The Lake of Fire

A Chapter by William Woodall

Jeremy finds himself captured by an evil monster when he foolishly stumbles into its valley.

The Prophet of Rain

William Woodall

Jeremy stopped for a few minutes, uncertain of whether he really wanted to follow the path any farther. He didn’t like not being able to see more than a few feet ahead. There wasn’t really much danger of getting lost as long as he stayed on the path, but he kept feeling that something hideous was watching him, waiting to spring at him any moment from out of the mist. The hairs on the back of his neck were hackled, and refused to lay down again. There was nothing in particular to be seen, or heard, or smelt. . . nothing especially to put him on guard that he could tell, but his heart was pounding nevertheless.

There are times when we talk ourselves into doing things we know are foolish, and for Jeremy this was one of those times. He couldn’t help thinking it was feeble and cowardly to turn aside when he didn’t even know if any danger really existed or not. He convinced himself there was no reason to fear, in spite of his instincts, and proceeded cautiously along the path.

For a while, nothing happened. The path was broad and clear, and the sound of the falls faded gradually into the background behind him until silence reigned once more. There was an occasional bubbling noise from the hottest parts of the lake. He crept along as quietly and (he hoped) as inconspicuously as possible, for he still felt that oppressive sense of danger. Indeed, it became so strong that he had almost made up his mind to turn back after all, when he stumbled into the middle of the last thing in the world he would have expected to find in such a place.

A herd of goats was grazing on the lichens and willow shrubs and sparse grass that throve in the valley. Jeremy had no idea how many there were, for he could see only three or four at a time. They looked up at him curiously for a few seconds, then went back to nibbling the plants. None of them made any noise. Every animal he saw was pure white, almost invisible in the mist.

They were the first large animals he’d seen since leaving Kalavah, and he thought at first they were wild, until he noticed a white collar around the neck of one of them. When he looked more closely, he saw that all the goats were wearing white collars. They were hard to see against the animals’ white fur.

While he was noticing these things, a set of steel-hard talons seized him from behind, and he found himself pulled instantly up into the sky. The ground vanished into the mist below him, and he could see nothing except the huge black claws that held him, vise-like, in their grip.

The mist dampened all sound, and Jeremy was held in such a way that he could neither hear nor see what it was that held him. He could only feel the tips of the thing’s claws, sharp as needles, digging into his ribs.

It wasn’t really very long before a gray cliff loomed up out of the mist, and Jeremy found himself dropped carelessly onto a wide stone ledge. He suffered no worse than a few scrapes and bruises, for the stone was mostly smooth. Whatever it was that had brought him to this place was nowhere to be seen, and for a little while Jeremy stood there rubbing his bruises and catching his breath. Presently, when nothing happened, he began to cautiously explore the ledge.

He was very careful about approaching the edge, for he had no idea how high up he might be, nor whether the edge was crumbly or not. It seemed to be solid stone, dropping sheer down into the mist. He followed it all the way around and found no way to get down off the ledge. On one side it joined the main cliff wall, and on that side also there was no way to escape. He couldn’t tell how far up the cliff might go above the ledge, and there were no handholds or cracks he could use. He did find a trickle of water emerging from the rock wall, forming a puddle on the ledge before disappearing. The ledge was about forty feet deep and twice that distance in width. It was bare and featureless for the most part, except for the spring he had found. There was a sort of nest at one end, built of willow sticks and rushes and lined with what looked like goat skins.

The ledge was littered with old bones, some of them cracked and broken. He noticed tooth marks on several of these, and shivered. Whatever lived in this place was definitely a meat eater. He could tell the bones had come from goats, for the horns were still attached to several of them.

That was not much comfort, though, because a creature big enough to eat a goat was certainly big enough to eat a human being. Bits of rotting flesh still clung to some of the bones, and there was a hideous stench of decay.

He retreated to the back of the ledge, feeling a little safer with a wall on at least one side of him. The thing might move silently through the mist, but at least now it wouldn’t be able to snatch him from behind as it had done in the valley.

He still had his sword and his dagger, and that was something. Jeremy had no idea what he was up against yet, but he grimly decided to make it pay dearly for its next meal, if it came to that.

He took a drink of water from the spring, being careful to keep an eye out for the flying thing. It was cold on the ledge, and he knew he would soon need shelter, if he lived long enough. That thought was not a cheerful one, but Jeremy decided it was much too soon to give up yet. As Eli might have said, he wasn’t maggot food yet. He explored the back of the ledge more thoroughly, discovering several narrow cracks in the stone. They weren’t deep enough or big enough to be called caves, but Jeremy thought he could fit inside. In there, he might be out of reach of the flying thing’s claws, he thought. He still had a little food in his pack, though he knew it wouldn’t last more than a week or so at most. If he couldn’t find a way down off the ledge by then, he would soon perish whether the flying thing got him or not.

Jeremy was definitely in a tight spot, but he made the best of it that he could. He refilled his water bottle at the spring, then retreated as deep as he could squeeze into the largest of the cracks in the wall. Before he did anything foolhardy he wanted more information about his enemy.

The thing that gave him the most hope were the goats in the valley. He’d seen the collars on each of them, and that sort of thing wasn’t done by a brute beast. Nor did he think something with talons the size of swords could have done the delicate job of putting such things on the animals. There had to be people in the valley, somewhere, and surely this flying thing that devoured their goats was an enemy of theirs. He doubted they could reach the ledge any easier than he could get down from it, for if they could, wouldn’t they already have come here and destroyed the flying thing? But, when he did get down (he refused to consider the other possibility), they might help him then.

Jeremy did have a rope, of course, but it was no more than a hundred feet long. He suspected the cliff was probably much higher than that, although he had no way to tell for sure without actually trying it. He was reluctant to do that until he knew where the flying thing was. It wouldn’t do at all for it to come back and find him hanging off the cliff, helpless.

So he waited, for what seemed a very long time indeed.

Though it may sound difficult to believe, with the hideous danger he was in, Jeremy actually slept for a while in the crack. He didn’t intend to, but maybe the long day and the ordeal with the flying thing are enough to explain it. In any case, he woke to find himself staring into a large black eye not ten feet from his face. He was so startled he cried out.

The eye blinked, and he heard a rough, juicy kind of laughter from outside the crack.

“You may as well come out of there, man-thing. I’ve had an excellent dinner already today, and I’m more curious than hungry. . . at least for now,” a gravelly voice said. Then it laughed again.

Jeremy was not such a fool as to listen to this suggestion, of course, but on the other hand he didn’t want to make the thing too angry just yet.

“I thank you for your kindness, sir, but I’m quite comfortable at the moment!” he called out.

“Suit yourself, runt,” the thing replied, coming closer to peer at him again with that hideous eye. It was jet black, with no pupil, and larger than a dinner plate. It was surrounded by dirty gray scales.

“You’re strange looking, for a man thing,” the creature commented after a while. Then curiosity seemed to get the better of it. “Who are you, and where did you come from, and what are you doing in my valley?” it asked.

“Ah, sir, those questions would be long in the telling,” Jeremy replied, trying to sound as mysterious as possible. “Might I ask the name of my host, before I begin?” he asked. The eye blinked, but the voice chuckled again.

“You may indeed. My name is Malchouk, the Master of the Lake of Fire, and those are my goats you were fiddling with earlier. None comes here without my invitation, and even fewer depart again,” the voice laughed evilly. Jeremy began to be quite afraid of what he’d gotten himself into, but he hoped to play on Malchouk’s curiosity.

“Great Malchouk, I come from the south far away, a journey of many years. I am the Prophet of the Most High, and I come here on orders that even the mightiest dare not hinder,” he began.

“Oh, really?” Malchouk scoffed.

“Yes, indeed. The Most High has crushed the wicked King of Rustrum, and destroyed the groves of Marithe and Cesme. I come here to seek the Great Enemy and defeat him,” Jeremy declared. Malchouk laughed again.

“You’re a proud little rooster, aren’t you? And what a shame it must be that such a grand story will end in Malchouk’s belly before another day has gone! Then, when your bones lie rotting in the sun, we will see how great your lord is then!” he scorned.

“Have a care, Monster! If you dare blaspheme the Most High, you may not live to regret it,” Jeremy warned sternly. There was a sharp intake of breath, as if Malchouk were shocked beyond belief.

“You dare threaten me?” he said, so angry he almost whispered the words.

“I threaten no one. But you should be glad I saved your life by warning you,” Jeremy told him, mildly. That seemed to enrage the beast.

“We’ll soon see about that,” he hissed. There was a scrabbling movement outside, and soon Malchouk’s razor-sharp talons entered the cave. Jeremy, his heart pounding, tried desperately to squeeze deeper into the crack. The talons came within inches of his belly before stopping. Malchouk could reach no farther, and he slashed at Jeremy in rage. Jeremy felt the air move from the slashing claws, but they couldn’t quite come close enough to hurt him.

After a while, Malchouk gave up on this and withdrew his claws. His anger had cooled to the point of letting him speak rationally again.

“I may not be able to reach you, man thing, but that makes no difference. You will find death in there as surely as you will find it out here- only the timing is different!” Malchouk snarled. Then he seemed to get himself under control.

“Since you prefer a long, slow death to a quick and clean one, I will leave you to enjoy it,” he declared. There was more noise from outside, and Malchouk seemed to go away.

Jeremy didn’t trust this, and certainly not enough to emerge from the cave. Malchouk might be waiting to pounce on him just outside.

If he was, then he was disappointed that night. Jeremy ate and drank a little, then settled as comfortably as he could into the crack and slept again.

Jeremy spent almost a week in this way, until his water and food began to run very low indeed. From time to time Malchouk would come to the crack and look to see if he was still alive, his big black eye almost filling the opening. Such times were always in the evening, just before dark. Jeremy began to suspect that the creature was away during most of the daylight hours and returned to the ledge only to sleep at night, but he dared not test his guess.

Sometimes Malchouk would talk to him, and amongst the curses and threats he gathered quite a bit of useful information. A small tribe of humans lived in the valley, tending Malchouk’s goats and doing such other things as he commanded from time to time. They were (he said) in mortal terror of him, and he killed and ate one of them now and then just to keep the rest in line. They lived in caves on the north shore of the lake, and lived mostly on fish from the river.

Malchouk didn’t seem to know (or care) much about anything beyond his valley. He hated the open air beyond the mist, and never went there if he could help it. The naked sun hurt his eyes and blinded him.

Jeremy said as little as possible to him during these conversations, hoping the monster would let slip something he could actually use. Fortunately, it wasn’t difficult to keep him talking. Malchouk had a gift for gab that would have put an old woman to shame.

But the situation was beginning to get desperate, and Jeremy dared not delay much longer before trying to do something. Without food or water, he’d soon begin to get weak. Therefore he made a bold plan.

He stealthily removed his dagger from its sheath on his belt, testing the point to make sure it was sharp, and prayed for the best. In Cerise, he had had to study swordplay and self-defense, as did all the pages. That was part of what an “educated and noble” person of the city was expected to know. However, he had learned mostly with the broadsword, and the little dagger he carried was not his best weapon. He prayed that the short range would make up for his lack of skill.

That evening, when Malchouk came nosing around the cave and put his eye up to the opening to examine his captive, Jeremy was ready. He quickly let fly his dagger, and before Malchouk had time to move or even realize his danger, the blade was buried to the hilt in his eye.

He howled, and thrashed and bellowed in his fury and pain. As Jeremy had expected, the claws soon entered his cave again, as Malchouk in his fury tried to reach him again. Again he fell short by mere inches, and Jeremy took the opportunity to stab the vile arm with his sword. Malchouk howled again, and beat his tail against the cliff wall where Jeremy’s cave was located, causing bits of dust and pebbles to come raining down on the boy’s head.

After a while, all the noise ceased. Jeremy ventured close enough to the opening to get a good look outside. Malchouk was nowhere to be seen. This didn’t surprise Jeremy, because he hadn’t expected to kill the monster so easily as that. He was blinded in one eye, and probably wouldn’t dare risk the other one by peering into Jeremy’s cave again.

Still seeing nothing, Jeremy boldly stepped out into the open, keeping his back against the wall. He kept his sword at the ready, prepared for a sudden attack from any direction. The ground in front of his cave was smeared with blood and foul-smelling slime. His dagger was nowhere to be seen.

Jeremy didn’t linger. He ran swiftly to the spring and refilled his water bottle, for thirst was the main danger he faced. That done, he returned quickly to the cave. He didn’t know when (or if) Malchouk would return, and he didn’t want to push his luck too far.

In fact, it was almost a whole day before Malchouk came back to the ledge. Jeremy heard him land on the stone outside, though he didn’t dare approach the cave. Jeremy felt confident enough to stand closer to the opening now, and for the first time he got a good look at the creature.

Malchouk was a hideous beast, covered mostly in dirty gray scales, with a few bedraggled black feathers. He was most like a lizard, if you ignored the feathers and the huge leathery wings. He might have been a sort of dragon, though not like any Jeremy had ever heard of. His mouth was full of sharp teeth, many of which protruded from his lips even with his mouth shut. His right eye was a crusted ruin, covered in dried blood and still trickling slime. It was obviously destroyed.

There was nothing wrong with his left eye, though, for he soon spoke.

“I see you, man thing. You may as well come out. I’ve decided to let you go, if I have your promise to leave my valley and never return,” Malchouk said.

Jeremy considered this. He was almost certain the evil creature was lying, but there was always the possibility that he might not be. Malchouk knew well enough that Jeremy would starve sooner or later, and then he would be rid of him. Surely he could sleep elsewhere for a month or so if he feared an attack in the dark. Jeremy knew he was not the kind of creature from whom pity could be expected, so therefore he had to have some plan up his scaly sleeve. Jeremy dared not accept his offer before he knew what that plan might be.

“Give me time to consider your offer,” Jeremy told him. Malchouk bared his teeth in a kind of scowl.

“Consider carefully, man thing. My generosity may decline with time,” he said.

Jeremy thought carefully indeed. He knew there was no way to get down off the ledge except by flying, and therefore Malchouk would have to be the one to take him down. But what if the faithless creature carried him high up in the air and then dropped him? And what about the people who tended the goats? Jeremy was reluctant to leave them enslaved. However, the first thing to do was to get down from the ledge.

“I accept your deal,” Jeremy told him, emerging boldly from the cave. He held his sword at the ready, where he knew Malchouk could see it. The creature eyed him cautiously for a second.

“I will have to pick you up in my claws to carry you down,” Malchouk told him at length.

“I think not, monster. Carry me on your back instead,” Jeremy suggested.

“Very well, then,” Malchouk agreed, kneeling on the ledge and turning somewhat away. Jeremy was a little surprised that the monster agreed so quickly. He kept his sword ready, and summoned all his courage to approach the monster. There was a fetid stench about the thing’s wrinkled skin and feathers, like rotted meat. Jeremy carefully climbed up right between Malchouk’s wings, in the very spot where he judged it would be hardest to drop him, and gripped a fold of skin tightly.

“Are you ready?” Malchouk asked irritably.

“Ready,” Jeremy told him grimly. A second later, the beast dropped off the edge of the cliff.

After that first sickening plunge, Malchouk’s flight was surprisingly smooth and silent. The mist parted quietly in front of him, and closed without a whisper behind. Jeremy couldn’t tell if they were making any progress at all. Warm drafts of air rose up from below them, and Malchouk’s wings hardly moved at all, riding the thermals.

Malchouk said nothing and seemed to pay him no attention, and as the flight went on Jeremy gradually loosened his death grip on the monster’s skin.

But Malchouk’s heart was black with treachery, and he felt the slackening hold quite well. He bided his time, circling in the mist, until he felt that just the right moment had come.

Then, with horrible speed, he plunged earthward and rolled over, trying to dislodge his rider.

In spite of his suspicion, Jeremy was caught off guard by the sudden change of direction and almost unseated. Indeed, he lost his grip on Malchouk’s skin and fell completely off his back, and would have been lost entirely if he had not managed to grab a handful of black feathers just under the leading edge of the monster’s wing. He held on as tightly as he could possibly grasp as Malchouk plunged and bucked, slamming him repeatedly against the underside of his wing and the side of his body.

Jeremy knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. With a desperate prayer, he let go with one hand and reached for his sword. It isn’t an easy thing to draw a sword when your body is being slammed in a dozen directions at once and you’re holding on for dear life to only a clump of dirty feathers, but somehow he managed it. Then, with a tight grip, he plunged the sword point into Malchouk’s scaly hide, just below the wing.

Malchouk screamed, and a gout of hot black blood gushed out of the wound. He stopped bucking, and began to descend. At first this seemed to be intentional, but soon Malchouk’s wings buckled up and the dying monster began to fall uncontrollably.

Jeremy let go of his sword and grabbed the feathers with both hands again, trying to climb up onto Malchouk’s back. He made it only a little way before both he and the monster’s body plunged into the hot water of the lake.

He hit the surface with his body more or less vertical. Otherwise, the impact would probably have knocked him senseless at the very least, and that would have meant drowning. As it was, he plunged deep under the surface and wanted to scream from the pain. It was like being boiled alive in a huge cauldron. Malchouk’s body floated back to the surface rapidly, and Jeremy climbed up as quickly as he could on top of it, to get out of the water. His skin was red and stinging over every inch of his body that he could feel, like a very bad all-over sun burn. He lay gasping in pain on Malchouk’s back, unable to do anything to save himself.

The body floated aimlessly in the lake, and Jeremy had no way to paddle it or direct where it went. The air out on the surface of the lake was so hot and humid he almost couldn’t breathe it. At times he could scoop up a little water from the lake in his bottle, and lay it aside to cool. It had a strangely mineral taste, but not unpleasant.

After a day or so, Jeremy began to get feverish and sick from the scalding he’d endured. He couldn’t bear to eat or drink anything, and he hurt everywhere. He barely had the strength to stay awake, and when he slept, his dreams were terrible.

If he had continued that way, alone, he might not have survived much longer. But on the third day, he heard the sound of water falling over rocks, and vaguely realized he must be at the tip of the lake, at the place where the river flowed out of it. Malchouk’s body was too large to go over the little waterfall, and ran aground in the shoals. Jeremy thought he saw movement on the path, and called out weakly.

He couldn’t remember much about that part later, but he thought it wasn’t long before he saw a pale face bent anxiously over his own. He felt strong hands lifting him into a boat, causing pain like fire to run all through his body, and after that he knew no more for a long time.

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Cover photo copyright 2006 by Wolfgang Staudt; used under license.