by Cebelius
"Okay?"
"Put bluntly, once drawn the sword may not be sheathed or discarded until it has killed a man, and it will pass through any number or kind of protections to do so. It must be satisfied within one hour."
"That's perfect."
"A word of caution: the dwarves forged this blade in anger. Do you understand the ramifications? Only a human man can slake its thirst."
Terry thought about that, and it dawned on him.
"If I draw the sword, and Thomas escapes ..."
The skull's eye-lights flickered brightly as it pumped its jaw to nod at him. "If Thomas escapes, Tyrfing will kill you instead. None on Celestine may draw or use this sword, except in the presence of a template. A man who uses Tyrfing and fails to sate the blade will see it turn on him when his hour is up."
Nodding, Terry said quietly, "It's perfect. Consider us even."
"I thought that might satisfy you. There isn't a curse anywhere I don't have knowledge of, but this one was far outside my sphere and it took me a while to track it down."
Baba Yaga's voice got just a bit testy as she asked, "Now are you ready to come get me out of here?"
"Sure. Where are you?"
"I'm in Koschei's castle, which overlooks the Carnival of the Soul. Where it is doesn't really matter, because Goran has been carrying you toward me pretty much the whole time you've been in the house."
"What can you tell me about the place?" Terry asked as he stood up, cracking his back idly. He nodded and smiled at the checkerboard as it put itself away.
"The carnival is where the mortal dead of this world go to play for their futures, be those on Celestine or elsewhere. Be aware that unless the terms are made explicit, any game you play will be played with your soul on the line. Should you lose, you will never make it to the castle, much less free me."
"That sounds fun," Terry said with a twisted smile. "At least they won't attack me."
"Some might, but it is unlikely. The Carnival of the Soul is usually ruled over by the Harlequin and Hellequin, but they have been made mere entertainers within their own camp. As such, they're unusually accessible. Your best bet for access to the castle would be to enlist the help of one or the other of them."
"Not both?"
"They have a strange relationship. What one loves, the other hates, the sole exception being each other. If one decides to help you, the other will seek to harm you. To gain the help of one, you will have to bribe the other. Your other option is to attempt to enter the castle some other way. I will not say it's impossible, but I cannot guess what other avenue might be open. Koschei is nothing if not paranoid. His castle is usually shut tight, but those two are too powerful to be left to their own devices. He brings them in regularly to strengthen his hold on them."
"Uh huh. And you're somewhere in the castle?"
"I have a room. I'm easy to find. Just keep going down. When you can't go any further down, you'll find my door."
"Charming."
"Koschei is not a nice man."
"You two seem made for each other."
Baba Yaga's skull cackled at that and said, "Oh, my dear boy, if you only knew."
"Speaking of things I should know. Do you happen to know how many people Koschei has out scouring the Wildervast for virgins?"
"A fair few, why?"
"Because I'd be willing to bet they have a way to get into the castle, and I know a pretty virgin."
The skull's jaw opened, hesitated, then closed and the eye-lights winked out for a moment before coming back a bit dimmer than before.
"Ah ... about that. I'm afraid you're on your own for this one, T-Mack. My curse has put your tiger man in a bit of a state and Isthil, lovely girl by the way, you couldn't have picked a more charming Nightmare, woke up your dragon proxy to go catch and subdue him before he turns into ah ... a very bad thing."
"Remind me again why I want to turn you loose on the world?" Terry asked in exasperation.
"Because I've cursed you, and unless you free me you'll never form another bond and be doomed to wander the Wildervast until you die. Also because if you do I'll owe you two more favors, and a favor from Baba Yaga is no joke."
Terry stared at the skull. The person that skull represented had done horrible things to him. She'd cursed him, endangered his friends, perhaps caused the deaths of Yuri's whole tribe. All of that, just to put him in the position he was in now, forced to help her.
He wanted to hate her, but found the most he could manage was disgust and dislike.
"I take comfort in the fact that you were evil before I ever showed up," Terry said at last.
"What an odd thing to say, particularly seeing as how I am not evil. Not really. I take pleasure in harming people, but I also take pleasure in helping them. I like to be active, but also ambiguous. That is my nature. You've made me curious though. Presuming for a moment that I were truly evil, why would that bring you comfort?"
"People around me get twisted when they find out what I am. At least I didn't do that to you."
"Ah. Yes, well, that's just the way it is. You once asked Mamma Moo if there were such things as genies in lamps. I laughed for days afterward because you are the genie. If you are not constrained somehow you will eventually gain all the powers of a god. That is why a djinn is chained to a lamp and compelled to use their powers only for others. When you become a god, and your least whim is capable of condemning whole civilizations, will you fault those who seek to contain you?"
The two regarded one another, the skull and the man, in silence. Terry shook his head after a long moment and said, "No, I probably wouldn't, if anyone actually came after me with that in mind."
"Cecaelia came close. I may still find a way to do it myself. We Powers know the danger you pose. All templates have the yetzer hara within them. Your kind are necessary for the survival of this world, but once you consummate your relationship with even a single female, grant that single wish and in so doing gain real power ... you become a danger as well, and that danger grows along with the power you possess."
"Yetzer hara?"
"Simply put: the inclination to evil. Every template who arrives on Celestine does so because they died a hero. They died in virtuous action. Why then has every template you've encountered so far been evil?"
Terry tilted his head as he said, "That doesn't really interest me. Good men going bad is nothing new. What does interest me is that you seem to know why I'm here. I mean the real reason."
"Yes, and I'll happily tell you. We've got a few minutes left before Goran reaches his destination. Shall I tell you? I'll do it as a favor."
"No."
The skull's eye-lights brightened a bit and Baba Yaga asked, "You don't want to know?"
"Maybe when this is all over. But I might need that favor to get the job done, and while I really, really want to know ... I don't need to know."
The skull cackled for a long moment. Then Baba Yaga said, "Why T-Mack, I feel just a little bit amazed. For a human, you're growing up nicely. Almost none of your kind ever realizes that there truly are things they don't need to know. Things that would destroy them to learn. Such instruction is among my favorite forms of torment."
"Will it ever end?" Terry asked. He was physically rested, but abruptly felt a weariness that was almost entirely spiritual. "Will I ever be free of people like you?"
"No. I'm afraid not."
Baba Yaga's answer was somber. "You need people like me, T-Mack. Without us, you could not rise."
"Can't fall unless you rise first."
Baba Yaga cackled at that, but didn't dispute him. The two were silent then, and Terry lost himself in thought.
I've made my last promise, he silently vowed. I want out. I'm going to get rid of Thomas ... and then I'm going to disappear. Somehow. I don't want to end up like them. I won't. I refuse. The best thing I can do for anyone on Celestine is be somewhere else.
"I understand it now," he admitted at last. "I get why Cecaelia wanted to kill me."
<
br /> Seeming to ignore him completely, the skull declared, "Aaand we're here!"
The front door opened on well-oiled hinges, and Baba Yaga cheerfully said, "Now get out here and break my curse."
"Your curse?"
"That's what I said. My personal curse or the curse I placed on you. Doesn't matter which."
Terry scowled. "I wonder why that is."
"Because I'm elegant, and I had a long time to plan. Now get to it. I've only been waiting three hundred eighty-seven years."
"Euryale waited over a thousand."
"She wasn't in chains."
Terry closed his mouth at that, and stepped out of the door and onto a grassy sward in front of the most brilliantly colored circus pavilion he'd ever seen outside a cartoon. It was the first of many, a virtual sea of canvas splashed with colors far too vibrant for any real world.
In the distance, what looked to be at least a mile away, was a sizable hill on which squatted an ugly stone castle. It was easy to see that the walls were crumbling, even at that distance, and the edifice had an unmistakable aura of menace about it that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the carnival.
The sun shone down brightly on the scene, and wandering amidst the tents and booths were people of every stripe ... well, every stripe save his own. For one crazy moment he had thought to see normal people.
Well, they are normal, I guess. I'm the freak here.
Still, as he began to walk, he quickly noticed that few people paid any attention to him. In fact, none of the fair-goers seemed to notice him at all. It was odd enough that he stepped to one side and watched the crowd for a while, and was able to pick up after a few minutes that almost no one was paying any attention to anyone else. The exceptions were the carnival barkers and other employees, who were able to draw crowds and be heard by all.
"Your soul token for three shots at a better life!"
"Win the cupy and guarantee a fresh start as an eldritch!"
"Learn the fates of friends and mates! One soul token!"
Each of the booths had a gimmick, and many of the games were of a sort he recognized. He'd never actually been to a carnival, but he'd seen movies and knew from internet vids that most of the games were rigged.
Strangely, he noted that there were food and beverage booths as well, but these did not charge. People wandered up, received whatever drink or confection that was on offer, and walked off without a word.
He saw a vendor for what looked like funnel cakes, walked up, then stood to one side as several people came and went.
"Hey, you got a minute?" Terry asked eventually of the man behind the counter, who while humanoid in body had strongly simian features and too-long arms. The man blinked at him and said, "I got lotsa minutes. Whatcha want?"
"You don't charge for these?"
The monkey's smile was broad and friendly as he said, "Ah! You must be one of the live ones! No mate, we don't charge for food or drink at the Carnival of the Soul. What would we ask for? The people who come here only get one soul token. They shouldn't have to spend it on food."
He paused a moment and served another customer, then turned back to Terry and tilted his head as he looked the man up and down.
"You a template?"
"Yeah, that a problem?"
"No mate. You're just the second I've ever seen is all, and you don't have hair all over your face. You look kinda like me, 'cept you're missin' a few bits here and there and the rest is rearranged. Martial artist?"
Blinking, Terry asked, "Yeah, how'd you know?"
"My people love that shit. Figured since you're built like me, you might too. Any good?"
Terry smirked and said, "Yeah. I'm pretty good."
"Want a cake?"
"Maybe in a bit. Got a few questions."
"Ask away!" The monkey leaned on his elbows and waggled his eyebrows as he said, "I don't get to talk much to people, so this is a nice break."
"Where can I find the Harlequin?"
"He and the Hellequin tour the big tops, but you won't be able to get in to see them unless you spend your token."
"Well, they tour, right? So I should be able to catch them after a performance."
"Maybe. I suppose. Man, I wouldn't try that though. Some of the other performers can be pretty rowdy with folk that get in the way of the mister and missus."
"I can be pretty rowdy if I'm called to be," Terry said with a faint grin.
"Hah, okay. It'll be your ass in the sling though, not mine."
"You said there was another template around, has a beard?"
"Oh yeah. He showed up a few thousand years ago and set up a tour or something on the outskirts of the carnival. Doesn't get much business, but every so often someone comes in who won't spend their token with anyone else, like they knew he'd be here or something."
"His name isn't Thomas, is it?" Terry asked, abruptly wary.
"Nah. His name's Cephas. Balding with a short gray beard and hard luck eyes, but he's a friendly enough sort. Wears blue and yellow and has a couple keys on his belt. You really can't miss him if you see him."
"Huh. Where can I find him exactly?"
The simian man gestured expansively as he gave directions. Terry thanked him, accepted a funnel cake at his insistence, and waved as he walked away.
The cake was good, as were the directions, and he found himself on the outskirts of the carnival.
Terry approached a crude picket fence with posts that had holes cut through about a foot off the ground and again at three feet, with runners between that were thinned enough to fit in the holes. The wood was splintered and worn, and the fence looked old, like it belonged in a ghost town in the Old West.
A clapboard booth was set up at the entrance in the fence, and a white cloth was draped across the counter and hung halfway to the ground. Unlike the wood, the cloth was pristine and unstained save for a line drawing of a fish, like the kind Terry remembered seeing on the backs of cars back home.
The man behind the counter was as described. He was on the shorter side, maybe five-eight, and had a fringe of hair in front that didn't hide the bald spot beyond. He had a short gray beard and his eyes had the look of a man who had done a lot of hard living. He wore a blue shirt half-hidden behind a yellow toga, and was leaning on the counter watching Terry as he came close. A huge book lay open in front of him, covering almost the whole of the counter space.
"Good morning, Mister Mack," he said pleasantly.
"Morning Cephas. I heard you were here and figured I'd come talk to you."
"Conversation is good, and unusual enough here. What would you like to talk about?"
Terry hesitated a moment, but the fish symbol was enough to prove — at least to Terry — that this man could answer some of his questions.
"You're a Christian, right?"
"One of the very first. Are you?"
The man's expression was mostly hidden behind his beard, but his eyes twinkled a bit and his voice was faintly amused.
"Not a good one, but I try to follow the rules that make sense," Terry hedged.
"Hah! A fair answer."
"Do you know Thomas?" Terry asked.
"Oooh yes. Very well. I'm here because of him, you know. Waiting for him, you might say."
"Who was he, back before he came here?"
Cephas' eyes took on a distant look, then he shook his head and said, "Son, if I told you, would it matter?"
"It matters. It won't change what I have to do ... but it matters. I need to know."
"Didn't you just say you didn't need to know?"
Terry laughed and said, "How the- I mean ... damn. Why is everyone but me psychic?"
Chuckling, the man tapped the page of the open book in front of him as he said, "I'm not psychic, son. I just know you. I know all Christians, everywhere."
Thinking about that, Terry blinked as he said, "Wait, one of the first Christians, sitting at a gate, and you know all Christ... are you Peter?!"
The man lifted a hand
and tugged lightly at the wisp of hair at his forehead as he said congenially, "Simon Peter, at your service. People around here call me Cephas though."
Terry took a step back, staring at the man, then sat down in the grass to keep his legs from wobbling.
Cephas, or Peter, as Terry couldn't help but think of him, came around the end of his booth and squatted in the grass next to him, glancing around and then back at him with eyes that saw right through him.
The idea that he was at the gates, at the gates, took all the words away. Terry just gazed at the man with wide eyes until Peter chuckled and picked at the grass as he said, "It's rude to stare, son."
"I'm sorry, but I mean ... you're real. I mean, you're really here."
"I am everywhere there is even a single Christian soul. I need to be, to take them home."
Terry felt tears in his eyes, and they streaked his cheeks. He couldn't stop them, and he didn't even understand why he was crying. Peter knelt and wrapped him up, patting his back fondly as Terry gasped and clutched at him.
"Take me," he whispered. "Please."
For a long while Peter didn't answer his plea. His grip tightened a bit, then loosened and he brought Terry to arm's length and looked him in the eye as he said gently, "I will if you want me to. You're a good boy, Terrence Wyatt Mack. Not the brightest, but you always did your best. If you're truly done, I will stand and walk through that gate with you. Right now."
As the overwhelming emotions drained away, Terry's face twisted in frustration. Peter nodded knowingly and said, "Yeah, I thought not. I understand though. Truly son, I do."
"Help me, please," Terry said, but Peter was already shaking his head.
"Not my job, son. There's only one kind of help I can offer you."
"Why am I here?" he asked.
"Complicated question. Simple answer though. You were called, and you chose to answer."
"I did?"
Peter nodded and grunted softly as he shifted to sit on his butt in the grass next to Terry. The breeze ruffled the grass in front of them, and the susurrus of the crowds not far away filled the silence between them for a moment.
"You did. It wasn't a conscious decision. But your soul answered a call other than mine when your time came. I don't blame you. No one does. I'm still here waiting, after all."