The farther you descend through the layers of branches, the dimmer become the vagrant wisps of green-gold light which have filtered down through the leaves.
And at the very bottom of the world, among the tangled roots of the colossal, mile-tall trees, light does not even exist. There is found only an unexplored region of utter blackness—a blind netherworld, ruled by unthinkable monsters, where the clear and brilliant light of day never penetrates.
Down into that black Abyss we hurled!
I struck an ice-cold, yielding surface, which shattered before my hurtling flight.
The impact stunned me into insensibility.
In the next moment, icy waters closed over my head. And I sank into the lightless depths like a stone.
But the cold shock of the sudden immersion had the incidental effect of rousing me from my swoon.
I opened my lips to cry out, and swallowed a quantity of cold, fresh water. And in the next moment, I was kicking and struggling to free myself from the dead weight to which I was bound, and which was dragging me down into the black deep.
The zaiph I rode must have been drowned already, for it did not struggle as it sank into the cold waters. The enormous dragonflies of the world of the giant trees are light and fragile, their bodies poorly designed to absorb such an impact.
It was the custom of zaiph-riders to strap themselves securely into the saddle, lest they be dislodged from their seat in flight. You can readily understand that falling out of the saddle is something to be avoided at all costs, especially when you are riding on the back of an enormous dragonfly two or three miles above the ground. Thus the custom of strapping oneself into the saddle, which until that moment I had never had cause to regret.
But now, as the dead weight of my steed dragged me down into the unknown depths of the lake or sea or whatever it was, I fought against the straps like a madman.
And all the time my lungs were bursting, my brain reeling with pain, and my entire being consumed with a raging lust for-air.
After what seemed like an endless eternity of nightmare, I was suddenly free of the maddening grip of the straps. I kicked wildly, driving to the surface, and burst free into the open air. Treading water, I sucked clear, clean, fresh air into my starved lungs, clinging dizzily to consciousness.
After a few moments I regained control of myself and struck out for shore—if there was, indeed, a shore. For I could see absolutely nothing. The world around me was one of utter darkness; I was immersed in suffocating blackness. It was a nightmare—it was as if I had suddenly been struck totally blind.
I swam through the water, which was invisible to me, gasping, battered, beginning to panic in this lightless Abyss of black, unseen terror. The darkness had so disoriented me that for a moment I thought I was going mad—
Then my outstretched hand brushed against something wet and slimy—but blissfully solid.
I clutched hold of the thing, and clung to it with that desperation which a drowning man—such as I had nearly been—is said to cling to a straw.
It was rounded, whatever it was, with a rough, corrugated surface sleek and slimed with some sort of mossy growth. But its upper surface lifted a few feet above the level of the lake, and that was all that mattered to me. I reached up, fumbled about for a handhold, found a knob or boss, and dragged myself up out of the black cold waters.
Atop the slick, rounded thing I hauled myself into a sitting position and just squatted there, catching my breath, resting for a bit until my heart ceased its mad beating against my ribs and the incipient fit of madness into which I had almost fallen faded from my numb and dizzy brain.
Striking out blindly with my arms, I touched other rounded surfaces, similarly corrugated and slimed. Feeling with my fingers, I traced their rondure and dimension. It seemed to me that what I was touching was insensate, for I sensed no movement, and the surfaces my hands encountered were hard and unyielding, although slick with slimy growths. But I also fancied that whatever it was I was prodding was unnatural, for rocks should be rough and edged and jagged, while the things my hands were exploring were smooth and rounded or coiling in some strange manner.
It was maddening, not being able to see, except with my sense of touch alone. How I would have welcomed the faintest gleam of light, however dim, in that unbroken blackness that clung around me, pressing (it seemed) against my very eyes like an impalpable weight.
But light there was not, so I fumbled in the dark, groping along the curves of hard, slick roundness, with no conception of what it was that I touched, nor of where I was, nor of whatever danger or menace might be close beside me in the unbroken gloom.
Because of my blindness I felt terribly, sickeningly vulnerable. In my present helpless condition, anything might slink or slither upon me out of the blackness. Some vast, predatory reptile might, even now, be very near me… sensing my presence, my nearness… its flickering tongue tasting the dank, chill air… searching for me in the gloom with subtle and mysterious senses… drinking in hungrily the odor of hot blood and warm, living flesh. The thought was maddening!
But even more maddening was my helplessness. At a single stroke I had become as a cripple, for as the gloom robbed me of the sight of my eyes, so too did it unman me. Only a moment before my fall I had been strong, vigorous, unafraid. With my longsword in my hand, pit me against a horde of enemies and, at least, I could go down fighting …
But now—now the strength of my lithe body was useless, and my swordsman’s skill futile. How can you fight against a thing you cannot see? Your blade, however swift and sure, cuts empty air. Yes, it was like being crippled.
That sound! That splash—something was in the black waters, something lived and moved out there in the lightless lake from whose cold embrace I had so narrowly dragged myself. My skin crept as I strained every nerve—listening, listening. Was it coming nearer—approaching me?—or was it going farther away, receding into the unknown depths? Curse this blackness that weighed upon my eyes, blinding me, robbing me of all ability to defend myself with whatever skills and strengths I possessed!
Again, that disturbance in the water. And this time it was definitely nearer to me than before. My eyes ached as I stared into the black gloom, straining to pierce the blind darkness which enveloped me. And my imagination conjured up a thousand ghastly images, remembering the nameless monsters who dwelt in this black Abyss, if nightmare myths were true.
The ripple of something gliding through water! I pictured in my sightless brain some gigantic serpent, cold eyes burning through the gloom, stealthy coils sliding suave and silent through the chill waters as it sought out its helpless, defenseless prey—myself?
Then something touched the rounded surface on which I crouched. I felt the subtle, small impact by some sense rarely used until this moment. And cold perspiration burst out on my brow and my stomach knotted in a tension of fear—not fear of fighting for my life, not even fear of death. Fear of the unknown; fear of something that I could not see …
Hardly daring to breathe, I slid my longsword from its scabbard, and sat there motionless, straining every sense in hopes of penetrating the blackness around me …
And then it touched my leg and I shrieked and struck out blindly
Chapter 10
The White, Crawling Thing
A hoarse, guttural cry rang out in my ears. Water splashed. The cold, wet grip on my leg loosed, although my blind sword-stroke only sliced through empty air.
The next moment the slimy, rounded thing on which I knelt trembled as an unseen weight heaved itself dripping from the lake.