by Ethan Proud
The wind shifted and a smell hit Vahrun flat in the face like a brick. There was another werewolf. Artemisia hadn’t told him of this. Either she had known his nature and thought the less information he knew the better, or she had overlooked one aspect of her bond.
“Oh, ho ho,” Vahrun chuckled as he made for the Ramek Manor.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Despite the gate being locked with a heavy chain, Vahrun gained entrance to the manor with ease. The lock dissolved in his hand into a molten lead that he wiped away on his cloak of binding. The enchanted fabric wicked the hot metal away like drops of dew in the morning running down a blade of grass. The gate flung asunder as the demon marched towards the house. De’lune was outside pulling weeds from a neglected garden. The blackened shoots of vegetables held no yield this season, she would try again in the spring. Spotting the visitor, she stood and brushed her hands against the front of her smock.
“Father didn’t tell me we would be having any callers today.” The statement sounded innocent enough, but her voice held a hard edge.
“I am afraid I did not receive an invitation, but I would most like to speak with your father,” Vahrun said and smiled as broadly and generously as he could.
Sensing something wrong, if not downright evil about the man before her, De’lune said, “If you would wait right here, I will fetch him.”
Vahrun nodded, but followed her to the doorstep, nonetheless. De’lune scrunched her face in frustration and tried to open the door only wide enough for her to slip in, but Vahrun stuck his hand into the door jamb and held it tight. He didn’t make a show of pulling it open the rest of the way forcefully but acted as if it had been politely held open.
De’lune whirled around and placed a hand in front of his chest. “I must insist that you go no further, unless you truly have no manners.”
Taken aback, Vahrun assented. De’lune crossed the foyer, passed through a kitchenette, and disappeared up a flight of stairs. The sounds of two sets of footsteps announced the approach of the father daughter duo and Swain beckoned the demon into the living area.
“Welcome to our home. Could I offer you some tea?” Swain asked, following etiquette, though his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I’ve had enough of that blasted drink already,” Vahrun sniffed.
“Something stronger then, whiskey?” Swain offered.
“That would do,” Vahrun answered and De’lune went to pour two glasses.
“I don’t believe we have met. My name is Swain, and you have already met my daughter De’lune.” He didn’t extend his hand for an appropriate greeting.
“Oh, I believe we have met, however briefly,” Vahrun said, he recalled the smell of this family after his last encounter with Mission. “It was on the second plane, though you did not seem eager for a proper introduction.”
“The three eyed cat,” Swain mused. “What could you possibly want here?”
De’lune returned with the two glasses and set one in front of her father and the other in front of her guest. Vahrun polished off the glass in a single mouthful.
“Another, please.” He graciously handed the empty drinkware to De’lune and turned to Swain. “I want nothing to do with this plane. However, I am trapped until I perform my duty.”
“And what duty would that be?” Swain bristled.
“To kill your son, the vampire wolf. I have been summoned and bound to the cause.” Vahrun kicked his feet up on the ottoman between him and the Ramek.
Swain growled, “And why would you pay us a visit then? The sheriff and that witch have caused us enough pain already.”
“I do not wish to cause further grievances. Currently Artemisia is indisposed as she searches for scrying tools belonging to me. However, I have sent her on a fool’s errand to the Tree of the Morning,” Vahrun said and accepted his second glass of whiskey from De’lune.
“I am not familiar with that,” Swain said, not letting his guard down.
“Then you are in for a lesson.” Vahrun smiled though it held no human warmth. “The Tree of the Morning is a gate to the seventh plane which the gods claim as their own. Beneath it are blossoms which promise immortality to whoever can take them. However, the Guardian of the Tree prevents unworthy travelers from reaching the pinnacle plane and hoards the flowers which bloom at its base. Once the Guardian defeats its challenger, it is allowed to ascend to the seventh plane. Once Artemisia is bound to the Tree, my oath will be broken.”
“Fascinating, but I fail to see the point of your visit,” Swain said bitterly.
De’lune spoke up. “With the oath broken he won’t have to kill Hugh. He wants a reward from us.”
“She is very keen. Indeed, I will need repayment for my kindness,” Vahrun said and gulped down his second glass of whiskey.
“And what would that be?” Swain said hoarsely.
“My first reward will be to devour the sheriff, in that endeavor I will need no help,” Vahrun answered.
“Get to the point,” Swain pressed.
“I want Mission. But I cannot simply snatch him from this plane. You need to lure him to the second or third plane.” Vahrun leered. He noted the sharp intake of breath from De’lune.
“We can do that,” Swain nodded.
“What will you do with Mission?” De’lune demanded.
“I will exact my revenge upon Artemisia for stealing my brother. When I feel judgment has been paid, I will trade the Tree a soul for a soul and kill her,” Vahrun said as if he was describing a pleasant afternoon.
De’lune looked desperately at her father.
“And in return for our help, you will let Hugh live?” Swain inquired.
“If that is what you wish. But I must warn you, his hunger knows no bounds. He will kill you before the next full moon. If you are not in wolf form, you are no different from a meal. It is in your best interest for me to kill him,” Vahrun explained.
“That’s not true. I commanded him to leave town earlier today. He obeyed me,” De’lune protested.
Vahrun surveyed her out of the side of his eye. “The Goddess’ interest in you will only last so long. Eventually her protections will cease, and he will eat you too.”
“I refuse to believe that,” she countered stubbornly.
“Believe what you will. When he sets his teeth into your flesh, you will wish you heeded my advice.” Vahrun stood to leave but Swain held up a hand to stop him.
“The sheriff is yours and we will give you Mission. But we will take care of our own if need be,” Swain said firmly. “When will you need Mission?”
Vahrun stared out of a window at the setting sun.
“It depends on if Artemisia is bold enough to traverse the planes at night. In my professional opinion we will be taking Mission to hell tomorrow.” Vahrun smirked at the thought of revenge. He missed De’lune’s incredulous look behind his back.
“What about Ruckstead?” Swain asked.
“I will eat him first. But until then, you could be a doll and get dinner going.” Vahrun turned and settled an eye on De’lune. Her father placed his hand on her knee and bade her to do as the demon asked.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Artemisia closed the tome just as the sun dipped below the horizon. What she had learned was troubling. The Guardian of the Tree of the Morning entry was fairly short and was a curse rather than a single entity. She would have to devise a plan once she met the current warden. She had planned to project to the planes and return with her demonic cargo, but she hated the prospect of her body remaining on the first plane stuck in limbo while her soul was bound to the Tree in the event that she failed. She would be using the pentagram to leave her home realm, but it was not without its own dangers. Leaving a body as an anchor point allowed for a quick getaway. If she ran into trouble, she couldn’t just focus on her physical form to transport her ethereal essence. She would have to find a gateway.
She pulled a different book off her shelf titled Traveling the Planes: A Guide
for Mortals. She lit a candle while she perused its pages. There were three portals between the fourth and first planes. She flipped back to the beginning of the section and studied the map. The closest portal to the Tree of the Morning was called the Pool of Mortal Anguish. She didn’t like the sound of it. The next best option was the Den of Liars. Artemisia tapped her finger against her chin, perhaps it would be best to open a temporary channel using the pentagram. She would have to set up wards to prevent other beings from crossing, it was a taxing ritual but ensured a safe way home.
Rising from the table, she pushed the bookcase aside and descended the stairs into her root cellar, holding the candle aloft on a plate before her. She was wasting time, and that was a precious commodity when holding a demon in your home realm. Especially one as volatile as Vahrun. She passed rows of pickled organs in glass jars, some belonging to humans, others animals. A plate full of teeth attracted her attention. She selected one molar for each rune she planned on drawing, seven in total. Next Artemisia began searching for a ritual blade that had been gifted to her by a witchdoctor from the southern deserts. It was imbued with ancient spells to dispel demonic charms, and cloaking enchantments to avoid detection from hostile gods.
She scanned the rest of her items, randomly placing items in the folds of her shirt. Each one would undoubtedly come in handy. The last item she picked up was a mask made from the haffet of a fox that would veil her identity from any harmful beings she encountered. In her travels she had made many enemies. It wouldn’t fit her now, but when she was ready to place it against her own face it would shift to cover her from the nose up. Satisfied that she had what she needed, she headed back up the stairs to collect her herbs and more mundane tools. Sage was a necessity, as was her jade and obsidian necklace. She stuffed a variety of dried poisonous plants into her bag, as well as ones that offered protection against evil. Their powers were not as strong as the sage, but you couldn’t be too careful when traveling in demon country.
With the wax from the candle she drew a rune of protection on her forehead and repeated the symbol on each cheek and one more time on her sternum. She held up the mask to her face and felt it morph and cling to her skin.
Stepping into the pentagram, Artemisia began chanting. Flames shot up at each of the points and raced along the lines. The abyss swirled up around the witch’s feet, with a deep breath she allowed herself to be consumed by it.
Chapter Thirty
Not much changed between day and night on the fourth plane. It was always overcast, but never truly dark. At night the clouds emanated a yellowish, sickly glow and a purple haze permeated from the acrid puddles that littered the ground. Despite all the literature warning against such excursions, Artemisia found herself on the demonic plane after sundown. Bats the size of stagecoaches swirled overhead. A few screamed down at Artemisia as she wrote her runes around the pentagram, but they did not swoop down to accost her. In each of the runes she placed one of the teeth. In the crown of each tooth, she placed a sprig of sage. The portal before her still swirled, it wouldn’t close until she banished it. The marking she had made would prevent most demons from crossing. But she needed to go a step further and ensure that she would be the only one crossing.
Artemisia slung the pack off her shoulder and rummaged in its contents. She found a pair of pliers and grimaced, envisioning the pain she was about to feel. Running her tongue across her teeth she tried to pick a least favorite one. It was a difficult task, she prided herself on her luminescent and straight smile. Vanity would have to take the backseat to safety here. She tried to picture the roots of each tooth as she selected one behind her right lower canine. She grasped the tooth with the pliers and held the tool with both hands. Taking a deep breath, the witch steeled herself for what was to come. With all of her might she wrenched. She yelped in pain, the rest of the scream muffled as she clasped her hand over her face. A stray tear ran down her face and blood gushed in her mouth. With her tongue she felt the tooth. A sharp pain shot into her jaw when she touched the partial projection. She had broken off a large piece of it, exposing the nerve, but had not freed the root.
She ignored the pain and searched for the fragment on the ground. It wasn’t hard to locate, and thankfully it hadn’t gone far. Plucking it from the ground she observed the pearly white marred with blood and a scar from the pliers. Severing her emotional bond to that piece of her, she cast it into the pentagram. Drawing a rune in the center of it, Artemisia cast a simple spell. The shimmering fabric of the first plane became as flat as glass and opaque as a frozen lake in midwinter. Now only she could cross through the portal and it couldn’t be closed from the other side.
Returning to her pack, she found strips of willow bark. She placed one along her damaged gum and chewed on the other thoughtfully. It would do little to numb the pain but her stronger pain relievers would cloud her thinking. Shouldering her pack, she started off across the place she had captured Vahrun. It was a wide open plain and if it had a name, she did not know. She did know, however, that Vahrun made his home in the mountains in the distance. Rising from the bloody earth were row upon row of gnarled and rotten molars. Enamel chipped from their sheer walls created staircases and routes to climb. The demon world was a visceral one. With a wry smile, Artemisia noted the irony.
Each step she took filled her boots with warm, foul smelling fluid but at least it wasn’t cold. She was familiar with her immediate surroundings, but she would have to reference her guide to find the Tree of the Morning. Or bind a lesser demon to her. It took a lot of preparation to capture a demon on its home plane and she hadn’t thought of that angle before departing the first plane. She would have to find the tree using mundane means. In a glade to her left, reeds resembling the hollow bones of birds clattered and a pair of watchful eyes blinked into existence.
Artemisia felt the eyes on her and saw the creature in her peripherals but declined to give any indication of her awareness. The impossible sound of hooves on a hard road in the swampy mire of bile and gore alerted her to his approach.
As when dealing with mundane creatures and bandits, confidence was key. Artemisia turned casually but squared her shoulders back and met the creature’s gaze. It had inverted pupils, a long trailing beard and the curved horns of an ibex. Its body belonged to a man but was a shade of black that Artemisia had never seen. Its hands were the most horrific part of its countenance. They were bony and from wrist to finger their length rivaled the demon’s body. The creature bowed and spread its hands as if to take flight. The witch didn’t return the gesture.
The demon’s gray-green teeth chattered for a minute before his guttural throat managed to form words. They were shrill to the point of causing pain, but they were decipherable.
“Artemisia,” the demon said and bowed again.
“How do you know my name?” Artemisia demanded.
The demon made the god-awful chattering call again and the witch winced. “Vahrun bound me to this spot after you bound him. I think he expected you to return and I was to free him, instead you summoned him to your realm,” the demon said.
“I suppose you are to kill me then?” Artemisia said, fingering the knife at her belt.
“Those are not my instructions. If Vahrun dies in your home realm, I will be bound here for an eternity.”
“In that case, I will resume my journey,” Artemisia answered. Now, she bowed and turned to leave.
The demon squealed an unearthly cry and the witch felt a chill run down her spine.
“If you free me, I can help you navigate this plane in return for your generosity,” the demon cried out in desperation.
“You would trade one oath in for another?” Artemisia raised her eyebrow.
“I would choose the lesser of two evils, yes.”
“What is your name?” the witch demanded.
“Glautous,” the imp answered.
“Then swear to me, Glautous,” Artemisia said as she threw back her head.
She was fully ready t
o leave the sniveling creature, doubting that it was being honest. She assumed it would try to trick her into severing its bond with Vahrun and then it would kill her. Instead, it surprised her by uttering a spell in its native tongue, binding it to her for the duration of her stay on the fourth plane. Artemisia reviewed the oath in her mind, translating it as accurately as she could. The spell was quite artful and promised that the demon would aid her in return for his freedom until she chose to return home. Seeing no loopholes it could use to abandon her, or kill her, she pulled the ritual blade from her belt.
She closed her eyes and focused on the spells surrounding the creature and found a thread belonging to Vahrun. It was easy to locate since she already had bound the demon and his pattern was familiar to her. She grasped it in her hand and severed it with the knife.
Glautous fell down on all fours and thanked her profusely in the demonic tongue. Artemisia had to shake the black fingers off her boots and ankles, narrowly missing the demon’s face as he tried to plant a gracious kiss on the top of her foot.
“Where to first, milady?” Glautous asked as he straightened his back and rose from his knees.
“The home of Vahrun, then the Tree of the Morning,” Artemisa said.
The demon’s face remained impassive. Apparently, this quest wasn’t too tall of an order.
“We will have to contend with Vahrun’s sister and the Tree of the Morning will require a soul,” Glautous said as he started off towards the mountains.
“I am familiar with Vahrun’s sister, but the Tree, will any soul do?” the witch asked warily.
Galutous chuckled, picking up the meaning of her words. “My soul will not do. If I asked something of the Tree, then perhaps it would. It is either your soul or a willing sacrifice. Unless you can outwit the Guardian.”
“And the likelihood of that?” she asked.
“Extremely low.”