The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption

by YS Pascal

  Folkvanger’s gates were barred by word of Syr.

  The recitation was an epic that recounted generations of deities, kings, and soldiers, and I couldn’t catch most of the names and places as Robert ‘sang’. I found my mind drifting to how much my warrior friend Matshi would have enjoyed the performance. Alas, since little of this history had been in the Mingferplatoi Academy uploads, and none of it was “on the test”, I had little real interest in learning the details of a world I didn’t intend to visit for very long. Unlike Spud, who took in every stanza with rapt attention. Ain’t “wuv” grand?

  I did hear enough to learn that John Galt and NoOne very likely were demons, sent from Niflheimr, the Land of Ice, and Muspell, Flame Land, to capture warriors trekking to Azgaror and deliver them to Hel. Even spelled with one ‘L’, it sounded, like, well, Hell.

  Robert reassured us—me—that at our current size, we were unlikely to run into any more dangerous predators. Except of course the Goliath Jotuns, who were still three times our current dimensions. Good to know. Sure wish I had an Ergal—or even a slingshot.

  Thanks to our longer legs, we arrived at Azgaror a few hours before sunset without a scratch and with very few blisters. It felt like my sneakers didn’t grow as much as my feet. I was also starting to get a bit hungry, seeing as it was almost two days since my last meal and our swim in the nutrient pond. Can’t explain it, but I had a weird desire to capture and eat a cockroach. Or an elf. But, instead, we agreed to join Robert at an Inn on the outskirts of Valholler for a dinner of mead and wild boar. Yum.

  The village of Azgaror consisted of arc-shaped narrow streets framed by dark, brick-paved alleys. A layer of gray clouds that reminded me of the overcast marine layer typical of late spring Los Angeles--“June Gloom”--kept any sunslight well hidden. The pavement on which we trudged was drenched with a misty dampness that should have made Spud feel nostalgic for his sceptered isle. On both sides of the road stood domed four storey buildings, all painted in colors that I could neither place nor name. “These chromatic frequencies do not exist in our brane,” Spud theorized. “One could amuse oneself by inventing new names such as glue and breen, I suppose.”

  “This isn’t a sightseeing trip,” I reminded Spud sotto voce. “The sooner we find Wart, the greater the chance of finding John.” The yellow brick road was winding through the center of the town, its path ahead hidden by the curves in each block. Frigid drafts kept too many fur-clad pedestrians from joining us on the street in the last leg of our voyage. And the gusts from the galloping horseback riders that burst onto our path every few yards upped the wind chill. Shivering, I pulled the Somalderis off my hips and wrapped it around my shoulders. Much better. Robert must be freezing in his state of relative undress.

  Robert had continued ahead of us, and I ran up to catch his ear. “Is Agriarctos staying in the village?” I asked. It would be easier—and more pleasant--to find our ally without having to navigate Hades and its lost souls in Valholler.

  “I know it is a hassle, but he’s staying in the castle,” was the Prince’s response.

  Darn. On the other hand, if John himself was in Hades, we’d have to go there, too, so we might as well head in that direction straightaway. I suggested a quick refuel and then storming Valholler’s gates, but it was not to be. Admission was limited to heroic warriors fallen in battle, Robert poemed us, as well a few invited special guests. “Being a deity, for example, would be ample.”

  Spud sometimes acts like he’s a cut above the typical human, but, no, neither of us thought we could successfully sell ourselves as gods. As a prince, couldn’t Robert finagle us an “invitation”?

  A dramatic sigh. “The end is nigh, it was a lie.”

  What? “What?!” I felt even more irate than I sounded. Spud made an unintelligible gurgling sound.

  “My words I mince, I’m not a prince. The royal court I pester, but, simply, I’m a jester.”

  Oh, great. Another Sarion, the comedian. “Then get to the punch line,” I countered.

  “If I brought you here, said the bald vizier, they’d remove the curse, and I’d stop the verse.”

  I frowned. Who’s the bald vizier? What’s a vizier?

  “A vizier is a high ranking political advisor or minister,” Spud said, his voice cracking. I could almost see daggers in his eyes appearing when he glared at Robert. That’s why I’ve never been a fan of one night stands. Or “wuv”.

  “Are you implying we have to break into Valholler?” I poked an index finger at Robert’s sternum. “Why?”

  Robert glanced at the Somalderis warming my shoulders. “I’d be wary of what you carry.”

  I looked at Spud for some elaboration, but he avoided my gaze. Shaking my head, I said to the amusement artist formerly known as the “Prince”. “Okay, then, Robert the Ribald, let’s get some chow and strategize how we can get past those warrior guards. Now.”

  * * *

  Azgaror—present day

  If only we had our Ergals. We could anamorph into 350 pound samurais and bulldoze our way into the castle—heck, we could even invisible-ize and not have to bother. Unfortunately, even though I tried, I wasn’t able to get the Somalderis to shape shift us at all.

  Could Robert? After all, turning into a non-Prince from a frog was a sweet trick.

  “I know you’ll be blue, but I no can do,” Robert admitted, explaining that the “frog thing” was part B of the rhyming curse, and not an anamorphing talent. Apparently, the Vizier was a big fan of fairy tales—and foolish curses.

  I sighed. We needed a plan B then. Perhaps some martial costumes? Chainmail? Shields?

  Robert rested a platonic hand on my shoulder. “No sad face, I know just the place.”

  I swallowed the last of my boar and forced a smile.

  * * *

  “Awfully dark in this alley,” I whispered, as I watched the shadows from moonslight seeping through the deserted towers alongside us flicker across Robert’s bare back. “You sure we’re going the right way?”

  Robert waved us a few yards forward and stopped at a structure that was decrepit as well as deserted. A wooden sign hung from a single chain, swinging rhythmically with the biting wind that had eroded the painted scarlet letters til they were almost too faded to decipher.

  “Ambrosia,” Spud ventured, his vision and interpreting faculties, as always, surpassing mine.

  “Never fear, we are here,” Robert announced, his words a reverberating echo that made both Spud and me do a quick 360 scan to make sure we hadn’t been followed. Robert opened a squealing oak door and led us into a dimly lit hallway, illuminated only by remnants of simmering candle wax hanging precariously from tarnished holders along the peeling walls.

  “And where exactly is that?” Unless this was a secret tunnel into Valholler, I wasn’t optimistic that we were making progress towards our Plan B.

  Robert paused before a splintered door, brightened only by worn patches of reddish paint. “Before we concede defeat, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” he said with a grin as he shot out an arm to open the door, and stepped aside to let us through.

  Oh, my. Before us was a large cavern, rainbow-tinged stalactites and stalagmites dripping blue liquids onto a smooth, slippery floor. Across from our entry stood a tall, wizened, gray-bearded man, dressed in azure and gold robes, wearing a long cone-shaped hat that displayed several recognizable constellations. From our universe. In his right hand, the old man gripped a Geryon, the facile tool that my former classmates Setsei and Suthsi had used to help us escape the clutches of Benedict and his minions not so long ago.

  Robert waved at the cave’s tenant. “Marlin, darlin’.”

  I tossed an eye roll at Spud before facing Robert with hands on hips. Gently. “Merlin? Really, Robert? He looks like he just walked off the set of “Fantasia”. And, anyway, didn’t you promise us there wouldn’t be any wizards in Az?”

  Robert shrugged off my irritation. “No need to wince. You know I’m not a prince.
”

  A deep chuckle from across the cave, as Marlin, eyes twinkling, started ambling towards us. “’Do not put your trust in princes, in mortal men, who cannot save’. Psalm 146:3, right?” Marlin stopped before us and extended his arms in welcome, adding, “Though I have advised Robert that he might rethink his habit of being annoying. Not everyone humors his humor, as his rhyming penance amply demonstrates.” The wizard’s accent sounded vaguely Scottish, with a hint of American.

  “So, are you the Wizard of—I mean the Vizier of Az,” I grumbled.

  Another guffaw. “Oh, good heavens, no.” He removed his hat to release and shake out his silver shoulder-length locks. “Hardly. Though I do admit I’ve known my share of Viziers in my days. But, inevitably, the bloom falls off the polished apple, and one can only survive if one moves on.” A long sigh. “I have been trying to change my behavior these last few hundred years, instead of falling in with the same type of bad apples over and over. At my age it’s getting harder and harder to go on the run at the end of our run.”

  “Looks like you ran from our universe.” I added, nodding at the hat in his hands.

  “Oh, dear,” said Marlin, shaking his head, “I did forget to change my hat this morning. One of these days I’ll forget my own brain.” He looked up at each of us, one at a time. “And what brane are we in today?”

  “I theorize Brane 5,” said Spud. “But that remains to be seen. Tell me, Marlin,” he continued, “was Julius Caesar or was King Arthur your crowning ‘vizier’?”

  Marlin’s eyes narrowed. “I preferred Iulius Kaisar, frankly. Much more sure of himself—less wishy-washy. Consensus isn’t always the best management style, as my old friend Machiavelli used to say. But you’re a clever fellow, now, aren’t you? Somehow, you remind me quite a bit of Lancelot.”

  “Not a bad call sometimes,” I muttered sotto voce, earning glares from Spud and Robert.

  “Your speech reveals tenures in Imperial Rome, medieval England, rural Wales, and 20th century New England, among other traits. Even without knowing your name, the deduction is simple.”

  “And sometimes he’s just showoffalot,” I said, louder.

  Marlin, and the others, ignored my crack. “Ah, my name, truly a cross to bear. Do you know that the Welsh made it sound like a French curse? My brethren never had this problem. But, as I chose to swim alongside humans, I have only myself to blame.” He cleared his throat. “And who is to blame for your exile in this Purgatory?”

  “My brother. John. John Rush,” I dived in. He disappeared three years ago,” more forcefully, “working undercover. We think he might be a prisoner in his brane--this brane.”

  Marlin’s expression was sympathetic. “I’m sorry about that, young lady. But I’ve heard nothing in the winds about a John Rush.” A twinkle in his rheumy eyes. “Is that all you desired from me, I expect, considering my age?”

  “Uh, not exactly.” I took a deep breath, trying not to giggle at his implication. “We’d like to get into Valholler, Without dying in battle. Maybe some disguise? Can you help us?”

  Marlin frowned. “Ooh, now that may be a challenge. I don’t know that I’m able to—“

  “Well, seeing as you’re a wizard, after all,” I interrupted, nodding at the spear in his hand.

  “’Tis a Geryon, Shiloh,” Spud whispered. “How much of a wizard was our Suthsi?”

  Oh. Spud had a good point. My former Mingferplatoi Academy classmates, the Ytran meiotes Setsei and Suthsi had no ‘powers’ without their Geryon. Did Marlin?

  “Must you puncture my delusions of wizardry with your Geryonic intellect,” Marlin growled at Spud, adding in a softer tone. “I have an image to protect.” He tilted his head at Robert.

  Robert looked confused, “The conversation at hand, I don’t understand.”

  Feeling a twinge of empathy for the old magician, I jumped in, misdirecting with enthusiasm. “Look, Marlin, why don’t you take your magic wand here,” I pointed at the Geryon, “and dress us up in some costumes that’ll get us through. Like battlefield armor?”

  A smile. “Now why didn’t you say so. Of course I can arrange that. But, I have a better idea. I knew my days riding Níðhöggr the Dragon would come in handy. With these outfits they won’t dare turn you away.” Merlin aimed his Geryon at Spud. “You first. This’ll just take a minute.”

  I had a momentary flash that maybe we shouldn’t have been so naive. Sure, Geryons could anamorph our external appearance, but with the right—or wrong—manipulation, they could also stun or kill us.

  “Wait!” The cry came from Spud. He stepped off to one side, holding up both hands. “Just take those rocks over there and anamorph them into costumes instead, all right? We can dress ourselves.”

  “All the world isn’t made of faith and trust and pixie dust, eh?” Marlin smiled again and genially turned his Geryon towards the pile of rocks a few yards away from his golden pointed shoes. In a second, the rocks’ molecules had been rearranged to form colorful robes and hairpieces for us to don.

  “No, not in my universe,” said Spud, reaching for the Geryon. “You know, I think we shall also need new pairs of shoes. Would you mind if I added a finishing touch?”

  Marlin’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but, to my surprise, he handed the Geryon to my partner. “As my friend Ben Franklin used to say, ‘Trust thyself, and another shall not betray thee.’”

  Nodding, Spud aimed the Geryon at a few remaining pebbles near the pile of clothing. I stepped back a couple of inches. Handling a Geryon well took a lot of practice—was Spud really qualified to use this uncommon tool? I hoped so, for all our sakes. As our eyes were trained on the ground target, Spud swung the Geryon around and pointed it at Marlin’s head, activating it. The wizard’s skin and hair began to melt and diffuse into a sparkling mist that formed a halo around Marlin’s upper body.

  I gasped. Underneath the grey locks and the wizened features, we began to see shiny scales that adorned the smooth face, eyes, and mouth of a giant fish. Marlin was a Glieser!

  Among the many lessons we’d studied at Mingferplatoi Academy, at least for those of us who were non-telepathic, was Interspecies Cultural Communication. Sure, it meant uploading Zygan and a host of other languages into our brains and not just into our Ergals. But it also meant learning to read the signals across species. For example, if you’re chatting with a Chidurian, who basically resembles a giant crab, how do you know when he’s happy or, well, crabby? Some Scyllian species and other canines have these heartbreaking sad eyes, even when they’re ‘walking on air’. And, most Rigellians literally walk on air—but only when they’re angry! So, Spud and I had to call up our Academy memories to recognize that Marlin’s piscine features were registering a mix of fury and disappointment. And a lack of oxygen.

  “Just wanted to confirm my theory,” Spud admitted, as he moved the Geryon away, restoring Marlin to his panting humanoid form. “Your lifespan is not unique for a Zygan. But one question remains.” He raised the Geryon again, and we all jumped back another foot.

  “The aqueous world is the world’s womb,” Marlin finally spoke in a hoarse whisper, “but it is the Gliesers’ cage. I so envied our Coelacanth cousins that had escaped the water’s clutches and tasted the dry dirt and the fresh air. I spotted the Geryon among the wreckage of an Ytran cruiser in the Kepler 5b backwaters, and thought I could barter it for a ticket to a Glieser starship, and a chance to explore the world beyond. It was only when I started to fiddle with it that I realized it wasn’t a toy, and that its many powers included shape-shifting.” Marlin’s eyes sparkled as he cast a loving glance at the spear-like weapon. “I no longer needed to see the universe from the inside of a Glieser aquarium. I could be free to travel through the air with this Geryon that’s rarely left my side.

  “You sound like my brother,” I said, snorting. “Only he wanted to escape the cage of dry land and an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. The grass always looks greener in Level 3.”

  “It is a truism, but,
as truisms go, it’s true. We cannot escape ourselves. God only knows I have tried. Again and again.” Marlin waved an arm at the stalactites above our heads. “And yet, here we are. Isn’t this a lovely cage?” Were those actual tears in his bloodshot eyes?

  “Indeed, Marlin, here we are,” Spud conceded before returning the Geryon to Marlin.

  “Purgatory has never looked better, but we have Heaven and Hades in our sights,” Spud added, motioning for us to pick up the clothes. “Thanks for the Geryon. Shiloh, Robert,” he winked, “let us carry on.”

  * * *

  Valholler—present day

  Which is how three Valkyries arrived at Valholler’s gates, their long flowing horsehair extensions whipping in the wind, their long flowing robes hiding the stuffing strategically placed to make my two male companions, Spud and Robert, sport C-cups. When you use a Geryon rather than an Ergal to anamorph, you have to improvise.

  I hadn’t expected to face the leers we got from the thousands of warriors as we walked softly and nonchalantly down the red carpet towards the massive iron castle doors. I’d have to take the bullet for my team if the soldiers got pushy, as they might be put off by Robert and Spud’s male anatomy. On the other hand, since women here weren’t exactly a common commodity in the encampments of these horned warriors, maybe I was worrying too much. Glad I thought to bring along a big stick as a staff, just in case one of them decided to mount…a campaign in my direction.

  The sentry at the castle entry asked for our names as we approached. “Fagrskinna, let us inna,” said Robert.

  I stifled a giggle. A fitting Norse narrative name.

  “Heimskringla,” followed Spud, lifting the name of another Norse saga. Now what was the one I was going to use…?

  “Kriskringla,” I erupted, flashing a warm smile and waving my “staff”.

  “At the behest of the vizier.”