by S. E. Akers
Tanner rushed out from behind the tree with his pouch ready. The balegore clasped its other hand over top of me. I peeked through the creature’s fingers to see it pulling me closer towards its chest. My stomach tossed with worry as I sat trapped in its dark and sweaty clutches. Oh, I was headed down this thing’s sewage pipe, no two ways about it.
Despite its angry growls, the balgore’s only hostile act was to kick a hefty patch of dirt at the aggressive Amethyst Talisman. Tanner stood there looking more stunned than anything.
The balegore opened its hands. I suppose it felt safe enough that Tanner wasn’t going to attack with me as its hostage. I held my breath and gradually lifted my head. The creature was simply staring at me with its blood-orange eyes curiously flaring, while its snout snorted away. At this precise moment, I was sorry for every pesky fly that I’d ever swatted over the years and vowed never to take a swing at them ever again.
The balegore swiftly grabbed my legs and then began shaking me in the air like daggone piggy-bank. I thought the brute might start knocking me into trees like before, but it only poked me with a round of taps — but they were extremely hard.
I sensed a message coming from Tanner. “I think it’s looking for your sword.”
With my pat-down complete, the balegore dropped me back into its palm. I didn’t get the impression that it wanted to hurt me. Wishful thinking, probably? I’m sure it would if pushed (like any other creature), but it seemed oddly more intrigued than anything. Now that was an improvement. It took me jabbing my sword into it the last time just to provoke some interest. I remembered Tanner telling me that this thing had been locked up for over seventy-eight years. It had to feel isolated, even with Silas slinging chickens at it three times a day. I sort of felt sorry for it.
And yeah, I kind of had a soft-spot notched in my heart for those cute little troll dolls — crazy hair, pot-bellies, bare-butts, and all.
I shot Tanner a clueless shrug. There really wasn’t much else I could do without the oculus in my hands.
“This has nowhere to go but downhill,” my mentor assured. “I suggest you hold on or jump towards that tree over there because I’m two seconds from knocking it out.”
I couldn’t have that. Throwing in the towel was still another failure in my book. I shook my head at him. If this thing was looking for a little company, Hell might not get its handbasket after all.
I gave the balegore’s fingers a few gentle strokes, kind of like I would a stray dog I was looking to win over. Charlotte would never let us have any four-legged pets. Maybe I could tame this thing and bring it home for Thanksgiving? See if they run off and have dinner without me again.
Cautiously, I eased my mouth into a smile. The balegore simply looked away without returning the slightest expression, one way or the other.
Humph… This thing has to be a male. I shook my head. The unreadable kind, just like the one standing down there on the ground.
I noticed a peculiar gleam streaking from the centers of the balegore’s eyes. I followed its gaze down to the ground. It had spotted the oculus lying beside its foot. Tanner tried rushing over to retrieve it, but the creature had already scooped it up in its mitt. The balegore pinched the magical device between its chubby fingers, watching its gemstones sparkle in the light. Tanner had said that a creature could hear The Darklands’ calls and that the magic fueling the oculus would attempt to lure these beasts back where they belonged. However, there was only one problem with that. The oculus wasn’t open anymore, not with it out of the diamond’s reach. But the creature sure seemed fascinated by something.
I waved for Tanner to hold off on sedating it (which didn’t please him at all) and then tapped on one of the balegore’s fingers. On a hunch and with the firmest of prayers fired, I slowly extended my hands and waited with bated breath.
“I know what you’re thinking about doing and let me be the first to say, DON’T!” Tanner warned.
I shushed him with a quick and discreet glare. I’d tried it his way. Now it was my turn. I would do anything not to leave out of here with my tail between my legs — AGAIN. This monster was going down. I could feel my sanity starting to hinge on it.
The balegore paused for a moment, looking more interested in its shiny little pretty. I’d almost given up hope when it began to extend the oculus my way. I cupped my hands together — palms up and eagerly waiting. Just a few more seconds and I could completely save face, especially with Silas. I’d felt his amusement hovering like a stink-cloud the entire time. And I needed something sweet to shove in that haughty pie-hole of his.
Slowly the balegore lowered the oculus towards my enthusiastic hands. In fact, I’d been focusing so hard on getting the thing back and opened that the magic-mirror portal did just that as soon as it smacked my palms. That was a big mistake. The blinding mystical beam shot out of the mirror instantly, exposing its Veil energy and letting the balegore know exactly what it was concealing. I didn’t even get a chance to angle it before the creature shirked its head and bellowed out a fierce roar. It wasn’t going anywhere, not judging from the foam dripping from its mouth.
The balegore slammed me down on the ground with a walloping “SMACK”. I lay there, rooted in the impression I’d left and unable to move a muscle. Now that I was clear, Tanner shot a mist-fueled gust of layria bark into its snout. The creature stumbled back and forth, ready to keel at any second. It shook its head in a yawning fit as it tried fighting off the sleepy urge. Just as my own muscles were starting to rouse, the balegore spun around in a last-ditch effort and then fell like a mighty oak towards the ground — headed straight for my already hammered frame.
Oh no…
I winced my eyes shut just as thousands of pounds of flesh drove me down further into the ground. My diaphragm may have been as flat as a pancake, but it didn’t hamper the noiseless scream I was bellowing on the inside. A foul stench trickled into my lungs, letting me know I was downwind from the creature’s open mouth.
After several vigorous pushes and tugs, Tanner had moved enough of the creature to pull me out of my makeshift grave. My chest expanded in a swift heave and then the rest of my frame followed suit, springing back into shape. I was more than relieved. Going from a Size 8 to a 0 was one thing, but I didn’t have a freaking clue how I was going to pop my boobs out of my back. It sure felt like they’d been Quasimodoed.
“Are you all right?!?” Tanner asked, dusting me off.
Truth be told, I felt like the witch that had the house dropped on her. “Couldn’t feel flatter,” I griped while my body reeled with the aftershocks. “Bang-up job with the layria bark.” I coughed up several dry puffs of dirt. “Seriously.”
“I can’t help where they land,” Tanner defended. “I honestly thought you were clear.”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, nor could I focus on anything feeling this jarred. Everything around me looked like a muddled mess of shifting shapes and wavy colors. I threw up my hand and then wobbled my way over to a pine tree. Its bark served as the perfect prop, basically velcroing me upright while I fought off the rest of the pain. I rubbed my pounding head. I had to have the mother of all concussions, supernatural or not.
A blurry cluster of figures approached from out of the corner of my eye. Three fuzzy forms of Silas swept my addled frame from head to toe in perfect unison.
“Why, Ms. Wallace, I do believe someone in this house is crushing on you after all,” the mirror images snickered.
I was aching to sock the one in the middle, but I didn’t dare it — not with my piss-poor luck. I could take a wide swing at all three of them and still end up face-down on the ground, choking on even more dirt.
The tormenting triplets lifted my hand and laid the lacey scrap in my palm with a purposeful pat. “Interesting choice of colors,” they cracked, sneers blazing, and then headed off with a stream of trilling, “Tsk, tsk, tsks…” clicking the air.
I hate him, I whimpered silently. ALL OF THEM!
I t
rudged a slow and teetering path to my room. After flinging my bra into the trashcan, I shuffled into the shower and positioned myself between the crisscrossing streams. Getting physically clean was the easy part. Too bad there wasn’t a magical soap that could scrub off the remnants of my latest flop. Even if a powerful enough detergent existed, I would need a drain the size of a kiddie pool to wash them all away. I arched my back and let the showerhead rain its best down on me, but no amount of watery warmth could lift my sinking spirits right now. I was really dreading my conditioning session with Silas. He wasn’t going to let me live this one down. I could feel it.
The bastard’s probably down there right now painting the walls purple.
It wasn’t long before I tromped a heavy-footed path downstairs. I’d already resigned myself to taking his jeers on the chin—no matter what he said or did—and without any retaliation whatsoever. Yeah, the “high road” — that far less traveled one. No paybacks… No plotting… I’d like to think my conscience had opted for the more moral route because of what I now knew about The Darklands and what fueled its creatures. But truth be told, the threat of karma dangling another bad dream over my head had charted that oh-so-virtuous turn of course.
The soles of my Asics squeaked to a stop just as soon as I stepped inside. The room didn’t look a thing like I’d expected. Though the stone walls were still washed in their simple palette of dull grays, it was the ambiance of the space that left me guessing. The industrial lights that normally shined overhead had been extinguished. All that lingered above was a shifting sea of darkness. Flickering candles housed in glass hurricanes now dotted the rugged perimeter. Their modest glows lent the scene only a meager amount of light, casting more shadows than any helpful illumination. The space definitely held more of an eerie temple-vibe today, hands-down. All it lacked was some exotic-smelling incense wafting in the air and a Buddhist off in a corner striking some mammoth bronze gong. The contents of the room were even more confusing than its aura. The iron wall that I’d yet to make a dent in was mysteriously gone (which prompted a big fat “YAY” in my head). But that wasn’t the only thing missing. There wasn’t a single device or torture machine to be found anywhere, and every speck of iron was resting in its place among the various racks and shelves positioned along one of the walls. This was the first time there wasn’t something already stacked beside my coach’s stool awaiting its first throw. Heck, even that four-legged perch of his was gone. The entire room was practically bare, with the exception of one curious-looking addition, something undeniably new. A marble pedestal had been placed in the middle of the chamber and on its top lay a solitary iron ball. My steps carried me to the edge of the mat. Immediately I felt the telltale signature of iron vibrating the air, smacking my skin like the thrash of ferocious waves. For all the plates, barbs, and cannonballs to have been stored in their designated places along the wall, there was an exorbitant amount of the energy-draining metal radiating all around, not limited to that particular area. My gaze returned to the lone ball. It was relatively small, roughly the size of an orange, so naturally that sent my suspicions whirling like a high-speed turbine. I swept the space again from top to bottom. I hadn’t felt this much of the energy-zapping metal pounding the atmosphere since my stroll through the wrought-iron dripping streets of the French Quarter. With the hands of the house’s fingerprints all over this puzzle, I predicted today’s toll would be my heaviest yet.
I turned around to find Silas practically standing on top of me. I jerked into a gasp for the second time today.
“My sincerest apologies,” he said and extended a facetious bow.
“What’s up with the room?” I asked pointedly.
The house steward extended his arms and commenced with a showy 360˚ turn. “Why I figured a decorator such as yourself would appreciate me setting the mood for your exercise today.”
“How thoughtful,” I replied tartly, not buying his excuse. If anything, I wanted to know how in the heck “Mr. Mere Human” had moved all that stuff out of here, especially when not one of those big & bulky devices would fit through the daggone door.
Silas sidled beside me and pointed to the pedestal. “Today’s task is simple, Ms. Wallace. All you have to do is bring me that ball, understood?”
My stare shifted suspiciously between him and the pedestal. “That’s it?” I questioned.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
Nothing around here was ever that simple, especially if he was involved. “While you fling iron plates at me?” I submitted. “Like Frisbees?”
Silas clasped his chest, offended. “I won’t be throwing anything at you,” he vowed.
“Really?” I found that hard to believe. “No magnetized balls or spiked barbs? No weapons of any kind?”
Silas shook his head. “No,” he assured. “I’ll be standing right here, waiting for your victorious return. I can place my hands behind my back if that will ease your worries. Just say the word.”
“That’s okay,” I insisted. “I like them where I can see them.”
“Very well,” he replied, wiggling his fingers as he held up his hands.
My eyes rolled toward the pedestal. This has to be a trick. I’ll get over there and not be able to lift it at all. I’d seen too many hidden camera TV shows where something that looks as light as a feather ends up weighing a ton. I wasn’t falling for it, not with the exorbitant amount of iron that was leaking like a cracked nuclear reactor. All that was missing were guys running around in hazmat suits and a loud siren blaring.
There’s no way that thing’s an ordinary ball of iron. I bet it weighs as much as the Titanic — iceberg and all!
“Something tells me that I won’t be able to move it,” I said flatly.
With a curt wave, Silas motioned me over to the rack where the iron balls lay in their hollows. “Pick one,” he urged.
I made my selection and handed it to him, sluggishly. I should have let it drop on his foot and cried “accident”, but I knew my good buddy karma was watchin’.
Silas marched across the mat, picked up the one presently sitting there, plopped down the other, and commenced with a leisurely stroll back.
“There,” he said. “Everything is on the up and up. You now know that it can be moved, and I’ll reiterate my previous assurance that I won’t be picking up one thing to hurl at you . . . and please remember, I never lie.”
I still didn’t believe him. “It sounds too easy . . . What’s the point?”
“This exercise is about keeping your focus, even when undertaking the simplest of tasks, Ms. Wallace. You could have banished that oaf back there blindfolded if you had only applied your full attention when doing so.” Silas lowered his head and breathed a light sigh. “But alas, you didn’t.”
My hands clenched my hips. “I ran into a SNAG,” I grumbled. He was there. He’d seen it.
“Yes,” Silas agreed, his eyes dipping into me like a ladle. “The same snag you’ve run into since you took your first steps through the front door several weeks ago.”
Cool air rushed across my lips and charged into my lungs like a bullet popped into a gun. I knew exactly what the brazen butthole was implying. Oh, I was cocked and ready all right.
“I AM focused!” I snapped.
Silas’ shushed me with a brusque wave. “Being present and maintaining focus are two completely different things.” He tapped his shiny loafers on the floor, displeased. “Well, Ms. Wallace? What are you waiting for?” Silas prodded and then flashed that superior grin of his I loathed. “Show me that cornerstone of attention you claim to possess.” He pointed to the ball with a haughty sweep. “Go fetch.”
Ass, glared in my eyes. The only way this bitch’s tail would be wagging was seeing that ball crammed down his throat. And here I’d been trying to figure out why Tanner kept him around. Now I was starting to question why the house steward insisted upon staying, especially if he was some kind of supernatural. The sheer amusement of torturing me sure came to mind.
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br /> I turned towards the mat with a testy pivot and started my approach. I’d only taken a few steps when a loud “click” popped from above. I looked up to see something dropping from the dark ceiling, steady and wicked fast. I leaped out of its path just before it landed in a chamber-rocking “BOOM”. My bottom lip sank into my lap as I sat there staring at the massive iron pillar. This thing could knock down a concrete building with enough whacks. Suddenly getting smushed by the balegore seemed much more pillowy.
I whipped my head around, seething. “Nice touch.”
Silas smiled immodestly. “What can I say? I found your last bout inspiring.”
“I’ll bet,” I grumbled. My eyes pierced the blackness above, scouring the field of overlapping shadows. I blew a stout gust up to the ceiling to aid my search. Oodles of the painful pounders began swaying above my head, clanging together and reverberating deep tinkling tones like freakish wind chimes. No wonder I hadn’t noticed them earlier. They were the same color as the ceiling, so they blended in perfectly. Now I only felt half as stupid for falling into the scheming house spider’s web.
I started to get up when Silas announced, “Ah, ah, ah . . . I would be extremely wary if I were you. They are highly sensitive to your movements.”
My eyes narrowed. Sure they are. Frankly I was surprised they weren’t magnetized. I’d barely hopped to my feet when another one plunged towards me. Luckily I’d managed to clear it, but I didn’t think for one second I would come out of this unscathed. This was more about teaching me a lesson than anything else, a lesson he felt I needed. I would be the first to admit that my focus wasn’t as honed as it should have been today. Maybe if that horrible dream hadn’t run a loop in my head all freaking day it would have been? And “my mentor” had nothing to do with it — AT ALL. Contrary to the house steward’s opinion, it wasn’t my head that needed knocked out of my ass. The only thing my determined derrière craved was for him to stop being the source of its pain. This bear was tired of getting poked. It wasn’t helping. Couldn’t he see that?