The Pilgrims

7

At first he knew only the dim ache of his fall. Thin light of either an ending or beginning day lit the blackness of his closed eyes. The soft, thick, shin-high grass made a comfortable bed to lie on. It smelled fresh and pleasant, bringing him childhood memories of afternoons at the park, when bad things like death and suffering were worlds away.

Everything came back slowly. His mind recounted the first wild dream, then the old drunk accosting him with cryptic words, then his feet catching as he went through the door.

Hold on a second: as he went through the door?

Of all the stupid, stupid, STUPID things I could’ve done …

There was nothing but air above him, nothing to indicate the door he’d fallen through. That ivory sky was a touch brighter now, he fancied, which made it morning. No moon, sun or stars could be seen, only cloud like threads of cotton being slowly pulled along. To the left was a sheerly cut wall of stone, with thin grooves and bands of colour weaving through strata of clean white rock. It was very tall, stretching up out of sight until its whiteness was lost against the sky’s. A similar wall opposite was more or less parallel and together they fenced in a green valley that widened ahead over rising and falling ground. Behind him, the sheer walls curved around in a dead end. In the distance was the tower that had held his eye so commandingly, but which, right now, lacked the same power. For there were stranger things to see, much closer.

Other shapes lay in the grass, some nearby, some further away, perhaps a dozen of them between the two valley walls. Like him, they were bodies, and they lay still … unlike him it seemed they didn’t have the option of moving again. Some were face-down, some sprawled on their backs or sides. Some were just dead; others were messily dead. The neat, groomed corpse at Uncle Craig’s funeral had not looked like this.

Eric got up on his elbows. He fumbled for the briefcase and drew it closer, comforted by the feel of it pressed to his side, its familiar clean leathery smell. Further away, he glimpsed glistening red on a shape in a large billowy dress. He shut his eyes, shuddered, and angled himself away from it. The cries for help echoed in his ears. Had it been her crying out? And he’d been thinking Lancelot, maidens in distress, fairy tales as he leaped in. His guts swirled, mouth dry. Quietly as he could, he retched in the grass.

A flash of light, distant, over near the sheer rock face to the right. It was like the sparkle of a small fireworks display, little red beads of light blooming slowly through the air. A figure crouched down in the sparks, too distant to make out other than as an outline. Its head tilted back and a fearful cry swept down the valley, echoing between the sheer rock walls, inhuman and piercing. It stood, waved its arms and hopped in some primitive dance. It seemed to shimmer, then vanished. A wave of hot air rushed through the grass as it reappeared a good deal closer, feet slamming down as though landing from a high drop.

What had looked like a helmet in the distance Eric saw now were thick curved horns like a goat’s, curling from the side of its head down past its cheekbones. Its hair was a thick tangle of shaggy ropes, as was the beard hanging heavy from its face. It wore a stiff, ugly gown made from something’s skin woven into stiff square patches. Unnaturally long fingers clutched a thin notched staff with a diamond-shaped metal tip. Heat emanated from the creature, just perceptible from where Eric lay, some way behind it. Its feet were long claws like a bird’s, but made with human flesh, and scuffed and kicked at the ground, slicing up patches of grass.

Its head swept left and right, though if it noticed the new shape in the grass clutching a briefcase, it gave no sign of it. In a very deep voice it muttered incomprehensible babble, then crouched down, not moving. Waiting. Seeming to listen for something.

Eric swallowed, lay motionless, hardly dared draw breath. His hand slowly, slowly worked its way around the front of his briefcase, to the clips that opened it. The gun. I think it’s in there. Please, let it be in there …

His hand found the latch buttons, but they’d make a sound if he pressed. What’s more, if the gun was there, they hadn’t kept it loaded — he’d need time for that, too. He wished the cursed apparition would leave, just go a little further away. But for a torturously long time it didn’t budge, other than the slow sweeping movements of its head side to side, and soon he hated it more than he feared it.

Slowly, slowly, his other hand went to the briefcase’s second button. A hissing noise came from the thing’s throat. His blood froze; but it wasn’t watching him, its head was tilted up. Above where it crouched, a thin line of light was being drawn in the air, horizontal, then vertical, forming a rectangle. It stood, hands shaking around the wooden staff, knuckles white, it gripped so hard.

Those lines of light — was that the inside of the door Eric had come through? Is that what the door looked like from this side? If so, it was off to the right, too far away, he’d have thought, to be the same door he’d fallen from …

A face suddenly appeared in mid-air, inside the rectangle lines. A young Asian man — Korean? — poked his head through the gap, mouth open with wonder. Another door, Eric thought. There must be others all over the world. But on this side, they all open here …

The hissing sound was loud in the thing’s throat now, rising with rage and threat. It stood, as again that horrible high-pitched scream shot out and echoed between the sheer valley walls. A call for help? A warning? The face in the door looked down, the young man too overcome with wonder to understand his danger. While the man-beast was distracted, Eric clicked open the briefcase.

The thing turned its head at the sound and looked directly at him, its mouth hanging loose. Its eyes gleamed like a cat’s.

Oh shit. Oh shit …

It turned back to the open door and made chopping motions with its staff, body convulsing like it was about to be sick. Then there was a crack! Something flew through the air: it looked like a shooting wave of heat, the kind that shimmers on a hot road. A sickening fleshy thud. The man fell from the gap in the sky, half his face pressed in and broken. He thumped to the ground and didn’t move. The door in the sky swung shut and the outline of light began to fade back to empty space.

There it is, Eric thought, numb and despairing. There’s the magic you wanted to see. There’s the magic you threw your life away for. Pretty, huh? Was it worth it?

The thing crouched down, shoulders hunched over, sucking in deep breaths, its eyes closed. Little coils of white smoke trailed like ribbons from the tips of its horns, the ends of which were now black as charcoal, as though the spell it cast had burned them.

‘I guess I’m next,’ Eric said.

It regarded him with eyes that seemed an animal’s. ‘You’re Shadow,’ it rasped.

Eric heard: your shadow. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Your shadow,’ it repeated. Its voice was so deep it could have been a machine’s.

Eric looked down at his shadow, trying to understand. It was cast just faintly in a few different directions on the grass, in the fashion of being under stadium lights. He said, ‘I don’t know what you mean. But I’m not here to hurt you or fight you. I just … fell in. Didn’t know it wasn’t allowed. I’ll go back. Gladly.’ His hand went to the briefcase and quickly clicked open its other clip.

The creature cocked its head at his movements, raised a finger in warning. So ended his bid to get the gun. The little curls of smoke puffing skywards from its horns were thinning. ‘Your shadow,’ it said. It clutched at something in the air he couldn’t see, as if trying to grab a thread of hair. ‘Do you see? Lord’s thought a groping hand, winding and reaching this way, a tendril broken off the swirling mass. Do you not … feel it? It is unsure of its own designs. Conflicts with Master’s, perhaps stirs the pot of its own poison broth, but I shall not rebel.’ The creature bared its broken teeth as though in the grip of inner turmoil. ‘Two winds push here, I lean with the stronger. Depart now. Flee with haste, if flee you will. For his moods change.’

Eric, dismayed at its cryptic speech, tried to sift through for meaning. Flee with haste was all he could comprehend. Unless he knew better … ‘Are you saying I’m free to go?’

The creature waved a stiff hand around at the corpses and hissed like a snake. Eric took that for a very welcome yes. He grabbed his briefcase and ran, hardly daring to believe his luck.

Over his shoulder, he was sickened to see the creature stamping on the newly dead man, tearing up the corpse with its clawed feet. It crouched low to the ground, head down, and came up with blood on its chin. Eric had read horror novels and seen horror films in which all manner of gruesome death was served up as titillation. Yet now he froze. He literally felt a stiffening coldness spread through him and lock up his limbs as the creature’s yellow eyes met his, for, even from a distance, he saw it was eating the body.

The tower. Eric sprinted for it as fast as he could, glanced over his shoulder once to see if the thing pursued. Not yet, but now it got slowly to its feet. It threw back its head and another high-pitched scream rent the air. From far away, there came either an echo or an answering cry.

‘In here,’ a coarse voice called. Below him, a face! A small gap in the grassy turf. A hand reaching out. Right away he knew that face. It was the invader who’d come through the door first that night. Eric threw himself flat, crawled head-first towards the man. Rough hands closed on his arms and pulled him into a darker space. His legs gave from under him and he sank gladly to the ground, sucking dusty air.