Alterverse

by Keith B Darrell

  “Mock us if it pleases you, so long as you give us your consent to carry out our plans within your realm,” Alaric said.

  “I don’t mean to mock you,” Phantasos said, pacing before them. “Why, I’ve even brought you a gift.” Nitrate looked at the god warily, a gaze that did not go unnoticed. “Your friend Nitrate, as a denizen of my realm, can tell you I specialize in inanimate objects. The dreams I inspire in dreamers tend to be either prophetic or surreal, or both.” Behind him, puppies and kittens dropped from the sky and scampered off upon landing on the ground. Phantasos lifted his leg. “Oh dear! I appear to have stepped in a poodle.”

  Alaric ignored his theatrics. “You said you had a gift… And a test as well, I presume?”

  Phantasos held out his arm and a trident appeared in his grasp. He offered the three-pronged spear to Alaric.

  “An oversized salad fork?” Alaric asked.

  Phantasos chuckled, kicking the poodle aside. “This fine relic has a better pedigree than any silverware you’ll ever encounter. The trident was crafted by the Cyclops, a race of one-eyed giants, during the ancient War of the Titans and presented to Poseidon. In the right hands it can be a weapon of immense power, for he who is able to wield it. Poseidon carried it into battle alongside his brothers Zeus and Hades when the siblings defeated and imprisoned the Titans.”

  Alaric perused the trident. “That was the weapon used to defeat the elder gods?”

  Nitrate arched an eyebrow as the epiphany sank in.

  Phantasos continued his narrative. “In time, Hades grew jealous of his brother’s power and stole the trident, bringing it to the Underworld where it became known as the Devil’s Pitchfork. In the previous reality, many wielded the trident: the Devil; the demon Lucifer; even the archangel Gabriel. However, interestingly enough, your counterpart in that reality – the changeling named Damien, himself a creature of enormous power – was never able to wield it.”

  Alaric reached out and accepted the trident. “How does it work?”

  Phantasos grimaced. “Oh dear, I’m afraid there’s not enough time to explain. See that?” He pointed to a wormhole emerging above them. “Your friend Asabi has opened a portal to rid herself of some unwanted company and it appears we’re standing beneath the other end of it.”

  Horrendous monstrosities came flying through the wormhole on gray leathery wings, followed by nightmarish beast-men astride dragon-like creatures. They all had razor-sharp fangs and claws, and bore savage countenances.

  “Netherspawn!” Alaric gasped.

  “I’m not certain,” Phantasos said, “but I believe I heard those redheaded vampire demonesses accompanying the Netherspawn referred to as Empusae – a race of bloodsucking, flesh-devouring women. From what little I’ve seen of them battling each other, the Empusae’s ferocity may equal or exceed that of the Netherspawn.”

  Nitrate gulped. “But everyone knows the Netherspawn are the most savage creatures the Dark Gods have ever created.”

  “True,” Phantasos said, “but the Empusae weren’t created by the Dark Gods. They were created in the previous reality. But you should be fine; they’re preoccupied battling each other, and as long as they don’t notice you… Oops!” Phantasos looked up and saw both the Netherspawn and the Empusae heading toward them. He pulled out his pocket watch. “Oh dear! Look at the time. I’m late. I must be off.” He vanished, leaving Alaric and Nitrate directly in the path of the oncoming murderous horde.

  “The trident!” Nitrate exclaimed. The panic in his pitch intensified as the hostile swarm drew closer. “Use the damned trident.”

  Alaric examined the trident. “I don’t know how it works. There doesn’t seem to be an ‘on’ switch.”

  “It’s a magical pitchfork, not a vacuum cleaner.” Nitrate’s tone became more frenetic as he grew increasingly frightened, unable to tear his gaze away from the approaching Netherspawn and Empusae. “We’re in the Dreamscape; just imagine whatever power you want it to have and point the damned thing at those creatures.”

  Alaric aimed the trident and concentrated. “It’s no good. Nothing’s happening.”

  A Netherspawn swooped toward them on its gray, leathery wings and snatched Nitrate with its talons, carrying him into the air while shredding him into pieces. His derby tumbled, landing at Alaric’s feet. Alaric looked up and saw the deadly creatures were almost upon him, as well.

  Chapter Six

  Alaric stared down the advancing deadly horde, fumbling with the trident. “I must be doing something wrong. But what?” A Netherspawn swooped down and Alaric pivoted, thrusting the sharp prongs of the trident into the creature, slaying it. The Netherspawn’s body slid off the trident and the swarm of Netherspawn and Empusae hovered, realizing this would not be a defenseless kill.

  Forlorn, Alaric turned his gaze from the body of the Netherspawn he had speared back skyward to the threat hovering above him. “It’s hopeless. There are too many to kill one at a time. I need a defensive plan as well as an offense.” Alaric gestured with his left hand and cried out, “Cavea apparet!” A large, rectangular metal cage enveloped him. The Empusae could not turn in time when the cage suddenly appeared and they struck the bars, caroming off. “Good thing my mother taught me a few spells. But it’ll take more than cantrips and parlor tricks to defeat this many enemies.” He studied the trident again. “Phantasos said the trident in the right hands could be a weapon of immense power for he who is able to wield it. Maybe mine aren’t the right hands; he said my counterpart couldn’t wield it. But then, why would he have given it to me? I’ve tried and tried and, no matter how hard I concentrate, I can’t get it to work.” Frustrated, Alaric thrust the trident into the ground. He glanced up at the throng of ferocious creatures biding their time, knowing Alaric would weaken and the fruits of his spell dissipate.

  “Wait. Maybe I’ve been trying too hard. Phantasos said he who is able to wield it. Mine are the right hands or he wouldn’t have given it to me but maybe the ability to wield it comes not from the device but the person holding it. If even an angel could use the Devil’s Pitchfork, then it isn’t something learned like the words of a spell but rather something innate like the ability to channel the power of that spell while invoking the words. It doesn’t matter what I say or what I imagine; the power to use the trident is within me. I must become one with the trident and let it serve and protect me.” Alaric closed his eyes and grasped the trident, pulling it out from the soil as if it were the legendary sword in the stone. He raised it above his head and intoned “Cavea vanescit.” The protective cage surrounding him vanished leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

  The Netherspawn and the Empusae ceased fighting amongst themselves and targeted the motionless, equanimous boy. Alaric aimed the trident at his attackers and, in a brilliant coruscating pyrotechnic cascade, a web of daemonic energy entangled them, incinerating both the Netherspawn and the Empusae. Alaric stood in silence, alone, staring at the trident in his hand. “One hell of a salad fork, that’s for sure.”

  Nitrate popped into existence with a loud “poof!” Alaric rushed to the diminutive man. “I thought you’d been killed.”

  Nitrate picked his derby off the ground, dusted it off, and plopped it back onto his head. “I’m composed of dreamstuff; I can’t be destroyed, at least not in the Dreamscape. But being torn limb from limb is excruciatingly painful.” He looked around. “Where are they?”

  Alaric held up the trident. “I figured it out.” He shouted, “Looks like I passed your test, Phantasos.” The trident vanished. “Indian-giver. I guess he’s mad.”

  Nitrate shook his head. “Phantasos uses inanimate objects as props for his prophecies. Remember, other than dreamers and dreamwalkers, everything you see in the Dreamscape – including the trident he gave you – is composed of dreamstuff.”

  “Let’s find the others, secure the Oneiroi’s blessing, and get the hell out of here.”

  “Sounds like a plan, but where do we begin looking?”

  A you
ng woman’s scream pierced the silence. Alaric and Nitrate turned in its direction. “I say we start that way.”

  The Oneiroi peered through the dream mists at Kunoichi. “I shall never understand these humans,” Morpheus said. “I would have thought this one to be the hardest to break.”

  “One thing I’ve learned from dispensing nightmares, brother,” Phobetor said, “is certain humans are like eggs: a tough exterior shell protects the vulnerable interior. Unlike the kitsune, whose maternal softness turned out to be a source of great strength, the kunoichi has no interior strength to call upon. As my nightmares have revealed, she was trained from early childhood to be a weapon but at the cost of her emotional development. She’s a master spy and deadly assassin yet like all kunoichi she has been forced to repress her emotions, locking them away deep inside her.”

  Phantasos held up a key. “Unlocking the floodgates has proven overwhelming for her. Not surprising, considering the draconian life of a kunoichi. Childhood and adolescence are the most emotional periods of a human’s development. Yet for nearly two decades, this kunoichi was raised to be a machine and we released all those repressed emotions at once. What do you expect when you take a hammer to an egg?”

  Kunoichi, collapsed on the floor, screamed again. The fox came bounding in from one side, as Alaric and Nitrate ran in from the other. Within seconds, Asabi had teleported several feet from the young woman crouched in a fetal position. Asabi spotted Alaric and Nitrate. “I see you heard the cry, as well.”

  The kitsune arched her tail, which bristled with static electricity as she prepared to launch lightning bolts from it. “What have you done to her?”

  “No more than what was done to the rest of you,” Morpheus said. “She, too, was given a test.”

  Alaric approached the shivering Japanese girl. She still wore her leather catsuit but her face mask had been discarded. “You’re just a girl,” he said, surprised. “You’re hardly older than me.”

  “Mentsu wo ushinau,” she whispered softly.

  “I remember the last time you said that. Kita said it meant you had lost face.” Alaric bent and retrieved her face mask. He knelt beside her and offered it to the kunoichi. “Here is your face… Although I can’t imagine why you would want to hide your own beautiful features.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Beautiful? No one has ever said that to me before.”

  Alaric nodded, almost awestruck. “Truly beautiful.”

  “I am filled with shame. I’ve betrayed my sensei, my teachings, and everything I was trained to be.”

  “No.” Alaric shook his head. “They’ve betrayed you. They deprived you of your right to be human. All they wanted was a killing machine. But the essence of humanity is the ability to feel and share emotions.”

  She shook her head. “I’m a kunoichi.”

  “You’re also a woman. You’re entitled to your emotions.” Alaric edged closer and their eyes met. “A very beautiful young woman.” He leaned in and kissed her. At first, she was startled. Then, she returned his kiss passionately.

  Alaric helped her to her feet. “Everything will be all right. You’re with friends now.”

  Kita morphed into human form and joined her. “The boy is correct. You are among friends. We shall not allow any further harm to come to you.” She glared at the Oneiroi.

  The kunoichi stared at the mask in her hand.

  “You don’t need that any longer, Kunoichi,” Alaric said.

  She turned away. “I’m not worthy of the name Kunoichi.”

  “Then adopt your own name,” Kita said. “Katsumi means ‘beautiful’ but it also means ‘to overcome’. Such a name would tell the world you strive to be a victorious beauty.”

  Alaric smiled at the kunoichi. “I like it. It fits you.”

  She crumpled the face mask and tossed it aside. “Katsumi. I could get used to that.”

  Alaric stood and approached the Oneiroi. “We’re done with your tests. We’ve earned your forbearance.”

  “But she failed her test,” Morpheus said.

  “To the contrary, Katsumi is stronger now than ever before,” Kita said.

  “We plan to challenge the Dark Gods for our freedom and individuality,” Alaric said, “but we shall do so not as individuals but as a team. You tested us as individuals, but Katsumi’s test revealed our true strength is derived from each other. That’s how we’ll win: by being united and supportive of each other.”

  Morpheus sighed. “It appears we still have much to learn about humanity. Nonetheless, you shall have our forbearance. The Oneiroi and the Dreamscape will survive, whatever the outcome.” With a wave of Morpheus’ arm, the sands swirled up from the floor and whisked Alaric, Katsumi, Asabi, Kita, and Nitrate back to the tavern.

  “Drinks all around!” Nitrate called out to the barmaid. “I’d say we’ve earned it.”

  Katsumi sidled up beside Kita. She directed her glance toward Alaric, who was speaking with Asabi several yards away. “I’ve noticed he spends more time with her than with anyone else,” she said in Japanese.

  Kita smiled. “They’re both passionate about our mission, but I haven’t detected any other passion between them,” she replied, also in Japanese. “I believe the path is clear for you, should you wish to explore it.”

  Katsumi blushed. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

  “You didn’t need to. We all saw the kiss.”

  Chagrined, Katsumi said, “This is new to me. The situation, these feelings I have… I’m uncertain how to proceed.”

  “Emotions can be overwhelming. Yet, you must let them guide you. Try not to overthink. Remember the old saying: Having taken the time to think, venture to act. Once you’ve done so, stop thinking.”

  Farther away, Alaric and Asabi were engaged in their own discussion. “You seem to have gotten a handle on your teleportation powers,” Alaric said. “When we met, you said you could only teleport two people at a time.”

  “I recalled something a Fae had told me years ago on a visit to the Otherworld. The Fae can teleport between Earth and their realm by seeking out and using existing faerie spots to open portals between the realms and keep them open long enough for others to pass through. It’s like creating a wormhole, making passage between two points nearly instantaneous. Somehow, the Age of Magic has enhanced my own teleportation abilities, enabling me to sense these faerie spots, without even realizing it.”

  “So as long as you’re with us, you can locate these faerie spots and use them to open wormholes we can travel through.” Alaric ruminated. “That will be extremely useful to the Resistance. But for now I want you to take just me somewhere. There’s something personal I need to do and I can’t ask the others to risk their lives. I wouldn’t ask you, but you’re my only means of getting there.”

  Asabi gave him a quizzical look. “Where?”

  “To find my father.”

  “Lucifer?” Asabi thought back to the trickster demon she’d known in her own reality.

  Alaric nodded. “My father was a demon who walked the earth. The Dark Gods banished him, before imprisoning my mother and terrorizing my family and friends simply because they practiced magic. There shall be retribution for all they’ve done but, as my father is missing, his fate is the more paramount concern. He could be in grave danger or worse.”

  “Do you know his place of banishment? I would need to know his location to teleport there.”

  Alaric shook his head. “Only by speculation and supposition. It was something Phantasos said when he gave me the trident. He said the trident had been used by the Devil and wielded at one point by my father. It’s even called the Devil’s Pitchfork; and we both know where to look for the Devil. Finish your drink; we’re going to Hell.”

  Avalon, the Isle of Apples, was also an island coexisting across more than one interdimensional realm. The entire island was an enormous faerie spot that could be accessed with, among other things, a silver bough with nine dangling golden apples. It had always been a mag
ical nexus, but never more so than now, in the Age of Magic. Rhiannon, Keeper of the Sands of Time, perused the ancient stone walls of her cottage, which was visible in the Otherworld but not on the same terrain that appeared on Earth as Bardsey Island. “Reveal yourself to me,” she commanded.

  A spectral female form stepped forth from the stones. “Why have you summoned me?”

  “I have need of one of the dísir and you’re a special kind of dís, are you not?”

  The translucent spirit appeared annoyed. “Yes, I am of the landdísir. I’ve lived within these stones undisturbed for dozens of millennia, and even before that – before they formed these walls – back when they lay scattered in the Icelandic tundra.”

  Rhiannon nodded. “You traveled here within the stones themselves. You’re a land spirit, and as such, the guardian of this place and those who dwell within. You have the power to take me to the Norns.”

  “Why would I do such a foolish thing?” the landdís asked.

  “You’ve slept undisturbed for a long time. The Age of Magic has dawned but I sense something is not right. The Norns will know what’s wrong and what to do about it, for they are the dísir that preside over the destinies of gods and men and all preternatural beings.”

  “It’s unwise to question the Fates.”

  “The multiverse is vast and fate has many agents. The Norns aren’t the only trio of sisters arranging the destinies of others. There are also the Parcae… and the Moirae. Three sets of sisters shaping destiny; do they always act in unison? Is it possible one could have gone rogue?”

  The spectral figure contemplated the notion. “Suppose you are correct. If it is one of the Norns that has altered fate impermissibly, I will not be able to protect you from them so far away from my stones. Skuld could easily use her crescent knife to end your life as she has countless others.”