Realm Wraith

by T. R. Briar

  “You’ll never believe this, Rayne, I got to talking with that fellow I work with. You know, the one I said had a thing for English history? And he told me that Miranda here used to study Old English. So I asked her if maybe she could translate a few things for me. Took a little convincing, but she agreed to come home with me.”

  Miranda nodded, hands clasped in front of her. “You’re an hard man to say no to.”

  “You’re telling me,” Rayne joked.

  “Well, I’m just glad she agreed to come. Oh, where are my manners, I’ll go put the tea on. Unless you’d like coffee.”

  “Tea is fine.” She didn’t look at Rayne, watching David walk into the kitchen instead. “So this book I’m to translate, what can you tell me about it?” she called after him.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to ask Rayne; it’s his book, after all.”

  “Oh.” Miranda glanced at Rayne, somewhat fearful. “David never said it was your book.”

  “I’m actually glad you’re here to help me with it. I think you might find it interesting.”

  The air hung silent, awkward for several minutes, until David brought them both their tea. “I don’t want to get in the way,” he said. “Why don’t the two of you head to the study; that’s where the book is.”

  Rayne wheeled out from beside the couch. “Shall we?” he asked, leading Miranda along.

  He closed the door behind him, and indicated for her to sit in one of the armchairs. He reached over to the shelf and grabbed the leather-bound book. Without much fanfare he dropped it on the small table, and rolled back a bit.

  “I never figured you to be the type to study old languages,” he remarked, trying to ease the tension.

  “It’s been a few years, I’ll confess. I might be a bit rusty.” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “I always did have a fascination for a bit of Old English, ever since I was a child, and I read Beowulf for the first time.”

  “Really? Beowulf?”

  She blushed a little. “Yes, the story fascinated me, and I read it over and over. I started to research the language, so I could understand the original version of the story, not just the modern translation. I spent years learning everything I could about all the various Old English dialects, before I decided to go into nursing school, and met my husband.” She glanced down at the old book on the coffee table now. “So what is this book, then?”

  “I bought it a few days ago. It’s a book about demons, Miranda. I think it might help me—help us. Everything I’ve seen in here, at least, the pictures—whoever wrote this has been there.”

  Miranda opened the book to the first page. “You’re saying this book is about the Abyss?”

  “It’s about what lives there, yes. I think.”

  She traced her thin fingers over the letters inscribed on the first page. “I think I can interpret this. Just give me a moment.”

  Rayne sipped his tea, feeling the tension lighten a little. Perhaps Miranda did have a slight bit of hope after all.

  “All right, this first page seems to be an introduction of sorts. He speaks of nightly visits.”

  “So it was written by a Realm Wraith.”

  She took out an old, battered dictionary, and placed it next to the book as she carefully read the weathered paper, consulting her references as she worked out what each word said. Rayne couldn’t do much besides sip his drink and loll his head around, glancing at the bookshelves, the walls, the lamp, anything that didn’t make him appear to be staring at Miranda, making things more awkward than they had to be.

  “This part’s an introduction, I believe,” she finally said. “He was a scribe, perhaps a monk of some kind. When his monastery burned down, he nearly died, and after that, he says he’s witnessed things most mortal men daren’t breathe of.”

  “Hell.”

  “They declared him an heretic for speaking about what he saw, so he became a hermit, and lived all alone writing what he saw so others might know the truth. The writing near the end seems urgent, as if he rushed it—the letters are quite shaky, and he says his time grows short. That he planned to seal away his documents to await more understanding eyes.”

  “I suppose whomever he was running from caught up to him?”

  She paused in her interpretation. “Yes, I suppose that was it, then. Someone must have found his works and written them down into this here book.” She turned through the pages. “So, what shall we read first?”

  Now that he’d had time to relax, Rayne felt more at ease having Miranda beside him. He reached out and placed his hand beside her, turning the pages with her. He had meant to go right to the page with Tomordred, but she took pause as they reached the page with the snake creature.

  “Mušgallû Babil-im? That word isn’t Anglo-Saxon,” she remarked.

  “It’s not? I thought it sounded a bit strange. You know, that thing’s attacked me a couple times, Gabriel too. Does it say anything interesting?”

  She went to work again, carefully reading the text. She motioned towards the desk, and Rayne brought her a notepad and pen, so she could keep track of everything.

  “How odd,” she said, reading over the entry. “This part’s a bit different. He says this creature ain’t one he met in the Abyss. He met some old scholar, who told him about a monster in the days of Babylon and Assyria. Some sort of demon beast that ruled the seas, sinking ships and terrorizing coastal cities. It even manipulated the reigning kings into war. Around—let’s see—1100 BC, whole armies gathered together to fight the creature, and it cost them dearly. Mortal weapons could not harm its flesh. But with the aid of an holy weapon, wielded by one of their gods, one of the mighty demon’s heads was split asunder, the monster turned to stone, and humanity was saved.”

  “Why is that in there if the creature wasn’t of the Abyss?”

  “Not certain.” She skimmed over the rest of the text. “It says the scholar called the creature Mušgallû Babil-im, or, ‘The Great Serpent of Babylon.’ Referred to it as a demon of the fertile crescent, and though it had faded into legend, its story passed on through oral tradition. So I suppose the scribe just thought it sounded enough like a demon to write it down. Perhaps keep the legend alive somehow. A monster like that could be from the Abyss.”

  “I think it is. I know I’ve encountered something similar to this. Though, I don’t think it was quite as large. It’s Hell, after all. That place must be swarming with all sorts of demonic snakes.”

  Rayne felt slightly impatient, wanting to know more about Tomordred, so he turned the page. Miranda looked at the picture, a puzzled look upon her face.

  “Is that a creature, or a mountain?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  She looked at him. “You’ve met this one too, I take it?”

  His finger ran across the scribbled image. “This thing won’t stop hunting me. That’s why I bought the book. I just hoped I could find something, anything, that I could use to my advantage.”

  “You can’t possibly think you can fight that thing.”

  “Maybe not fight it, but I can’t keep running.”

  She poured over the text, and Rayne passed the time by wheeling his chair around the room before parking himself a little closer, leaning over her shoulder as she worked. She didn’t seem to mind; at least, she didn’t shoo him away.

  “He talks about his journeys, how he met others like himself from all over the world. There was a dim-witted Frank who stayed his companion for many years, and a Moor who was also considered a heretic by his own people, and lived in exile. It sounds like he met quite a few people—he even mentions creatures not of this world.”

  “More demons?”

  “No, that’s the thing. These creatures weren’t from Earth, but they weren’t devils. He says ‘for as many stars as there were in the skies, so dwelt many worlds whose peoples were just like us. Mortal.’”

  “Are you telling me some eighth-century monk on a nightly spiritual excursion made first contact with alien races?”
r />   “Yup.”

  Rayne leaned against the back of his chair. “Amazing. Meeting people from whole other worlds, just like that. How come I’ve never met an alien?”

  “Come on, be serious.” Miranda cleared her throat as she kept translating. “This part right here. ‘A fortnight ago, I lost me Frank companion when the two of us journeyed to a world of ice and snow, where black water flowed beneath crystal ground.’”

  “Yeah, that’s the place all right.”

  “Says that whilst they were there, they were set upon by a great black mountain with burning eyes, like livid flame,” Miranda continued. “The moment the great eye was upon them, our author here lost all composure, and became like a child. His more disturbed companion turned into a screaming wretch, and drew the beast’s attentions. Before they could run, great black worms rose from the darkness and clutched at the Frank, and pulled him towards an enormous mouth that swallowed him bloody whole.” She had to stop reading as she started shaking. “Oh god, Rayne, is that what—”

  “What else does it say?” Rayne really didn’t want to think about what this thing planned to do with him.

  “Oh—right.” Miranda carefully traced the paragraphs with a finger to find her place. “Well, he fled, but couldn’t escape the frozen wastelands right away. He hid himself among frozen corpses by the banks of a black lake, praying the beast wouldn’t find him. It seemed the creature was so distracted, eating his friend and all, it didn’t notice him fleeing. That’s when he heard the damned whispering.”

  “Whispering? The damned whisper?”

  “Gibberish, but yes, he says there was one he understood, speaking a language he knew. It said that the demon was smaller once, more easily frightened. He wonders if perhaps there was a time when the monster was less terrifying. That it was a strange notion, as devils do not have childhoods. But he couldn’t coax the damned to whisper any further.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Hold your horses, I’m not a bloody machine here. He got away, obviously, or else he wouldn’t be writing this. Seems even back then, there were demons who helped out people like him. Or at least deemed them more conversation than food. They told him the beast’s name was Tomordred, who permitted no one to enter his realm, and once he set his great eyes upon a trespasser, he would hunt them forever.” She leaned over the texts, not speaking, but writing furiously. She handed one paper to Rayne. “It might be easier if you just read for yourself.”

  Rayne scanned the scribbled notes, reading quietly to himself. One part in particular stood out above all else.

  By my estimate, the demon beast Tomordred is as high as a mountain, and cold as ice. My memory fades, but I recall eyes burning with a great power, a power I believe is centered on fear, for when its gaze met mine in that one moment, every terror and unspoken horror that dwelt in my mind presented itself at once. I believe that the more a man should hold fear close to his heart, the greater the eye’s power. The Frank was a more cowardly man than I, so the eye took hold of his heart. Therefore, to face such a beast, one must have no fear, and be master of their own anxieties.

  Rayne lowered the paper, held in his own silence. He knew he shouldn’t hope that the writer of these texts had held a polite conversation with Tomordred. But still, the information about the eyes intrigued him. If he had no fear, then he would not become so helpless when the demon fixed his gaze upon him. But still, even if he could withstand that power, it did not mean much, since the great monster could overpower him, and eat him if Rayne wasn’t quick enough.

  “Fear,” he murmured. “What is it I fear, and how do I stop?”

  “What was that?” Miranda’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  “The demon’s eyes bring out a person’s fears. If I am to face him, I need to understand what I fear, so I can overcome it. I just don’t know how.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” she said. “I mean, the Abyss is such an horrifying place. Just knowing when you’re standing near something like that, that it wants to eat you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. That place is so utterly hopeless. I mean look at the man who wrote this, God only knows, over a thousand years ago. He’s long dead by now, and his soul, well—” Her head lowered, and Rayne could see tears on her face, trickling down over her smooth skin.

  Rayne reached up and brushed a strand of hair off her face. He took one of her hands and clasped it between his.

  “Don’t give up,” he said. “We’ll find a way out, before we die for good. That includes you.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the only one who knows, or will at least admit what they did wrong.”

  “I already told you, nothing I do can give me absolution. No matter how kind I am to others, no matter how many lives I save, it’s never been enough.”

  “Then maybe there’s something else, something we haven’t thought of. Maybe it’s not just about doing nice things, or simply atoning, maybe we—I wish I could think of something, I really do.”

  “It’s only been what, three months? I guess that’s why you can still be hopeful. After five years, I’m so tired of running. You’ll see, with time. Once you become utterly helpless, unable to even move without the assistance of others, unable to even speak, you will know my despair.”

  “Stop talking like that!” Rayne cried. Miranda looked into his eyes, and for a moment Rayne started to look away, but she grabbed his face and forced him still.

  “If you mean to convince me of anything, then stop looking away,” she said.

  “There are thousands of people that commit all kinds of atrocities, you know. People who feel absolutely no remorse for the things they do. People like that deserve to be in a place like this. But you? You made one small mistake in the heat of the moment. It doesn’t absolve you of guilt, or atonement, but do you really think that you belong in the same place as monsters who torture and kill people, or order mass genocide, or ruin people’s lives because of their own selfishness and greed?” he asked, staring her in the eyes.

  “Don’t speak about things you know nothing of,” she said. “This is our punishment, why can’t you understand that?”

  “I do understand it,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to accept it.”

  “Then you’re a fool.”

  He grinned, a small, but wicked grin. “All right, I’m a fool. I’ll take that.”

  Her face stayed grim as she turned it away, letting go of Rayne’s jaw as she did so.

  “I have to wonder if you’re really thinking clearly, or if your judgment’s been compromised.”

  “My head’s pretty clear right now. Though I skipped supper earlier, so I suppose I’m a little hungry.”

  “Then you should eat something.”

  He frowned. “It’s fine. I haven’t felt much like eating lately.”

  “But you must be starving—”

  “I said it’s fine. When I get hungry enough, then I’ll eat something. Don’t worry so much about me, worry more about yourself.”

  The two of them sat there together in awkward silence. Miranda sipped her tea, placing the empty cup down next to the still open book. She idly flipped through the other pages, looking at the caricatures drawn in the margins.

  “What is that, a bloody three-headed chicken on fire?” she murmured, stopping at a page with a fiery, skeletal creature, somewhat avian in appearance. “There’s no name—I really don’t like the look of that one.”

  Staring at the image, Rayne didn’t even realize he was grinding his teeth together until the scraping became audible.

  “Those fiery sorts are rather disgusting,” he remarked.

  Miranda slowly drew her hand away from the book, her expression somber. “Are you going to face that monster tonight? Tomordred, I mean.”

  “I have to. There’s something I need to know. And I can’t keep running forever. Besides, if I can find a way to face him, to stand up to him, maybe it’ll make things easier if I tell others wh
at I’ve learned, so they can face him as well.”

  “How reckless.”

  “If I fail, and he eats me, at least I leave Levi in capable hands. David’s a good man; he’ll take care of him.”

  “What about me?”

  He looked at her. “You?”

  “You’d run to your death and leave me all alone?”

  Rayne hadn’t considered that. He never thought that she needed him.

  “I was so alone for so long,” she mumbled. “That night, as I stood there huddled beside a tree, and I heard voices, I barely dared to hope that I had finally found someone. I was so scared at first, because there was this overwhelming demonic presence, so dark and crushing. Yet I heard people talking, so I worked up the courage to approach you. And then I heard your voice, and felt your icy hand taking mine, and I was horrified that someone like you could be there, but I also felt rather glad, that someone I knew, and liked, shared this fate. And you helped me. You refused to abandon me; even when you were gone you made certain I’d be safe. If you’re just going to throw yourself into the mouth of this monster, then what was the point? Why try so hard to give me hope if you’re just going to throw your existence away?”

  “I’m sorry,” Rayne said. “I have to do this. Not just for me. For my son.”

  “I see.” She didn’t cry. All emotion had drained from her face, and she stared ahead, numb.

  “But, I will promise you this. I won’t go down easy. If he wants to eat me, he has to fight for it. I will do everything humanly possible to survive, so you will see me again.”

  “Please, don’t die before I do.”

  “I won’t.” Rayne’s lowered his voice, as he stared at her, sensing her sorrow. He reached out and touched her golden hair with gentle grace, brushing aside a stray strand with a finger, and his face went red when he realized how forward he was being, and he buried all sense of emotion within him. She blushed as well, gripping her hands together as she tried to restrain her own feelings.

  “It’s late,” she said after a minute or so. “I should get going. Been on my feet all day you know. It’ll be nice to get home, relax a bit.” She stood up. “You have a good evening, Mr. Mercer.”