Romney Balvance and the Katarin Stone

by J Jordan

  “It just wasn’t enough for you, was it? Some people just don’t see a good thing when it’s right in front of them.”

  Devon roared at this. It had Draconian gravitas.

  “Good? Do you know what it’s like to be something you’re not? To wear a skin that doesn’t belong to you? To hide your true form from the world? Day in and day out, playing these mindless little games, tormented by a life you cannot live, locked forever from your dreams by a vile goddess.”

  “We’ve all got problems, Devon,” said Cora, flourishing her wand. “Some of us find ways to deal with them.”

  “You mortals live such small and terrible little lives. Scampering over trite little nothings, filling your days with useless business, staying forever chained to a meaningless existence, and for what? An inconsequential death.”

  “We find hobbies, we make friends,” said Rikka. “We make our lives matter.”

  Devon’s ravings continued undeterred.

  “I am Devon Reymus, God among kings. You would never know what that is. To have power over the earth itself, to hear it shudder before your feet. There were no realms that could hold us. Everything was our domain. Sky, earth, sea. They were all a part of our undivided kingdom.”

  “Enlighten us, oh great and powerful Devon.”

  Tykeso’s delivery was noncommittal, at best. Devon had ignored this too.

  “To be a king in this world is madness! I cannot even survey my entire domain through that tiny window. I sit in this tower, answering phones and going to business meetings and discussing courses of action and mergers and profit quarters. I am a prisoner in this golden tower. I am shackled to this world and I hate it. No more! I will not be your slave.”

  “And answering phones,” said Rella. “Tough gig.”

  “I will see the end of this world of petty glories. I will see it burn to the ground, and I will scatter its ashes under my heel. The world we build will have no place for trivial things. I will be a god once more.”

  Devon flinched as a flying dagger skated off his shoulder, then watched it return to the culprit. Kinsey raised the dagger for another throw. She pointed at him.

  “For Katssake, shut up already! You’re worse than Balvance.”

  The group was in agreement on this point.

  “You aren’t burning anything to the ground tonight,” said Romney, “because you’re not getting any of these wands or daggers. They don’t belong to you. Your little world domination scheme is over, Devon. Hand over your Katarin stone and we won’t blast you into the Ancient era.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Devon. “How did you make it this far? So frail and stupid, completely without value. How did three losers get this far?“That’s three losers, a provincial agent, and two dragon slayers,” said Rella.

  “No,” said Rikka, “six dragon slayers.”

  “Whoa.”

  Two dragon slayers and three honorary dragon slayers turned on the fourth. Romney was gobsmacked.

  “Hang on, Dev,” said Romney, half grinning. “I’m still getting used to this. You’re a dragon?”

  “It’s true,” snarled Devon. “All of it. We are dragons and we hate everything about this world. Every building and person and thing.”

  “We are prisoners here,” hissed Mila. “These husks are our bonds, so that we walk among our prey. As equals.”

  She ended the thought with a growl, sending even more spittle to the floor. The very idea of Mila Rin being on the same level as a pathetic human being? The revulsion shuddered through her hunched frame.

  “But tonight, we will break free!”

  Devon lunged forward and wrestled for the iron war hammer in Romney’s grip. Devon’s strength must have been impressive before, but now there was something inhuman about it. He ripped the weapon from Romney’s hands with a simple tug and hefted it without any struggle, as if it were made of plastic. Then he pressed the cold iron to the Katarin stone. The magic sparks rose and drew into the smooth surface of the stone, draining the war hammer of its luster. He bent the spent metal into a bow, in one clean motion, then discarded it to the ground. Romney brandished another wand and slowly backed away. Devon continued his advance. He seemed to be more transparent than before. His grin looked razor-sharp.

  Rikka fired off another magic beam, which struck Devon in the stomach. But Devon continued advancing, hunched further over, his wild eyes fixed on Romney. Cora summoned more magical orbs, while Kinsey readied her throwing knife. The knife glanced off Devon’s shoulder, returned, skimmed across his hair, returned, and struck him square in the chest, but couldn’t break the fabric of his jacket. He grabbed the struggling blade and slowly brought it to the Katarin stone, unaffected by the sudden volley of magic missiles.

  The dagger touched the stone’s surface, flashed, then withered to the floor. This caused Devon to lose more opacity. One could begin to make out the decimated cases behind him, along with something else. There was a shimmering outline of something behind Devon, silently creeping on all fours, its crested maw bowed low to the ground, its yellow eyes glowing faintly.

  Rella aimed a gust for his face. It passed through his hair like a breeze. Devon stopped his approach to counter the attack. He sucked in, the air rushing from the room into his building chest, the smell of rank sulfur and lava stone pervading the room. The shimmering outline reared back, raising the terrible shape of a head, its mouth aglow like the jagged grill of a furnace. The party drew in and braced as a single mob of frightened faces.

  With all of his might, Devon and the outlined monster leaned in together, blowing a constant stream of flame that scorched tile and wall panel, rose up to the high ceiling and burst lights in their fixtures. Warped sprinkler heads dribbled water, and the whine of fire alarms echoed through the lavish, demolished penthouse beyond.

  The remaining fixtures cast a light on six bewildered dragon slayers. They stood uncharred and mildly shaken, surveying the damage around them. The fires had stopped short of their huddle and passed around them in two raging streams, their paths leaving scorch marks on either side. Devon roared at them with the ancient force of an ultra-predator.

  “Why won’t you die?”

  Romney approached. Around his neck was a smooth stone on a leather strap. It glistened blue in the dim light.

  “Hey Katrese, I have a question for you.”

  The voice that answered did not come from the stone. It rose from every corner of the room, and from the smoldering floor, and from the charred walls, and from the very air that blew in from the warped air-conditioning ducts above.

  “And I have an answer.”

  The voice came from every direction and surrounded them. But then it drifted in from a scarred and darkened corner of the room. An elf emerged from the darkness, adorned in a linen robe and a leather apron with various arcane tools stuffed into the pockets. Her orange hair was a mess of tangles and waves, matted in places by dust and dirt, except for the single neat braid running down the side of her face. The irises of her eyes were black and speckled with starlight. Romney noted the dark circles forming under her eyes. She had been up all night fixing things.

  “The answer involves Devon Reymus and Mila Rin overstepping their boundaries.”

  The sight of the woman caused the two culprits to snarl and bristle, but they couldn’t hold this act for long. As she approached, they retreated to the far side of the room and held their ground stoically behind two broken display cases. The elf, Katrese, took a stand at the center of the room. She tapped the mangled war hammer with a toe, then looked to Devon.

  “This was definitely in the rule book, buster. Do you care to explain?”

  “I will not be tethered by a false goddess.”

  Devon sucked in and blew another raging blast at the goddess. It rolled over her as a thick and searing lash. A great shift of air pushed back the flame, curled it in the air, and boomeranged it back into Devon’s shimmering frame. The stream was cut as Devon recoiled from it. He hissed and
snarled, the massive outline trying to rub away the flames. The tile floor cracked in places.

  Katrese had gained a foot in height, which fit with her new scowl. In a single wave of her hand, man and invisible beast were lifted into the air and cartwheeled several times, then dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Devon was back on his feet and charging Katrese in a blind rage, the invisible outline thrashing in sync behind him. She caught and lifted the man over her head, as if he were a surly house cat. He thrashed lamely in her grip, his true form writhing above him. Katrese’s expression said she was quite finished with this mess.

  “Just stop me if I’m wrong here. You were stealing magic so you could break the curse placed on you and then plunge the world back into chaos and dragon fire. You wanted the thrones of the world to break under your claw and for its people to bow in supplication to your incredible might. Then maybe you would burn all sentient life off the planet and rule in a world of cinders.”

  She looked up at the squirming Devon. He hissed in protest.

  “Did I get everything? Mila?”

  She turned to the crouching secretary, who had crept halfway along the periphery of the room toward the group. Mila was fixated on Romney’s Katarin stone.

  “If you do what I think you’re gonna do, this world of trouble is going to turn into a world of hurt. Real fast. Get back to your side of the room.”

  Mila took a step forward and sneered at the false goddess. Katrese’s response was silent, a mere spark of blue light from her eyes. The sudden force lifted Mila off the ground, dragged her through the air to the other side of the room, and dropped her onto the tile floor, all within a fraction of a blink. She scrabbled to her feet and snarled at the goddess.

  “Always meddling in our affairs,” yelled Devon. “Never letting nature take its course. Favoring weakness over strength. A true world doesn’t work that way. You’ve always been a fraud, false goddess.”

  Devon’s statement would have been brushed aside on any other day. But on this particular day, this was exactly the wrong thing to say to the Goddess of Creation. Her eyes flared blue. Devon rose higher into the air. He floated several feet above the floor, his outlined form twirling beside him in the air, both thrashing for control. The intense blue light and Devon’s frustrated screams flooded the room.

  This discharge was less intense, the tremors barely registering with the world outside, but the light seemed to glare for an eternity.

  When the light finally did fade, the group saw Devon lying on the floor, returned to his usual opaque human form. The outline of his true self was gone. With another frustrated whine, he rose to his knees and looked up at the goddess. His voice cracked as he spoke.

  “This isn’t fair. We’ve suffered long enough.”

  “I think you’ve forgotten the weight of your crimes,” said Katrese. “You were made human, so that you could understand humanity. It isn’t something to crush under your heel. Humanity is all those humans and elves keeping the world in motion. All of them play a vital role in a healthy world. And so do you, Devon. Maybe it’s a prison to you, but many count on your golden tower for their livelihood. And you would have known that, had you learned anything from this curse. But it’s clear that you need more time. The verdict stands.”

  A maddened screech cut the verdict short. Mila had reached the opposite side of the room, charging toward the group with her hands bent into claws, her face red and twisted in rage. She leapt for Romney, hands closing around his throat, her intangible size poised to crush him. Wands and knives took aim, but the gap between them had already closed.

  Mila tackled Romney to the ground and tugged at the Katarin stone. The leather strap whipped over his head in one clean pull. She pressed his head into the tile floor with one powerful claw-like hand, as the other brought the Katarin stone around her neck. Then, with a crushing force, she launched off toward the goddess. Her arms were outstretched, ready to wrap around the contemptible form.

  To absorb the powers of a goddess. To marry dragon and deity into one perfect form. It wasn’t in her original plan, but the idea was absolutely brilliant. It was funny how these opportunities just presented themselves. She closed her arms around Katrese’s waist and pulled herself in. The goddess looked down at her in disbelief.

  Milarin held tight as unfathomable power began to seep into her body. It coursed through her skin, through ancient scale and bone, filling in old muscle and sinew. The elder fires churned and pulsed in her belly once more. The true Milarin loomed in the center of the room, gaining shape and color, its red eyes fixing on the group of dragon slayers. Their time would come, after their false goddess was no more than a mere shadow. The dawn had arrived.

  Perhaps there was something to this improvisation.

  But the best improv needed a measure of planning. Mila had neglected two key points. First, she could never completely drain Katrese of her powers, since the goddess could never technically run out. She was a constant stream of the stuff, wrapped up in a tall and attractive package. There would come a point when Mila’s own magical power would top out, which would make her insanely powerful, but the goddess would still be infinitely more powerful. Mila would be able to wreak considerable havoc on the city of Lanvale, but she could never completely stop the goddess. Still, the thought of such power was terrifying.

  The second and arguably more important point was the tremendous crackling of the magical transfer. It did an excellent job of masking the popping sound.

  ◆◆◆

  Agent Yaldarra ducked at the popping sound. She turned to its source and found a transparent woman standing on the sidewalk, embracing the air in a tight hug. Behind the woman was a translucent lizard thing, standing roughly ten feet tall with large, red eyes. Two conflicting arguments fought over which direction to move. The lady was clearly standing in harm’s way. But Yaldarra wasn’t sure how the lizard behind her would react to forcible escort. Luckily, the braver side prevailed. Ghost or no, that lady needed to get away from the building.

  “Hey, you can’t be over there.”

  The lady hissed in protest, but Yaldarra had already locked an arm around her transparent waist. The dutiful Agent Yaldarra dragged her off the sidewalk and onto the grass.

  But then the lady was stuck in place. Agent Yaldarra tried yanking at the vanishing torso with all her might, but the apparition didn’t budge. She turned to the woman and made careful note of her face, then turned up to the lizardy shape above. Both woman and lizard were now stricken with fear.

  “Do you work in this building, miss?”

  The ghost lady didn’t respond. She exploded.

  ◆◆◆

  Tremors rocked the earth to its very core. The single pillar erupted from the parking lot of the Reymus Building and bathed the city in a curtain of light. Unseen gears seized under incredible pressures and threatened to snap off their axles. The physical world came to a screeching halt. Seconds clicked in labored succession until the gears of time were locked in place. Gravity was intricately laced in with these parts and was forced to end its pull under the new magical forces.

  The small pang signaled the surrender of a pinion, throwing a law of thermodynamics into oblivion. The massive cog for friction lost a tooth in the grind, then pressed on into the next groove, and lost another under the force. The machines of creation jerked forward once more, then seized again on the cog’s remaining teeth. Another gear cracked along a single fissure, held in place by the unrelenting magical discharge, threatening to buckle at its new seam. The very forces of nature were unraveling by degrees.

  The friction of magical force built heat and, from the depths, a blue fire crawled along divine belts and across the various pulleys of the world. Something like a fiery hand gripped a frozen axle and swung the body of flame onto the face of an unmoving cog. She crawled up the network of interlaced teeth.

  The blue flame took shape as she climbed up the machines of creation. Long fingers dug in between frozen gears and legs crouch
ed for another volley. Two hot, blue-white stars looked up at the world looming above.

  Her world. Where things had to fit neatly into place and everything had a never-ending list of rules. It was a place of structure and balance, a place with no margin for error. This wasn’t entirely true. There were plenty of times when this world had hiccups or did things that were entirely unexpected, but these details did not pass through the blue flame.

  She saw a world that fit too neatly together, a place that needed some magic. She saw rules that needed bending. The blue flame leapt once more, now a body in a velvet robe, with a head of long, black hair and two piercing blue eyes. The momentum carried her up, past a massive cog that chugged in vain at its myriad brethren. She spread her arms as she began to fall back and spread her fingers wide. The fires rose within her, carried her up past more frozen machinery, and past the Goddess of Creation.

  The Matron smiled to her and continued her ascent into the world above. The goddess would have only two options, and the choice, the Matron knew, would be crystalline: continue fixing the machines of creation or stop the Matron from escaping. Everything had fallen into place. She was finally free. And all it took was a little patience.

  The Matron entered the world. She stepped through the makeshift doorway and surveyed the other occupants as they shuddered under tremendous forces. Each was frozen on the spot. She stopped at the silver-haired elf, making note of his physique and his sharp face. Yet there was a gentleness to it, perhaps in the way he cowered in fear. It was a beautiful combination.

  The Matron would keep him around, after this was all sorted out. And maybe his dumpy girlfriend too. She was huddled on the ground, clutching her ears, clamping her eyes shut, frown lines apparent on her grimacing face. A nice robe would do the grump some good, she decided.

  But the strong woman on the edge of the group, the one with the auburn hair and the dark-green eyes—this was a truly beautiful specimen. The natural lines of muscle running along her tensing arm as they moved to protect her face, the same lines evident in her strong jaw and her long legs. Strength, beauty, grace, ferocity. The machines of creation could make a truly beautiful creature, on occasion. This beautiful thing was living proof.