Seven Devils

by J A Stone

  “I can’t believe we are doing this. If we fail, he’s gonna be really mad,” Bigfoot Bob stated the facts, sometimes too well. Even Tawnee paused for a moment, sighing deep and pointing to the eight-footer with the unspoken affirmation, you got that right buddy.

  “So what will we need to do?” Warfell asked.

  “Business as usual,” British gave everyone her eyes one by one. “I’ll set up a lab and begin working on a hydrogen coil and a helium micro-compressor. The good news is I have everything I need right here—all the raw material and elements a girl with goggles could possibly want. Once I have a power source, I can run lighting and hot water through Whiterock and build my electromagnets at the same time, so it’s a win-win.”

  “The electric—?” Rob was trying.

  “Electromagnets,” Fey smiled.

  “Will they work, you know trap him?” now the giant seemed to be getting nervous.

  “Oh yeah, it’s been done twice before, by a mad genius at the Archives, and with a Tibor-glide rappelling system on a spaceship,” British was certain an intense magnetic field would work quite well.

  “Spaceship,” Robert repeated back the only word that took hold. He nodded quick, finalizing his personal trust and faith in British Fey and her incredible knowledge. “Okay boss, I’m in with ya, like I wouldn’t be, right?” the big man grinned wide like a kid.

  “Everyone?” the pixie asked her friends and comrades, catching nods and approvals all around. “Tawnee?” she moved face to face with her lover for the final approval. “You can still say no to the Spirit.”

  Tawnee shook her head side to side.

  “Is that no to the experiment or no to trapping the Aequitas Caelum?” Danica asked from the side.

  Tawnee nodded her head up and down.

  “Wait, is that yes to—” Rob remained in a state of oblivious wonder.

  Tawnee sighed and shut her browns tight. She placed a hand on British’s shoulder, nodding yes with an over exaggerated sarcastic smile, staring at Rob, and then giving a thumb’s up.”

  “She’s in,” British confirmed.

  “Not being able to talk must really suck,” said Robert.

  Tawnee threw the thick stack of paper at him—hard.

  British worked tirelessly, as did the others. Their new home was finally taking shape. In the city below, duos and trios of Knights bought the amenities: towels, linen, clothing, cookware and food. Now that attentions were internalized, creating a comfortable home, the enjoyment of shopping ruled the thoughts of most—some for the very first time in their lives.

  Clearly, the small city was primarily used for the crafts of metallurgy, forging and weapons casting. All told, the Knights and staff numbered less than thirty, not nearly enough to fill the cabins, lofts and apartments expertly hewn through the marble—designed to house some three hundred Dwarves—there was more than ample room.

  Danica chose an empty chamber for meditation and weapons practice.

  Eventine created a private Temple out of an ancient laboratory with vaulted ceilings.

  Robert and Tom bought weight equipment, barbells and dumbbells, stocking a gymnasium to be used by everyone.

  Iris helped Tawnee to accommodate what was clearly the Master Suite of the complex, decorating the walls with bladed instruments and dated artifacts, just as British liked. On her limited off time, British in turn moved bookcases and ancient tomes into the massive bedroom she already shared with Tawnee, creating a living space worthy of a thousand-war veteran—and a Princess.

  It did not take long for everyone to stake their claims to private quarters as well as additional personal chambers to set up as they saw fit.

  For the mighty Danes, Robert and Tom outfitted the lowest elevation outside structure as an exterior den for a security post and fresh air. Inside, the cold foundry below was fired up and cleaned for them. The bottom floor was huge, offering wide-open spans for them to run. The hallways between the foundry and the outside air were of course, cleared of obstructions for the exercise of all—human and canine alike. There were no stairs at Whiterock, rather inclined passages looping in circles and cutting through the common areas.

  Unfortunately, the horses were land-locked below. Warfell personally bought-out the owner of the closest stable to the cable-lift, paying the man handsomely, trusting only loyal staff to people the now private facility, and placing young Raptor in charge. Snowflake, Rarity and Dare would require frequent riding which was fine with Danica—the tall platinum haired beauty still needed to leave the city for the hunt of fresh game—until she could establish an aviary up top.

  Whiterock Stables

  “There’s a good boy,” she whispered to the majestic Painted Appaloosa. Rarity bristled his coat to the wonderful feel of Danica’s touch. In the adjoining stall, Snowflake tamped the straw deck in anticipation. “She’ll be down this equifade big fella, you want to join us for the ride this morning?”

  The massive white Snowhorse jerked his head up and down, then pushed his gate open. He stood nearby as Danica outfitted the tack and soft bridle for Rarity.

  Outside, Iris was already atop Dare, her Sand Pony. She and Robert were walking to the market for pokies to cook that night. Later, they would search for some goats as a surprise for Warfell. Though Danica preferred large predatory birds, goats were perfect for mountain stock, being hearty quick-breeders at ease in colder altitudes and higher elevations. As well, the Denga Monks already had an exterior goat pen established. Though empty now, it would be easy to fill with livestock and maintain straightaway.

  Iris and Robert stood before the butcher shop. The sign above read Westside Meats.

  “I bet yeh love this place,” said the Grey Arenthian, already wondering if they had reserves of pig’s blood.

  “Sooo meaty,” Rob whispered to no one.

  Not far, Rarity and Snowflake were running hard, dashing for the nearby forestlands. Danica was already scanning for a possible meal, using her nose as much as her eyes.

  It didn’t take long.

  Danica stopped Rarity and quietly slid from the saddle to the pine straw. Less than a click away, a herd of Northern Elk was traversing a thicket of low brush. Deer can navigate through foliage and branches that slap men in the face, tangle them up, and force the machete free—brush so thick it seems impassable. The Elk accomplishes this feat with calculated precision, but there are limits. It’s a vulnerable spot and Warfell knew it. She left her equine friends and bolted towards the herd.

  That didn’t take long either.

  Danica Warfell lay on her back with a belly full of hemoglobin and a mind full of doubt. She was worried about attempting to trap the Aequitas Caelum. If they fail, the Spirit will be so pissed off—no telling what he might do in the heat of the moment.

  She watched the trees swaying to the crisp autumn air, taking her breaths deep and full. She wondered what they would do if the Spirit no longer needed them. Danica took great pride in her job, stopping bad guys from killing. Justice carries a righteous heir that pervades the mind with a feeling of calm and satisfaction. She would miss it.

  Rarity’s face filled Danica’s peaceful visual field, blotting out the trees. He nudged her, joined by the gentle nose of Snowflake.

  “You guys ready to go?” she smiled, then frowned when the horses shot heads aloft—giving their right eyes to the south—something wasn’t right.

  Danica bounced up like a cat, landing in a ground-hugging crouch, following the equine’s sight to a green meadow dale, half-click away. She loosened Tung-Vohra in his sheath and waited patiently for movement.

  A man walked into the open, stopping in the sunlight of the morning equifade. He was dressed in silks and fine leathers, high boots and a dark brown suede cape. He had very long hair—as long as Danica’s and as black as a Midnight Raven.

  At his waist was a Rapier with a lavishly shrouded pommel—the precision weapon of a wealthy Dandy or an Aristocrat. He waived and Warfell rose to a stand.


  She blinked—or looked away as she stood for that precious microsecond and the strange man was gone without a trace, as if he were never there.

  “Okay, that was weird,” Danica said to the nervous horses, realizing she was not seeing things. Both of the lads were quite agitated. “Let’s get out of here,” she flung herself atop Rarity with ease and brought him about.

  And there he was again—not a hundred feet away—smiling and kicking the pine straw side to side as though bored…

  Whiterock, Main Library

  Eventine Delacroix filtered through the compendium of texts, scrolls and tomes just arrived from Fey Mansion. British had sent for her late Father’s collection, and what an incredible collection it was; enough to keep any scholar busy for a lifetime. She held a dusty volume aloft.

  History of the Western Fawn Dwarven Masters

  Doctor Caelum Fey

  “Impressive,” she set that piece to the side for later and returned her concentration to organizing and shelving the many crates of books. Just then, Dobra and Howie entered carrying more.

  “Where to?” asked Howie and Eventine pointed.

  “Thank you boys,” she watched them leave. Several shy glances from Dobra told her that she had indeed broken his young heart. Eventine sighed deep and returned to the books.

  “Dude, she’s like three times your age,” Howie whispered down the hall. Dobra stopped cold to stare at his friend and comrade.

  “Two times—I know—I don’t care—she doesn’t see me anyway,” the young muscleman seemed ready to cry.

  “Okay buddy, we need to go down on deck and throw back a few beers in a club, see what you are missing mate,” Howie was trying.

  “Meh,” the reply as Dobra resumed his pace. Ahead, Tawnee was reading a book, walking casually with Landreth, her Dane. The boys nodded as they passed and the Assassin smiled back.

  Just as they moved by, Shadoweye snatched her long thin Scimitar free, smacking Dobra on the butt with the side of the blade. The boys jerked around and Tawnee was there crouched in attack pose, frozen in place next to Landreth.

  “Yes Ma’am?” asked Dobra, politely spoiling her fun.

  Tawnee stood abruptly, allowing her shoulders to droop. She shook her head, turned and walked away, snapping fingers to the Dane who snorted and padded along.

  “Strange,” Dobra noted quietly.

  “Now she’s hot,” Howie whispered aside a cupped palm to his pal, but Dobra could only see Eventine, his sight blinded by what he thought was love.

  Tawnee smiled, she heard Howie’s comment. She and Landreth ducked into what was now British’s study, smiling and wagging a tail not there.

  “Sup!” the pixie was tack welding copper filaments to a board, touching her hand drawn schematics with a finger to the side and carefully soldering the components in place one by one.

  Tawnee moved in and kissed her cheek, plopping down in the padded chair next to the ancient desk carved from stone. She poked her nose up twice, the unspoken question obvious.

  “Oh! Uh, well, this will be part of the control panel for Whiterock’s electrical systems. Tomorrow in fact, I’ll be ready to pull some wires, starting below with the Dane Den. Give you boys some better light,” British scratched Landreth’s wide head and the stark white Huntsman’s Hound whined his pleasure. The huge canine circled three times and plopped down between the two.

  Tawnee nodded with a peaceful look.

  “Dad wants to start the experiment tomorrow, are you ready?”

  Tawnee took in a deep breath—nodding again—not so peaceful this time. She picked up a pen and wrote.

  My last doppelganger was—is, an accomplished meditation artist, she was only fifteen years old.

  “I know, Dad says your mind will know exactly what to do and I believe him,” British took her hand. “Listen, I will be right there. Master Po has agreed to bring me in.”

  Tawnee shot her eyes wide with surprise, then she furrowed her brows with a frown. More writing.

  It’s dangerous with him every time, must be careful with your thoughts, love you.

  “I can blank my mind sweetie, one of the first things I learned, it helps to strengthen the perception and memory of everything you see,” she wasn’t lying, British was quite skilled in the meditative arts—the main reason she insisted on being allowed to observe.

  Danica walked by the threshold, stopping with boots clacking on the stone. She poked her silky strands inside.

  “Sup!” said British.

  Tawnee waived a finger to say hey—Landreth raised his jowl from the marble.

  “Ever see a tall handsome Raven man in suede and silk? He disappears when you look away or blink?”

  “Uh, no?” British was lost, “you?”

  “Yup!” Danica entered the chamber. “I think the male Arenthian Rob and Iris chased up the mountain is stalking me.”

  “Are you in estrus?” the cute elf-girl asked—perpetual scientist. Warfell jerked her head back sharply.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your menses woman, is your vulva hemorrhaging?”

  Tawnee reached out and slapped the back of British’s head, shaking her own at Danica with a palm down and closing her eyes tight.

  “YES—damn it all ask normal sometimes,” Warfell moved to leave.

  “You look good today?” British tried but Danica shot a middle finger aloft as her slender back tromped away. British turned to Tawnee, still shaking her head, now rolling her eyes.

  Whiterock, Lost Dynasty Temple

  Tawnee sat quietly across from British Fey and Master Po, the old bald man was smiling wide like an enchanted child.

  “Here, we begin,” he said softly, closing his wrinkled eyes and raising his chin. The girls followed his lead.

  One chamber was left untouched at Whiterock; the massive Temple used by the ancient Dwarven Kin who built the amazing complex. Immediately, Tawnee could feel the vaulted ceiling, the marble rafters and columns, she could sense the air between. She wondered if British would perfect a ventilation system and then quickly shut those thoughts down.

  Blackness, utter silence. She felt a hand on her shoulder and Tawnee opened her eyes to see Master Po and British standing, facing her with knowing grins.

  “Can you talk sweetie?” Po’s voice was soft. As with Tawnee, he never spoke aloud in public.

  “I can,” she smiled wide. “Bless the Gods of silent songs and supple screams—it’s good to be heard—you guys are hearing me?”

  “Yeah, we are,” British hugged her.

  “Where are we?” Tawnee looked past her partner’s slim shoulder, they were in a grove of willow trees—big ones unlike any she’d seen before.

  “This,” Po gestured to the stand of strange trees with branches bending down, almost touching the bright green grass. “This is a place I found, I do not know the name of the world, but if you wait…there, see them?” he pointed and the girls followed with their eyes.

  They were tiny winged Sprites—fairy-tail Nymphs—playing and dancing in circles. Tawnee exhaled in disbelief, turning to see that Po was now sitting, motioning with two palms down for the girls to respond in kind.

  “Sit here quietly, do not worry, they will not hurt us. When they touch you, it is curiosity alone. Do not flinch, be ready to accept it.”

  Okay, it was strange, really strange with six-inch tall winged humanoids flittering about, landing on her head, shoulders and legs, poking skin and gently pulling hair as if to verify she was the real one. It was almost too much bear, when the tiny creatures finally calmed, lying on her lap, and falling asleep.

  “Close your eyes and be perfectly still, their presence helps, with this.”

  Po said the words and Tawnee Shadoweye felt as though she were falling, weightless—she opened her brown eyes—unable to control herself.

  They were floating in the sky over planet Aleutha, just above the clouds. British was there, as was Po. The Aequitas Caelum appeared and his visage changed from th
e hazy, misty Specter to that of a solid man. Within seconds, a young, seemingly alive Caelum Fey floated next to them in the upper atmosphere.

  “Well met my friends,” he scanned the topography through the clouds. “Did you meet the Elvin Kin?” he asked of Tawnee.

  “Yes Sir that was—different to say the least. So what now?”

  “Now we find the first Soul in trouble. Look down upon the land, do you see the city of Tibor?”

  “I do Sir,” she answered Mister Fey.

  “Imagine how you feel when a friend is upset, scared, or sad. What is your wish?”

  “I want to help them, to be happy again,” Tawnee answered, when she suddenly realized something, a red glowing dot below in the city. “Wait I see a light.”

  “Is it red?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Take us there,” the voice came and Shadoweye nodded, somehow descending through the clouds, the towers below looming closer and closer. She stopped when she noted several red spots emanating from different locations.

  “Follow the brightest, the strongest,” she heard Master Po whisper.

  “You got this,” the faint voice of her beloved British.

  Tibor, the Greens

  That very moment in real-time, young King Aaron walked the lush grasses with his Number One, three hours into the evening fade.

  “Angus, there’s something I want you to do for me.”

  “Anything my Lord King.”

  “Word has come down. You were correct as always. Fey and her gang of idiots are alive. Her Estate placed a bid on Salt Mountain and it was granted. I want you to take a squad, travel to Oceanport, scale the spire, find the surviving Seven Devils and kill them.”

  “Is that all Sir?” Angus was being sarcastic.

  “Yeah, that’d bout do it. Poole any resources you need—spare no expense. My men and I shall march on Moor in the process. Bring me that little bitch’s head and I will shower you in wealth, women, lads, whatever you desire.”

  Angus looked hard at his King for a silent moment. He held no wants or needs, having long since led a solitary life free of trivial possessions.