Piers Anthony - Chthon

Nothing was said to the others. There was no point in giving alarm until the danger was known—if there really were danger. But immediate steps should be taken to investigate the exit. It might be needed in a hurry.

There was a cry from the guard at the gate. Something was attacking!

So it was not my imagination, Aton thought. My mind was not losing touch with reality.

A scuffle, a hoarse scream; then two bodies tumbled into the pool. One was the guard; unhurt, he swam to the edge and mounted the path again. The other was one of the scaled stone-eaters, wounded and dying.

These creatures were not carnivorous, as far as he could tell. Too slow to be the chimera, they had never advanced on man, and were easy prey to him. What had affected this one?

Another animal came, and a third. Soon the pool was littered with corpses, as the clumsy creatures charged upon the men’s stone knives. What was driving them?

Bossman joined Aton near the entrance. “Listen,” he said.

There was a new noise in the distance, far up the tunnel—one unlike anything heard in the caverns before. It was the sound of marching—of many feet tramping in unison.

They looked at each other, and a general hush fell upon the group. A disciplined army—here? It made no sense at all. The upper caverns would not have organized any search party, and could not have kept one supplied this far. If the exit to the long trek were near, there might be human beings, and they might indeed march, but not from the direction the prison party had come.

The sound persisted, coming down the tunnel toward their dome, a measured beat increasing in volume. This, whatever it might be, was the thing that had driven the other animals before it.

Everyone in the dome heard it now. Sleeping people were nudged awake, to listen apprehensively for a sound they could not understand.

“Great Chthon!” the guard exclaimed, drawing back in terror. The marching beat loudened. The source had rounded the last bend, though it was not yet in sight of the people in the dome.

Then it appeared. A gigantic, grotesque head poked through the entrance. It had enormous faceted eyes and antennae as thick as a finger and a foot long. It rotated slowly, mechanically, to gaze upon the assemblage; the tramping died away. Then it came forward—into their refuge.

The back of the head compressed into a neck scarcely two inches thick. The body emerged: a squat, irregular hump, supported by two thick legs that lifted and fell jerkily. The people nearest fell back, appalled, giving ground to the creature.

The body tapered down again to a two-inch-diameter tail. Then, astonishingly, a second body followed, similar to the first. A third, and a fourth. The thing was segmented!

Now the people before the head were crowding back in unabashed horror, desperate to get away from it, but finding no room to retreat. Some jumped into the water as the creature advanced relentlessly.

There was a general shuffle as those who could not swim, or who were afraid to, pushed roughly around the ledge to make way for the caterpillar. Aton and Bossman were now nearest to the great head. Bossman’s axe was ready, but he chose so far to retreat rather than to attack. Not enough was known about this thing, yet.

The ledge had become quite crowded. There had been little surplus room to begin with, and a considerable length of the monster had appeared. Ten, fifteen bodies; and more segments appearing endlessly, until it took up almost a quarter of the circumference. When would it end?

Aton noticed that the latter parts were misshapen, grotesque even to one familiar with the standards of a creature such as this. They were no longer uniform, except in the synchronized motion of the legs. Some of the segments had extra limbs hanging uselessly by their sides, withered. Some segments appeared to have shrunken heads. It was as though they actually belonged to different species.

One segment even looked human.

Ridiculous! Aton backed away from the gross head.

How did the thing feed itself? There was no discernible mouth on the forepart, and the segments were not in a position to feed effectively. Yet more and more of them appeared, each neatly taking up the full width of the ledge. It was apparent now for whose use the convenient path had been cut.

People scrambled over each other and fell into the water in their mad effort to escape. Those still standing were crowded into less than half the circle—and still the thing advanced. The segments most distant from the ugly head were oddly shriveled, sucked dry of juices; if the thing went hungry, Aton thought, it did so from the rear forward.

At last the end appeared. There was a concerted sigh of relief. The thing would not force them all into the water.

The final segment finished in a needle-like stinger projecting some four feet.

There was a scream above the prevailing bedlam. All heads turned involuntarily. Almost every person’s whole attention had been absorbed by the caterpillar, so that another development in the pool had gone unnoticed.

A shape had risen from below, coming up slowly under the water. Whalelike, it filled the pool from side to side, an immense mass of turgid black blubber a hundred feet across. The last covering of water dribbled from its convex and waxy surface to expose a large circular orifice: a mouth.

Aton recognized it now. It was one of the jellyfish, grown to a shocking magnitude. It was, he strongly suspected, carnivorous. The animal bodies had disappeared down the river drain, so the evidence was not immediate.

Proof was not long in coming. The mouth gaped wider, disclosing a whitish internal runnel that frothed and gurgled and belched a noxious yellow stomach vapor. A tubular tongue snaked out. It cast about blindly, then slapped over the body of a woman in the water and hauled her shrieking into the maw.

Meanwhile the caterpillar was busy, too. The head commanded the water-exit, and the tail had projected itself across the entrance and was moving backwards along the opposite ledge, preventing any escape that way. Its mighty prong was, if anything, more frightening than the head itself.

The tail suddenly shot out, extending its length a good four feet. It neatly impaled the nearest man, who had been foolishly threatening it with a fragment of stone, stabbing through his middle and emerging behind his back. He brayed horribly and collapsed; but his body was held upright by the spike. This contracted, pulling him up against the concluding segment of the caterpillar.

What awful power! Aton thought. To ram through gut and muscle and backbone and come out cleanly.

Then, hideously, part of the corpse returned to life. The man’s head and arms hung slackly—but his legs picked up the same measured tempo of the segments. The other segments.

The tail shot out again, catching a woman as she tried to run. The force of it punched through her back and out her stomach.

She, like the first, sank into unconsciousness or death; like the first, she gave up her lower limbs to the marching rhythm, undead.

Aton understood at last the dreadful nature of this trap. What had appeared to be an innocent haven was in fact the mutual feeding ground of two of Chthon’s most predatory inhabitants. The victim could take his choice—but he could not escape.

And the entire party had walked into this parlor and made itself at home. Now there was no time to think, to plan, to explore. The caterpillar was incorporating new segments at will, backward, forward, sidewise, or doubled over—however they happened to meet the piercing tail. The jelly-whale clumsily sucked in all those who fell or dived or were pushed into the water. It could afford to be clumsy. The consumption would take time—but it was certain.