by James Maxey
From inside the haze there was a sharp high-pitched shout of “Aiigh!” It took a fraction of a second to realize that this wasn’t another war-cry. Numinous trailed dust as he shot skyward, a good fifty feet up the shaft, both hands grasping his crotch. Infidel sprang up as the boy reached his apex. The Golden Child’s eyes went wide as he spun his body, trying to avoid landing in Infidel’s grasp, but, as I knew all too well, no amount of arm-flapping and desperate kicking can change the trajectory of a falling body.
Infidel lifted an arm and grabbed the boy by the ankle, then swung him in an overhead arc to plant his face in the gravel.
“The fight is over!” shouted Lord Tower, jumping toward the combatants.
“The hell it is,” growled Infidel, whipping the boy up again, painting the gravel before her with a line of bright blood.
“The War Doll is programmed to taunt its enemies,” Relic said, though I don’t know if anyone was listening. Everyone’s eyes were wide with horror as Infidel spun the boy’s limp body around overhead and flung him. The child smashed into the stone wall above the Truthspeaker. The boy bounced off, completely limp, as the Whisper dove to catch him. She lowered his battered body gently to the ground. He was bleeding from both ears. His arms were bent at odd angles, as if they had too many joints.
Everyone was paralyzed as they stared, slack-jawed, at the bloodied child. Ivory Blade was the first to recover his senses. He whirled around, drawing his sword, as he shouted, “You’ve broken our Golden Child!” He leapt toward Relic, the tip of his sword aimed for the hunchback’s eyes.
Lord Tower reached out his gauntleted hand and caught the albino swordsman in mid-strike. The sword sliced the air six inches away from Relic’s hood.
“Let me go!” Blade cried out.
Father Ver turned from Numinous and shouted, “You will calm yourself!”
Instantly, the look of rage vanished from Blade’s features. He straightened his clothes as Tower set him back on the ground.
“The boy is not the Omega Reader,” said Father Ver, coolly. “He failed the thirteenth test; he faced an ancient monster, and could not defeat it.”
“But-” said Blade.
“The truth is before your very eyes. The boy misjudged his opponent; the true Omega Reader would never deceive himself so. This boy was just the latest in a long string of false hopes.” Father Ver glanced at the fallen boy with a look that was half pity, half contempt. “Numinous was poisoned by arrogance. This is one of the most insidious forms of self-deception.”
Infidel wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation. Instead, she moved slowly toward the boy, her eyes full of guilt. Relic intercepted her, taking her by the arm as he said to Tower, “Aurora has some skill as a healer. Let her look at the boy; perhaps his life can be saved.”
I doubted that Aurora was up to the task. Barely a minute had passed and both the boy’s arms were swelling up, turning purple from where bone had punched through muscle. His body trembled as he sank deeper into shock. A cold compress on the forehead wasn’t going to fix this.
However, the question of what Aurora could do was rendered moot as the man in red robes stepped toward Lord Tower. “You threatened to cut off my hands if I touched your precious Golden Child,” he said. “Now that he’s failed you, do you mind if I save his life?”
The knight nodded. “Do what you can, Deceiver.”
I suddenly had an explanation for why this man had a big ‘D’ tattooed on his forehead. I had thought that Deceivers were only bogey-monsters that monks used to frighten orphans. A fundamental tenant of the Church of the Book was that truth was truth; there was nothing subjective under the sun. The reality recorded in the One True Book was the only reality, inviolate, inflexible.
Deceivers, on the other hand, believed that nothing at all is true, not even the experience of our own senses. Everything we assume about reality — that the sky is blue, that grass is green, that snow is cold and fire is hot — is merely a shared delusion, constantly reinforced by people desperately clinging to the illusion of stability in a world where nothing is absolute. The One True Book was merely a work of fiction in the Deceiver’s world view. The Deceivers thought of themselves as shared authors of this fiction, and, as such, were free to edit reality to their liking. They were the greatest enemies of the church. What was one doing here, alive? I couldn’t believe Father Ver hadn’t slit his throat the second they met.
The Whisper recoiled as the Deceiver knelt beside the boy, stepping back several feet, as if she didn’t want to risk breathing the same air.
“Can you help him?” asked Aurora, as she knelt down next to the Deceiver.
“I possess the power to heal any injury,” the Deceiver said, running his hand along the boy’s arm. “Though I believe we were all mistaken in thinking the boy was seriously harmed. Wipe the blood away, and he’s suffered little more than a few scratches and bruises.”
And, indeed, as the Deceiver wiped the blood and grit from the boy’s limbs, the flesh no longer looked so distorted. Perhaps it had only been a trick of the light that had made the wounds look so serious before.
“He’s just had the wind knocked out of him,” the Deceiver said, cradling the boy’s face, pushing back the eyelids to look at the dilated pupils. “He’ll come out of it any minute.”
Everyone had fallen silent as they watched the Deceiver tend to the fallen boy. The only sound was a faint rasping noise. The sound was coming from the Truthspeaker, grinding his teeth. His eyes were narrowed into slits as he watched the Deceiver restore the boy to health. Finally, he could stand no more.
“Get your unholy hands off him!” He jumped forward, his robes flying as he kicked the kneeling man in the head. “I would rather see the boy die than be tainted by your filthy lies!”
Numinous, still unconscious, gasped as his left arm twisted once more, obviously broken. Yet, the boy still looked better than he had before. The Deceiver lay beside the boy, glaring at Father Ver with naked hatred as he rubbed the sandal-print on the side of his jaw.
Tower grabbed Father Ver by the nape of his neck and hauled him back before he could kick the Deceiver again. “Control yourself,” he said. “Zetetic is using his power for good, as promised.”
“Promises mean nothing to his kind!” Father Ver shouted. His spittle flecked Tower’s faceplate. “He swore only to use his power to alter his own form, and already he has broken this vow by altering the boy’s body!”
Zetetic, the Deceiver, said, “Technically, I gave myself the power to heal. The boy’s body wasn’t altered, only restored, until you meddled.”
Father Ver went bug-eyed. He once more lunged toward his enemy, but Lord Tower held him back. “His presence is an abomination! The king is mad to include him on this quest!”
Tower sighed. “If the king is mad, so be it. He is still the king, and it’s our duty to obey him. I forbid you to strike Zetetic again.”
“There are greater authorities than the king,” Father Ver growled. “You cannot honestly expect me to simply stand and bear witness to such blasphemy!”
“You could always close your eyes,” Zetetic said.
Father Ver sputtered a string of meaningless syllables as his rage stripped him of coherent speech.
“Get back to work,” the knight said to Zetetic as he lifted the Truthspeaker from his feet and carried him back several yards.
The Deceiver looked at the boy and shrugged sadly. “I’ve done all I can. Father Ver has aborted the newborn reality we created where the boy was cured. Still, I think it persisted long enough to save the boy’s life.”
Aurora still knelt beside the unconscious child, probing his arm tenderly with her beefy fingers. She looked up and said, “I can set the arm in a splint. For a boy this age, the bone will heal in a matter of weeks.”
Father Ver turned away in disgust. He grumbled to Tower, “At the command of an earthly king we ally ourselves with liars, ogres, and rogues. What does it matter if our quest succ
eeds when we corrupt our very souls in the journey?”
“The primal dragons are the enemy of all mankind,” said the knight, resting the Gloryhammer on his shoulder. “If I must be damned in order that the world can be free of their tyranny, I shall pay the price. You, of all people, understand the importance of our mission.”
Father Ver’s shoulders sagged. His voice trembled as he whispered, “Very well. But the boy must remain behind. If he isn’t the Omega Reader, we have no business endangering a child.”
Tower nodded. “I concur.”
Father Ver gave Relic a rueful glance. “The hunchback doesn’t believe he’s lying, but I still don’t trust him or his whorish toy. Given all they know of our quest, I must advise you to destroy them.”
Blade stepped over to the conversation.
“I second that opinion,” he said. “I was impressed with the War Doll’s strength, but now that I’ve seen its savagery, I fear it’s a danger to us all.”
“Thank you for your counsel. However, since we can’t have pack animals on this mission, it seems wasteful to destroy the War Doll. It would make a good substitute for a mule.” Tower looked up the shaft. The sun was no longer directly overhead, and the shadows in the cave grew deeper. “Our emotions run high at the moment. We won’t be ready to leave until morning. I shall make my decision then.”
Despite the fact that he was the subject of the ongoing conversation, no one was paying attention to Relic. He walked to the wall where the Golden Child had hit. There was a spattering of blood dripping down the stone. Casually, he reached out and dabbed the gore with a rag-covered finger. Then, since he still carried Infidel’s weaponry, he drew the bone-handled knife from its scabbard, and ran his blood-damp finger along the steel.
My ghost lungs gasped for air as I materialized once more. I was fainter than my previous incarnations; I could see through my ghostly fingers to the bones of fog beneath.
He spoke to me in his soundless voice: It seems I have need of you after all, Blood-Ghost.
I looked down at my body, on the verge of tears from the joy of seeing myself again. As a thought-fog, my emotions are muted; now that I once more felt ephemeral blood pulsing in my veins, I was terrified at the thought of having the knife cleaned once more.
Obey me, and I will see that the knife is never bare of blood.
“What would you have me do?” I asked.
The king’s men are a dangerous lot. While the boy is no longer a threat, I cannot read the mind of Lord Tower while he wears his armor. Were he the only one immune to my powers, I would have few fears. But the Whisper’s thoughts are dim; the harder I concentrate on them, the fainter they become.
“Is she a ghost?”
Doubtful. Your thoughts are clear to me. Blade may know her true nature but I’ve yet to find her origins among his thoughts. What worries me even more is the Deceiver. His mind is unlike anything I’ve encountered. His true thoughts are buried beneath veils of hallucinations. I risk my very sanity probing him.
“What am I supposed to do about this?”
You will be my spy. In your phantom form, you aren’t tethered as tightly to the knife. You may wander, listening in on conversations I will not be privy to. Have a care, however. Should Father Ver suspect your presence, he has the power to banish you forever to the spirit world.
I furrowed my brow, confused. “Aren’t I already in the spirit world?”
Obviously not. You are a spirit in the material world.
Actually, that was kind of obvious. But, if there was a spirit world, what was it like? Why hadn’t I gone there?
I will help you reach the spirit world at the proper time should you assist me.
“Maybe I don’t want to go. I’d rather stay here. I’ll help you only if you promise to let me speak to Infidel.”
A fair bargain. I will grant this if you serve me well. Have a care, however. You may desire to speak to the woman, but the feeling may not be mutual. The living seldom wish to be confronted by the dead.
I clenched my jaw as I thought over his offer. If I refused to cooperate, he could just wipe the blood from the blade, and banish me once more. But, while he had the power, perhaps, to grant me what I wanted, I had to wonder what, exactly, he wanted, beyond my immediate services as a spy. Aside from a desire to kill Greatshadow, I knew nothing of his plans or purpose.
Relic’s eyes glimmered. You are wise to be suspicious of me, Blood-Ghost. Yet, my motives are simple. I hate Greatshadow with every fiber of my being. The world can hold no joy for me as long as he lives. Tower would sacrifice his soul. I would sacrifice this, and more, for the pleasure of watching Greatshadow die.
“And then what?” I asked. “You take his treasure?”
Relic gave a low, soft chuckle that chilled my vaporous guts. Then, my dear Blood-Ghost, I take the world.
CHAPTER TEN
FLAWED VESSELS
That evening, everyone dined on hardtack and dried beef; I would have expected an expedition backed by a king to have food fit for one, but apparently all the funds had gone into buying glorystones and Goons. Tower still had his helmet on as Blade handed him his rations. I waited for him to pull off his helmet to eat, but instead he retreated into his tent.
“Guess he’s too good to eat with us,” Aurora said as she sat cross-legged on the ground by the Three Goons.
“I heard he never takes off that tin can because his face is covered with scars,” said Reeker.
“Boo hoo hoo,” No-Face answered. For once I didn’t need any translation.
Relic came over to the circle of mercenaries. “Perhaps he has other reasons for hiding his face. Most warriors, in my experience, are eager to show off their battle scars.”
“It ain’t battle scars,” said Reeker. “According to what I heard, about fifteen years ago on his wedding day, one of Tower’s enemies launched a sneak attack. Half the chapel got knocked down by a catapult and a fire broke out. Tower kept running back into the conflagration, saving the lives of a dozen people even though he was getting all burnt up himself. But he never pulled out the one person he was searching for: his bride. Now, when he sees his scars, he thinks of her.”
“A tragic tale,” said Relic.
“A stupid tale,” said Reeker. “Ain’t no dame worth risking your life for. They’re like stray cats; one gets killed, two more show up the next day.”
“Tower must not have felt that way,” said Menagerie. “My sources say he’s still unmarried.”
“Maybe that’s just proof he sees things my way now,” said Reeker.
“Mubuh huh duug guh buhn uf,” said No-Face.
“Maybe we should stop gossiping about the man who’s paying our wages,” said Menagerie. “Don’t forget they have an invisible spy.”
Infidel was several yards away from the ring of dining Goons. She was standing with her back to the others, looking into the shadows of the cave. I moved in front of her and waved my ephemeral hand before her eyes, though I knew it was futile. Her face was completely blank, with no hint of a reaction to Reeker’s tale. Save for the occasional blink, she really looked like nothing more than a statue.
The following morning, Tower announced his decision: “Relic and his War Doll can join the expedition. We’ll use the War Doll chiefly to carry gear. Aurora will also have pack duty as punishment for revealing our location.”
Reeker raised his hand. “We’re going to hike to the dragon’s lair? The caldera’s, like, fifty miles away. Can’t you fly us?”
Tower shook his head. “The Gloryhammer glows most brightly when I’m in the air. Flying low over the ocean in midday wasn’t a problem, since the glare of the sun upon the waves masks the weapon’s radiance. Short bursts of flight to help us over obstacles are probably safe, but I don’t dare risk making a dozen long trips back and forth over the jungle canopy. Greatshadow would surely spot us.”
“So he spots us and comes down to kill us,” said Reeker. “We fight him on the slopes instead of in the vo
lcano. What’s the big deal?”
Ivory Blade nodded toward Lord Tower. “If I may?”
Tower nodded back.
“First,” said Blade, “Our mission is more than to simply kill the dragon’s body. We must also slay his spirit, and forever sever his intelligence from the element of fire. This can only be done in his lair. Second, you’re being paid to do what we tell you to, not to question our commander’s decisions before we even leave the base.”
Reeker looked as if he were going to say something back, until he spotted Menagerie glaring at him. He crossed his arms, and gave a subservient nod.
Aurora apparently was undeterred from asking questions. “What will happen to the boy? He still needs medical attention.”
Numinous was sitting near the main tent, gazing toward Lord Tower with a look that bordered on hatred. He’d been furious when he’d been told earlier that he was no longer taking part in the mission. Gone was the placid, supremely confident Golden Child of the day before. In his place was an ill-tempered ten-year-old boy who’d always gotten his way until now. I felt sympathy for the kid. Every day of his life until today, he’d been surrounded by adults who treated him like he was the salvation of the world. Now, the adults had decided he was nobody important. That can’t be easy to swallow.
Tower said, “Numinous may not be the Omega Reader, but he is still exceptionally educated and trained. Despite his injuries, he’s able to fend for himself until we return. He can use this time alone to reflect on whether life in the priesthood will suit his future, or perhaps a more martial life as a knight will be his calling. When this mission is over, I will ensure that his education continues for a new, more suitable, role.”