by Mark Johnson
“It’s gone. I think it’s in the machete.”
The night had grown colder.
He shivered, hugging the machete to his chest. “Thank you.”
A familiar voice sounded in his head. I told you not to do this by yourself. I told you to get a Seeker to help you.
Reeta gasped. Her hands were also on the blade.
“I couldn’t figure out how. I needed your help instead, my Lord.”
I’m not your lord, I merely preferred you alive to being eaten.
Tummil had the sense that wherever the voice’s owner was, he was shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
Two altered demons still live. It took only one to kill Ceneph, and that one had a hundred years to prepare. You got lucky. It hadn’t been out for long, but yet, it was almost stronger than any of the monsters we dealt with during the War.
“So, what do I do?”
You have to tell me what you want.
“Save him!” Reeta shouted to the machete.
Tummil’s breath came in shallow gasps. “I’d like to say I’m going to hunt down the last two demons. But I might not last the night.”
Promise me you’ll work with a Seeker, and I’ll see what I can do about the leg.
“Who are you, if I’m making a promise to you?” The priest had a right to his secrets, but Tummil had a right to know who he was making a fairly important promise to.
There was silence. Then, I am an intermediary between you and the divine. I am the space between the eternal and the mortal, distilling that which is supreme into minds that are closed from us. I wander and I assist where I am wanted or needed. I act when I am bidden, by authorities I could not explain to you if I tried.
He opened his mouth, but Reeta spoke. “We promise to work only with a Seeker to root out this new evil and destroy it, Wanderer.”
Hold still.
Tummil’s leg warmed. Energy suffused and woke him as thoroughly as though he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water. He couldn’t tell how long he lay there. Reeta held his hand, watching his leg, her jaw hanging open.
“My Gods,” she said a few times.
The voice broke through his reverie. Be careful. I couldn’t heal the entire thing, because now you’ve set a precedent that you’ll use your dual heritage to work with two Gods. Now you’ve claimed your Cenephan heritage and ancestry, and tied it to that weapon, you’ll lose all connection with the weapon if you renounce either of the lines within you.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Tummil whined.
No, but here we are. This weapon will only work when operated directly with Armer’s permission.
“You mean, I can only ever use this Cenephan weapon within an Armer grove?”
Mostly, yes. I’m sure you’ll find ways around it.
“I’ve got another problem.”
There’s always another one.
“Seekers. We don’t get on. I’ve no idea how to approach one. Or find one that can be approached.”
Fine. I’m sending one back to you soon. Don’t do anything stupid until he gets there.
It sounded like the spirit was about to leave. An idea occurred to him.
“Wanderer?”
What?
“Are you qualified to perform marriage ceremonies in the name of the Gods?”
A shocked hesitation. Then, I was, yes.
“Was?” Tummil said.
It was never rescinded, but the situation changed dramatically one and a half centuries ago.
When Polis Ceneph started dying.
Reeta helped him sit up. He was no longer dizzy. He raised an eyebrow. “What do you reckon, babe, no time like the present?”
She grinned. “We won’t have to worry about our parents, like this.”
It’s nighttime. There are cadvers about. You both almost died. You both have demon corpse ash smeared all over you.
Reeta cradled the machete in her arms like a baby. “We also have the undivided attention of one of Ceneph’s greatest champions, whose blessing must hold a lot of influence with the Gods. More influence than any priest we’ll find in Armer, right?”
A sigh. Yes.
Reeta stood, helping Tummil up. His legs trembled, but he was no longer close to passing out. The blood he’d lost must have been replaced.
“We can do it legally later,” Reeta said. “With papers and witnesses and families and friends. And even Clem. But we’ve had quite a night. I want to celebrate the fact we’re alive, with the man I love.”
Despite everything… was there a better time and place? “I think this is what Pelina meant in her note,” he said.
Reeta squeezed his hand. “I’d invite her, but I think she’s seen us get married once already.”
All right. One more for old times’ sake. Oh, the old man says He approves and wants to be involved.
Old man?
One of the statues brightened—almost to incandescence—with the groves’ bioluminescent glow.
Oh, of course.
Hand in hand, bleeding and blissful, Tummil and Reeta strolled to the statue of Armer, the Binder of Families. Before His plinth, they faced one another, taking both hands in one another’s.
Dearly Beloved, began the Wanderer.
Tummil smiled at Reeta. Soot smearing her cheeks, she beamed back.
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She committed an unspeakable act. Her quest for redemption will pit her against rising evil…
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Terese dreams of ascending to the highest ranks of the Seekers. But if they discover her role in a forbidden experiment that massacred hundreds, she’ll suffer punishment and exile. With the suspicious eyes of her superiors watching closely, she pursues the four survivors before they can spread their infection and implicate Terese in the crime.
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Acknowledgments
There’s always another story to be written, somewhere. Perhaps one day I’ll show how Tummil hunts down the remaining two demons with Seeker help.
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But before that, I have a six-book series starring Terese Saarg to finish…
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Thanks must go to those who inspired me to write Dual Heritage, especially:
Mark Dawson, Jasmine Johnson, Meher Kasad and Eileen Mueller.
About Mark Johnson
Mark lives in Auckland, New Zealand with his coffee machine, his wife and their two children. He traveled, then worked as a high school teacher before getting into writing and publishing.
Mark chooses fantasy because it’s the best way of telling the truth—without telling the truth.
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Visit www.markjohnsonauthor.com for his other works.