Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

"Come now, Sister Dusk," said Twilight. " Why would one who sang so beautifully wish to pay us tribute?"

"Are we not beautiful as well?" Dusk replied.

As the other Harpies agreed, Conan Doyle frowned. He was skilled in linguistics, particularly ancient languages, but he should not have been able to understand them so well. Curious, he glanced sidelong at the demon boy. "Daniel," he whispered. "Can you understand these creatures’ speech?"

"Yeah, but I wish I didn’t. If they’re gonna eat us I wish they’d just do it and get it over with, their voices are like fingernails on a damn blackboard."

Fascinating, Doyle mused. It was as if the Underworld were somehow accepting them, bestowing upon them an understanding of the ancient language of myth. They were becoming part of this place. It made certain things easier, but somehow he found it very unsettling as well to wonder what else it might mean. This was something that he would need to look into later… if there was a later for them.

"An offering perhaps," Sister Dark suggested. " For safe passage across the land. As Charon takes payment for passage across the Styx, this is our due for allowing them to cross the land unhindered."

"An interesting theory," said Twilight, reaching up with a talon to scratch the side of her head. The Harpy’s hair was long and gray, matted with filth. "But I’m not sure that…"

Conan Doyle cleared his throat. He could understand the Harpies. Could they understand him? "If you would like to know why we have been left here, good sisters, all you need do is ask."

The creatures exchanged glances and then fluttered down from their perch on the rocks. They alighted upon the ground, another cloud of black dust roiling beneath them.

" Look, sisters, the carrion speaks," Twilight said, bending forward to take a closer look. " Do you have answers for us, tender morsel? Do you know the reason why you have been abandoned here?"

Conan Doyle could feel Gull’s spell weakening slightly, and was able to sit up. The Harpies recoiled, baring razor-sharp teeth and hissing in warning.

"Just stretching, my dears. No cause for concern." He wanted them as calm and complacent as possible, in case an opportunity to escape should present itself. Danny was moving about more freely also, as was Ceridwen.

"My belly rumbles for food," Dusk shrieked. " You will explain why you are here immediately — or go down our gullets with questions unanswered. Soon I will be too hungry to care."

"Of course, of course," Doyle answered. "Let me see." He raised a hand to stroke his mustache. "Where to begin?"

The Harpies leaned closer, eager to hear his tale. Their feathers were stained and matted with the dried blood of previous meals, the smell wafting off their bodies sickening.

"We are here, my compatriots and I, because we were betrayed."

Twilight cocked her head to one side, intrigued. "The one whose voice sang the most lovely of songs, was he the purveyor of this betrayal?"

Conan Doyle nodded. "Sadly, yes," he explained. "He acquired, by magicks most foul, the voice of Orpheus, and has used its persuasive capability to steal away one of our group, and to order us to stay to meet our fate at your mercy."

"Horrible," Twilight hissed.

" Terrible," said Dark, with a disgusted shake of her head.

" Appalling," Dusk interjected for the sake of unity with her sisters. "It is enough to weaken the already precarious trust we have in those that we so tentatively call friend."

Dark and Twilight turned their attentions to their sister, obviously taken aback by her words.

"Your trust in us is precarious, darling sister?" Twilight asked, ire in her tone.

Dusk shook her head furiously. " No, no. Do not misconstrue. I speak of friends, not dearest family."

Then Dark flapped her wings in agitation. "And what friends do you have in this misbegotten place but us? Can you tell me this?"

Like the electricity in the air before a thunderstorm, Conan Doyle sensed it growing around him, raising gooseflesh on his arms. He frowned deeply and glanced around, trying not to draw the Harpies’ attention. Someone was using magick. He glanced toward Ceridwen, her regal features in profile. She was conscious and sitting up, but he could tell that she was in no condition to attempt a spell of any kind, and Danny was not capable of such a feat.

Then who?

The Harpies were being manipulated, a spell had been cast to foment hostility among them. Their argument was reaching a fevered pitch and they had begun to scream at one another, their talons digging into the dry, rocky earth as they grew more agitated.

"And what of you, Twilight?" Dark shrieked, spittle flying. "Do you mistrust me as well? Am I the last to know how you two really feel about me?"

Twilight flapped her powerful wings, stirring up clouds of dirt. "I have had suspicions about the two of you for quite some time," she snarled. "When were you going to do it? As I slept? Helpless while in the embrace of dream? I should have known."

Conan Doyle caught Danny’s eye as the sisters continued their tirade against one another. The demon boy slid closer to him.

"What the hell’s going on?"

The mage managed to stand. The effect of Orpheus’s voice was indeed wearing off, and he helped Ceridwen to her feet as well. "I’ll explain later." He reached down to haul Danny up. "But now might be a good time to get as far away from here as possible."

The Harpies did not even notice them getting to their feet and moving away. The sisters were totally engrossed in one another, blind to anything other than their heated squabble about betrayal and mistrust.

" I’ll see you both dead!" Twilight raged, and the ugly beast spread her wings, lifted off the ground several feet and then descended upon her sisters, curved black talons tearing at them savagely.

Dusk and Dark responded with equal fury, their screeches of outrage filling the air as they attacked each other with wanton abandon.

Potent magick, Conan Doyle thought as he watched the horrible creatures engage in their insane melee. As he and his companions made their escape, he scanned the cliffs surrounding them, but still could not find the source of the spell.

They were moving far slower than he would have liked, the residual effects of Gull’s song still working on them, but they made progress nonetheless. The screams of the Harpies receded into the distance as they scrambled down an embankment into a gully.

In places the cavern ceilings were so high that moisture gathered in the eaves and swirled into clouds. As they traveled, hour after hour, they heard the sounds of distant oceans and the thunder of lumbering beasts as they made their way through tunnels and across barren plains of rock and cold, slippery moss.

In time they found themselves on rough terrain with uneven hills of craggy stone and outcroppings of rock that jutted up from the ground as though rammed through the earth from below. Some were small, little more than a scattering of blocks, and others were towers. It reminded Conan Doyle of the American Southwest, of the red rocks that were spread across sections of Arizona, among other places.

They weaved their way around the largest of these, following paths cut into the ground by the wind that scoured the stone. It was rough going, but at least they had left the Harpies far behind.

"So what happened with the sisters back there?" Danny asked. "Why’d they go all Jerry Springer on each other?"

"Magick happened to them," Conan Doyle explained. "A spell was cast that caused their already rabid emotions to run amok."

Ceridwen stopped and turned to look at him, her face cast in eerie shadows from the strange gloom of this place. "And did you cast this spell, Arthur?"

Before he could answer the wind brought a new scent to them. It was the smell of a campfire, and of cooking meat.