by J A Stone
“Oooooh, good one,” said British.
“Whoa!” Bigfoot grinned.
“Buggers!” Danica laughed.
Everyone watched in awe and deserved amusement as the three massive Danes tossed the howling Dwarf back and forth, catching the tiny body with their teeth mid-air without hurting him.
“I HAVE MONEY!” the tumbling Dwarf shouted to the laughs of the Knights.
“You people,” he spoke clearly, “are idiots!”
After several moments, Torpa bounced the little man up high with his snout, expertly tossing him as a loose rag doll towards Antigua. The crafty Dane snatched a leg and purposefully snapped it clean—first blood.
“Please—oh please—oh please,” Jeff begged like a baby.
The huge canines with short white hair—so different from the ravaging Wolfhounds—lunged for Jeff’s torso, each maw clamping down on a section, holding the screaming, whimpering little man still in their mouths, moving their sparkling blue eyes to British and the Knights, waiting for the approval to rip into their little prize.
British nodded in silence and Jeff simply came apart at the seams.
They made for the gate, relying on the faithful Danes for support. Tom slid down from Dare so the big man could lean on the huge Sand Pony and together, the battered Knights of Salvos limped and hobbled away from the flaming complex.
Outside the tattered iron gate, they sat and watched the fires rage, when the Aequitas Caelum Vindictis floated free of the wreckage with the broken body of Logos Gravari in his arms.
This one is to be set down at home, to lie at rest with honor. Take leave at Agabarth and I shall return on the eye of the equifade my Good Knights. And Daughter?
“Yes Father?”
You should not leave the Huntsman’s Hounds behind again—the mighty Danes are Good Knights such as yourself—you should befit them with light armor, war is coming to our door.
The Spirit flew away with Logos, back to Fort Salvos.
“You guys see that? He never got mad,” said Rob, scratching his chin.
*
Case #44 The Seven Souls of Shadoweye
British asked me to write this down, just in case.
Losing my voice was a shock, but I am quickly mastering the movements of a mute life.
She’s been crawling into bed with me each night and her snuggle is making all of this worth it. I’m so in love…
I’m stalling.
I need to say something about the Spirit of Caelum Fey. Lately, before the Knights and staff he has been kind, modest, downright angelic. He is teaching everyone to meditate and giving lessons in Philosophy in the library, acting as though he is a peaceful entity.
I know better than that. He is in fact…
I am afraid to set down the words.
I can say that all of us have seen the incredible rage the Spirit evokes when taking a human life. He has admitted he enjoys the act, and to see it first hand is enough to convince any rational mind of the pure evil emanating from his visage.
He can affect matter now as though alive at ten times Robert’s strength.
Despite the humiliation of losing so bad and the carnage and the flames following our last case, what struck me as unnerving, was the fact that the Ghost held the dead body of Logos in his arms and flew him home. British and Danica noticed, but they’ve said nothing yet. We’re less than a week back.
Okay, listen close, I have five Tawnee’s in here. Five women trapped within a mute. The Spirit shoved them in there as if livestock. And his methods are not meant to console—he savagely murders them in different realities. He moves fast for the kill, preempting any attempts of escape or counter attack. I remember once, he said that tracking down and eliminating the doppelgangers of British was far from easy. That little critter has incredible skills in all of the dimensions. Because of this, he acts swiftly.
Safe to say my counterparts are mostly killers themselves, given my nature and sorted past. I would approach them with caution, but Caelum Fey does not—he locates and attacks out of nowhere with incredible force, speed and horror before they can say hello. It makes sense, but damn the Gods of Goodness it’s cruel, I mean downright vicious.
So you can keep any visions of a benevolent Spirit—I know just what the fuck he is, and I know one day he must be stopped.
And we’re the only ones who can do it.
I’ve said enough—I’ve said more than enough.
British doesn’t think her Father can read pages in a closed book…I don’t know, would you stake your life on that?
Fort Salvos
TAWNEE SHADOWEYE LAY motionless, glistening brown eyes studying the lofty ceiling of Fort Salvos’ infirmary. Her wounds were healing well—all but the torn larynx—so subtle a structure in the throat. She snorted a hollow laugh at the miracle of speech.
“You okay?” British asked from nearby. She and Eventine remained with Tom, Robert and Tawnee day and night, taking turns sleeping on a couch, caring for every possible need as though tending children, and spoiling them rotten.
“Missus British?” Bigfoot sat up, wincing to the pain of his cracked sternum—bad bone to break.
“Yeah sweetie?” the pixie moved to his side.
“Can I get out of this damned bed? I need to move. I know it hurts, but I gotta work through it.”
“Robby, you need to allow the bone and cartilage to fuse, and then step slowly into building the surrounding muscles.
“She’s right big man,” Eventine Delacroix said from nearby, “but you’re in luck, physical therapy begins today.
“I do not need a therapist,” Rob shook his head.
“I have three bullet wounds,” Tom Snow piped up from two beds away, “I can’t get up yet.”
“Really?” Eventine and British spoke together, crossing arms, lending Tom identical disapproving glares. “If an enemy entered this room right now, what would you do, lie there like a log of shit?” the Denga Master, turned Knight scoffed.
“Well, no, I mean…no,” Tom knew she was right.
“I have an idea,” it was Danica, taking the vaulted chamber silently with Iris behind her, and moving to the Snowman. “I, ah, could give you some blood?”
“NO!” Iris shouted, shaking her head and pushing past the platinum haired beauty. “You only have the virus inside ya. It’s the blood inside meh that will heal them.”
Now Tom and Tawnee sat up, piqued to the borderline of fear.
“What’s the catch?” said Tom, “there has got to be a downside.”
Iris moved her greys from patient to patient, sighing deep and lowering her head afterwards. At length she spoke in a whisper.
“It hurts Tommy, it hurts bad.”
“Yeah it does,” Danica added, tossing her blues to the polished tiles.
“Will we turn into…um?” asked Rob like a frightened kid.
“No,” British answered, placing a hand on Iris’ shoulder and squeezing lightly for assurance.
“Same way you can drink snake venom harmlessly, the colloidal suspension of poison is beneficial if it does not pass through the organ-blood barrier. In fact, you’d probably pick up a few complex proteins and amino acids in the process,” Fey added.
“Missus British, all I heard was the word poison,” said Rob.
“Well,” she clarified, “From mouth to butt, it’s a closed pipe, an absorption tube that picks out the needed molecules and pushes the rest on down the line. Unless there is a tear or break in the gut-wall, you should be fine.”
“Should and will are very different words,” said Tom.
“What do you think boss?” Warfell asked. British thought for a long moment of silence. She moved from Tom’s bed to her beloved Tawnee.
“She can’t drink it, not with this esophagus all jacked up,” Fey gently touched her lover’s bandaged neck.
“But she needs it the most!’ Rob added.
A long moment of silence…
British suddenly laughed
aloud, full and bright.
“Gods of the Underworld,” she said once calm. “There is another way, you know—the other way,” now British was giggling, holding a hand to mouth to poorly mask her incredible smile.
Tawnee stared a death-hole through British, shaking her head slowly and giving the military hand signal for one way out.
“Oh shit you mean rectally,” Tom blurted and Eventine smacked him on the back of the head.
“Why’d you call her that Snow? What did you call her?” Bigfoot asked, and then flushed with shame when Tawnee gave him the stare of death, commanding him with her eyes to shut up.
“Uhhhhh,” the big man whispered, “in the butt?”
Tawnee placed hands to her face.
“Okay, on the evening equi-fade, I want Dad nearby if things go sour,” British spoke severely.
“SOUR! What do you mean sour?” now Tom was sweating.
“Easy Tom-tom, you should be fine,” British grinned.
“SHOULD?”
Tibor, Golden Spires, King’s Tower Throne Room
“What happened Dana?” Prince Aaron was in no mood and the old woman knew it.
“Three Royal Guardsmen, and your Sister, Ara, have been murdered on the Greens my Lord King,” Dana gave the boy King a hard stare; she held no fear of him, she wiped his damned butt not too long ago.
“Raven holdouts?”
“Not possible my Lord, the old city is in ruins, your blade is keen,” she was not exaggerating. Aaron smiled, nodding. He was there swinging away with his finest. They took no surrender, no prisoners—all fighters were slain, even as weapons clanked to the ground. It was a massacre lasting for days.
“Thank you Dana, your wisdom drives my thoughts,” he lied—couldn’t stand the old bitch.
She knew this. He waived her away and the old Mentor held his green eyes.
“We need to find the killer fast, before people talk,” Dana shoved the obvious at her snotty boy King.
“I am already on it good Lady, please, I have a meeting, my men are waiting, please,” Aaron leaned forward, extending his unspoken message, a fleeting whisper of death.
“Aye my Lord King, I take leave,” she sauntered away with the gate of a young, proud woman, quickly rounding the corner and bending over in pain. Dana placed a palm to the wall for balance and cursed herself for not killing that brash kid years ago when it would have been easy.
She had her own meeting to attend. Dana wasn’t done here,not by far.
Fort Salvos
Tawnee never made a sound. Tom and Rob? Well, Danica had to straddle Bigfoot as Iris chained down the arms and British tack-welded the iron fast to the bottom of the hospital bed.
Two racks over, Tom Snow held on pretty good for a while, and then turned into a helpless, screaming child.
Past him, Tawnee lay there with nothing more than a twisted face as her cuts and wounds fused together forcefully, silently praying her voice would come back.
But the precious blood could not heal, what had been viscously removed completely.
Three agonizing hours later, thirty minutes into the equifade, Tawnee snapped her leather straps with amazing strength, bolting upright when the atmosphere shimmied and distorted and the temperature fell. The Aequitas Caelum Vindictis materialized at the threshold to the infirmary and all she could think was, please, don’t go brain-raping these guys!
The Spirit shot her a chilling glance and then slowly lowered its head.
Knights of Salvos, Princess Ara of Tibor has been murdered on the Riding Greens along with three Guardsmen, Knights. The young girl was first in line for ascension to the Throne. Ara was a beautiful, wonderful girl who could have saved the kingdom as the rightful Queen, and she calls for us to avenge her. Follow only if this cause feels just in your hearts Good Knights
“We shall Father,” British took a knee with Eventine, Danica and Iris. Tom and Rob were finally coming to a calm. They nodded yes from their beds.
The Spirit rotated to face Shadoweye, still sitting upright. He floated closer and Tawnee clenched the sides of the bed for dear life.
Are you okay Tawnee Shadoweye?
Seven Hells no she wasn’t. Tawnee was never a liar; she tossed the air out of her nose, puffing like a bull, fear and anger so evident. She shook her head no, slow and purposeful. She closed her eyes for a fleeting second and damned if it didn’t happen, the words seeping into her silent consciousness…
You must be strong for me. Ara says she was taken down by the Kotare Guild, a message sent through her dying moments to me
“I wish no more of it Sir,” Tawnee frowned, realizing she could talk, only because the Ghost was now inside her head, snatching the speech from her brain. Is that what he gets when he guts them and pushes the screaming entities in? The ability to enter his living victim’s thoughts?
You gaze far from a victim’s eyes, rather it is Shadoweye they see walking away in the haze as the sweet darkness comes, or the side of her boot and the tug of the glistening Scimitar as it slides free.
Okay, that truth hurt. Tawnee gathered her nerve as best she could. For her, there was only one way.
“Then you must teach me. Show me how to contact the women inside of me. I want them to see and hear this world. I want to know who they are,” Shadoweye clasped her fists tight, realizing what she was asking for—more brain-rape—great juuuust great.
I will show you, I promise
Tawnee our mark’s name is Jarol, disciple of K-Li, two of the Kotare’s finest.
“Yeah, I know them both Sir—bad people Mr. Fey—bad like us bad, I’m in,” she whispered into the ethos as the dream faded into a grey mist and then silent blackness.
She opened her waking eyes to see the Spirit gone, the infirmary empty and dark. British lie asleep next to her.
She checked her timepiece—twelve hours?
Fort Salvos Galley
Tawnee stumbled in like a drunk, plopping onto a stool and studying the contents of the counter-bar. She was about to grab an orange, when Danica entered with a solemn countenance.
“Tawnee, the fade has passed, and we need to talk,” she remained standing, waiting with severity for a response.
Shadoweye held both palms up, with a cold look that said everything.
“Sorry, I’ll talk, you listen, come with me please,” Danica motioned with a thin hand and Tawnee rose, eyebrows furrowed, was something wrong?
Outside, they walked the grasses as Torpa and Landreth came to their sides and calmed immediately before Warfell. At length, the tall platinum-haired warrior spoke.
“Tawnee, I have a very evil woman in here,” she tapped her temple, stopping to face her friend. “Her name is Denali Warren—do you remember?”
Shadoweye nodded. Warfell already knew when Tawnee’s doppelganger died aboard the spacecraft Snowflake, that the Spirit of Caelum Fey pushed that Soul into the Assassin. She knew this was why she finally relented to British—because the Spirit of Brey Fovea was forced into British as well, giving her advanced technical prowess and an unexplained love for her friend, Tawnee.
“I can never allow Denali to come out. My point is, the Aequitas Caelum chooses only the strongest, the keenest, most savage. You may not like what you find honey,” Warfell softened her gaze and gently touched the bandage about Tawnee’s neck. “You do not need this anymore,” Danica unwrapped the white gauze and smiled. “No scar at all, you are so pretty sweetie.”
Tawnee hugged Danica tight and released her, issuing a hand signal for ‘intel mission priority’.
Warfell nodded solemnly.
“Very well—pursue those brain nightmares on your own time—for now, we ride on the equifade for Tibor. Torpa!” Danica grinned when both Danes sat at attention.
“Assemble your fellows Good Knight we ride,” Warfell nodded and the two male alphas bolted away to gather the rest. Again, Danica faced Tawnee.
“One more thing I need to emphasize out here in the open under the bright light of t
he Sun. I read what you wrote. You should know better than any one of us that when pursuing a mark, never risk exposure, never compromise neutrality, and dammit girl, NEVER allow personal emotions like anger to cloud the air between you, your true comrades, and that deadly target. I have choked down this poison myself, and yes Tawnee, yes…”
Warfell paused, searching the undulating grasses for her next words.
“He must be stopped,” she whispered ever so slight, taking Tawnee’s hand and clasping it warmly, signing ‘brother in arms’ with the other.
Shadoweye leaned against her shoulder and allowed the tears to come.
Fort Salvos, West Gate, Honest Wall
“Equifade begins in thirty minutes people, Dad will most likely speak to us before we embark,” British was dead serious, wearing her war face. “Shadoweye, you have Raptor. Has Captain Warfell de-briefed you thoroughly, with all of the never stuff?”
Tawnee nodded, nudging her bristling Mare next to the boy’s Dappled Pony, she knew what British meant.
“Tom, you have Bigfoot and Iris, with Howie.”
“Aye,” said the Snowman.
“Eventine,” British sat tall in the saddle, (for her).
“Yes my Lord,” the Denga Master replied.
“Take Dobra, you two fight well together.” It was true, the muscled young man was clearly now a disciple of the former Monk. Eventine nodded solemnly, and Dobra smiled wide.
“Garrett?” British brought Snowflake about to face her Chief of Security. “You watch our home now. Magnus will be here late tonight, Master Po arrives on the morrow’s fade. These men are trusted friends and tough as they come. Dad will be here. You see hear or feel anything wrong, don’t hesitate, it’s the four of you. My Father shall rove the Honest Wall, unless called upon by us in Tibor.”