by Jarod Meyer
William picked up his pace, his desire to experience the thunderstorm overwhelmed by the idea of acidic rain.
They soon came to a fork in the road, and the dark skinned Dichonian veered right. The pathway got smaller, and the twisted trees and shrubs thickened. They were soon in a thick, dark forest, an orange glow ahead.
Tamara slowed, and William followed suit.
“Lead. My hut is the big one,” she said.
As he entered the village he saw movement in the growing darkness. A wind picked up and began to blow the trees, making them rattle and creak.
Beady red eyes began to shimmer in the diminishing light. William shrugged his shoulders, taking comfort that his sword was still strapped to his back. He was walking into a village full of demons, after all. The idea was insane. He gripped Tamara’s bone spear until his knuckles turned white, but it didn’t break. It was sturdy.
Without warning, William heard a deafening screech. He winced and covered his ears, dropping the bone spear. He looked back to Tamara for some explanation, but his head snapped back as he felt a strange presence washed over him.
William jerked back in surprise as the wraith of an elderly looking woman loomed before him. The specter’s wrinkled pale face had black, gaping holes where eyes should have been. She floated in the air like a spirit, a shredded garment hanging from her body in wispy shreds. She looked sinister. William’s hand went for his sword, but he paused, his fingertips brushing the grip.
The creature spoke, but not to him, its voice raspy and harsh. “What is this, mistress? What is this thing that you have brought us?”
There was silence as the creature looked from William to Tamara, snapping its gaze between the two. Tamara didn’t speak, and William stepped up quickly.
“Don’t speak to her. She is my property now,” William growled.
Another screech split the silence and a flash of lightning filled the sky. William caught sight of fifty or so creatures standing behind the floating woman.
Unease washed over him. He quickly realized that he was holding his breath, and coughed out a foggy gasp. The demons began converging on him slowly.
“Is this true, mistress? He has your poker. He killed your Chonka?” the specter said, its raspy voice like icicles on William’s exposed skin.
Tamara didn’t respond again, instead, William stepped towards the specter.
“Don’t…make…me…say…it…again,” William growled, sliding his fingers the rest of the way around Gungnir’s grip.
The noise came fast. The creature’s deafening screech was overwhelming, and William’s vision started to shake. His body felt paralyzed, and he watched through hazy vision as the demons closed in. It took every ounce of willpower to gather his thoughts.
William clamped his hands over his ears, the noise surely splitting open his eardrums. It reminded him of when he was hit by a flash-bang grenade, or what he could remember of it.
He felt the warm drip of blood in his ears, and felt the ground shake him as his knee hit the dirt. The rest of his senses filled with a ringing that nauseated him.
A jarring sensation rocked him and he felt his head hit something firm. He was fairly certain that he was prone on the ground, and he flailed his arms and legs about in sheer abandon, trying to defend himself.
A sharp pain shot up his leg and then another in his arm. The sound of scratching metal broke through the ringing, and he knew he didn’t have long.
Think, William, think. You’ve trained for this.
Through the pain and deafness he fought to figure out a plan, and soon an idea popped into his head, and he reacted.
He closed his fists and concentrated. There was a small burst of energy inside of his hand, and when he opened it he saw two small earplugs. William crammed them into his ears.
The difference was instantaneous. Free from the debilitating sound, William repulsed his energy in a shockwave, knocking the oncoming creatures to the ground. The floating creature withstood the blast, but Gungnir cleared his scabbard in a flash, cutting the creature in half at the midsection.
The two pieces fell to the ground in a heap, and the screaming stopped altogether. The lesser demons shied away from William and bowed. He sheathed his sword and picked up Tamara’s spear. Then he took his earplugs out. They looked exactly like the ones that he was issued in the army at the firing range. He appraised them with satisfaction, before stuffing them into a pouch on his belt.
Bending down, he gripped the top half of the dead demon and with a twisting, jerking motion, ripped the head off and tossed it to Tamara. She caught it and tied it to her belt. Finally, William spoke to the crowd of forsaken.
“I’m your master now,” he bellowed, and then tossed Tamara her bone spear. She caught it, looking at him incredulously. “She is my second, and you will still obey her.”
The demons looked confused for a moment, until Tamara shouted.
“The master has spoken, now back to your hovels, filth!”
They all scurried away into their hiding places. William’s leg throbbed angrily, the pain almost besting yet again.
He looked around the tiny village to see if he could spot Tamara’s hut. It wasn’t difficult to spot. The other huts by comparison were miniscule. Some looked like hives or nests built into the trees. Others looked like small round tents made from sticks, and mud. There were small fires burning next to some, and William could smell something rancid cooking.
Tamara’s hut was at the end of a pathway set against a hill, which made for a natural wall. It looked like it was made by an actual craftsman. Curved wooden planks made it look like a rather large onion. There were many intricate patterns etched into the woodwork. It looked more like something an Archonian would create. There was a soft glow coming from inside, and Tamara, who still hadn’t spoken, walked past William, and indicated that he should follow.
The heavy door creaked as she shut it behind him. She slid a large wooden locking bar into place to secure it, and then she walked over to a wheel on the wall, and began to turn it. Thick shutters began to slide closed, sealing off the hut. William ran his hand over the wall. It looked like wood, but was hard as stone. He wondered if Tamara had created this whole place.
“We aren’t safe in here?” William asked.
“Just a precaution so that one of those little filchers does not try to slit my throat in the night,” she said, casually untying the two heads from her belt and tossing them on a table with a thud.
“Lovely,” William said.
“They were my two strongest soldiers, and you killed them,” she replied impatiently, looking through some papers, and reading one rather carefully.
It looked strangely like mail. Seems odd in a place like this, he thought.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they were assets to you,” William offered, sincerely.
“I told you not to apologize,” she responded, curtly.
“I don’t feel like being in character. I think we’re safe here,” he said, indicating the living space around them.
Her hut consisted of a single, large room maybe fifty feet in diameter. It looked similar to wilderness cabins he remembered from survivalist magazines. The walls held interesting decorations and odd looking artifacts. There were shelves, holding books and other strange trinkets. A large bed lay on the far end with many furs and leathers piled on top of it. Directly opposite was a fireplace with a single chair next to it.
The fireplace grate was sealed, but Tamara walked over and unhinged it from her pulley system, releasing it so that she could open it up. There was wood stacked near the fireplace and William quickly wondered if she had servants of some kind to do the housekeeping. She poured some liquid from a jar onto the logs then took two objects which looked like flint and a knife, struck them together causing sparks to shower down, setting the logs ablaze.
“Besides, I own you, right? I can apologize if I want,” he said, crossing his arms in satisfaction. As he did, pain nagged at hi
s arm. Exhaustion made everything else feel heavy as well. She glared at him, but remained silent.
“Oh, come on. I’m just kidding,” he mumbled in irritation.
Tamara sat down in her chair in front of the fire, and curled her legs up just as William heard the rain let loose. Thunder shook the hut, and for a moment, William wondered if the structure would hold.
Tamara watched him. “You can sit down,” she offered, pointing at a pile of furs next to the fire.
Realizing that he was still wearing his armor, William relaxed his mind, and the plates dissipated. He was left standing in thick leather trousers. Blood was seeping from his leg and his arm still. He tongued the hole in his cheek where the splinter had pierced it, and everything hit him at once; pain, exhaustion and dizziness from blood loss.
He collapsed in a heap on the floor. He heard a surprised noise, and felt Tamara’s hands upon his back after a few moments.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” William said, groggily.
“Who are you trying to convince? Me?” she replied.
He was rolled over onto his back against his will. Tamara set him down gently and walked over to a chest, where she produced several lengths of cloth.
“Bandages? Don’t bother.” William said, already letting energy pass over the wounds.
“You will bleed to death,” she said.
“You’re not from my neck of the woods. Just trust me. I’ll be fine. Give it time.”
She scrunched her face up at him considering his statement.
“Fine, bleed to death. Bandages are difficult to come by.”
She threw the cloth back in her chest and plopped back down in her comfy looking chair. William adjusted himself on the floor, feeling relief from his aches and pains settling in. He breathed evenly and calmed himself. Every so often he would check on Tamara out of the corner of his eye. Her gaze was locked on him. She watched as his wounds slowly closed, his gray energy stitching each cell back together.
Eventually he broke the silence. “So, what’s the plan after it stops raining? When do we meet up with Luxor?” he asked.
She giggled. William looked around, trying to spot what she thought was so funny, and as he turned back, she started to laugh even harder.
“You think that this is going to be some sort of pleasure trip? You come to Dichonia, walk up to the Basileus, and befriend him in a day?”
William didn’t know what a Basileus was, but he assumed she meant Luxor.
“Okay, clearly I was mistaken. Please, by all means, enlighten me,” William said, humbled by her obvious humor.
“My lord Vanity will see us one week from now. Until then… well, Achilles tells me that your training was cut short. We will work on your fighting skills without the use of your eyes,” she replied, turning back to the flames.
“Wait. Who? What is a Vanity?”
“He is…was my master. He lords over this whole region. He was named Vanity after the Christian sin, because he likes to adorn himself with strange clothing and paint his face,” she said.
“Why do we have to wait a week?” William demanded.
“I sent a request for an audience with him two days ago, stating that I had a new owner who wished to pledge loyalty to him. He is very busy, and does not simply grant an audience to someone without an appointed time,” she replied.
William watched her carefully. Her smooth, dark skin glowed in the firelight. He was still chilled from the colder air, not to mention a lack of clothes, and huddled closer to the flames.
Tamara’s hut felt surprisingly cozy. In fact, he found himself relaxing the longer he was around her. He hadn’t felt so at home since he stayed with Angelica. Archonia, despite its wonders and beauty, had a tendency to be hard and geometrical.
“So, why do we have to meet with your master?” William asked, trying to exercise more patience.
“My master is a close friend with the Basileus, and only he will be able to get you an audience so easily. Your target thinks himself a king. He has an enormous fortress with horrifying beasts at his disposal. In this world, the more power you possess, the higher you will rise in society. I am a mid-level matriarch in this region, though after today, I would say that my standing has suffered,” she said, indicating the two heads on the table.
William felt a twinge of guilt.
“My master is king of this region. This is how order is maintained. Otherwise these lesser demons would be constantly ripping each other to pieces over land and possession,” she finished.
“I have to prove to this Vanity person that I’m worthy to speak with Luxor?” William asked. She shook her head.
“Your trophies will gain you repute. This will impress Vanity, but you will have to do him favors and earn his good graces in order for him to set a meeting,” she corrected.
“I think I understand,” William said, only partially confident that he had everything straight now.
“Good. Now come. We can discuss more tomorrow,” she said, closing the grate and securing it. Then she walked over to her bed and began stripping off her leather garments. William knew he should look away, to afford her modesty, but he couldn’t help but watch. Soon she was completely naked, the firelight reflecting off of her alluring curves and dark, chocolate skin.
“Are you coming? I haven’t seen a man like you in years,” she asked, turning and patting the furs expectantly.
William knew he wore his bewilderment openly. They’d told him he would face temptation of every kind in this world, but he suddenly realized how ill prepared he really was. He froze, neither moving towards her, nor stepping away. She scoffed and lay down on the thick furs.
His mind raced. Was this right? He still had many mixed feelings about Angelica, and what happened with Katrina was still weighing heavily on his mind. He thought that he loved Angelica, but she cast him aside at the first sign of trouble. He didn’t love Katrina, but he cared for her greatly. Then he remembered that he might not return from this journey. Especially if what Tamara had said was true about all the powerful enemies he would be facing.
“I love someone else,” William mumbled and rolled over on the floor to get as comfortable as he could. He stared into the dying fire, wondering what tomorrow would bring. He could only hope to survive.
CHAPTER NINE
A WORLD TORN
Katrina snapped out of her trance, shrieking in surprise at the sound of a terrible explosion. Everyone heard it and was already rushing to the scene when she stood up from her mat. The group converged on the same meditation room that she’d shared with William the night before.
She watched from the window of the woman’s meditation room as a flash of grey flew out of a gaping hole in the side of the castle.
They were trying to arrest William. She already knew. She spotted a lieutenant pushing through the crowd of onlookers when she came around the curved corridor to the Guardian commons.
She’d asked William if she could stay with him the previous night, and he refused. Now she knew why. He planned on getting a good night of meditation in preparation for his flight to Dichonia.
She actually thought that he would bow out from this task. Her heart hurt and her stomach felt as though someone danced on it all night. She was both afraid for him and Archonia. There would be no time for worry however; there were choices that needed to be made.
“Warriors! There is a fugitive in flight to Dichonia. Do not let him make it to his destination. Lethal force is authorized. I repeat lethal force is authorized. This is not a drill,” the lieutenant shouted.
The reaction was instantaneous. Flashes of light burst forth from the group of Guardians as armor appeared and locked into place. Most of the soldiers flew out through the hole William blasted in the building. After a moment, there were only a few remaining. There were some captains and the lieutenant plus a number of Adjudicators that arrived on the scene quickly to dispense justice. The commanding officer turned to the group, which included Juarez, Brock, and Sa
muel.
“Soldiers, you have your orders, what are you waiting for?” he demanded.
Katrina wanted to tell them that they could shove it up their asses, but she knew better. She was already in trouble. Luckily, Brock saved the day.
“Lieutenant, I have not heard the beacon, therefore we are not at war. This means that you do not have authorization to mobilize the Guardian corps without the commander’s approval,” Brock said with the utmost respect.
The officer looked at him with disgust, but silently raised a hand and snapped his fingers. The warning beacon rang in the distance, its deep gong reverberating through the building. Katrina and the rest of the group looked from the officer back to Brock, waiting to see what he would say.
“Any more questions, Captain?” he shouted over the beacon’s cry.
“Yes sir, if this is just the simple matter of a fugitive, why have the warning beacons been rung? This is a case of theft and resisting arrest. Hardly an act of war,” Brock offered, gravely.
“The Captain speaks accurately, Lieutenant, this is a judicial matter and will be dealt with using the sentinel and adjudicator branches of the armed forces,” one of the Justicars cut in.
The guardian officer seethed, and swept away in a rush. Brock signaled that Katrina should follow him. The others fell into step behind her. They exited the barracks on foot and were soon making their way swiftly down the corridors of Valhalla.
“Brock, what do we do?” Juarez asked.
“I do not know, little brother,” he replied, still looking ahead.
“Brock, why were they trying to arrest him, you said he stole something?” Samuel asked.
“What I’m going to tell you must be kept between us. Is that clear?” Brock asked, his voice strained.
The members of the small party nodded.
“I am only telling you because I know I can trust you. I know I can trust you because you didn’t chase after our brother,” Brock said changing direction and whipping down another hallway. “The commander has given William a special task…as I’m sure he has told you already. Without the Synod’s approval we had to make it look like William wouldn’t be coming back to Archonia ever again.”