Brian Lumley Necroscope 03 The Source

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other world? Ah, but they always have been!
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'I mean lives which are important to me. You see, I think people have found a
way into that place, that source world. Some of whom are, or were, very dear
to me.'
He sensed Faethor's nod (for the fact is that people nod 417
with their minds as well as their heads). So /
have been informed - er, by the dead, of course. Very well, the legends:
'Wait,' said Harry. 'First tell me, what's in this for you? Oh, I know you've
said there are no strings attached, but still I can't imagine you'll help me
out of the goodness of your heart.'
Faethor's chuckle grew into a laugh. Not a pleasant thing.
Ah! - but you know us well, Harry Keogh. Very well, I'll tell you:
My grandfather, Belos, was exiled from his aerie, his world, his heritage, by
the Wamphyri. He had grown too strong. They feared him mightily, and when
their chance came they tricked, entrapped, expelled him. His lands and
properties were stolen and he found himself here, in this world. He wasn't the
first or the last, and if things don't change there may well be others still
to come. Now I never knew Belos, who was dead before Waldemar passed on his
egg to me, but I do know that if he had not been so badly treated then I would
now be one of the Wamphyri in my rightful place - in the source world! When
they expelled him they not only stole his heritage but denied
Waldemar his after him and also mine. For that reason, and despite the years
flown in between, Belos is worth avenging.
'You're going to help me find my way into that world for revenge?' Harry
frowned. 'I don't intend to look anyone up for you, Faethor. As I see it, it
will be a case of in, rescue, retreat. I won't be staying there long enough to
write off any old scores.'
Oh? And you know all about this place you're searching for, do you?
(A certain amusement in Faethor's tone.)
Get in, rescue your loved ones, or whatever, and get out again. As simple as
that. . .
'Something like that, yes.' But Harry was less certain now.
Again Faethor's shrug.
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Well . . . possibly. But I see it differently. For after all, you are Harry
Keogh! And the fact is that in your use of your special talents you have been
a dire force against vampires in this world. You've dealt with my treacherous
son Thibor, with Boris Dragosani, Yulian Bodescu - the list is impressive. My
feeling is that when you enter into the source world, then things are almost
bound to happen. I believe that you are the catalyst which will change,
perhaps even destroy, the old balance.
So all I require of you is this: that if the time should come and someone
should ask you, 'Who are you?' then you will answer him that Belos sent you.
Is that too much to ask?
'No, you have a deal,' Harry agreed. 'So now tell me what you know. First
about Perchorsk.'
Eh?
(Surprise.) /
never heard of it.
Harry quickly explained.
That may well be one way into, or out of, the source world, Faethor answered,
but it is not the old route. Now listen: this is what Old Belos told my
father, which he in turn told me. The Wamphyri sent him into the hell-lands
(this world) through a shining white door in the shape of a sphere. Yes, the
very duplicate of this sphere you've mentioned at Perchorsk. But Perchorsk is
in the upper Urals, and Belos's exit-point was far removed from there.
'So where did Belos surface?'
'Surface' is the wrong word. Rather he 'descended'. Inside the sphere he fell.
He was aware of falling - as if into hell! It was as if he plunged down the
throat of a great white luminous shaft whose walls were so far distant he
could not see them. He fell, and yet at no great speed, or so he believed. And
he must have been correct in that belief, for when he emerged he was still
falling! He fell out of the sphere - the gate of entry - into this world.
'Where?' Harry was eager again.
Underground!
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'Like at Perchorsk?'
Unlike Perchorsk. Belos gathered his senses, looked all around. The sphere he
had fallen through was embedded in the ceiling of a great horizontal borehole,
over a ledge of smooth dripstone. Through the bed of the bore rushed a black,
gurgling river. Belos knew not where it came from, nor where it went. All
around the sphere where it hung suspended, great holes were apparent in the
ceiling - like these magmass holes of yours at Perchorsk. Likewise in the
ledge where Belos had landed. The extent of the cave, and its ledge, was not
great. Where the river rushed from cave into darkness, the gap between ceiling
and water came down to a few inches. The ledge was large enough for a man to
walk maybe ten paces this way, ten paces that, before it narrowed down and
smoothed into the glistening wall of the bore. There was no way out. Or there
was, if a man had the stomach for it.
'A subterranean sump!' said Harry.
Exactly. The river might run for miles. It might never surface at all! That
was Belos's predicament. . . [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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