Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  “So how do we do this?” asks Sil

  “Pick up the sword, it will ask you if you accept judgment. Then... I do not know. I have seen wicked men accept judgment firsthand. It is... final and without mercy.”

  “So that’s it?” demands Sil. “My choices are to take judgment and risk a true death or live with this constant humiliation?”

  “Silithes dear,” comes the quiet voice from the back of the room. It’s Pffiferil. And he never calls her by her proper name. “Don’t ye be thinkin’ what I think yer thinkin.’ I’ve come to like ye a great deal. I wouldn’t want to see ye…”

  “Great. You too. You think I’m an unclean monster too?” she asks cutting him off.

  “Yer not hearin’ me,” Pffif says as calmly as I've ever heard him speak.

  “Hey,” I say reaching out for her. “It doesn’t matter what they say.”

  “But it does – to you, I know it.”

  Sil turns quickly and sweeps Gunter out of the way. She picks up Yayne.

  Sil’s body spasms and her lovely alligator-like green eyes roll up into her head.

  The sword begins to glow.

  Chapter 26

  Helsinki, Finland

  The hotel clerk can't help but notice the huge man making strides towards his counter. It's as if he could blot out the sun. Two women follow behind the large man, one very petite, the other statuesque in a striking red dress.

  “May I help you?” the clerk inquires looking up at the man. At least he has a smile, the clerk thinks to himself. Dealing with asshole guests is bad enough. Having to deal with a giant asshole guest would be worse.

  “Yes. Reservation for Newell, please.”

  “The Presidential Suite, I see. Welcome to the Kamp, Mr. Newell. Strange times we're having aren't they?” the clerk says, making small talk.

  “How so?”

  “Haven't you heard? There are creatures attacking Russia. Last year it was devils in Rome. Let's just hope they stay in Russia.”

  “Indeed,” says Mr. Newell with a furrowed brow.

  The woman in red joins them at the counter, her face all smiles. She puts her arm around the man's waist. “Is the room ready? The game starts in about fifteen minutes.”

  By her accent, the clerk assumes her to be British. He can't make out the man's accent, other than being somewhat continental. They are joined by the petite woman.

  “This is a great place, is the room ready?”

  Decidedly American, the clerk thinks to himself.

  “Yes, your suite is ready, I will have the captain bring the bags up.” He picks up the phone and gives direction. “So what brings you to Helsinki, Mr. Newell?”

  “Escape,” he replies with a huge grin.

  ⁂

  They rearrange the furniture slightly for better viewing of the game on the flat-screen television mounted to the wall. Znuul lounges in the middle of the sofa with Karen sitting to his right, very much into the game.

  From the kitchen area comes a beeping followed by the wonderful wafting aroma of buttered popcorn. Kitten enters the room proudly carrying a bowl filled with it.

  “Oh, you must bring that over here,” declares Karen.

  Kitten obliges with a smile, promptly squeezing herself between Znuul and Karen. Znuul moves to make room.

  Karen's hand plunges into the popcorn and she unceremoniously fills her mouth, making all sorts of very pleased sounds.

  “God, that is sooo good,” she says washing it down with her glass of wine. “How can that taste so good?” she exclaims grabbing another handful and getting back into the game.

  Kitten offers the bowl to Znuul, who takes a kernel.

  All is good, he thinks. That is until the game is interrupted by breaking news.

  “Bullocks!” says Karen.

  The video shows the reporter behind a barricade. He is speaking in Russian with English subtitles. “Reporting from Novgorod. The creature has taken school number fourteen hostage. We have confirmation that three adults are dead. Like the earlier attack, there has been no communication with the monster and it makes no demands. Wait, we see some activity at the entrance.”

  “Bloody hell,” says Karen. “Ahtsag, did you know about this?”

  “Not until we checked in. It doesn't involve us other than interrupting the game.”

  Karen stands and shouts, “There are children in that school.”

  “Let the protectorate do their job. Sit down, you're making Kitten nervous.”

  The reporter's voice comes on with more urgency, taking all their attention.

  “It's coming out. My god, it has seven children and an adult by what appears to be leashes around their neck made of cord or something. It's coming forward. Get a shot of it! Zoom in.”

  The TV shows the creature moving the children and the adult ahead of it, towards the police and military. It stops and appears to direct them to kneel.

  “Bloody fucking hell,” says Znuul.

  “It's Baalig,” says Karen.

  “Fully armored,” replies Znuul.

  “The creature has yelled out something, we can't make it out from here,” says the reporter through the television. “It appears a police officer is coming up to speak with it. Oh, God it's raising its arm. There's some kind of weapon on its arms. Get the camera off me - get it up there!”

  The screen shows a police officer, very cautiously approaching. It appears some words are exchanged and the creature steps forward. It's arm moves away from the police officer and points at the adult on a leash. The person's head explodes in a gory spray.

  “Oh my God, it's killed a teacher!” the reporter says, “The police officer is running back. Maybe there's a message. Get the camera on the officer. This is the first communication with the creature and it has not gone well. I don't know if you can hear it, but it is yelling at the children. Get the camera on the children, it's using the leashes, choking them to make them be quiet!”

  “We have to do something,” urges Karen.

  Znuul shrugs back at her.

  The camera's focus on the children is broken by police officers who have rushed over to the reporter's area.

  “You, with Russia One, get up there now. It wants to make its demands known.”

  “I… uh…”

  Sounds of barricades being tossed aside fill the sound coming from the television and the cameraman is being pulled away.

  “Get up there, or it will start killing the children. Go!”

  The TV shows their approach, the reporter talking along the way, “It has asked to make its demands to the media or it will kill the children. Pray for us and them.”

  The camera is right atop the creature, who regards it and the reporter.

  A processed, metallic voice comes from the creature, “You are with the communications that can be seen around this realm?”

  “Yes, we are Russia-one.”

  “Come closer, so I may speak evenly and be heard. Make sure the image recorder is upon me,” it says in flawless Russian.

  The TV screen now has a perfect head and shoulders shot of the attacker. It grasps the reporter's hand and brings the microphone closer, the reporter protesting the gruff treatment.

  “I am here for the head of the traitor Ahtsag Znuul. I will kill and destroy all before me until that one yields. Or, if he chooses not to yield, then to at least find the courage to step up and fight. I demand response. I demand it now. One child dies every hour. I have hundreds in this place. Should you humans try to free them, I will kill them all, and then find more elsewhere. I invite you to doubt me. There are so many schools. So many homes. No one is safe.”

  The reporter is flung off screen by his arm - pitched a good 10 yards. The creature reaches down to one of the children and picks him up by his head. It holds the child out in a display, palming his skull for all to see as the child struggles, feet kicking in the air.

  “No! He's just a baby!” screams Karen. The television's screen spider webs, smoke and spa
rks start coming from the back of the screen as a result of her distress.

  Znuul is up fast. He wraps her in a hug. “I'll handle this.”

  “He was just a baby… an innocent.”

  “Holy shit,” says Kitten, her face a mask of disbelief, the popcorn all over the floor, having spilled from her lap when she shot up. “She’s killing kids.”

  Karen looks over to Kitten, tears in her eyes. “She? That’s a she...” Karen collects herself for a moment. “That bitch has to die.”

  “Yes,” says Znuul in his best soothing tone, “I will deal with it, I’m the one who's been called out.”

  That does not sit well with the red witch.

  “I can’t sit on the sidelines forever. I won’t. They’re children… babies. They don’t deserve this. I’m going to burn that murderous…”

  Znuul’s finger across her mouth silences her. Their eyes lock. His eyes roll over to the television. Karen slumps.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just... so bad.”

  “The world’s not ready for you yet,” he says leaning down to put his forehead on hers. “Trust in your Znuul.”

  They stand there motionless for a moment, until Znuul breaks their embrace. “Kitten, watch over her. I have some calls to make. Get online and find me a nice hotel near Novgorod.”

  “You should let her loose on that…” Kitten stops, knowing that’s not what her master wants to hear.

  Znuul departs to the bedroom and closes the door. He stands there for a moment, considering options. Time is wasting. Another child perishes in less than an hour.

  We walks over to a small suitcase and pulls out a nondescript phone. He inserts a battery and sets it aside to power up. He pulls a notebook out and flips to the page he needs.

  He types in the number and it rings. It flips over to voicemail immediately. “You’ve reached Percy, at the…”

  Znuul hangs up and texts the number. “Answer the damn call, Percy.”

  He waits a second and calls back.

  “Who is this?” asks Percy.

  “You know who I am. I’m sure you know what’s going on in Novgorod, too. We don’t have time to work through Edgar. Children are going to die.”

  “And you care?”

  “Snottiness does not become you, Mr. Baumgartner. What’s that expression – have you been drinking the cool-aid? I’m calling you to help save lives. Do you care?”

  “This line isn’t secure,” says Percy.

  “Then call me back on a secure one once you’ve found the phone number for one of those reporters at the scene. I need to speak with my would-be executioner. Time is wasting. The sooner I make that call, the sooner we buy time for those children.”

  “Ok, don’t forget to burn the phone when we’re done.” Percy hangs up.

  Znuul calls the front desk. “Mr. Newell in the Presidential, please have my vehicle ready.” Then he grabs a garment bag and sits down on the bed. He flicks on the television in the bedroom and finds a news-channel. Moments crawl along, the phone dings with a text. It's the phone number he needs.

  “Good man,” Znuul mutters and then dials the number.

  “Who is this?” answers a man’s voice.

  “This is Ahtsag Znuul. I require your assistance to save a child’s life. By my count, this child has less than twenty minutes before execution. How much time do you estimate?”

  “I... uh... What do you need?”

  “I need you, or someone, to bring this phone to my would-be assassin. We need to do this now.”

  “Yes, yes Hold on.”

  Znuul waits, listening to the man speak with the authorities and plead the case. He’s also pleading that someone else take the phone in there.

  Finally, another voice comes on the phone. “This is Lieutenant Merkov of the Russian Army, with whom am I speaking?”

  Znuul rolls his eyes and takes a calming breath. “This is Ahtsag Znuul. The Baalig warrior in there has said it will start killing children if I don’t show up. I am far away, I need to speak with her now.”

  There’s a pause on the phone. “We will require proof of…”

  Znuul’s patience is lost and he raises his tone. “The next child that dies is on you. The one after that, and the one after that also. I have made the effort; it’s a shame you would not do the same. Now either get this phone to that murderous bitch or hang up and tell the world you turned me away.”

  After a moment of silence, the Lieutenant speaks, “I’m on my way.”

  The Lieutenant breaks the line and runs to the front door of the school. Entering the school, he sees the hallway lined with students, face down. Their whimpering tells him they are alive. A large black skinned creature with feline features is patrolling the hall. It stops at the sight of the Lieutenant.

  “I have the Znuul creature on the phone,” he yells out.

  The door to the office opens, followed by the monster and two children with the makeshift leashes being tugged along roughly.

  The Lieutenant puts the phone up to his ear and says, “It is here. I am handing you over.” He hands the phone to it. It puts the phone next to its helm, then holds it away. The reflective glass flips up and the whole helm recedes back, revealing the face of the creature underneath.

  He thinks her face might be considered pretty despite the very dark purple tone of her skin. But her eyes… those hateful serpentine red eyes that are locked onto him - all they say is death. He notes that the small horns are not part of the helm as he thought; they are hers.

  “You reek of fear,” she says to him. “Leave now or die.”

  She doesn’t have to tell him twice.

  She regards the phone, this communication device, and puts it to her ear.

  “So, this is the traitor Ahtsag Znuul?”

  “I am,” comes the deep voice in her ear, “And to whom am I speaking?”

  “Your executioner. So, you may know the name of your butcher, I am Ahzna Luunz,”

  There is no response from her quarry, which angers her.

  “Time passes, ancient one. A human child dies every hour you are not standing before me.”

  “I’m rather far away, I need two days to get to you: forty-eight hours,” says Znuul calmly.

  “Then forty-eight bleating human children will die. They are delicious, you know – humans. And fragile too.”

  “Well, I refuse to rush to you if you’re just going to kill them anyway,” Znuul says in a steady, even tone. “I will make all haste to come to you, but not if it means even one of those children die. If you want me to come to you, those are the terms. Otherwise, I see no reason to make the effort. Instead, I will find you on my terms at the place and time of my choosing.”

  Ahzna has to laugh at that. He thinks for a second that she’s intimidated by an old, love-addled shell of a Baalig?

  “Fine, ancient one. You have forty-eight hours. No human children will die in that time. If you are as much as a minute late, I will kill forty-eight of these young to set the bargain straight and then another forty-eight just to spite you.”

  “Well then,” comes Znuul’s voice through the phone, “I’ll make an effort to be a little early. But please know this, my executioner. You’ve asked for my head, which means you’re going to get the horns too.”

  She hears a click.

  “Ahtsag Znuul. Old one… Traitor,” she yells into the phone.

  ⁂

  Znuul pulls the battery from the phone and sets in on the nightstand. Then he crushes the phone in his hand, that simple act of destruction giving him a fair level of satisfaction. He recognizes the frustration mounting within him.

  Vacation: lost. Karen: upset. Children: dying

  He regards the television for a moment, looking to see if this Baalig is going to make a statement, then comes to the opinion it doesn't matter. The die is cast.

  “Shit,” he mutters. Not that he has to face this adversary, but at the realization he's going to have to do it in front of the
press and the world: a hope-forsaken media circus.

  He slings the garment bag over his shoulder and opens the door to the living space to see Karen pacing back and forth. Kitten is sitting on the floor to the side of Karen's path. Karen looks at Znuul with questions and hope.

  “The children are safe for forty-eight hours, it will take me twenty-five to drive to Novgorod,” he says.

  “Thank you,” Karen says back, “Are you sure you don't…”

  She stops right there, knowing the answer. He wishes to do this alone.

  “I am more than a match for any Baalig, armored or not.”

  Znuul looks down and reads the concern in Kitten's eyes.

  “No reason to be concerned for me,” he says to Kitten. “I'm certainly not.”

  Chapter 27

  The command doesn’t work. I reach to my will and shout “Silithes! Drop the damned sword!”

  There is no response, other than my knees going weak. It’s like I’ve been punched in the gut. I feel ill, almost like I’m going to faint. The room spins and I start to white out. Collecting myself after that episode, my eyes dart over to Gunter, who looks quite dispassionate. He predicts my response and steps in front of me.

  “No, you cannot interfere. It is done.”

  Hearing my shouts, Sheyliene comes into the room. She takes one look at Sil and then to me.

  “Oh, no - that's the sword. The sword...” she says.

  “Arthur,” says Gunter grasping my shoulder. “It is beyond you now. You cannot compel a soul that does not exist. It appears there is some mercy for you on Yayne's behalf. It is allowing you closure. Your chance to say goodbye.”

  Gunter got even with me. I'm pretty sure my heart just skipped a beat.

  “Master Arthur, ye know she weren't much fer listenin' - we tried to stop her.”

  “You did,” says Vets, “And now...”

  “Silly? Silithes?” says Sheyliene now taking a step closer to her. “No…”

  Then Sheyliene falls backward in fright, as the sword drops with a clang. Sil takes a deep gasping breath and a step backward. Before I can move to her, she stops me with wide eyes and three words.