by James Somers
“Filthy creatures,” he said.
“I do believe you are ready, my son,” Lucifer said. “At last, you will travel to America. Take your private steamer.”
“Wouldn’t a portal be quicker?”
“You are able to conjure portals over such a distance?” Lucifer asked sarcastically. “Have I missed something?”
“You can.”
“He would interfere,” Lucifer said. “Take the steamer. You’ll be there in a little more than a week’s time. We are in no hurry. After all, Tiberius will not be so quick to destroy London. Still, nothing can stop the downfall of this waning empire now.”
Grayson sighed heavily. He did not like the idea of sailing, especially over such a distance. There were hazards crossing the Atlantic, and it was not the most comfortable method of travel. However, he did have confidence that his father would see to his safe arrival in America. He did not misconstrue love as the motive—only that he was presently valuable to his father. And he intended to remain in that status.
“As you wish,” he said, finally.
I watched the blacksmiths as they prepared the metal upon the anvil. Tom had done what he could as a spell master to provide them a conjured invisible barrier around their bodies in order to prevent the heat I hoped to generate from harming them. One of the blacksmiths held the bar on the anvil with specially made grips while the other waited with a hammer with which to beat the bar into shape.
All that was required now was enough heat to soften the strange metal for the process to begin. I thought of Oliver in Tartarus, of Southresh manipulating my family, of Lycean’s death, and Kron’s accusations. I drew anger and strength from these, as well as thoughts of Lucifer’s involvement and his son, Grayson Stone. With all of these circumstances in mind, I focused upon the bar and pushed my energies into the metal.
Gradually, the bar began to heat up. I was attempting to also contain the heat in order to conserve my energies and protect the blacksmiths. The strange metal took on a glow that then spread throughout the bar. But this would still not be enough.
I closed my eyes and maintained my focus, pouring even more power into the bar. Though my eyes were closed, I could see the glow grow brighter still. I heard the bell-like sound of the hammer driven onto the bar over and over again. I wanted to watch, but maintaining the heat was more important.
Eventually, I lost track of time. I heard one of the smiths cry out for me to stop, that it was enough. I opened my eyes and relinquished the power. The glow diminished immediately—the light reabsorbed by the metal.
The blacksmith turned with the bar still held in his tongs and quenched it in a barrel of water. Steam erupted like a volcano, rising toward the distant ceiling of the cavernous underground forge. When it was finally removed, I could see that the heat had been enough. The sword, a twin to Malak-esh, was beginning to take its shape.
The process took nearly four days to complete. I had been forced to rest between intervals that required heating the blade, but finally my part was finished. The Blacksmiths took another full day with the intricate construction of the hilt and the runes that created the edge that would never dull.
At last, the time had come for me to spell the blade, so that it responded only to my bloodline, as Malak-esh did for Oliver. Tom, Charlotte and Sophia delivered me to the small chamber where the matter would take place. Donatus delivered the sword, placing it upon a pedestal of black marble.
“Will the form upon it that you desire,” Donatus said.
“What?” I asked. “Isn’t there some ceremony to perform?”
“I suppose we could whip something up for you,” Tom said, trying not to laugh. “It’s just a sword, Brody. Make it your own by your word. And a drop of your blood for your heritage.”
Tom reached for my hand, but I remembered the last time he did that at the bank of the river just before he pushed me over the side. I jerked my hand away.
“I can take care of it myself, thank you very much.”
A sewing needle appeared between my index finger and thumb. I poked the index finger on my other hand and held it over the newly formed blade. A drop of my blood fell to the metal, igniting the runes in fire. A moment later, the blood was absorbed. The runes lightened, becoming invisible again.
The twin of Malak-esh was nearly four feet long with a mercurial finish and a hilt of spelled ivory—a beautiful piece of work. I pushed my will upon it, forcing a transformation. To my surprise, the sword obeyed with only the slightest effort on my part. An exquisitely crafted sword had set upon the marble plinth a moment before. Now, an ebony cane with a silver lion’s head took its place.
Farewell
Kron ascended the tall pedestal of marble that had been erected over the past few days by Movers in order to conduct funeral services for King Lycean and Master Helios. The irony, that the one Lycan responsible for the king’s death and that of his master assassin was now responsible for officiating this service, was not lost on him. He smiled to himself when he thought about how matters had worked out in his favor.
The king was dead, and his daughter was out of the way. The one person who might have revealed the truth, Master Helios, was also dead. The only loose end left to tie up was the matter involving Brody West. But the pixies would take care of that very soon.
He came to the top where two funeral pyres had been constructed. King Lycean’s body had been dressed in golden armor—armor he had never bothered to wear more than once or twice. Master Helios’s body had been dressed in a sand-colored robe. Kron could smell the strong odor of lamp oil which had been used to saturate the wood beneath them. A long torch, set into a hole in the stone, had been left burning for him.
Kron took up the torch and held it aloft before his people. Anguished cries came back to him from the crowd. In Kron’s estimation, Lycean had been a weak king, but he had still been loved by his people.
“Our hearts are torn asunder!” Kron cried, hoping to appear angry and distraught before his subjects. “But our king did not die of old age.”
Angry cries erupted from every direction among the crowd.
“Our king did not die in battle, as befitting a warrior!”
The groundswell rose further.
“Our king was assassinated by cowards—vampires hiding in the shadows!”
The crowd erupted. Fists beat the air. Chants of “death to the vampires,” filled the square.
Kron knew that he had the people right where he wanted them. They were ready for war. He only had to push them over the edge.
“Will we sit by now while these cowards invade the mortal world?” he shouted, shaking the torch. “Will we wait until they invade our beloved Tidus? I call the warriors of my people to war against the vampires—to war against all who would hide them from our justice!”
He threw his torch at the king’s funeral pyre, igniting both in the process. The flames leaped upward, engulfing the bodies. The Lycans screamed for vengeance against their king’s murderers. They wanted blood and they wanted it now.
We waited while Tom thanked his father for all of his assistance. I had the feeling they had not shared such kind words with one another in many years. Sophia also thanked him, after Tom had turned away to go.
“We will be ready, should you require our assistance,” Donatus said.
He bowed to her respectfully, and she returned the gesture. Our group gathered around me, preparing to depart the city of Xandrea, bound for the mortal world. With one thought, I produced a portal that would convey us back to my home in Highgate. There we could venture into London and survey the damage.
Tiberius was likely consolidating his power somewhere near the portal into Greystone. I took a last look at the beauty of Tom’s ancestral home and then walked through. The euphoria I had known while we dwelt in the elf city was gone. All of our problems came back into my mind like a flood.
Pixie Dust
We proceeded through the fireplace portal, passing through emerald fire i
nto the library of my home. Each of us had a new weapon that held special meaning for us—a connection that we did not even understand. It felt a little better to have such extraordinary weaponry at our disposal, though our problems were far from over.
Tom started to speak, but Uriah threw his hand out to hush him. Charlotte and Sophia both tensed. I was like Tom. I had no idea what had set them off.
Uriah drew his gun from the shoulder holster beneath his coat. He was keeping the weapon as a pistol for easy carrying. Still, it was a big pistol suited for troll hands. To a man, it seemed practically a cannon.
“What is it?” Charlotte mouthed to the big troll.
I listened intently, hearing the clock ticking on the wall, fire crackling in the fireplace, even the slight breeze that was brushing against the house outside, but nothing more.
Too quiet, Uriah signaled, using sign language.
He had taught me some of the basics of troll sign language over the last six months. The rest I had gleaned from one of Oliver’s books covering the history of the troll people and their realm of Grim Hope. One of the language’s peculiarities happened to be that facial ticks were employed with the hand gestures.
Our new weapons came to bear. The cane in my hand became Malak-esh, Angel Fire. The lion’s head reverted to the pommel position, as the ebony stem became a mercurial blade. Sophia’s bow extended in her left hand while the fingers of her right drew across the bowstring. An ebony shaft appeared ready to be loosed. Charlotte’s knives were already in her hand, waiting.
I had no idea what we might be about to face. However, my time studying under Master Helios had left me confident that I could hold my own. Over the past year, my stature had increased several inches, and Helios had taught me how to effectively use several weapons including: the bow, the staff and the sword, in addition to my diligent study of my own special abilities.
Uriah crept toward the door of the library leading toward the hall and the central stair of the house. The rest of us held back, watching and waiting, as he quietly opened the door. We tensed expectantly when a form appeared on the other side. But this was only one of the housekeepers, a middle-aged woman named Maria. We relaxed when we realized who it was.
“Maria?” I asked. “Is everything all right?”
The woman fell forward onto the floor with a pixie clinging to the back of her uniform. A dagger in the pixie’s hand was now lodged firmly into Maria’s back.
“Yah!” the pixie cried.
“Back through the portal!” Uriah yelled.
I waved my hand toward the fireplace. Green fire erupted there again. Tom and Charlotte were the closest. A pixie leaped at them from one of the bookcases, swinging a small bag on a rope. I had encountered only a few pixies during my time among the Descendants, but even I understood the danger in that little pouch.
Tom threw open a portal between them and their attacker. The smallish pixie and his bag fell through as it closed upon him. Tom pushed Charlotte through my fiery portal, which would return them back to our departure point in Xandrea.
Uriah had turned from Maria’s body when the pixie raised his bag of dust. He barreled toward me, hoping to provide me protection. I knew Uriah’s dedication. He would give his life for me in an instant. Sophia’s first arrow stopped the murdering pixie in his tracks, nailing him to the door facing as he attempted to pursue Uriah.
At that moment, chaos broke loose in the library. A hundred more pixies came out of every shadow, nook and cranny. Somehow, they had hidden themselves in a room that afforded very few places.
Their war cries filled the air as bags of pixie dust flew at us from every direction. Uriah was grabbing me, trying to do anything he could to block the pixies. But I knew it would be useless. Sophia was nearer the fireplace than any of us, but she was also attempting to reach me.
I looked into her eyes, pleading for her to run, but I found defiance there. She wouldn’t leave me of her own free will. Already, I could see the transformation coming over her. Her irises were becoming bright yellow, and brown fur was pushing through to cover her skin.
The emerald glow of the fireplace portal rippled across her face, and I knew what had to be done. I pulled on the portal with my thoughts. Green fire sprang from the hearth, enveloping Sophia. I forced the portal to collapse, and she was sucked within as it closed.
Pixie dust exploded all around when the little sacks struck Uriah and myself, scattering their contents throughout the room in a suffocating cloud. We tried to hold our breaths, but we both knew how useless a gesture it was. I could already feel unconsciousness coming, stalking me.
I had no idea if trolls might be immune to such chemical weaponry. However, what I could see of Uriah told me he wasn’t doing any better. I attempted movement, but my limbs did not respond.
It was as Master Helios had once told me: pixie dust has you before you can bother to stop breathing. It paralyzes the skeletal muscle groups first and muddles your thoughts. Best to never find yourself in that situation. As my thoughts became disjointed and fractured, and my limbs became numb to me, I realized too late the truth of his words.
My thoughts became like blurs of light—indistinct. I was vaguely aware that Uriah and I were being carried away to some other place by the horde of pixies that had invaded my home, lying in wait to ambush our party. I clung to a hope that, at the very least, Sophia and the others were safe.
Why we had not already been killed by the pixies was no mystery. These foul creatures were well known for their practice of eating their prey alive. They often allowed the pixie dust to begin to wear off before they dined in order to have their meals wriggling and screaming to the bitter end.
My eyes were barely open but twitching, which only made seeing anything specific a more difficult endeavor. However, by the time light did invade my senses again, I saw that we were in a far worse predicament than I might have imagined. We would have no hope of rescue.
Uriah and I had been tied to large wooden posts set into the ground in the middle of a wood. The sun was close to setting—or rising—I couldn’t be sure since I had no directional bearing. If we happened to be in one of the many dimensional realms spread across the spiritual plane then this twilight sky might even be the normal condition.
We were not alone. I saw through my muddled, spinning vision that more than a dozen others had been staked out in the woods with us. We had all been deprived of clothing. By their pale skin, I knew these others to be vampires. No surprise, since pixies were about as discriminating as hyenas in what they would eat.
Several vampires had already been killed. Their carcasses were nearly stripped bare of flesh. Horrifying expressions of anguish had been left upon their faces as death solidified them in the condition they had expired. They had been eaten alive, the flesh torn from their bodies while they screamed out their misery to the last breath.
Their cadavers had been left as they were. The pixies were done with them. However, the vultures and flies were only just getting started. Had I possessed any control over my own body, I might have vomited right there in the clearing. Still, even in our suspended animation, we had not been spared the sights and sounds and smells of our captivity. And the vampires appeared to be in no better condition.
I heard rustling ahead and noticed a well worn path along the ground where pixie feet had rubbed the foliage bare by many trips to this feeding ground. At least a dozen pixies came through the trees toward us, all of them under four feet in height, making the tall figure among them stand out like a sore thumb. Whoever he was, this person must be an ally.
When the group finally entered the feeding ground, they came straight to the place where Uriah and I had been bound. The chord around my throat kept my head erect against the pole, allowing me to easily see who was there. Og, King of the Pixies, stood at the head of this troop with a spear in his hand. Kron stood smiling beside him.
“You see?” Og said, pointing the spear at me. “I have kept my end of our bargain.”
“Where are the others?” Kron asked. “You were supposed to eliminate all of them.”
“They fled through the fireplace,” Og said. “The boy made a portal to swallow them up. We could not follow.”
Kron kept his eyes on mine. Though my face lacked any expression, the hatred in my mind was burning like a torch, wanting to kill him.
“I trust you didn’t lose too many of your warriors in the fight,” Kron said.
“Only two,” Og said proudly.
“Pity,” Kron snorted.
He came close to me then, his face only inches away. The grin on his face was filled with such amusement. I knew then without a doubt that he must have been involved in the murders of Lycean and Helios. I wanted to get my hands on him so badly, but none of my limbs would obey. Not that paralysis made much difference at this point. My head and hands and feet had been bound to this pole with woven steel cables. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“What a pity,” Kron cooed into my ear. “To be so young. What have you gotten yourself into, Brody? Don’t you see now that you should have minded your own business? You might have lived to a ripe old age, but not now.”
He backed away again.
“Shall I kill them now?” Og asked, hefting his spear.
Kron looked around the clearing at the vampires and then back at us, smiling. “No,” he said. “I’d rather these two enjoyed the same fate as our vampire friends. Make them suffer as your tribe feasts upon their flesh for a few days. By the time death finally takes them, they’ll have learned a valuable lesson they can take with them to the grave. You may even want to save this tasty human for yourself, Og.”
The king of the pixies smiled at me. “I’m sure he’ll be delicious. Will you stay for dinner?” he asked Kron.
“What? No,” Kron replied, looking somewhat disgusted by the prospect. “I’ve a new kingdom to run. My people have declared war on Tiberius. London we’ll be mine.”