“Fools, your beloveds belong to me.”
And his call was rooted deep in their sinning organs. It moved them like the flesh puppets they were to their dark lord and master.
“Come to me. Oh, come to me. Dark deeds await you.”
His spirit passed on, searching for more targets, more fodder to throw at the Queen of All Tree’s paltry shield. He was a shadow-bird of prey diving into the sheep—the citizens of this mountain—and plucking the blackest souls for his own entourage. His claws closed on them then he soared back up with his prize, reveling in the power of sin to enslave—until a divine vibration interfered with the perfect reverberations of his summons.
No, he can’t be here. The Adversary dipped his wing and wheeled. He shot through the Lower Quarters, banked left to enter a stair and spiraled up it, snuffing out the light of faith in those stupid enough to share the staircase with him.
“Dark tidings I bring to you and your kin. Dark tidings for sinners, I summon you to me,” the Adversary sang as he flew through the main thoroughfare turning the minds of sinners everywhere to his cause.
Everyone he passed turned as one to the nearest stair and descended. It was so beautiful seeing mankind united in one common deed. The sight brought a tear to the Adversary’s eye as he negotiated the tight turn into the arcade fronting the balcony. Pulling his wings in close to his body, he dove through an aperture and landed on a marble bench next to a giant eagle statue.
“I know, they don’t make mortals like they used to,” he said to the stone creature he leaned against. “Nor mages, or you my friend, would’ve been set free by now. But alas, that’s not to be. Such a pity really, but I’m not into charity and there’s nothing you can offer to make it worth my while to break your enchantment. Or yours,” he nodded to the unicorn statue giving him the stink eye. “Maybe I’ll move both of you into my new throne room, once I take over management of this place.”
The Adversary let the subject drop since his cursed interlocutors had nothing to contribute. Where are you Son of Man? I know you’re here. I can feel your saccharine presence polluting my new realm.
Right on cue, that divine harmony sounded again, like church bells. He covered his ears as that rhythmic ding-donging. That too sweet chiming of angels gaining their wings drove the Adversary to his knees. Make it stop. Oh, make it stop. I hate the bells
Their song disrupted his summons, freeing the less sinful sinners he’d called. And they kept on ringing, peal after horrible peal. Their reverberations droned out his call.
No! The Adversary rocked as he tried to sing a countermelody, but the bells’ song dominated his hearing and his thoughts. He couldn’t get their awful song out of his mind, so he fell to chanting.
“Come, sinners, the hour of my power is here. Shadows writhe and shadows weave, chains to bind the ones dear to me. Bring them here, my dark friends, bring all the sinners to their rightful end. Let none escape, my dark ones, or challenge their rightful end. Capture all the sinners, to them now tend."
Power exploded out of him and washed over the mountain in black waves. It shook as its protections fought his taint, but no one had tended those shields in many centuries. So their once flawless surface was now pitted and cracked in places, letting his darkness escape into the world.
But the highest level, nestled inside the mountain’s peak, a sound-proofed chapel stood between the bells of Mount Eredren and the levels below it. None of the Adversary’s questing power could breach that place nor the twelve blessed bells that rang every hour on the hour, nor the one hundred and forty-four metal tubes carrying their hateful anthem to every part of the mountain stronghold. All were warded against tampering. And those wards were renewed every Easter by the priest and Servant of the Bells. Damn him and his ancient order of do-gooders.
After sixteen peals, the bells finally stopped. The Adversary waited, but no more bells rang. Are you here or not, Son of Man? Show yourself if you are.
“Having problems?” The Ægeldar cackled.
“What do you want, beast? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I heard you calling and thought I’d do the polite thing and reply since I can’t leave the pit beneath this rubble pile. Nice moniker by the way—'Father of Lies’ indeed!”
More laughter followed. “Thank you for sending all your sinners to me. So thoughtful of you. I’ve planned a special welcome for them when the shield falls. I can’t wait to show it to you.”
After one more fit of laughter, the creature’s voice receded leaving behind the echoes of its merriment. The Adversary waved its nebulous threat away. The Ægeldar could plot all it wanted, but not even that second-rate tentacular horror show could spoil his plans. Laugh while you can, creature because you won’t be laughing when you see what I’ve planned.
“Why did you call me? I almost had him.” Ragnes strode onto the balcony, fists balled at his sides.
“Him, who? You almost had the mage?”
“Yes, until you called me. I couldn’t fight the summons. It tore me away from him.”
“What is his name?” The Adversary glared at his minion and peeled Ragnes’ mind revealing layers upon layers of self-deception and lies. Under all that waste, a seething jealousy squatted, and clutched in its green hands were images of a tall youth with blazing green eyes and magic in his soul.
“Ah, so his name is Sarn. Thank you for that nugget of information. Your services are no longer required. I’ll fetch him myself.”
The Adversary waved a hand dismissing his creation. The thing that once was Ragnes melted into a black puddle then flowed into the Adversary’s black hoof and was once again part of his master before he could even protest.
“Good help is so hard to find these days.” With a shrug, the Adversary turned then paused as a new thought struck him. Why hadn’t the mage come to him? I called all sinners and everyone’s a sinner, so, where is he? He can’t escape me unless he had divine help.
The Adversary leaped into the coping, and his cloven hooves clattered on the dent another demon had made on that same spot earlier that day. Black wings sprouted from his back. Each feather was steel-tipped and barbed. Where are you mageling, the Adversary asked as he launched himself into the air.
I’m coming for you, Sarn.
Dark Voices
J.C. lifted his cross and regarded Mount Eredren. So many souls were imperiled there, but the Litherians had constructed their protections to keep the divine out unless invited. Unfortunately, his ticket inside was running in the opposite direction. J.C. sighed and invoked a variant of the seven leagues’ boot spell then stepped out in front of the young curse breaker.
Potential curse breaker, he corrected Himself. That gift was only partially active.
“How did you do that?” Sarn stared at him, but he was careful not to meet his gaze head-on.
“Magic sandals, I recommend them for when you’re in a hurry and I am.”
“You’re in a hurry to go to Mount Eredren? Whatever for?”
It was a fair question, Mount Eredren was far down on the list of important places in Shayari. A heavy weight pressed against J.C.’s shoulders, staggering him. What are you doing, my Adversary? Whatever it was, it was throwing off the world’s balance, making his burden too heavy to bear alone. But bear it I must for there is no one who can help me. I made that bargain long ago.
Distrust melted from those vivid green eyes and both father and son stretched out a hand to lift a burden they couldn’t touch—not directly. But their angels could. Three angels appeared behind them—one for the child in Sarn’s arms, and two for him, his guardian angel and an angel-in-training who must be Sarn’s sister for she looked like a feminized version of him. Five hands extended, and their offer lightened the load just enough, so J.C. could step backward out of reach. All three angels bowed their heads and went incorporeal since they weren’t supposed to be visible to the mortals they guarded.
“I must go to the mountain you call Eredren. I have impor
tant business there.”
More than that, he couldn’t say because the information would prejudice their decision. Sarn must decide of his own accord. God’s covenant with man guaranteed all mortals free will, and J.C. would uphold that even if it complicated his mission.
Besides, all he needed was an escort with Litherian blood to get him past the protections in and around the mountain. And both Sarn and his son had Litherian blood in their veins. Not a lot, but enough that those protections would react to it. Since they lived somewhere inside that mountain, they would head for it eventually.
“But you can’t pass through the two rings of standing stones.” Sarn nodded as if this all made sense.
J.C. shook his head. “No, I can’t, not without help. But you’re not going to the mountain. So, I’m offering a trade. I’ll get you where you need to go in seven blinks of an eye—” J.C. paused as his turn of phrase dragged a surprised laugh out of the boy, then continued before his father could decide against it.
And Sarn was leaning toward rejecting his offer. Distrust was written in his every line. To him, it sounded too good to be true, but a budding curse breaker was wedded to the truth.
“—Then back again and you’ll help me cross. That is my bargain, no more, no less. All you must do is take my hand.” J.C. extended his hand and his offer.
Ran extended his delighted by the whole arrangement, but his father was more reticent, as he should be.
“Let’s go, Papa. It’ll be like when Bear jumped us around. It was fun—except for the monsters chasing us. But they’re not chasing us now.” Ran’s brow crinkled at the mention of Bear and he glanced around for that worthy. “Where is Bear? I called him when the bad thing came for you. Why didn't he come?”
“Maybe he was busy.”
Ran looked skeptical, but his explanation was plausible. What did they know about that ghost—nothing.
“Let’s go. I trust him.”
“You trust everyone,” Sarn replied.
Though Sarn kept his gaze on J.C., he felt his son’s indignant frown and the silent, ‘do not,’ emanating from him. But Sarn wasn’t ready to trust anyone even on his son’s say so especially not someone as puzzling as J.C. Though part of him wanted to trust this generous offer. His whole left arm was throbbing now from the Adversary’s mark. Reaching the Queen of All Trees faster would get him some much-needed relief. But his offer sounds too good to be true.
There was one way to tell if J.C.’s offer was genuine—he could submit it to the part of him that couldn’t lie. Sarn braced himself for the truth and repeated the terms of their bargain verbatim and was shocked when his magic let it pass his lips unchanged. He stared at J.C., astounded.
“You’ll take us to the Queen of All Trees then back to Mount Eredren?” he asked because it just wasn’t sinking in.
“Yes, I promise I will. Take my hand and we’ll go. You might feel a little strange. I’m not sure how this spell will interact with your magic since both come from the same source, but I assure you, it won’t hurt you or your boy.”
“Do it, Papa. I want to go.” Ran leaned forward to connect their hands, but Sarn turned away.
There was something about J.C., but those fathomless dark eyes he fixed on Sarn made him want to trust the man. Could he?
A cross flickered just at the edge of sight. It was here then gone again but its weight bowed J.C.’s shoulders.
“Who are you?” Sarn backed away, taking his curious son with him. There was something unsettling about J.C., but not in a bad way.
J.C. shrugged. “Just a traveler like you.”
“What’s that you’re carrying?”
“We've all got crosses to bear, some heavier than others.” His smile never faltered. “Will you accept my offer?”
Her call was a whisper in the wind, fading every moment Sarn stood there, and that dark voice was gaining in volume. How long before he couldn’t fight its summons at all?
“You swear we won’t be harmed?”
“Yes.”
Just to be safe, Sarn repeated that under his breath but wasn’t surprised when his magic let the assurance pass unchanged. J.C.’s sincerity was genuine—what a relief. Sarn took the proffered hand and the world blurred then stilled.
“Ah, where is this Queen of yours?” J.C. looked at him sheepishly.
“Oh,” Sarn called up his head map. Strange how quiescent it had been. Usually, it was a curious puppy nosing its way into everything he did unless he blocked it out. His map spawned at his summons and centered on the spot where Shade had died a month ago. A silver tree symbol stood in the middle of that copse, beckoning to him.
“She’s three miles that way.” Sarn pointed north-northeast as grief tightened a noose around his neck.
J.C. nodded, took his hand and the forest dissolved into smears of greens and browns.
Villar lobbed another rock at the chasm, but like the hundred before it, the stone disintegrated when it struck the shield. This is futile. I can’t break through no matter what I do. He slumped against a boulder. Cris, Gore, and Ragnes had all gone down into the pit hours ago. Neither had returned. If the Adversary could be believed, they were all alive.
And he did believe. They couldn’t all be dead. If there was a chance his friends were alive, he’d keep trying to break through. Though what he’d do after that was still a mystery.
Villar shoved a hand through his tousled hair and grimaced. Dust had mixed with sweat turning his dark hair into a sticky gray mess. His clothes weren’t in much better shape and his stomach cramped from hunger. Villar hefted another rock to distract himself from the thirst burning his throat. There was no water in here and his canteen had gone dry hours ago.
It’s too bad you can’t get water from a stone. If I could, I’d have more than enough water to drink. But alas, that was not to be.
“I could give you water,” said a sibilant voice from somewhere nearby.
The torch had burned out a while ago and any lumir he’d brought had been extinguished by its antithesis at the start of this mess. So he lobbed the rock in his hand at the shield. It flared up and destroyed it, momentarily lighting the area around the yawning chasm. Nothing moved. Then everything went dark as the shield became invisible again.
“Who said that?”
An eye opened inside the stones under his feet. It was as wide as he was tall and glowing a soft blue.
“I see your pain, taste your worry and know your fears. Your friend lives. Does that comfort you?”
Villar tried to speak, but no words came. His throat was so dry. He worked his tongue around his dry mouth to moisten it. “You said ‘friend’ singular. Are the rest of my friends dead?”
A second eye opened, and their combined stare pinned Villar in place. “Only one of your friends is down here. I know nothing of any others.”
The eyes receded into the solid rock he sat on, proving it wasn’t corporeal. Which was possible given all the weird things that had happened since he’d stepped into the Ægeldar. Unreality ruled here with a vengeance. So, did darkness. It closed in on Villar as the creature vanished from sight.
Everyone wanted something. No one gave away information for free. Everyone had an angle or an agenda. What did this creature want? I’m already damned. What’s another deal if it’ll save my friends?
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Wait. How can I save my friend?”
The eyes reappeared closer than before. Blue light lit the piles of rubble around Villar.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Enormous teeth flashed in a snake’s smile. “Through here.”
A tentacle reared up from below and the ground Villar sat on disappeared. He fell into blue-tinged darkness chased by the echoes of his screams and the inhuman laughter of the creature. Past tentacles tracing lines in the choking black fog creeping across the underside of that shield, he plummeted.
Things moved in it. Eyeless sockets tracked him as shrunk
en heads popped out of the fog. A few wisps of gray hair clung to their wizened foreheads, and their lipless mouths shaped the rhyme chewing on his sanity.
“Ghosts and ghouls and sallow fools lost with tools and bloody drool. Oh, how they cool. Oh, how they cool, ‘neath the land where tyrants rule!”
“What are you?”
As those skeletal creatures ringed Villar, they repeated their chant, but none stuck out a hand to stop his fall. They were enjoying taunting him while he dropped through the choking fog deeper into the pit. I’m going to die.
“Cris? Gore? Ragnes? Anybody?”
No answer. Villar coughed as the mist thickened and invaded every part of him. Sparks flew off him and a shimmering cord unwound from inside his core. As it did, it darkened, unraveling Villar until he was nothing but a falling ember, burning out in the cold wafting up from the pit.
It can’t end like this. Villar blinked but there was nothing to see. The fog was everything and he was becoming part of it.
“Of course, it can. This is my turf,” said the beast in the pit. Tentacles thrust through the fog, brushing past Villar on their way to the top. “Your soul might belong to the Adversary, but he has no claim on your body. And it’s your body I need.”
I wish I’d never come here. I wish I’d never heard of black lumir, Villar thought as the black lumir crystal swept the last cinders of magic from his body, emptying it.
That’s what all life is—a container. Too bad I had to die imprisoned under a mountain to learn that bitter truth. The Ægeldar caught Villar’s body and lowered it to the ground.
A quick check proved Villar was alive. His chest still rose and fell with breath, good. I don’t want you dying just yet. I can’t have you rat me out to your true master.
Villar's body was almost ready to receive its new host, but not yet. There was one more thing the Ægeldar needed to do. He sent scores of tentacles up and their tips danced in the air under the shield, weaving the black fog, magic’s antithesis, into an inversion of a spell.
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