Chapter X

"Searching for Home"

The demi-human workman groaned wearily as he heaved a large block of granite aside. It paused briefly to catch its breath, its lungs screaming for air from the endless hours of manual labor. The guard that watched over the work detail, however, upon seeing one of the slaves at rest, delivered a sharp blow to the demi-human's back with the wooden stock of his rifle. The humanoid creature howled in pain and quickly whirled about, fangs bared in a sinister, vengeful rictus, and a low growl rumbling from the rear of its throat. It lunged at its assailant in an ill-advised fit of rage, the razor sharp claws aimed at the guard's exposed jugular.

The Porre soldier quickly raised his weapon squeezed the trigger on his firearm. A jet of smoke and flame effused from the iron barrel of the rifle and the musket ball struck the demi-human in the chest with a wet, muffled thud, causing a thin mist of blood to spray from the wound.

The being was thrown aside in mid-air by the force of the impact and crumpled to the floor, dying. The lids of its eyes slowly began to close and its tongue protruded limply and grotesquely from the side of its mouth. The short, wheezing gasps, characterized by a punctured lung gradually started to subside and soon the wretched laborer lay silent and still.

Doctor Whally and a small cordon of troops rushed to the chamber upon hearing the shot and promptly stopped alongside the demi-human corpse. He unholstered the revolver that hung at his side and turned to the guard who had shot the worker, glowering in displeasure.

"Just what the devil do you think you're doing?" he roared. "We have a limited supply of laborers, you idiot!" Whally raised butt of his pistol and dispensed a vicious blow to the soldier's face. The man reeled back and stumbled to the ground with a crash, bleeding profusely from a gash on his cheek.

The Doctor shoved the gun back into his belt, scowled and stormed out of the ruined cathedral toward his tent.

The portly officer that leaned over the table slowly folded his arms and rocked back and forth on booted heels. Narrow, shifty eyes jumped across the pages of the journal that lay open before him. Fat, bloated lips curled into a monstrous grin, misshapen and stained teeth exposed like a row of crooked gravestones upon the red, inflamed soil that were his gums. A shrill cackle rose from the depths of his belly and his hideous mass, ill-contained by the already generous cut of fabric that made up his uniform, quivered repulsively.

"Oh, wonderful," Doctor Whally exclaimed nastily as he pushed his way into the canvas pavilion that served as his quarters, "you're here. What do you want, Jugle? I'm in no mood for idle chit-chat, if you must know. I have a bloody puzzle to solve and I dare say I'm sure you probably have something to devour."

The smile on Major Jugle's face evaporated and he puckered his brow in anger. He raised a chubby hand to protest, but ceased when he remembered that Whally was in charge of the expedition and he was only an army liaison sent by High Command to serve the bespectacled bookworm with the acid tongue. Jugle adjusted the cravat that encircled his thick neck and regained his composure.

"Doctor, a letter has just arrived from Porre requesting your immediate presence on the El Nido Archipelago," Jugle reported. "You'll have to leave the dig site at once."

"Well it's about damned time," Whally mumbled. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the table. "I take it you'll be accompanying me?"

"Yes, Doctor." Jugle turned back to the journal, partly because it interested him to some degree and partly because he was still beside himself with anger at the audacity of the little man that currently shared his space. He ran a thick finger across the creamy parchment and exhaled softly, caressing the pages of the tome with a sensuality usually reserved for one of the many late night "companions" that he frequently indulged in.

"You'll be seeing many interesting things, Major," Whally said in a tone that, though softened, nevertheless failed to hide the contempt he had for the army officer. "Count yourself lucky that you'll be there to witness a discovery that will alter the way we live, think, fight and work forever."

"The City of Time," Jugle breathed as his fingers danced along the tips and edges of the paper. "Able to alter the course of history, undo the wrongs of the past and change the future."

Whally looked at the Major briefly and scoffed, "You're not a complete idiot afterall."

"If there is anything I understand completely it is power," Jugle retorted as he scanned the neatly inked contents of the leather encased volume. "In this day and age loyalties are bought and sold like common goods in a market. With a currency as—intoxicating—as power, it is difficult to determine where a person's true devotions lie. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

Whally strode toward the table and slammed the journal shut with a bang. He snatched the book off the wooden surface and hastily stuffed it into his coat pocket.

"I think you had better leave, Major," Whally said evenly, "before you compromise yourself more than you already have."

Jugle shrugged and quietly stepped out of the tent and into the blazing afternoon sun.

* * * *

The flame from the candle flickered spasmodically as Doctor Whally stooped over the desk, his eyes carefully perusing the characters scrawled across the pages of the book. He mouthed the words softly and deliberately as the pen in his right hand began to scratch on clean parchment, neat curlicues of ink gracefully winding along the velvety surface. The brass rimmed pince nez that perched precariously upon his equine nose magnified the pair of grey irises behind the glass and gave Whally an almost comical countenance, a stark contrast to the cynical, acidic individual he was in reality.

The night wind outside began to howl and the canvas flaps of the tent beat furiously upon the sides of the pavilion. The small tongue of orange and yellow began to shift about uneasily on its waxen pedestal and the stack of papers that sat on the rough work surface leapt from the table, scattering across the interior of the quarters and provoking a cry of anger from Whally.

He shuffled about the tent, grabbing stray sheets of parchment and cursing to himself with each and every piece he seized. Once he had retrieved the remnants of his work he turned around, quill in hand and eager to return to his station, but fell short of advancing further than a step. Whally let out an audible gasp of shock and the pages in his grip tumbled to the dirt floor with a soft rustle followed by the black feather pen.

The tall hooded figure that stood mutely behind the desk was motionless and only the voluminous fabric of its mantle swayed in the slight breeze that entered the sparse living space. Its hands were drawn together and hidden within the folds of the black cloak that enveloped the being while a heavy cowl enshrouded the head of the enigmatic visitor. A soft hiss like that of escaping steam from an engine drifted out from the shadowy hole where a face should have been.

"W…who are you?" Whally stammered. "What do you want?"

A deafening silence ensued, punctuated only by the constant howling of the wind.

"Tell me damn you!"

The figure levitated a few inches off the ground and hovered impassively in the air like a life-sized marionette. Slowly and without a sound it advanced toward Whally, its arms still clasped together tightly within the long sleeves of the wrap. Writhing pools of darkness formed beneath the stranger's feet and began spreading out across the ground in great, murky globules that seemed to shimmer in the dim illumination.

Whally gave another quick gasp and tried to move, but he was unable to shift from his spot. In his paralyzed state he observed in dread as the sinister visitor drifted closer while the black, almost shadow-like substance that emerged from the ground in vast gouts started to take on the form of large, wispy cats that swayed side-to-side in a haunting and unearthly rhythm. Twelve pairs of ochre eyes watched him in silence as he remained rooted to the spot, waiting in sheer terror as the wraith before him edged nearer.

The specter stopped a foot away from Whally and gradually descended from its position in midair. A hand retracted from the folds of the black cloth and moved to caress Whally's face. Long, wan fingers with pointed nails yellowed with age brushed against the ashen cheeks of the Porre scientist, eliciting an involuntary shudder of revulsion. The tufts of fur that once covered the hand of the visitor were all but gone, though a few stray clumps remained, and the bare patches of sallow skin that showed through were frail and horrifically pallid in appearance.

"I want to go home," the figure said in a raspy, hollow voice that was tinged with the sharp odor of death and decay.

"I can't help you there," Whally replied weakly. "Having said that, you must go now and leave me alone!"

A hoarse sound like laughter emerged from the confines of the hood followed by another pungent whiff of putrefying flesh. Whally twisted his head away and shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to look at the wraith. He felt fingers wind around his neck and jagged nails bite into his skin.

"I want to go home, Doctor," the figure said, "and you will help me get there."

"No, I cannot!"

"What you seek is what I seek. I want to go home. Take me home."

Whally opened his eyes, looked straight at his captor and screamed in horror at what he saw.

The cowl that covered the head of the wraith was gone. The visage that leered back at him was almost nothing more than a skull of a feline demi-human. Half of the creature's face had rotted away and only a single red eyeball protruded from the left socket. Dried skin stretched across what were once cheeks and bits of desiccated flesh hung limply from the wraith's muzzle. Remnants of ears obtruded from bone, no longer of any use, but there to serve as a grotesque reminder of what the thing had been when it was alive.

"Home. Take me home," the figure rasped, "City of Time. Home."

Whally let out one final bellow before he fainted and collapsed to the ground, alone in an empty tent with only the sound of the night wind blowing outside.