The Psychonaut - Book 1 Read online

  He heard nothing save the phlegmatic breathing of Shamon’s guard.

  What to do? His warrior’s instinct told him Merrick and Celestia weren’t far away, yet the silence intimated they were beyond his reach.

  With no clear plan of action, he faded into the shadows of the antechamber, and waited.

  ~~~

  Celestia felt the mental strain. With her sense of hearing, she took in the conversation between Merrick and Shamon, accepting now that Lotus’ allegiance was with the Ukurum. With her farseeing sense, she coupled with Merrick’s consciousness, following his beckoning, back through the passageway they had come. He was probing the storage chamber, reaching out—and something was responding. Throughout her cerebral gymnastics, she had to maintain the shield that stopped Shamon’s penetration of her guard, all without revealing a trace of emotion.

  I’m going to make a move, she received from Merrick.

  Je ne sais quoi—

  In just a moment. Get ready to run back to the chamber. We won’t have much time.

  What do you plan to—?

  Celestia didn’t need a signal. When it happened, it came as a surprise to everyone.

  “I offer you a destiny,” Shamon said. “Don’t let your jealousy over Lotus prevent you seizing this opportunity.”

  Merrick looked away for a second. “You know your problem, Jagur? You’re too hung up on your ego.”

  With barely a ripple of warning Shamon was propelled backwards. Merrick held out his hand like a metaphysical conductor, concentration written on his face. His mind-force pinned the Ukurum chief to the wall behind, raising his body up the wall until he dangled, over fifteen feet up.

  Anger creased Shamon’s visage into a mask of hatred as he threw back a shaft of elemental force. Merrick deflected it as if swatting a fly, but didn’t let up. He rotated his hand, watching Shamon’s body twist like a vertical carousel until he was upside down.

  Sacre bleu, he is powerful, Celestia thought. Who would have known ... ?

  Celestia, run. Now. I can’t hold him much longer.

  She made to retreat, but saw Lotus, recovering from the shock-wave that issued from Merrick’s epicentre. She had a weapon; an ornate dagger pulled from concealment. Her intent was clear, and Merrick had his back to her. Celestia was too far away to intervene, but maybe she didn’t need to.

  “Lotus.” Her cry produced the desired effect. “Take me on. I’d like to teach you a lesson about betrayal.”

  Lotus darted her head back and forth, clearly undecided. It was all the time Celestia needed to close the distance and deliver a numbing kick to Lotus’ flank. She crumpled under the blow, the knife skittering across the floor.

  She heard Merrick cry out. It was the sound of exertion, not pain. He threw Shamon to the ground with inhuman force, the stone cracking with the force of his impact.

  “Back to the chamber,” he said to Celestia, and stumbled after her.

  As Celestia raced through the doorway she pulled up short. A wall of water cascaded towards her like a torrent.

  “Merde.” she had time to say, before the brackish liquid threw her back. Her body collided with Merrick’s, sending them tumbling back onto the stonework outside. They lost all sense of direction as the water gushed over the terrace. Her head struck stone time and again; whether walls or floor, it was impossible to tell. When she finally came to rest she saw the swell of water sliding over the crenellations of the terrace in a green, foaming waterfall.

  Lotus helped a dazed Shamon to his feet. Celestia wasn’t in good shape herself, but she felt strong arms lift her up and drag her back to the chamber.

  “We’ve got the jump on them,” she heard Merrick say and her spirits lifted with the prospect of escape.

  Then she saw the Amorphic approaching. Multitudes of anaemic, scabrous forms, clambered over each other as they stepped into the light. A blanket of claustrophobia covered her as the swarm approached.

  She turned to Merrick. “You did this, didn’t you.”

  “I did,” he said, “and I think it may have been a mistake.”

  ~~~

  A swell of frustration rose within Arun.

  The reward of patience is the bounty of a considered act, he quoted to himself.

  Inaction is the comforting refuge of the vanquished, came another.

  Damn those gnostics—always contradicting themselves.

  A sound like discharging electricity jarred him out of his meditations. He looked out from his place of concealment and saw the Necrolytes move further into the chamber, towards the source of disturbance. He sprang forward, following them in.

  Beyond the doorway, he saw Merrick dispatch the first Necrolyte with a mind-bullet, but the second had raised its javelin. Arun reached out, grabbed the shaft before the Necrolyte could launch it, and with a dexterity trained by years of discipline, used the beast’s own weapon to lock it in a stranglehold. With a final jerk, the martial arts master ended its pitiful life.

  “What happened?” he asked Merrick.

  “No time to explain,” came the reply. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Which way?”

  “Let Celestia lead. Shamon’s behind the gateway, but he’s got some fallout to deal with—and his method of transit isn’t exactly instantaneous.”

  “What about Lotus?”

  “Don’t ask,” said Celestia.

  Arun took one look at Merrick. Wisdom told him to hold the questions.

  They sprinted through limestone corridors. Apart from their footfalls, the passages were silent as the crypt. They had surrendered stealth to the goal of speed.

  “Where are we headed?” Merrick asked, his words punctuated by laboured breathing.

  “There’s a natural inlet beyond the next chamber where a stream sinks underground. I think we can escape through it,” Celestia said.

  Arun bounded alongside the Psychonaut. “Sounds like we’re going to get wet.”

  “We’re wet already,” replied Merrick, remembering the scene beyond the gateway. The Amorphic had teemed over them, battering them with slippery, frog-like limbs, but Celestia and he were not the object of their intent. Merrick had seen to that by planting a seed of purpose in their primitive minds. In time, Shamon would coax them back under his control, but as a delaying tactic, it was perfect. He would never have known to try it if Shamon hadn’t boasted of his conquest.

  They entered the chamber Celestia had referred to, only to have their way barred by a figure dressed in what looked like a cassock. His arm extended towards them, a four-fingered hand lifted upwards. In its centre was an eye, twitching left to right, observing their approach.

  “Get behind me,” Merrick said, “I’ll deal with this.”

  “No,” Celestia said. “Wait a moment. I believe he means us no harm.”

  She was right. Merrick sensed the man’s confusion and fear. “Who are you?” he said.

  “I’m Destain,” the man replied, backing away. “You’re not Ukurum.”

  Merrick looked at his face. The eyes were closed. No; where the orbits should have been, there was skin—as if he had been born without the gift of sight.

  “I see you escaping from Shamon’s fortress, into dawn’s first light. But a legion of Ukurum will follow—”

  The sound of a bell cut short Destain’s words; it was deafening, deep and resonant.

  “They will soon be upon us,” Destain said.

  “To whom is your allegiance?” Arun said.

  “To the truth.”

  “Look, we’ve no time for a philosophical debate,” Merrick said. “Are you coming with us, or are you staying in this festering pit?”

  “I’m coming,” he said without hesitation.

  Celestia jogged towards a door on the far side. “This way.”

  It was unlocked. On the other side ran a passage, snaking upwards. Merrick heard the sound of falling water as they ran in its direction.
/>   Destain kept behind Celestia but in front of Merrick. The guy was in his thirties, Merrick guessed, but despite his apparent lack of sight seemed to sprint with the grace of a gazelle. Such contradictions didn’t phase Merrick anymore. He’d seen more fantastical sights this night.

  The bell continued to toll, and from above, the heavy, military sound of an approaching horde could be heard.

  A look of panic crossed Destain’s face. “Necrolytes.”

  “How much further, Celestia?” Merrick said.

  “Through here.” Celestia stopped in front of a fissure in the wall. It was just wide enough to admit them one by one. Merrick could taste the calcium-laden air and feel the dampness on his skin, though the only light was the faint glow from a small aperture high up. The sound of water, tumbling over rocks and down a sinkhole had eclipsed that of the bell.

  “I can’t see anything,” Merrick said.

  “There are hand and footholds,” Celestia said, obviously sensing the contours of the subterranean escarpment. “I can’t see the detail, but I think we can feel our way.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Merrick said.

  “There are two futures ahead.” Destain had raised his voice above the torrent.

  “What’s he saying?” Merrick said to Arun.

  “Two options will be open to us above ground,” Destain continued, “if we remain here below, then there is no choice, we’ll be taken.”

  “Just what we need,” Merrick said under his breath “Mother fucking Shipton.”

  “Keep moving,” Arun said. We’re committed now.”

  Merrick felt the coarse rock rasp against his hands as he began to scale the cavern wall. The last time he’d climbed in earnest was back in his university days. A trip to the Peak District with Mike and the troupe. He tried to blot out the memory of his embarrassing freeze just before the summit of Stanage Edge. Mike had coaxed him up the last defiant metre of the rock face, but the spectre of his muscles locking again came back to haunt him—and he was climbing blind this time.

  Lumps of grit fell on him from Celestia’s boots as she edged her way up. He spat out lime repeatedly, coughing out dust and blinking his streaming eyes to remove the irritating powder. He knew he was doling out similar fare on Arun and Destain.

  As he reached up for the next handhold, fumbling in the blackness, the rock beneath his foot gave way. His chin slammed into the wall and fingers clawed at the rock in desperation.

  Fear, blacker than the cavern’s gloom fired its pins and needles into his panicked brain. His feet scrambled for purchase but he found none. Biceps locked in a tetanus-like contraction as he hung there, suspended.

  “Are you okay?” Celestia’s voice from above. Merrick couldn’t answer. His tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Was this where it ended? Plunging backwards into the darkness then dashed on the rocks below?

  ~~~

  Chapter 26

  The mob rules

  The difference between overwhelming relief and stark terror are like opposite ends of a pendulum swing. An extreme of emotion, present in the twinkling of an eye is reversed in a plunging arc to arrive at the other pole.

  This was Merrick’s experience as he felt the reassuring pressure of a hand on his foot, supporting him from below.

  “Vertigo won’t kill you,” said the voice in the darkness, “but indecision will.” It was Destain.

  Merrick’s words were still blocked in his throat, adhering together in a frustrating bolus.

  “I’m going to lift you up,” Destain said. “Look for another handhold. If you can’t find one above, then reach out to the side—and breathe slowly. Hyperventilating isn’t going to help you at all.”

  “I’m sorry to break into your thoughts,” Arun said from further down, “only I can hear the Ukurum below. They’ve followed our trail into the cavern”

  “Shut out the distraction,” Destain said. “Can you reach out to me with your mind?”

  Merrick released an exploratory tendril of psychonautic energy. It was drawn immediately to the deep reservoir of Destain’s consciousness. He soaked in the comforting water of reassurance and immediately felt the knot of muscles ease and his mind unlock.

  Reaching out to the side, his fingers found a satisfying niche. Water cascaded an arm’s length away, wetting the rock, but his fingers detected no slipperiness. He tested the handhold with a partial transferal of weight. It held, and he still had Destain’s support if it gave way. He pulled on the handhold, lifting himself up inch by inch. His free foot found another purchase allowing him to ascend, free of Destain’s grip. All the time, the stranger’s presence built a wellspring of confidence.

  Merrick heard crumbling rocks fall much further below them, and knew their enemies would be upon them soon. He stole a glance up. The circular glow of dawn was bright, and he could see the unmistakable silhouette of Celestia’s bob-cut against the tequila sky.

  “It’s not far to go,” he heard her say. “But hurry. Difficulté—it rises from below.”

  Precious seconds later, Merrick hauled himself up through the rock aperture. He had to climb through the margins of the torrent, but a skerrick of water wasn’t going to impede him now.

  On the surface, he took in the morning air. He’d never been so glad to see daylight. Destain and Arun emerged a minute later.

  “No time to rest,” Arun said. They’ll be upon us in minutes.”

  “We’re about a half mile from our vehicle,” Celestia said. “We must run like the wind.”

  It was all Merrick could do to keep up with her. Six months in the country, eating the frugal but nutritious Turkmen diet, together with the regular workouts with Arun, had raised his fitness to a peak. But Celestia could give Paula Radcliffe a run for her money.

  They had covered a few hundred yards when Celestia drew to a halt.

  “What is it?” Merrick said.

  “A presence ahead,” she replied.

  “Who?”

  Arun narrowed his eyes, staring at the umbra of undergrowth on the skyline. “The shadows—they move.”

  Merrick linked minds with Celestia. They’re Amorphic, he sent.

  Oui, and no longer under your control.

  “It is time to make your decision,” Destain said.

  “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t keep stating the fucking obvious,” Merrick said. “Perhaps you could give me some options with that clairvoyance of yours.

  “Fight or flight,” Destain replied. “I can see no further detail, but one choice leads to disaster.”

  “And the other?”

  “Significant loss.”

  “Thanks a fucking bunch.”

  The mob approached. It moved like oil flowing over the landscape.

  “There must be hundreds of them,” Arun said.

  “Thousands.” Celestia corrected him.

  Merrick stared as a familiar figure ahead of the throng, coalesced from the shadows. Prongs of sunlight, breaking over the mountains behind, lit up the tall frame of a woman; face hideously scarred, the bearing confident, even regal.

  “Theta,” Merrick said.

  “Certainement, the bitch doesn’t die easily.”

  Theta signalled the Amorphic to halt. Flanking her were a regiment of Necrolytes, mouths slobbering with vicious intent. “Merrick Whyte,” she said. The sound carried across the rugged landscape. “Jagur Shamon offered you the hand of allegiance, yet you chose to spurn him. He rarely gives such an invitation, and it is never offered twice.”

  “Well forgive me for giving your master the brush-off,” Merrick replied, “but I choose my sleeping partners with great care.”

  Theta sneered. The wounds to her face mutated her mouth into a repulsive rictus. “Yet evidence shows that your choices in that area have been misplaced.

  The words stung Merrick, but he told himself the Ukurum lieutenant was needling him, trying to offset his resolve.


  She hesitates, came Celestia’s mind, fearing us despite the superiority of numbers.

  Suggestions? Merrick sent.

  We can’t resist them all, and they have the advantage of higher ground. If we flee, they’ll run us down. We can outrun Necrolytes over a short distance, but they never tire. They’ll have worn us down within fifteen minutes or so.

  If only we had a way to distract them.

  I may be able to help here. Destain had joined them in the mental link-up. I can create multiple diversions.

  “You’re mind-speaking, aren’t you.” Arun’s voice—out loud. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Looks like we’re gonna make a run for it, Arun,” Merrick said. “Destain has a distraction planned.”

  “Your silence is the resigned quietude of animals before the slaughter.” Theta’s harsh voice crackled again. “Accept your fate and receive a swift death. Resist, and your demise will be slow and agonising. I’m hoping you resist.”

  Merrick smiled. “Your sado-masochistic offer is so appealing. Where does Shamon dig you fucks up from?”

  Theta didn’t reply, choosing to raise her hand instead. A signal.

  “Necrolytes behind,” Arun said. “She was waiting until they closed the gap.”

  Theta dropped her arm, triggering a battle-cry from the horde and their descent down the hill. The thunder of feet was like the pounding of war drums.

  Merrick didn’t know what was more terrifying—the silent Amorphic or the roaring of the Necrolytes. “Now would be a good time for your distraction,” Merrick said.

  Destain responded. Duplications of their bodies streamed out at Destain’s unspoken command. The myriad illusions sprung in all directions taking diagonal trajectories to each other, forwards and backwards. Each illusion separated every second at an exponential rate, until Merrick couldn’t keep track.

  The effect on the Ukurum was bewilderment. They switched focus left and right, looking for a target and finding none. Theta screeched her rage but was at a loss to direct her commands.