The Darkness of Matter

The Darkness of Matter: Chapter 9

Chapter 9 

Pale in the moonlight, the white hart led them through the jungle, stepping delicately through the undergrowth. Slightly larger than a qilin, it gleamed opalescent, fireflies dancing through its antlers. Sophie wondered where the white hart was leading them and whether they could trust it; and why it was called a hart when it looked a stag to her.  

Aidan chuckled at that. "It is a stag, Sophie. It's just a very rare color for a stag to be, so rare it's practically mythical. In Arthurian times, the sighting of one was enough to spur the entire court on a chase." 

"Oh." Sophie thought privately to herself that the courtiers of King Arthur's court seemed none too bright. 

The jungle melted away as they followed its track through the trees. A strange, meandering stroll it was, on a path that seemed to have little certainty or substance. Thickets of the densest creepers melted to pools of shimmering water; mountains rose and shrank in the distance; a marsh became a field of wheat black in the night, beyond which pasteboard knights tilted at the wind. An arched gate appeared in the middle of nowhere and stepping through, they found themselves in a charming country lane lined with hobbit-size homes, green light shimmering through the glass windows as little goblin families set out their dinners. Hollow music blew through the miniatures skulls dangling from the porches like so many wind chimes. Sophie shivered, pressing close to the others as they ducked below another arch, emerging through the opposite side of the lane into a thick, foggy murk that had Sophie gagging at the smell. 

"Nineteenth century London, I recognize the stink. I'll bet we're close to the Thames." Crenshaw held his coat, subtly transformed to a cloak, against his nose. An eerie green light showed wet cobblestones and the faint, faraway shape of a tall clock tower. "Things are upside down. This ought not be here, now." But the stag surged forth with a nervous flick of its tail, hooves ringing like bells on the stone, albeit and they had no choice to follow. 

Barely half a league away, the road petered out into a vast quagmire. Slick, oily pools of mud glistened beneath the moons, interspersed by islands of reeds. The air smelled of gas and things long dead. The stag shied away, pawing nervously at the ground as it slowly stepped out. 

"I mislike this place." The pilot glanced with distaste at their surroundings. "Hard to get it and harder to find our way out." 

Crenshaw did not answer. Overhead clouds gathered, blotting out the moons. Sophie thought she heard drums in the distance, a steady, ominous beating. Her head began to throb again, and she had to concentrate hard on the path. 

It was hard going, between the darkness and the smell. Sophie was soon drenched in sweat in the stagnant air. The whine of midges did nothing for her nerves. She hoped that were would be no mosquitoes at least as she stumbled after her companions. After Singapore, she had a horror of the tiny creatures, always lurking when you least expected it, ready to draw blood. 

Without warning the white stag screamed and collapsed into the mud, blood gushing from the vital artery in its neck. Something zinged overhead. More arrows followed, arcing into the ground around them as Aidan dragged Sophie to the ground. She watched in horror as the stag sank into the quagmire, eyes glazed in shock, black water rising over its pristine flanks. 

Aidan hissed, "Magician, do something!" 

Crenshaw did not answer. He brought his finger to his lips, eyes alert, as the rain of arrows ceased. Behind the rustling of the reeds came the light slapping sound of fins on mud, followed by a strange musky smell that sent Sophie scrambling instinctively backwards in animal panic. The red moon peeked out briefly and she caught a glimpse of something unnaturally long and reptilian moving her way through the reeds. She hugged the earth like a worm, squeezing her eyes shut against this new menace. For long moments she heard nothing but the sigh of the reeds. Daring to hope, she opened her eyes. It was a mistake.