“She made that, didn’t she?” Dirk rubbed his upper arms. He meant the Queen of All Trees.
“Of course, who else puts up glowing walls? Now hush and let me work.”
“What are you doing?”
“Calling in reinforcements. If you throw enough bodies at a wall—even a magical one—it will break. She could only leave so much power to fuel it thanks to a certain black rock on the other side.” The Adversary rolled up his bell sleeves and a shadow peeled off his back. It bore the grayed-out features of Gorfen, one of Dirk’s deceased friends.
Just a touch froze the conman standing next to the Adversary.
“What is thy command?” Gore asked though his black eyes burned with anger at the thought of being anyone’s slave.
The Adversary smiled. May that fire long burn within that wiry man. Motivated help was so hard to find. “Find me a demon.”
“A what?” Gore stared at the Adversary. “There are demons under this mountain?”
The Adversary nodded. “I’ve felt his presence. He’s a young demon. Fetch him.”
“And what do I get if I do?” Gore’s eyes narrowed.
The Adversary held out his hand and conjured another image. It blossomed, peeling back gray petals to reveal a fat man hurling rocks at a pit. Instead of falling, the rocks struck the air above that wide chasm and it rippled into a pale mirror. The rocks bounced away, doing no harm to the soap-bubble thin magical shield.
“He’s beyond that coruscating wall.” The Adversary gestured to the Queen of All Tree’s other shield.
“And you need a demon to get him out?” Gore glanced back and forth between the image and the wall of light, cutting him off from his childhood friend.
Well, no, the Adversary didn’t need a demon for that. He had a much showier plan to nab some much-needed souls and weaken the seals barring him physically from this world. But he nodded because Gore didn’t need to know that.
“I’m but a spirit like you until the seals break.” The Adversary shrugged and closed his fist, shutting off the image.
“Where’s the catch?”
“What catch?”
“That’s what I want to know.” Gore crossed shadowy arms over his chest.
“There’s no catch. I already own you. I’m offering to extend your friend’s life.” The Adversary rapped on the shield and it emitted a bell-like tone—high C if his vibrating bones were any indication. “This shield isn’t programmed to allow anything through. So, your friend has a limited supply of breathable air left. I suggest you hurry.”
Gore started at that revelation. It was true too. Casters must program shields to be permeable which they did on reflex unless, of course, whoever was inside the shield was veiled at the time. The Adversary smiled at his sleight of hand, and the fool Queen had missed it!
“How do I find a demon?”
“That’s your problem. Now shoo. I have work to do.” The Adversary waved his hand and Gore faded into a wisp of smoke and blew away.
Once the wraith was gone, the Adversary squeezed Dirk’s shoulder unfreezing him. It’s showtime. I hope you’re watching, Queenie. I have one hell of a spectacular planned for your viewing pleasure. Laughter rippled out of the Adversary.
After a few more belly laughs, the Adversary sobered and hummed the opening bars of his favorite plainchant then he threw his hooded head back and belted out:
“Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Coins buy the apple of your eye. At my side, thy time is nigh. The sorrowful sigh; the envious fly. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Though you try, my ally, you lie. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. You won’t die, nor in my fire fry. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Come, sinner, don’t be shy. At my side, thy time is nigh. Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh. This I, your only ally, say to the sky: come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
“Papa? Are you okay?”
Ran held tight to Sarn’s hand, squeezing with all his might, and the world stopped sliding away. His son’s touch grounded Sarn, anchoring him to this place and his body. Not even the magic dared break that fragile connection.
“Yes, thanks to you.” Sarn squeezed his son’s hand, driving the splinter deeper into his palm, but he dared not let go. He couldn’t see Ran’s smile, but he felt it.
Release me, Sarn said, pitching his voice so only his magic would hear, but the glowing man-shape pinioning his arms and legs didn’t reply. Nor could he see the damned thing. His stupid map was in the way. It was a tick swelling as it fed on his diminishing sanity.
Colored lines twisted through the black of the Lower Quarters. Each marked a different tunnel, and people icons packed each one. Arrows pointed to the growing throng and a symbol popped up indicating the distance. They were a half mile off and closing.
Fear choked Sarn and he struggled until he pried first one wrist free than the other. They blame me for the deaths because I couldn’t save them all. That must be why they’re after me.
We tried, said his magic, hanging its brilliant green head, but it stole us.
Yeah, well, we didn’t do enough.
That sad truth hit his magic hard. His glowing captor collapsed into Sarn, and they merged in a blinding flash.
“Ow, that hurt my eyes.” Ran rubbed them.
Sarn started to sit up but his map shifted its viewpoint and dizziness walloped him. He sagged back down as the world spun and his stomach churned.
“Papa, what do you see?” Ran knelt at his side, so close his bony knees pressed into Sarn's thigh.
“How do you know I see something?”
“You have that look and your magic was just out and—” Ran bit his lip uncertain how to describe what he’d seen.
His map was fading though, so his son’s pensive face was clarifying every moment Sarn fought to reel it in.
“What look?”
Ran shrugged. “Your eyes got all glowy—more than usual. What did you see?”
“People—lots of people—I think they’re coming for me.” Sarn swallowed the fear choking him. Later he could freak out. Right now, he needed to get Ran out of here.
Oh, they're coming for you, said a sarcastic voice, then it laughed.
“Who said that?”
“Who said what?” Ran looked around, his brow crinkling in confusion.
“You didn't hear anything?”
“No, should I get someone? Sarn, you don't look so good. Let me get Moirraina or Vierra—"
Sarn shook his head and his receding map and dizziness punched him in the face again. “No, we must get away from the approaching crowd. I'll be okay.”
And Sarn would be okay because he couldn't lie. Beside him, Ran relaxed just a hair at that news. I must get control over this stupid thing. I can't let magic run my life. Sarn tried to shove his map down, but it just pointed at the mob with more and more red arrows. Oh, forget it, I'll just run with the damned thing open and hope I don’t crash into anything or anyone.
“What crowd?” Ran craned his neck, but he couldn’t see past his friend’s legs. “I just see a rat, but it ran away. Will it tell Rat Woman I said hi?”
“Maybe. I have a feeling we’ll run into her and Insect Man again. Let’s go before the crowd arrives.” Sarn sat up.
Of course, his damned map took that moment of inattention to turn into a series of colored blurs. They streaked by while Sarn tried to gain his feet, making him queasy. He knelt there until the nausea abated. Shutting his eyes didn’t help because the map was part of his mind.
“It might be another protest. There hasn’t been one this week,” Saveen volunteered.
“Maybe. The last one didn’t end well.”
Ran asked the obvious question. “What’s a protest?”
“Something you’ll never see.”
Once more, Sarn tried to cram the map back into his head where it belonged. Now was a bad time to be incapacitated especially if his fears were correct. But the Fates-damned thing twisted out of his mental grasp and pain ne
edled his left eye. His map wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.
Clinging to the wall, Sarn pushed to his feet. He wavered for a moment but remained standing. Good, if I can stand, I can run.
“Papa?” Ran tugged his pant leg and looked up at him with pleading eyes. Sarn held onto the wall as he picked his son up.
“Where are you going?” Saveen clamped a hand on Sarn’s arm when he teetered.
“Away from here.” Sarn glanced at the Foundling’s door. Should he warn them? No, if they kept their door locked, they should be fine. He was the illegal mage, not them. The mob was after him.
But that didn’t make sense. A few hours ago, he’d fought a monster, saved at least a hundred people and made quite a spectacle of himself. Word traveled fast under Mount Eredren. Information was currency down here and power too. But how do they know where you live?
Sarn stared at the answer: the Foundlings. They knew where he lived—one-hundred-feet from their door. Before that, he’d lived with them on and off since he was fourteen. Anyone of them could have told someone during those seven years. Fates damn them all. Sarn kicked their door in frustration.
“Which one of them sold me out?”
Saveen just stared at him. “No one would do that. We want you to move back in with us.”
That was true, but the crowd was still bearing down on them. “Someone told. Forget it. It was probably one of the older Foundlings. Not all of them like me.”
“But they wouldn’t tell because telling would hurt the rest of us and they like us.”
Maybe Saveen was right. Maybe that mob had found out some other way, but Sarn didn’t think so as he headed in the only direction he could—forward. If he was lucky, he could make it to the next branching unseen and slip away. If not, no, he wouldn’t think of that. Sarn hugged his son who’d been quiet during this exchange.
“I’m sorry. I’ll get us out of this somehow. Just hang tight.” I’ll never let anything bad happen to you, Sarn promised in the silence between them.
“Sarn, wait for me! I’m coming with you.”
Sarn wanted to argue the point, but Saveen tromped around the bend destroying his attempts to be quiet. Thank Fate, the echoes of many shouts were also growing louder. Hopefully, they drowned out Saveen’s heavy gait.
“Fine, stay close and keep up.”
Can’t Touch This
“Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Coins buy the apple of your eye. At my side, thy time is nigh.”
No way. Been there, done that and what did it get me? Nothing but death and an eternity of serving the ultimate bad guy. No thank you. Gore fought the seductive pull of that voice, but it was like walking upstream in a torrential rainstorm. He ceded more ground than he gained.
A lone woman traversed the long, twisting dark of the maze. Rose lumir lit her pretty face as she spun seeking the source of the chanting.
Fool, that’s the Adversary calling.
Somehow, the woman resisted his summons. Instead of turning into a blank-eyed puppet shuffling toward her doom, she pocketed her light and vanished. Where are you girlie? Not even his wraith-enhanced eyes could pick her out.
Anger burned through Gore. How could she resist the Adversary? We’re all damned dearie and I’ll make sure you end up as screwed as I am. He charged her last known position, raking it with his claws. He struck something metallic and oh God it burned. Fire shot up his claws into his hands. He screamed and lashed out again. His claws struck something hard, and they melted.
Gore stared at his ichor-dripping hands. This couldn’t be happening. He was the predator. She was the prey, but she was winning. And the goddamned Adversary kept calling not just with his voice but with his power. Shadows seized Gore as she reappeared crouched on the ground with her gauntleted wrists crossed over her head. The ornate things had a fell gleam as she lowered them.
He struggled to get free. Just one pass and I’ll get her. Just one pass—
“The master calls,” said the nearest shadow as it stuffed him into a murder hole.
Being a wraith had its perks. Gore slipped sideways through the rock and escaped those shadows and the voice. I’m not ready yet to report to you, master. Not when he had nothing to show for his brief liberty.
Where are you, girlie? Gore drifted downward until his head passed through the ceiling. She was slinking along, feeling her way barefoot in the dark, but at least she was unarmed. Gore readied himself for another attack.
“Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh.”
The Adversary’s voice hit Gore hard and the command lacing his words pulled Gore toward his master. Shadows reached for him again.
“The master calls,” they said.
No! Gore reversed course and sank back into the ceiling before those nebulous things could grab him. The Adversary’s voice cut off. Relieved, he floated there, insubstantial, but trapped. There was no escape from the Adversary. Or was there?
What is a demon exactly? And why does the Adversary need one? If the Adversary needed a demon, then perhaps he did too—even if it was only to use the creature against his new master. Gore smiled for the first time since his bizarre resurrection and slipped through the rock core of the mountain to the one place where everything was for sale—even a demon.
Inari followed the North-South transept blind to everyone and everything she passed until the well-lit corridor gave way to darkness. She halted, realized with a shock she still held her dagger and pocketed it. After another minute’s fumbling, she palmed a lumir stone. Rose light wreathed her hand as she withdrew it from her pocket. Recalling the old lore, she held the glowing stone at the level of her eyes, squared her shoulders and entered the maze.
The builders of this place had queer notions about security. Maybe they’d had as much trouble guarding the entrance as the current administration did. Inari smiled, recalling comments her best friend had made on that subject until a voice threaded through the darkness.
“Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Coins buy the apple of your eye. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
“Who goes there?”
Without waiting for an answer, Inari slid the rose lumir stone into her pocket and slunk around the bend ahead on cat feet. She put her back to the stone wall and fumbled her knife out of her pocket while she listened with every fiber of her being. But the blood thundering through her veins made it hard to hear anything at all.
You’re imagining things. There hasn’t been an incident in here in years. Inari shook her head at herself and slid the knife back into her skirt pocket.
“The sorrowful sigh; the envious fly. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
Inari froze. The voice didn’t echo. All sounds reverberated in this stone fortress, but not this one. She took a careful step to the right or was it left? How many lefts had she made since entering the long dark of the maze?
I hate this place. Inari patted her pockets seeking her rose lumir crystal but stopped when that base voice spoke again.
“Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh. You won’t die, nor in my fire fry. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
Something moved to her right. Inari spun and brought both her bladed hands up in defense. She fought the question rising to her lips. Making any noise at all right now would give away her position and she’d lose the upper hand.
This time the voice came from her left. Inari dropped into a crouch but kept one leg extended to trip whoever was toying with her. Nothing touched her leg, but something flew passed her and clawed the arms she crossed over her head.
Bell sleeves hid twin bracers. Each had silver and cold iron bands crisscrossing the hand-tooled leather. Iron for the Fae-born, silver for the Darfierie, the moon-spawned monsters that still hunted the wilder parts of Shayari. There were charms, sigils and miniature icons from all the major religions worked into the leather and the design. Each one lent protection from a different old-world monster because nothing was eve
r truly extinct in Shayari. The land was too magical to permit that. At least that’s what her father always said.
I’m many things beastie, but I’m not prey. And I never will be. Inari thought in triumph as her attacker screeched in pain. Whatever it was, it fell silent as something else took its place. The temperature plummeted, and Inari resisted the urge to move. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Most creatures can’t see in the dark any better than you can. But if you move, it’ll see you, so stay down.
Movement caught her eye as the voice spoke again, this time it was laced with a seductive command:
“Though you try, my ally, you lie. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
Yes, I must go to him. Inari rose from her crouch and crossed to the shadowy arm extended to her, but something pulsed in her chest, stopping her halfway. She touched the warm spot right over her heart where a shard of magic rested. Her fingertips glowed a soft green, and their light muted the voice.
It was Sarn’s magic in her chest and in its light, memories flowered. Her strong, slender hands tied bandages, cleaned wounds and later, cooked food, week in and week out for a half-dead boy. Sarn’s alive because of you.
“Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh.”
Inari shook her head. “No, I’ve done my penance.”
She turned on her heel as the glow receded from her fingers ready to repel another attack, but her attacker was gone—good riddance.
Inari left her lumir crystal in her pocket just in case there were eyes still watching her. She felt along the wall and hoped her feet knew the way because her mind was coming up blank. That rhythmic chanting kept pushing all other thoughts save one out of mind.
“O, Sinner, come, thy time is nigh: this I, your only ally, say to the sky.”
Inari shook her head. I won’t go to you, so stop calling. She touched her forehead. Every time that chant repeated, its summons bludgeoned her. She held to the wall as her knees weakened. I just need to get outside. Sunshine sets everything to rights.
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