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The trickle of laughter was low enough to be rain at first, but then it became louder until Mathew was
sure it was Hala and he ran through the rooms, step after step of denial, relieved that it had just been
one of those striking dreams, so life-like and real it convinced you even as you woke upright, sweat-
drenched and white-flashbulb-eyes impossibly wide. Even as it took you several minutes to work it out
 the surreal component vanishing under reality, and the ever logical mind taking over. And for his
peace of mind, he all but convinced himself it was a dream. A Diazepam hangover .That all the
weirdness of the day and the subconscious fears had dealt to his sleeping mind a vicious blow.
He followed the laughter to a smaller temple deep within the catacomb. In the center of the floor, a
round pool of water faint light emanating from underneath, turned the water to blue-green paradise.
Inviting, if only the circumstances were different.
The laughter seemed to be coming from the pool. He walked to its edge, the faint light a distant glow
that could not be isolated, it simply floated to the top like air bubbles.
"I m here Mathew; we belong to the water, you and me." Another peel of laughter as Mathew looked
about the walls searching for her. "I ve waited for so long, and now you must decide. Come with me, or
stay, forever, with Him. You know it s I who loves you. Come with me, Mathew. Don t be afraid,
water is comfort."
He found his voice at the bottom of his throat, shaky and thin, "What s happening Hala?"
An audible sigh, impatience in her voice as she called, "The lagoon is coming Mathew, you must
decide. The water will take you or the temple will devour you it s your choice, as it has always been
with the Ronsards."
He looked up to see the water from the lagoon pouring from between the crevices of the boulder-sized
flat stones along the room s walls; hundreds of rivets, releasing a cataclysm of panic. But he didn t
have time to register the full measure of shock, for high above something else demanded his attention,
two red pinpoints of light out of the indigo ceiling of undeterminable height. Twin pinpoints that
flashed and grew brighter as they floated from the ceiling. Eyes. From a distance, it looked like a large
bird, wings spread, gliding down in circular motions. But soon he knew, as the shadow caught up with
the light of the pool and the ignorant-dark was where he wanted to stay. For there in the form of
madness, of scales just beneath her breasts, and the wild untamed beauty of Hala, grew the tentacles of
medusa, and the long, jagged teeth of the hydra.
When he tried to concentrate on this new form of Hala, the collective consciousness of a hundred
villagers filled his mind, wouldn t let him mourn his loss. He shook his head in an attempt to empty the
invasion. His wounded heart plunged and he couldn t stop the pain from escaping, from ripping from
his mouth, "No!"
The sound of water and his own scream reverberated through his ears and just under that thick roar, the
sound of a chant and the deep thud of a drum thumping with a timeless rhythm; forest-born sound that
enveloped him in its deepness. The primeval heartbeat of sadness. Of the realization that it was too late.
Too late. The chasm in which he found himself too deep to ever escape.
The walls were closing in around him. The movement although slight at first, became increasingly
known. From the spaces between the stones, emerged long ivory spears, sharp piercing points growing
longer as the walls moved inward. No where to run, no where to escape the monstrosity of Hala; the
rising water; and no where to escape the crushing walls and their kiss of impalement.
The chants grew more fevered, he thought he could distinguish words between the slurs and groans.
Water. Yes, he was sure it meant water. Hala stood frozen with inhuman eyes upon him, anticipating
some dawning of an idea from him. Water water of& what? his mind screamed& and the last two
words came from the rushing water, cascaded into his thoughts like a landslide of improbable design.
Water of the Rock.
Hala s demonic head ripped back and her laughter echoed from every stone within. The walls came
faster, and faster, until Hala at last stopped the hysterics and held out her hand. He stared at the
beautiful hand, the same hand he d held and that had caressed him for four years. The hand he loved
and yearned for. His arm trembled as he slowly held it out. With the first touch of her damp, cool hand
he knew she would take him into the lagoon, and the water would flood back into the lagoon before
morning. He knew from the borrowed memories of hundreds that he could spend eternity here in this
god-forsaken temple or go to the watery grave of the lagoon with Hala. He loved Hala. He d always
loved Hala, along with all the Ronsards of the past. Noble Ronsards, that had followed wherever she
had led them, who now waited, sodden and united, at the bottom of the lagoon for him.
And if he didn t look at Hala s face, if he willed himself not look into her fiery eyes or hear her crazed
laughter& it wouldn t be such a bad way to die&
Creating A Barbarian Man
Steven L. Shrewsbury
"The ocean is of blood! See how it swims red
in the rising sun? Oh my people, my people,
the blood you have split in anger turns the
very seas to scarlet!"
Robert E. Howard, The Dark Man, 1931
Taloric ran naked down the sandy beach toward the frothy waters. Never once did he glance back at the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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