Lingeria

by Daniel Kozuh

  “So, Roe was right,” Norman deduced. “If we destroy the book, we may destroy reality.”

  The only response was the crackle of the fire.

  ****

  Since no one slept, they were able to set out just before dawn. They had only gone a few more miles, when the ground abruptly shook violently.

  “Is it The Black Cloud?” Pasha asked.

  “Can’t be,” Norman said. “We aren’t close enough.”

  Before anyone saw the source, a sulfuric perfume of rotten egg and wet dog overcame them – a kind of putrid body odor that only comes from a single Lingerian creature.

  “Baras!” Tahra screamed.

  A pack of eight-foot-tall giants came hurtling towards the group. Baras are simple-minded bipedal giants that are covered in thick hair, bear-like muzzles, and have a second set of arms on their lower torso. Typically, they are gentle creatures, but Baras can become hyper-violent when provoked or cornered, due to their overgrown amygdalae.

  “What scared them? The Black Cloud?” Roe wondered.

  “I don’t think so. The cloud is the other way,” Norman replied.

  “Maybe they will pass us by,” Pasha hoped, knowing there was nowhere to hide in this open field.

  Unfortunately, the Baras spotted the group and changed course, charging towards them like bulls. The lead Bara letting out a snarling scream that sounded like a fork in a garbage disposal. Of the five beasts that stampeded, three held full, de-rooted saplings in their hands for weapons. Rick and Tahra yanked their swords out.

  “No!” shouted Pasha. “They are only scared.”

  “Scared or not,” Tahra explained, “Baras only see red when they are in this state.”

  Pasha stepped in front of Tahra and put her hands up towards the Baras. “Please, we mean you no –”

  With a simple swing of the tree, a Bara batted Pasha into the air like baseball. “Please don’t kill theeeemmmm …” Her voice faded away.

  The beasts, and their pungent body odor, bore down on the team. Rick gripped Tahra’s forearm and threw her on the back of one of the Baras. He then sprung onto the back of another.

  Rick wrapped his muscular arms around the Bara’s beefy neck, trying to use some type of sleeper hold on the wild creature. Meanwhile, Tahra was simply bashing her Bara at the base of its skull, attempting to knock it unconscious. The rest of the heroes played defense, diving and jumping out of the wide reach of their foes. Janey crouched, growling, the hair on her neck raised and teeth bared. However, she dared not strike.

  Tahra lost her grip on her Bara’s greasy hair and fell to the ground. Rick’s Bara was able to grab his ankle, with his supplemental hand, and flick him away like a flea. Rick rolled across the ground but was immediately back up. He ran close to Tahra, and the two stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, weapons aloft, searching for a new plan as another Bara attacked.

  Before a strategy was formed, both of their faces were splattered in blood. An arrow had pierced the skull of the Bara from the back and exited the eye socket from the front. The beast took a final step and fell forwards on the grass at Tahra’s feet.

  The other four Baras fell, in a shower of arrows.

  “Where is that coming from?” shouted Norman.

  “It’s Wrence,” Tahra shouted, pointing to the north.

  Pouring down a crest, a goblin army descended. At their lead was Wrence, riding a pure white horse.

  “Run!” Norman shouted.

  The team fled from the coming onslaught. They barely managed a hundred yards, when, with a flick of his wrist, Wrence made the ground in front of them exploded. A bank of dirt rose into the air, blocking their path. They attempted to run around it, but it only continued to grow. Before they knew it, the army was upon them. The horde encircled them but did not attack.

  Wrence led his horse forward and approached the band. The horse was frothing at the mouth and seemed to be struggling under Wrence’s weight. Tahra and Rick readied their weapons. With a flick of the wizard’s wrist, they were disarmed, their swords sent spiraling away.

  “I just saved your lives and that is how you thank me?” Wrence snapped.

  “Hey Lawrence,” Norman said, “Did you lose weight?”

  “I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to try and take on The Thick Shadow, but here you are. I am doing you a favor by throwing you back in prison. That thing woulda killed you.”

  “It has to be closed! You are playing with powers you don’t even understand. And stop calling it The Thick Shadow, Lawrence. That’s the worst goddamn name.”

  “Wrence!” the wizard screamed. Norman fell to the ground, as though sucker-punched in the gut by an invisible fist. “Look at you. Pathetic. What are you going to do? Throw rocks at it?”

  “We’ll do whatever must be done,” Rick said, stoically.

  “Silence, traitor!” Wrence snarled. “What a pathetic band you are. A writer, a midget, a woman and a goblin!”

  “You savage!” Pasha screamed, marching back from where the Bara had launched her.

  “Pasha… is that you?” Wrence said, with a smirk.

  Pasha slid The Verisimillion behind her back and tucked it into her waistband. “They were innocent creatures!” she screamed. She kept her eyes wide and adjusted them slightly to Wrence’s left, pretending to be blind.

  “And you added a blind woman. What a crop of freaks,” Wrence said, and clapped.

  “We have added a few more than that,” Tahra said with a rare smile.

  From the east, a clan of Marked Tribesmen (and Tribeswomen!) burst out of a forest line, with Ocnus at the front barreling towards them. Some of Tahra’s kin were on horseback and others were sprinting. Archers got the goblins’ attention, but the army didn’t know what to do, without orders.

  “Attack, you idiots!” Wrence screaming, pointing at the advancing militia.

  The goblin army spun, but not before the tattooed warriors were upon them. The armies clashed and tremendous battle broke out. While Wrence’s troops may have had more in number, the Marked Tribe had strength, speed, and strategy. The Marked frontline collided into the Goblin backline and cut into them with the ferocity of a people who had nothing left to lose, and everything to prove.

  Pasha regrouped with her friends.

  “Let’s go while they are distracted,” Norman said.

  The six climbed Wrence’s magic-made hill, clambering with their hands at the loose dirt. The book wiggled loose from Pasha’s waistband and fell to the dirt. She quickly grabbed it, but not before Wrence caught sight of it.

  “They have The Verisimillion!” he shouted.

  Wrence, and a few goblins who were not immediately under siege, gave chase.

  The heroes sprinted down the opposite side of the hill and could see The Black Cloud clearly now – it was only about a mile away. They hit the bottom of the hill and kept racing, but it wouldn’t be long before Wrence was upon them.

  “Keep going!” Rick shouted. “I’ll slow them down.” Rick dug his feet into the dirt and halted. He pulled out his sword and prepared to fight.

  Tahra stopped running as well and turned back to the fight. Roe spun around and drew an arrow.

  “Norman, wait!” Pasha shouted.

  Norman stopped, briefly, and looked to Pasha. She held out The Verisimillion.

  “I’m too slow. Take it and go,” she commanded.

  He took the book and her eyes clouded. He put the hilt of his sword into her palm, she gripped it.

  “Just swing,” he said.

  With that, Norman kicked off towards the cloud. Even Janey stayed behind, seeming to understand the battle plan – chomping down on the wrists of goblins and biting at the ankles of horses.

  “Tahra,” Rick said as they stood back to back, surrounded. “I just want to tell you … in case we die … I …”

  “Shut up and fight.”

  And with that, they did.

  ****

  Norman’s legs burnt as soon as he broke into a
sprint, but he only ran harder. His arms pumped violently, and his jaw was locked into a snarl, spit shooting out with every exhale. He could see the eerie mist between the cloud and the ground, the life energy being sucked away from the land, eaten by the evil. His hand was sweating and the book started to slide from his fingertips. He switched hands and ran faster.

  Behind him, his friends did all in their power to block the path of the wizard and his cronies. Tahra focused on Wrence, keeping his horse off balance and making sure he was too unfocused to cast any spells. Rick, with his brawny, lizard-like legs, was leaping from goblin to goblin, striking them down and disarming them. Roe climbed back up the hill a bit and fired down upon the attackers. Janey leapt up and bit onto a goblin’s vest, to yank him off his horse. Pasha could feel the vibrations of the battle through her feet and, though she did not strike many blows, the goblins had to be careful to avoid her chaotic blade.

  Wrence yanked back on the reins of his horse and the steed reared onto its hind legs. Its colossal front hooves kicked forward and struck Tahra to the ground. Wrence then formed his hand into a claw, as if he were holding an invisible orb.

  Pasha felt the ground to her left tremor, like a tea kettle about to whistle.

  “I always hated your character!” Wrence shouted at Tahra.

  “Me too,” Tahra said through a clenched jaw. She charged.

  Wrence shot his arm out and the ground below Tahra was engulfed in a pillar of flames that rose ten feet in the air, burning fiercely like a broken gas line. The grass around it the flames charred into a perfect black circle.

  With a slap of the straps, Wrence sent his horse galloping towards the dashing Norman, so set on a goal that he didn’t notice Tahra actually fell, unharmed, behind the flame.

  The flame extinguished, as quickly as it erupted. In the center of the scorched earth was Pasha’s tiny corpse, barely recognizable – nothing more than black bone, petrified in the action of pushing Tahra out of the way.

  ****

  If Norman’s fitness tracker still worked it would have told him he was on pace for a five-minute mile, a personal best.

  Apart from the bursts of breath basting in and out of his sinuses, all Norman could hear was the approaching hoof-beats of Wrence’s horse. He wanted desperately to look back and see how close the wizard was, but he had almost tripped dozens of times, already, looking straight ahead.

  “Norman!” Wrence screamed, “Don’t do it!”

  Norman could see the crisp line of the cloud’s shadow on the grass before him – he was only a dozen yards away. He pushed harder, but the drumming of the hooves was upon him and he felt something strike him in the back. He tripped over his feet and fell. Before he hit the ground, he chucked The Verisimillion like a Frisbee, sending it twirling out in front of him.

  Norman hit the ground hard and as he tried to catch himself. Pain ripped up his arm, but he watched as the book hit the grass and continued to skid along the ground.

  Wrence threw himself off his horse, towards the book, but utterly misjudged the aim, landing yards behind it. His round body spun like a loose beachball.

  The Verisimillion passed into the shade of The Black Cloud.

  ****

  Norman and Wrence watched from the grass as nothing happened; the cloud continued to spin, and the land below aged and died. Then, as Pasha had once seen, a small dot of pure white appeared at the center of the underside of the cloud. An intense shaft of light shot down to the ground and angled itself to the book.

  The Verisimillion opened itself and its pages flicked, rapidly.

  “I told you not to do it! You’ve killed us all, Halliday!” Wrence cried.

  The cloud funneled down towards the book, like a tornado touching ground, arriving at the pages with a sharpened point. The Verisimillion hungrily sucked up the cloud, pulling it from the sky. The shadow diminished, foot-by-foot. Within a minute, the entire destructive force had been pulled into a three-inch-thick manuscript. The pages gently fanned themselves closed and the cover shut itself.

  The blackness was gone. Death was gone. The wind was gone. The ethereal sense of foreboding was gone. Norman pushed himself to his feet, with his good hand, cradling the other like a baby.

  Wrence was still on the ground. “Just because you put it back, that doesn’t mean that my powers …” Wrence threw his hand out in Norman’s direction, but nothing happened. “Goddamn it!” Wrence yelled. He shook his hand, as if attempting to dislodge a jam, and threw his hand out again. He was powerless.

  Tahra, Rick, Roe, and Janey joined Norman, The Marked Tribe arriving behind them to take care of the straggling goblins.

  Norman looked around. “Where’s Pasha?”

  Tahra simply shook her head.

  Norman sighed. “She’d be happy to know …”

  Tahra held out the handle of her sword to Norman. “Finish it,” she said.

  The weight of her blade was embarrassingly heavy as he approached the book. He tried to hold it aloft while being watch by, literally, hundreds of warriors. He swung the blade from behind him and brought it down on the dangerous object.

  A geyser of stygian oil burst out of the book, shooting high into the air, a perfect beam of liquid onyx that did not spill or splatter. Norman was knocked back, forcefully. He tumbled along the ground.

  “Norman, what did you do?” Tahra asked, in awe and terror.

  “I told him not to,” Lawrence chastised.

  Norman stuttered, scrambling to his feet. “I only did what Pasha told me to do!”

  “Oh, sure, blame the dead woman,” Roe said, backing up slowly.

  “Maybe if we just closed the book,” Norman said, creeping forward.

  A carpet of spiders, millipedes, roaches, and other horrific, uncatalogued bugs bled from the ground. They poured over feet, crawled up robes, and became tangled in hair, frantically seeking darkness. A plague of winged insects took flight as a grotesque throng, blinding the onlookers.

  Everyone, friend and enemy alike, swatted at the plague, swinging their weapons fruitlessly. Blades, blunts, and arrowheads were coated and dripping with green guts.

  “Norman, your arm!” Roe gasped.

  Norman looked down and saw that his left arm was painted in the same black goo, which – however liquid it may have looked – did not drip off him. It simply swirled and bubbled around on his skin like big black blisters.

  “Oh, God, what is that?” Norman cried, slapping at his arm and trying to shake it off.

  “Never mind that, what is that?” Tahra yelled.

  Larger evils poured from the fountain – disgruntled mutations and hellish evolutionary missteps. There were wolves, with bleeding red eyes and wire-thick hair, that curled their lips and snapped at the onlookers. Aerial, hairless simians with spines of spikes, dove down and clawed at faces with their inch-long sharpened claws. Faceless, nameless creatures, with spindly, elongated arms, and talon hooks for hands, tore at the ground. Devils clambered out of the portal so quickly that the watchers had little time to take in its horrors, before another was birthed.

  As the creatures attacked, the top of the black beam enlarged, curling over the area. Greasy curtains fell, trapping Norman, Lawrence, Roe, and Tahra within. They ran to the tinted wall and watched, helplessly, as the inhabitants of Lingeria were assaulted.

  Rick was cut off from his friends. He ran towards the wall, striking it with his sword, and was thrown backwards, as if shocked by a jolt of electricity.

  Norman pounded on the barrier helplessly with his good arm. He stopped when a shadow overtook him. Someone else was standing in there with them. Norman turned to face a goliath knight.

  At least, it looked like a knight – torso, head, arms and legs were all where one might put them, but the creature stood upwards of seven feet. He was armored in dazzling silver, from head to toe – a helmet of pristine silver; massive, spike-covered gauntlets; thin, malleable faulds; and a breastplate that gleamed gold without the aid of the sun. Howev
er, within the armor bubbled the oily blackness that had shot from the ground. It was unstable and chaotic, struggling against its containment.

  “Jesus Christ,” Roe exhaled.

  “And, who are you, exactly?” It was the first, best question Norman could think to ask.

  “I am from before the time of names,” the being said. “I have been called ‘Gaushan’, ‘Xåbaud’, ‘He Who’ …”

  Norman let out a loud groan.

  “I’m sorry, am I boring you?” the knight asked.

  “No, it’s just, we’ve been through this with this other guy. Took forever. It’s been a long day. Did you say Xåbaud? We’ll go with that. What are you, Xåbaud?”

  “There is no proper word for me, in your language,” the inter-dimensional space being said. “The closest approximation would be ‘God’.”

  “The God or just, like, a god?” Norman asked.

  “Nothing existed prior to chaos, and I am that chaos. I am the creator and destroyer of worlds,” Xåbaud said. “Everything you see around you is my doing.”

  “You created Lingeria?” Lawrence asked.

  “Using the power of your beliefs,” Xåbaud explained.

  “But you’re from my dimension,” Norman added.

  “I am from all dimensions. I am a creator of new dimensions.” Xåbaud sounded frustrated. “Look, it is very complicated and I am sure you wouldn’t understand it. Millennia ago, I brought your plane of existence into being, and your ancestors’ submission unto me gave me power and strength. But, as the ages progressed, human belief in me dwindled and I grew weak. Using what little strength I had left, I disguised myself waiting for the right being.”

  “Me?” Norman asked.

  “No, not you,” the knight said.

  “Me?” Roe tried.

  “No, not you. How could it be you? You didn’t exist,” the Xåbaud said, annoyed.

  “Me?” questioned Lawrence, timidly.

  “Correct,” Xåbaud replied.

  “And you hid yourself in The Verisimillion for me to find,” Lawrence said, matter-of-factly.

  “There is no Verisimillion,” Xåbaud corrected. “I am the book. I hid in your world, disguised as the book, awaiting someone desperate enough to believe in it to feed off of your energy. Using your obsession with his writings, I was able to spawn this small world. However, I will not make the same mistake I made with your realm. I will not let these people lose their faith in me and turn their ideologies away from me. I am through with benevolence. I will rule them and force their devotion and feed off their worship. This world is saturated in belief in mysticism.”