by Kate Novak
“I have paid my debt to your lord,” Jedidiah replied cautiously. “I have no further desire to deal with him.”
He needs to deal with you. The mind flayer waved its tentacles anxiously. He begs for your indulgence.
“Begs?” Jedidiah replied with amused surprise. “Why would the greatest mind in the universe need to beg?”
Your song … The illithid’s face started to twitch faster; the tentacles writhed as if in pain. After a moment the twitching slowed, and the illithid said, Your song. It doesn’t end. It keeps on going, and my lord cannot get it out of his mind.
“That’s not my problem,” Jedidiah said. “He wanted it.”
Please take the song back. It is spreading to us, Ilsensine’s faithful priests, when we pray for spells. It is driving us mad.
“All sales are final,” Jedidiah replied with a chuckle.
My lord says he will grant you a boon, the illithid replied, if you will take the song back. Anything you need to know. Gods have traded one of their eyes for such knowledge.
Jedidiah paused for a moment, then said, “There are two things I need to know.”
Agreed, the mind flayer cried out in their heads without hesitation.
“Very well,” Jedidiah said.
The mind flayer moved in close to Jedidiah. It extended its facial tentacles. The tips of the tentacles glowed with the same green radiance as Ilsensine had. The tentacles stroked Jedidiah’s face, then plunged deep beneath the flesh, passing ethereally into his brain. After a moment, they withdrew, leaving Jedidiah’s flesh unscarred.
In his head, Joel heard the mind flayer sigh. The creature’s palsy had evaporated.
The mind flayer stepped back and bowed deeply. The answer to your first question is no, it said. The answer to your second question … The creature tilted his head. He does not know. Good-bye, Finder Wyvernspur.
The illithid slid back into the fog, disappearing within moments.
Jedidiah stood staring after it wordlessly, the blood draining from his face. His expression was one of extreme sadness.
“Jedidiah,” Joel whispered. “Are you all right?”
The older man nodded, but he appeared distracted.
“What was that all about?” Joel asked.
Jedidiah sighed. He turned to Joel with a wan smile. “Remember in Shishi’s garden, when I thought I remembered that I had a plan? I did. I gave Ilsensine a recursive song, a tuneful little ditty in which the last verse leads directly back into the first, forming a closed loop. Ilsensine couldn’t get the tune out of his head, and with his powerful brain, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Then, his mind power being what it is, it spread to his priests.”
Joel thought of the times when he’d been unable to stop humming some silly ditty for days, sometimes weeks at a time. It had interfered with everything else he had tried to do. The younger bard chuckled. It would be a long time before Ilsensine poked around in a god’s mind again. Then he remembered the other mystery. “What about the questions?” he asked. “What were your questions? You looked disappointed by the answers.”
Jedidiah was silent for a moment, then said, “They only confirmed what I already knew in my heart.… We’d better hurry back to the shop in case there’s someone else searching for the hand.”
The older priest pushed on into the fog. Joel hurried after him before the gloom could separate them.
Sixteen
THE HAND OF BANE
Dits ushered them back into his shop with an air of expectancy. “Well?” he asked Joel.
“Holly’s all right,” Joel explained. “Her friend Bors found her. She’s resting. Walinda has stayed behind to help tend to her.”
“Walinda?” the bariaur queried with some surprise. “The unpleasant one?”
Joel picked up the sledgehammer Walinda had dropped on the floor of the shop. “Probably just trying to get out of the heavy work,” he said, giving Dits a wink.
He and Jedidiah made their way into the basement. Dits stood on the top step and watched them. Jedidiah pulled out the light stone and set it on a high step of the stairs so it shone down over their heads.
“Would you care to do the honors?” Jedidiah asked.
Joel grinned. He took a firm grip on the handle of the sledgehammer and slammed it into the wall.
“Whoa! That’s hard,” Joel said, his hands smarting.
A chip of red had come off a brick, but there was no sign of cracking in the walls.
“It feels like it’s a lot thicker than it looks,” the Rebel Bard explained.
“Whack at it some more,” Jedidiah said.
Joel complied, pounding on the brick wall several times before he noted a small crack forming in the mortar.
Jedidiah went at the crack with the pickax. Together they managed to pull a brick away.
There was a second brick wall behind the first. Mortar filled the space between the two walls.
“You don’t think they filled the whole passage in with mortar and brick, do you?” Joel asked, worried that they might be banging on the walls for days, or even weeks.
Jedidiah shook his head. “Three walls maybe. That’s the rule in Sigil, I’ve been told. Three of everything. Isn’t that right, Mr. Dits?”
“Aye,” the bariaur replied. “If three of something can’t handle the job, it wasn’t meant to be handled. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to keep an eye on my shop.”
They broke away the first wall completely, tossing the bricks into a corner of the basement. Joel noticed that the older man was pale and wheezing. “We’d better take a break,” the younger man said, knowing Jedidiah would not do so unless Joel joined him. They sat on the stairs, breathing heavily, wiping sweat from their brows.
“Are you all right?” the young priest asked.
“It’s just the air. And being old. I hope,” Jedidiah said.
“What do you mean, you hope?” Joel asked in alarm.
Jedidiah grinned. “Just a feeling I have that this city knows I’m really a god, and it wants to get rid of me.”
After a few minutes Joel got up and began smashing away at the second wall. There was indeed a third wall behind it. Joel began smashing through the third wall before he’d finished dismantling the second.
A single brick fell backward out of the third wall, into darkness.
A cold draft surged out of the hole, stirring up the dust on the basement floor.
“I think we’re through,” Joel said.
Jedidiah picked up the light stone and went to Joel’s side. He peered through the hole with the light stone held up beside his eye.
“Looks like a passage leading down,” the older man said. “Let’s make sure we clear away enough stone so we can make a hasty exit should it be required.”
They finished clearing away the second wall, then smashed at the third. The sound of the falling bricks echoed back at them, indicating a large room lay somewhere beyond. When they had cleared away the last of the bricks, a stone staircase of black granite yawned before them. Joel pulled out the finder’s stone. The beacon pointed down the staircase.
“This is it,” Jedidiah said, setting aside the pickax.
Joel leaned the sledgehammer against the wall.
Together the two men drew their swords and descended into the darkness below. Jedidiah held the light stone, Joel the finder’s stone. They pushed aside the bricks that had fallen onto the steps. The stairs led to an arched passageway, which ran straight back toward a red glow.
They walked along the passageway side by side. Shiny black tiles covered the passage wall. Their surface appeared bubbly, like tar, but closer inspection revealed that each tile was a bas-relief carving depicting a different human face, each face screaming in silent, eternal pain.
“A motif only a Banite could love,” Jedidiah muttered.
After thirty paces, the passageway opened into a huge circular room, its ceiling vaulted, its floor shaped like a bowl. Around the edges of the room, six bra
ziers glowed with red light. Joel examined the two nearest the entry. They were filled with magically glowing light stones covered with a red oil. In the center of the room was an altar and a statue carved out of black granite. Both were polished to a high luster, which reflected back the red light.
The statue, a human-shaped creature, sat cross-legged on the altar. Its open mouth was filled with sharp teeth, and great horns protruded over its pointed ears. Two black gems sparkled in its earlobes, while another glittered from its forehead. A fourth, even larger, gem shone from a pendant on the statue’s chest. Its hands were positioned in ritual signs Joel did not recognize. The face was smooth and youthful, and the flesh well muscled. It wore nothing but a loincloth.
“Is that Bane?” the Rebel Bard asked in a whisper. His voice echoed about the room.
“Probably some avatar he sent to some culture outside the Realms,” Jedidiah said. “Handsome, but not the suave, sophisticated Bane we’re used to, is he?”
Lying on the altar in front of the seated idol was a clawed hand the size of an ogre’s paw, carved from obsidian. The hand’s ebony fingers curled upwards. Its fingernails were carved from red garnets. Someone, as an afterthought to the artist’s rendition, had studded the hand with diamonds. They gave the hand an odd look, as if it had the pox.
Jedidiah dropped to his knees to look under the hand to ascertain that it wasn’t resting on a trap or a hidden device. He and Joel exchanged looks. Jedidiah took a deep breath, then picked up the hand.
Nothing happened. No thunderbolts crashed through the vaulted ceiling. No secret traps caused the floor to swing open. No monsters leapt from hidden alcoves. Jedidiah nodded at Joel and exhaled.
Then the hand began to steam.
A thick white fog enveloped the carving and slithered away from the hand like a snake, wrapping around the intruders and the altar. The vapors carried the stench of decaying flesh. Hastily Jedidiah covered his mouth and nose and tossed the hand back onto the top of the altar. The fog continued to pour from the hand and began to fill the bottom of the bowl-shaped room.
With a start, Joel saw the stone idol’s fingers begin to move.
“Jedidiah,” the young bard whispered, pointing to the flexing digits. A moment later the arms swayed upward and stretched outward. Then, with acrack that echoed about the room, the statue’s eyelids snapped open. Red fire blazed from the statue’s eyes.
“This could be trouble,” Joel noted.
“Big trouble,” Jedidiah agreed as both men backed away from the altar toward the exit.
Something hissed behind them, and the light of the finder’s stone flared brightly. Joel whirled about as Jedidiah remained facing the idol of Bane. From the braziers around the room’s perimeter, steam had risen and coalesced into corporeal forms. Standing over each brazier was a creature much like the statue, with fangs and horns and pointed ears. Yet unlike the statue, they were not young and fair but ancient and decayed. Their eyes looked blank and dead. The flesh about their faces was withered and desiccated, and beneath their necks they were nothing but skeletons. Each was armed with a bone white saw-toothed blade. Two of them already blocked the exit, while the other four were moving around the room’s perimeter to join them.
Joel cast a glance over his shoulder. The idol of Bane had risen to its feet. It stood twice as high as a man, its head nearly touching the room’s vaulted ceiling. While it moved slowly, this was no clockwork creature or golem. Its movements were neither clunky nor plodding but fluid and graceful. It was a stone warrior, powered by the hatred of an evil dead god and all his dead followers.
“I’ll handle the big guy if you can take care of the six little ones,” Jedidiah joked grimly.
“Oh, sure,” Joel replied, amazed by the older man’s bravado in the face of such overwhelming odds. Was it possible, Joel wondered, that Jedidiah had forgotten he was no longer immortal?
The young bard looked back at the skeletons. They made no movement to initiate combat, but instead merely blocked the entrance. With a flash of insight, the young priest realized that was their job. The privilege of killing any intruders belonged to the statue.
Joel climbed the sloping floor to meet the skeletons. Like the statue, the undead creatures were slow but graceful. Joel wondered if that was part of the magic that made them or if that was the way they’d been in life. The skeletons had the high ground, but that wasn’t exactly to the bard’s disadvantage. He swung at the lower half of the first skeleton’s legs.
His blade smashed through the bones as if they were dried kindling. The undead creature fell to the ground and slid to the altar in the center of the room.
The second skeleton slashed its jagged blade across Joel’s arm, tearing the fabric of the bard’s shirtsleeve but fortunately missing his flesh. Joel tried the leg-breaking trick again, but this skeleton leapt upward with an unnatural grace, avoiding the bard’s sweeping attack. As it came down, it sliced at Joel’s left shoulder with its saw-toothed blade. Joel could feel heat and pain radiating down his arm. The bard swung his sword backhanded, slicing through the vertebrae of the skeleton’s backbone. The undead monster fell in two halves to the ground. Its bones slid down the curved floor to the base of the altar as the first skeletal guardian’s had done.
Two more skeletons stood in the doorway, flanked by the last pair. Joel turned halfway to check on Jedidiah’s progress. The bard was engaged in a hide-and-seek game around the altar, dodging the statue’s stone fists. The older bard managed to slice at the idol with his sword, but the blade did not penetrate, leaving only a powdery white scratch on the granite hide. Joel thought of the sledgehammer sitting uselessly up in Dits’s basement.
Then Joel saw the two skeletons lying by the altar. They were reforming in the mists gathered in the bowl of the floor. The shattered spine of the second and the broken leg of the first had both healed, and the skeletons were rising once more to their feet.
Joel turned back to the other four skeletons with a sinking feeling. He could feel blood trickling down his arm from his wounded shoulder. He knew he wasn’t making progress this way. The skeletons would hold Jedidiah and him until they were exhausted. Then the statue would smash them to jelly. Unless he found some way to smash all six skeletons before they could reform. This would be the perfect time to call on Finder to turn the undead to dust, but Finder was no longer a god.
The irony grated on Joel. Now that he was finally confronted with the opportunity to turn undead like the priest he was, Finder could not grant him the power.
Or could he?
Joel was still a priest. Finder was still alive, in this very room. His godhood was stored in the stone Joel held in his left hand. The power that had created the skeletons was dead. Figuring he had nothing to lose, Joel drew back from the skeletons. All six now gathered before the exit.
Holding the finder’s stone high over his head, the Rebel Bard began the slow, rhythmic chant to send the undead back to their eternal sleep. The finder’s stone glowed more brightly. Joel could sense power coursing through him, the power of his faith in Finder, not only what Finder represented as a god, but also the faith that Jedidiah the man would always be his friend. Joel’s chanting grew louder.
The light from the finder’s stone flared, filling the space about Joel with what seemed to be sunlight. The skeletons began to twitch in rhythm to Joel’s chant. All at once, the undead raised their swords in salute. Then their bones rattled to the floor, the magic that held them together broken. Joel poked at a skull with his toe and it crumbled to dust. The rest of the bones decayed before his eyes in the same manner, the powdery dust wafting in the air. These skeletons would never rise again.
Joel spun around. Jedidiah was still evading the idol by dodging about the altar, but he must have taken at least one blow. His left arm hung limp at his side, and the light stone lay on the floor, crushed into several pieces, which now glowed dimly.
Joel dashed up the corridor, up the stairs, and into Dits’s basement. The l
ight from the finder’s stone was now no brighter than a candle, but it was enough for the bard to locate the sledgehammer leaning against the wall. Joel sheathed his sword and grabbed the tool. He had just turned to head back down the stairs when something slammed into his back. The bard sprawled forward beneath the arched entryway. He lost his grip on the sledgehammer and the finder’s stone. The sledgehammer went bouncing down the stairs, and the finder’s stone rolled behind a pile of bricks.
The bard rolled over into a dark corner. In the dim light still cast by the finder’s stone, he caught a glimpse of a large, dark shadow swooping upward, then turning. It was a human figure with wings. Joel remembered Walinda had said the creature that attacked her in the street had swept down from above. He rose to a crouch.
The shadow sailed straight toward him as if it had no trouble detecting him in the nearly dark room. Its outstretched arms ended in talons.
Just as the flying creature was nearly upon him, Joel lunged forward, wrapping his arms about the creature’s midsection. The momentum of the creature’s flight shoved the bard backward, but he didn’t release his grip. He and his assailant went tumbling across the floor.
The creature was too small and lithe to be Bear. It tried to rake at Joel’s face with its talons. The bard grabbed one arm, then another, holding them back. The arms were covered not with fur, but with small, soft feathers. As they rolled on the ground, the creature’s face came into the light.
Joel gasped. “Jas!”
The flyer butted her forehead into the bard’s face. In surprise and pain, Joel released his hold on the flyer’s arms. With one hand clutching his bleeding nose, he stepped back, but he did not draw his sword. His eyes remained fixed in horror on the winged woman.
Jas had undergone a horrible transformation. Her wings were like a gargoyle’s, the color of copper, tinged with a green patina, a change due to being in another plane. The rest of her body, though, had been malformed by some evil magic. Dark black feathers covered her skin. Her hands were twisted into razor-sharp talons. A crest of green feathers rose from her brow. Her eyes were larger and more rounded, and they glowed with a green light.