Blackest Spells

by Phipps, C. T.

  I caught myself against a set of shelves holding a variety of organs preserved in jars. In another place, it would have been quite normal, a laboratory with specimens. Here, knowing their likely origins, it was repulsive. My impact had already tipped the shelf slightly. I deliberately gave it a shove to finish the job, sending the entire contents to shatter upon the floor. So much for that grisly collection.

  I turned my attention back to the Soothsayer. He had moved the pieces of the door aside and was on his knees, chuckling and grinning like an idiot. He licked at the blood pouring down his face from a nasty gash in his forehead.

  “Amused by your own demise?” I drew my dagger and advanced, intent on finishing the job.

  Still laughing, he raised a hand and twisted it into a claw. A curious gesture of defiance, I thought. Then I felt something wet and cold grab my ankle.

  I looked down in horror to see that my attacker was a severed human hand, one that had been safely in a jar not moments before. As I stared in shock, the nails of the thing lengthened and sank through the tough leather boots I wore and into my flesh, penetrating deeply enough to scrape against bone.

  I stabbed my blade into it, not bothering to hold back my own screams. The demon hand struggled furiously, but at last, I pried it loose and knocked it aside. Even as I dispatched the first attacker, a new one, an intestine, rushed toward me, propelling itself with the gyrating motions of a serpent. The mottled, fleshy cord bunched into a knot, then leapt from the floor, trying to wrap itself about my neck. I managed to get a hand beneath it before it tightened, allowing me just enough room to slip my knife past and cut the thing. Even so, I nearly opened up my own throat in the process. The pieces fell to the floor and thrashed about like a severed worm.

  I tried to kick them away, but before I could do so, the hand, recovered, took the opportunity to resume its attack. As I bent to fight it off, the two sections of gut lengthened, coiled, and struck again.

  I was beyond revulsion now. I was fighting for my life. I bit at the pieces as they slithered over my face, splitting them once more. A second hand began ripping at my other leg. The intestines, four of them now, all sprung upward and continued their assault. From the corner of my eye, I saw dozens of other organs and viscera slithering, loping, and oozing toward me.

  As I fought a losing battle against those monstrous attackers, panic rising in my chest, I noticed the Soothsayer, grinning and waving his hands as if he were directing an orchestra.

  I snapped a shuriken from my bandoleer and sent it flying his way. Not surprisingly, my aim was a bit off, and it hit him in the arm instead of the throat, but it was effective, nonetheless. He cried out and grabbed his wound in pain, then turned and fled through a door in the back of the room.

  With his departure, the animated gore fell to the ground, lifeless once again, mere specimens preserved in formaldehyde.

  I looked to where he had disappeared, and felt my blood run cold. I could see through the doorway and into the room beyond, and I knew the place. It was in that room that Cheri and I had died. Now, I am a strong man, but I must confess, at that point, I felt the urge to turn tail and run, to find someplace safe to hide and sob like a child for a while. Still, I knew if I could not face this now, I would never be able to do so in the future, and in any event, I could never live down such an act of cowardice. I thought of Cheri’s body, gutted and hung up like a side of beef, and I felt the horror and pain subside, displaced by an overpowering lust for vengeance.

  I mocked him as I stalked through the rear door. “Is that all you have, little man? It wasn’t enough!”

  It was a small lab, with several long counters and a worktable about the size of a large man. The table was covered with an incredibly fine, sandy material, the likes of which I had never seen. As I passed, I laid a hand upon it, and it began to creep along my fingers and up my arm like a living thing. Disgusted, I brushed it away and continued looking about.

  Various beakers and tools were scattered haphazardly about the place, but there was no sign of the Soothsayer. There were no doors or windows that I could see. Surely, he was hiding somewhere. “Come out, you cowardly bastard, so I can wring your neck!”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” he called back from behind one of the counters. “Don’t think so, no, don’t think so at all. Time for us to parley.”

  “Miserable wretch! We’ll parley in hell!” I vaulted the counter and landed directly in front of him, blade in hand, and froze. He had a hostage.

  He was crouched in a corner, holding a terrified, naked girl as a shield, that glowing, rune engraved knife pressed against her throat. She was no more than twenty, and naked, her skin mottled with bruises. Her eyes, wide with terror, stared pleadingly at me, and her lips moved, but there was no sound, only a rush of air. I noticed with loathing the recently healed scar on her throat, lit by the eerie, green light of his blade, and I knew he had taken even her voice from her. How like this monster, I thought, to strip every last ounce of dignity, of humanity from his victims.

  “Back,” he hissed, chanting it over and over as he rose. I had little choice. He would certainly kill the girl if I rushed him. I retreated to the other side of the counter, keeping a combat stance, my own dagger still in hand and poised to strike the instant an opportunity presented itself.

  He stared at me over her shoulder, leering, his mad eyes like windows into hell. Blood dripped from his chin as he twitched nervously, like a fly. The girl shuddered and almost fainted. He pricked her throat with the knife point, just breaking the skin.

  “Don’t move, my darling,” he told her. “Don’t move a hair.” He kissed the top of her head, never letting his gaze leave me.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said to me. “You’re thinking, you could throw the knife, but you’ll need an instant kill. Only one good way to do it. You’d have to throw your knife hard enough to penetrate my skull. It’s got the length, and you’re strong enough. You’d be almost certain to damage the proper motor controls. Or, perhaps, perhaps if you’re good enough, in through the eye socket, but it would be difficult to get the right mix of power and precision necessary.” He trailed off in a hiss, grinning, beyond insane.

  “You squander your last moments by telling me my trade? Let the girl go, and I’ll make it relatively painless.”

  “Oh, no nonono”, he chattered, breathing heavily, speaking in short bursts between gasps. “You can’t do it that way. As I said, I know what you’re thinking. Right now, you’re asking yourself, ‘Self, how fast can he move the bitch’s head into the path of the oncoming dagger?’ And you’re answering, ‘Self, I really don’t know, but I don’t think he can do it fast enough.” He shook his head violently, the twitching seemingly too mild an expression to suffice for his nervousness any longer. “And it’s true. Axons can only transmit a signal so quickly. Dendrites can only release motor control chemicals in a finite period of time. I have to see you throw the knife, and then react, move my hands like this.” He shifted the girl’s head in front of his, then looked back with a grin, a macabre peek-a-boo game, back and forth, never leaving quite enough room for me to get what I felt was a clear shot. I began to sidle around, but he moved with me, and we began to slowly circle, he keeping the bulk of the counter between us.

  “Physically impossible,” he declared. “Can’t be done. You’re too close. Nerves don’t work that quickly. A pity, really. Wouldn’t it have made so much more sense if our nerves were made of gold, good fast, non-corrosive conductors to handle our impulses instead of pitiful flesh?

  “But, you know, I know when you’re going to throw the knife, I do I do, seen it before. That gives me enough time. So you don’t really want to kill this pretty thing, do you? Just to get to me?”

  “You’re bluffing,” I said. “You wouldn’t warn me if it were true. You’d just do it.”

  “And then where would I be? Dead is dead. She dies, I die, right? So it’s smarter for me to keep her alive, yes, much smarter.”
>
  I stopped circling and considered. He could well be telling the truth. He had been fooled by the door, but who could say what he knew? Murmandimus had said the Soothsayer could only see what he specifically looked for. Maybe he had simply looked to see how it would end. With the girl in the equation, I couldn’t afford to risk it. I had to get her out before I could finish him.

  Such thoughts were alien to me, enough to make me question my own sanity. Where was my conviction, my resolve? Why was I hesitating? From a dark corner of my mind, I screamed at myself, What the hell is wrong with you? This is your chance! Kill him now and the girl be damned! But I could not. Something stayed my hand, something new, something powerful and frightening, and yet undeniably a part of me. I felt sick with the knowledge that this was not some vile sorcery, but my own will preventing me from sacrificing his hostage. I cursed Murmandimus for his manipulation. This was his fault!

  “What do you propose?” I asked at last. “I am a man of my word. Make me a realistic deal, and I’ll stand by it.”

  “A realistic deal.” He licked his lips and shook his head again. “You let me go tonight. Tomorrow, resume your hunt if you like. In return, I let the girl go.”

  “Not good enough,” I told him. “You’ll kill another tonight, maybe more than one.”

  He nodded. “True enough. I’ll give you my knife. It’s very special. I need it for my work, and I can’t possibly make another tonight. It takes time and energy for my little machines to assemble themselves into a form as complex as the blade.”

  “What are you nattering on about? What machines?”

  “You saw them,” he said, inclining his head toward the worktable and the living sand. “The knife is composed of them, too, a permanent form. It took a week and the life force of three strong men to charge it with power. It’s a prize, to be certain. It can cut through anything, if you move it slowly. Surely, that’s a reasonable deal, reasonable yes, the girl and the blade to spare me for a single night.”

  I had no idea what he was trying to lecture me about, but getting the knife from him was the most important thing. And there was nothing in the agreement about not following him. I would do that, and kill him the instant the sun topped the horizon. “Agreed,” I told him.

  “Back up, then. I’ll slide it over to you and let the girl go.”

  “That’s not part of the deal.”

  “I will kill her!” He pricked the girl again, drawing more blood. “Show me some good faith!”

  The girl’s eyes convinced me. I stepped back to the doorframe, my own blade still held for throwing.

  He moved slowly from behind the counter and made his way to the worktable. The living sand rippled with purpose, and I realized something was amiss, but I was caught out now. “Slide the knife!” I ordered. “Now!”

  He looked at me with an angelic, innocent expression, and asked, “You are a man of your word?”

  “I am! Get on with it.”

  He began cackling maniacally. “What a pity I am not!”

  He ran the knife across her throat in a slow, gentle movement. With no effort at all on his part, it sliced cleanly through her neck. The girl’s hands rose, faltered, and fell lifelessly as her head rolled down her chest and into the pile of sand amidst a river of blood.

  I leapt for him then, but a tentacle-like swath of the sand rose and struck me in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer, slamming me to the ground. The Soothsayer’s laughter rose to a shriek as I watched through a haze of pain, trying to force myself to some degree of movement. He buried his arms to the elbows in the churning, growing pile as it boiled like a mud pit. Another tentacle formed, reached out and pulled the rest of the girl onto the table and into the sand, where she was quickly and completely absorbed. I struggled to my feet as the strange material, now red as blood, rose over the Soothsayer’s shoulders and enveloped him like a new skin.

  Before my eyes, fangs erupted from his gums, and new muscle rippled over his crimson body. Talons sprang from his fingers, and the knife slipped from the claws they became to clatter upon the floor. His robe fell away, dissolving before it ever struck the ground, consumed to fuel this monstrous transformation. He was the demon the street people claimed, now. Only his eyes remained unchanged, the same brilliant, mad gleam burning within them.

  I charged forward and rained a flurry of blows against his chest, but they did little more than daze him. Fine, I’m adaptable. While he was still reeling, I followed up the punches with a kick to the side of his head that should, by all rights, have cracked his skull. He staggered back briefly, and I was certain he would fall, but it was not the case. He shook his head, groggy, then advanced toward me again as I stood, slack jawed to realize he was not yet dead.

  With a low, guttural cry, he lunged forward, slashing with his claws, but for all his new found bulk and weaponry, he had no training. I sidestepped his attack with ease and tripped him, sending him sprawling. I leapt upon his back and drove my knife to the hilt between his shoulder blades, heartened to see that at least the bastard could still bleed.

  “Die, damn you!” I pulled on the blade, trying to free it for another strike. As I worked, I realized with dismay that what I had thought to be blood from the wound I had dealt him was in fact the same material that had transformed him! I continued struggling with the knife in desperation as the red fluid erupted and flowed upward, dissolving and absorbing the blade right out of my hands. There was no sign of a wound when it was done. Frustrated, I beat the back of his head with my fists, to no avail. The Soothsayer laughed, then leapt to his feet, sending me flying into the air like some unfortunate, green horseman.

  I landed hard on the opposite side of the worktable, dizzied from the impact, but still alive, and hoping to remain so. I cast my gaze about frantically, looking for something, anything to use as a weapon. As it happened, the Soothsayer’s lovely knife lay right where it had fallen moments before. Surely, it would prove useful now! Invigorated by my find, I snatched it up and rose slowly, feigning injury. I leaned heavily against the table, my right hand, holding the knife, blocked from his sight as he approached.

  “Vertebral damage, or a broken rib, perhaps,” he noted. “Either way, no more dodging for you now, is there?” I stood my ground as he approached, keeping an expression of pain on my face, letting him get as close as I dared before striking.

  “You know,” he said with a monstrous chuckle, “You were right. I was bluffing.”

  “I thought you could see the future,” I said in a weak, husky voice, even going so far as to feign a swoon.

  “I haven’t had time to fetch any new parts,” he replied, gloating, savoring his moment of victory. “But isn’t it delicious, the anticipation of not knowing how things turn out?” His grin was a nightmare of teeth as he moved in for the kill.

  “I know how it turns out,” I said, and with every bit of strength and speed I could muster, I brought my weapon up in a searing arc and buried it in his gut. Sparks erupted from the blade, accompanied by the sounds of rending metal and the Soothsayer’s own shriek of agony as I drove it higher and higher, laying him open like a fish. The red demon skin exploded from his body in a cloud of the curious, red sand, filling the air around us. I gasped in shock, unintentionally drawing in great lungful of the stuff. As the Soothsayer fell to the floor, I could feel my chest convulsing. Tears poured from my eyes in torrents. Blind and paralyzed by the choking and coughing that wracked my body, I seized the edge of the worktable and held on with all I had left as I rode out the storm, praying that this time the bastard was truly dead.

  After long minutes, the fit passed, and not slowly as one might imagine, but instantly. One moment, I was doubled over and strangling. The next, I was fine. It was damned peculiar, but I gave it little thought. I had other, more pressing concerns to address.

  I looked about, frantic, uncertain of where the Soothsayer had fallen, fearing he had somehow escaped. With grim satisfaction, I saw him splayed upon the floor scant yards
from me, looking like nothing so much as one of his own victims.

  I stood over him, covered in his blood, and watched him twitch as the life seeped from his body. He still lived, was still conscious.

  I squatted beside him and caressed his neck with the wicked, glowing blade, my gesture communicating more certainly than any words precisely what I intended, and that I wouldn’t be buying him even an instant’s respite by doing it before he was well on his way to hell.

  His eyes were no longer lit with any hellish purpose. In the end, as my employer had requested, they were filled with the same horror he had inflicted upon so many unfortunates.

  “Just parts,” I hissed.

  It took him quite a while to die.

  I made it back to Rellith just as the sun was rising. Sal was waiting where I had left him. When he caught sight of me limping his way, he flashed a snaggle-toothed grin.

  “You got him, dincha?” Sal asked, barely able to contain his excitement. “Izzat his head in that bag?”

  I answered with a nod and kept moving. I was too tired to chat. Sal whooped and shouted with glee, then ran off to tell his friends the good news.

  I, however, had one more point of business to conclude before I could call it a night.

  The ache in my muscles had begun to fade by the time I reached the red light district, and I found myself in surprisingly good spirits. I had decided that I would forgive Alicia the rest of my fee. I had been forced to move more quickly than I had expected, and it was unlikely she had raised the other fifty in a single night. What purpose would it serve to terrorize her over the money?