The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “I have not found her as of yet,” Mellinda said. “I can only hope she turns up as she did the last time.”

  “Oh, she will,” he mumbled, running his writhing hands over the raptoid that had moved. He was growing excited. This one had potential. Not as great as Deathclaw perhaps, but it was a good sign that it had resisted the spell. A good sign indeed.

  “Just remember your promise,” she said. “This time don’t overlook her failure so easily. If she returns, you must plant one of my special gifts inside her.”

  “Oh must I? I mustn’t do anything you demand of me, foul creature. No!” he snapped. Then he reduced hic voice to a purr. “But in this case I agree. When sweet Talon arrives, I will place your gift within her.”

  “Truly, master?” Mellinda grew excited at the thought. “One of my special-?”

  “Yes-yes, fine. An orange eye if you want. I need her to command this group and I will not let her be tempted to run away with them. No, no indeed.”

  Mellinda was surprised. Evidently Ewzad knew Talon far better than she gave him credit for. Mellinda had been sure that if Talon was given this new pack, she would run off with them, leaving Ewzad dragonless. It was quite an amusing thought, actually. She chuckled, thinking of Ewzad pacing back and forth filled with anxiety knowing that he had lost his most favorite creations.

  “Still,” he said, bending over the raptoid that had twitched past his spell. He caressed its torso, causing its musculature to grow even bigger. Its skin ripped in several places, causing small scales to scatter across the table and onto the floor. He clicked his tongue and healed it just as quickly as he had caused it. “If I give her over to you and you betray me, I will be forced to reach through this eye and destroy you completely. The Dark Voice has given me the power to do so. You remember that, don’t you? Hmm?”

  “I understand, Master,” Mellinda growled. She knew he spoke the truth. The last time they had nearly attacked each other, the Dark Prophet had told her so. The statement had infuriated her, but his voice had refused to answer when she had asked him why he would want his future wife submissive to a servant so weak.

  “Hamford, you fool!” he shouted into the corridor behind him. “Bring me that red viper like I asked you! Yes-yes, and quickly! And don’t cower in the corner this time, Hmm? These toys of mine won’t hurt you unless I let them!”

  As the wizard continued to berate his guard, Mellinda became more and more aware of a constant cry from one of her servants. She glowered. Several of them had tried to contact her again since she had cut her last communication off, but this one had been non-stop. She sent part of her mind surging through her connection with it, intending to deliver a swift punishment.

  But when she finally paid attention to the words the gorc was babbling through his pain, she paused. Could it be true? She scoured his mind and soon found that he was indeed telling the truth.

  Mellinda laughed in delight. This was the best news she had heard in a very long time.

  * * *

  The orange-eyed moonrat halted its gorging at the mother’s command and left the corpse of its dead yellow-eyed brother to its other kin. It left the breeding grounds where it had been hard at work for most of its short life and traveled alone through the forest. It had never been alone before, but there was no room for fear in its tiny mind. Its thoughts were overwhelmed by the intense prodding of the mother.

  It traveled throughout the night, reaching the edge of the forest before the light of dawn, then crept up the steep slope of the mountainside. The daylight pained it and the moonrat kept to the shadows as long as it could, then hid underneath a large rock for the heat of the day.

  The mountainside was a foreign place without the cover of trees and filled with the whistling of wind along its unprotected slopes. The moonrat’s nose sensed danger as well. There were creatures living in this place that smelled of hunger. The mother could keep most of those at bay easily, but there were also scents the mother warned it to stay clear of, wicked creatures with long legs and pointed sticks.

  When the shadows grew long, the moonrat ventured out from its hiding place, ignoring the pain of the fading light. It headed further up the slopes, to a place where the earth shifted under its feet. It passed bubbling mud and hot pools and hissing spouts of foul smelling water. The moonrat avoided the areas the mother told it to and kept on.

  The night deepened. Then before the sun rose again, it came to a place that stank of the tall slimy trolls. It had become familiar with these beasts of late, as the mother had brought so many of them into their forest. Many of them came running, screeching with hunger, only to be halted by the mother’s gaze. The trolls then followed along behind the moonrat. More and more came and trailed meekly in its wake until it led a procession of over a dozen.

  Other creatures fell under the mother’s spell as they climbed. Snakes and spiders and rodents that had learned to live hidden from the trolls’ hungry grasping claws crawled out from their little holes and joined the procession.

  Soon one last slope reared ahead and the moonrat knew it was near the end of its journey. It climbed slippery, slime encrusted rocks until it reached the top. There it sensed the yawning mouth of a cave. The smell within was acrid and tinted with the sharp tang of smoke as if an intense fire had once filled the area.

  Slime was pooled in the entrance and even more covered the floor of the cave. The moonrat was forced to trudge deeper and deeper until it was barely able to keep its nose above the surface. It moaned as the slime stung its eyes. As if in answer, a deep booming roar shook the ground around it.

  The procession nearly crumbled and fled in fear, but the mother held firm. The tall trolls picked up the moonrat and the other creatures that wouldn’t survive the swim and carried them through a tunnel in the rear of the cave. The troll carrying the moonrat had to crouch in the low ceiling of the tunnel as it waded through slime that was nearly knee deep.

  The tunnel opened into a wide cavern with a ceiling that arched high overhead. The air was moist and hot and the moonrat could hear the bubbling of a heated pool of water somewhere near the center of the cavern. The air here smelled of smoke and slime and sickness.

  An enormous shape shifted in the rear of the cavern and let lose the booming roar that the moonrat had heard before. The moonrat could not grasp it shape. It seemed to be made up of hundreds of waving limbs all connected to a central mass.

  The big thing surged towards them and the mother called out to it. It roared back at her. The thing was hungry. As it came closer, the moonrat knew that it was also sick. It was emaciated and would soon die of starvation. The mother sent calming emotions at it and the thing settled back, quivering; barely restrained.

  The troll carrying the moonrat stepped aside and the other trolls walked past it into the chamber. A vertical split opened up in the side of the thing’s central body revealing a gaping maw filled with rows of dagger-like teeth. One by one, the creatures in the procession walked to the big thing and stepped into the gaping maw, allowing themselves to be swallowed whole.

  Finally, the other creatures were all gone. The last remaining troll held the moonrat out towards the big thing and waited as the mother communed with it again. This went on for some time and finally an agreement was struck. There was one last part to the deal. The mother told the troll carrying the moonrat to step forward.

  “Thank you, my sweet precious one,” she said. “You are special.”

  The moonrat didn’t know or care why it had been singled out; why it was special. It didn’t understand or fear the concept of death. It allowed itself to be carried into the gaping maw that opened up in the side of the sickly giant, secure in the knowledge that it was following the mother’s wishes.

  The moment the creature’s mouth snapped shut around the moonrat, it felt sharp pain as its eyes popped loose. The orange orbs sprouted tiny clawed legs which latched on to the inner flesh of the beast. The moonrat chittered and moaned as the love of the mother withdrew from
it completely and it felt what it was like to be truly alone for the first time in its short life. Then it slid further within the creature and was surrounded by burning liquid.

  Pained and unable to breathe, the moonrat lashed out with its seven sets of claws and bit at the flesh surrounding it. Its struggling was cut short, as internal sets of jaws and teeth sprouted from the flesh around it, then crunched and sliced the moonrat to bits.

  Somewhere, far back in the center of the darkest part of the forest, the mother was pleased. Very pleased.

  Chapter Eight

  “Ho-ho, Willy, you bid wrong again!” said the imp with a chuckle and he slammed his card down on the table. It was a high trump and took the hand. The dwarf sitting across the table from the imp raised a fist and laughed in triumph. “We win, 513 to 383!”

  The dark clouds that made up the walls and ceiling of the room churned as if heavy with rain and lightning streaked through them, but the air was hot and dry. The clouds weren’t rain clouds, but clouds full of smoke. Air and fire were the imp’s magic talents, after all.

  The kobald sitting in the chair across from Willum shook its head and put its rocky face in its hands, sobbing. This was the first time he had seen a kobald up close. It was similar in height to the dwarf, but wider chested and covered in stone-like scales. It was also overacting.

  “This isn’t a fair game, Imp,” Willum grumped folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. He nodded his head at the kobald. “You can’t partner me with him.”

  “And why not?” The imp asked with bushy black eyebrows raised over its red eyes. Ever since the battle at the academy, it had stopped bothering to hide itself. Perhaps it should have. The imp was portly and short with pasty white skin and had a pointed beak of a nose sitting over a mouthful of even white teeth. Its pointed ears and balding head of wispy black hair didn’t help its appearance much either. Willum had found the overall effect a bit disturbing at first, but only because he had been expecting for it to look a lot more menacing.

  It gestured with white hands tipped with black pointed nails. “We are playing the game of Unity, Willy. You must have a partner, and,” it chuckled. “If you and I were on the same team, these two would be at each other’s throats. Dwarves and kobalds are mortal enemies, you know.” The two other players looked at one another and growled in agreement.

  Willum rolled his eyes, “You know I know that. But they aren’t real, Imp. Only you and I are really here. Unity is not a fair game. No matter who you ‘partner’ me with, you are controlling them and therefore, your wins don’t count.”

  “Bah!” it said in indignation. “You accuse me of cheating? Willy, you wound me. I cannot cheat! Why that would be against the rules.” The two other players pounded the table and nodded in agreement.

  “How can you possibly control either of them, without knowing their hand?” Willum asked.

  “Ho-ho! I simply ignore the part of my brain that is monitoring him,” the imp said, placing a hand on the kobald’s shoulder. “And believe me, the part of my mind that controls Bofus here is equally as smart as the part controlling Garson across from me.” The dwarf nodded.

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” Willum said with a frown.

  “Willy, Willy, Willy,” it said, shaking its head. “Willy-yum-yum, don’t you understand that my mental capacities are far above those of humans. If not, what kind of match would I be for gnomes?”

  Then it dawned on Willum. “Oh, I understand now. You can’t cheat if we are playing for points, but since we aren’t using the ledger, you can do whatever you want.”

  “Ha! Nonsense!” It reached down and pulled the white ledger out of the smoke below and slammed it on the table, scattering cards everywhere. “But I insist we go back to using the ledger! Without the ledger, games have no purpose. What good are games without wagers?”

  “Games are played for fun. I like games when I’m playing with friends.” Willum said, then stood out of his chair and leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “But listen clearly, if you are not willing to play like a friend, then we won’t play at all, do you understand?”

  “Willy . . .” it said with a warning glare, standing from its chair as well. It stood a good foot shorter than him, but still managed to look menacing. “You took on a contract. You are bound by the rules.”

  “I am bound by the rules only if I agree to play,” Willum said, meeting it glare for glare. “We discussed this before. I will not be bullied or tortured. I will play with you for fun only.”

  The imp growled and fell back in its chair, sulking. “How is that fun? Games without consequences are boring.”

  “Fine. I don’t mind having a friendly wager from time to time.” Its ears perked up, and Willum added. “But understand me, I will not be making any wagers that leave me endangered on the battlefield because of some tick mark on that ledger of yours. If you start refusing to make attacks, I’ll just have to use other weapons.”

  The imp frowned. “Why do you insist on such silliness, Willy?”

  “Friends don’t put each other in danger, Imp,” he said. “I treat you like a friend, letting you converse with me throughout the day, playing with you when I have the time. I expect the same from you in return.”

  “Oh-ho! This friends speech again,” it said. “If you mean it, calling me friend, then why-oh-why haven’t you given me a name yet?”

  “That? Well . . .” Willum floundered for a moment. He didn’t know, really. It seemed like such a simple thing, coming up with a name for the creature. In fact, he felt a little guilty just calling it ‘Imp’. But whenever he tried, nothing would come to mind. It was almost like something was blocking him from doing so.

  “See! See, Willy? Friends? Ha!” It glowered at him and its skin flushed starting from its eyes and spreading across its body, turning from white to red. “I am just an imp to you. Ho! Just an axe! A weapon to be used!”

  “Come on,” Willum said. “You know that’s not the truth. Why don’t you just tell me what you want to be called? Or better yet, tell me what your name is. You used to be called something, didn’t you?”

  “I told you it doesn’t work that way. You must give me the name.” Its skin was completely red now and its eyes burned a flaming yellow. It reached towards Willum and he felt his stomach lurch. “It must come from you. Just do it. NAME ME!”

  Suddenly the imp grimaced and clutched at its head. It sank back into its chair and its skin began to fade quickly from red back to white.

  “Excuse me,” said a voice from behind Willum. “I heard there were games to be played here?”

  Willum turned to see a man wearing a white robe emerge from out of the churning clouds that made up the rear wall of the room. He was of average height and had short dark hair streaked here and there with white. He walked around the table and stood behind the kobald’s chair.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?” the man asked, his eyes glancing at the imp.

  The imp didn’t answer, simply staring at him wide-eyed, but the kobald shook his head vigorously, refusing to move.

  “Thank you,” the man said. He reached out with one hand and grabbed the kobald by the neck. He then yanked it up out of the chair as if it weighed nothing. Then while it struggled, he bent over and shoved it bodily down through the smoky floor at his feet. The kobald disposed of, he sat in the chair and leaned forward casually. His eyes met Willum’s and there was a sudden electricity. “Willum, I need to speak with you.”

  “Who are-?” Willum asked. The man frowned and it was as if there was a crack somewhere in the back of Willum’s mind. He became aware of a tremendous pressure he hadn’t known was there before. He looked at the man again. “You’re . . . Tolivar. But how are you here?”

  “I’m sorry. I felt it was time to interrupt,” the man said, then his eyes flashed.

  The pressure in Willum’s mind broke into a torrent of images and emotions that flooded over him. He remembered. He remembered everything. “
No . . . oh no. Father . . .”

  “Willy!” said the imp, concern and alarm spreading across its face. It snarled at the man. “Why did you do that? Willum, I-!”

  “Shut up, Imp!” Willum spat and shoved the imp’s dream world aside.

  His eyes fluttered open. Willum sat up and cried out as he flung the axe. It spun and its keen edge penetrated the stone wall, where it stuck with a loud ping.

  Willum was sitting in a soft bed in a medium-sized room with stone walls and a wood ceiling. Glowing orbs lit the area from sconces on either side and Willum saw that the room was made to fit two, with matching desks and dressers on either side. Sitting on the bed across from him, his back resting against the wall, was the man that had invaded the imp’s world.

  “That’s a sharp blade,” Tolivar said. He sat with one leg sticking straight out in front of him, the other drawn up close, one forearm resting on his upraised knee. He wasn’t wearing a white robe like in the dream, but a clean linen shirt and breeches. The ornate hilt of a sword rose over one shoulder. “I’m sorry to have to wake you like that.”

  Willum had never met the man in person before, and yet he knew him more intimately than he had ever wanted to know anyone. Tolivar, formerly known as Tamboor the Fearless, was the man that had been chosen to replace his father.

  “No. Not that,” Tolivar said. Never that.

  Willum blinked, still a bit disoriented. The moments after Coal had died were hazy in his mind. He had been giving his father’s message to Sir Edge and then . . . at first there had just been pain and blackness. Then he had felt his father’s arms around him. Around all of them; Bettie and Samson were there too. Somehow Coal had held them all.

  Coal hadn’t or maybe couldn’t say anything at that moment, but Willum had then understood the true permanence of the bond. When the wizard dies, he pulls the spirits of his bonded into the next world with him. But Coal stayed close to his body and held them there with him, refusing to move on, his presence the only thing keeping them tethered to this world.