Becoming P.T. Lyfantod - 59
A serial fantasy novel
What follows is Part 59 of Becoming P.T. Lyfantod
If you missed Part 1, start there:
Chapter Nineteen:
Lightfoot’s Luminous Lyric
“There’s nothing,” Iain complained.
“There must be something,” said Merry.
“Maybe we should go back…” suggested Stuart.
“We’re not going back! There’s something here. We’ve just got to… find it. Keep searching.”
I’d been right about the bottomless pit. Well, sort of. It might not have been bottomless, but there was a pit. Beyond the vertical shaft we found a narrow ledge, terminating in a sheer drop. I almost longed for the drum. One wrong step…
“I’ve gone around twice,” Iain growled. “It’s a dead end. We’re stuck.”
We sat clustered near the door, slowly succumbing to despair. No one could see a way forward, and besides Stuart, we were determined not to go back.
“Maybe there was a bridge, but it collapsed. Five hundred years—”
“If you say ‘five hundred years is a long time’ one more time…”
Privately, I wondered if Stuart was right. Lightfoot was powerful, but he couldn’t prevent earthquakes. Could he? Perhaps the bridge had been narrow. Perhaps it’d crumbled under the weight of some previous, unlucky disciple…
Merry sighed. “This would be so much easier if we knew what we were supposed to do.”
Iain grunted. “Remember what Godwyn said? Don’t look for the light at the end of the tunnel. Find it within yourself.”
“We’ve reached the end of the tunnel,” I said. “But how do we find light?”
“Fresh batteries?” muttered Tom.
“Unless you’re planning on swallowing some,” said Merry, “I think you’re missing the point.”
“Well the only song he’s taught us is for dazzling simpletons.”
“Worked on you often enough.”
“All right, all right,” Iain said. “Tom’s not wrong.”
“Maybe he meant we could improvise,” I mused. “Like if we want it bad enough, and focus hard enough—”
And we sing…”
“But what about accuracy?”
“HEY! TURN THE BLOODY LIGHTS ON!” Tom’s voice echoed in the dark.
“Tom, shut up!”
“What? I thought we were trying everything.”
“There could be monsters out there. Remember the statues?”
“Be interesting at least…”
We settled into gloomy silence, privy only to our own thoughts. I began to wonder if Lightfoot was after a leap of faith. Did he expect us to jump from this ledge without knowing where we’d land? Was that the sort of reckless bravery he sought?
“Hey—what’s that?” said Tom.
I turned my head, and there, proving my eyes still worked, was a distant orange glow, partially obscured by angular shapes I gradually recognized as buildings. And unless I misjudged, the light, far below, was half a mile away. We were perched above a subterranean city.
The light shifted, sliding into reddish hues. “It’s fire…” said Merry.
“It’s moving,” I said.
“What is this place?” Iain whispered. “And—”
“MMMmmmmmmmhn….” A deep groaning filled my ears, like stone sliding down a mountainside. Beside me someone squeaked, and a clammy hand found mine. “I HEAR YOU,” rumbled distant thunder. “WHERE ARE YOU, SWEET FLESH…?”
“Tom, I swear to God…” Merry hissed.
I squeezed Stuart’s hand back just as tightly as he squeezed mine. The glow brightened, yellow-white, illuminating stone pillars like skyscrapers; thick bridges and spidery gangways. And silhouetted against that faraway light, a slight figure pulled itself up onto our ledge.
“Thank goodness you’ve come!” a reedy voice exclaimed, as my friends and I lurched gasping to our feet. “Wait—please! Don’t leave…”
“W-who are you?” Iain stammered.
“Filliwick Gulfinner,” the figure replied. He couldn’t have been more than three feet tall. “Trapped down here—”
“I SMELL YOU, SCRUMPTIOUS MORSELS…”
“—with him.” His head turned, revealing a beaklike nose far too large for his face. “Ever since my light went out…”
“Well we haven’t got any,” said Tom. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”
“But you have!” the little man cried, “You all have! You need but find it within, and call it forth.”
“Find it within…” I murmured. “That’s what Godwyn said. It’s Lightfoot!”
“Lightfoot, yes. T’was he taught me the song! The Luminous Lyric. It no longer works for me, but I can teach you, if you’ll help me leave this place.” He glanced over his shoulder a second time. “The way is not without peril…”
“What’s down there?” asked Iain. “Who is that?”
“Ghast,” he whispered, as though afraid the name would draw its owner. “He’s been here a thousand years and more. We must get past him to reach the High Halls. I can lead you around, and then—”
“What do you need us for?” asked Tom. “If you know spell, and know the way—”
“I know the city,” Filliwick sighed, “But the dark beyond is treacherous, and this benighted existence has extinguished my spark.”
“What do you guys think?” asked Iain, after a brief silence.
“He knows Lightfoot. He knows the song,” Merry said. “This is clearly part of the trial. I say we go with him.”
“And the rest of you?”
One by one we agreed, though it pained Stuart to do it.
“Marvelous!” Filliwick cried. “Follow me, then. And mind yourselves—the steps are precarious.” He turned and disappeared over the edge where he’d first appeared.
“Steps?” said Tom. “There are steps?”
Peering over the edge, I saw neither steps nor Filliwick Gulfinner. Only more interminable black.
“You must feel your way down!” called Filliwick. “We cannot risk being seen up here…”
Iain got down on his stomach. “I don’t—ah! There are steps! But… they’re narrow. Be careful.”
“I’ll go next,” said Tom. “Try not to fall, Mer.”
“Well now that you mention it.”
“You go ahead,” I told Stuart.
“Thanks, P.T.,” he said, and as soon as I had space, I slid over myself, to follow my friends and our unusual guide once more into the dark.
Back and forth we went, down a vertical face I clung to like life itself. I could feel the abyss yawning beside me. Buildings rose, blocking the light, though Ghast—who or whatever he was—still called out to us in a voice that awoke primal fears. And all the while, Filliwick sang. Just listen, he warned. Light here will spell certain death.
I was born in a village too small for a name,
at the top of a cliff, between ocean and plains.
All the men in the village were fishermen,
all the women were fishermen’s wives.
Except for my father, whose duty it was
to keep the Great Fire alive.
Keep it lit, keep it lit!
Keep it burning through the night.
Or we won’t be here come Sun’s first light.
A fleeting eternity later, we reached the bottom, and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as I took my first steps on the solid ground I couldn’t see. My legs were jelly. “It’s easier going from here,” said Filliwick. “Follow my voice.”
Out beyond the fire’s edge, waiting in the dark.
They said that’s where Old Red Eye lived.
The one with many names.
He longed to tear and rip our flesh,
but he wouldn’t dare the flames.
Keep it lit, keep it lit!
Keep it burning through the night.
Or we won’t be here come Sun’s first light.
We crept between buildings, over and under toppled stone. I sensed wide avenues and narrow corridors. And from off in the distance Ghast called out to us. “I TASTE YOUR FEAR, LITTLE ONES. LET ME END IT FOR YOU.” He was getting closer.
I lived ten whole years till I saw my first star,
the full beauty of Moon Mother’s face.
But our first fateful meeting wasn’t joyous by far,
I awoke to find things out of place.
Of our village’s fire, only embers remained,
of our village itself, just one member.
No, the first fatal night that I met the dark
is one that I hate to remember.
Reeking smoke and rotten eggs hit my nose before I spied the faintest glimmer of light. My friends were shadows ahead, trailing a smaller one.
Keep it lit, keep it lit!
Keep it burning through the night.
Or we won’t be here come Sun’s first light.
The light grew; the shifting red-orange of smoldering flames. I discerned towering doorways, ornately-carved edifices. The scale was like nothing I’d ever seen. But I’d little time to marvel.
As soon as I saw the destruction I knew
who had taken my family and friends.
T’was the very same creature I’d been brought up to fear,
the dark beat the light in the end.
“FILLIWICK, IS THAT YOU?” Ghast’s murmur was deafening. “AFTER ALL THIS TIME, STILL SINGING THE SAME TIRED TUNE.”
“I thought we were going around!” Iain hissed. “You’ve led us right to him!” I’d never wondered till then whether this might be some clever trap. And we’d walked right into it…
“Quiet now,” whispered Filliwick. “And mind your feet.”
From those ruins and ghosts there was naught but to flee,
for sooner or later, as long as I stayed
Old Red Eye was coming for me.
“NOW, FILLIWICK—”
I didn’t see the tail till it was too late, lying across our path, jewel-like scales glinting in the firelight. I kicked it. Stumbled.
“—YOU KNOW MY EYES ARE YELLOW…”
The tail swished and darted out of sight. Filliwick—truly, a tiny, man with a preposterous nose in a lumpy cap—stared back at me with saucer eyes.
“Run!”
He fled toward the dark, and we followed. I wondered how we’d run when we could no longer see, but I didn’t wonder long. The light came with us.
"A fleeting eternity later..."