NiDemon

by Cormier, Shawn P.

  A shout from the kitchen was followed by an anguished cry. Ilien ran on faster. The door to the house banged shut, and he glanced back over his shoulder. The creature that issued from the house was no longer a dog. Multi-legged, it slithered over the ground like a huge black centipede, forked tongue flicking out like a dagger. It closed on Ilien quickly.

  Ilien cried out and leapt the stream at its narrowest point. He fell short, thundering through the water and struggling up onto the muddy bank. The pool lay ahead, the pool and the large, flat rock. His legs burned, but the power of the wutzit stone filled him with renewed strength, and he crossed the distance in several great bounds. Leaping upon the rock he turned and raised the wutzit stone above him.

  The black-tongued creature was gone. The pool lay still and calm, its glassy surface reflecting the cloudless sky above. Ilien sank to his knees in exhaustion. Where was he? How did he get here? How would he get home? He tried to think back to what he remembered before waking up. His mind felt thick, foggy with fear and wariness. This place resisted his thoughts, kept him from remembering anything but the present moment. Even his memories of waking up beside the pool were fading. Why was he so out of breath? He peered into the pool, and couldn't remember why he'd been running. He felt something in his hand.

  A stone. I must have been skipping stones, he thought. He drew back his arm to cast it away. Something caught his attention. A tiny black centipede scurried across the rock. Ilien smiled. He felt happy here, and he didn't want to leave. He sat down, overwhelmed by weariness. A nap. Yes, a nap, he thought. He lay back and shut his eyes, the stone in his hand forgotten. The centipede crawled slowly toward him, stopped cautiously at his foot, then climbed onto his boot.

  "Yes, a nap," muttered Ilien, and he fell asleep.

  Ilien awoke to darkness. Night had settled around him, the sky above a blank void. The cold stone beneath him pressed painfully into his back, and an eerie stillness muffled his breathing. He attempted to stretch but couldn't move.

  What's happening? he thought, his mouth unable to form the words. Panic welled within him. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep warm and happy.

  No! He'd been running, running from that horrible black creature, the creature that had pretended to be Kink. It all came back to him. He fought to move but couldn't. He lay paralyzed, numb as stone, his eyes wide and frantic in the darkness. He blinked, and became aware of a chilling sound.

  Slow, heavy breathing.

  The black-tongued centipede! It was near!

  The breathing grew louder until it was almost in his ear. Ilien jerked his eyes to the side. The darkness revealed nothing. He thought frantically, what can I do? He remembered the wutzit stone. It had saved him from the Nephalim, had repelled the black-tongued creature before. It was there, still in his hand. He could feel it. He willed it to help him, pleaded for it to awaken once more.

  His fingers began to tingle. A stunning warmth radiated up his lifeless arm, casting a pale luminescence as it went. Soon, his right arm shined like a hot yellow ingot. The light pushed back the darkness.

  An intake of breath like a sharp hiss sounded in Ilien's ear, and the breathing retreated. The glow spread to Ilien's shoulders, across to his other arm and down his body toward his legs. Still he could not move, but he could feel the magical warmth of the stone's power loosening the icy grip that held him. He heard a grunt, then heavy feet. The breathing drew closer. The creature was attacking before the wutzit stone could free him!

  "Ilien!" cried a stony voice. A giant face hovered over him. It was Anselm! The Giant knelt beside him. "You're safe. The Nephalim is gone. It can't harm you. Lie still." Anselm watched the glow of the wutzit stone as it spread down Ilien's legs.

  "No! There is another demon here!" breathed Ilien. "It followed me. It followed me back here."

  "No, Ilien," said Anselm. "It was only a dream. I pulled you from the river. You've been near death for two days. You're safe. Lie still." He reached out to touch Ilien's forehead. "There is magic working here. Something returned you from death's door. Keep still while it lasts."

  Ilien sat up. "Listen to me! Something has returned with me, something horrible."

  The glow that spread down Ilien's legs halted at his boots. The power of the wutzit stone pressed forward, then shrank back. Ilien's feet remained cloaked in shadows. A deathly cold grew in them, and Ilien grabbed at Anselm's arm. "It's there," he whispered, remembering the tiny centipede on the rock beside the pool. He cried out and fell back, his legs immovable. "Anselm! My feet, they burn with cold! It's in my boots!"

  Anselm reached for Ilien's boots, intent on ripping them off, but a blinding yellow flash blasted him to the ground. The glow of Ilien's body flared like a wind-stoked fire. The magic of the stone once more advanced down his legs, forcing back the darkness. Ilien's left foot tingled with life, and only his right remained shadowed. The power of the stone marched forward. A low growl issued from Ilien's boot, a menacing challenge from the black creature within. The light stopped again, the shadows collecting before it, obscuring Ilien's foot, resisting the power of the stone.

  Ilien writhed in pain. He raised his hand and drew the Light rune.

  The unearthly light of his Nihilic spell lit the night with a dazzling brilliance. The darkness that shrouded his foot gave way. A shrill, screeching cry pierced the night, and a shadow, a roiling black shape of spinning legs and forked tongues, jumped from out of his boot. Ilien pulled his legs away, bright now with the warm glow of the wutzit stone. The shadow convulsed upon the ground, shrieking and moaning. It leapt into the air, shot from the circle of Ilien's light spell and vanished.

  Ilien and Anselm sat on the ground catching their breath. The glow in Ilien's body faded. Only his light spell remained, keeping the night at bay.

  Anselm climbed to his feet. "Are you alright?"

  Ilien nodded mutely, his eyes scanning the darkness for signs of the creature's return. "I think so," he said. He winced as he slowly pulled off his boot. An ugly purple welt ran from his heel to his ankle.

  The Giant bent over him. "You're hurt."

  Ilien flexed his toes and carefully ran his fingers over the welt. "It's bruised, that's all." He peered back into the darkness.

  "What was that thing?" asked Anselm.

  "I was hoping you would know," said Ilien. He eased his boot back on. "It followed me back."

  "Back from where?"

  Ilien regarded their surroundings. The light from his spell revealed flat, rocky ground. "Where are we? How did I get here?"

  "You don't remember? You fell into the river. I dove in after you, and found you washed upon the rocks."

  "I remember Farmer Parson," said Ilien. "I remember waking up by the stream beside his house. Everything was different—but the same." Ilien met Anselm's eyes. "He said he was dead, that I didn't belong there. I saw Kink, but it wasn't Kink, it was that creature. I ran and—"

  Ilien started. "Windy!" he cried, looking around for the princess.

  "She's alive," said Anselm. "The Nephalim is gone, but now is not the time for tales. You're hurt, and that creature is still out there."

  "That creature is something from beyond death's gate," said Ilien. "But I don't think it'll return unnoticed." He opened his hand to reveal the wutzit stone.

  "That's what drove the shadow from your boot," marveled Anselm. "A powerful talisman, but what is it? How did you come by it?"

  "It's a wutzit stone, and it was not meant to be mine. Bulcrist, the NiDemon, gave it to Windy. But now I have it, and she has the Nihilic sword that was meant for me."

  Anselm frowned. "You have fallen into bad company," he said. "NiDemons, Nephalim, Nihilic swords, and now this stone. Ilien, you are straying down a dangerous road. Look where it has led you already. I fear we haven't seen the last of that black creature."

  Anselm pulled Ilien to his feet. Ilien winced. "But you have proven yourself a worthy traveler," said the Giant. "The sword defeated the Nephalim, and the sto
ne repelled death itself. Necessity often makes allies out of enemies." He peered at the stone in Ilien's hand. "It's best if we keep watch tonight. I'll start a fire. I think I have a few fireflies left."

  Soon a small fire blazed before them. Ilien marveled as the flames danced in the air with no wood beneath them. The empty bottle of fireflies rested nearby. Ilien couldn't help feeling bad for the poor creatures, killed for the power they possessed, but he held his hands out to the warmth, thankful for their sacrifice. The fire chased away the chill in his body, but his ankle still ached. Now if only he had a brimming cup of coffee and some hot food.

  As if reading his mind, Anselm dropped a steaming hunk of Awefull onto his lap. "Eat up. You don't look so good."

  Ilien's stomach was quickly full, nauseous but full. He sat on a rock, keeping one eye on the edge of the firelight as he listened to Anselm tell of all that had happened to him since they parted company in the mountains. The Giant hadn't been lost as Bulcrist had said. He'd been ambushed.

  "The third day after we left Greattower, I steeled myself for the day's march," said the Giant. "The mountains slowed me. I knew I wouldn't be joining you for breakfast, so I jogged along at a leisurely pace. I planned on meeting you at the journey's end, at Ledge Hall, a day or two later. I knew the way and remembered all the easiest passages through the mountains. I must have let my guard down because they surprised me near sundown."

  "Who surprised you?" asked Ilien.

  "Two great wolves," answered Anselm. "And they meant to kill me straight away."

  Ilien started. "Two wolves?"

  "Yes. They were laying in wait for me as I made my way down a steep ravine not a days march from Ledge Hall. They had me dead to rights. Thankfully, there were only two."

  Ilien hovered closer to the fire. "What happened?"

  Anselm grinned and stood in the firelight. He turned his back toward Ilien. Two fresh pelts lay about his shoulders. "It isn't wise to surprise a Giant."

  "Anselm, I think I know who sent those wolves to kill you."

  Anselm sat down. "Who says someone sent them? I've met wolves in the Midland Mountains before."

  "But these wolves were sent by someone. They were sent by Bulcrist."

  The Giant eyed Ilien in silence.

  "Bulcrist. The NiDemon."

  "I know who Bulcrist is," said Anselm.

  "He keeps two great wolves in Ledge Hall as watchdogs. I saw them when I arrived, and they were gone later that night."

  Anselm shook his head. "Bad company," he said. "Why the Swan ever thought bringing you to Ledge Hall was a good idea, I'll never know."

  Ilien shot to his feet. "The Swan! If Bulcrist sent his watchdogs to kill you then—"

  "Then what?" asked Anselm, his eyes narrowing.

  Ilien quickly related what had happened. "He told us that she'd gone looking for you, that she'd cut herself trimming her wings. Anselm, he did something to her. I know it."

  The Giant stared into the flames of the firefly fire. The muscles of his jaw knotted, and his ears shone deep red in the firelight. He reached behind his back and pulled the wolf pelts off his shoulders. "Then our path is clear," he said, his stony voice unquavering as he looked at Ilien. "Whatever happened to the Swan is in the past, unchangeable. But Windy is in danger so long as she travels with the NiDemon." He tossed the pelts into the fire where they hissed and sizzled. "We must follow after them. We must catch them before anything happens to the princess. Where were you going?"

  Ilien watched as the magical fire devoured the wolf skins in a glut of black smoke. "I don't know," he said, turning back to Anselm. "I don't know where we were going."

  "What do you mean, you don't know?"

  "We were traveling to confront the Witch Queen. She holds Gallund captive, but Bulcrist never told me where, except to say it was somewhere in King's Crown."

  "King's Crown," grunted Anselm. "Yes, it is the dwelling place of the Witch Queen. But why is Gallund her prisoner?"

  "Because he had the map of the Crossings."

  Anselm's eyes hardened.

  "The Witch Queen wants the map. With it she hopes to open a Crossing, a Crossing that leads to—"

  "The forbidden Crossing," breathed the Giant. "The Crossing used to banish the Necromancer's spirit army."

  "How do you know about the forbidden Crossing?"

  "It is legend among the Giants," replied Anselm. "Are you sure that Gallund had it?"

  "Bulcrist seemed sure."

  "Bulcrist is a NiDemon, Ilien. Be careful not to trust everything he says."

  "I know," said Ilien, "but in this he was right. Gallund did have the map, and now the Witch Queen has it. The forbidden Crossing has been opened. The Nephalim is proof of that."

  "Yes. Many Nephalim were banished behind that Crossing." Anselm shook his head. "But it doesn't make sense. The Crossing can't be open. It's guarded by a legion of soldiers."

  "How do you know that it's guarded by soldiers?"

  "I've learned a great many things since becoming a heretic. Believe me when I say that the Witch Queen can't open the forbidden Crossing. She wouldn't dare set foot within a hundred miles of it."

  "But you saw the Nephalim for yourself. It was here. The Crossing is open."

  Anselm fell into thought, his face a mask of shadows in the firelight. "If the forbidden Crossing is open, then all is lost." He looked at Ilien, and the color drained from his stony face. "The Crossing lies hidden in the Castle at Asheverry, in the very heart of the Eastland. If the Witch Queen has opened it, the Kingdom of Asheverry is in peril. The line of Thessien Atenmian has fallen into ruin."

  Chapter X

  The Nihilic Sword

  Windy squeezed her eyes tight against the surrounding darkness. The cut on her forehead no longer troubled her, but her right arm throbbed painfully. She lay in her bedroll on the sandy floor of the foodshare, her only company the three horses they'd brought with them. Bulcrist had carried her back and bade her to rest. He and Pedustil remained outside, sleepless and watchful.

  But she was sleepless, too. Her heart still pounded in her chest. The Nephalim was gone, but for how long? The Nihilic sword lay next to her, and she rested her throbbing right hand upon it. It had saved her from the shadow, but not so Ilien. She squeezed the sword as if it might somehow give her strength and allow her to accept what had happened. Ilien was gone, swallowed by the river, and though Anselm dove in to save him, he had not returned. Ilien, her one and only friend through all that had gone before, had met the fate she had fought to prevent.

  His vision of his own death had come true.

  Tears came hot to her eyes, yet she buried her grief deep inside. As she lay shivering in the cold confines of her cave, one burning desire kept her heart from freezing solid.

  I will set things right, she thought. I will. And no one will stop me. Not the Witch Queen. Not the Nephalim. Not Bulcrist. I will set things right for you, Ilien.

  With that she fell numb, her emotions spent, and with her Nihilic sword cradled in her arms she drifted into a lifeless slumber.

  She woke with a start and sat up in the dark. Bulcrist stood before her, a black shadow, tall and imposing. "Is it out there?" she asked, turning to the entrance.

  The lights slowly came up until the foodshare was bathed in a dim moonlight. "No," he said. "It's gone, perhaps not for good, but for a long while. The power of your sword destroyed its physical presence, but the shadow still remains. It will make its way to its master and will find it hard to conjure its image for some time." The NiDemon regarded her in silence. "Are you well enough to travel?" he asked.

  "Anselm hasn't returned?"

  "No," answered Bulcrist. "Pedustil flew downstream for miles, but there was no sign of Ilien or the Giant. I'm sorry."

  "He has the wutzit stone," said Windy.

  Bulcrist's eyes widened.

  "It protected him from the Nephalim. I saw it. A yellow flame beat back the Nephalim's attack. It has power that Ilien can wield
. Perhaps—"

  Bulcrist shook his head.

  "Perhaps its power saved him from the river," continued Windy, ignoring Bulcrist's skepticism. "Maybe its magic protected him. He could have swam to shore. He could have wandered away from the river in the dark. He might be walking lost in the hills."

  "Princess, a wutzit stone is powerful but no one can control its magic."

  Windy fell silent and looked away. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. As hard as it was to admit, in her heart she knew Bulcrist was right.

  "Then Ilien is dead," she said. Again her anger rose up to block out her sorrow. She sat shaking in the dim light as tears of rage filled her eyes. She gripped the Nihilic sword and pulled it close. "I will face this Witch Queen for you. I will rescue Ilien's father, and I will set things straight." She looked up at Bulcrist with renewed determination. "I am Nomadin born, as well. I have the sword. You will teach me what was meant for Ilien."

  "I could," replied Bulcrist.

  "You will," said Windy, her voice quavering. For a moment she sat glaring at the NiDemon. Then she turned away and hugged her knees to her chest, the Nihilic sword levered between them. "You will."

  "And the map?" asked Bulcrist.

  "You can have your precious map. I don't care."

  Bulcrist smiled. "As you wish." He turned and strode toward the exit. "Get some rest, my young apprentice. We leave at daybreak."

  The lights faded, leaving Windy huddled in the dark, her anger suddenly drained, replaced by an overwhelming sorrow.

  Morning brought little change to Windy's mood. She'd woken some time earlier and lay in the dark to await first light, anxious and forlorn. As the foodshare lightened with the sunrise, she vowed to keep the promise she'd made to herself, and do what Ilien would have done, to avenge her friend. She would face the Witch Queen and rescue Gallund. She cried quietly, refusing to wipe away her tears. She would not cry again until she had set things right, until those responsible had paid. Silently she rose and strapped her sword to Ilien's horse—to her horse now. Then she ate some food and filled all three saddle bags. When Bulcrist entered, he found her ready to travel.