway as it meandered along its upward slope. There were no audible sounds from behind anymore, and no light, just the dampness and the claustrophobic sensation of the earth pressing in about me from all sides.

The stairway ended, and the passage that continued afterwards became low and cramped. I was soon reduced to crawling on all fours. The going was slow and painfully difficult but I pressed onward buoyed by the fresh air that continued to waft downward.

Suddenly the ground vanished from beneath me, my hands touched nothing but empty space and I tumbled forward into darkness. I fell about fifteen feet on loose dirt and stones before I struck my head on an exposed rock, the hard knock sent me into deep unconsciousness in which I dreamed of horrific visions and alien worlds.