F. Wilson - The Tery

And a female to be reckoned with! Her hugely muscled arms swatted fiercely at the members of the spider gang, keeping them away from her young as she struggled to reach shelter. She was holding her own until two of the spider-men attached themselves to her shoulders and started clawing at her eyes.

This last happened as the group passed below Jon's perch. He knew it would be much to his advantage to let them all move on by and finish their battle further down the passage. But something in that misshapen mother's fierce, selfless defense of her equally misshapen brood touched him. He had to intervene.

Just this once, he promised himself.

He leaned over the edge of the ledge and swung his club at the nearest spider-man on her back, putting all of his arm and a good deal of his back behind the blow. The club cracked across the middle of the creature's spine and it went spinning to the floor where it lay screeching incoherently and kicking — but only the two forward legs were kicking. The second spider-thing looked up at Jon with unfocused fury in the imbecilic eyes of its human face, then launched itself upward with a howl. There was no revenge motive in its action, only hunger at the sight of what appeared to be a vulnerable prey.

The howl caught the attention of the other gang members and for an instant they withdrew from their attack on the mother and her young. She did not hesitate to take advantage of it: a huge arm lashed out and grabbed one of the spider-things by two of its legs, then lifted it and smashed it against the floor again and again until the two limbs were torn free of their sockets and the rest of the pulpy body skidded across the floor to land against a wall and lay still.

Jon stopped watching to deal with the second spider-thing. Its leap had brought it to the ledge and from there it lunged directly at Jon's face. He battered at it before it could reach him. Four wild bone-breaking swings of his club knocked the creature from the ledge. The rest of the gang looked on its three fallen members and fled back the way they had come.

The mother went over to the creature with the injured spine and halted its screeching with two crushing blows to the head. She then checked the body of the one that had fallen from the ledge. Satisfied that none would ever bother her again, she backed up to where she could get a look at Jon.

Standing erect, she stared at him, as if her dull mind were trying to comprehend why he had helped her. Jon wasn't so sure himself, and now wondered if it had been a foolish gesture. She had him trapped here on this ledge and could easily reach up with those long arms and grab him.

They watched each other.

She still clutched the two legs she had ripped from one of the spider-things. The three little monstrosities clinging to her abdomen began to wriggle and squeal. Without taking her eyes from Jon, she put the bloody end of one of the legs up to her wide mouth and nibbled off a piece of raw flesh. She chewed rapidly without swallowing, then took small bits of the masticated meat from her mouth and fed them to her young. With an abrupt motion, she stepped closer to Jon's ledge and held up the untasted leg to him.

Suppressing a retch, he leaped to the ground and fled down the passage.

These were once human? he asked himself when his stomach had settled and he had slowed from a run to a jog. Or are they still human despite what they've become?

And where does Jon the tery fit in?

No answers came.

He arrived at the central pool, a stagnant body of water fed by a slow underground spring. Something on the far side lapped briefly at the pristine smoothness of the water's surface, then scuttled away.

It was dark in this region. Perhaps the excess moisture had a deteriorative effect on the phosphorescence. Whatever the cause, it made finding the door Tlad had described more difficult.

Jon began scouting the water's edge, looking for a rock wall with a door in it. He found it almost by accident — had he not been dragging his left hand against the rock as he searched he would have passed without noticing it. But his fingers felt a long vertical groove and he stopped to inspect.

The notched handle was there. So were the three studs.

Water rippled behind him. He turned and saw nothing at first other than a bubbling disturbance at the center of the otherwise flawless surface. Another ripple and he spotted something floating on — no, rising from the pool. He could not make out the shape and did not care to. Whatever it was, it did not wish him well — not here in the Hole.

Brushing off the studs, he quickly tapped in the code: 1-3-1-3-2-3-1-2,then grabbed for the notch. The door stayed firm. He tried the code again and still no result.

A glance over his shoulder showed something monstrously huge rising from the pool, looming over him. He tried the sequence again but the door wouldn't budge. He was frantically beating his fist against it when Tlad's words came back to him:

Don't forget to clear.

Jon hit all three buttons at once, tapped in the sequence, and pulled.

It moved.

Dust, dirt, and pebbles powdered him as he dropped his club, thrust both hands into the notch, placed his left foot against the wall, and pulled with desperate strength. He didn't have to look behind now — moist air from the formless behemoth's cold wet surface was wafting around him as it reared over him.

The door suddenly jerked open and he fell back against something cold and soft and slimy, then he catapulted himself into the opening, pulling the door behind him. It closed only half way. Fallen debris was jamming it open. The creature outside, however, solved the problem for him by lumbering against the door and forcing it closed with its weight.

The room seemed to sense Jon's presence. Panels in the ceiling began to glow, adding to the luminescence in the walls. Jon tried to gather his wits. Innumerable crates lined the walls and stood in long rows before him. Where to begin?

After a brief rest — this was the first time since leaving Tlad that he felt safe enough to let down his guard — he started with the pile on his left and moved along the wall, tearing open the crates with his hands. Some held books, others drawings and pictures, but most of the contents were totally incomprehensible to him. More things he didn't understand.

So many things he didn't understand.

Tlad was one. Why did he trust that man? He had lied to everyone he’d met here. Tlad wasn't his real name… he did not come from the coast…he was not a potter.

Why trust a liar?

Tlad had spent days talking to Jon, trying to explain where he came from and why he was here. All Jon could glean from the monologues was that he came from far away and wanted to help the Talents and all other teries.

Why? Did he have reasons he wasn't telling? Had he lied to Jon about his intentions as he had lied about his name?

But Tlad had talked to Jon, treated him as a man, truly seemed to think of him as one. Because of that, Jon would do almost anything for Tlad…even aid him in deceiving Rab and the Talents by destroying the weapons instead of bringing them back.

Tlad said it was for the best and Jon believed him.

Eventually he found the bombs. Crates of them, all neatly stacked against a wall: egg shaped as Tlad had said, with a smooth, shiny surface.

These could kill? These could destroy the Hole and Mekk's fortress as well? It did not seem possible. But he had trusted Tlad this far…

He needed only one. He cupped this in his palm and returned to the door. Pressing his ear against its smooth metal surface he listened for signs of activity outside. All quiet. The door moved easily at his touch and he stepped back as it swung outward. Nothing but the narrow path and a smooth expanse of water awaited.