Northern Fiction - Going Underground
Wizard In Limbo
'Very impressive,' replied Anghelides sardonically. 'But I have been there many times; so many that I must have been getting sloppy in my habits. I forgot to cast the necessary protection spells and was attacked by a demon. I fought it for a long time with my will alone, but eventually it got the better of me, almost annihilating my soul. Then it took advantage of my unprotected state to burst through me into the material world.'
He glanced at them all in turn.
'And it's still here, somewhere.'
Eloise swallowed. She shook her head in bewilderment.
'But my grannie always said that demons only exist within, and can only appear in the material realm when they possess someone!'
Anghelides laughed condescendingly.
'I'm sure your grandmother is a knowledgeable lady in her own way, in her own field, but I am an Ipsissimus sorcerer of the Temple of Typhon, and have access to the only genuine copy of the Necronomicon. And I tell you that demons from the lowest circles of Tartarus have the ability to take physical form from the very ether that surrounds them. It was such a demon that attacked me on the astral plane. It left my physical husk lifeless, while my spirit struggled to renew itself. Luckily, I had been aware of such a possibility for some time, and had included a clause in my will to the effect that my corpse must be kept in an open coffin for a week after my demise. But now I have returned to life; now I can defeat the demon.'
There was a clatter from upstairs, and Hamish went to investigate.
'How will you do that?' Eloise asked. Anghelides leered at her. Suddenly, he lunged forward and grabbed her.
'Eloise!' shouted Nick, and threw himself at the black magician. But Anghelides was incredibly strong, as Eloise had already discovered, and he sent Nick flying across the hall, to collide with the wall and slide down it in a daze. Hamish, at the foot of the stairs, swung round to see Angelides dragging the struggling Eloise towards the steps to the basement.
'Leave her alone!' Hamish commanded. Anghelides gave him a slitted glance.
'I'm afraid we have no time to discuss this,' he said quickly. 'Very soon we will all be dealing with my mistake _ I by magic, your lovely friend here in a more passive role _ and yourself...'
He stopped short as something dark, black and slimy hurtled down the stairs and bowled Hamish over. As the skinhead turned to get to grips with his loathsome, enigmatic assailant, Anghelides tightened his hold on Eloise and dragged her kicking and screaming down the steps.
Hamish struggled in the grip of something black, vast and putrid_smelling. In the dark of the hall he could only make out a shiny black head, somehow resembling that of a pig; surrounding it was an ever_changing mass of stinging flesh that strove constantly to absorb him. He lashed out with his sword, and felt brief gratification at the sight of thick black ichor oozing from the resulting wound. But then a black tentacle lashed down like a flail, leaving a singed hole on his T_shirt, and a glistening expanse of flayed skin beneath. Hamish gritted his teeth, feeling faint. But he manfully willed himself on, thrusting his blade again and again into the dark, flabby shape.
Eloise lay on the altar in Anghelides' temple. The sorcerer was on the far side of the room, making some kind of preparations. He'd dragged her in here, carried her over the lightbeam, then strapped her down on the altar; she'd been fighting all the way, of course, but resistance _ as they said on Star Trek _ was futile. Anghelides was impossibly strong.
He crossed over to the altar, a wavy_bladed dagger in his right hand. Eloise struggled against her bonds, but they seemed like iron.
'What are you going to do?' she demanded, glaring up at the sorcerer.
'Surely one so well versed in the dark arts has no need to ask that question?' he laughed.
'I'm a White Witch,' Eloise replied proudly, 'not a black magician. What do you intend to do, sacrifice me? Why?'
'To defeat the demon your loutish friend is bravely combating, I shall need a stronger but more reliable demon. To raise such a one requires a sacrifice of a higher order than the usual chicken or goat. It is your privilege, my dear, to fulfil that role...'
He raised the knife. Eloise's eyes widened.
The dark form had Hamish pinned to the ground, one tentacle wrapped round his throat, another lashing repeatedly and painfully at his bare flesh. He had dropped his sword as it bore him to the ground, and the weapon lay out of reach of his vainly grasping hand. A tide of black, flabby flesh rose up his chin, making for his nose. As it slithered over his mouth, he opened his jaw. The flesh poured in and he bit down savagely. The stuff tasted like burnt rubber, and it squirmed horribly as he clamped his teeth down, but he refused to let go. With an inhuman howl of agony, the thing tore itself away, and slithered towards the steps.
The Scot staggered to his feet, grabbed the sword from where it lay close by, then shook his muzzy head. He stared after the rapidly disappearing creature.
'Ya won't get away that easily!' he shouted, and flung himself down the steps after the demon.
He caught up with the flowing mass on the landing. It turned at bay, raising itself up like a vast black wave... And Hamish struck.
During the battle, he had seen that the only part of the demon to be unaffected by its constant shape shifting was the black, porcine head. It was at this that he thrust his sword, rather than at the ever changing, constantly healing, bloated mass surrounding it. The blade ripped into the fragile flesh, and the head burst like a spit_bubble, spattering Hamish with sizzling, white_hot ichor. He fell back, brushing desperately at himself. Luckily, only a small amount had reached his already tender skin. He stood silent, gasping for breath.
Beneath him, the creature's flabby body deliquesced and liquefied, rapidly collapsing into a pool of foul smelling, smoking liquid. Hamish spat at it, then turned to glance back up the steps to the hall.
'Eloise?' he called. 'Nick?' He listened.
A shriek rang out from below him; his own name. It was Eloise. Hamish raised his sword, turned, and dashed downstairs.
A few seconds later, Nick, who had been lying stunned in a dark corner, got to his feet. He glanced around curiously.
'Hamish?' he called. 'Where are you?'
No reply. For a while, Nick hovered uncertainly in the hall. Then he approached the steps and headed for the first floor.
Hamish rushed down the passage and skidded to a halt outside the door to the temple. Without stopping to consider his position, he booted the door down and burst into the room.
He caught a confused impression of the sorcerer standing threateningly over Eloise, who was bound to the altar. Raising his sword high, Hamish charged in, his blood aflame with the same berserk spirit that had inspired his wild Celtic ancestors to charge naked at the armoured might of Rome; to brave Redcoat musket_fire with no more than a claymore and targe; to march in serried ranks towards German machine gun emplacements.
Anghelides swung round, dropping his sacrificial dagger in shock as the maddened Scottish skinhead smashed his way into the temple. His eyes narrowed. Then he grabbed his staff from where he'd leant it against the altar, and flung it at Hamish.
The Scot stopped dead in his tracks as the staff collided with him... and wrapped its scaly, hissing folds around him. He found himself glaring directly into the eyes of an Indian cobra. Tearing it from him, he attempted to hack it in two with his sword. It swayed out of his way and struck.
He dodged the attack by a millisecond.
From the altar, Eloise looked on in horror as her erstwhile rescuer struggled with the snake. She glanced at Anghelides, hearing him laugh quietly to himself, and saw him look in her direction. He leant down to pick up the fallen dagger.
An almost involuntary burst of will shot through Eloise's mind, directed at the dagger. Before Anghelides could grab at it, it shot up from the floor, circled twice around the occultist's bewildered face, then plunged straight into his neck. He staggered backwards towards the centre of the room.
Beside the doors, Hamish had just sliced the serpent in half. As he did so, the two halves fell to the ground, and he stared in amazement at the two pieces of Anghelides' staff. At the same time, the magician's blood_spouting form stumbled through the lightbeam and collapsed against a guttering brazier. As the strident wails of the burglar alarm rang out throughout the house, the nearby wall hangings went up in flames.
'Fuck,' muttered Hamish.
From the altar, Eloise cried out. 'Hamish, help me get free!' She was still struggling vainly against her bonds. Around her, the contents of the room were rapidly catching light. Hamish ran through the surrounding flames to her side. He took one glance at the straps, and then began to cut through them with his swordblade.
'What did you do to the bastard?' he grunted as he freed Eloise.
'I made his dagger stab him in the neck,' she shouted over the howl of the alarm. 'I'm not hanging around on an altar and waiting for some big brute with a sword to rescue me.'
Hamish cut away the last restraining strap, and grinned.
'Och, aren't you?' he laughed, lazily ogling her prone body. For a second, Eloise had warmed towards her rescuer, but at this she shivered with revulsion.
She got up quickly, and glowered at him.
'Come on,' Hamish urged blithely. 'We'd better be getting out.' He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the window. She broke free, and turned towards the raging inferno in the centre of the room.
'Where's Nick?' she shouted.
'Fuck him,' Hamish replied savagely. 'He can look after himself. Any minute now the polis will be down here. We gotta be going.'
He grabbed her round the waist and hoisted her through the window.
Outside, Eloise staggered round and stared up at the blazing house.
'Come on,' Hamish gasped. He was holding his wounded torso, gritting his teeth against the pain of the weal_marks. 'Come on; he's not coming. We've got to get away before the polis come!'
He grabbed her hand again, and they disappeared into the trees.
By the time they reached the edge of the woods near the car, the police had already arrived, and with them, the fire brigade. The two fugitives could hear sirens in the distance, and flashing blue lights occasionally lit up the trees with a ghostly glow. They flung themselves into a hollow, and lay in cover, waiting for a chance to get to the car.
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