Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

Gull stood in the rain and reached out to grasp the fabric of the very air itself, plumbing a darkness that lurked beneath the ordinary shadows of night. It was an ancient Egyptian magick considered too powerful for even the high priests of that venerable age, a talent he had not used since that rainy, late summer night in 1902 when, much to the disgust of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, he had spoken with the voice of a murdered child.

Oh, what things the dead can share, Gull mused as he gently pried the jaw of the skull open, the dried skin crackling like autumn leaves, and then holding it up for the rain to collect within the hollow of its mouth.

In time he lowered the skull, careful not to spill its contents, and brought it to his mouth. Gull pressed his lips gently to the jaw bone, tipping it back, drinking deeply, cool rainwater cascading down his throat. Then he dropped the now empty skull to the muddy ground, waiting for the magick to fill him. He did not have long to wait.

The voice of the dead man was in his throat, bubbling up and out of his yawning mouth, a voice raised in a song long silenced.

Until now.

Conan Doyle’s worst fear had become a reality.

The cloud of ash spewed by the Hydra had formed an unyielding shell on Ceridwen’s body. Frantically Doyle clawed at the thick soot that had solidified upon her face as she thrashed against him, desperate to breathe. He could hear his Menagerie in the midst of combat with the many-headed serpent and knew that he should be helping them, guiding them, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not when a heart he had long thought shriveled and cold had begun to beat again.

The thought of losing Ceridwen again had frozen him, crippled him in this battle, and it might have doomed them all.

Her struggles were slowing, and Doyle cursed himself. This was not the time for panic, but for action. His fingertips, raw and bloody, tingled as he began to summon a spell. The magicks he was attempting to wield were not meant for such delicate matters, but he had no choice. The power coursed from his fingertips and it took all his strength to keep the flow to a trickle, directing the magick where it was needed.

The ashen shroud broke, falling away from Ceridwen’s face, and she gasped, sucking the air greedily. She began to cough uncontrollably and he pulled her to him.

"Thank the gods," he said, holding her tight, the ash flaking away from her lithe body.

Ceridwen’s eyes went wide, and she tensed, pushing him away from her. "What are you doing?" she demanded. There was a fiery intensity in her gaze that he did not at first comprehend, but her ire became all too clear as she snatched up her staff from the ground and struggled to stand.

"Eve and Danny, we have to help them."

"Of course," he agreed, guilt searing his heart and mind as he helped her to her feet. "Let’s bring this conflict to an end."

Ceridwen shot him a wounding gaze filled with disappointment and anger. Emotion had clouded his judgment, and he had much to answer for, but the lives of their comrades took precedence. The Fey sorceress moved away from him, blue fire dancing around her eyes and from the ice sphere atop her staff, leaving him to stand alone and to ponder the repercussions of his actions.

Or lack thereof.

Eve wiped a trickle of blood from her mouth, smearing a crimson band across her face that she was sure looked like war paint. That’s appropriate, she thought, preparing to have another go at the thrashing monstrosity. For this was most certainly war.

Danny had managed to grapple with two of the Hydra’s heads at once, squeezing their necks in his arms, forcing their hissing jaws closed. Again and again he struck their hideous, spade-shaped faces. The exposed leathery flesh of his body was covered in bloody bites, and Eve could see that his ferocity was starting to wane. They had to end this quickly, before they all ran out of energy and wound up as Hydra food.

Eve sprang at the many-headed beast. One head hung limply from the thick trunk of the Hydra’s body, blood dripping from its open maw, the first real casualty of their teamwork. She landed atop the monster’s back, digging her claws into the nearest wavering neck, feeling the skin at last pop, blood gushing out from the wound as the Hydra wailed in agony. Eve brought her mouth down to the steaming geyser, swallowing gouts of the monster’s blood in an attempt to replenish her strength.

The blood tasted like shit, but she felt revitalized. Uttering a deep, throaty laugh, she bit into the throat of the dying head, through thick skin, muscle and bone, finally tearing the head from the body. The creature bucked violently and Eve lost her grip, falling hard to the dusty ground. Danny had lost his hold on the other heads, and he leapt back as they snapped at him.

Eve still held a severed Hydra head and proudly showed it to Danny before tossing it away.

"Don’t know if that was such a good idea," he said breathlessly, looking back at the beast.

She began to ask what he meant, when suddenly she understood. The muscular stump was writhing in the air, the scaly flesh of the monster beginning to morph. And suddenly, from the stump, there emerged another head, growing quickly.

"Did you know it could do that?" she asked him, tensing to throw herself at the monster yet again.

"Saw it in some movie once," Danny explained, not taking his eyes from the hissing beast. He was breaking away a layer of solidified Hydra ash that had collected on his arm and chest. "Thought it’d been made up. Guess not."

"Thanks for sharing," Eve said. "I really appreciate the intel."

There were nine heads again, and she wasn’t quite sure how much longer she and the kid could keep this up. The Hydra was taking stock of its prey again, careful, heads weaving around, preparing to strike.

Eve was about to lunge again when a familiar voice boomed through the ashen forest.

"Hold!" Ceridwen cried, her staff raised above her head. A storm of electricity churned around the sphere of ice at the top of the staff.

Eve felt the air crackle. "Back up!" she shouted at Danny, just as a bolt of lightning tore through the heavens, cleaving the sky as it descended to Earth to strike the Hydra. The monster shook with the power of the storm as the lightning surged through it, smoke rising from the soil beneath. Eve and Danny were thrown backward, hair singed, skin prickling.

Danny rubbed his eyes as he regained his feet. "Damn. I guess Ceridwen’s okay."

Eve knew otherwise. Danny had been momentarily blinded by the brightness of the lightning, but Eve saw the elemental sorceress crumple to the ground, like a marionette with severed strings.

The Hydra, its skin blackened and charred, yet far from dead, reared up from the ground, parts of its serpentine form still smoldering with fire. Nine mouths screamed out its rage, surging forward to continue its attack.

"Come on!" Eve cried out as a head bent forward, mouth agape. "What does it take to kill this thing?" She took hold of its upper and lower jaw as it struck, preventing it from biting her.

The other heads had driven Danny to the ground, and he was snapping off fangs and gouging eyes, trying to keep himself from being bitten in two, doing whatever he had to just to keep himself alive.

A thick, noxious cloud of ash plumed from the mouth of the Hydra as Eve struggled, the substance clinging to her face, momentarily blinding her. She let go of the monster’s head, throwing herself back and away, bouncing off what could only have been the side of the Range Rover. She tumbled to the ground, clawing at the hardening ash on her face, tearing most of it away before it could solidify.

Eve watched in horror as the blackened body of the Hydra loomed above Danny, each of its heads preparing to strike at the boy. She attempted to get to her feet, but excruciating pain exploded in her side, and she was driven again to her knees.