The Merman and the Moon Forgotten - By Kevin McGill Page 0,2
hand. “That’s a Ludwig. No better display of toymanship.”
“A Ludwig—the famous toymaker? And this is his?” Yeri licked his chops as he slid the top open. “I’ve always wanted a Ludwig.”
“It’s a Roc. Very good,” Lir said.
Yeri’s left eye quivered. “Oh, sir. There must be a better way to rid ourselves of these monsters. It’s a Ludwig, for Pete’s sa—”
“Yeri,” Lir warned.
“Really, sir, Rocs are a beast of burden. It would be cruel to send such a creature into the grips of batt—”
“Yeri!”
“Very well.” Yeri resolved himself. He gently unwrapped the toy from its velvet bed. It looked like a horned eagle with tattered wings and a neck barren of any feathers.
“Simply brilliant,” Yeri mourned. He covered the toy with his right hand. Smoky, bluish-light sifted between his fingers.
“Ouiwww!” Yeri howled and pulled his hand back. With a leap, the Roc hovered eye level before its audience. “Little troglodyte bit me!”
“Yeri. Aren’t they a mite bigger?” Lir said.
“I said I could make a toy come alive, not change its size,” Yeri said.
The finger-sized Roc turned its head toward the red-eyed assailants and roared. It leapt into the foggy wall.
Silence.
“Aiihh!” a monster cried.
“Raaishhh!” the Roc responded.
Combative cries rang down the cliff side.
Lir held out a hand. “The whip, good man. The horses know what to do.”
Without a word, Yeri pushed the whip into Lir’s hands. Lir held out the whip in his left, and the fiery harpoon gun in his right. The merman closed his eyes.
“I could throw a shoe at it.”
“Shh. I cannot hear them if you are spea—”
The whip shot across Yeri’s nose.
“Greeow!” the mist cried. Lir reeled in a black mass with hundreds of red eyes. The harpoon tore through its stomach, and the creature burst into filthy smoke as it tumbled over the cliff, leaving an acrid smell in its wake.
“What are they, sir?” Yeri said. The monster had been so close Lir could have hugged it, yet the fog hid its shape.
Lir looked ready to speak, but his mouth stayed shut.
Red eyes appeared before them. Lir cocked the whip. Suddenly another creature grabbed the cord from behind and Lir was dragged to the back of the coach. At the last moment he anchored himself into an exposed ribbing.
“Gaah!” Lir cried. His tail was being shredded by the stony ground.
With the whip still in his hand, the merman’s muscles exploded from neck to shoulder as he flung the monster ahead of the stagecoach. Monstrous screams were cut short by the solid end of a spruce tree.
Lir righted himself on the seat and pointed to an outcropping. “Just beyond Constance Cove, that’s our destination.”
“Lesterton’s Point sir? But—”
“Trust me, Yeri.”
The horses swung right and seaward.
“Sir. There is nothing here but ocean below.”
“Ride hard, sir.”
“But the cliff?”
“Do not stop!”
The stagecoach leapt into the gut of mist, leaving the ground behind. The horses’ forelegs reached out for hope.
“Sweet Huron!” Yeri yelled.
A white archway sprung from the mist and wheels slammed cobblestone. The stagecoach exploded through a gate. Yeri could see a second gate, with something near heaven on the other side of it. Before he could decide whether he had, in fact, died and gone there, the stagecoach burst through an inner plaza.
“Lower the gates. Both of them!” Lir commanded.
Metal scrapped and slammed. Yeri grabbed the reins until his knuckles ground together. The horses stopped suddenly, panting out their run.
“Your faith in me is much appreciated, Yeri.” Lir tried to catch his own breath. “Our fortress is mobile, moving along the coastline at various points. Quite possible you’ve never seen it docked at this port. But we have not escaped the darkness, yet. Afraid we need our protector. We need the steward of Huron, Nikolas Lyons.”
Two • The Voice
Sometime in the near future…
Colorado City, Colorado.
Oh, Steward Nikolas Lyons. The Rones enter the city of Huron at the peril of us all.
“What?” Nick’s face ripped from the viewer. The shed was lined with antique motherboards, microwaves, cappuccino machines, key-making machines. And none of them could speak.
The Rones lie about their true intent. They enter the city of Huron at the peril of us all.
Nick dropped the screwdriver. He heard a voice. More specifically, he heard a woman’s voice.
“I’m losing my mind.” Nick wiped the blond hair from his face. “I can’t lose my mind. First, I have to get off this planet, then I can lose my mind.”
Sure, in order to finish the machine, Nick resorted to the Nick Lyons living-dead power formula: three parts soda, two parts energy drink, six parts