by James Maxey
This answer seemed to satisfy Aurora, though not Numinous, who rose and went back into the tent.
“If there are no more questions, we shall begin. First, allow Father Ver to bless our mission with a prayer.”
Father Ver’s left eyebrow shot up. He looked surprised by the request, which I found curious. A man in his position was no doubt asked to lead prayers a dozen times a day.
The look of surprise was quickly wiped away by his omnipresent scowl. He stepped forward into the middle of the circle and looked up the shaft of sunlight spilling into the cavern. He then looked down at his hands, bony and wrinkled, covered with age spots. He cleared his throat.
“The question before us,” he said, in what sounded more like a sermon than a prayer, “is one of predestination.”
Tower, Relic, Ivory Blade, and even Zetetic, the Deceiver, all nodded reverently as he began. The Goons and Aurora just looked bored. The Whisper, apparently, wasn’t all that religious. She slipped in up behind Blade as the priest spoke and began to kiss him gently on the nape of the neck.
“The future was written long before we were born. We know in our hearts that the Divine Author would not have written a story in which the wicked are allowed to triumph and the righteous meet endless defeat. In the end, good shall triumph over evil.”
I gave a little ghost yawn. I’d heard this generic prattle about the inevitable victory of good ten times a day growing up.
“There can be no doubt that Greatshadow embodies evil. No honest man has ever stared into a flame without perceiving the malignant intelligence behind it, the predator spirit that waits to pounce upon the weak and unwary. The Divine Author has left no room for doubt as to the identity of the villain of our tale. The only question that remains is: Are we good enough to be the heroes? Do we undertake this mission in complete honesty regarding our motivations? Do we seek to vanquish evil purely because it is our duty, or have the seeds of our defeat already been planted in falsehoods buried deep inside our hearts? Will our tale not be one of triumph, but of instruction, a warning against vanity, or greed, or lust?”
It may have been my imagination, but Ivory Blade looked chastened by these words. He hung his head low, his lips pressed tightly together, even as the Whisper gave him a comforting hug. Tower’s shoulders also sagged a little as Father Ver spoke.
The only person who looked inspired by Father Ver was Zetetic, who was grinning broadly.
Father Ver concluded by looking back up the shaft and switching from sermon to something more like a prayer. “We ask, oh Author Of Our Fates, that even if we are flawed vessels, you still will use us as vessels of your will. Help us, oh Lord, to bring the world one page closer to its perfect ending. Your will is our will. Amen.”
“Amen,” echoed Tower. Then he raised his head and said, “Relic, get your War Doll loaded. We’ll use it to cart our gear up the cliff, with Aurora’s help. I’ll ferry the others one by one. As long as I don’t rise above the treeline, this flight shouldn’t draw attention.”
Tower grabbed Ver by the arm and pulled the cleric to his chest. “You first,” he said, sounding somewhat terse. The holy man didn’t have time to say a word before the knight launched skyward.
Follow them! Relic screamed in my mind. If they have a private conversation, I want to know the details.
I looked at him and said, “Maybe you didn’t notice that they’re flying?”
And perhaps you haven’t noticed that gravity no longer holds you to this earth?
I had noticed that, but I’d still been hovering at pretty much the same eye-level I’d been at when I was alive. In my ghostly form, I could wander around where I wanted to just by thinking. Did it work the same way going up?
I moved toward the shaft and spotted Tower high overhead. I furrowed my brow as I willed myself to follow him. Then — whoosh! — not only did I fly, I flew fast, shooting up along the rugged cliffs to reach the knight and the cleric in a matter of seconds. The terrain atop the cliff was still a fairly steep slope, but had soil enough to support trees and shrubs in a nearly uniform canopy of green. Tower punched through the foliage into the shadowy forest beyond. There were huge boulders among the trees. Tower landed on one, releasing Father Ver, before asking, in a voice that was almost a shout, “What was that?”
Father Ver looked undaunted by the anger in the knight’s tone. “You are unhappy with my prayer.”
“I wanted an invocation to our inevitable success, not some admonition that we might be too vain or lustful or whatever to defeat the dragon. Where is your faith?”
“Faith is a crutch for the spiritually weak,” Father Ver said. “It’s something used by women and children and the feeble-minded who may be unprepared to handle truth. I have never thought of you in this category.”
“You’ve been unpleasant company since this expedition was announced,” said Tower. “I’ve always looked up to you and respected you, Father. I can’t understand your sudden embrace of pessimism.”
Father Ver closed his eyes and rubbed the thick callus on his forehead. “Truthfulness sometimes precludes optimism. You of all men should understand this.”
“And you, of all men, should understand that the righteous always defeat the wicked. It is the only conclusion that will satisfy the Divine Author.”
Ver shook his head. “You’re a warrior, not a priest. You overstep your bounds when you claim insight into the mind of our creator.”
“I’m only repeating what you’ve taught!”
“You are only repeating the teachings you find convenient to remember,” said Ver. “You remember that good triumphs over evil in the end. But you fail to recall that we may not be at the end. The One True Book is a very thick document. There may yet be centuries, even eons, before the final victory. In the intervening time, the outcome of any given battle can never truly be known.”
Tower sighed. “Fine. You are technically correct. We may not actually know how this particular story ends. But I’d appreciate it if you would be a little more inspirational, to help motivate the troops.”
“What troops?” asked Father Ver. “There are eleven of us. The Goons are not believers in the Book, nor are the ogress and the hunchback. Blade and the Whisper walk a middle path and are not so pure as you may wish to believe. And they are saints compared to Zetetic, who twists all truths he encounters into lies. The only one among us whom my words may truly inspire is you.”
Tower crossed his arms, tapping his gauntleted fingers on his iron biceps with little clanking sounds. His feet were hovering a few inches above the ground. He shook his head slowly and said, “Perhaps I need the inspiration.”
“What you need is to know yourself,” said the priest. “Are you honest regarding your reasons for leading this mission?”
“I seek only to defeat evil and improve the lives of my fellow men. You would know if I was lying.”
“I would know if you were lying to me. I cannot know if you’re lying to yourself.”
“You think I have some other motive? What? Treasure? I’m already wealthy. Fame? Glory? The streets of the Silver City are lined with statues erected in honor of my previous victories. It matters not at all if they erect another.”
“So you say.”
“Such is the truth,” said Lord Tower. “Years have passed since I first saw my image carved in stone. Any pride I once felt has passed as I’ve aged. A statue is an empty legacy to leave the world. My only goal now is to leave the world a better place than what I inherited. The death of Greatshadow is a step toward that goal.”
“Very well. Even if your motives are pure, you must know your chosen allies are motivated by nothing other than greed.”
“True. But experience shows me I need not share the same motives as an ally in order to achieve a common goal. I’ve had years of battle experience to learn these truths. Still, I understand it must be difficult for you. This mission is forcing you into alliances with men you wouldn’t normally associate with.”
&n
bsp; “You’re being too polite,” said Ver. “I would normally order these scoundrels and heretics flogged, imprisoned, or hanged.”
“Understood. Now, try to understand that I’ve fought beside rough men and unbelievers in previous battles,” said Tower. “Against some foes, power is more important than purity. We could lead an army of ten thousand pilgrims up these slopes, and Greatshadow could kill them in a matter of seconds by unleashing an inferno. These scoundrels and heretics are survivors. I’m confident we have assembled the perfect team to defeat Greatshadow. I want you to feel this confidence also.”
Ver pressed his lips tightly together. “If I believed this to be a doomed enterprise, I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation to join. I’m not blind to the difference between principle and truth. I respect the power of the team you’ve assembled. We stand a good chance of success. But I cannot pretend that victory is certain.”
“I suppose I’ll have to settle for that,” said Tower.
“Yes, you shall. Go get the others,” said Ver, with a dismissive wave. “They’ll wonder what’s keeping you.”
Tower nodded, then shot back over the cliff side. I started to follow him, but was distracted by something I spotted out on the water. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, though, alas, it proved pointless, since the rays passed right through my spectral skin. As I got used to the light after the shade of the trees, there was no mistaking I was looking at a clipper ship, still a mile out, but heading toward the cliffs at a breakneck pace.
A few seconds later, I spotted Tower rising back up from the cave, now with Zetetic in tow. Tower sat the red-robed figure on a boulder facing Father Ver, then swung back out to grab another passenger.
“Nice little prayer you gave down there, Ver,” said Zetetic. “Did I detect a little bit of a guilty conscience in all that talk about whether you’re good enough for this mission? After all, given what you’ve done to me…”
“You’ve suffered nothing you haven’t earned,” said Father Ver. “Count each breath you draw as a blessing from the Divine Author. If I were the master of your fate, your bones would have long since been picked over by ravens.”
“No doubt. But, since a higher authority than you has seen to it I’m along for this journey, could you maybe try to be more courteous? Or at least try not to kick me in the head any more?” He rubbed the side of his skull for emphasis.
“I can make no such promise,” said Father Ver.
Zetetic shrugged. “I can’t be blamed for asking.”
No-Face was next up, followed by Reeker and Menagerie in the form of a parrot. I might not have recognized Menagerie among the other parrots flitting through the trees if not for his voice. “Looks like trouble,” the bird said, as it landed on No-Face’s shoulder. It pointed seaward with a wing.
By now, the ship had gotten much closer, and seemed to be heading directly for the pirate cave below.
“Suh hurs,” said No-Face.
I squinted. He was right. It was the Seahorse, a pirate ship. I could even see Captain Stallion on the deck, in case there had been any doubt. Stallion is a distinctive figure. He looks like a half-seed, but is really just a man’s torso jammed onto the body of a donkey, though he tells everyone his equine parts are prize-winning stallion. He got this way after a badly thought out double-cross of a Weaver, who have a flair for this sort of magic.
“This is inconvenient timing,” said Tower, glancing down. “He’s heading straight for the cave. So much for the thought of leaving Numinous behind.”
“Or we could just kill Stallion and his crew,” said Menagerie. “We’ll be glad to do it for no charge, as long as we don’t have to split the bounty for his head with you.”
While Tower pondered this offer, I drifted back down toward the cave. The Seahorse was moving toward the entrance at a speed that no sane sailor would risk. But then, Captain Stallion wasn’t known for being timid. I passed Infidel and Aurora on the way down. They were climbing the cliffs, lugging large bales of gear from ledge to ledge. Relic was nowhere to be seen. I slipped back into the cave just as the Seahorse reached the mouth. Numinous, Ivory Blade, and the Whisper were still inside. The Seahorse carried at least fifty men, battle-hardened cut-throats who would give even the Goons a run for their money. Whatever Tower decided, I hope he decided it fast.
Within the cave, Ivory Blade stood on the shore, watching the pirates set anchor in the cove. Numinous came out of the sole tent remaining in the camp. A handful of glorystone lanterns were still scattered about the place. It took the pirates all of ten seconds to notice the precious rocks. The Seahorse leaned starboard as the entire crew rushed to the rails to look at the glowing gems.
Captain Stallion leapt from the deck, his pirate hat flying off as he sailed across the water to land in the shallows, splashing onto the shore with a few more jumps. He had a saber drawn as he eyed Ivory Blade.
“Well, well, well!” Stallion shouted. “Look who we have here! Mister Ivory Blade! The deal-breaking, cowardly dog who I swore would walk the plank if ever we met again!”
“Didn’t know you were the type to hold a grudge, Stallion,” said Blade.
A dozen men jumped from the ship, swimming ashore quickly, blades in their teeth, to stand beside their captain. Stallion said, “A grudge?” as he pranced closer to the albino. His donkey body left him a little taller. While Blade was a figure of composure, every hair in place, Stallion looked as if he’d gone feral. His long hair was tangled and matted around his sunburnt face. His clothing was half rotten on his back. “A grudge is a small thing, Mr. Blade. A grudge is like weak beer. My feelings for you have been distilled ten times into a brew of pure 200-proof hatred. Whatever happens from this day forward, I’ll die a happy man to have finally learned if your entrails are the same spook-white as the rest of your unholy flesh.”
“Don’t make any hasty decisions until you hear what I have to say,” said Blade.
“I’ll not be listening to your lying tongue ever again!” cried Stallion. He turned to his men, and cried, “Kill him!”
And in the blink of an eye, the dozen men that surrounded him fell to the ground, grasping their slit throats, as the silhouetted form of the Whisper danced silently through their midst. She ended her dance by slicing up with her sword and chopping Stallion’s blade in twain four inches above the hilt. The impact made no sound; what was her sword made of?
Stallion frowned as he looked at his abbreviated weapon. He glanced around at the dying men surrounding him. Then, he grinned broadly. “Blade! Old friend! Can’t you recognize a little joke?”
“Only when dead pirates are the punchline,” said Blade, still with his arms crossed. “Shall we discuss business now?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I would like to hire you as a shuttle service. We have a boy here who is far from home. You can return him to the Silver City.”
“Ah,” said Stallion. “That could be a problem. A man such as yourself has perhaps heard of the small matter that your own king has placed a sizable price on my head?”
“Among other body parts,” said Blade. “Which is why, as payment for your services, King Brightmoon himself shall grant a pardon for your crimes. I can give you a letter of safe passage that all members of his navy will respect.”
“His pardon would carry no weight with the Wanderers. Or the Stormguard, for that matter.”
“No. But it will open an entire archipelago of ports where you could legally dock. Any number of towns where you could trot the streets a free man. And, the king recently lost several ships. Perhaps he’d find a position for you and the Seahorse in his navy.”
“I seem to recall similar promises being made five years ago, when I handled the small matter of bringing you the Book of the Abyss.”
“If it had been the genuine article, and not a blatant forgery, all promises would have been kept.”
Stallion ran a hand along his tangled mane. “Aye, it was a piss-poor forgery. I knew
you’d discover it sooner or later.”
“It was sooner,” said Blade.
Stallion chuckled. “This boy must be precious to you, that he’d bring a king’s pardon.”
“Indeed. And if a person of a mercenary nature were to try to hold the boy against his will and seek a ransom, I can give you my solemn vow that his corpse would be rendered into glue.”
“I’m sure you would. Fortunately, I can’t imagine a person of a mercenary nature wanting a treasure greater than the king’s pardon… especially if these glorystones are thrown into the agreement.”
Blade shrugged. “Why not? We were leaving them behind anyway.”
“Very well, sir. We have a deal.”
The albino and the pseudo-centaur sealed their verbal contract with a handshake.
Blade said, “I was certain you were still a reasonable man, despite the haircut.”
“Aye,” said Stallion. “It’s been many years since I’ve been able to dock in a port with a barber I’d trust with a razor.”
“A shave and a haircut will make you feel like a new man,” said Blade. He glanced back over his shoulder and shouted, “Numinous.”
Numinous was already standing behind him.
“I’ve heard every word of this transaction,” he said. “I approve. The thought of waiting endless weeks in this cave in solitude held little appeal to me.”
“He’s got a busted arm,” said Stallion, studying Numinous. “Is there a bonus for being a floating hospital?”
“The bonus is that if you stop trying to haggle on an already closed deal, I won’t sever your testicles and hang them from your earrings.”
“That is an excellent bonus,” said Stallion, nodding.
Later, after the letter of safe passage had been written, Blade left the pirate cave, following the same path that Aurora and Infidel had taken. Tower met him at the first ledge.
“I was waiting in the shaft the whole time, listening,” said the knight, carrying them skyward. “It seemed as if you had the situation in hand. But, are you certain you can trust him with Numinous?”