by Ira Robinson
He lay on the couch, stretching from one end to the other and put his hands behind his head, staring at the white ceiling above.
There might be one more thing he could do...
Chapter 21
Carver's body healed but Jessup's own still recovered, a pointed limp accompanying most of the dog's steps as they crossed the threshold into his house.
Although the curtains blocked some of the light coming from in, brilliant yellow slices and jagged edges from the gash on the face of the house where the window used to be revealed things he had missed before.
The knife laying beneath the kitchen cabinet, central to the room, for one. Its sharpened side reflected a long line of white, its' gleam menacing. He pried it from the floor, Jessup remaining near the doorway looking outside, and checked the blade.
Blood, caked and dark, stuck to the knife, and as his eyes crossed the pale wood floor, he caught glimpses of the beads that could have fallen as a result of whatever had been gashed by the edge.
God, please don't let it be Lisa. He grimaced, a slight tremble in his hand as he set the knife on the counter and backed, bending down to look at the dried droplets.
There were not many. That was good, but who had they come from? Did the blood belong to his girl? Or had she managed to give account to whoever broke in and seized her from him?
His features diminished to a dark scowl, the pounding in his heart joining the headache, forcing a throb he didn't have time to deal with right now.
Too little sleep, way too much worry, and still no answers as to where his daughter might be. Damn those who got her. He would find her and he would bring them to an end.
He loosened his hand, an ache relieving as he did; he had not realized he gripped his fist so tight his nails dug in.
He stared at the outline of the scar traced in a wide circle. Lines and dots, a strange symbol he could never interpret, a pattern dedicated to destruction.
I'm coming, honey. Daddy's coming.
He crossed from the kitchen to the set of stairs leading to the upper floor, his back stooped, the weight of so much heartache and the guilt he had not been able to let go of for years crossing with him. He mounted the steps, his shoes sliding across the cold surface as he fought to hold the tears that so desperately wanted to come.
There would be time enough for that later. Keep it together. Don't give up.
It was a litany careening through his mind from the moment he realized she was missing, and was, perhaps, the only thing keeping him going.
She could be anywhere in the world, or a block away, and he was powerless to find her.
A fresh tee-shirt and new pair of jeans did nothing to comfort him, the ones he had been wearing fluttering into the hamper more from habit than any desire to clean them at some point. They were so ruined they would have to just be thrown out, but he didn't have the heart to go through that process now.
The change of clothes and a quick wash helped, though, to make him feel more human, the bits of old blood dried to the creases of his skin freed to flow into the drain.
He avoided the mirror. He didn't want to face the guilt he knew lingered in his eyes.
Jessup joined him in the bathroom. Carver did not dissuade him from drinking from the toilet. It was a habit the creature had and he probably had little remaining in his bowl downstairs. There were worse things he bit into, the flesh of the demonic not well known to be fresh.
By the time both came down again, the limp in the dog was lessened and Carver could think straighter about what their next moves might be.
He didn't try to make the dog stay. There was no way he was going to be left behind, no matter where the human intended to go.
He made sure the straps on the sword at his side were in place and secure, the pack as familiar as his own hand, zipped and ready.
He shut the front door as they walked out, but didn't bother putting the hexes together before crossing through the grass toward the shed.
Trading Circle was neutral territory, but there were demons there, and where those bastards were, there would be information. If he had to violate some unspoken treaty in order to find his daughter, so be it. They were the ones to open that gate first.
The door to the shed flew open, the light from outside undamped as each mote of dust that fluttered up from the ground with the vehemence of the breeze twirled and danced.
Jessup padded into the cramped space behind him, checking it with his nose and sneezing uncontrollably three times before his snuffling settled.
Carver grabbed the two steel cables, the irons riveted to the ends clanking loudly. He ran his fingers across every inch, making sure they were solid and intact.
The symbols on the shackles, etched directly in them, held a faint glow as his fingers touched them.
Good. They would hold.
If he had to carry every damnable demon back here, dragging them by their teeth and putting them in these chains, he would do it. He would bring them out of the guts of hell if he had to in order to find where his daughter was.
He closed the door to the shack before tapping on the portal for it to open, stepping through the shimmer with Jessup at his side, ready to grasp the first demon he saw.
He strode through into smoke as thick as a blanket, his eyes and nose immediately watering as the acridness struck him with its full force.
He squinted, bringing his hands to his face to wipe the tears away as Jessup's breathing deepened and a growl shattered the silence of the alley behind the shops.
He trod carefully, the concrete beneath his feet crackling as the soles of his shoes passed over it and opened his mouth wide in shock.
The glow from everywhere was gone, the smoke-haze casting a strange light of dull orange and muted yellow which looked to dance. Carver's mind took a few seconds to process he was viewing buildings on fire, the movement accompanying a fever that had never been there before.
His hand flicked to his waist and pulled the sword free of the scabbard, bringing it to attention as he stepped through the alley, his eyes glancing around, seeking the source of the fire.
It seemed to be coming from many of the buildings, their frontispieces of wood lit and dancing, the scent of the embers heavy and rank as the blaze torched plastics and metal, paper and something else, which ran the blood in his veins cold despite the heat emanating from everywhere and set his belly churning with nausea.
Three bodies were close to him, their flesh rendered by the crackling of the flames licking their skin, the odor of cooking meat permeating his nostrils, joining the more acrid wood and plastic sheeting and tarps. One was directly atop a brazier, stomach cut wide and strewn across the coals inside of it, some of which had spilled out to the ground.
The blade dipped in Carver's hand as he gasped, trying to keep his breath without taking any of the malodorous scene into himself. He twisted his head as his mouth salivated slightly, disgust flooding his being as sweat beaded his skin.
He pulled himself from the people there, unable to do anything to help them. They were past his aid, gone for a long time now, if the char on their bodies was any indication.
More were strewn in the street, and as he paced down the path, the places he passed had apparently been untouched by the fury of the flames, those being contained somewhat by the brokenness of the circular set up of Trading Circle.
Nothing moved, no trace of the life once so prevalent here.
The humans who had come to be in this place were not alone, either. Carver spotted the corpses of demons, as well, their skin slashed open by something powerful, and some rendered completely in pieces, bodies flung distances away that a simple cut of a sword would not explain.
Devastation was all that was left of Trading Circle and the thriving spot, a shining beacon to neutrality that had existed for so long.
The golems, too, seemed to have had no chance against whatever had done this. The once awesome beings, filled with a might Carver feared, as did all others wh
o came here, were tossed into bits, piles of powdered stone and boulders that had no more life to them than the paving stones beneath him all that remained behind.
The smoke was clearer by the time his feet carried him to Tania's store, his throat clacking as he swallowed repeatedly, and his hand to his chest as the scent of burned flesh diminished, to be replaced only by the pervading rot of the bodies strewn all over the ground.
The door to her shop was wide, a dark gash in the light of the distant fires, but Tania wasn't inside. The old woman lay on the ground outside, her limbs twisted into angles no body should ever be, her face turned skyward with a slack jaw. Her last moments had been filled with terror and agony.
Carver forced himself to turn, his feet desperate to flee down the road, Jessup on his heels or not, and use the portal to go back home. He tamped down the dread, swallowing hard as he brought his sword down.
Was there no one left? Had none survived the devastation that had swept through the place?
Who had done this? Was the horde of the demonic he saw in his vision already there, ringing the clarion call of war and horror with this as their first battlefield?
But if it had been demons, why had they destroyed their own? Why were their comrades rotting in the dust alongside the humans? Was it because they were working together under a flag of neutrality?
Or, was it because Carver, himself, was more involved? The timing of this attack, whoever was behind it, could not be denied. Lisa was gone, Malachi murdered and Trading Circle swept with the rein of destruction all in the same time frame?
He was the only connection between all of them? But how? And why?
Jessup followed Carver's trail throughout Trading Circle until he reached the center, the scars on the ground still breaking through the symbols near The Flow, remnants of his last visit there.
He approached it, putting the sword back in the scabbard before reaching his hands toward it, the tingle he remembered as his flesh neared it playing across his skin again.
His consciousness lifted up, his body falling away into nothingness as he rode the corridors of the aether, calling out Malachi's name.
Please answer. Please, my friend, come to me.
The rushing of winds beyond human comprehension flowed into his mind, his breath silenced as the aether carted him, sickening him as it buffeted him.
"Lost!" a voice cried out in the brilliance of colors and flowing energy. Then it was gone, absorbed in the chorus of unintelligible echoes that swept past him.
"Malachi!" he tried to shout, but nothing spewed forth from him.
"Everything is lost." That same voice again, and this time Carver recognized a glimmer of the familiar, the low rumble of his friend's tone.
"Lisa!" Carver managed to get the message out, but it was pulled from him before it could resonate. "Where is Lisa?"
Please answer.
His mind twirled around, swirling with the aether as it descended again, the cascade of scintillating colors and shapes so fast he could not grasp them.
"Everything lost," the voice fell again as the awareness of gloom beneath him came into being, his consciousness crashing toward it.
"Lisa," he tried to say again, gagging as the darkness surrounded him and then shattered, leaving the muted hues of The Flow before his eyes.
He slipped, his body tumbling, but he fanned his hands, still held outward, and caught himself before he smacked his face into the ground, the remnants of the sounds of the aether sliding away.
The roar of an angry wolf behind him dragged his head in that direction, where Jessup was standing guard over him, his full dire form once more in place.
The tall man waiting twenty feet away, bearing a wide grin, raised a hand toward Carver and his dog.
Carver bolted fully upright, his own growl accompanying Jessup's, as Indris waved.
Chapter 22
Steel glinted, reflecting the ruddy orange and burnt yellows of the flames in the distance, as Carver drew the blade from its sheathe and charged.
A roar erupted from his throat, the sword moving to his left hand while his right raised up, ivory light piercing the distance between to smash into Indris, colliding with the tall man's chest.
It lit the dark skin of his face as the grin gleamed in the eldritch glow, but he remained steady, his body unmoved by the force of Carver's power.
"Idiot." A high-pitched laugh crossed the range as Carver approached with his sword glinting.
He dodged aside, the curve passing wide and a clang echoed, the sharpened blade striking the ground. Sparks cascaded.
Carver recovered the miss, spinning to swing again, but Indris once more evaded, his long limbs thin and agile.
"Your power is useless on me, Hallow." He backed, his own hands raised above his head as a crimson flame toyed around his fingers. "I'm not a demon."
One hand aimed toward Jessup, the large form of the wolf bristling with fury as he began a charge, and a gout of flame leaped from the splayed fingers, soaring in an instant to strike the animal along his side. Red heat and singed fur spread through the air, joining the acrid smoke haze and turning bodies.
A yelp from Jessup drew Carver's attention for only a second, but it was enough time for another rush of conflagration to touch his chest, momentary only it caused him to stumble as the burning sear inched across his skin, flaring along his scars.
He jumped away, scrabbling at his shirt, the fabric melting into his flesh, and uttered a cry, the scent of his hair burning thick in his nose.
The pain was not long, though, before it ebbed as his body began to heal, the jet of magma-heat from Indris not as hot as Carver suspected it could be.
The sword went to his right hand, the better to hold on to while he maneuvered around the lanky man, trying to put himself on the other side of Jessup, was bent and ready to jump.
"Lisa!" Indris brought his hands down, aiming for both of them while his head twisted one way and the other to keep them in view.
Carver hesitated at the name, his left hand rising toward Jessup, who remained ducked but still, hearing himself.
His brow crinkled, his eyes piercing into Indris as he halted.
"If you want to see Lisa again," Indris said, the smile, to Carver's satisfaction, faded somewhat, "if you want to see your daughter, there are some things you're going to need to do."
Jessup growled and barked, the boom of it crossing to the two humans in a thrust. He clawed at the ground, etching deep scars in the pavement with his razor claws as steam rose from the side of his body where the gout of fire struck him. He panted, tongue licking across his teeth and lips as he barely kept himself in check. He was wild, the eyes normally so gentle when in his dog form now steel-hard and glowing ruby death as he stared at Indris.
"Back off, cur," Indris muttered, poring over the animal mere yards away. Jessup could cross the distance between in a heartbeat, but held himself slack. "Tell your creature to back away, Hallow."
Jessup glanced at Carver, who nodded, but the wolf did not step down.
"You'd better come out with it quick, filth," Carver said, "He's got his own mind. And so do I."
He brought both hands to the hilt of the sword, brandishing it before him as he inched closer to Indris. The dark man's eyes flowed up the cold metal and he bowed his head only once before the smile came to his face again.
"Where is my daughter?" Carver swung the sword only slightly, his own eyes on the thin, bony fingers of the ancient magician king, the dust of the desert in his skin, dusky and deep. He could barely control the tremble in his hands as the sword swept upright, the rage building within him hard to chomp down. He gripped the hilt tighter as the sweat slick, pooling into the leather in the grip uncomfortably.
"Safe," the man said, his voice raspy, perhaps from tension as he faced down two powerful opponents. "That's all you need know."
His hands dropped and Carver unconsciously moved the sword, ready to jump away at the spell he instinctively felt coming
, but Indris shook his head. "Now are we going to talk, or shall we continue this until I inevitably end both of your pathetic lives?"
Carver gritted his teeth, baring his own fangs at the dark king, every ounce of him loathing being in his presence and wishing for the release reaping death upon him would give.
But he remained still, as did Jessup, perhaps understanding more of this situation than he let on, the intelligence within his mind overriding the animal instincts that coursed through his own veins.
That would not last long.
Carver braced himself, finally under control, the sword steadying in his hands. This demon worshiper had something to do with Lisa's disappearance, the suspicion he had all along confirmed with the words the darkling oozed.