Page 51 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

This teratism had reminded him of Black Annis when first it lunged at him in the monopteros at the Fulbourn.

Silas peered through the eyes of a creature that had once sought to tear him limb from limb, only to end up becoming his guide through the collapsing ruins of the Fulbourn’s horrid Sanctuary.

Last he’d seen of this teratism, it was, along with three other of its kin, being rounded up by Forneus in the asylum’s corridor like a farmer’s dog on the sheep.Wait for me. Be at rest,Silas had said then to the Blight-borne monstrosities.

But if they had waited, then this one was certainly not at rest.

Do you hear me?

Silas could still think well enough, even if it took some doing with the misery trying to sink him. Perhaps he could make himself heard?

Did you summon me? Where are we?

The countryside, that much was clear. Beyond the cottage’s bare remnants there were stretches of pasture and fields, until there, in the distance which made them small specks, lay a smattering of other houses. A village perhaps, set at the foot of a hill, wide and tall, with a decidedly flattened top.

The teratism showed no sign of hearing him. A broken growl left the creature, its fingernails hissing against the stone. Silas needed no words to understand the teratism was tormented. Uncertain too. Rocking on its feet as though both forwards and back were equally unappealing directions to travel.

Its gaze was wholly fixed on the hill, which meant Silas had no choice but to stare there too. What were they looking at? Several of the chimneys had curls of smoke rising from them. He might have caught a movement or two as the villagers went about their day. To the eye there was nothing untoward to be seen.

But to the mind… The intense sense of unhappiness was difficult to bear. The teratisms? Or something else?

Silas watched on with growing alarm. How the bloody hell did he separate himself? Return to the body which must be crumpled up beside the carriage like a corpse.

Pitch and Charlie and Sybilla would be frantic. The daemon would forget how to breathe, as he so often did.

Will you let me go? Do you hear me, I cannot be here.Silas tried to shout his thoughts, tried to move some small part of the wretched body he was held in.Damn it, enough.

The view of the hill came apart, splintering into shards, which twisted, turned, and blurred again with the same sickly yellow hue of earlier.

Silas was in a downfall. A plummeting that yawned beneath him like the blackness of the waters. The descent was, thankfully, brief. The broken pieces reassembled. And he was on his knees in the centre of a great cavern.

Grief bowed him over. The monster gnawing at his innards.

No.

Not his knees. Not his innards. He was still numb. Silas was still trapped.

But at least this was not his grief. He doubted any one creature could carry such a burden alone. Christ, it was monumental. Despair knitted with agony, and buttoned up with regret. A cardigan made for smothering all hope.

Little wonder the creature he inhabited now fell onto its hands. The fall was silent. As indeed was the entire cavern. The creature’s breath did not come as the other’s had done.

Knuckles bulging, fingers twisted, skin like pond scum. He was with another teratism.

Another of the four? Perhaps. But there was far less chance for consideration here than there had been with the other creature.

They were one among many that were gathering, Silas realised, glimpsing what he could through the teratism’s barely raised gaze. They were surrounded by other teratisms in all their grotesque glory, along with lost souls. Untold numbers of them. Far more than could possibly be natural.

But gathering for what? His teratism was steadfast in keeping his head down, but Silas needed to see.

Hadto see.

He pleaded, he shouted, he cursed the creature that would not obey him. And, as a very last resort, he whistled, pursed together lips he was not sure he even had, and tried to find a way through the silence. Sought to reach that note that had saved him at the Fulbourn.

The teratism’s head jerked up.

An altar sat at the far side of the crowded chamber, raised up on a high platform. The entire structure was a simple design of sandstone that was carved with all manner of shapes and designs. Letters perhaps? He did not know enough to recognise them if they were.

A flutter of darkness behind the altar drew his attention. And wherever Silas’s body might be, he was certain it shuddered now.