by Ethan Proud
She brushed these thoughts from her mind and gripped the dagger even tighter. Its hilt was a jewel encrusted shark, the blade protruding from its gaping jaws. It was a beautiful weapon and Beatrice regretted that she had to kill her friend with it. In fact, Mycorr may be her only friend left. She hadn’t had many in Northgate on account of her being a workaholic, and her vices made her a liability to married women who wished to keep their husbands. It had bothered her very little, but now she had a friend. For a moment longer, at least.
Guided by Exidia in her frog form, Beatrice emerged from the pool and saw the expectant faces of Morchella and Mycorr. Her next breath caught in her chest.
“How did it go?” Morchella asked feverishly.
“Not well,” Beatrice said and a look of sadness crossed Mycorr’s face.
He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. He started to say something, but Beatrice caught the look in Exidia’s eye. It had to be now. She lashed out and the blade cut deeply and cleanly across Mycorr’s throat. An effervescent blue blood spurted from his neck and he collapsed on his knees, his hands pressed against the wound. His dark eyes emanated fury at the betrayal but there was little he could do. Exidia lunged forward and swallowed Mycorr up in her massive jaws and held him tight. His squirming hands and feet could be seen pressing against her sagging throat from the inside. Exidia nodded gravely to Beatrice and hopped back into her pool.
Morchella’s jaw was agape, but he resumed his composure quickly. With a raised eyebrow he said, “You lie well. A deal struck with the divine is better than you could have hoped for. No matter the cost.”
“I am not so sure,” Beatrice sobbed.
“Let us return to the Mare,” Morchella said and directed Beatrice towards the edge of the island they had moored on. Around them, the yellow eyes of the finfolk watched relentlessly.
***
Once aboard the pirate ship, Beatrice had finally dried her eyes. Her puffy red cheeks stood as a testament to others of the fact that she had been crying. She sat alone, none of the crew tried to speak with her and Captain Johan would not even look at her.
The estranged Captain Yaro approached her, though.
“Your treachery has cost us both. I hope you have learned something from this,” he said direly.
“I have achieved my end,” Beatrice said scathingly. “You have nothing.”
“Not quite, I still have this.” He withdrew Detrita’s token from his pocket but as he did so, it turned to ash. The remnants of the curse floated on the breeze.
“He really is dead,” Beatrice said as her throat caught on another ragged sob.
Watching the ash wisp away in the wind, Yaro said, “Of that, I wouldn’t be certain.”
He had held up his end of the bargain, by taking Beatrice to the Kirean Isles and leaving with her alive. Wherever Mycorr was, he must have deemed the job satisfactory.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“We will take you both to port,” Morchella said with a broad grin. Apparently his proximity with D’rij and meeting the eldest daughter had been enough to please him. Beatrice would have thought he would be disappointed.
Yaro didn’t answer but stared wrathfully at the man who had sacrificed his first mate. Beatrice solemnly nodded and the sea priest left the two of them alone. Not that there was much companionship between the merchant and the secretary to begin with.
***
Exidia plodded across D’rij’s temple, her wriggling cargo making it difficult for her to move fluidly. She stopped at her father’s feet, opened her wide mouth and roughly shoved Mycorr out with her fat tongue.
Saliva laden and covered in blood, Mycorr rolled onto his knees and wiped the mucus from his face. His throat had stopped bleeding, though a rough scab of iridescent blue was forming over the wound and caking itself to his tunic.
Holding his throat he said hoarsely, “That was a cruel trick you pulled on Beatrice. You know humans are ruled by their emotions.”
“I had to make sure that she was worthy of favor,” D’rij snorted.
“Surely there was a better way,” Mycorr said. He glanced over in disgust at Exidia who had morphed into her human form.
“But this one most amused me,” D’rij said, “and you are asking me to kill a Fate. That’s a tall order.”
“Whoever said kill?” Mycorr said as his eyes narrowed.
“You don’t have to. I can sense it. We cannot simply ask Nipor politely to let Beatrice back in Northgate. We must force him to and besting him in combat will only incur his wrath. We must kill him,” D’rij explained.
“You are right, but we will never have the element of surprise. He will sense us as soon as we enter the Underworld,” Mycorr said.
“You are so unimaginative for your parentage. The sea sends more men to Nipor than anything else on the first plane. It is a quick journey from here to his hall.” D’rij had a wild look in his eye and Mycorr began to wonder if he had made the right decision in helping Beatrice.
“Before we leave, let me summon my minions,” Mycorr said as he hastily drew a shape on the floor. The mark blazed red for a moment before becoming a plane of thin glass as opaque as the night sky. From it emerged four taloned feet, and enough heads to match. Mycorr’s demon-bird half-siblings emerged. Their feathers were riddled with hyphae and their eyes bulged with pale mushrooms. Both of the birds opened their dual heads to croak out something incomprehensible, but their beaks were full of slime molds and no sound came out.
“Who are these undesirable creatures?” D’rij sneered.
“They had been my siblings before I dug my roots into their brains. These are my slaves and our rides into the Underworld,” Mycorr boasted.
D’rij clapped his hands together loudly. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. You are quite imaginative.”
The two gods climbed astride the zombie ravens and D’rij led Mycorr to a twenty-foot mirror. As they neared it their reflections faded and the Underworld became visible. The birds’ beaks broke the glass like the surface of a pond as they stepped through. True to D’rij’s word, the temple of Nipor was barely a stone’s throw away.
“You weren’t kidding,” Mycorr said but D’rij dismissed the comment.
The four-footed corvids nearly galloped to the front of the hall and a blast of water cast the great doors wide open. Mycorr suppressed a grin when he saw his father stand up abruptly, spilling a platter full of food from his lap. His faces shifted between all fourteen iterations in less than a second, each one flashing with rage. He stood to his whole height and dwarfed both of his assailants. From the walls, souls of his faithful oozed to accost Mycorr and D’rij. They pulled feathers from the ravens as their hands clambered for the gods astride the demons. Mycorr spurred his heels into his mount which took to the air. D’rij was less successful and was taken to the ground by the spirits. However, the souls of the dead were no match for a god and they were torn asunder. Their shrouds littered the air like shreds of fog. By the time the Lord of the Tides had defeated his opponents Nipor was upon him. The Fate hurled D’rij across the room and the beams rained down dust and beetles. Before Nipor could do any more, he felt four clawed feet dig into his back and lift him into the air. He twisted his way out of the grasp of the zombie and as he fell the second intercepted him and dug one of its beaks into his flesh. Nipor snapped the creature’s neck just as the second beak took his eye. In a similar fashion he crushed the vertebrae and fell to the ground with his dead son.
Brushing himself off Nipor surveyed the scene. Mycorr and D’rij were both on the ground while the last devil bird circled overhead.
Boisterous crowing came from outside the temple and Mycorr’s blood ran cold. The rest of his half-siblings were on their way. Mycorr took a step forward and felt water trickle into his boots. He looked down and saw that the temple was full of ankle deep water and it was rising. He swore under his breath. Water beetles the size of dogs moved through the water with large paddle-like limbs as they made a beeline fo
r Nipor. The Fate couldn’t avoid them and they climbed up his legs and dug their probosci into his legs. Their bodies emitted a faint blue glow as they consumed his divine blood. With a roar he tore them from his thighs and calves two at a time, but there was always another to take its place.
Light streamed into the temple as two-headed ravens began clawing their way in. Mycorr’s lone servant flew upwards to try to keep them at bay, but just as with the water beetles… there were too many of them. They flocked their fallen brother and tore into his flesh. Their beaks dug deep and greedily slurped at the blood and gore available. They realized the presence of the fungal tendrils creeping their way down their throats, into their eyes, and up their nostrils all too late. Mycorr’s zombie retinue grow tenfold in a matter of seconds.
As Nipor fought with the beetles, wading his way towards D’rij, he completely discounted the presence of his half-son. Mycorr’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he exercised his dominion over his siblings. All at once, the ravens descended upon their father, their blunt beaks breaking bone and tearing flesh with exuberance. Nipor screamed as the foundation of the temple shook. He was completely clouded by a shroud of black feathers as his shrieks faded into blood-laden gurgles, which faded into nothingness. When the demonic birds flew up to the rafters to await Mycorr’s next demand, the body of the Fate was revealed. All that was left was a bloody pile of gristle which was already host to a plethora of mushroom species.
“Good work,” D’rij panted. Blood oozed from his forehead but already he was beginning to heal. The same couldn’t be said for Nipor.
Mycorr made to reply but his words were cut short when the temple began to let off an ethereal light and two more beings stood in their midst. The Fates of the Temporal and Liminal Worlds materialized as if called by the death of their cohort. Lacuna, the ruler of the Temporal Planes, was the embodiment of earth. She wore earthy hues touched with green and boughs of holly woven into her flaxen hair. Eria, of the Liminal World, was as intangible as the place she represented. She was nearly ethereal and everything about her was golden. Their faces shifted just as Nipor’s had and they towered over Mycorr and D’rij.
“Nothing lasts forever,” Eria crooned as she surveyed the meat pile that was Nipor.
“Not even us,” Lacuna said before turning her attention to Mycorr. “Yet the balance must be maintained.”
Mycorr felt his throat dry as he realized the implications. He said nothing as the Fates set their combined gaze upon him.
Eria placed her hand on his forehead and said, “You will take his place. Mycorr, Caretaker of the Underworld and the Dead.”
“We look forward to seeing your full potential,” Lacuna said. She and her sister faded into nothing and disappeared back to their charged worlds as mysteriously as they had arrived.
Mycorr felt no different, except that D’rij’s eyes were boring holes into his flesh. He decided that his first act as a Fate should be to bestow favor on the god who had helped his rise to his divine position.
“I suppose you will be asking for a favor,” Mycorr said, smiling so wide his face could barely contain it.
“Indeed. I wish to see Mond one last time,” D’rij said and Mycorr scowled.
“I won’t force her to do anything she doesn’t desire.”
“Neither would I. I only ask to see her,” the Lord of the Tides said solemnly.
“Then you should return to your halls. I shall see to it that she pays you a visit,” Mycorr said.
D’rij bowed deeply before departing.
Now that he was without audience other than his soulless siblings, Mycorr spread his arms wide and laughed with merriment.
***
Beatrice stepped foot on the shore and smelled the city smells of Hollandale. As promised, she would return to Northgate alone. Yaro had slunk away as soon as the Mare had made port. She was alone as she had been all her life, though she wasn’t lonely.
Casting a guilt-ridden glance over her shoulder, she watched as the full moon set over the ocean.
Epilogue
A single day’s ride from Northgate, Beatrice tossed and turned in her bedroll beneath a ponderosa. She had attempted to purchase a horse but had been given one for free, along with all the provisions she would need for the road. The kindness of so many strangers had made her uncomfortable and she hoped her reception in her hometown would be just as warm.
When sleep finally took her she found it wasn’t as peaceful as she had expected. She was familiar with her surroundings. She was in the Hall of Nipor. Beatrice hoped desperately that the Fate was not reneging on his deal. Yet, when she looked up at the throne she saw a familiar face. Mycorr was beaming, and she saw none of the wrath she had expected.
“Beatrice!” he said cordially. “I trust that you are thrilled at the prospect of being a resident of Northgate once again?”
“You are not angry with me?” she asked in astonishment.
“You are a mere mortal and you played the game of the deities just as well as any higher being could. You are a goddess made of flesh. I am proud of you for achieving what you have. And it didn’t work out so bad for me in the end,” Mycorr said with a wink. He continued before Beatrice could speak. “With the gift you have been given, I hope you don’t settle for the life you had. You can do so much more.”
With that, her dream dissolved into morning light.
***
Beatrice rode into Northgate, rough from the road and looking truly ragged. Nonetheless, she headed straight for the town offices. She tied her horse to the hitching post out front and was confronted by her old desk. No one was sitting at it but Jackson Stromville stood at its end, sorting papers. He looked up, startled, and regained his composure a moment later.
“I thought I had seen the last of you!” he said and embraced her in a hug. “Our last secretary just left town without explanation. Your expertise would be greatly appreciated.”
She didn’t answer immediately as she had spied an ad on the front of the Northgate Courant for an election. Beatrice smiled and said a quick prayer to Mycorr.
“In the interim I would love to,” Beatrice said. “But I am thinking of running for mayor.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ethan Proud was raised in Pinedale, Wyoming and that is where he fell in love with reading, writing, and the outdoors. He published his first series, the Rebellion Trilogy with his older brother, Lincoln. Ethan is an avid adventurer, whether it is on the page or in nature and when he is not writing or reading he can be found backpacking, rock climbing, or snowboarding.
Keep up with him at:
http://proudbrotherswriting.com