In the face he looked identical to Myra, only his features were more masculine, less soft.
“My name is Tobias,” he said, stepping over to slam the door so they couldn’t escape. “You both look rather surprised to see me? Well, I apologize, but I couldn’t resist the urge to give you a little scare.”
“I must admit,” said Malcolm, “It’s a nice trick—the invisibility thing, I mean.”
“Yes, well My True Father, The Great Serpent Apep, is a master of manipulating the forces of light and darkness. My sister and I, in our own ways, both inherited this ability. She is better with darkness. I am better with light, though I do enjoy spending time in the darkness much more, and she’s always been happier under the bright rays of the sun. It’s an odd contradiction, I think, but life is mysterious like that…”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
Vivienne said, “You aren’t as vicious as your sister Tobias. I know your legend, and some have said you have a human heart inside that chest. Some have said that you would choose peace if you could.”
“Perhaps that’s true.”
“Then stand aside, and let us do what we must here.”
“I wish I could. But my Sister, and my Mother, both of whom I love very much, have put a great trust in me, and if I let you walk away alive, then I would dishonor my family name.”
“So we fight?” said Vivienne.
“Yes, I’m afraid I must kill you both, though it makes me sad. You seem like a very nice lady.”
Malcolm raised the gun, aimed down the barrel, and said, “Oh bloody hell. Enough of this back and forth. If you intend to kill us, then let’s forgo the pleasantries and get on with it, you oversized git.”
The huge man flashed a terrible grin, showing a mouth that was now full of silvery spikes, each one fully an inch long, and let out a long roar of booming, ear-splitting laughter.
Then the rest of his body began to change.
What he became wasn't very much like what Myra became when she transformed. There was no alligator mouth, and there were no tentacles.
His skin pigment shifted from brown to dull gray, and then his face reshaped itself. The flesh around his cheeks and jaw became loose enough to droop off his bones until there were great wrinkles and folds, like those found on the head of a bloodhound, and his eyes became froglike, bulging out of his head, full of bright orange flame; full of unimaginable hatred.
Somehow, despite his already impossible size, he managed to grow a whole foot taller and two feet wider. His clothes stretched and strained, and then they basically exploded, leaving him naked with just a few strips of fabric hanging here and there. The skin all over his body hung loose and grotesque, swaying with each breath, and underneath, great muscles rippled.
Malcolm was fairly impressed. The creature before them was something right out of a bloody fairy tale, and he'd always had an interest in myths and legends. His first impulse was just to stand there and stare, awestruck. But then Vivienne stepped forward, lowered her head, and started mumbling strange words under her breath.
Suddenly the air in the room smelled like a summer afternoon right before a thunderstorm, and Malcolm felt a jolt inside, like someone had just given him a slap to wake him up from a long sleep. A powerful energy surged through him, bringing with it a renewed sense of purpose and readiness.
He fired the gun three times, aiming for center mass—the short barreled weapon wasn’t terribly accurate, so he played it safe.
All three shots hit in the chest area. Tobias didn’t even flinch, unsurprisingly.
Malcolm wasn’t discouraged. He stuffed the gun back into his pocket. Then he drew the sword from its scabbard, held it out before himself, and thanked the heavens that it'd occurred to him to bring the blade along.
At that moment, with the powerful energy surging through him from Vivienne's blessing, it seemed possible that he might actually succeed.
Tobias eyed Malcolm for a moment, taking in the weapon, the fighting posture; and then he responded by offering a little bow, very courtly, that seemed to come from a place of real, genuine respect; as if he were acknowledging Malcolm’s courage, and wishing him the best of luck.
Then he bent over, lifted one of the twelve-foot long wooden pews up to his shoulder as if it were a baseball bat, and swung it at them so fast that it made a hissing sound in the air.
There was no real time for thinking, but a quick assessment of the space and distance and speed made it pretty clear that both he and Vivienne were about to take a big, probably fatal, impact.
And Vivienne didn't seem to be aware of the threat at all—she continued her mumbling chant without even bothering to glance up.
Malcolm was no athlete and had never been gifted with particularly good reflexes, so he was surprised by the swiftness of his own reaction. In a flash, he saw precisely what he had to do, and got right down to the business of doing it without wasting even a fraction of a second on hesitation.
He pivoted quickly, and dove, arms spread, tackling Vivienne rugby-style.
As they both fell, he actually felt the wind catch his hair when the pew passed a few inches above his head.
Then they hit the floor hard. Vivienne let out a cry as his weight crashed down on top of her.
The weaponized pew continued its journey, striking the pulpit and destroying it before slamming into the back wall of the church with enough force to make the entire structure shudder.
The impact broke the pew in half and left Tobias with an even more dangerous weapon—shorter, and easier to wield with jagged shards of wood at the end.
Malcolm was already scrambling to his feet by the time Tobias recovered from the momentum of the first swing and turned back to advance on them again.
Malcolm circled, trying to move the action away from Vivienne who had taken to her feet again, and was once more chanting in that strange sounding tongue. Whatever she was doing was working, making him a better fighter, and it clearly left her terribly vulnerable, so it was vitally important to protect her.
Tobias’s long legs made it easy for him to step over pews, while Malcolm had to climb over them and slip around them. It was dangerous, and there were a few close calls, but Malcolm was able to stay out of reach as they gradually moved further and further from Vivienne, giving her plenty of breathing room.
Then, as Malcolm’s back neared the right wall of the church, Tobias charged and swung again. The now-shortened weapon moved a little quicker, but Malcolm managed to duck, shielding himself between the rows. Then as the momentum of the swing continued, pulling Tobias slightly off balance, Malcolm stood and rushed in close.
Tobias tried to reverse his swing, but Malcolm was already inside the danger zone by then. He chopped down on Tobias's right wrist, and the sword bit deep, but then stopped short with a surprisingly loud clang as it struck the bone.
The impact made the sword vibrate and flex. He lost his grip and it started to fall, but then there was a quick flash, like a firecracker going off, and the sword reversed directions, flying back up towards his hand, as the mana ward he’d cast outside kicked in and saved his bacon.
Malcolm barely managed to catch the weapon, and the mishap left him with just enough time to back away and duck underneath a savage retaliatory blow from Tobias.
After that, the fight began to settle into a pattern of sorts. Tobias would swing, Malcolm would rush in and try to land a strike. It soon became clear that the ogre’s bones were quite tough. The cuts weren’t going to chop anything off, but still, he was making progress, chipping away at his enemy, making him bleed, and he began to see how he could prevail.
For all his fearsomeness, the ogre had made an error in judgment. Malcolm had the vague feeling that his opponent was perhaps not a very experienced fighter, because the pew wasn't really a good weapon. Even broken, it was just too unwieldy. Tobias couldn't move it fast enough to land anything serious, and it was an especially bad choice for fighting indoors.
The main
thing the pew gave Tobias was a massive amount of reach, which, though it wasn’t decisive, was still a decent advantage. Malcolm was risking a lot every time he rushed in, and the necessary caution kept him from being able to land anything serious to a vital area. He kept nicking arms, and legs to no great effect. He needed a chance to get closer to finish the fight, and he would need a perfect moment if he wanted to close that much distance without losing his head.
That moment was provided a short time later, not because of a mistake on Tobias’s part, but because of Vivienne’s strange magic.
Malcolm noticed a change to her chanting—it was suddenly a song, not a chant, and she was singing with a voice that made his heart break from the beauty of it, high pitched tones, mournful and dark. Very much Celtic.
The voice rose, as Malcolm dodged another blow from Tobias, and then the air was suddenly heavy with moisture as thick tendrils of fog began to swirl a few feet above the carpet, like coiling snakes.
Tobias was oblivious to what was happening at first but then he tried to take a step, and Thackery could tell that the stuff was hindering him in some way; causing him to move a bit like someone walking in a wading pool. Once the ogre realized something was up, his attention shifted completely away from Malcolm, and he let go of the broken pew with one hand so he could use it to swipe at the fog.
The stuff seemed to stick to his hand, like spider webs, stretching, and Malcolm could see that there was actual resistance. The ogre was struggling to free himself. Then Tobias tried to take a step, but his front foot only lifted a few inches off the ground before snapping back.
The huge bulging eyes filled with panic, and the monster opened his mouth to let out a cry of frustration mixed with fear.
"It won't hold forever!" screamed Vivienne. "Kill him! Now!"
Malcolm, having failed so far to do much damage with his cutting edge, charged in fast and used the sword like a spear.
Tobias tried to react to his rush, but with one hand trapped in the sticky fog he wasn’t nearly quick enough. The sword entered a few inches above Tobias's navel, and came out the other side.
Tobias cried out in agony, and dark blood poured out around the spot of the wound.
Thackery tried to pull the blade free for another quick thrust, but it resisted his efforts, and before he could make any progress, Tobias seized him by one arm, lifting him up off the ground with ease, pulling him towards his fang-filled maw.
Malcolm lost his grip on the—now-useless—sword as he rose into the air, and then all he had to defend himself was two empty hands.
His left went up to struggle against the ogre's impossibly strong grip, while the right reflexively shot into his coat pocket, and seized the tiny pistol there.
The weapon was obviously too low caliber to do any serious damage to this monster, unless it struck exactly the right spot, and that would require nearly impossible marksmanship.
Or it would have, if Malcolm hadn't been so close.
As things stood, the ogre didn't realize it but he was actually killing himself by lifting Malcolm into the air, giving him the perfect angle he needed to press the pistol against the monster’s eye and squeeze off a shot.
The sound of the discharge was muffled by the meaty bulk of Tobias's head. Blood shot out of his ears, but the bullet couldn't make it through the back side of the skull.
Tobias went stiff, but he still didn't let go.
So, Malcolm pressed the barrel in even further, and squeezed off another shot.
Tobias's grip loosened and his body started going over sideways.
The light was fading from his eyes. He was done. Finished.
Malcolm had won.
But then, the monster summoned one last burst of strength just as he was about to fall over, and tossed Malcolm casually through the air.
Thackery felt the wind moving past him as he flew, felt gravity take over and begin pulling him down, and then there was a meaty, wet sound as he hit the ground, followed immediately by the awareness of a strange feeling in his back and chest.
A warm, numb feeling.
Vivienne began to scream.
He tried to move, but nothing happened, and that prompted him to look down at himself.
A pointy shard of wood that used to be one of the legs of the broken pew was poking up out of his rib cage, covered in thick, dark blood.
Oh, he thought, that’s what it is.
7 - Goddess
The pain of this particular wound, in Malcolm’s opinion, was rather interesting. It felt quite a lot like being shot, but it actually hurt a little less. It was as if his body was already trying to shut itself off, especially in the general area around the shard of wood.
There was also a feeling like he needed to cough, and he kept trying to do so, but his abdominal muscles wouldn’t cooperate.
Vivienne approached and stood over him. Her eyes were moist with tears. “Oh no,” she said. “What have you got yourself into now?”
“I guess I’m going to die,” he said, surprised by the weak croak that came out of his mouth.
She knelt down beside him. “No you’re not,” she said. “Not this time anyway.”
“Sorry luv, but I can already feel it happening. Won’t be much longer now, I reckon.”
“I wish you weren’t so damned big,” she said, and then slipped her hands underneath him.
“What’s this?” he said.
“This is going to hurt some.”
Thackery finally figured out what she was about to do, and he would’ve protested if he’d had another second to think about it, but then she heaved, and the pain in his chest got a whole lot worse very suddenly. The pain was so brutal that his vision literally flashed white for a second, and he fainted.
He woke up a few moments later to the sensation of being slapped in the face.
Vivienne slapped him again. She was standing over him, staring down at him with fury blazing in her eyes.
“You’re too heavy, dammit! You have to help me! Use your legs!”
He looked down and saw that the giant piece of wood was still sticking out of his chest.
Did she drop me?
He was fairly addled, but he managed to groan, “Just let me be. No point.”
“Use your legs, you dolt! I’m going to try again.”
He wanted to insist otherwise, but he was too weak to even bother. He felt her arms slip underneath him again, felt himself being lifted. The pain hit again, like 1000 bolts of lightning. His vision wavered, he heard himself screaming.
But he managed to send a vague signal down to his legs, urging them to push down against the ground to make himself easier to lift.
Then he fainted again, and settled into a nice warm coma. Which was just as well under the circumstances.
What happened after that would forever remain sort of blurry in his memory, because he wasn’t entirely conscious, and even during the portions that he was awake for, there were times when he had his eyes closed.
It started with sound—Vivienne speaking that strange language again, a sing-song chant this time, repeated over and over, her voice rich and deep and honeyed, following a melody that was both beautiful and sad.
He opened his eyes, looked up at her, and saw that white fog was coming out of her mouth with each word, forming a swirling globe that hovered in the air above him.
The surface of the globe was alive with shapes—human faces of indescribable beauty, strange animals, and landscapes that teased the imagination with insane possibilities.
Staring up at the globe, watching the dancing images, made him dizzy and after a minute or so he was lulled into a sort of daze that quickly deepened until his eyes drifted closed again and he went fully to sleep.
He had strange dreams of a bright place, full of stars, that he wouldn’t ever be able to describe with words, and in those dreams he knew things mortals weren’t supposed to know.
Then he woke again, and the knowledge fled his mind the moment he opened his
eyes.
He expected to see Vivienne standing over him, but there was no one.
He looked to his left and saw the piece of wood from the busted pew that had pierced his body, covered with partially dried blood.
He looked to his right and saw Vivienne sitting on a nearby pew, looking terribly ill, with paler than normal skin, and dark circles under her eyes.
He sat up slowly, looked all around the room, and realized something was missing.
“Where’s the ogre,” he said with an edge of panic in his voice, because the only thing he could think of was that the man must’ve got up and ran away, or perhaps turned invisible and hidden somewhere in the room, waiting to pounce.
Vivienne looked at Malcolm, and said with a totally deadpan voice, “I ate him.”
“What?”
She shrugged and said, “You were dying,” as if that explained everything.
He thought about it, nodded, and said, “Dying… yes, that’s right. Seem to be fine now though.”
“Yes you are.”
After a long hesitation, Malcolm decided to try asking again, “So you really, truly ate him?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“He was rather… Well, large…”
“The power at the core of me is also large. And it is always hungry.”
“So exactly why did you eat him?”
“I needed energy, to heal your injuries.”
“So you get energy from eating people?”
“It’s one way. Not the only way.”
“To be honest—and I don’t mean to offend—you don’t look like the meal agreed with you very much.”
She raised an eyebrow, “Actually I was fully satisfied.”
“Then why do you look like death warmed over?”
“Because I had to use every single bit of that energy to heal you. And then some.”
“Ah.”
They sat together in a comfortable silence.
He moved his arms around, kicked his legs, and then pressed against his torso, trying to see if anything hurt, and was pleased to discover that everything appeared to be in tip top shape.
Title Page 17