by H. D. Gordon
Charlie began to move forward, his heart beating out of his chest, hoping like hell the Shaman was home, that he wouldn’t have to lie in wait for him. The sooner he could get what he needed and get out of here the better. Not only was the princess running out of time, but the longer Charlie stayed here the bigger the chance he get caught. And he had a feeling that a certain Head Hunter would love to have a…conversation or two with him. He was not at all interested in having any conversations with that man.
He moved quietly, trying not to disturb the ground with his steps, and snuck around to the front of the hut. Wind chimes hung from the roof here, but the breeze was not strong enough to make them sing. Sunlight reflected from their surfaces, glinting on the metal. The door was just a thick gray blanket hung over an opening. No light peeked out from its closed edges.
Charlie took a deep breath and pushed the blanket aside, stepping into the darkness. The first sense that struck him was the smell. It was a tangy, green smell that reminded him a little of the jungle. He jumped when a Light Sphere appeared, illuminating the darkness, and a deep voice spoke from somewhere off to his side.
“Make yourself known,” the voice said.
Charlie’s head whipped to the right, and there he saw the Shaman sitting on a small stool, his patchwork cloak around his shoulders. His skin was the color of dark chocolate, and he was bigger than Charlie expected, with large square shoulders and huge hands. For a moment, Charlie didn’t know what to do.
The Shaman held his palm up, and a bit of blue fire appeared over his hand, licking up off his fingers. “Reveal yourself,” the Shaman said. “Or I will make you reveal yourself.”
Charlie ran a hand down his jaw and said the words to break the Invisibility Spell. He held up his hands, regarding the Shaman carefully. “I don’t mean no harm,” Charlie said quickly.
He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but he didn’t get it. Bassil just sat on his stool and stared at him, the hand that held the blue fire closing and going out. He placed it in his lap. “Then why have you come, Charlie Redmine?” he asked, eyeing the piece of Black Stone around Charlie’s neck.
Charlie didn’t ask how he knew who he was, wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Besides, he was a man who liked to cut to the chase. “Because I need your help to save the princess,” he said.
Bassil’s dark eyebrows arched. “Is that so?”
Charlie nodded. “She said you would help me.”
“Did she?”
Charlie kept the annoyance off his face with some effort. “I need to know how to break her restraints. She’s bein' held in place by Black Magic. Will you help?”
Bassil was silent for a moment, and Charlie felt the urge to thump him on the head. The clock was ticking. “Time is, uh, of an essence here,” Charlie added.
Bassil nodded, his very white teeth shining out of his dark face. “Oh, indeed. Indeed it is. But you must know you are a wanted man. An enemy of the kingdom. Or has this news escaped you in your travels?”
Charlie was growing frustrated, but he knew he had to play this cool. Surah had told him that the Shaman was not someone he would want to piss off. “No,” he said. “It hasn’t escaped me. But I ain’t no outlaw, and I’m here because the princess is goin to be killed if I don’t help her. If you don’t help her.”
Bassil tilted his head. “I see,” he said, and then he went silent again, staring at Charlie with dark eyes.
Charlie did his best not to shift his feet. He wanted this done with. The Shaman was stalling. “She said to tell you somethin'.”
“Oh? And what was that?”
Charlie licked his lips. “She said—and I quote—to not be a stubborn Wildman and help me out, or the next time she saw you she would show you that she doesn’t really throw like a princess.”
Charlie had no idea what the Shaman’s response to this would be, and a moment passed before Bassil broke into deep, rumbling laughter. “You’re telling the truth, Mr. Redmine,” he said, his smile less threatening and more intrigued.
“Yes, I am. How do I break the bonds on Surah?”
“What do they look like?”
Charlie thought a moment. “Kinda like black smoke, but solid. They circle her wrists and anytime she moves them, they tighten. Her fingers already looked a little blue when I left her, and the chains seem to be rooted into the earth, so she can’t even stand.”
“What was used to cast the spell? The Black Stone, I would assume.”
“You assume right. Can they be broken?”
Bassil smiled, but worry was creasing his brow now. “Of course, Mr. Redmine, all spells can be broken…though some things are irrevocable as well.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
The Shaman’s eyes had gone distant, almost casting a slight glaze over the irises. His gaze snapped back to Charlie, and now he couldn’t help but shift on his feet. He had a gut feeling he didn’t want to hear what the Shaman had to say.
“It means you can save her, Mr. Redmine.” Bassil stood from the stool now, towering over Charlie by a good five inches even though Charlie was not a short man himself. He moved over to a shelf where books and vials holding multi-colored liquids and powders sat. He plucked one off the shelf that had a pure, silver color inside, like mercury. Charlie eyed the spell and swallowed.
“How?” he asked.
Bassil handed over the vial. Charlie took it. “Hate is what binds us, Mr. Redmine. It is what traps us in place and refuses to let us move forward. It’s the driving power of dark Magic and troubled minds and bad deeds…Would you like to guess what sets us free?”
Charlie just looked at him, said nothing.
The Shaman’s smile returned, and if Charlie hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought he saw a little sympathy behind his dark eyes. “Alright, I’ll tell you. Love, Mr. Redmine. Love sets us free.”
Charlie’s heart seemed to have stopped beating in his chest, and his mind couldn’t quite process what it was being told. His voice came out a touch robotic. “What do I have to do?” he asked.
Bassil gestured to the vial. “Poor that on the bonds and then cast your spell.”
“That’s it?”
“Well…not precisely.”
“Runnin' outta time here.”
Bassil nodded. “But it’s tricky to explain. I’ve only ever performed such a spell once, and I was just barely able. The thing is, there are no specific words that you can say to get it to work, no text or chant written down anywhere that work for certain.”
Charlie rubbed a hand over his jaw. “What’s the trick, then? How can I perform a spell that there are no instructions to?”
“You just use love, Mr. Redmine. You use love to break it.” He smiled again. “I’ve a feeling that won’t be as difficult for you as it was for me.”
Charlie’s jaw fell open. “What the hell does that—?”
The Shaman held up a hand, cutting Charlie off mid-sentence. His dark eyes went to the front of the hut, and his voice came out in a deep whisper. “Someone’s coming.”
Now Charlie’s heart was beating out of his chest. “But I don’t understand yet,” he whispered, his eyes glued to the dark gray blanket serving as the door of the hut. “What do I do? How’d you get the spell to work?”
The look the Shaman gave him then made Charlie’s gut twist. “I recited a nursery rhyme my mother used to sing to me before bed,” Bassil said, speaking quietly and quickly. “And I think you understand better than you would let on, Mr. Redmine. Either way, you must go now.”
Charlie didn’t give himself time to contemplate what in the world the Shaman meant by that. “Thank you,” he said, and wrapped his fingers around the piece of Black Stone hanging from his neck.
He disappeared from the room just a split second before the blanket covering the entrance to the hut was pulled back, streaming sunlight into the dark place. Bassil was not at all surprised to see Theodine Gray standing there.
“Knock, kn
ock,” the Head Hunter said, stepping into the hut and looking all around with curiosity. He clucked his tongue and grinned. “Come now, Shaman. I’m sure we pay you better than this.”
Bassil moved slowly over to his stool in the corner, folding his big body down to sit. He looked up at Theo with calm disinterest. “You don’t pay me anything, Hunter Gray. King Syrian does, and he provides everything I require.”
“I know common people who live better than this,” Theo replied.
Bassil’s voice was low and smooth. “Did you come here just to insult me, Hunter Gray, or is there a matter with which you need my assistance?”
Theo’s jaw tightened as he turned to face him. “As a matter of fact, there is.” His head tilted. “See, the princess is still missing, and you happen to be the last person who saw her.”
No he wasn’t. Charlie Redmine was. Bassil nodded and spread his large hands. “I suppose that’s so,” he said.
Theo took a step forward. “Did she say anything to you about leaving? Did she mention anything that might be of use to me in finding her?”
Bassil pretended to think. Then he shook his head. “She told me just what I told you. That she wanted to leave at first light for the location the eagle’s blood led us to. I suppose she could have gone there. The princess is not one for patience.”
This was a lie, but Bassil was sure it sounded true.
Theo shook his head. “She is not there. I’m sure of it.”
“How?”
“That is none of your concern, Shaman.”
Bassil stood now, the top of his head nearly reaching the roof of the hut. He stared down at the Head Hunter. Theo stared back.
“I believe it is my concern, Hunter Gray. You are not the only one who cares for the princess. I’ve been her instructor since she was a child. If memory serves, you are also a former student of mine.”
Theo smiled amicably, but Bassil could see the malice behind his gray eyes. “This is true,” Theo said, spreading his hands in front of him. “I have reason to believe the princess has been taken prisoner by Black Heart and his younger brother, a man named Charlie Redmine.”
Bassil could tell just by the way Theo said his name that he hated Charlie. It made him wonder just what he had set in motion by assisting Redmine, and he had a feeling it would not be a pretty thing. But Bassil didn’t like the Head Hunter, had never liked him, not even when he was a little boy, and Bassil liked all children. Theodine Gray was the same as he was then. Cold-hearted. Only he was much more dangerous now because he had become a man. A man who held a powerful position. A man with an agenda.
And the Shaman did like Charlie Redmine. Maybe it was foolish, but he liked Charlie after only having just met him. He also had a gut feeling the princess was fond of him, too. This didn’t make the decision of what to say next easy, but it made the decision.
Bassil looked the Head Hunter in the eyes, his face stone and grave. “Then I suppose we shall have to hope the princess is resourceful,” he said. “Because I’m afraid there is nothing useful I can tell you.”
CHAPTER 40
Samson followed Mila through the jungle. She didn’t say a word. He wished he could explain himself to her in a way that wouldn’t hurt her feelings, in a way she could understand, but he knew there was no use even trying. The ways of the jungle were too reinforced in her—too reinforced in all of them—that loving a Sorceress would sound like insanity.
Samson supposed it sort of was, but his instincts pushed him onward. He had a gut feeling that he if didn’t reach Surah in time, it would mean her death. And that, as insane as it may be, could not be allowed to happen.
He knew he would have to face his kind at one point or another, now was as good a time as any.
The two of them slinked through the undergrowth, the ground soft and moist beneath his paws. He kept tilting his head up to test the air, taking in the clean, untouched smell of it. There were many things he missed about his home, and the smell was one of them. You didn’t get air like this where there were people. You didn’t get plants this green or silence this deep or sunlight as soft as this, either.
Mila kept moving onward, no doubt leading him to her father. She didn’t look back even once to see if he was still following, didn’t slow down to make sure he wouldn’t lose her. She navigated her way over downed trees and swam across cool rivers and slipped between the plants easily. Samson, though he was nervous about the task ahead, liked watching her move. She was so at home here, her powerful muscles shifting under her dark fur, silver eyes flicking back and forth. Her head and tail were held low, her progression silent. Mila had grown into a fine female while he’d been away. An alpha.
This made him think of Surah, as most of his thoughts led him to. People didn’t label themselves alphas, but if they did, the princess would certainly be one of them. He wondered what she was doing just now, knew she was probably scared but calm, trying to figure her way out of whatever situation she’d found herself in. He supposed that made two of them.
Mila came to a stop in front of him, and Samson was so absorbed in his thoughts that he had to lock his forelegs so as not to run into her. Her head swiveled as she looked back at him. You sure you want to do this? She asked him silently.
Samson’s tongue flicked out, running over the blue and black fur around his mouth. “Yes,” he said.
She stared at him a moment, her round, silver eyes pinned to his. She looked like she didn’t want to say what she said next. You’ll probably be fighting Reno.
Samson looked at her a moment, then laughed internally. “Reno? You think I should be worried about fighting Reno?”
She didn’t seem to share in his amusement. He’s not the same as he was when you left. He’s no longer a cub. He’s grown strong. Fighting him is no laughing matter.
Samson went to move around her. “I’m sure he has. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
Mila blocked his path, her head held low between her muscular shoulders. I’m not worried, she snapped. What have I to worry about? I accepted your death a long time ago. It’s you who should be worried. Reno has lived life here, among the Beasts, while you have laid atop fluffy pillows on the bedroom floor of a Sorcerer princess. You would be a fool to underestimate him.
Samson raised his head, the fur on his back standing a little on end. He decided it would be best not to respond to that. It might just come out in a growl.
She whipped her head back around and began to move forward again. Fine. Have it your way.
Mila led him into darker, thicker vegetation, and at a few points, Samson had to crouch low to pass under thick tree branches that scratched at his back in a sort of pleasant way. The sunlight was muted to a dim glow in these places, where the green above was so thick and heavy it seemed as though you could walk on it. Samson’s heart kicked up in pace with each step he took. But Mila didn’t know what she was talking about. Reno may have grown up in the jungle, but just in the past week Samson had battled demons and a Great Eagle for his Sorceress. Living with Surah, protecting her and loving her, were not easy things. Over the years he had faced things more terrifying than even the jungles could offer. And his mind was sharp. Dealing for so long with people had made it so. Beasts were fearsome creatures, with sharp fangs and claws and deadly strength; what you saw was what you got. But people plotted and deceived and cheated and covered it all with smiling masks. People were far more dangerous. The true Kings of the Jungle.
Samson could handle this.
At last, the vegetation thinned, and Samson stepped into a large clearing where the sunlight managed to reach the earth. The ground was a deep, healthy green, spotted with the most vibrant red and purple flowers in all the lands. Straight ahead, relaxing in the daylight, was a pride of twenty large felines, whose heads perked up as Samson stepped forward. Above them all, staring down from a large rock that sat near the stream that ran through the center of the open place, sat Drake, Mila’s father. The cat who called himself king of this l
and. The one who had offered his daughter’s hand in marriage to Samson’s father so long ago.
Samson lifted his head, amber eyes watching both the king and his followers, thinking he would be lucky if he got through this with only having to face Reno in battle. If Drake had his lot attack, Samson wouldn’t make it out of here alive.
Mila led him forward, silver eyes also watching her father, who was now standing atop the rock, his ears perked forward, nose testing the air, sampling the scent of the newcomer. The sunlight caught in his dark fur and revealed hints of midnight blue amongst the black. His eyes were round and silver, like his daughter’s, and by the time Mila came to a stop only fifteen feet from the rock on which her father stood, Samson could tell that Drake knew exactly who he was.
He hadn’t heard the voice in nearly a thousand years, but as soon as Samson heard the king speak in his head, the memories came flooding back to him. Drake’s voice was a deep, rumbling, almost chocolaty sound. He said one word.
Samson.
Samson lowered his head respectively. “Yes, my king.”
Drake’s eyes flipped to his daughter. What is this, Mila?
Mila’s tail swished low, back and forth, and Samson could tell she was nervous, despite her having said she didn’t care what happened to him. But her voice sounded clear and strong when she spoke. He has come for our help, father, she said.
Drake looked back at Samson. Really? How is it that a dead cat can need help?
Samson spoke now for the first time. “As you can see, my king. I am not dead.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed to slits. Then I am not your king. You have not been living among us.
Samson raised his head, bringing himself to his full height. To show weakness here would be a death sentence. “No, I have not. But I come willing to prove myself worthy of your assistance.”
What is it you want?
“I believe there may be a Sorceress held prisoner in your land. If I’m correct, I’m sure you know about it. I just want to know where she is.”
The king was silent for a moment, silver eyes just staring down at Samson, who held his gaze steadily. Then Drake laid back down atop his rock again, lowering his head between his paws. Samson held his breath.