The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (28 page)

Travers stunned Deacon as he whispered, “Let me die here.”

“No. Listen to me, Travers. We must save ourselves.” He was speaking convincingly to Travers but inwardly beginning to doubt his own words. It was apparent that Travers was under a spell of some sort, for he appeared to gaze past Deacon to the mount. If Deacon left him, the Nicosians would surely have him for supper, so he once again grabbed Travers’s arm, this time in an armlock, and led him on.

They reached the plains, where the Nicosians were chanting themselves into a frenzy, all directed toward the mount. The chant was not synchronized, and it had no decipherable words. The thought of wall-to-wall Nicosians crowding their every move, and the thought of breathing their expelled breath, repulsed him, but it had to be done. Already the stench permeated his body. Deacon’s mind played havoc, for in his excited state he was bombarded with extraneous thoughts from all directions, none of them intelligible.

He halted to catch his breath, daring not to turn, deciding to make their path toward the outside of the multitudes. Deacon cast a look at Travers to make sure that he was camouflaged in the gown.

Suddenly the crowd roared. Deacon slowly turned to see beings on the ledge above that they had vacated, visible only as moving spots, igniting the torches. The crowd roared as the ledge came ablaze in resplendent colors with a fluorescent backdrop. The ledge was transformed into an inferno of brilliant gold. The natives were delirious with rapture. Was this the hell Travers spoke of?

Deacon was mesmerized at the site he beheld. A figure emerged on the mount, standing hundreds of feet above them and hundreds of feet distant. Even at this distance his features were noticeable. A large black robe graced his figure, clinging to the tall form. The head was deep-set in a pointed hood that allowed no facial features to be seen. Deacon was tempted to use the televiewer, but he knew he needed to remain disciplined.

The devil

The figure commenced his ritual. He slowly raised his arms from over his eyes to spread them outright horizontally, the robe hanging from his limbs, just as the Nicosian crowd did. A deathly silence hypnotized the crowd, and a hush fell. Deacon dared to look amid the Nicosians. What he witnessed made him tremble. Every single one was in a trance. A gurgling sound rose from the pits of their bodies as they held their hands clasped as in prayer, all their heads upright, their eyes glued to the ledge where the image stood. This they performed in unison, as if all of them were paralyzed.

Deacon noticed that the ritual had engulfed Travers. He turned his head upright from deep underneath his hood and looked directly at the beast. He made eye-to-eye contact only for a fleeting second, but he quivered when two hot, burning coals from inside that hood penetrated his very soul. His neck twitched; his heart fluttered.
Did
I
give
myself
away?
Cowardice surfaced in him while his mind screamed at him to run. He was stricken with horror; feelings of remorse filled his body cavity.

He looked away, turning to Travers to catch his attention, but Travers was in such a deep trance that even Deacon’s violent shaking of Travers’s shoulders couldn’t break the spell. When Travers finally glanced at him, there was no recognition in his eyes. Deacon realized the gravity of the situation. The being up there, whoever he was, whatever it was, held supreme power by holding all the creatures, including Travers, in his spell. He was in complete control of this mob by using the energy from his mind to seize all the Nicosians, penetrating them, gripping them, paralyzing them using his mental commands.

A headache started to split Deacon’s skull, culminating with the throbbing of the word
Urzel
. He felt the power of the word overcome him; suddenly his mind was bursting as he resisted.
Change
your
mood!
he screamed to himself.
Change
your
mood
and
resist
the
force.
He did so as he comforted himself by thinking of Lyanna, temporarily relieving himself of the anguish and pain.

Up on the ledge, the figure flapped his arms up and down as if to fly and vault over the crowd. The Nicosian hostage had imitated this move before. Now the populace commenced, as if on cue, to chant, “Urrr… zel, Urrr… zel, Urrrr… zel.”

Louder it grew until it resonated with ear-splitting thunder in the bowl, deafening reverberations bouncing off every outcrop. The crowd was becoming increasingly whipped into an uncontrollable furor, so Deacon felt the need for Travers and him to flee. But Travers remained held in the spell, shouting in unison with the others, “Urrr… zel! Urr… zel!” It felt to Deacon like a supernatural intervention. As he turned to the mount, the arms of the beast inexplicably dropped, as did the arms of all the Nicosians. The creature paced the ledge. And then, for the first time, it spoke.

The voice was mesmerizing, deep, and mighty. The beast enunciated each syllable in pulsating tones, reciting words foreign to Deacon but familiar to the crowd—or so he judged by their raging reaction. There was obviously an amplification system projecting this fearful message. The creature raced along the edge of the cliff, searching, probing, examining the mob, chanting in a garrulous dialect. Deacon trembled. First he had fought off the control of Urzel. Now he decided to take a deep breath and face the devil.

The burning red eyes suddenly seemed to focus right on the very spot where he stood. He felt as if tens of thousands of Nicosians now looked right to the very place where he and Travers were located, as if Travers had guided the gaze of Urzel to them, but Deacon stood his ground, frozen, staring back, not daring to blink, keeping under his hood. Their eyes met. Such a stab of despair he had never experienced before overcame him. He felt as though two scorching lances had impaled him. He struggled to keep his mind blank. Crouching now behind a taller Nicosian, he took a deep breath and peeked to continue his vigil as the monster maintained his glare, right at their post.

Deacon looked to his side, and his heart sank. Urzel had probably singled their location out because Travers had disrobed, exposing his white Aralian fur for all to behold, including this devil on the pulpit. Deacon’s attention was twisted back to the mount as he heard words translated that he understood—the baneful cry of “Infidel! Traitor!”

Then the creature disappeared. Deacon expected the demon to materialize any moment beside him. Goosebumps covered his body; sweat drenched his robe. He dared not signal Gem. He replaced the robe over Travers and bound it tight around his waist. He then grabbed Travers’s arm and led him out of the tumult, guiding him through the crowd, not daring to turn back. The Nicosians were still held hypnotized by Urzel, so exposure became a secondary priority for Deacon. But for how long?

Onward they struggled, bumping into many savages and inhaling the thick stench. Behind them the mob fell silent. Shivers slapped behind Deacon’s ears, crept down his spine. The chant of “Urrr… zel!” rose from out of a disgusting gurgle, again filling the dell.

Suddenly Travers collapsed as he said, “Urrr… zel!” Deacon dragged him behind a group of jumping savages, where he hoped to gain a moment’s rest. As he looked to the mount, the scene was furious; creatures pointed at them. They had to run for their lives. There was no doubt that they were about to be pursued. Now that they had been fingered, he summoned Jim and Gem with no answer, so he tried again and again.

Confrontation

Travers’s resistance to Deacon’s pulling grew, signifying the strong spell that Urzel had on him. Now the problem for Deacon was to exit into a hiding spot that was away from the frenzied mob. He turned for one final look before he and Travers ran, and he saw that the mount was ablaze. Urzel looked like the devil presiding over hell, laughing, feeding on the crowd’s worship, feeding the fires with his flapping, and defying any God to challenge him, the inferno on the mount growing higher and higher. Travers was still yelling, “Urrr… zel!”

It was hopeless. Deacon forced his stun gun into Travers’s stomach, fired, and then lugged him over his shoulder and plowed onward. If he left him behind for a future rescue, he would never see him again.

The weight of the Aralian was a huge burden. As the masses responded with more ear-splitting shouts, he dropped Travers. It was useless. He was too heavy. Deacon utilized his last remaining strength to grab Travers by the wrists and drag him behind a large boulder. This place was not safe, but he needed to catch his breath. He strained his eyes to the heavens for any sign of the
Heritage
. No Gem. No Quobit. No Jim. No luck.

In the cliff behind him, there seemed to be a black spot, perhaps an opening to a cave. He left Travers to scamper up the slope, cutting his hand in the process while grabbing a jagged edge of rock to propel him up. Inside he found a warm and deserted cave. Down he went, only to discover Travers on his feet, wandering sluggishly back into the throngs of thousands. Deacon’s weary body tackled him from behind, scraping the scab on his sore neck in the process. Once again he stunned the Aralian; he then grasped his wrists and, with infrequent bursts of energy, lugged him up the slope and into the cave, where he collapsed. Deacon stood guard there, only to reluctantly fall into a deep slumber, not one ounce of energy left.

His dreams were disturbing, as the demon Urzel invaded the cave to taunt him and physically torture him with invasions into his mind. Eventually he was interrupted by the sound of talus chips falling from above, some of which landed in his lap. He did not know how long he had slept. This was no time for heroism. He set his laser gun to kill and then dragged Travers deep into the cave with one hand firmly on the trigger. Then he positioned himself with a full view of the entrance, aimed, and waited for the intruder.

More talus fell at the mouth of the cave, and then an eerie stillness followed for minutes. Faint footsteps grew nearer, nearer, closer; then they stopped. It was deathly silent, as even the rowdiness of the savages had subsided. Deacon was drenched in sweat from his emotional trauma, but with his senses still active, he moved furtively to where he could get the best view of the mouth of the cave.
How
strange,
he thought,
a
man
detesting
violence,
light-years
from
Moonbeam,
about
to
kill
an
unsuspecting
victim
and
stranger
as
the
first
murder
victim
in
his
life.

A being entered, still in the shadows, and slowly lumbered along until Deacon suddenly recognized the gait. “Deacon?” the being said.

Deacon sighed in relief and then ran to give Quobit a hug that he couldn’t find a reason to break. “Never have I been so deliriously happy to see a Jabu engineer.”

Quobit smiled. “Gem and I followed your heartbeat here. We have been monitoring your whereabouts for hours. Only now could we circle around the Nicosian rituals to intercept you.”

“Where have you been?” Deacon said, venting some controlled anger.

Gem appeared and proceeded to inform him. “Our native prisoner escaped. When the ship landed, it ran toward the craft, so to protect the mission we followed it, caught it, and had to kill it, for it made such a clamor that it jeopardized our safety. However, other Nicosians heard its scream, so Quobit and I had to hide in the rocks, not only from Nicosians but also from the intruders as they approached. We heard your page but could not respond. We waited until the path was clear to come back to the campsite, but by that time you and Travers had departed. I could not locate your trail immediately, Master, but with the heartbeat scanner we realized that you had escaped onto the plains. Quobit and I took to higher ground and followed a circuitous route to avoid the savages and follow your trajectory.”

Deacon was excited. “Did you see it? The thing? Did you capture its speech, the ceremony, and the rituals?”

“Yes, Master, I filmed the entire process. The creature and its party are now known to us.”

Quobit said, “I was terrified as I watched. I almost regretted coming on this venture. We must escape, Deacon, before the disciples of the creature find us.”

“That’s the plan. I am so happy to see you both.”

“I assure you that you were in no danger, Master,” said Gem. “I could have killed anyone who had attempted to harm you or enter the cave, even from the great distance I kept, as I had a direct view. I supervised every movement of you on the plains in the midst of the deranged mob. I watched over you.”

“Travers is inside,” said Deacon. “He is weak. Can you give him an injection to boost his energy and help him through?”

As Gem entered ahead of him, Deacon’s thoughts turned to the poor, helpless Nicosian that they had used and then so coldly disposed of.

Gem examined Travers. “Travers’s bodily functions are registering a severely weakened state, probably as a result of the exposure to Urzel’s mind.” Travers suddenly began to babble, not conversing intelligibly. Gem administered the drug to invigorate him and then repositioned him at the back of the cave. “Our proximity to the Nicosians remains dangerously inconvenient, sire. We cannot risk audio contact with Jim in the
Heritage
from this location. I suggest that I leave you momentarily, move to up to the apex of the hill, and signal the
Heritage
from a safer location. We will have to risk landing the
Heritage
nearby. The shielding devices will prohibit the aliens from detecting it for a short time, but the craft might physically be seen. I recommend that Jim and I chance it.” Deacon nodded in agreement. Gem added, “Travers is too weak to travel, so Quobit and you will remain behind.”