The Amulet (24 page)

I moved first, stepping forward and touching the lock before the other two could stop me.

The first thing I felt was pain, deep, bone wrenching pain that surged through my body like an electric shock. I tried to take my hand off the gate but it seemed to be locked in place. My hand and the cold black iron were welded into one, the pain blasting its way through my nervous system. I felt as if I was being lit up from within in black, blazing radiance. I opened my mouth, preparing to scream, but nothing came out except a low, pained moan.

My aura grew, a crawling carpet of emerald green that flowed over the gate like an over-blanket, creeping and flowing, seeking out all the hidden corners in the metal.

As it hit them, the demonic faces began to come alive, dead metal turning to thick green, warty flesh, saliva-coated tongues lolling suggestively around thin-lipped, cruel mouths. The eyes were the worst, though-they glared at me, black, cat-eye pupils shining demonically, anticipating their release.

There was a sucking sound and the shriek of tearing metal. My hand suddenly fell away from the gate as if a circuit had been broken, and the pain left me, as suddenly as it had come.

I fell to the ground in surprise; just managing to get myself back up again as four creatures pulled themselves out of the gate. The gate swung open behind them, but I didn't think we'd be going through it any time soon.

They were small, little more than three feet high, but they looked powerful, like small gorillas. Their backs were hunched so that their knuckles almost grazed the ground, reinforcing the impression of primates, but their skulls were high domes and intelligent. There was no sign of body hair, and they were completely naked, their gray skin glistening with oily sweat.

They all played with huge throbbing erections that were jutting out from their groins, organs that were much too big for the scale of their bodies. Panting with lust they made straight for Fiona.

I don't believe I have ever seen anything so obscene. They continued playing with themselves as they moved forward, and their tongues slithered redly between their thin lips, saliva dripping down their chins. Dunlop was waving the wand about, muttering under his breath, but I didn't wait.

I stepped forward and punted the nearest demon in the backside, lifting it a clear two feet off the ground. It made no sound, but it turned and was on me before I had time to react.

It climbed up my body like some crazed chimpanzee, and I found myself staring into a pair of burning eye sockets. Its tongue thrust out at me, and I couldn't close my mouth in time. My throat filled with six inches of cold flesh that tickled the back of my throat as it forced its way deeper.

I wasn't able to breathe and I felt hot vomit puddle in my stomach. I tried to prize the creature off but its grip was as strong as the iron from which it had come. Blackness crept in at the edges of my sight.

Biting down didn't work-my teeth failed to make any impression-and the flesh burrowed ever deeper, heading for my stomach. I caught a movement over to my left and Dunlop moved into sight. He waved his arms and I was suddenly blinded by a white, flashbulb blast that left a bright yellow afterimage long after it had gone.

The thing in my arms melted and flowed, becoming suddenly fluid. My nose stung as an acrid gas began to boil from the liquefying flesh before it came apart completely, falling out of my arms in a soggy, dead mass. It had left its tongue behind, a heavy load of tissue that turned to jelly in my throat. Nausea hit me hard, forcing me to my knees where I gagged and choked, vomiting my stomach contents onto the path in one hot, steaming bundle.

When I stood I saw that the demons, if that is what they had been, had all been reduced to the same state-four puddles of protoplasm that bubbled and seethed but showed no signs of being able to reform.

"Homunculi," Dunlop said as he helped me to my feet, as if that explained anything. Fiona stepped over two of the seething puddles, and the pools surged and boiled. From one a long tendril grew, larger and thicker, almost a foot long before falling back to the ground with a dull, liquid thud. I could see disgust on her face as she came towards us.

There was something different about her...something had changed. Maybe my encounter with the gate had scrambled my brains, but it took several seconds to realize what it was. Our auras had gone.

"The gate was an absorber," Fiona said. "We have lost our protections. From now on we must be more careful."

"Shit. I'm sorry," I said, and I felt it. I was out of my depth here-I didn't understand what was going on, and I would be putting the other two in danger with my stupidity.

Fiona must have seen some of those thoughts on my face.

"It's okay, Derek. The spell got us further than we thought it would, anyway. We'll just have to put up with anything they throw at us from now on."

It looked like fun time was over.

The house lay ahead of us, twin eyes scrutinizing us in unblinking hate. Dunlop suddenly looked ill again. His skin had regained its yellow pallor and he was hunched over like a whipped dog. New flecks of blood had appeared around his mouth and his eyes seemed to have sunk several inches back into his skull,

Fiona put an arm around his shoulders, leading him forward, and we passed through the open gate.

Now that Fiona's spell had gone I felt the oppressive force from the house bearing down on us. Black leafless trees reached at us like charred, animated skeletons, and the door of the house waited for us like a maw leading straight to hell. By the time we had got halfway along the drive I had to help Fiona with Dunlop, and by the time we reached the door he seemed a dead weight in our arms.

Fiona asked me to put him down, gently, and we laid him on the black granite steps. I've never seen anyone look more like a corpse yet still be alive.

"The jars," he gasped, and Fiona shook her head violently, but he insisted. "It's the only way. It will give me a couple of hours-that's all I need."

I seemed to have missed something important. There were tears in her eyes as she undid the straps of the backpack. As she took the jars out they gleamed with their own sickly red light.

"It'll kill you," she said, and the tears ran down her cheeks.

"I'm dying anyway," Dunlop replied. "We knew that already. I need to be strong so that I can go the way I want to go."

She nodded, and handed him the jars.

Dunlop grasped for them eagerly, and the look in his eyes was a mixture of anticipation and self-loathing.

"Don't look," he said. "This might not be very pleasant."

Fiona and I turned away, but it wasn't enough to hide the chewing noises. I wanted to ask what was in the jars, but I was afraid of the answer. When we turned back the jars were empty and he looked marginally better. A trickle of fresh blood ran from the side of his mouth and his eyes looked dead and black.

Finally I plucked up enough courage to ask.

"What was that?" I said, but he refused to answer.

"The flesh is the life. Sometimes we have to do repellent things to achieve our goals," was all he said before turning his attention to the door.

It looked like a solid piece of oak, and I guessed it would be several inches thick, but Dunlop merely put his hand on it and muttered several words under his breath. It swung open, revealing a well-lit hall beyond.

Whoever had decorated the place had a fine sense of Gothic melodrama. Black velvet draped from every conceivable hanging place and the chandeliers were enormous, Victorian extravagances. The staircase that led away into the darkness looked to be made from black marble, and portraits of a whole army of malevolent individuals glared at us from the walls. If Durban had built this place the antiques business must pay better than I ever imagined.

It took us five minutes to find the entrance to the crypt. Dunlop had been right-the rest of the house was still and quiet-but when we found the right door we could hear the far off, muted sound of chanting. My skin crawled and goosebumps spread over my arms.

"Party time," Dunlop said. "If you get a chance, grab the amulet." He coughed and I could hear the watery gurgle in his lungs. Just as he moved towards the door he staggered and almost fell. I moved forward to help him but he brushed me away.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice almost too low to be heard. "I've got enough strength left to do what needs to be done."

"What's Plan B? What do we do if they finish the ritual?" I asked, aware that I didn't have any idea of what was happening, what I was supposed to do.

"Pray," Fiona said from behind me as she brushed past and was the first to go down into the crypt. Dunlop followed her, leaving me bringing up the rear.

Just as we started down the chanting from below stopped and silence descended, leaving us to the quiet, heavy dark that loomed around us.

The walls were built of large blocks of sandstone. I had visited several Neolithic tombs, in Carnac, in Orkney and on Salisbury Plain. This gave the same sense of age, of a time long past. What I hadn't expected, what was completely different, was the overwhelming feeling that this place was in use. The walls ran damp and there was a salt tang in the air, but there was no sign of moss or lichen on the walls-only the damp glistening stone and the carvings.

I didn't have time to study them, but I could see that they didn't fit with any system I'd ever heard of. Doug might have made sense of them, but he wasn't here. The thought of my friend's fate gave me added impetus, and I walked faster down the steps.

The path kept going down, deeper and deeper, and the air was getting colder and damper. At first the light from the hall above dimly lighted the way, but the path curved and we were soon in darkness. I groped my way along the walls, led on by the liquid breathing from Dunlop, and tried not to think of tentacled monstrosities creeping along in the darkness behind us.

I judged that we must be under the sea by now, and the thought of all that water above added an extra worry line to my already furrowed brow. At least the passage hadn't diverged. Not yet, anyhow.

I started to wonder how far we had to go when I heard the noise. It was far off and sounded like the morning cry of a gull, but the noise grated on my nerves and sent a cold shiver down my spine.

"Tukeli li. Tukeli li."

It pounded in my head like a chant. I was so busy listening that I stumbled when my foot didn't meet the expected step and the path leveled out.

A soft hand covered my mouth, and I smelled Fiona's perfume as she led me away from the entrance. My eyes started to acclimatize themselves to the room, and I could see that it wasn't quite pitch dark.

We were in a small chamber, cut off from another room beyond by a heavy black curtain. Dunlop was peering through a small gap. He turned and motioned for us to follow as he slipped through to a large, candlelit chamber, some thirty feet in diameter. There were twelve hooded figures at the far end, standing in front of some sort of altar, all with their backs to us. Dunlop led us around a column of rock from behind which we were able to watch the proceedings.

It looked like we had arrived just in time. A tall figure I recognized as Durban moved forward and placed the amulet on the altar. I made a move, but was pulled back by Fiona. "Not yet," she mouthed silently, keeping a tight grip on my arm.

Durban prostrated himself in front of the altar, and the group began to chant. I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the same one they had used the previous night, its dissonance and slightly off-tune harmonics shaking the walls around us, making the room feel even colder than it already was.

Once more the old woman stepped forward, and the song started again. I guessed we were about to see the return of the tentacled creature.

I was proved right several seconds later when the fetid odor spread throughout the chamber and there was a rippling in the air above the altar.

This time it came through already changed, the pumpkin head forcing itself into existence first, tearing a rapidly growing hole in space, like a monstrous birthing. The air in the chamber had become thick and cloying, and the echoes of the chanting rang all around us.

And there seemed to be an answering from beyond the hole being made by the thing-high-pitched piping like some crazed flute player in the unimaginable distance.

The tentacled head kept coming, the head at least five feet across and the tentacles now nearly as thick as my wrist where they met the head. It pushed the final piece of its bulk through, pulling the torso and legs through behind it, and lay on the altar, head pulsing in time with the chanting.

The hole in space stayed open above it, a black chasm through which a chill wind whistled, bringing a thin coating of frost to the altar. The flute was still there, closer now, and a deep, bass drumming had joined it, a primitive throbbing that jerked my nerves and made me want to throw off my clothes and dance.

I had actually begun to move forward when Dunlop turned me towards him. He touched me between the eyes with his stick of wood and the compulsion left me as suddenly as it had come. I could still hear the drumming, it still beat heavy in my head, but I no longer wished to obey it.

On the altar two of the tentacles swayed above the bulbous head, then brought themselves down onto the amulet. As they touched it there was a burst of green light, and as they lifted it up towards the black hole in reality the chanting changed, becoming louder and more guttural.

The black hole began to grow, ripping its way open in the air with a tearing scream, and the green light oozed through to the other side, travelling against the flow of the wind. The reedy piping got louder, until I felt that my eardrums were going to burst, and that was when Dunlop made his move.

He moved past me like a bat out of hell, screaming at the top of his lungs, blue lancing flame shooting from the piece of wood in his hand. He was aiming straight for the thing on the altar, and it didn't look like anything would stop him.

Then all hell broke loose.

Fiona began to sing, softly at first but rapidly rising to a crescendo, drowning out the piping. The cowled figures scattered before Dunlop's attack, but the pumpkin head never moved, seemingly soaking up the blue flame.