Some things do change. I’m a little surprised.
“She knows she’s been busted,” says Shey hugging up to me.
Kitten announces, “I’m going to go check on her,” giving Shey a stern look, then walks over to the stairs to get to her room.
My attention turns as Znuul bellows “Arthur! Join me in the office. We have a bomb to look out for and plans to discuss. Grab a bottle and come on.” Znuul leaves out of the kitchen to the office.
There’s a tug on my belt and I look down at Shey. She whispers, “You can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of their kind. They’re monsters.”
I put my hand on her shoulder and tell her I’ll try to be careful. Then I make my way to the office and let myself in.
All the TV’s are on with several set up in quadrants with four channels on them. The TV sound is off and Znuul has AC/DC playing through the speakers.
“I figure if we don’t hear anything over the news in the next eighteen hours, it’s been handled.” Znuul looks me over. “What… no bottle? Go grab yourself one. Tell the leprechaun to help himself too.”
I take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Pffif will figure it out. Me, I don’t drink a whole lot. Especially when millions of lives are hanging in the balance.”
Chapter 41
So much for good intentions. After about three hours of media watch Znuul came back with a bottle for me when he left to refresh his. He even brought me a soda to wash it back with.
We had passed the time talking small talk, agreeing that neither of us had a clue how to find Maldgorath and commenting on how vapid the news seems. And it is repetitive too, with religious extremists of all sides doing unspeakable things. The world is in chaos.
When he hands me the bottle and soda Znuul makes an interesting proposition. “Ask me anything. I’ll answer honestly. I know you have questions about me, my kind, the world I come from, the balance and its importance. Stay and drink with me. This bomb thing has me quite bothered. I’d rather have company.”
I respond by cracking the seal on the bottle and taking a short pull. The familiar burning sensation is nice. I used to drink – a lot. That was before I was gifted with my summonling crew and for whatever reason, my life came into focus. Maybe it is the fact that I’d been up for well over twenty four hours, maybe it is just because. But when that Stoli crept into me it felt pretty dammed good.
We take the next hours or so as we had, just bantering and commenting on the madness engulfing the world. I know better than to try to go drink for drink with Znuul. First, he’s huge – second he’s not human. But then, I guess I’m not entirely human anymore either. My spirit fueled metabolism heals me incredibly fast, keeps me young and works alcohol out of my system pretty darn quick too. Still, the hours pass nicely.
“Need to reload,” Znuul says holding up his empty. Mine isn’t even quarter of a way – and that’s OK. “Gimme a sec,” Znuul closes his eyes and appears to focus. A few moments later Kitten appears frosty bottle in hand, and skips over to Znuul.
“Do you guys need snacks? I can make some. We have wings and stuff.”
Snacks sound real good, so my vote is a resounding “YES!”
Kitten nods to that then stops. “Your Silithes is acting very strange. You should check on her, I don’t think she’s doing okay.”
She’s freaking busted and knows it I’m thinking, but to be courteous I tell Ms. Kitten “thanks,” as she heads out of the room happy to be on her mission of snacks.
“You haven’t asked me anything, Arthur. Why is that?”
I look over to Znuul and realize he’s right. “Tired, worried, not wanting to ask something that makes me look like a pinhead?”
That gets a great big laugh from Z.
“So what’s your first question?” It’s truth or dare without the dare.
I take a larger pull of my bottle, wash it down with soda and consider that challenge. I take in the burn and I pose a question that I hope isn’t totally stupid.
“Why care? I mean there’s that one true law thing. So why care about anyone else, much less a bunch of lowly human things you don’t even know. This bomb thing has you bugged. Why care?”
Znuul responds with a pull of his own bottle and a wry smile. “Well that’ll teach me. Do you mind if I get comfortable before I answer that particularly soul-baring question?”
“Your house, my brother,” I say and I hold the bottle up to him in toast.
With that, he pulls his tee-shirt up over his head, tears it at the back and lets it slip back on. Then he stands and drops his trousers, leaving the boxers. I know what’s next… the sounds of his expanding into his more natural demonic form. After that display, he stretches lazily and pops his neck. “Much better.”
“Okay, Dzemond whisperer, here’s the thing,” he says. “To understand my point of view now you have to have some understanding of my circumstances. So, this will be somewhat long winded. You sure you want to hear all this?”
I take a swig of my bottle, wash it down and say “After that build up? Come on…”
Znuul responds with a bigger swig of his own. “OK, history. I came to this realm with the worst of intentions. The people that brought me over did so thinking to use me as a weapon. My intention was to crush and dominate all. After I won their war, I was tricked and locked into a demon trap. You knew all that, right?”
I nod in the affirmative.
“I was in that trap for over 5,000 years. The hunger was only really bad for the first sixty days or so, then starvation kicks in and it becomes kind of okay. Of course I had summonlings that I could snack on. And like an idiot, I did - the devouring is a bit of a compulsion I have. Devouring them just prolonged the hungers and left me with nobody to share time with. The first couple hundred years without company are more or less bearable, you can count them down. Then you kind of lose track of the count. I can’t really know when I lost it, you can’t reach out, nothing can reach in – totally alone. I’d like to think it was after a few millennia?” He chuckles at that.
“But Arthur, make no mistake, at some point I lost my mind. I broke. I became delusional; hallucinations – the whole thing. It was not good, because there would always be those times where I’d have a moment of clarity and realize what was happening.”
Znuul is downplaying the mental torture. But I get it. “Shit Z, that… that’s harsh.”
“Yea,” he says offhandedly. “Anyway story forward. An archeological team finds the tomb, I’m uncovered and I’m thinking “I’ll just stay real still and once they’ll break the trap threshold I’ll be free. But, no. Not happening. I am greeted by this grey haired magus type, who basically calls me out. I try to intimidate him into releasing me and his response is that if I want out I must be bound to his will. You think I want to be leashed to another human? Oh no. I let him know what will befall him for crossing me. He tells me they’ll be sealing up the area, and doing so in the way they would - that it won’t be opened forever. You know what I did?”
“Obviously you negotiated.”
“You are too kind Arthur. I caved. I experienced complete panic. I could not imagine an eternity in that place. I allowed my will to be bound… as I was – which was a clever swerve, to this magus and awaited the gradual return of my power so I could overwhelm him. So, we went to the chateau and I went about trying to be my fearsome self. When I got too fearsome, he would send me to this dammed closet, which was hell – a tiny dark little enclosed space.
Anyway I did as you would expect and tried to manipulate him. I told him that he and I could own this world, he just needed to let me exert myself. You know what that man told me – that he was fairly happy with his life and didn’t need to rule the world. Then he asked me what would make me happy, outside of ruling the world, flipping open the gates to Helterzen, etc.”
He takes a pull off the bottle. “I could not answer that question. Not honestly anyway. I guess I wasn’t ready. I remained my own vi
le self and for whatever reason nobody really wished to be around me.” That came with a wink a smile.
“Grey was the only exception, he would take time with me. After some times in and out of the closet, I began to realize that what I craved was company. Yet the more I asserted myself, the more alone I became. Finally Grey brought it into focus for me: nobody wants to be an inferior and I was demanding that everyone around me realize their inferior nature. I was creating my own loneliness. I had a decision to make, either my ego or my need for company.”
“Damn Z,” is all I could think to say to that.
“Yes damn indeed Arthur,” Znuul tips the bottle again. “So, the real answer to your question is that I am broken, defective, and readily admit I not only enjoy, but crave the company of others. Self before all? My well being is so tied into the need to be in the company of others. It doesn’t matter if it's Hunter, or whomever. I have fear now Arthur. Fear of small enclosed spaces, fear of being alone. The fear of being alone is the worst. And that is why I care. I care because if I don’t care… I will be alone – that is unacceptable to me.”
What do you say to something like that? The only thing I could think to say is, “You got a friend in me, Ahtsag Znuul.”
Looking at the huge, purple/black beast across from me I felt a kinship I hadn’t before. This being hadn’t just given me an answer to a question, he bared his inner demons.
The door opens and Kitten has a platter of yummy smelling goodies. Not only has sleep been lacking but so has food. She lays the tray on the desk between us and goes over to Znuul, sitting on his lap. That snack was going to turn into my meal.
“What’s wrong master?”
Huge dark fingers work their way through her hair, “Just going over memories.”
“Well go over the good ones then!” Kitten proclaims.
Good idea. Good food too.
Chapter 42
Unlike Znuul, I never made it past half way of my bottle. For the last couple of hours, I’ve been on the water. There has been no news of nuclear explosion or nuclear devices. That’s not surprising – what government would want its people to know they were almost erased from existence? Talk about panic…
In addition to getting my fill of how many atrocities man is willing to commit against his fellow man in the name of his God on the news, I also learned a little more about why the balance is so important.
As Znuul explains it, the energies around our particular dimension of existence can make it easier, or more difficult to allow transit to and from other dimensions. In the case of his home dimension, Helterzen as they call it, a swing to the negative allows gates to open easier and allow more traffic through. Enough of a swing in the balance and portals that would have maybe let in one being of magnitude, could allow in ten. As he puts it, a potential for invasion could present itself.
Luckily, he explained there are particular “locks” on our dimension from Helterzen, put in place by the Fae long ago when they cast out the Dzemond from their own realm. These locks require that for a gate to be opened that allows a being such as Znuul to walk through as flesh and blood, human life must be spilled and that life be given willingly and without coercion.
Znuul told me the cost of his entry was five lives. Things must have been pretty bad back then for that deal to make sense.
We also talked a bit about the status of the Protectorate in all of this, which is pretty dim in Znuul’s view. He really, really does not care for Alistair Burningwood in the least. I tried to bring up the subject of Karen’s “protective custody” and did not get very far other than realizing that is a very sensitive nerve.
“Arthur it’s been thirty six hours since we phoned in the nuke. They must have it. You need rest.”
That’s the truth. I stand up, walk over to Z and hold my arms out for a hug. “We need to talk like this more often.”
The hug offer gets a roll of those red serpentine eyes, but he stands and I get engulfed anyway. “It’s good talking with you. And how you got me to hug you is a mystery. Go get your rest. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
I leave the office, noting that it is dark outside. I have no clue of time. Truth is, at this point it doesn’t matter. I make my way to my room and collapse on the bed.
Pillow nice. Bed good. I don’t feel like getting up to turn off the lights, so they’ll have to stay on.
I close my eyes and begin to drift away. Then I shoot up as I feel a shiver of pain coming from one of my crew. Terrible pain. Emotional pain. Anguish.
The last time I felt something like that was when Shey was forced to recount her capture and the death of her sister. It shoots through me again.
Guess I won’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.
Chapter 43
I roll to the edge of the bed and run my fingers through my hair. The wave passes though me again and I try to get a better grip on it. Unfortunately, I’m not at the top of my game. Who is it? Shey recalling bad times… probably not. She just refuses to acknowledge them. Pffif? Naa…
Damn, it’s the succubus. Has to be Sil. Kitten’s been saying she’s acting strange. Now this… has she figured a way to fake this level of stress or pain? If anyone, the mistress of manipulation could.
Another wave of shrieking pain comes through again. Being a little more alert, I pick up on what I think is a tinge of rage at the tail end of it.
Not faking. Rage is not calling for help. Rage is not an “oh, I hurt so bad – make me feel better.” Rage is what makes things like her hurt other things so very badly.
I kneel down and invoke a wave of blessed healing though myself. Not that I need to be pure to be around Sil, but I did just drink half a bottle of Stoli vodka. Running a little extra of that poison from the system couldn’t be bad.
I set up my basic mental defenses as Karen and Grey had taught me. Then I step out of my room and head for the stairs across the way to Sil’s room. I get to the door and find myself needing to take a breath. Not for the stairs – but for the drama I am sure to be marching into.
I knock on the door.
“Go away!”
I knock on the door again.
“Are you deaf!”
I check the knob and it’s unlocked. So, here I go… I enter the room and see the black tuft of Sil’s bed head hair and her wings poking out over the side of the bed.
“I told you to go away.”
“Just had to check on you.”
“I’m here. Go away.”
OK. This is going nowhere. So I walk around her bed to at least make eye contact.
She’s sitting, her arms around her legs, obvious streams of her grayish tears having rolled down her cheeks. She looks at me venomously and wipes them away.
“What?”
“Like I said, just checking on you. Had this feeling you might not be OK.”
The green alligator eyes turn to me accusingly. “I’m fine. You can go.”
This is a new seduction technique – “buzz off and get lost.” Strangely enough it’s working as now I want to stay more than leave. Something is going on here and its more than just a “so I got caught.” I stand my ground meeting her accusing glare saying nothing. Finally, she looks away; I win the staring contest.
“You’re going to send me away aren’t you? I know you are.” Her eyes return to me. “You’re going to toss me into that big white garbage pail and leave me there to rot forever. I didn’t lie to you.” She looks down. “I didn’t lie. Not sharing is not a lie. I’m not garbage. I have value.”
The sarcastic and hurtful thing to say would be something to the effect of “you just keep telling yourself that.” But that would also be the wrong thing to say. I note that she’s trembling. Anger? I try to sort through my memory of the wave of emotion I felt. Fear.
And rage.
I plop myself down across from her, sitting cross-legged. “You’re trembling,” I say in my calmest voice.
“I’m losing my mind” she says quietly, not looking
up. “Everything I had hoped for… gone. Now, I’m being sent away as worthless… again.” She closes her eyes and more of her grayish tears run down across her alabaster white cheeks.
I startle back as Sil pops up scary fast up and paces over to the other side of the room, facing the corner. Moments of awkward silence follow.
“Nobody is sending you away forever,” I say to break the tension.
“Thank you,” comes her quiet reply. After a few more moments of silence she turns around, wiping her cheeks and coming over sit on the edge of the bed away from me. “So, looks like I’ll never have you.”
Have me. Just the sound of that rubs me wrong. Like I’m a thing to be taken. Still, I put a check on those feelings for her sake. Instead I give a small chuckle. “It’s always about the sex with you, isn’t it? I understand the feeding thing and I understand the whole really time good for Sil part too. But, do you understand that I don’t think of myself as a buffet with benefits? And truth is if you haven’t figured it out already, I’m not all that driven for gratification anyhow. I like to think there’s some greater connection other that just ooo baby yea.”
She was doing a good job of regaining her composure. That was until I said what I did. It was almost like I slapped her – physically. She turns away again - I think so I can’t see the water works. After a few quiet moments she turns back meeting my eyes ever so briefly. “No connection… Almost eighty years.”
“Yea, seventy five plus years and I’m finding out I don’t know who you are. Try to see it through my eyes.”
That gets a quiet nod, “Try to see it through mine” she says. “A slutty sexpot is a lot less scary than a trained operative of death, manipulation and corruption. And it’s a more fun role to play.”
There it is. Agent of death, manipulation and corruption – what Znuul called a special forces succubus. Corruption and manipulation I knew. Death, I’ve seen that being deal that out. Now she’s telling me the whole persona I know as Sil is role-playing. Part of me wants to be pissed.
The Wielder: Sworn Vengeance (The Wielder Series) Page 16