[Original Novel] The Black Pool, Part 10

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While packing up blankets the next morning, I noticed Horatio was developing a limp. He wrestled free when I tried to examine the affected leg. There was also mild discoloration around his eyes. An illness? Can these things become ill?

I set aside my concern, reasoning that Eel mouth would know what to do, and crawled atop my mount. It huffed, the resulting stink cloud searing my nostrils. Once at the rim I took flight, scanning the horizon for any sign of the beacon I left behind to guide me.

Nothing. No telling where, in this seemingly endless expanse, I’d been deposited. I felt despair creeping up on me again, so I squashed it. “I’ll find that beacon” I told myself in a shaky voice. It’s all but certain. If not at the edge of the next pillar, then the one after that.

Of course it wasn’t. The hours rolled by, many times I had to land so my mount could rest and eat some of the dried meat from my satchel. Whenever I checked on Horatio I found him still rolled up in a ball, unresponsive to touch. He wouldn’t even take the floater I offered.

Must’ve gotten less sleep last night than I assumed. I told him about sleep deprivation, about how lousy I always felt even before any of this happened to me. About how I could feel my body slowly falling apart from it. Of course he didn’t react.

As I threw one leg over my mount, I made sure Horatio was swaddled up snug as could be in the satchel and that the strap was secure. Then I made my way to the edge of the pillar and took flight. As ever, I came across no region of this place which looked distinct from any other.

I asked myself more than once how I meant to find the beacon. Not sincerely, but as a sort of self flagellation. What was I thinking? How did I ever imagine it would be enough to find my way back? So focused on berating myself that I didn’t notice the looming shadow ahead of me until it was practically on top of me.

I banked right in order to give it a wide berth, recalling what happened the last time I got too close to one of these things. Only for it to change course...seemingly in my direction. I changed my heading again, and the shadowy mass followed suit.

I didn’t panic though. Not even when it began to gain on me. Passing interest, I hoped. Once or twice I tried merging with a flock of winged bugs for a while, then departing from it. But it did nothing to distract my pursuer.

No, I didn’t panic until it started firing upon me. As in, bullets. I couldn’t believe it at first, startled by the muffled, distant series of pops until a bullet struck my mount in the left wing. It faltered slightly, jostling me about.

I still didn’t fully understand what was happening until the immense silhouette bearing down on me finally got close enough that I could see it properly. An airship as expected, but artificial. The gas bag covered in a whisper thin, intricate sheath of black lace.

Below the crew cabin hung a sprawling net of the sort you might trawl for sea life with, instead brimming with entangled winged insects, all of them struggling fruitlessly to free themselves. The design appeared utilitarian in some respects but darkly, delicately beautiful in others.

Ornate patterns in the lace radiated outwards from the nose of the gas bag. Probably continued along the sides as well, though I couldn’t see from this angle. All I could see over my shoulder was the bulbous, menacing business end of this bizarre vessel and occasional muzzle flashes from turrets mounted to it.

I descended and abruptly slowed, hoping its considerable mass would prevent them from slowing down as quickly. It worked. I glimpsed the astonished, furious faces of several crewmen manning the antiquated looking machinegun turrets as they rushed past.

All of them ghastly pale, gaunt, and clothed in familiar black military uniforms. Shit! Shit, shit. I continued shouting obscenities, though the howl of wind whipping past drowned it all out. They must have spotted me leaving the other day.

Either that, or I just had the incalculable misfortune of catching their notice during my exploratory flights. Another spurt of machinegun fire, this time with better aim, shredded my mount’s right wingtip. The beast’s convulsions suggested it was also hit in the body someplace.

I began losing altitude, so I yanked the bristles behind its eyes upward...but to no avail. The next hail of bullets struck me as well, in the shoulder and thigh. I cried out in agony but held tight as my mount spiraled downwards in search of someplace to land.

My thigh and shoulder burned. I grit my teeth and struggled to focus on regaining control. What looked like a cloud layer below grew larger and larger until it enveloped me. For the next minute or so I couldn’t so much as see my own mount.

The color shifted rapidly from white to yellow as we plummeted through it. The stench of sulfur stung my nose, stronger and stronger with each passing second. However I yanked at the bristles, the damned creature wouldn’t respond.

The reason why became clear once we burst through the underside of the cloud layer. The wings weren’t even beating anymore. That’s when it began to tumble end over end. I held on for dear life, pinning the satchel between the bug’s carapace and my stomach.

As the world spun around me, I caught sight of jagged brown mountains, barren plains and a winding river. No trace of green anywhere, nor anything else which looked like it might make for a soft landing.

I’d have to settle for a wet landing I decided, and fought with the unresponsive creature in the hopes of guiding our descent towards the river. The best I could do was to let go of it the moment we were directly overhead.

Wind roared around me, louder than ever, as I dropped like a rock. I wanted to spread out so as to slow down somewhat, but I also meant to clutch the satchel close to my body. I couldn’t do both. The impact was abrupt and jarring, knocking the wind out of me.

Of course my first instinct was to suck air back in. I got water instead, or something like it. I couldn’t smell what it was until I broke the surface, thrashing and coughing. I held the satchel above my head as I waded, still hacking up the vile soupy fluid, to the nearest shore. Once there, I set the satchel down before pulling myself onto land.

I then collapsed in a violent coughing fit until I vomited, splattering the shore with the contents of my stomach. Stomachs, maybe. Only then could I pick myself up and check my body for injuries. The bullet wounds burned even worse now, whatever’s in the water irritating them something fierce.

Then I checked on Horatio. Peeling back the soaked flap of the satchel, I found him wriggling weakly, discoloration no longer confined to his eyes but instead covering most of his body. I didn’t imagine the dip we took just now was helpful.

Still, at least he hadn’t drowned. I thought to massage some secretions from him with which to heal my wounds, but realized that would leave the bullets lodged inside. Instead, I spent a few minutes trying to dig them out with my bone knife before blinding pain forced me to stop.

Fuck. I threw down the knife and pounded the muddy shore. FUCK! It was the first time I cried since the village. I thought I had a handle on this fucking place. Thought I’d seen everything in its bag of tricks. But there’s always more.

Forlorn, I scanned the landscape around me, finding nothing remotely encouraging. The soil beyond the shores of the river quickly transitioned from moistened mud to what I expect it must look like when dried.

It was cracked everywhere, fractures wide enough to fit a finger into spider-webbing across the desolate plain for as far as I could make out. Just dry, cracked clay forever in all directions, save for the banks of the river I’d fallen into.

When I noticed that none of the mountains had visible tops, all of them protruding up through the cloud layer, I realized I must actually be looking at the bases of various pillars. With no other indication of which direction to go, I headed for the nearest mountain.

I continued weeping on the way, but crucially, I also continued walking. I didn’t come this far just to lay down and die. It was a crushing setback though. I really thought I was close. Thought I knew what to expect from this place.

It never occurred to me that there could be essentially an entire other world down here. Ever since the village, I assumed I knew everything about this realm, or at least everything I would ever need to. How could I have known that beneath Hell, there’s another Hell?

Isn’t that just the way? Every time I think I’ve fallen as far as anybody possibly can, the ground gives out under me. The air, noticeably denser down here, stank unbearably of sulfur. The sky was piss yellow and permanently overcast, with no gaps through which to get my bearings relative to the world above.

I recognized it as the same thick yellow vapor from the spawning pit. It must be heavier than the white mist, collecting down here below it. But then, how do they float? How do those gas bag creatures float, if this is what’s inside them?

Of course it wasn’t important and I knew I would probably never find out, but it did wonders to distract me from the lingering pain of my wounds. The one in my thigh in particular, which pulsated agonizingly with every step. There was no keeping my weight off it either, on account of the satchel.

I couldn’t limp properly. I could do a hurried sort of hobble, but that hurt even worse than walking normally. I could feel my face contort every time I put my foot down and shifted my body onto it. If only it would go numb! Of course it refused to. If anything, it only hurt worse as the hours dragged on.

“At least I’m not alone” I mumbled, gazing down at the little bundle in my arms. Horatio gurgled, then slowly rolled up into a ball again. Wish I could do that. Then again, that’s kind of what I was doing before I wound up down here.

To think there was a time when I craved solitude. Back when I thought I was better than all those so-called mutants I lived in the midst of. They’d undoubtedly recoil in fear and disgust if they were to see me like this.

For the entire time that I was confined to the sunlit pool by my own ignorance, before I discovered the nature of the black fog, all I could do was feel sorry for myself. I can’t pinpoint when the reversal occurred, but now I felt pity only for the poor, decent people whose happiness I diminished.

It hurt to dwell on. More so than the bullet wounds, to the point where I couldn’t bear it and sought some alternate means of distraction. For a while I counted my steps. Then I sang to Horatio, though it was really to myself.

The cracked, dismal terrain stretched out seemingly forever ahead of me. I must be closer to the mountain than I was before, but there was no visible indication of it. Onward I trudged, nevertheless, for lack of any other option except to lay down and die.

Maybe that’s my way out of here, I thought. This long, grinding misery could finally come to an end. It wouldn’t be so bad if I’d stuck by the black pool, I’m certain of it. If I’d just let them finish turning me into a mindless beast...

I’m only suffering so much because I’m still conscious. Still intelligent enough to reflect on what life was before this happened. If I just let them finish stripping away my humanity, this pain would’ve vanished along with it.

It’s only Hell until you give in and become a demon. Then it’s simply home. Whatever you cannot overcome, you must either adapt to or be destroyed by. To refuse to adapt to new surroundings is to declare war on them. To invite, and deserve, the suffering which results.

At least that’s how it seemed to me as I plodded through the desolate brown expanse, cursing my own stubborn nature with every step. “It only hurts until you adapt” I repeated to myself. Land is Hell to a fish. The deep sea is Hell to humans. But not because either are designed for the purpose of torment.

The abomination of desolation. That phrase kept repeating in my mind. Where have I heard that before? One of my old roommates I think. That’s what this place is. Nothing captures it as well. The abomination of desolation. The abomination of desolation. The abomination...

The wind picked up. Gentle when I arrived, now buffeting my body and bearing along clusters of dried mud flakes through the air. More than once, a flake wound up in my mouth, turning back to mud before I could spit it out.

Still others frequently blew into my eyes. The gale grew more and more violent, mud flakes whipping past with increasing density until I realized a storm was upon me.

Nothing to do but press on and endure it. Even when it toppled me, what could I do except pull myself to my feet and forge ahead? When the silhouette of a jagged outcrop drew near, I almost didn’t believe my eyes.

Wouldn’t have been much comfort before the storm. Up close, the formation turned out to be made of obsidian or some similarly brittle black mineral. The larger dagger shaped protrusion branched out all along its surface into smaller, pointed shards.

Any shelter in a storm. I nestled in as tightly as I could without slicing myself on it, holding the satchel close. In the process I bumped something behind me. When I turned to look, it was human remains.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 11!}