They had captured the Nephalim!
Windy and Ilien kept low for fear of being seen. But Pedustil heard them, and swung his head sideways.
The figure beneath him heaved to its feet and cast the distracted Gorgul to the ground. Bulcrist drew his sword and charged toward his foe. In a flash he was there, but the hulking figure swept the NiDemon aside with a powerful arm and leapt toward Ilien and Windy. Before it left Bulcrist's circle of light, Ilien caught sight of its face, twisted with rage, intent on murder.
It wasn't the face from his dreams.
Windy raised the Nihilic sword in challenge, its bloody glow burning brightly. Ilien grabbed her arm.
"Windy! No!"
Windy pushed him aside. "I will not let you die!"
Their attacker bounded toward them, scattering rocks and debris in its haste to reach them. Ilien grabbed Windy about the waist and wrestled her to the ground. The shadow was nearly on them.
"It's Anselm! Not the Nephalim! Anselm!"
"Ilien!" bellowed the Giant. "Windy!"
The princess fell limp beneath him, her face registering relief. But her relief turned to horror. "Ilien!" she screamed.
Ilien looked up. The Nephalim had come upon them from behind. It towered over them, drawing its sword. Anselm reached them at that very moment. Like a charging bear he hurtled into the Nephalim, sweeping it from its feet. They vaulted through the air, crashing amidst the rocks, two monstrous shadows flailing at each other in the darkness.
The night exploded with light as Bulcrist and Pedustil raced to join the fray. There was little they could do as the two imposing combatants grappled to gain the advantage before them. Anselm held the Nephalim in a bear hug, pinning its clawed hands to its sides, straining to crush the life from it. The Nephalim's wings beat the air, then curled and struck at the Giant, their barbed tips lancing into his exposed back. Anselm fought to keep his grip, but soon his back was bleeding from dozens of wounds. He could hold on no longer. He reared back and rained blows with his fists, each one powerful enough to knock a horse senseless. The Nephalim took the punishment without a sound, a smile across its undamaged face.
"Gorn kallowa!" it shouted. A blinding flash sent Anselm tumbling backwards, clutching at his eyes.
The Nephalim rose with a surge of its powerful wings, but Pedustil was ready. A torrent of scalding vapor rushed forth, striking the shadow and sending it spinning back to earth. Bulcrist thrust his left hand out, leaving silvery mark in the air. Tendrils of green fire unfurled from his open palm, pulsing across the space between them. The Nephalim's wings wrapped quickly around its body, and the green flames were sent spinning and hissing among the rocks.
The wings unfurled and laughter split the night. The Nephalim held a circlet of darkness in its clawed hands, a ring of shadow made solid.
Bulcrist turned to Ilien. "Run!" he shouted.
Windy grabbed Ilien's arm and they fled the opposite way. The Nephalim released the ring with a cry. The circlet of shadows burst, and Bulcrist's magical light went out, devoured by the darkness.
Windy and Ilien stumbled forward, their minds numb with fear. The pale light of Windy's Nihilic sword lit their way. Ilien clutched the pouch holding the wutzit stone, and stuffed it into his pocket as he ran. Behind them all had fallen black and silent, but ahead they heard the murmur of water. They were approaching the river.
Windy stumbled and cried out. Ilien turned to help her as a rush of wings passed overhead. The Nephalim! The Nephalim was ahead of them! He pulled Windy to her feet. She was bleeding from a cut above her eye.
"I got you into this," he said. "Now I'm getting you out." He reached for her sword.
Windy pulled away. "What are you doing?"
Ilien took her by the shoulders. "What I scryed is coming true. I will die tonight, not you." Windy glanced fearfully behind her and began to cry. "It's not back there," said Ilien. "It's ahead of us. Go back to the foodshare."
"I won't go. I'm not leaving you." Without warning she tripped him and sped off toward the river.
"Windy!" Ilien ran after her. He could see the Nihilic sword dancing madly in the dark as she sprinted to meet the Nephalim. The sound of the river ahead grew louder. All at once, the light of her sword disappeared and she screamed. Ilien put on a burst of speed.
"Windy!" He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew the wutzit stone, still bound in its leather pouch. With a wailing cry he charged forward.
The Nephalim loomed above her, its handsome face lit by the glow of Windy's sword. They faced each other on a precipice overlooking the river, black and boiling below. Ilien untied the pouch and poured the wutzit stone into his hands.
"Get away from her!" he screamed. "If it's me you're after, then come and have me!" A tingle ran from his fingers and up his arm.
The Nephalim rose and turned toward Ilien, its face falling into shadows. "Me after you? Who are you that I should give you a thought?" Its eyes lit with a light of their own, and Ilien saw a sudden understanding in them. "I do know you," said the Nephalim. "You are the boy who scryed my presence, for I have scryed yours. You are Gallund's son." It reached for its sword. "You have come to fulfill you destiny. A pity that you have rushed to meet your fate so soon. I had forgotten that I was supposed to kill you."
The tingle in Ilien's arm spread to his shoulder. A fierce heat filled his chest as he retreated before the deadly shadow. The Nephalim circled around him, and soon Ilien's back was to the river.
"How shall I do it?" mused the Nephalim. "A quick thrust of my sword?" It raised a hand and its claws reached out menacingly. "Or should I just stop your heart from beating?"
Ilien retreated until he stood on the edge of the precipice. He could go no farther. Below, the river thundered past in the blackness.
The Nephalim laughed. "Fire? How about fire?" A flame filled its outstretched hand, growing larger at its bidding.
The wutzit stone flared a brilliant yellow, and the Nephalim's flames subsided. It raised both hands to conjure them back. Soon it held a roiling ball like a small burning sun between its fingers. It raised the fireball above its head, its wings framing the deadly missile, its face twisted in rage. Ilien held the wutzit stone high, not knowing what it would do, or if it could save him.
Windy climbed to her feet.
"I will tell your father you died like a child." With a shout it hurled forth its raging magic.
The wutzit stone shot forth a yellow beam of light that raced to meet the shadow's attack. The Nephalim cried out in alarm, then pain, as Windy rushed forward and drove her sword into the back of its leg. Stone magic and shadow power met and erupted in a blinding orange storm. The force of the detonation toppled Ilien backwards. He teetered on the brink, then tumbled into the rushing current below.
The water's impact drove the breath from Ilien's lungs as the river swept him under. The icy cold water burned like fire. He struggled for the surface but the churning torrent dragged him to the bottom. His lungs cried out for air. His limbs ached, growing numb and useless as he dragged along the river's rocky bottom. Again he fought to break free of the water's deadly grip but was helpless against the river's power. Thoughts of Windy flashed through his mind. She'll be killed! He had to help her! He clutched the wutzit stone in his lifeless fingers. His mind reached out to make contact. It had saved him from the Nephalim's attack. It could save him now. In the burning cage of his mind he cried out to the stone. Do something! A whisper of power echoed through him. The stone could hear him. He kicked his legs, reaching for the elusive surface. The cold receded. Life returned to his frozen limbs.
Yes! He would make it!
His head bounced off a boulder and he knew no more.
Chapter IX
The Land of the Dead
How are they biting?"
Ilien sat up so quickly that his fishing pole jumped from his lap and fell splash into the water. He blinked and looked around in confusion, caught between dreaming and waking. He sat on a wide, flat rock n
ear a calm pool of water. Ripples raced across its surface, the result of his lost pole. Beyond the pool, a sloping field ran up to meet a thin line of trees. The afternoon sun warmed his skin.
"How are they biting?" came the question again. Ilien turned to see a stout, old man in a straw hat. The man wore the clothes of a farmer, soiled overalls, suspenders over a brown shirt. His sleeves were rolled up. Ilien recognized him.
"Mister Parson?" He looked around at the familiar landscape. He must have fallen asleep in Farmer Parson's back field while fishing in his pond.
"So?" Farmer Parson winked. "Catch anything yet?"
Ilien surveyed the rock he'd been lying on. "No. I guess."
The old man stuck his thumbs in his suspenders. Though his smile remained, his brows frowned. "You know you're not supposed to be here," he said. "You need to get back home. Your folks need your help. So up with you. Come on. Get up. You can't be staying here."
Ilien climbed to his feet. He peered into the pool for signs of his lost fishing pole.
"You won't be needing that," said the farmer, "so leave it be. You can fish while sleeping later. Right now you'd better get going." A dog's bark startled Ilien out of his reverie. Farmer Parson turned and whistled. "And take him with you," he said.
A dog came bounding across the field. It was the kind Farmer Parson kept to fend off the foxes. Ilien looked at the farmer. "I don't have a dog."
"Sure you do," said the old man. "He's been waiting for you. Told me all about you, and how you were coming to get him. But I never thought I'd see you so soon."
"Told you about me?" Ilien watched the dog as it circled around the pool. Its hind end danced up and down as it ran. Its pink tongue dangled from its open mouth. The dog looked familiar.
"Kept going on how nice you were to him, how he missed you. Seems you were part of the reason he wound up here to begin with."
"Here?" mumbled Ilien. He glanced up at the sun, shielding his eyes from its brilliance. A feeling of warmth spread through him. He felt suddenly happy, and couldn't seem to remember anything before waking up on the flat rock by Parson's trout pool. The warm feeling tingled through him, radiating from his left hand, up his arm and into his body. He realized his hand was closed around something small and hard. Opening it, he stared down at a yellow stone in his palm.
Farmer Parson whistled again. "I was right all along. You aren't supposed to be here yet." He hurried forward and grabbed Ilien by the arm. "Come on then," he said. "You'd best be on your way, but not before a bite to eat and some advice." The dog barked again as it splashed along the edge of the pool toward Ilien. "Then you and your dog can be on your way."
Ilien was about to repeat that he didn't have a dog, when he was bowled to the ground by a flurry of paws.
"Down boy!" bellowed Farmer Parson. "Down!" He shooed the dog away and hauled Ilien to his feet. "Now is not the time for jubilant reunions." He looked skyward as if appraising tomorrow's weather. "A quick bite and a quick chat, then the two of you can be off. Come on."
Ilien followed dumbly, the dog trotting at his heels. He glanced back at the pool and its sun-warmed rock.
"No, no," said the farmer. "Never mind that." The old man pulled him forward. "This is not a place to tarry when you don't belong here. A quick bite and a quick chat, then on your way."
They hurried along the stream that spilled from the pool, and crossed where a log forded the water. Ilien examined the yellow stone in his hand. It looked as familiar as the dog beside him. A cow cooling its feet in the stream regarded them curiously as they passed by. Ahead, Ilien saw Farmer Parson's barn, tall and grey, one side open to the field, bails of hay stacked within. They rounded the barn and approached the farmer's house. It looked small beside the imposing grey barn, like a timid, white rabbit. They made their way quickly inside. The house smelled of soot and bacon. Ilien smiled and breathed deep.
"Sit here," bade the farmer. He motioned toward the kitchen table and its four wooden chairs. Ilien sat down and the dog sat beside him, nuzzling his legs with its cold, wet nose. Farmer Parson busied himself in the cupboard.
"Do you know where you are?" he asked.
Ilien looked down at the dog. "What do you mean? Sure, I know where I am." He put his hand under the dog's chin and lifted its head. I know you, he thought. "At least I think I do," he said aloud. The dog remained silent, but its back end turned this way and that in excitement. Its tongue lolled like a long, pink ribbon.
"Then you know you can't stay here long," said Farmer Parson, turning to deliver a plate and cup to the table. He placed them before Ilien and stared hard at the boy. "I never really knew you," he said. "Never thought much about the people who lived near me. Worked too hard all my life. Was mad as a cat in a bath when you broke my window that one summer, but even after that I never squandered a thought about you, or your mother, or anyone else for that matter." He peered queerly at Ilien, then moved off to the cupboard again. "Always thought I'd live forever, I guess. People just seemed a nuisance. Even my poor old Abby." He rummaged about in the cupboard and returned to the table with a slice of apple pie.
"Let me give you a piece of advice," he said, leaning over the table. "When you get back home, don't be a fool like I was." With that he plunked himself into a chair and smiled. "How's the pie?"
Ilien stared at the wedge of pie before him. He glanced down at the dog. The small, yellow stone in his hand felt warm to his touch. "Where am I?" he asked.
"You're where you're not supposed to be. I don't know how, but you're here. You must leave soon, or you'll be lost here like I am, and like poor old Kink." The farmer raised an eyebrow, waiting for Ilien's reaction.
"Kink?" Ilien lifted the dog's chin again. A bright, pink tongue flapped upon his hand. "Kink?"
The dog's eyes opened wide. "It's me, Ilien."
Ilien jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair. He stumbled backward, staring at the stone in his hand. It was the wutzit stone. "Where am I?" he said, his voice quavering.
"You are with us," answered the farmer. "You are where none living can be, but somehow you are here." The old man glanced at the stone in Ilien's hand. "You have come here by powers beyond reckoning, but you must return to harm's way. The living are not allowed to mingle with the dead."
Ilien froze. "The dead? But you're not dead."
Farmer Parson smiled sadly. "I died four nights ago while tilling the back field beside the tall hill. Died working, mind you, but dead all the same. Now here I am." He looked around the kitchen. "It's a lonely place, but I see that it's one I've spent all my life making. I was surprised and grateful when Kink arrived." He righted Ilien's chair and gestured for him to sit.
Ilien's eyes grew wide. He fell into his seat, and Kink slunk over to him. "Then it is you," he whispered to the dog, his heart filled with a sudden ache. "But why do you look so different?"
Kink jumped up and buried his nose into Ilien's neck. "I am no different than you remember," he said.
Ilien stroked Kink's head and hugged him. "Kink, you're an ordinary dog now. You use to be bigger, much bigger, in case you forgot."
Kink looked up at him with a smile, his ever-present tongue hanging out. "You see me now as you saw me then," he said, a wide grin upon his furry face. "To you I was a friend."
"Enough with the tearful reunions," said the farmer. He rose and fetched Ilien a fork. "Quick, eat your pie." He tossed the fork onto the table. "You've already been here too long."
Ilien picked at his pie, his appetite gone. "You said I should take Kink with me. Take him where?"
"Back to the place you came from. Back to the land of the living!"
Kink hung his head, as if he knew what Ilien would say.
"But how can I take him with me when he's—"
Kink turned and trotted to the far corner of the kitchen. He curled into a ball and lay shivering.
"I don't know," said the farmer, "but that dog's been claiming you'd come for him since he got here three days ago."
"Three days ago? But I don't know how to get back," whispered Ilien. He rose and walked over to Kink. "I could just stay here."
Farmer Parson pounded his fist on the table. "Ilien Woodhill! You cannot stay here!" He marched toward Ilien. "You must leave at once!"
Kink jumped up with a growl. He planted himself before Ilien, legs stiff, teeth bared. "He doesn't want to go, old man!"
"Kink," said Ilien. "Calm down. It's okay." He reached a hand out to calm him. Kink turned and bit him. Ilien pulled back his hand, bleeding. "Kink! Stop it!"
The thick fur along Kink's back bristled.
Ilien retreated. Something wasn't right. This wasn't the Kink he knew. "You say Kink arrived three days ago?"
"Yes," answered the farmer, "not a day after me."
Kink stalked forward, swinging his head from side to side.
The wutzit stone grew hot in Ilien's hand. "Kink died a week ago." A green glow shined in Kink's eyes. His pink tongue withdrew, and from his fang-filled mouth emerged a black one, thin and forked. "You're not Kink," said Ilien.
"No. I'm not," said the dog. "But you will take me with you, all the same."
Farmer Parson snatched a frying pan off the stove. "Run Ilien!" The old man charged forward.
The forked tongued dog leapt to the side, its claws leaving gashes on the floor. The farmer raced after it, waving his frying pan menacingly over his head. "Back dog! Get back!" The dog feinted left, then drove straight for Ilien.
The wutzit stone burned like a hot coal. Ilien cried out and held it before him. The kitchen filled with a blinding yellow light. The dog stopped and fell back, yelping with pain.
"Run, you fool!" cried the farmer.
Ilien fled out the door and sprinted from the house toward the stream. His only thought was of reaching the large, flat rock by the pool. It was there he had entered this nightmare, perhaps there he could also get out.
NiDemon Page 12