Part 5 of 6
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, master frontiersman and student of the occult, Thomas Blackhall, comes upon a discomforting bog of unnatural origin.
The Skinner Co. Network
197 - Support: a Blackhall Tale, Part 5 of 6
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 197. Tonight we present "Support a Black Hotail," part 5 of 6. This week's episodes are brought to you by Pendragon Variety. Consider this. [vocalizing] Now consider this. I vociferously disagreed with him? I'm not feeling too sanguine about, you know, eating up to him. Now picture character archetype hanging from every finger. The romantic hero type, the almost villainous protagonist type. Well, I'll be darned. It does sound like that. Mika, I think you waxed North Carolina in there for a second. Pendragon Variety, usually more intelligible than a baby. FlashPulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to ten minutes of fiction, brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, Master Frontiersman and student of the occult Thomas Blackhall comes upon a discomforting bog of unnatural origin. Support "A Black Hotail," part 5 of 6. Written by Jarrity Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. [vocalizing] The fever blur of the swamp's heat made the approaching bent figure of the old man seem spectral. But as he neared the cusp that marked the edge of his bog, Blackhall was able to scrutinize his wisened frame. The newcomer's face was lined, like a spider's web. His wrinkles having formed a connecting network that continued down his neck and below the maroon robe he wore. The garb had once been of handsome craftsmanship, but his shrunken stature had long left the hem trailing in the muck. About his collar was a string of beads, which held a pendant composed of an array of intricate golden loops. At the center of the coils rested an emerald of unlikely bulk. To Thomas's inspection, the elder's skin appeared as if paper stretched thin over a bamboo frame. Opening wide his hooded eyes, the intruder began ranting. "He says that his name is the Airmight," translated Blackhall. "Yes," replied Sarah Thistle. Her teeth bared and her claws on full display. "I speak Latin." "I apologize," said Thomas, clearing his throat. The Airmight did not let the interruption break his delivery. After five minutes with barely a pause for breath, Blackhall took up a side dialogue with his traveling companion. "All this talk of blood from our bowels and tears from our fingernails is certainly passionate, but I've the impression that he isn't entirely aware he's addressing an audience," he said. "Transience rarely makes sense to me. You men die too quickly to ever have learned anything," she replied. His gusto spent, the orator, took on a morose tone, but continued. "He is talking madness," concluded Sarah Thistle. "Something about his mother burning the eggs on the fire, and his brother stealing his portion." "What? Whose that?" said the Airmight in muddled English. His eyes suddenly focusing on the murk around him. Unwilling to wait for an answer, he turned. His form warped, then broke, tumbling into a cascade of woolly spiders. The large furry body of each appearing to convey an aspect of the warlock. Thomas first noted a red splash that seemed once cloth, then a single fat arachnid, bearing a golden pattern and set with brilliant green. All skittered out of sight, some ascending towards the canopy, some disappearing within the undergrowth. "This does not bode well for us," said Sarah Thistle, her hackles raised. Then, she was bitten. Thomas's boot fell in the jade-spined insect only seconds after its venom was laid, but his effort met with unexpected resistance. Instead of dashing the beast to pieces, as he'd intended, the blow brought on a heavy crunch, which sent the things speeding towards the femme. "Hold still," Blackall told his ally, while eyeing the rapidly swelling infection just above her right forepaw. An angry red hive had taken hold at the sight, and seemed to grow even under his examination. "This will be painful, I apologize," he said, giving no opportunity for complaint as he unsheathed his skinning knife and dug it into her flesh. It was a crude operation, and she keened her displeasure at his rough surgery, but it was swiftly completed. Although the ease with which his edge pierced the area of infection, given the occult nature of his subject, unsettled him, he held his tongue. A strong hand was all that was required to remove the core of the wound, but he knew that he had not been in time to entirely excise the contamination. "I'll be fine," she said, as he cleaned his blade. He examined the red, which had splattered about the area, and the wolverines drawn snout, and raised an eyebrow. "No, I do not believe you will. This is no simple poison." Ignoring his words, she took a tentative step, and staggered. "Perhaps, after I rest a few months," she replied. "No, you'll wait here," said Black All. I have a conversation to hold with an old acquaintance anyhow. As he spoke, he reached deep within the folds of his great coat, and retrieved a silver chain, upon the end of which, rested a hook of remarkable craftsmanship. "You possessed the crook of Ortiz," asked the lady of the forest. To Thomas's ear, her voice had taken on no small wonder. "It was given to me by the last of the line," he replied. "Well, given me not be quite the right word. I shall return. Rest." With a final examination of his patient's comfort, Black All righted himself. Taking in a deep breath of the cooler air, he stepped across the boundary and into the marsh. Shimeying the tall trunk of an unfamiliar breed of tree to achieve access to the corpse of Archer was a moist task of some exertion. But Thomas felt no sympathy for the cadaver as he cut its bonds and let it drop to the sawy earth below. Rosy Red's face had been largely eaten away by carrion feeders, and his gummy maw exposed by the steady gnawing of insects. Black all exhaled, then stooped to begin his discourse. Dragging the chain's bar belong Archer's putrid flesh, Thomas felt a tug as if a hefty catch had taken hold of an angling line, and the frontiersmen heaved upon the chain. Before him stood the spectral shadow of a man he'd once known. "Blut a black hole? What brings you this god-fasciggy witch to have a hole?" asked the dead soldier. The same thing that brought you here fits you as damnable scheming, Thomas replied. "Ah, I'm just having you about. I know well enough while you're here. I've waited since that old bastard set my throat and let his flock consume more mules for someone to come pull my stink from the tree tops." "Oh, yeah, I must admit, I wasn't expecting him to send in a witch, Doctor." "Hm, I'm still a pushy-bugger," said Black all. The apparition chuckled. "Listen," Thomas continued, "I've need of your help." "Ow, sir," asked Rosie Red. This trinket can do more than just temporarily pull loud mouths from their graves, but it requires many hours to achieve a strength suitable to my requirements, and given the likely approach of the swarm of life-suckers, the name is not something I have. There's an alternative, however, unfortunately, it's an unpleasant one. Archer raised a shimmering hand to tap at his nose, and Black all briefly wondered if it seemed a luxury in light of his missing original. "Maybe that long-eyed Spaniard, the pygmy with the ripe ears," asked the phantom. Thomas could hardly forget. To pairing a cluster of bayonets, the fellow had done in three of his platoon-mates. Archer had managed to disarm the man by using the butt of his rifle as a club, but at the cost of an open leg artery. If the daredevil hadn't paused a gloat over his fallen opponent, Black all would never have had the opportunity to strangle him with his own locks. "I find it difficult to disremember most of the things I did during our effort to stop the tiny emperor," he replied. "Deo-no, I recognise a debt when it's out," said Rosie read. "What are the terms?" By way of answer, Thomas once again retrieved his blade. Bending low beside the corpse, he began to saw forcefully at the cadaver's thigh. Removing a crudely rounded patty of rotting skin and muscle, he lasted onto the hook's intricate barb. As it worked its way on, it became apparent that a force was wearing at the shade. Black all completed his council. "You'll be bound where you died, and unable to move without great effort, at least until I remove your beef from the fetish. And there will be pain. The more I must use it, the greater the affliction. In fairness, you should know. I mean to unfasten the heavens." "I've given enough. I suppose I could take a little," replied Archer. The memory of a doe-eyed sinarita, lying wide-mouth as her toddler uselessly grasped at her uncoupled arm, came suddenly to Thomas' mind. He could not dismiss the smirk Rosie had delivered to him, as the butcher strode from the scene. "Indeed," he said, "now, where might I find?" His ears had not ceased to strain since his last near fatal encounter, and even his unpleasant labours had not driven away the warning that had been provided by the faltering stag he'd consumed. As such, he was not entirely taken by surprise when the telltale hum, again, filled the air. Flashpulp is presented by Flashpulp.com, and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 licence. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skinner@skinner.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792, but be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the Free Sound Project, found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. [Music] [Music] [Music]