Desperate Remedies #3
But the graveworm was back up before she could move, flailing gaunt and muscular arms that caught her across the face and knocked her back so hard the ground thumped the wind out of her.
It loomed over her, dripping blood as its ruined face tried to resurrect itself until she caught it square in the side of the face with the handle of the hammer and rolled away.
Dropping the hammer for a second, she brought both hands together with fingers laced and fired off a line of Aramaic that Liam had taught her, an illusion spell that would make the graveworm think she was on the far side of a veil or sheet of glass – though she was shocked when it seemed to work, with the creature rearing back as if it had bumped into something.
But I still need one of the bones. Shit!
The spell wouldn’t last more than a few seconds, but that would be just long enough to reach into the sarcophagus and…
…she snatched the first bone she could grasp and darted backward, breathing heavily and crying out as the spell fell apart, the pain of it shattering bringing stars to her eyes.
A mandible, she realised. That’s what she’d picked out. Hadn’t Liam said a skull was best? Well you’re shit out of luck, Liam, you’ll get what I give you.
The graveworm was screaming too, thrashing on the ground as the spell broke on it as well.
Its shattered face was already rebuilding itself, though three of its eyes dangled limply from stalks even as the skin began to form and smooth itself out.
The jaw hung askew, then snapped into place with a sickening crack as it got its myriad arms and legs under itself.
It roared, a phlegmy, undulating sound that nearly deafened her as it reverberated off the cave walls.
All round them, the cairns began to shake and fall apart as slick chrysalises the size of wolfhounds forced their way out into the open air, twitching and straining as jagged little hands struggled to find purchase and then tore the sacks.
The father creature roared again and one by one the chrysalises spread apart, leaving a dozen quivering four-eyed things shaking heavy slime off their backs.
Some still had traces of funeral clothes, and one wore the forehead and eye sockets of one of her ancestors like a mask.
It shrieked at her blindly, like a kitten trying to be brave, and one of its siblings struck it until they began brawling on the ground.
The others milled and flexed, unravelling their arms and testing the clack of their joints.
A dozen warped faces that could be cousins stared at her.
Margo backed up, slowly at first, then quicker without wanting to turn and break into a run. If they came for her, she’d rather take them face on, not let them snatch at her from behind like a common pickpocket.
Taking up position just inside the tunnel entrance, she swung the hammer around like a wheel and raised her left hand to sketch a defensive ward in the air.
Would it do much? She didn’t know. She’d never cast something against more than one opponent.
This wasn’t how she imagined passing an apprenticeship.
The graveworms flailed at each other blindly, snapping chunks out of each other with savage golden teeth until the adult one – their father, she thought – raised its reformed head, caught the trailing eye stalks in its teeth, and shrieked even as it swallowed them.
There were words in that shriek, Margo realised.
None that she could understand, but judging by how the creatures all snapped their head in her direction at once, they obviously could.
They stalked toward her, some rippling along the ground like snakes, others rolling forward on over-jointed arms and legs that made them move more like spiders.
“Alright you bastards,” she said. “Let’s fucking go.”
She made a fist, shouting “aegis” as she released the spell just in time for the first absurdly long limb to strike at her.
The thing crashed into the red shell she’d thrown up, the creature howling in pain as it retreated just long enough for Margo to bring the hammer down on another one’s face with a satisfying crunch, the silver burning the skin and blood just as it had the father.
Two more worms slammed into her ward shield, sending red hissing cracks along its surface.
Shit, she thought. They could see the edges of it now – and it was beginning to fall apart already. Maybe she’d mispronounced the word, maybe she was too distracted when she cast it, but either way it wasn’t going to hold much longer.
“Okay. Fuck.” Could she run? Maybe, but there were too many of the graveworms and each of them looked to be pure muscle. And if she made it to the main door, how would she stop them getting out without a padlock?
She drummed on the oak pole to her left as the graveworms stalked her like hunting dogs, pacing back and forth in between testing the ward with the occasional flick of an arm or finger. Behind them, the father lumbered close, though moving slowly as if drained of energy.
One of the offspring began to shake and scream, then ripped from its skin as a stretching, quivering mass that grew ever bigger and fiercer, the muscles on its back and legs taut and bulging as its siblings began to shed their first husks.
“Okay. Fuck,” said Margo, left hand up to try and bolster the ward spell even as she swung the hammer to drive the creatures away, though they darted and rolled out of reach. A dozen snapping jaws opened and snarled at her, the father behind them seeming to cough and laugh.
The spell had retreated to little more than a covering around her hand, though she knew the graveworms didn’t know that yet. But they would soon – they were edging closer, prowling in front of her and sniffing the air as if they could catch the scent of her weakening magic.
One tried to snatch in at her but got the hammer full force into its face, screaming in agony as it hobbled away, one bloodied hand over the wound as it gushed gore onto the stones.
Its siblings caught the smell of blood in the air and attacked, three of them driving the wounded graveworm to the ground and tearing into it, yanking great chunks of still-expanding flesh with their fingers and blunt teeth as it howled and howled.
The rest of the graveworms darted in to get their share, though the father barked orders and tried to get them back after Margo.
This could be my only chance.
She took half a step back, carelessly bumping the oak with the hammer and sending a delicate shower of dust and scree into her hair. She tapped it again, a little more firmly. Fuck it, what do I have to lose? she thought. The place has already gone to hell.
The young graveworms had finished harvesting the carcass of their sibling, and each throbbed now with new growth and rage. New eyes popped on stalks over faces that wanted to be familiar.
Slamming the oak pole with the hammer, Margo threw what was left of the ward spell at them, startling them enough to get a few more swings in. The wood shattered on the fourth strike, and its counterpart snapped with it, no longer able to take the strain of the archway.
Margo threw herself back onto the steps, landing hard and throwing her injured arm over her face to take the brunt of flying debris.
The bricks fell like a waterfall, taking some of the tunnel roof with them until they’d poured into a rough wall that blocked the way to the cave.
From the howls and wails on the other side, she guessed at least one of the creatures had been crushed.
But from the scratching and barks, she guessed that the survivors were already trying to dig their way through to her.
And who knew what other ways had been tunnelled over the years into and out of the cave?
Turning the torch on to see by, she sprinted back to the car and fired up the engine only to find her phone had been crushed by the fall and was utterly useless. “Hold on, Dad. Hold on, Liam,” she whispered, pulling out of the carpark and heading for the main road.
In the dark, there was nobody to stop her pushing the car to its limits or nearly shaking it apart at speed. In the dark, there was nobody to drown out the whispers in the back of her mind as the faintest wriggling travelled up her aching arm.
***
The door swung open before she could get her keys to the lock. Liam, sweaty and pale, beckoned her in and shut it behind them. “I’ve done all I can,” he said as he headed back for the stairs, Margo dragging in his wake mechanically.
From her father’s room burst thunderous words in Irish, then Latin, then Greek before the words blew away entirely, replaced with animalistic shrieking in what could have been two or more voices.
She recognised the shriek, and the sound of the words hidden within it. Oh no…