He had knotted a leather thong around his stump and tied it to the reins to give him more control. He winced in pain with every tug. His stump had swollen twice in width. Xolin, Nochtli, and Gretta rode ahead of him. A band of eight mercenaries had spotted them in the city and began pursuit. They had managed to lose them in the outlying districts, but it was only a matter of time until the mercenaries would catch up to them. Kazimir had no doubt they were hired by the innkeeper of the Black Cactus.
As they rode farther into the southern part of the desert, the sand slowly began to change in texture and color. Kazimir's eyes stung a little. An acrid odor tingled his sinuses every quarter mile or so.
Xolin slowed his camel to gallop alongside Kazimir. "Blessed Stars! What is that awful smell?" He scrunched his nose a couple of times, making a disgusted face. "It smells like rotten eggs! And something else."
"There's salt everywhere," said Kazimir. "We're entering a salt pan. I've read about it, but I've never been this far south."
"Shouldn't we turn back home? You've lost a hand!" Xolin pleaded.
Kazimir rolled his eyes. "No!" He spurred his camel to speed up past Xolin.
"Is this expedition really so important it's worth losing your hand?" Xolin called from behind.
"It's more important now because I lost my hand!" Kazimir shouted back. "If we go home and give up, I will have lost it for nothing! And I must find that ravnaz woman!"
He could hear an exaggerated sigh from Xolin. Gretta giggled.
After another hour of running the camels, they all slowed their pace, not wanting to ride the animals out. The sun had dropped and draped the landscape in a dim violet. Kazimir's eyes continually teared now from the pungent odor as it had grown in strength. They were getting very close to what he had seen on maps marked as Hex Lake, a bizarre lake of acid like no other in the world. He had read in the Geographical Encyclopedias of Ebbenaxa that Hex Lake was dangerous, created by the star that fell to the earth thousands of years ago, unleashing a reservoir of sulfuric acid-water and salt from the deep. This also had created the miles of the salt pan. Despite all the warnings, Kazimir couldn't wait to see it, to study it and take samples of the acid, sulfur, and salt.
"Do you think they're still coming?" asked Gretta, reining her camel up beside Kazimir. She fluttered her eyelashes, fanning herself with a folding paper fan from Xolin's costume bag. Sweat glistened off her neck and bosoms.
Kazimir caught himself looking at her chest and quickly glanced up at her face. She was fairly beautiful, but he was beginning to think she might be a bit off in the head. "Maybe, I don't know. They might not want to follow us into the salt pans or come close to Hex Lake."
"Is that what it's called?" asked Gretta. "The men I traveled with from the south called it the Lake of the Dead. They went through great trouble to travel far around it. I never got to see it, but they said no one would want to because there are demons and monsters there like no other place."
"It's not," Kazimir told her. He tried to loosen the leather strap on his stump. It throbbed now. From the elbow to the wound where his wrist ended it felt hot inside. He winced but continued, "But I want to study it, collect samples for alchemical experiments."
"Aren't you afraid of the demons and monsters?" she pressed.
"Come on, now! You must know that's superstitious drivel! Just as the nonsense Waulox was feeding us about this ravnaz hand." Kazimir patted the largest leather pouch hanging from his side.
"I'm not so sure," Gretta said. "I've seen some things that will give you nightmares for years to come. They did me anyways. Don't you believe in ghosts or spirits? How can you practice magic if you don't believe in something?"
"Alchemy is not magic to those who know how its done. Ignorance makes everything seem like magic to those who've not learned the chemistry behind it." Kazimir adjusted himself in his saddle. He was beginning to feel the sting of chafing in his crotch. He swept his arm around him and said, "Everything is chemistry. Every single thing. The salt beds below our camel's feet. The camels themselves. You and I. The sky and the clouds and the sweat beading on our chests."
Gretta raised her brows. "Oh? I don't know, there must be some mysteries beyond that. Don't Belazonians have their own religion?"
"It's based on the stars," Kazimir said. "This desert came to be because a star fell from the sky thousands of years ago and turned a fertile land into a desert of glass and salt. This is the event that ignited the belief in a Star God, but it's more a science-based religion, though there are some celestial characters they created for it. They represent different elements of the universe. 'Z' is the Great One of celestial bodies, time and functions. 'Rakz' the god of fire. 'Vvo' is the god of air and gases. 'Shhee' the goddess of water. Lastly, 'Qex' the god of matter. They were invented to help children learn about the universe and our existence. Epic stories about the gods and their quests to create man and a world for him to live in. Unfortunately, some couldn't stop worshiping these characters as real deities, so after many generations, temples sprang up. Soon, there was a divisive feud amongst Belazonians about the true nature of the Star Gods. Now we have many different temples and interpretations of the religion. It happens in all cultures over time.
Gretta puffed out her chest. "Humph, I believe there is only one true goddess and I only pray to her."
"And who is that?" Kazimir asked.
"Why the Bleeding Mother of Time, of course. She is the mother of all things and bleeds for us in cycles. That's how you get earthquakes and volcanoes, you know. She must suffer to create new life."
"Meh. It's a pretty story but the Bleeding Mother of Time never seemed feasible to me. That's a deep southern religion. Why do you choose a god from so far south?"
"Goddess!" she corrected.
"Well, yes, goddess then," he consented.
"I don't know," Gretta said, reflective. I never liked the Messiah Samuel or the World Maker King so many in the kingdoms confess to. Their temples are so stale and dull looking. Mother of Time temples are extravagant and wildly ornate. Have you ever seen one in person? You must do so when you get the chance, let me tell you!"
"I haven't, but I study religion. I will eventually I'm sure," Kazimir said.
"If you've still got limbs to take you there by that time," quipped Xolin. "The Star God knows we'll be carting you around if you don't."
"Look! Up ahead!" shouted Nochtli, having meandered into the lead position on his camel. "It looks magnificent! Eerie! I can't believe my eyes!"
They caught up to him and crested a knoll of salt before they all saw it. It was an alien landscape of emerald green lakes surrounded by lemon yellow saline deposits percolating with steam and spiny orange ridges of crusted salt. The toxic gases in the air reeked of rotten eggs and burnt meat.
They all stopped and dismounted to investigate, leaving their camels to rest.
Kazimir pulled a cotton cloth from his pouch and held it over his mouth.
Xolin tied one around his nose and mouth and then helped Kazimir by doing the same for him.
Gretta and Nochtli followed suit also tying makeshift masks over their faces from scraps of cloth.
"Wow!" said Gretta. "Isn't it amazing? It's so pretty! It looks like another world! The colors!"
As she stepped forward across the crusted salt, Kazimir put his hand out stopping her. "It's not safe! You stay here with Xolin while Nochtli and I go ahead and collect samples."
Gretta crossed her arms and made a slight frown. "Well, try to hurry, please! It's dreadful hot here!"
Kazimir and Nochtli stepped cautiously over the saline deposit ground. It crunched and jabbed into the bottom of Kazimir's shoe leather. Would it break through and send them both into a sinkhole of acid melting off their skin? He couldn't be certain, but he didn't think it would. The ground crumbled a little at the surface but the foundation below it seemed pretty solid.
When they reached the shore of the nearest green lake, Kazimir squatted down with a small vi
al from his alchemical pack and dipped a bit of the pungent water from a shallow spot, his hand shaking. The glass of the vial warmed his fingers. It was hot. He corked the vial and put it inside his pack, then pulled the dagger from his belt and scrapped some of the crusty yellow sediment beneath him into a second vial from his pack. He looked over and found Nochtli doing the same. Nochtli's eyes had become reddened and tears streamed down his cheeks. Kazimir knew his eyes looked the same. "That's enough. I think we'd best leave the area right away."
Nochtli nodded. His violet kinky hair had tinted into a strange burgundy. The deep black of his puffy cheeks had paled into a chalky gray. "I agree. I don't feel well."
Suddenly from behind, a screech pierced Kazimir all the way into his spine. When they both turned around, a male humanoid figure, completely nude, approached them. It looked as if it was once human, but its skin had become the lemon yellow and orange colors of the saline deposits. It looked partially melted over its entire body, glistening waxy and wet with the green acidic water. It had no hair on its body of any sort. When it opened its mouth, a maw of fangs crowded within. It screeched again and lurched towards Nochtli.
Nochtli jumped aside but slipped and plunged waist-deep into the acidic water. He screamed, face muscles taut, as steam hissed into the air from the place where his hips hung out from the water.
Kazimir turned to defend himself from the creature's attack, but when he did, there was nothing there. Had it only been a hallucination? He turned back to Nochtli and could see his flesh blistering up and turning red where layers peeled away from him. He reached for him with his single hand and tried to lift him out but the sweat covering them both caused Nochtli to slip from Kazimir's grasp. Kazimir caught him by his robe sleeve and jerked up, but at the same moment something broke beneath Nochtli in the water. "No!" Kazimir shouted. He instinctively went for a hold on him with his stump, realizing too late there was no hand there to catch him. Nochtli sank making an agonizing scream you only hear from someone in the throes of death. He pulled Kazimir down with him into the emerald depths.
The acidity of the water burned his skin like a million bee stings. Kazimir felt his eyes popping in his skull. Acid stabbed into every opening of his body until all the nerve endings died. He saw nothing but blackness for what felt like a long time until a voice echoed in his head.
I AM THE KING OF SCION! SWEAR FEALTY TO ME NOW AND LIVE! HELP ME PREPARE THIS WORLD FOR THE COMING OF MY PEOPLE, FOR OUR WORLD IS DYING AND TIME IS SHORT. SEEK OUT THE VANGUARD OF SCION AND JOIN WITH THEM. LIVE REBORN WITH REAL POWER TO SUMMON CREATURES BEYOND YOUR IMAGINATION!
"What? Are you a god? I've never heard of a King of Scion, or a Scion. Why should I believe you're real?"
I AM NO GOD! I AM THE LEADER OF THE HALOMITES AND THE OPENER OF DOORS! I AM A GREAT MAGIC USER FROM A REALM I CREATED IN A DIFFERENT WAVELENGTH FROM YOURS! I HAVE LEARNED THE SECRETS THAT ALLOW TINY BRIDGES BETWEEN US!
"You are a magic-user. Interesting. I should like to learn about your world's magic. If I agree to serve you, you must also save Nochtli."
IF HE CAN BE SAVED, IT WILL BE DONE!
"All right then, I agree! I will serve you as my King, but you must teach me your magic."
YOU WILL WIELD IT AS MY SERVANT WHEN I CALL UPON YOU!
"Fair enough."
PREVIEW CHAPTER 35 PICKS UP WHERE WE LEFT OFF IN THIS BOOK. THE NEXT INSTALLMENT DUE OUT VERY SOON!
THE VANGUARDS OF SCION
PART TWO:
THE DRAGON MAKER
“TINCUP” TOM
Tom held out his tin cup, his knobby, age-spotted hand trembling.
"Just a penny? A penny will do! Please! You do you and I'll do me! One penny'll take me to bread!" he pleaded in his deep buzzing voice to a heavily powdered man walking by who was dressed in red velvet and smelled of musky perfumes.
"Bugger off, peasant!" the powdered man scoffed. "Find respectable work!"
Another man, a middle-aged fishmonger with gray flecked stubble and wearing an apron smeared with fish blood commented, "That's ole Tincup Tom! He's been shakin' that dented cup on the wharf for over twenty years! He figures it's his job!" The fishmonger laughed hard at this.
"You do you and I'll do me!" Tom said puffing out his already bulbous cheeks and smiling. He spun around in a quick little dance. "Bite them wooden nickels! They might be made of gold!" When he had done his spin, he counted all four of his fishing boats coming to port in Kilawon. The barrels on the decks looked stuffed with fish. It was a good fishing day. The Beggar's Well, a tavern he owned just up the wharf, looked to be bustling with patrons already. This was still the best place to keep an eye on his commodities while making a good haul at the same time. Tom glanced down into his dirty canvas bag to recount the earnings his tin cup had brought in so far: thirty coppers, six nickels and twenty silver, not a bad haul for midday begging. He kept his identity a secret from most of those he hired to run his business, all bought and paid for by honest, yet skillful begging. Most of the profits went to the poorhouse and the local healers to pay for their work on the sick and depraved. It was a rewarding lifestyle, but Tom never let anyone know he was behind it all.
He glanced over at the last of his four fishing boats docking on the pier and pushed up his bottom-lip in perplexity. As usual, the fishermen walked four barrels of various fish down the boarding planks, but what came after gave him pause. Seawater drained from the cracks of an oblong crate as they lowered it onto the dock, not much bigger than a coffin. This was unusual. Tom wandered over to get a closer look, limping and grinning stupidly. He hoped to try to stay in character. "What'cha got there, lad? That's a mighty big crate. Find you a big breasted mermaid?"
Without even making eye contact, a burly fisherman snapped, "Piss off, Tincup! This one's for tha boss's eyes only!"
"You do you, lad!" said Tom. He stepped closer onto the dock anyways and patted the crate with his hand. He peeked between the shoddy planks that looked to have been hastily nailed together from discarded shipping crates and misshapen pieces of driftwood. Black tangles of seaweed padded something pale and waxy inside. As the crate thumped onto the deck, the stump of an arm without a hand with skin as white as a catfish belly broke through the tangled knots of seaweed within.
"You heard me, Tincup! I said piss off!" yelled the burly fisherman. "Get away from that crate or I'll sic Sharky on you right quick!"
At that moment, Sharky, a huge gray mastiff missing half an ear, appeared from the cabin of the boat and started barking. Spittle flew from its jaws that were the size of a wine jug.
Tincup Tom moved back away from the dock and onto the wharf. "I was just curious! Sorry to bother! Sorry to bother!"
"None of yer concern, Tincup! We found a body on a sandbar is all!" the burly fisherman shouted back.
"That'd make me piss crooked, for certain!" Tom hollered back, doing a twirl before he added, "You be you and I'll be me!" He would see the pale body inside the crate soon enough.
* * * *
Tom sat at his workbench within his hovel in the dank tunnels deep below the wretched city of Kilawon. He chose to abide here. He felt this was the heartbeat of his establishments above with no one the wiser except two who controlled everything for him and even pretended to be the lords of his properties.
Tom counted the day's earnings in begging, stacking each coin denomination gingerly and writing down a tally with a sharpened piece of charcoal. The sum of all the smaller coins added up to the equivalent of ten gold. "Not bad for a beggar, ay little friends?" He tossed a couple of pinches of bread to the two sewer rats that had learned to show up at this time every day along the tunnel groove next to his workbench. "Sometimes, I think you're the only real friends I got, you know? I should name you, I suppose. How about um . . . Snatcher and Dasher! Yes, that's it! Since one of you seems to snatch at everything, I throw at you and the other has to dash for it. We'll see if it sticks."
"Tom, my lord!" said Cranley, approaching from behind. "We have--"<
br />
Tom held up his hand. "I told you, I'm not a lord! Just call me Tom."
Cranley cleared his throat. "Sorry, Tom. Habit from mingling with city folk all day. I would point out that you do stake claim to more properties than most lords."
"My enterprises are not for staking my claim or lordship. You know our mission. We provide for the unfortunate, heal the sick, and give this city of thuggery a heartbeat of compassion."
"Right. My apologies. Anyhow, we have the crate the fishermen brought in today if you would like to look at its contents. I think you shall find it quite interesting."
"It's a dead body. What's so interesting about that?"
"Well, my lor-- um, Tom. That's the thing. It's not dead. The creature inside the crate is alive. That's why the fishermen boxed it up. They were afraid it might be dangerous. They wanted to bring it to you straight away."
Tom raised one of his bushy gray brows. "Really? Alive? How could that be? It didn't seem to be thrashing about inside that crate?"
"Obviously you've seen the crate," asserted Cranley.
"Aye, I had a peek at it."
"Well, what should I do? Rew and I can't hoist the thing down here all by ourselves."
"I know that, Cranley. I'll have to make a special visit to investigate. Where is it presently?"
Cranley crossed his meaty forearms. "It's up in the brothel." Cranley stood only a thumb over five feet tall, but he was stocky, thick-boned, and sported ample blond hair on his arms, chest, and back. A long blond goatee hung from his chin, and the tufts growing from his cheeks gave his head a tigerish shape. He had scant wisps of hair on his head that waved at you when he spoke.
"The brothel? Good Forest Father! Why would you have them bring it there?"
"I knew you would want to look at it, and it's the best place for you to keep your identity a secret. No one cares if they saw Tincup Tom in the brothel."
The Vanguards of Scion Page 23