War of Men

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “No, wait. Please.” Whitney rushed to meet him, hands palm out and pushing at the air.

  “I haven’t felt magic like this in a long time, thief,” he said. “How are you doing this?”

  “I need your help,” Whitney said.

  “Not interested,” Kazimir answered.

  “Kazzy, old friend,” Whitney said, flanking Kazimir, trying to keep him from wandering away. “You know I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t important. Please.”

  The upyr seemed to mull over the statement for a minute before saying, “You have thirty seconds. You robbed me of a grand feast. Who knows what my apprentice has gotten herself into.”

  “It’s about Sora.”

  “I promised you I wouldn’t touch the mystic, and I did not. The Sanguine Lords taught me my lesson for pushing beyond their will. Whatever happened to her, it was not me.”

  “No, no. Look… do you know where we are?” Whitney asked, changing tacks.

  “I know where I was before you brought me to this trash-heap you call home.”

  “I didn’t do it. Not really. A Lightmancer connected our minds.”

  That seemed to pique Kazimir’s interest. A light twinkled in his soulless eyes and was gone the next instant.

  “You believe me?” Whitney asked.

  “A Lightmancer? Are you insane? You mortals won’t be happy until all magic is snuffed out, but they were wiped out by the mystics for a reason.

  Whitney tried not to show his surprise at Kazimir knowing about them. Of course, he knows, Whitney thought. He knows everything about magic. That’s why I came to him.

  “Well, this Lightmancer did the same for me and Sora after you and I returned from Elsewhere. I spoke with Sora, but I couldn’t find her.”

  “Fooling with Lightmancery twice?” Kazimir stalked forward. Whitney had forgotten how terrifying the upyr could be when he tried. “Do you realize what other beings might overhear us?”

  “None of that matters. The Lightmancer she… she showed me where Sora is, trapped in her own mind, caught between Pantego and Elsewhere, she said. Nesilia was there. The Buried Goddess. Controlling her body.”

  Kazimir’s expression rarely shifted, but for a fleeting moment, Whitney could see it. Fear flashed across his features. It happened the moment he’d brought up Nesilia, as if he, too, knew her plans for returning weren’t through. And if that was true, and she had Sora under some spell… Whitney couldn’t even imagine.

  “She’s possessed a mystic? Clever girl. Always was. Never one to give up.” A finger prodded Whitney in the chest three times as Kazimir said, “Just. Like. You.”

  “Possessing, or whatever, I don’t know what exactly it is, but Sora needs my help, and you are the only one who knows what it’s like to be stuck between realms.”

  “I cannot help you,” Kazimir declared as if doing nothing more than ordering a drink at the local pub.

  “You said it yourself! You’ve been to Elsewhere a hundred times, and you’ve escaped just as many. You live between realms, close your eyes, and see the other. I need to know how to get her out.”

  “I cannot help you,” Kazimir repeated.

  Whitney’s mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out.

  Can’t help? He has to help. This was Whitney’s only plan. His shot in the dark. And he’d done so much to get to this moment. To think it was all for nothing…

  “I don’t think you understand—”

  Whitney’s words were cut off as Kazimir’s cold hand wrapped around his throat. Sharp fingernails dug into the soft flesh behind his ear, and Whitney thought he felt warm liquid seeping from the spot.

  “I understand perfectly,” Kazimir hissed—another reminder that this was an upyr and not someone to be trifled with. “You want me to entangle myself in the affairs of gods. I will not. Unless you have a blood pact to make, release me from this spell so I can return to my apprentice.”

  “Fine,” Whitney croaked, and Kazimir dropped him.

  “Goodbye, Whitney Fierstown. It has been good knowin—”

  “I hereby… uh… invoke the Sanguine Lords for… uh…”

  “What are you doing?” Kazimir demanded.

  “The only thing I know how. Taking a leap.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I want to make a blood pact. Now.”

  “You don’t know what you’re getting mixed up in. The winds are changing on Pantego. Powers are shifting. Now is not the time. Our work was invoked upon the blood of kings, and now our presence is remembered. This is a war of men, do not get the gods involved.”

  “The gods are already involved!” Whitney shouted.

  “This is foolishness.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Whitney’s usual bravado was gone. All that was left was desperation. “This is my only move. If you won’t help me by choice, I’ll make you. If a blood pact is the only way, I want to do it.”

  Kazimir growled low and fierce, then knelt before Whitney on one knee. He grimaced the entire time. Whitney looked around, confused until Kazimir finally started speaking.

  “Beseech the Lords, and be warned, if they reject your target, your life will become forfeit.” Kazimir didn’t look up as he spoke. Under his breath, he added, “You better know what you’re doing, thief. Even I can’t predict anything anymore.”

  “I don’t. Not one bit.” Whitney forced a grin. He’d gotten more and more used to doing that since Elsewhere, pretending he was enjoying living.

  He cleared his throat, spread his arms and said, “Oh, Lords of Sanguine, or whatever, I beseech you therefore by the power vested in me, to kill Nesilia, the Buried Goddess.”

  Whitney couldn’t remember if there were birds chirping or leaves rustling before, but if there were, the birds died, and the wind quit.

  Kazimir’s eyes rose ever so slightly. They weren’t soulless any longer. “You stupid, stupid man.” The upyr’s body went stiff, back straight, arms stiff, chest stuck out. He shook three times before his head drooped, and he collapsed to his hands and knees.

  “The Sanguine Lords…” Kazimir’s words hung in the air for a lifetime.

  Whitney stood in hopeful anticipation, unsure of what he’d truly just done. His whole life had been built on one principle: Plan, abandon, improvise. He’d had a plan, and that was to get his supposed friend, Kazimir to help. Whitney couldn’t blame Kazimir for saying no, but when he had, Whitney had no choice but to abandon the plan and improvise.

  “…accept this offering.” Kazimir stood, eyes filled with pity and scorn. “You’ve damned us all.” Grabbing Whitney’s arm, Kazimir drew a deep cut before he could protest.

  “Ouch!”

  Kazimir let the blood fill a vile he pulled out of the folds of his cloak. “Blood given, for blood required. If you back out, change your mind, or otherwise thwart my efforts to fulfill this blood pact, the order will hunt you to the ends of the world. They will find you anywhere with this. Do you understand?”

  Whitney nodded.

  “Use words, thief.”

  “I understand.”

  “I do not think you do.” Kazimir turned to walk away when Whitney grabbed his arm. Kazimir reared back and punched Whitney hard across the jaw.

  “You fool!” he roared.

  Whitney rubbed at his chin but somehow didn’t fall over. “What in Elsewhere?”

  “Besides the fact that you just asked us to claim the life of a goddess? This pact you’ve made contradicts one we already have.”

  “What? How?” Whitney asked.

  “You believe Nesilia has possessed Sora’s body. To kill her, I will have to destroy that which she possesses.”

  The words hit Whitney like a tidal wave. Fear punch him harder than Kazimir had. Regret, anguish, confusion, and every other unpleasant emotion he’d ever known.

  Kazimir merely laughed a humorless laugh. “Her blood drove me to betray the Sanguine Lords’ will, got me sent to Elsewhere, and now, they ask for it. What madness have you created?�
�

  Whitney swore but maintained his composure. “And what would you have done, oh, great upyr?”

  “Anything else,” Kazimir whispered. “But what is done is done. The will of the ancients is clear. Balance is broken and must be restored. There is no going back. You have shown them the path.”

  “So, what—you’re going to kill Sora?”

  Kazimir leaned into his hand and rubbed his temple.

  “Kazzy—”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Kazimir, we made a deal in Elsewhere. Our own blood pact. Maybe your—whatever—Lords weren’t involved, but that has to mean something. Weren’t you punished because you killed as you pleased?”

  “This is beneath their gaze. That wasn’t. Don’t presume to understand our ways.”

  “I’m not. I’m not.” Whitney moved right in front of him, forcing Kazimir to meet his eyes. Standing tall and proud, Whitney said, “I don’t care what you say. You showed me in Elsewhere that buried somewhere deep in that pale, muscular chest is a heart… it’s not beating, sure… but you’re a good man.”

  Whitney pounded a closed fist on the upyr’s chest and earned a glower that at any other time, might have made him shog himself. But, right now, Sora’s very existence was at stake.

  “I know what I saw in you,” he continued. “There has to be another way. An exorcism or whatever the old priests talk about.”

  “This is the Buried Goddess, not some putrid demon spirit,” Kazimir scoffed.

  “Even still. Kill Sora’s body, she can just possess someone else. That can’t be the way. Look into the big old tome of magic you call a brain, and we’ll figure something out. I’m the best thief there is. About time I try to steal someone’s body back, right?” He laughed nervously. “Right?”

  Kazimir released a low growl. “You are correct. We made a deal. A blood pact. Perhaps the Sanguine Lords are still punishing me, leaving me no options, but I will not be exiled to Elsewhere again.”

  “So, you won’t kill her?”

  “I won’t kill your blood mage friend unless there is no other choice.”

  Whitney was halfway toward embracing the upyr, but he caught himself, and stepped back, shifting his feet. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “Thank only the Sanguine Lords. If this is their wish, it must be for good reason. Questioning them is another path to Elsewhere.” Whitney opened his mouth to speak, but Kazimir clutched his shoulder. Even in—wherever they were—Whitney could feel the pressure against the grimaur wound and grimaced. “But know this, Whitney Fierstown. If there is no other way to destroy her than sacrificing the body she possesses, your friend will be happy to be killed. Any fate is better than watching horrors through closed eyes for all of eternity.”

  “We’ll find a way,” Whitney said assuredly. Then he swallowed hard. “What now?”

  “Wait where you are.”

  “That’s it? That’s your grand wisdom?” Whitney scoffed.

  Kazimir stared at him, quiet until his shape began to vacillate.

  Darkness crept in upon the corners of Whitney’s vision. “Kazimir?” he said. His voice echoed as if he were within a deep, lonely chasm. The darkness closed in, and he spun in place, heart beginning to race.

  “Kazimir!”

  Suddenly, Whitney sat in Gold Grin’s Grotto once more. Lucindur was already lighting a pipe filled with manaroot. This time, she had a second one ready for Whitney. She looked exhausted, but at least her strings hadn’t broken again.

  Whitney coughed. His throat felt unbelievably dry. His head pounded, though, and hadn’t stopped since gaining the grimaur scratch. He reached for his shoulder instinctively and gave it a rub.

  “What did you see?” Lucindur asked after some time had passed. She broke a piece off a loaf of bread and handed it to him, which he gratefully accepted. Hunger hit him like a hammer to the gut.

  “Him.” Whitney lay on his back, chewed, and stared at the wooden planks above. It helped fight the nausea, fixating on one spot. He noticed Gentry peeking over the railing down at them, and the boy quickly retreated out of sight.

  “Did he agree to help?” Lucindur asked.

  “No… not exactly,” someone said. The voice was deep and guttural, the accent thick as old blood.

  Lucindur’s coal-dark skin paled at the sight of Kazimir, who, somehow, now stood in the center of the room. One moment, Whitney blinked, the next he was there, standing next to a woman, her skin and hair white as the tundra. Her mouth was covered by a metal muzzle, not unlike the one that had adorned Aquira’s face only days earlier. Her eyes, dark and menacing like Kazimir’s, shared none of his years of wisdom.

  They reminded Whitney of how Kazimir looked when he’d hunted them in Winde Port—fueled by power and the desire for how Sora’s blood could help him walk in the daylight.

  “Th-this is…” Lucindur cleared her throat and straightened her spine. “This is Kazimir?”

  “In the cold, dead flesh,” Whitney said. “Don’t know who she is.”

  “Sigrid, my apprentice,” Kazimir answered. She stared at Whitney, and though he couldn’t tell with her mask on, it seemed like she was panting wildly. Her pupils filled the entirety of her irises, black as night. All Whitney knew is that he was wrong. Kazimir had been a blood-hankering lunatic in Winde Port, but she looked unhinged.

  “Apprentice?” Whitney scoffed, forcing himself not to stare at her. “Never would have thought anyone would trust you with an apprentice.”

  Kazimir cleared the distance between them faster than a fly could flap its wings. He leaned in close and said, “Do not undermine me. I have no pact against breaking your friend’s bones.”

  Whitney tried his best to stand his ground. He knew from his time spent in Elsewhere that the blood pact was meant for the target, and no others were to be taken until their blood was spilt, but that didn’t mean Whitney trusted Kazimir to obey the rules.

  “You said you didn’t agree?” Lucindur said, breaking the tension. “Then, why are you here?”

  “The Sanguine Lords have accepted the offer. Therefore, through Elsewhere, here beside the offering do I appear.” His words were solemn and felt rehearsed.

  Lucindur looked between Whitney and Kazimir. “Offer? What offer?”

  “This fool made a blood pact.” All pretense of memorized words fled, and Kazimir emphasized the word ‘fool’ with a poke to Whitney’s chest. At the same time, Sigrid circled behind him. He thought he could hear her sniffing. “Almost as foolish as what you just did for him, Lightmancer.”

  Whitney put on a crooked smile. “What did you want me to do? He said he wouldn’t help.”

  “A blood pact on who?” Lucindur asked slowly.

  Kazimir turned from Whitney and paced, making clear effort to skirt around a blade of sunlight filtering in through an open porthole. “As Nesilia walks Pantego, there is no balance,” Kazimir said. “There must be balance. Balance is everything, lest the Culling comes again.”

  “You took out a blood pact on a goddess?” Lucindur asked, disgust dripping from her words.

  “So what? I helped kill a goddess before, no matter who believes me. It can’t be that hard.”

  Kazimir’s head turned. If looks could murder, Whitney wouldn’t just be dead, his bones would have turned to dust. “You didn’t kill a goddess—you killed one stripped of her power. Power is everything, and Nesilia has no lack of it. Not after her scion, Redstar, reminded the world of who she was.”

  “Does it not bother you at all that an evil goddess is roaming the world, seeking vengeance on whatever and whoever?” Whitney asked.

  “Even in success, the stakes are high. Thousands will die. Failure… it could mean the end of everything. The rising of the dead again.”

  “You really are dramatic for an immortal. What if we do nothing? We fail by not trying.” Whitney didn’t say that failure meant losing Sora—he couldn’t—but he knew it did. Nesilia didn’t seem like one to let her hosts g
o when she was through with them. King Pi got lucky.

  “I’ve seen it all before, thief,” Kazimir said.

  Whitney had a retort ready until Sigrid appeared in front of him. Her black lace was stained with blood. He knew the upyr couldn’t teleport except, apparently, when a blood pact was made, but the way she moved, she might as well have. She was panting, he could hear it through her muzzle. She just stared at him. Creepy.

  “Mortals rise and fall,” Kazimir went on. “Gods and goddesses have their feuds. When they are through having fun, the upyr remain. The Dom Nohzi still remains.”

  Whitney stepped to the side, away from Sigrid, and shook his head. “This is different.” His words hung there like a stubborn mule begging to be kicked. Kazimir didn’t respond.

  “What is the price of this blood pact?” Lucindur asked. “My people tell many stories of the upyr, each more horrifying than the next.”

  “Are they? And my order tells of the old Lightmancers who robbed kings of their minds; who’d inspired so much slaughter. My kind are, at least, honest about what we are.”

  Lucindur turned her eyes to the ground. “Ours is a dark history, yes. But no art should be forgotten. An ageless one should agree, I think.”

  “Indeed.”

  She repeated the question: “What’s the price?”

  “Riches and gold, fame and fortune, they pass like the rising tide, but power… power is all the Sanguine Lords judge. If the gods roam the world once more, the balance of power is tipped, and the scales threaten to break.”

  Suddenly, Lucindur’s hand went to her mouth. “Whitney, this means…”

  “No,” Kazimir said. “I cannot kill Sora. There are other… complications."

  There came a muffled voice from the center of the room. They all turned to Sigrid.

  “Otkryt,” Kazimir said, and her muzzle fell to the floor. “Behave.”

  “I have no such pact with the human, neither do the Lords,” she said. Her voice was ice and steel. “I’ll devour this Sora, and we can go home.”

  “Blizklos,” Kazimir snapped. The muzzle reappeared over her mouth, and she snarled. “Know your place, young one.”