Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  ”Marthe, you hurt me implying such a thing.”

  “Young men should not trifle weeth the emotions of older women.”

  It’s all in jest, we share a good chuckle.

  “But seriously, Marthe, it’s my day off, and I want to share. I’d like to cook dinner tonight, and I know what I’d like to prepare – American Hamburgers with fries. If you’ll get the ingredients, I would love to cook for you and our little skeleton crew here.”

  “Yees,” she says, “It ees an interesting time with zhat one meesbehaving.” She sets the knife down on the counter. “Sweet boy you are, write your list down and I weel shop for you.”

  She tweaks my cheek again.

  “Marthe, you know I’m about twice your age.”

  She turns around, picking up the knife.

  “Eef I call you a sweet boy, you are a sweet boy, no?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” There’s nothing else to say. I am a sweet boy.

  “So how many am I cooking for?”

  “You will need to prepare for nine. But zee big one that is meesbehaving usually eats more than one portion. Zat one eats way too much. Do you theenk Znuul ees really a danger to us? He deed attack you, no?”

  ”Yes. He did. But Grey seems to have everything under control.”

  She gives me her stern queen-of-the-kitchen look.

  “Nothing to worry about, zat one knows to respect me, or else.”

  I make out my list and hand it to her.

  “We have potatoes and eggs. They are over there.” She fishes out several loaves of French bread. “Here. Don’t be a lazy boy, make your own breadcrumbs.

  I am a lazy boy now. She looks up from the list and sneers, “Ketchup?”

  We get a good laugh out of that and part ways. I head out to the rear lawn and call out for Hjuul. I promised him a run, and I plan to make good on it. He comes bounding around from the side of the chateau. Shey buzzes down and joins us. We head out toward the vineyard for an afternoon romp.

  After that, I return to the kitchen and begin my preparations for dinner. Chopping potatoes, crumbling loaves and toasting them in the oven. All this is very therapeutic, it smacks of the fourth of July for me. I fantasize I am with family; it’s a nice distraction.

  Karen enters, bringing her plate and cup back for the wash.

  “I can’t believe you talked Marthe into letting you prepare dinner tonight – American Hamburgers, eh?”

  “Not just hamburgers, Arthur’s special holiday hamburgers.”

  She approaches and puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you okay, Arthur? Last night was bad.”

  I stop with the dicing of onions.

  “Yes. Yeah, I got abused a little, but I saw my Dory. I heard her beautiful voice too – how can you say that was bad? Damn Znuul could have flayed the skin off me, and I’d still say it was good in the final equation.”

  “Sorry. I’m just so focused. The council will take this matter very seriously – as they should. It’s just that... Your Dorothy sure made an entrance. I am so happy for you, Arthur. That’s just so unheard of nowadays for an angel to present itself.”

  I’m not going to ask her to finish that first thought and go back to the chopping.

  “Thanks. Have you spoken with Mr. Big and Purple about it?”.

  “I have,” she says. “He seems contrite, but what if that’s a deception? It concerns me that he not only disregarded Grey’s command but took action against him. If he can do that, what’s to stop him from lying to us? Arthur, do you have any idea the amount of destruction and chaos he could bring, unbound?”

  I stop chopping and look her in the eyes.

  “Think I got the flavor for that last night, Karen.”

  “Sorry. I’m still a bit jet lagged, and lack of sleep doesn’t help either.”

  “Yeah, welcome home, right? Hey, a favor, please? Can you make sure he doesn't attend dinner tonight? Our nerves are still a bit raw.”

  ”I’ll pass the message along. It’s about all I can do. I am looking forward to a good burger.”

  So am I.

  ***

  Dinner service goes off without a hitch. We eat in the kitchen, at the island instead of the dining room. Grey takes a plate for Znuul, who thankfully is not joining us. I made two burgers for Hjuul, rare of course, and I enjoy serving him almost as much as he enjoys gulping them down. Shey, who does not eat meat, gets special treatment with sautéed mushrooms, onions and cheese on a bun – she’s a happy camper.

  Dinner is a good time. The chef gets kind words from everyone – even Reginald, who told Marthe, “Add this to the menu,” in his crusty way.

  Brave man.

  Once all is cleaned up, I excuse myself and go up to retire for the evening. Tomorrow I have to deal with Znuul’s apology and begin quizzing my crew on Maldgorath. It’s early to bed, but I don’t care. The bed feels comfy, and the pillow is inviting.

  ***

  Nature’s call wakes me a little after one AM. After addressing what I must, the thought of a midnight milk run sounds good. Especially since Marthe always leaves a tray of cookies, or “biscuits” as she calls them. After making my way downstairs, I round the corner to the kitchen to see Znuul, in human form, wearing his torn-up AC/DC tee-shirt and cut off jeans.

  He’s washing his dishes from the night’s dinner.

  I actually pause for a moment, then decide I won’t give him the satisfaction by waiting for him to leave.

  True to form, a platter of goodies waits on the island. I begin to stride over to where the cups are, near the sink. Before I can arrive, Znuul opens the cabinet, grabs a cup and turns back around to hand it to me.

  Well, here we are. I take the cup and give him a nod. I turn to go to the refrigerator for milk.

  “It’s tomorrow you know,” he says, attempting to break the ice.

  I go over to the island without saying a word and take one of the oatmeal raisin delicacies. Znuul walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of beer, pulling the cap off without the help of an opener.

  “Bring your snack outside.”

  I turn around, cookie in hand.

  “You're telling me to?”

  He takes a pausing breath.

  “Sorry. Would you please consider joining me outside? There’s much to discuss.”

  I just glare at him and take another bite of cookie.

  “I owe you an apology. Please.”

  He turns and goes through the double French doors to the rear lawn’s porch area.

  Chapter 44

  Damn. He who never apologizes has apologized twice now and has even said 'please' to boot. I figure it’s either now or later, so why not now?

  I top off my milk, grab a paper napkin and another cookie along with a bottle of beer. I take my time walking to the table where Znuul sits. I plop the beer down in front of him and take my seat next to him, setting my snack down. I scoot the chair around to face him.

  “Okay, me first,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. “Truth to start, then excuses – fair enough?”

  “Sure."

  He sets the beer down and leans in.

  “The truth is my actions were inappropriate by human standards.” He stops, probably reading me. “My actions were inappropriate for…” He sits back in his chair and looks away then looks back at me. “My actions last night were wrong. One does not treat a friend in such a way, I see this plainly now. This is the truth; I have come to enjoy your company. You are quite… unique and somewhat infectious.”

  Like that’s going to get it…

  “You kill my friends, abuse me, and now I’m sorry is supposed to make everything okay? What’s with this calling me a disease? And oh yeah, I didn’t think your kind has friends, just victims being made comfortable before the strike.”

  He closes his eyes, and I see his jaw clench. He opens them back up, gives me a half smile, then reaches for his beer, and downs it.

  “Good foresight on the other beer
. We are still on truth, excuses will come. First, I cannot undo that which is done. I do regret my actions, and I am coming to learn that an apology is not enough. But an apology is only where I know to start. I did not mean to infer you are a disease. What I meant is that you leave an impression on those you take time with; you have left an impression on me. Lastly, what you say about friends and my kind is very true as a stereotype. But I am an individual, and quite a flawed one, at that. I do think of us as friends - by the human standard.”

  “Funny way to treat a friend,” I say back.

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” He reaches over and pops the cap of the second bottle of beer with his thumb. “At this rate, I will need more. Okay, onto excuses. I did not want to see you get yourself killed or worse by challenging a being that can destroy you quite easily. You are stubborn, and words don’t seem to work as well with you. I thought the first-hand experience might make you understand how outmatched you truly are. This is much how we teach our young; to teach of fire we burn them and laugh at their pain.”

  Sweet Christ O mighty that is a seriously demented culture. I don’t say anything, I just look at this creature now masquerading as a person as if to say, “so what.” The game is on, he-who-speaks-first loses.

  Znuul loses in no time flat.

  “As I said, this is an excuse. It was what I thought. I know now I was wrong.”

  He bends backward and puts his face into his hands. He pulls himself back up and looks off across the yard.

  “I have few friends and only one that may live as long as I.” His eyes return to me, “I enjoy your stubborn, do-gooding company, Arthur, and was being selfish in letting my wish for your survival overtake your need for closure.”

  He sits back and grabs the beer, taking a quick swig then sets it back down.

  “This really isn’t easy for me, you know that?”

  “Tough shit, big guy. Someone I thought was my friend kicked my ass and killed my buddies– you think that’s easy? Do you even know the first thing about what being a friend means?”

  I can tell a smart ass reply is coming. I can see it percolating around in his head. But instead, Znuul reaches over, takes the remaining beer and downs the rest of it.

  “I am going to need more powerful intoxicants.” He stands and takes the two bottles. “Being a good friend is not something that was beaten into me as a youngling. I am trying and must admit I could use some help to better grasp the nuances. Would you wait for me? I have things to share with you that may help you in your quest. You don’t have to give me forgiveness. The knowledge is yours, freely – no strings.”

  He strides off to the kitchen.

  To err is human I think. Then I wonder if I’m being played. But if I am, what in the heck is he going to get out of it? Not much that I see. What is this stuff that he has to share with me? I’m confused and look to my cookies and milk for inspiration.

  A while into my cookies and milk the rear door from the foyer opens, and Znuul comes through carrying two bottles of Stoli. He holds them out like a prize and takes his seat.

  “Size and metabolism work against me for alcohol to have any effect,” he says.

  “Poor baby.”

  That brings a smile to his face. He cracks open the bottle and takes a big swig.

  “All right,” he says, “Here’s some information to help you...”

  I hold my hand up to stop him.

  “Let’s finish with the asking for forgiveness part. Big Z, I will accept your apology, and we can start fresh if, and only when, you apologize to each and every one of mine that you hurt.”

  He did not expect that. I can tell there’s some, “what the heck,” going on in his head.

  “They are only summonlings,” he says with some disdain.

  “And I’m only a lowly human being, quite possibly lesser than even a Vetisghar. They are my friends and sort of family.”

  Znuul actually winces at my statement. He takes a huge gulp off the bottle.

  “Point for you,” he says. “Tell you what; I will apologize to each and every one of them – even the hound.” He regards the bottle for a moment. “I’ll even apologize to the Pixie for what I did to her in the war, though she will not accept.” Another big swig follows. “Arthur, I erred badly and am on the verge of losing everything I hold dear.”

  He’s looking at me dead on, and I detect some welling in the eyes. Then, just like that, he breaks eye contact and takes another swallow.

  “Let me tell you what I know,” he says, changing the topic.

  “Shoot.”

  He offers me the bottle, and I decline.

  “Here’s the thing, you’ve read all the files, and you know a little about him. You know about the planar dragon that can take him basically anywhere. I was in the Fae invasion with him. I know the son of shit – for who and what he is. He is a coward and a bully.”

  Znuul’s whole demeanor changes, he is very much in touch with his strength.

  “Listen to me, Arthur. I do not think you will kill Maldgorath by yourself. I do not think you can. But, you can bloody his nose. If you hit him hard enough, he will run. His dragon will whoosh him away at the first sign of trouble because he’s willed it so. I know this. He wields great power, but he also knows that if he does perish all the spirits in his possession will then own him. Why do you think he avoids direct conflict and uses pawns?”

  He takes another swig and settles into his chair.

  “Coward and bully, Arthur. You are neither and, therefore, maybe with some luck and planning, you might survive an encounter with him - especially if your wife shows again. Though, I would not expect him to take a knee to her. Hit him hard, hit him fast. Make him run away and not want to bother with you again.”

  Not what I wanted to hear; but still very valuable intelligence. I want to react to the, “You can’t.” I am so tired of hearing that over and over again. But after having my ass handed to me so completely, only arrogance would have me disregard it.

  Crap.

  “Gimme the bottle, you friggin’ flying monkey.”

  Znuul hands over the bottle and I take a shot. It burns going down but still feels good. I hand it back.

  We sit there in silence for a while. The bottle passes a few times.

  Znuul breaks the silence.

  “If I could stand with you, Arthur, when that time comes, I would be pleased to do so. You and I together, I promise you would have your revenge. I bet we could get Karen and Greg too. Heck, even the old man; he’d love to stick it to Alistair by acting without his permission.”

  “Yea, that’s probably not going to happen though, is it?” I ask, more of an observation, really.

  The big guy just shrugs. “I’m giving up on absolutisms.”

  We share some more silence and the passing of the bottle.

  “I need advice, Arthur. Grey and Karen have shut me out. I’ve explained everything to them almost as I have to you. I have apologized. Now when they speak to me, it’s behind thick walls of mental defense. Grey is important to me. He’s been… fatherly; only without beating me, raping me, and degrading me in front of others like my real one did. He never treated me as a slave, even though I've been bound to him. Now, I can’t sense him at all. He wouldn’t do that except for fear of me.”

  “Crap sticks, Znuul.” The offhanded comment about his father’s treatment of him just bothers me, “Your dad did what?”

  He waves his hand dismissively at me.

  “It is our way. I did the same with my young. Eventually, they grow strong and kill or dominate the parent. Except for me of course, no child of mine has succeeded in that endeavor.”

  He closes his eyes and reaches for the bottle.

  “Arthur, that was then. I don’t know what do to or what I can do, now. I have explained everything as rationally as I can. They are very important to me.”

  “Okay, they are important, like family. Have you told them how you feel?”

  “Ah, that is so de
grading,” he says, scrunching his face.

  “You had no problem telling me,” I counter.

  Znuul’s laugh crashes through the night. “You see what I mean about you being infectious? I can’t believe I…” More laughter bellows out from him. Then his face goes serious again. He leans into me. “What exactly are you, Arthur MacInerny?”

  “I’m the guy telling you that you love them and you need to tell them that; at least for your own sake. Rational explanations rarely address emotional situations that well.”

  I sense a moment of protest and rebuttal in him, but nothing comes of it.

  “Thank you for the advice, Arthur.”

  We both know that means he probably won’t take it. Pride’s a bitch.

  Chapter 45

  True to his word, Znuul made apologies to each and every member of my team. Shey confided in me that he even made an attempt to apologize for trading her to Maldgorath, though saying something to the effect of, “I should have tried harder to dominate you,” does fall a little flat.

  I take time with all my summonlings, quizzing them and taking notes on Maldgorath’s behavior’s, quirks, and potential weaknesses. Putting aside my feelings, I even quiz Arixtumin who foolishly thought he would be released from his very white prison. Close to two years in the white have taken a toll on him; he actually groveled for mercy. Makes me wonder how well he’d hold up after five thousand.

  I distill my learning into a top ten list:

  1. Maldgorath is awesomely strong; he carries his own power augmented by at least two thousand spirits. The real count is unknown.

  2. He heals miraculously fast thanks to the power of his legion; any damage dealt has to be catastrophic to be of any concern. I heal fast, he heals at light speed.

  3. The baby planar dragon is his greatest asset. The dragon allows him to jump to other planes of existence at a whim. It is his escape tool. Should he become seriously harmed, the dragon is compelled to get him out of danger immediately.

  4. He is a coward and a bully; he runs away.

  5. He does not fight his own fights - that is what summonlings are for.