The Devil's Grasp

by Chris Pisano

  Perciless fidgeted with the requisition order, knowing very well he would not complete his mission in its entirety. He strode down the stone hallway, stepping with alacrity, hoping to flee from the chills running down his spine. He knew he was being watched, could feel the eyes on him, throttling him like a cloak tied too tight. Then he saw the lone figure emerge from a shadowed alcove, his brother Daedalus.

  “All goes well, Brother?” Daedalus asked, stepping into the light.

  “As well as expected,” Perciless replied.

  “Very good. I see you’re carrying the current weapons requisition order. Shall I assist you in this matter again?”

  Perciless sighed, hating to break a direct order from the king. However, he hated to see his brother cast from governmental operations so often. Did the king want to protect the youngest of the brothers? Or did he simply not trust him? Either way, Perciless had never seen any justification for such treatment. Yet, he feigned protest, “You know, Daedalus, our father gave the task specifically to me.”

  “As he did the time before, and the time before that, and all the times since he entrusted you with the duty. Have I not delivered the order to the shops in a timely manner? Do the weapons not get made for our troops?”

  “Well, yes, but …”

  “Perciless, I consider myself a self-aware individual. I know I should love the peasants as you do, but I don’t. I find them dirty and unappealing, yet you revel in their company. I respect that and admire your ability to be so at ease with them. Father continues to burden them under taxation without satisfactory reasons, then sends a daft squire now and again to give reasons that are far too curt and fancy for their tastes.”

  “Daedalus, I …”

  “It is you who quell them, you who explains to them why they do what they must. You walking among them for a half day can do more good than ten squires in ten days. The more time you spend doing menial tasks such as delivering supply orders and routine communications with the army, the less time you can spend supporting the back bone of the kingdom—its people. That task is meant for you. The tasks of delivery and memorandum composition are for me.”

  Another sigh preceded Perciless’s wry smile. “I cannot argue with such logic. Your wisdom surpasses your years, Daedalus.”

  “If only Father could see as such,” Daedalus replied, accepting the sealed parchment from his older brother.

  “I trust one day he will,” Perciless said with confidence as he started back down the hall. “One day he will.”

  “Oh, he will, dear Brother, he will,” Daedalus mumbled to himself on his way to his room. “As I plunge my dagger into his heart, he will know how much he truly underestimated me.”

  Once alone in his quarters, Daedalus cracked the wax seal and then crushed it in his hand, giving only minor relief from his frustrations. He then placed the wax pieces in the melting spoon cradled over a lit candle on his worktable. With the skill of an expert calligrapher, he changed the numbers on the work order, upping the quantity of every weapon listed, as well as the “Duty for the State” discount, keeping the bottom line the same. No extra coin from the kingly coffer would be needed.

  Feeling more of a sense of duty to the monster known as Praeker Trieste than to his own father, Daedalus re-rolled the scroll and reused the wax from the melting spoon to reseal the order. From a secret drawer he grabbed the king’s insignia and used it to stamp the warm wax. He chuckled to himself as he thought about how easy it was to steal it and convince the aged king that he misplaced it, having the smith produce another. Daedalus then laughed, for he had to pull the same scheme twice since he, himself, misplaced the first one he stole months ago.

  Satisfied that his work would fool even the most stringent auditor, Daedalus exited his room, back to the task at hand. Until the walls wobbled and evaporated, the floor refused to remain flat, rippling like waves in a pond. The fires in the urns dimmed then brightened until they burned with the intensity of the noon-high sun …

  … The castle was gone, and he was outside. He looked around to see his brother Perciless at age twelve standing next to him in the fenced horse-training yard by the royal animal pens. The clucking of chickens, snorting of pigs, and the occasional cow mooing unnerved him. Then the smell. The smell that sent a constant churning through his stomach, the odor of baking animal waste. Daedalus remembered this day all too well.

  Pendrick led two unbridled horses to Daedalus and Perciless. On the ground next to their feet were saddles and reins.

  “Boys,” Pendrick started, “Your father wants you two to learn about your horses. Riding them and taking care of them. Saddle up your mounts and ride them for four laps. The only rule is no helping each other. At all, for any reason.”

  Wanting to be any place other than there, Daedalus’s eleven-year-old mind went off on its own tangents, leaving him to forget a buckle and improperly harness the saddle. His focus returned once he mounted the steed and gazed upon his observers. Peasant farmhands took pause from their chores, smitten with the visions of the two princes. Showing all the grandeur he could muster, Daedalus sat straight, stretching his spine to its fullest, competing for height against his older brother who rode next to him.

  Among the observers were his sibling-cousins Tallon and Tallia, receiving training of their own. Daedalus looked down upon them as he passed by; they looked up and waved. They were where they belonged, beneath him, down with the peasants. However, the suns did seem to shine more brightly upon Tallia than any other. Even at such a young age, she was radiant.

  But his superiority was short-lived, and his lack of dedication to doing a job proper caught him off guard. His shoddy strap work gave way, and with one less buckle there was nothing to stop the saddle from sliding off. Surprised by the shift, slow at first, Daedalus panicked and froze—his only action a look to his brother for help. Perciless watched, and out of reflex started to extend his hand, but quickly withdrew it, remembering Pendrick’s rule forbidding assistance. Thanks to Perciless’s inability to do anything but follow every rule to the dotted i and crossed t, Daedalus’s saddle continued to slide, forcing him to fall victim to gravity’s devilish prank.

  Stone stiff, Daedalus fell, his ribs absorbing the force of contact with the wooden beam of the fence separating the riding yard from the pigs’ pen. As fate would have it, there was sufficient momentum to flip Daedalus over the fence, landing him feet first into pig slop. That made the crowd gasp. But the windmilling actions of his arms and a face-first fall made the crowd laugh.

  Fresh feces and rotten vegetables splashed his face, squishing up his nose and oozing into his mouth. His stomach’s reaction to expel his breakfast was immediate. With spastic haste, Daedalus jumped to his feet and discovered his left ankle and right knee were not working as they should, sending him to his back, still deep in slop. The crowd laughed again.

  There he lay, seeing nothing but bright-blue sky. He heard them laugh. And laugh. And laugh. His right leg throbbed hot while a deep shooting pain numbed his left foot. His ribs hurt, feeling as though a dagger stabbed his side with every breath. He couldn’t move, his will to do so buried even deeper in the muck than he. But he still heard the laughter. His tears, the only hope to wipe away the filth, flowed down his cheeks.

  After proper medical attention and much bathing, Daedalus was bed ridden from the myriad diseases he contracted from ingesting animal filth. For three days in a row no food stayed down, his stomach rejecting everything that touched it. His heaving fits would last an hour, painful and unyielding, made worse from the constant torment of a fractured rib. Five days following, his stomach no longer rejected the food, however, nature’s natural process had been accelerated, forcing Daedalus to relieve himself every few hours, accompanied by the same abdominal contractions and the same hatred from his cracked rib.

  His only joy came at the suffering of his cousins. They partook in the laughter during the incident, and that indecent action was simply not tolerated from royalty. As punis
hment, they aided in the attempts to comfort Daedalus. Tallon brought his food during his time in bed care, and cleaned up any messes the diseases forced Daedalus to make. Tallia assisted the nursemaids, even for his daily sponge bath. There was one reason why Daedalus fought so hard through sleepless nights of sweats, chills, and cramping to make it to the morn—to see Tallia, his angel, as he called her during his dire time of need. Every swipe of the cold, wet cloth over his burning body wiped away the pain, the misery. And he begged for the cloth to slip from her hand, for her bare fingers to brush across his skin. He begged for her touch. Her touch … her touch …

  … Her touch brought Daedalus back to the present, huddled on the cold castle floor, his skin blistering hot.

  “Cousin, you’re having another attack!” Tallon yelled.

  As the interior of the castle fully reformed into sharp, vivid clarity, Daedalus regained his wits. His eyes focused on Tallia’s face as he savored the touch of her palm against his forehead.

  “You’re feverish,” Tallia said.

  A smile slid across Daedalus’s face as he whispered, “My angel.”

  As if having a debilitating vision of her own, her mood darkened. She jolted to her feet, wrapping her arms about her, trying to fend off the invasive chill of her cousin’s words.

  “Daedalus?” Tallon asked, shaking him now.

  Daedalus’s face soured, a bitter tingle formed in the back of his throat as his eyes slid from Tallia to his shoulder, Tallon’s sullying hand. As fluid as an acrobat, Daedalus smacked Tallon’s hand away and arose. “Touch me again, and I shall wear your severed hand upon a chain around my neck!”

  “I meant no offense, Cousin,” Tallon said with a slight grimace, remembering all too well the punishments that Daedalus had meted out to him for both real and imagined slights. He had no desire to clean up after anyone or anything. Nor did he desire another false mission in the Fecal Swamps. But neither could he swallow the rising gorge of his indignation. “It was merely my overwhelming concern for your safety that prompted me to such action.”

  “And I should be grateful, I know; however, there is still the matter of your diction. You are my cousin.” Daedalus, after pulling himself upright, indicated Tallon by stabbing his first two fingers like ersatz daggers. “I,” he continued, patting himself on the chest with the selfsame digits, “am your prince. It’s not difficult, so try to use what nobility runs through your veins and remember the proper terms for our relationship from now on.”

  “As you say, Prince Daedalus,” Tallon said, his words grinding through gritted teeth.

  “Good. And what of you, dear Cousin?” his voice softening as he spoke to Tallia. “Why do you shrink back amongst the shadows like a specter?”

  “It is nothing,” Tallia lied. Although there had been several times when she could have been counted as Tallon’s accomplice in acts for which he had been punished, Daedalus had never ordered her to suffer anything more than his presence. But the blistering touch of his feverish skin was not something she cherished; the touch of his fingers left trails of disgust running across her skin. Despite myriad baths, she could still feel their tracks as though they had eroded chasms into her flesh. “I am merely taken aback at the frequency and the severity of these attacks. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I have no need of medical attention, dear Cousin. At least not while you’re around. Fresh air travels with you to clear my thoughts and purge the pestilence in my mind.” Daedalus regarded Tallia with eyes that threatened to absorb her. She was part of the bounty of this land and, in due time, he would have her in the same manner that his father demanded taxes of the peasants.

  “Daedalus,” Tallon began while casting furtive glances down the various hallways of the castle. “Pendrick is due to be making his rounds shortly …”

  “We should continue this somewhere more comfortable,” Daedalus replied, his eyes never leaving Tallia. “As these are matters of the state, we can retire to my private chambers. It won’t take long, so, Tallon, you can stand in the antechamber.”

  The prince’s rooms never displayed a dearth of decorations, though they were ever changing. Daedalus constantly rearranged things to foil would-be assailants, hoping that a replanted divan or a newly nested plant pot would catch an unsuspecting foot should he ever find his life endangered. Tallia considered his tastes gaudy and rarely took notice of the fineries strewn about her, though she did notice the small gilt cages that stood against the far wall. That they contained some exotic creature she had no doubt, but her eyesight failed to penetrate the darkness of the corner where they rested.

  When they reached his innermost sanctum, Daedalus offered Tallia a chair by pulling it out from the engraved table and turned it to face her general direction. The chair was made of a dark wood and bore elaborate engravings beneath the heavy padding of multiple cushions, made from the finest silks and brocade. He paced over to a small table and poured them each a goblet of pure wine. Though the descendants of many a monarchy insisted on a watered-down version to keep their mind from clouding, Daedalus relied on his brooding hatred to filter out the intoxicants.

  “You should know by now that you needn’t go through such efforts for a simple exchange,” Tallia said as she stared at the full wine glass.

  “No effort,” he replied. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy some time for other pursuits.”

  To be polite, Tallia sipped a swallow of wine. Then as casual as a serpent, she slid her hand over the sealed weapons order. “Well, I hate to bare bad tidings, but Tallon and I must be on our way, so I’ll just take the order …”

  As if springing a trap, Daedalus’s hand clapped onto hers. “What plans could you two possibly have that would be more important or … desirable?”

  His touch cut an icy swath of disgust that started from her hand and ended in between her legs. His words covered her like soured vinegar. His coveting desire was obvious. But if she could keep her senses under control, as well as the bile in her stomach down, she could use it to her advantage.

  With a slight lean forward, she saw his gaze fall from her face to her cleavage. She could not help herself from thinking back to the last time she pulled such a stunt; three months ago she distracted him in the same manner to steal the king’s seal that he had stolen from his father.

  “Nothing’s more important than desire,” she whispered, certain to allow her hot breath to massage his cheek.

  Suppressing a shiver, she felt his hand on her knee; her cue to tighten her grip on the weapons order. As he opened his mouth to spew more filth, she stopped him by standing abruptly with weapons order in hand. “But … even though we are neither prince nor princess, we are still royalty. And as such, we do have various duties to perform. Lest you wish us to forego those duties and give your name as the reason?”

  Daedalus’s scowl was answer enough for Tallia.

  “Very well then, dear Cousin. Nay … Prince,” she continued. “We shall do your bidding and deliver the order to the Craftsman Guild. Good day.”

  She gave one glance back, feigning flirtation; she could hardly wait to crack the seal and change the weapons order.

  Thirteen

  “No more,” complained Phyl. “No more walking. For days on end we do nothing but walk. My hooves are killing me.”

  Phyl rested against a young spruce tree sprouting awkwardly from the mossy dirt. He looked back at where he and his friends came, down to the base of the mountain, lush with steep, meadowy runs to expansive, rock plateaus, only to climb through trees and brush to get to the next plateau.

  “Shut up, and keep moving,” wheezed Bale. “We have a chance to win. I want to see Nevin make that twisted, confused elf face that means ‘you guys win’ when we make him say, ‘you guys win.’”

  “These rocks are murder on my hoof polish. And my knees hurt from all this hopping. And I haven’t …”

  “Shut up, Phyl,” snorted Zot, emphasizing his disgust with expectoration.

  �
��Fine!” said Bale. “Phyl, set up camp.”

  “We’re stopping?” asked Zot.

  “No, he’s stopping.”

  “Wait, what do you mean I’m stopping?” asked Phyl.

  “The bedroll’s open, but the bugs are all dead, aren’t they?” Bale mumbled to Pik as he jammed his meaty elbow into the hobgoblin’s bony arm.

  Agitated that the bumbling ogre all but knocked him off his feet, Pik hissed, “What?”

  “I mean he’s not too bright,” Bale explained.

  “How is anyone supposed to get that meaning?” asked Pik.

  “Shut up! If you pay attention, it’s obvious.”

  “Obvious to you, maybe, because you said it.”

  “Excuse me! What do you mean I’m stopping?” Phyl tried to interrupt.

  “No,” Bale continued with Pik, “I understood it because I pay attention.”

  “Bale!” Phyl yelled, stomping his hoof. “What do you mean by ‘he’s stopping’?”

  “When are the rest of us stopping?” Zot could never pass up a chance to add to a confounding situation.

  Bale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know why he did such an act, but he had seen other smart people do it when confounded. “Phyl stops here, because he’s complaining. The rest of us stop when we get there.”

  “Where exactly is there?” Pik asked. “And how do we know when we get there?”

  “We’ll know when we’re there!”

  “Ah! That’s what I was afraid of. You have no idea where we are. Do you even know where the map is?”

  “Of course I know where the map is. It’s somewhere safe.”

  “Uh-huh. Bale, where’s the map?”

  “I, uh, it’s all right here,” Bale said, tapping his temple with his warped forefinger.

  “Yes, but where is the actual map?”

  “Well … wait … why do you wanna know?”

  “Why won’t you tell?”

  “It’s a secret …”