The Pierced Veil: The Ferryman Pentalogy, #3

By Wayne Kyle Spitzer

He picked up one of the fur coats and helped her into it, then stroked the hair next to her temple, laying his head slowly back against the pillows. He gazed up at the gondola’s steel ferro (which loomed above them for the ship was right behind him and the flat-bottomed boat’s prow rested well above the waterline), and said, "Take hold of my ship’s ferro, Shekalane. And hold on tightly."

She looked at the great black and gold ferro, which pointed like a scimitar at the ceiling of the cavern, and its comb of seven tines, six pointing forward and one back, then back at Dravidian, whom she kissed before pushing herself up by her arms and, with the assistance of Dravidian’s big hands on her waist, gripped the topmost tines, the forward of which was etched with the word ‘Jaskir’ and the backward of which was etched ‘Novum Venum.’

She looked down at him as he hiked her frayed dress up along her dirty thighs and realized she was breathing far too heavy and fast, and tried to calm herself by observing the grotto around them, the piled treasure, the phantasmagoria of mushrooms. But then his cheek grazed the inside of her thigh and he began kissing her leg softly, and she surrendered all pretense to being in any sort of control.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne Kyle Spitzer
• Release date: Nov 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781540123282

Wayne Kyle Spitzer

Wayne Kyle Spitzer (born July 15, 1966) is an American author and low-budget horror filmmaker from Spokane, Washington. He is the writer/director of the short horror film, Shadows in the Garden, as well as the author of Flashback, an SF/horror novel published in 1993. Spitzer's non-genre writing has appeared in subTerrain Magazine: Strong Words for a Polite Nation and Columbia: The Magazine of Northwest History. His recent fiction includes The Ferryman Pentalogy, consisting of Comes a Ferryman, The Tempter and the Taker, The Pierced Veil, Black Hole, White Fountain, and To the End of Ursathrax, as well as The X-Ray Rider Trilogy and a screen adaptation of Algernon Blackwood’s The Willows.

Book preview

Prologue | Exorcism

By the time they’d been shown the other gateway back to Styx Flumen (which lie well-hidden in its grotto just a little downriver) and backtracked to land at the ramshackle dock near the rude farm in the rude village where the cage stood, having left Jamais’ boat tied off just around the bend, Jamais had debriefed them on the plan and they’d all donned their disguises: Jamais as the exorcist in Dravidian’s black cloak, Shekalane as the prostitute in a midriff–baring Samhain Eve costume from Jamais’ inventory (one shoulder of which had already been damaged by Milkweed’s little claws in the creature’s desperation not to be separated again), and Dravidian, bound with his own shackles, as the possessed, afflicted man with his oil slick–colored poncho and green-gray, dead-blue skin.

The background of the plan and the need for it was as simple as the plan itself: Having been shot at with a bow and arrow the first time he had tried to approach the property, Jamais had made enquiries at the local tavern and learned that the land was owned by a poultry farmer named Parvus Periver—a paranoid and miserly man known to visit the local brothel obsessively and to have long since lost his mind to ignudi dust. Thus they would present themselves behind the safety of the gondola’s shields and pretend to barter Shekalane for the use of his cage in an emergency exorcism. Then, once inside, it was hoped Jamais’ research would allow him to activate its lift mechanisms. As for what would happen after that—who could say?

And yet no arrows came, even when Jamais called out in his booming, baritone voice, and when Parvus emerged at last from his shambles of a cottage he seemed more curious than anything.

Dravidian, you are possessed, Shekalane reminded him, and he immediately began tugging at his chains and gnashing his teeth.

We are in need of your help, good sir! cried Jamais, wrestling with Dravidian, who was shackled to the boat. I see you have a cage over yonder by the cliff face that could contain this poor afflicted man while I sprinkle Holy Water. May we use it?

Parvus looked from Jamais to Dravidian to Shekalane to Jamais again ... then back to Shekalane, who made a point to appear small and separate as though she were with them against her will. Milkweed had curled into a ball amidst the jumble of her hair and was not visible save for the tip of a webbed wing, which Parvus appeared to take special note of.

He looked at Jamais dubiously. Have never seen holy man with sword at his back. And why need cage for shackled man?

Jamais moved to speak then paused, raising his eyebrows. He glanced at Dravidian and Shekalane. The man’s affliction ... has imbued him with superhuman strength. Once, ah, the Holy Water flies ... he will surely break his bonds. As he has done before. As for my weapon ... I may be a holy man, but I am no fool. It’s a dangerous world.

Parvus studied him, and it occurred to Shekalane that for a man who had lost his mind to ignudi dust he seemed awfully cogent.

That cage full of chickens, he said at last. Where else I put them while you do this thing?

Jamais hesitated, affecting deep and troubled thoughts as he struggled with Dravidian, who hissed and spat at him. It would entail a loss if you were unable to recapture them, I understand. But I have money and will pay you generously. How ... He struck Dravidian with the back of his hand. Settle, damn you! How much will you take?

The man glanced at Shekalane, who shook her head slightly.

I have money, preacher, he said, and gestured with his arm to indicate ‘No.’ Who is woman?

This ... Jamais indicated Shekalane but paused, thinking. This is Jolie Laide. ‘Beautiful ugly,’ as the French say ...

Shekalane put a hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow.

A good woman with a vile trade seeking reformation. She owes me a life-debt for liberating her from a cruel master of demidaines. I hope to deliver her to the nunnery upriver, that is if they will take her with her familiar, from which she is quite inseparable. Show yourself, little one ... he will do you no harm.

Shekalane reached around and roused her, and Parvus’ face lit up as Milkweed’s tapered head poked out from her hair and looked at him with sleepy, slanted eyes. White dust billowed slightly as Shekalane drew the drooping shoulder of her garment up.

Hello, little one ... fear not, said Parvus, wetting his lips slightly. She make lot of dust, that one. So, ah, white, and pure ...

Dravidian cried out suddenly and groped for the elfemale, causing her to squeal and to take flight briefly—directly to Parvus’ shoulder, where she