by Peter David
“Wait!” Gorsham bellowed.
The Ocular stopped and looked back to him. And as his fellow Mandraques regarded him in total shock, he said, “The Firedraques have established no parameters as to who may seek sanctuary, and it is not for me to gainsay them, however much my own opinions may be at variance with their policies. All of you, follow me.” He paused and then added, for the benefit of the other Mandraques more than anything else, “Feel free to bring your pet with you.”
His lieutenant whispered to him, “Are you insane? Have you lost your mind?”
“One more word and I rip your throat out with my teeth. If you don’t believe me, speak. I dare you. I beg you.”
His lieutenant said nothing.
“Very wise,” said Gorsham.
the spires
I.
The first thing that Norda Kinklash felt she needed to do was properly dispose of the body of New Daddy. She had not lost sight of the fact that she was going to exact revenge on the metal man. He would pay for New Daddy’s death. But there had to be an order to these sorts of things. And before the dead could be avenged, they had to be laid to rest properly.
It had taken her a great deal of time to get down the Scary Tower (as she had come to think of it) to the street level. She had encountered large ornate doors and had pressed her earhole against them, hearing “whooshing” from the other side as if there was a vast tunnel of air on the other side. Norda wasn’t entirely sure what it was or what it looked like, but she knew she didn’t want any part of it.
After many false starts, she had discovered a stairwell that appeared to lead down to the bowels of the Scary Tower. She started taking it. At first she had been extremely stealthy, taking care to make as little noise as possible. Eventually, though, she had grown bored and started bounding between the stairs and the banister in order to pass the time. She even started singing and humming songs to keep her mind occupied, and by the time she finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, she had completely forgotten the mission that she had been so determined to follow up on top.
She reached a dead end in the stairs, and there was a door to the right. It had large red writing over it and some sort of bar in the middle. Norda went over to the writing and, extending one finger, traced the curve of each letter. What she traced was, “EMERGENCY EXIT. ALARM WILL SOUND.” None of it meant anything to her. Finally, once she had meticulously brought her finger around the bottom of the “D,” she pushed on the bar. The door popped open and fresh air wafted in.
A klaxon began to wail.
With a startled shriek, Norda bounded out through the door and slammed it shut. She blinked against the sunlight and then ran from the disturbing blaring, eager to leave it far behind her.
Norda looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun. She tried to see the top of the Scary Tower but couldn’t make it out. It made her aware of just how high up she had been. Anyone else might have been intimidated or shaken by the notion of dangling from such altitude. Norda, however, was not anyone else.
“Look what I did, my brother,” she whispered. “I was above the Damned World. It was all spread out below me, and I was above it all. Nothing could touch me, nothing could hurt me. How I wish you could have seen it.”
Winds whispered to her then, and she was certain that they were saying, I saw you, Norda. I saw you, and you were ever so much more clever than the rest of them. I have never been more proud. She could not tell if it was really Arren’s voice or her imagination at work. Fantasy and reality had always been such abstract concepts to her that she had trouble staying focused on the line of demarcation.
Her mind wandered back to her home at Firedraque Hall, or at least her unofficial home, bounding around in the bell tower. And she remembered how New Daddy would come to talk to her about…
She gasped. “New Daddy!” Norda had completely forgotten.
Quickly she circled the perimeter of the Scary Tower, having lost her sense of direction and not at all sure where Nicrominus had come down. Part of her was hoping against hope that somehow he had managed to survive the plummet. New Daddy was a magical, wonderful individual, and if anyone could avoid death despite such a catastrophic fall, surely it was he.
Then she heard some sort of snarling. She didn’t know what it was, but when she turned the corner, she found out quickly enough.
Five hairy beasts were grouped around New Daddy’s body.
She knew instantly what they were: dugs. She had seen dugs occasionally in the streets of Perriz, but they had been fairly peaceful and restrained in their conduct. The Firedraques regularly fed them sweet meats and such, and the dugs responded with devotion and affection.
Not these dugs. These dugs were bristling with fur and there was drool trickling down from their jaws. They were various shades of brown and black, and they were busily fighting over the remains of New Daddy that were splattered on the street. Much of his body was still intact, but there was blood everywhere. Two of the dugs were wrestling over some organs that had oozed from his corpse. A third was lapping up some blood that had pooled to one side. Two more of them were squaring off over New Daddy’s body, their tails stiff, each trying to warn off the other and neither interested in giving way.
Upon seeing the tableau spread before her, Norda let out a screech like the damned that brought all the dugs to a halt.
As one, the pack came together, ready to converge upon her.
Norda did not wait.
With a roar of fury, she came right at them, her claws out. As one of the largest of the dugs came at her, something that tasted like extremely bitter saliva welled up in her mouth. She spat it directly at the lead dug. Thick and viscous, it splattered all over the dug’s face. The creature flipped backwards, howling, thrashing about on the ground. A sizzling noise arose and the smell of burning meat pervaded the air.
Norda was taken aback. I can do that? I didn’t know I could do that. I don’t think Arren knows either. I wonder if he can. Will he be proud of me or jealous?
She became so lost in thought that she nearly forgot, yet again, the circumstances of her surroundings. But then more dugs came at her. She sprang out of the way and whipped her tail around, wrapping her tail around the throat of one of them. Norda tightened her tail and then yanked, and there was a satisfying snapping of bone accompanied by a startled and very final “yip” from the dug. She tossed it aside with a casual flick of her tail and bared her fangs at the remaining three.
One backed off, but two more came at her from either direction. She dodged to the right, then the left, and then vaulted over them. She landed and as one tried to pivot to face her, it reared up on its hind legs, perhaps thinking it could bear her to the ground with its forepaws. That proved to be a mistake as she swept her outstretched claws across the dug’s momentarily exposed underbelly. Blood jetted from it and entrails spilled out, and the dug flipped over and died before it even realized what had happened.
The fourth dug got lucky. The largest of the pack, it leaped through the air while Norda was still distracted by the one she had just disemboweled. It landed squarely on her, and she was slammed to the ground under the dug’s weight. It howled in triumph atop her, its fetid breath washing over her, and Norda reached up and grabbed its upper and lower jaws with either hand. Realizing its danger, the dug tried to pull away, but it had no chance. Norda gritted her teeth and applied pressure in opposite directions to the dug’s muzzle. The dug struggled in her grasp as its jaws widened, widened, and seconds later Norda was rewarded with a satisfying tearing and snapping as the dug’s mouth was torn apart. The dug made a few halfhearted attempts to claw at her, but they were as much automatic reflex as anything else, and then the creature’s corpse slumped against her. Norda shoved it off herself and stood.
The fifth dug was standing a few feet away, its tail between its legs. It was a patchwork of brown and black, and the smallest of the pack. She recognized it as the one that had been lapping up the blood, keeping clear of
the others. It simply stood there with its tongue hanging out, staring at her pathetically.
“What?” Norda demanded to know.
It backed up and lowered its head, looking utterly submissive.
Her eyes narrowing, she continued to watch the dug warily as she sidled over to New Daddy’s body.
“I am so sorry, New Daddy,” she said mournfully. “I so wanted to know you better. There was so many things that I was sure you were going to be able to tell me. And now…now you can’t. Not anymore. You seemed ever so clever, and I will make the metal man pay. I will make him hurt as he hurt you, and hurt me. And I will make sure that you are with me the entire time.”
She lifted his right hand to her mouth and kissed it gently. Then, one by one, ever so delicately, she bit off each of his fingers, crunched the bones thoroughly, and swallowed each one.
One she was done with the fingers, she turned her attention to his hand, and then the rest of the arm. Most of his bones had been shattered by the impact of the fall, so it was not quite as crunchy as it would ordinarily have been.
Then she started on the rest of his body, or at least what was left of it.
It took quite a few hours, although it helped that she was hungry anyway. The birds that she had managed to catch had only gone so far in stilling the grumbling in her stomach. She was relieved to find that his heart was still there, if somewhat pulpy. She set it aside to save for last, as was the custom.
She stripped away the meat from his head but only nibbled at it because she was not particularly fond of head meat. With his skull exposed, she carefully removed his lower jaw. Despite his age, he had kept his teeth nicely sharp, and she admired it briefly before tucking it into her belt.
Norda devoured enough of him to fill up her first stomach and most of her second. Finally she picked up the heart.
“I am sorry that you have died so far from home. May the…” She stopped, searching her recollection. “May the gods guide you in your course. May they bless you and keep you. May the answers that you find be worthy of the questions that we posed. Go in grace.”
It was hard, which was surprising to her, because he had seemed so soft hearted in life.
Finally, when the heart was done, she looked at the remains of the body and wondered if she should bring some of it along for further possible meals. But that seemed wrong to her. Typically there was always more than one Mandraque around to do the honors, so leftovers were not an issue. To eat the deceased as part of the customary rites of passing was part of tradition. To do so over a period of days as hunger demanded…that just seemed undignified. But to just leave him there was wasteful, and she had been taught to abhor waste.
She heard a whimpering and looked toward the remaining dug. He was still sitting there with his tongue hanging out and was looking hopefully toward the remains of Nicrominus.
Norda sighed. “Fine,” she said, and she stepped back and gestured for the dug to approach.
The dug did so tentatively at first, as if suspecting that there might be some sort of trick involved. But when Norda made no move to intercept it, it went for Nicrominus’s remains eagerly. It seemed to Norda as if the creature hadn’t eaten in days. For all she knew, it hadn’t.
“I suppose,” she said softly, “that we all try to pay respects in our own way.”
She remained where she was and watched until the dug ate its fill. There was almost nothing left of Nicrominus by that point except a few stray bones that had somehow managed to remain intact despite the force of the impact. She picked up one and used it to pick her teeth while she watched the dug lap clean as much as it could.
Finally, feeling that everything that needed to be said and done had been accomplished, she turned and walked away with absolutely no clue of where she was going to go or what she was going to do. She wanted to find the metal man, of course, but didn’t know where to look. Furthermore, exhaustion was beginning to weigh heavily upon her. She wanted someplace to rest, but it was a strange and alien city that she was in and she couldn’t imagine where she might feel safe enough to close her eyes.
She heard a clicking of nails and looked down. The dug was next to her, looking up at her with big brown eyes.
“You live here,” Norda said. “Where should I go?”
The dug stared at her for a few more moments and then started down the street. She watched it go, shaking her head. But when she began to turn away and head in the opposite direction, the dug barked at her in a very deliberate manner. It waited for her, its tail wagging.
Curious, Norda set off after it.
Apparently satisfied that Norda was coming along, the dug headed off down the street at a slow trot. Norda followed, marveling at the size of all the buildings. None of them were as tall as the Scary Tower, but even the smallest of them seemed larger than the buildings of Perriz (save, of course, for the Eyeful Tower.) Confident that Norda could keep up, the dug picked up speed and she did so as well. Soon both of them were at a full-out run, and when the dug barked yet again Norda responded with as close an approximation as she could come up with to the dug’s vocalizations. It’s teaching me its language. How clever. I wonder if it’s one of the Twelve Races that I haven’t met before. She was starting to regret that she had dispatched the others, although perhaps that was a wise thing since they had behaved in ever-so-impolite a manner to her and probably deserved a good disemboweling.
She crossed a number of intersections, and then a statue caught her eye. It appeared to be a statue of a Mort, and he was crouched with a large sphere balanced atop his shoulders. But her passing interest in that quickly gave way when she saw the building opposite it, the building that the dug had stopped in front of. Apparently it was the dug’s home, and the dug was inviting her to share it.
Norda put a hand to her chest and could scarcely breathe. She would not have thought it possible, but there it was: a building that reminded her so much of Firedraque Hall that she felt as if she had returned home. It wasn’t quite as big or majestic, but it was nevertheless formidable. Twin spires straddled the vast front door, and the entire thing seemed carved out of marble. Huge crosses were mounted on the front, and she could make out stained glass windows, further evoking Firedraque Hall back in Perriz.
She wished that New Daddy could have seen it, and then realized that—through her eyes—he was.
The dug paused on the stairs, waiting for her, and Norda scampered up behind it, laughing delightedly as she went.
Norda ran down the vast main hall. There were large scraps of cloth, presumably flags, hanging from either side. It was filled with a musty odor and she ran up to the podium on the front, looking around eagerly. The dug bounced around, barking excitedly, apparently seeking approval from Norda for its bringing her there. Norda absently patted the dug on the head and then turned her attention to finding some stairs.
She did so in short order and soon was sprinting upward as fast as her legs would take her. The dug lost interest in following her halfway up and came to a rest on a landing, panting and then settling down to wait for her return.
The closer she drew, the more she felt fresh air blowing through, the more excited she became. Finally she burst through a trap door and entered the open air. Above her was a gigantic array of bells. She threw wide her arms and sobbed in joy. “Yes, yes, yesssss!” she cried out and she bounded around the bells, swinging from the ropes, dangling on the clappers. She could not recall the last time she had been so happy.
When she finally tired of ricocheting around the bell tower, she climbed up on the edge and looked out. Lining the ledge were stone statues that looked vaguely like Mandraques, crouched and looking out across the city. Without hesitation she clambered out next to them. She ran her fingers over one of the statues, studying it carefully and curious as to whether it might spring to life somehow. Then she found a space for herself next to it, crouched beside it, and shared the statue’s view of the city.
“It’s quite nice,” she said.
>
The statue did not reply at first. That made sense. It was made of stone, and stone was ponderous and cold and thoughtful. Finally the statue replied, “Yes.”
A small gray and white bird flew down and settled on the statue’s head. She was not hungry, but she couldn’t help but think such an action was disrespectful. So she snatched the bird off the statue’s head, crushed it, and tossed it away.
“Thank you,” said the statue.
“Happy to do it,” said Norda, and then she settled in next to the statue, closed her eyes, and drifted happily to sleep.
ii.
That was the damnedest thing.
The Colonel was certain that he had heard the bells of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral ringing. But that should have been impossible.
He had been some blocks away, relaxing in Bryant Park behind the Public Library, thinking about all that had transpired recently. He had removed his helmet and was allowing the sun to shine down upon his face. He used to enjoy that sensation. Now, like all sensations, it was simply something that he experienced without feeling strongly about it one way or the other.
Now if he could have removed the rest of his armor, well…that would have been a different story. But that wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon. He was too thoroughly locked into it, with all his bodily needs and requirements being attended to. He would not have lasted ten minutes outside of the armor.
But what if it was a worthwhile ten minutes?
And so the Colonel sat and tried to contemplate just what that ten minutes would have to consist of to be worth certain death, and that was when he heard the bells ringing. At first he had accepted them as a matter of course, but then realized that the sounds shouldn’t be possible. The bells hadn’t chimed in years. There had been a mechanism that caused them to ring at particular times. He had always considered that to be a grim and yet amusing irony, the bells of God’s house summoning the long gone faithful. It was as if God was calling out, begging, pleading, wheedling, saying, “Remember me? Your creator? The one you used to worship all the time? I’ve really gotten to miss that. Won’t someone, somewhere please come to my house and praise me in the highest? Please? Pretty please?”