Brimstone and Lily (Legacy Stone Adventures)

by Terry Kroenung

  I swear I didn’t fall asleep. Fear of slipping off the horse sure prevented that. The dream came anyway, while I stayed full awake. Not the whole dream, just vivid snippets, and some new things. It ran quicker than usual, like time sped up. The three masked troublemakers, swords in their gloved hands, ran along a high telegraph wire as if it were a patch of flat ground. Tyrell and his cavalry comrades were dug into the beach of skulls and defended against an attack of charging foot soldiers. But the infantry didn’t wear Union uniforms. They looked to be from a lot of different times. Napoleon’s Old Guard, knights from the Middle Ages, even elephants of Mughal Raj. Ma skipped along the edge of the water in a Royal Navy tar’s uniform, smiling and waving. In the air above the ocean, with the pirate ship on the horizon, my writing woman sat, cross-legged, scribbling letters onto clouds. She spelled out CROATAN. As soon as she’d inked the last line that word spun like water going down a drain and plummeted toward the waves. Before it could get there the giant whale leaped out of the water and gulped it down. The enormous splash it made wiped out the whole image and just like that I stared at the stars between my horse’s ears.

  Shaking my head, I sucked in the cool night air and tried to make sense of it. Stranger and stranger. And while I’m awake, too. Some parts I thought I could grasp. Either the assassins somehow used telegraph wires to move quick or it served as a dream symbol for the way they did it. The historical armies might be Merchantry mercenaries from other lands. Their twisted dark magick could make that happen. CROATAN just made me ache more for Ma than I was doing already. Am I doing the right thing leaving her to her fate and followin’ Eddie? North Carolina lay just a little ways to the south. Maybe we could do a quick detour if we got to Roberta’s ship. But why was she dressed like a Britannic sailor, of all things? No one would believe it as a disguise, not for a second. Ma could do a lot of amazing things, but passing for a man? Not a chance. And that whale? Beats me. Maybe it’s symbolic of all the blubberin’ I’ve been doing.

  Try as I might, I still couldn’t get a clear view of the writer’s face. Assuming she created the dreams, she must have had some kind of magical foreknowledge of events, since they always came true. Either that, or she could actually make things happen. That’d be pretty powerful stuff. Sure hope she’s on our side if it’s so.

  I couldn’t sort it all out a hundred percent, but I was willing to bet that we’d have plenty of trouble before we could get onto that ship. Too many folks wanted to stop us. Having Jasper, Roberta, and Ernie back would make things a lot easier. Otherwise it was just down to me, Romulus, and a bunch of Rebs on Pegasus ponies.

  From my high vantage point I could see the first glowings of dawn ahead. Squinting, my no longer witched eyes spotted the edge of the land. Beyond lay the Atlantic, smooth and inviting. Each minute brought us more light and a better view of the coast. Our faces turned pink with the first peeking of the sun. After my dreadful night that sunrise cheered me like I’d just gotten a reprieve from the hangman. Soon the day arrived in all its warm golden splendiferousness. I could see all manner of ships in the water, especially six or eight miles off to our right around Hampton Roads, where the Union Navy sailed in and out of the mouth of the James. Mostly wilderness lay below us, with a couple of isolated villages here and there. Soon we’d be over the mouth of Chesapeake Bay. The last we’d heard, a week ago, the Penelope’s Kiss had hidden herself near Cape Charles, the point of land straight across the bay. No telling if she was still there now. With all of the changes in the strategic situation around Richmond, hard telling what McClellan planned on doing with his great Army and Navy. Pitcairn’s ship might’ve been flushed out of her inlet refuge. They may have had to run away or been captured. Or worse. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.

  I figured we were going to fly across the water, but Tyrell pointed down toward a tiny clearing in the woods instead. All eleven winged horses nosed gently toward the ground as if they had one mind. Before I knew it we’d touched down with no more bump than you’d feel stepping out of your own bed. Stiff and sore from a whole night astride my mount, not to mention from all the other bumps, bruises, and indignities, I slid to the ground like a hunk of wood. Right into a mud puddle. We’d landed in a swampy area. It took a long while before I could walk like a human. None of the Rebs seemed to feel a thing after eight hours in the saddle. Glancing at Romulus, it made me glad, in an ornery way, that he looked a little creaky, too. As if just noticing that he stood amidst a cluster of Confederates, the ex-slave hurried his mount off away from the rest of the group. The miraculous horses shook all over like drenched dogs, then their lovely wings just melted into them like icicles in July. In the blink of an eye they had returned to appearing like any other herd the Reb cavalry might have.

  “Can’t run on wings in daylight,” Tyrell explained. He let Alcibiades drink from a pool of dark water. “Real risky. There’s a Yankee brigade only three miles south of here. William Phelps’ men. Served in the Old Army with him.” Al snorted, spraying water on us. “Lost too many of these beauties last night as it is. Norns won’t be happy.”

  I felt my hands itching for the Stone, but didn’t want to look grabby. “Norns?”

  “Valkyries, some call them. They escort the valorous dead to Valhalla, the Norse afterlife. We bargained for the use of their steeds.”

  I let out a little laugh. “So they’re real, too.”

  “In Scandia they are, anyway. Ever since the Affluxion twelve years ago.”

  “Affluxion? What’s that? I’m guessin’ it’s some sort of calamity?”

  The captain pointed to the tree line. Everyone began leading their horses in that direction. “It has a great many names, depending on the point of view of who’s talking. You know, for a Stone-Warden you haven’t been well-taught about this.”

  So much for my grand disguise. Eddie would laugh his head off. “So I fooled you with my Mary Williams story for how long, exactly?”

  He smiled and rubbed my head, hat and all. “Never, I’m afraid.”

  “Shoot. I spent a lot of effort thinkin’ up all o’ that.”

  We left the clearing and walked into the shade of the woods. The troopers tied their horses to trees and began feeding and grooming them. Hoof picks and curry combs came out. So did apples and sugar cubes. Nice to know that even the mounts of the gods like treats.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Tyrell said, pulling Al’s saddle off. “If it makes you feel any better, I was looking for you and your Marshal. I’d been sent to escort you here.”

  “Sent? By who?” I’d figured he was no ordinary Confederate soldier, but what his exact mission might be had me stumped.

  He reached inside his jacket and took out the Legacy Stone. “Before we get to that, maybe you’d better take this back. Having it makes me nervous.”

  I practically snatched the fingers from his hand. Dangling the Stone by its broken silk cord, I grinned. My Stone! Jasper! The instant I touched it the world changed. Everything became brighter, louder, better. I could smell the soap Tyrell had last used. Whispered conversations a hundred feet away felt like they were next to me. Much of my aches and pains faded to a tolerable dullness. My mood grew happier, less anxious. Who needs that horrid whiskey when I’ve got you?

  “Aw, I didn’t know you cared!” giggled Jasper. “Shall we plan a long engagement or just elope?”

  “You just reminded me why boys are icky,” I said out loud.

  Tyrell’s eyebrows shot up and the corner of his handsome mouth twitched. “Miss Verity, you sure can charm a man who gives you gifts,” he muttered.

  Oops. “Oh, I wasn’t talkin’ to you, I was talkin’ to…uh, never mind.” I switched to thought, but turned away from the Reb anyway. “I feared you might be gone forever.”

  Jasper made a ppfft sound. “All on account of a silly raven? Come to think of it, he’s the one who’s gone forever. You’d think that a trained thief bird would know to watch out for flying Valkyrie horses when he’s on
a mission.”

  “I’d have expected it to be mentioned on the first day of Evil Avian Saboteur School.”

  “Me, too. Right along with Don’t Accept An Assignment During Huntin’ Season.”

  I examined the cord, sliced by the late bird’s beak. “Then again, maybe my trainer should’ve told his new Stone-Warden to invest in a good steel chain.”

  “Naw. I believe in throwin’ the baby bird right outta the nest. That’s the only way to learn to fly.”

  Tying the cord with a tight knot, I turned back around to watch the horses being tended to. “Not true, Mr. Smarty-Pants. I learned to fly on a winged stallion.”

  Jasper took on a wistful tone. “And after that, can puberty be far behind?”

  “Huh?”

  “I did some research. Hoo, boy! But never you mind. What now?”

  I froze, because the Stone had. Or rather, it had stayed cold ever since last night. It glowed bright red, too. My fingers jumped away from it. “We got a problem. Dark magick’s about.”

  “At six in the mornin’? I thought evil forces tended to sleep in.”

  “No, I think they work for Pinkerton’s. ‘We Never Sleep’ could be their motto, too.” Allan Pinkerton, the famous detective who’d stopped a plot to kill Mr. Lincoln the year before, spied on the Rebs for McClellan. Must’ve been the war’s worst-kept secret.

  Tyrell stood just a few feet away, peering at one of Al’s hooves. As an experiment I walked in a loop around all of the other eight troopers. The farther I got from the captain, the warmer and duller my Stone got. Oh-oh.I was right all along. Then why’d he return it? To throw me off the scent? To let some other unholy beastie do his dirty work later on? Sighing, I returned to him, feeling the Stone chill again, and thought of a way to test it further.

  “Fellow over there wants you, Cap’n,” I told him, pointing to a sergeant who squinted at his bridle. The man stood on the opposite side of our patch of woods, a good seventy feet away.

  “Boggs? What’s he done now? I swear, he’s so accident-prone it’s a wonder his horse’s wings don’t fall off.” Still grumbling, he stomped off to check on his man.

  While waiting for the Stone’s light to fade, I dug that apple out of my haversack and held it out to Alcibiades. The gorgeous golden beast chomped on it like he’d never tasted one before. He gave me a grateful look, the same you’d see after sneaking candy to one of your friends during school. Stroking his long shining pale mane and rubbing his soft nose, I wondered if Tyrell might let me have him once the war ended. That’s assumin’ that the Cap’n’s not a soul-destroyin’ agent of the dark side.

  “Uh, I hate to say it, but I think the Reb’s off the hook,” Jasper said.

  I frowned. “What d’you mean?’

  “The Stone.”

  Grabbing it, I felt the freeze run halfway up my arm. Huh? I looked over at Tyrell, who trudged back over after finding out that poor Boggs had no problem after all. Then I stared at Al, dripping apple juice onto the marshy ground. I backed up a couple of steps, mouth hanging open. I’d found my spy. Now I understood how the bad guys always knew where to find me.

  “Aw, Al,” I moaned to myself, “how could you?”

  “That’s a first,” Tyrell said as he returned from his vain trip. “Boggs’s tack looks perfect. Why did you---?” He put his hands on his hips. “What’s wrong?”

  Holding up the glowing Stone, I told him, “The Stone detects dark magick.”

  “So? There’s none of that here anyplace. My men are all---you mean Al?”

  I nodded. “’Fraid so. The Stone’s never wrong.”

  “Well, it’s wrong this time, little lady. It’s literally impossible for a Norn horse to be turned.” He reached out to cuddle Alcibiades’ neck.

  “Get back!” With Stone-strength I wrenched Tyrell back by his collar, tossing him six feet behind me. I couldn’t tell from his horrified look which alarmed him more, his horse being a spy or me being that strong. “He could witch you.”

  Poor old Al just gave me the saddest look I ever did see. He seemed to sag with the weight of his betrayal. It was such a woeful gaze that I was tempted to cuddle him myself. Gotta be strong now. Much as you may like him, he has to be done away with now. Grit your teeth and do it. I’d just about mustered up the gumption to put him down—or at least get Tyrell to do it, anyway—when I noticed that Al’s miserable eyes weren’t even looking at me. They were aimed at his rump.

  “What’s he lookin’ at?” Jasper wanted to know.

  “Good question.” I stepped to the horse’s rear and poked around. Not seeing much, I ran my hand along his backside until I found a half-inch lump. Parting the hair, I saw what distressed Alcibiades. “Yuck!”

  Tyrell leaned in to look for himself. “Ah. A tick. Been feedin’ a while, too.” With a small knife from his boot he pried the nasty blood-swollen thing off and tossed it far over his shoulder. “That should fix the problem.”

  It didn’t fix the problem at all, it only shifted it. When the little sucker had flown from the captain’s hand, the Stone had begun to fade.

  I smooched Alcibiades right on his adorable nose. “Good for you!” I cried, turning to see where the tick had landed. Lucky for us, it had stuck to a boulder at the base of a pine tree. “Quick, kill it! Before it gets a message off.”

  “The tick?” Tyrell frowned, like I’d lost my mind.

  “It’s been usin’ dark magick to help ‘em track you! And me!”

  My serious face must’ve convinced him. Striding over, the knife raised like he was charging a Yankee line, the Reb made ready to slay the horrid thing.

  But just as he got there a sort of crackle snapped through the air. In another second an eight-foot tall angry purple tick had swatted him clear back to land at my feet.

  30/ Redeemers

  “A disappointed demon is a creatively vengeful one.”

  Jasper made an eeew sound. “The Merchantry must be havin’ trouble recruitin’ quality help these days.”

  Maybe you already think ticks are disgusting, but I’m here to say that they’re a powerful sight ickier when they’re the size of a milk wagon. Having one go for you with a two-foot snout barbed like a whaling harpoon makes it even worse. The thing’s body, usually flat, had swelled up to more than ten times its normal size from drinking horse blood. Poor Al. We faced a red-blue monstrosity that looked for all the world like an enormous eight-legged vampire grape. Its black eyes stared at me with a kind of hate that you wouldn’t think a bug capable of. That was the most awful part. The eyes were human.

  This is a person…or used to be.

  Since I had to concentrate on avoiding its clumsy charge I didn’t have time to worry about whether it might be a mage shifted into this form by choice or some poor sap who’d upset the Merchantry and ended up a tick as a penalty. Smacking Alcibiades on the rump to get him out of the way, I hauled the half-conscious Tyrell out of the monster’s path. That fearsome snoot stabbed the damp ground right where we’d stood. Mud and grass sprayed up as the tick yanked its weapon back out and turned toward us. It ignored everyone else and just went for me. I got the captain on his feet and pushed him away. All around me the Rebs had overcome their surprise. They started cocking pistols, carbines, and anything else lethal.

  Tyrell threw up his hands. “No guns! You’ll bring Bill Phelps’s whole brigade down on us.”

  His men looked at him like Union infantry might be the lesser of two evils, but holstered their weapons anyway. Sabers screeched out of scabbards. They’d fight the thing on its own terms. Somebody grabbed my collar and dragged me back away from our attacker. That irked me but at the same time I didn’t much want to reveal myself to the whole group by waving Morphageus around if I didn’t have to. With a quick glance over my shoulder I saw that it was Romulus. Of course.

  “What?” I said, keeping a wary eye on the angry tick. It butted two troopers into trees with a twitch of its head. “You think I can’t handle one measly bug?”


  “Ain’t that,” he answered, holding his Bowie knife by the blade, “I just thinks you ought t’ pick your battles. “They kin handle this.”

  That was a matter of opinion. Another pair of soldiers lay on the ground now, run over like unlucky matadors at hell’s bullfight. Horses scattered out of the way, neighing in excitement. I heard no terror from Al or any of his fellows, just the thrill of battle. The trees were too thick to make the Valkyrie mounts any help here. They couldn’t spread their wings and get above the beast. One of the Rebs did it without them. He’d scrambled up a tree and dropped onto the tick’s swollen back. But as he slid with boots-first and sword raised toward its head, the giant bug scraped him off by crashing into the same tree. Then it speared another trooper dead in the chest. My stomach churned as the harpoon went through the man like he was warm butter. With one quick gurgle he went limp and dropped dead to the grass. It was the luckless Boggs. I guess you really were accident-prone. The tick pulled its gory weapon out of the corpse. It ignored the other two cavalrymen and the woozy Tyrell. Finding a wide-enough path through the trees it lowered its head and made the ground tremble as it lumbered at me.

  “Looks like this battle picked me,” I said, holding up the rune-bladed Morphageus.

  Romulus nodded and raised the knife. “Sho’ nuff does.”

  I’d already given Jasper an image of what I wanted to do. As Romulus snapped his arm forward and threw the huge knife into the monster’s eye, I stabbed my sword tip into the earth and jumped aside. By the time the tick hit Morphageus it had grown up and out into a giant silvery guillotine from the Gaulle Revolution. The charging bug crashed full-tilt into it, getting jammed inside the frame. Its remaining all-too-human eye glared hot at me for a second before, I swear, the look turned to something like relief. Then the angled blade slid down to shear the horrid thing’s head clean off.

  “Yuck!” complained Jasper. I touched the guillotine. It shrank back into its normal sword shape, rune-light fading with no dark magick left to fight. “These things definitely do not taste like chicken.”