by Dan McGirt
“Indeed. So nothing unusual about your parentage? You weren’t a foundling or raised by squirrels or anything odd like that?”
“Well, there is one thing.” I told him my mother’s story.
“Intriguing,” said Merc. “A Brythalian mother with a mysterious past. Accused of witchcraft, you say?”
“Lies and slander!” I said hotly.
“Don’t get excited,” said Merc. “Witching is a perfectly honorable craft. At least in more civilized lands, if not in this benighted place.”
“But she wasn’t a witch!”
“How would you know?”
“I just do.”
“Yet she had knowledge of herbs and cures and growing things and the like, your mother did?”
“Yes. So what?”
“Let us then call her a wise woman. At the very least her influence makes you something other than an ordinary Darnkite peasant. But it does not explain the Society’s interest. Have you had any unusual experiences recently?”
“Other than being attacked by a bounty hunter, almost murdered by mercenaries, and meeting a cranky wizard? No.”
“Visions, prophetic dreams, past life experiences, lost time, intense feelings of déjà vu—that sort of thing?”
“No.”
“Have you ever encountered a ghost, nymph, spirit, sprite, pixie, moxie, mog, nog, gnome, gnole, or other magical being?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Talking fish?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Talking fish like woodcutters.”
“No talking fish.”
“A clever, boot-wearing cat?”
“Never.”
“Voices in your head?”
“Sometimes I hear a ringing in my ears, but it passes.”
“No siblings? No wife? No family?”
“No, no, and no.”
“A bright strong lad like you not yet wed? Why not?”
“Most of the unwed women in these parts succumbed to the plagues in recent years.”
“Again, interesting. But there must be a few fetching widows about?”
I shrugged. “I’ve not met a girl who strikes my fancy.”
“I see. Have you acquired any unusual objects recently? Rings, lamps, jewels, weapons, scrolls, oddly shaped pine cones—anything at all?”
“No.”
“So much for the obvious.”
“What about you, Merc?”
“Oh, odd things happen to me all the time.”
“No, have you a wife and family somewhere?”
Mercury scowled bitterly and shook his head almost imperceptibly. I had evidently yanked a raw nerve. We rode in silence for a time. At length, I noticed that a faintly shining mist shrouded the road ahead and filled the forest on all sides, surrounding us and obscuring the road behind us. I heard in the distance an eerie mechanical hum, as of gears clanking.
“This is passing strange,” I said.
“Quite so,” said Merc. He peered intently into the fog, perhaps using some magical power of vision I lacked. “There is a light ahead.”
I saw it, a soft amber glow penetrating the fog at what seemed a great distance. We rode toward it cautiously, the hum growing ever louder. The mist dissipated in our immediate vicinity as we progressed while always remaining thick just a few feet away. I gradually perceived the outline of a small cottage. As we drew nearer I heard the rhythmic wooden creak of a rocking chair.
We halted before a small clapboard shack with a tin roof. On the porch an old man in faded overalls rocked slowly. His long grey beard was gathered in his lap, his bald head creased with wrinkles, his blind eyes covered by a milky film. Beside him a small machine resembling a bellows attached to a bucket pumped out clouds of the shining mist. The amber light glowed from a lantern hung by a rusty nail on the wall.
The old man spoke. “Greetings, Jason Cosmo of Darnk. Greetings, Mercury Boltblaster. I am He Who Sits On The Porch and I know many things.”
“Like what?” said Merc, visibly unimpressed.
The old man smiled. “I see what others do not. My purpose is to share that knowledge with chosen heroes, to guide them in their quests.”
“We are sorry to disturb you,” I said. “We lost our way in the mist.”
“Nonsense, boy! You're not lost.” He stopped rocking and leaned forward. “I brought you here for a reason.”
“We're not in the hero business,” said Merc.
“Oh, certainly not!” said the old man. “You're a turnip farmer and a wizard out for an evening ride in the forest. I know your cynical disposition, Boltblaster. But I know too that it hides a righteous heart. You would be wise to heed me. Great events are in motion and the two of you are the axis upon which they turn.”
“You jest,” said Merc.
“Enough of your peevishness! My time is limited and I have much to relate ere the Demon Lords penetrate this obscuring fog.”
“The Demon Lords?” said Merc, suddenly interested.
“That got your attention, didn’t it?” said the old man. “Oh, yes, the Demon Lords, they who rule the various regions of the Assorted Hells, do bestir themselves and cast their gimlet gaze across the mortal plane. They muster their infernal legions and make ready for war, fearing an invasion of their domains.”
“Then why watch Arden?” asked Mercury. “Only The Gods have the power to invade the Hells.”
“Not so,” said He Who Sits On The Porch. “No, it is not The Gods whom the Hellmasters fear to make war upon them, but one of their own, long forgotten. No matter their reasons—know that the Demon Lords seek you, Jason Cosmo.”
“Me? Why is everyone after me?”
“The war feared by the Lords Below can only come about if you are taken by the Dark Magic Society. The Demon Lords would prevent that eventuality by destroying you first.”
“Does not the Society serve and worship the Demon Lords? Yet you say they are foes?”
“As with any evil cabal, the Society serves only itself. At present, the purposes of the Overmaster Erimandras conflict with those of the Demon Lords. I know you are full of questions, but they must wait. I have been sent to inform you of your peril and to let you know that The Gods will help you—”
“That's great!”
“—to the limited extent that they can.”
“Not so great.”
“In truth, The Gods do place greatness within your reach, young Cosmo. For you are now, and henceforth...a hero!”
“I feel more like a target.”
“Heed my words! Each man and woman is a single link in a great chain of being, assigned by The Gods at birth a role in life, a part to play that defines his or her existence. A woodcutter lives and is judged as a woodcutter, a wizard as a wizard, a king as a king. This is divine law. But as a woodcutter you cannot survive your present pass. The limitations of that office are not equal to the task before you. Thus, The Gods have struck your name from the Roll of Woodcutters and inscribed it afresh on the Roll of Heroes.”
“Can they do that?”
“They’re The Gods.”
“Right. So when did this happen?”
“Sometime yesterday. This action alters your very essence and unlocks new potentials within you. You may now make daring escapes, overcome great odds, and survive certain death on a routine basis—perquisites you will find useful. I am sent to inform you of this so that you may conduct yourself accordingly.”
“But I don’t know how to be a hero!”
“Not so. You love well the tales of old. Emulate the heroes of song and story and you’ll be fine.”
“This is a bit overwhelming.”
“Well buck up, hero! I can only add that you are on the right path, Jason Cosmo. You and your companion must reach the land of Raelna before the Feast of Fibbletoss. Allies await you there and the nature of your task will be made clear.”
“Task? What task? Now I have a task?”
“Yes. It will be revealed in due
time.”
“Why don't you just tell me now?”
“It doesn’t work that way. Too soon. Too soon. The Laws of Narrative forbid.” The fog billowed thickly, swirling around He Who Sits On The Porch until he was almost obscured from view. “I must go now. Proceed with haste, but do not call undue attention to yourself, for many hostile eyes seek you. Mercury Boltblaster— you have pledged to protect this man. Fulfill that bargain and you will gain your heart’s desire. Jason Cosmo—the path before you is difficult and fraught with perils. Only by following your noblest instincts will you survive and triumph. Be heroic!” His blind eyes seemed to bore directly into mine as he spoke his final words. “The fate of the world depends on you.”
*****
Chapter 4
The fog swirled thick about the little shack, blotting out the amber lantern. Soon I could see neither Mercury nor the horn of my own saddle.
The mist parted. We found ourselves on a grassy slope facing the afternoon sun as it hovered above the drab stone walls of a small fortified town beside a swift, muddy river. I felt refreshed, as after a hot meal and a good night's sleep. Yet had it not been nighttime in the forest just a moment ago?
Mercury studied the town, apparently unperturbed by this turn of events.
“Offal,” he said, donning his sunshades. “We'll get provisions and make for Brythalia.”
I peered at the nearby settlement. Could it truly be Offal? It was. I had been here once as a child, for the Feast of the Moldy Biscuits. Yet Offal was a good ten leagues from Whiteswab. How could we be here when we had just been there?
“Come,” said Merc, urging his horse forward. “It appears to be a trading day.”
A train of wagons was even now rolling through the city gates.
“Hold up! Wait a minute! How did we get here?”
Mercury shrugged. “He Who Sits On The Porch is a messenger of The Gods, possessed of powers far beyond mortal comprehension. No point, then, in trying to comprehend them.”
“But it was night and now it is day!”
“That happens frequently,” said Merc. “The old man gave us a nice lead over the Black Bolts. We should take full advantage of it. Come on!”
His horse trotted down the slope. I fell in beside him, still feeling bewildered and disoriented.
“What did the old man mean about the Society being at odds with the Demon Lords?” I asked. “I thought their goal was to restore the demon-worshipping Empire of Fear.”
Mercury assumed his lecture voice. “You overlook the nature of demons. The Demon Lords hate one another and ever vie for supremacy. You cannot speak of them as a united group as you might The Gods. The Society forms temporary alliances with various Demon Lords as it suits their vile purposes, but does not serve the Hellmasters as such. In truth, there would have been no Empire of Fear had it not been for Asmodraxas the Archdemon. His power alone united the Demon Lords, but he has long since vanished from the ken of mortals. Unless...that is what the old man meant! The Demon Lords fear the return of Asmodraxas!”
“Why? They never had it so good as when he was around.”
“Demons ruled all, true, but they were in turn ruled by the Archdemon. Demon Lords dislike being ruled. No, they would oppose his return. But the Society, being mortals, and thus fools, might welcome it. I am certain you know the legend of the Mighty Champion?”
“Every child knows that story,” I said.
The Mighty Champion was the greatest hero of all time: leader of the Great Rebellion, founder of Caratha, giver of laws, first in the Line of Champions, father of the House of Might. The priests taught that this was the fifth age since Arden's creation, beginning with the pristine Age of Nature and the idyllic Age of Peace. Next was the cataclysmic Age of War, triggered by the arrival of the Demon Lords from Somewhere Else. After a thousand years of inconclusive conflict, The Gods and Demon Lords made truce and agreed to a mutual withdrawal from worldly events under the terms of the Great Eternal Pan-Cosmic Holy/Unholy Non-Intervention Pact. The Gods honored the pact. The demons did not. The result was the misery and agony of the Age of Despair. Walking Arden freely, the Demon Lords established an Empire of Fear that enslaved all humanity. Finally, The Gods brought forth the Mighty Champion to end the reign of evil, free the peoples of Arden, and begin a new Age of Hope: the present age.
“Do you recall how the Champion bested Asmodraxas?” asked Merc.
“Arm wrestling, wasn't it?”
“A common misconception. No, the Mighty Champion learned the secret of the Archdemon's power and used it to banish Asmodraxas from this universe, locked in a prison he can never escape. Only then could the Great Rebellion succeed.”
“What was the secret?”
“The Superwand, a magical talisman created before the Dawn of Time by a race of fluffy pink Cosmic Rabbits older and more powerful than even The Gods. Asmodraxas stole the wand and used it for his schemes of conquest. The Mighty Champion turned the Superwand against Asmodraxas, defeated him, and hid the wand where it has never been found.”
“Cosmic Rabbits? That sounds made up.”
“The priests, obviously, do not like to speak of powers greater than The Gods, but they do exist. Certain stargazing philosophers have devised esoteric mathematical formulae that demonstrate this conclusively. The proofs are lengthy and subtle. You would have to undertake years of arduous study before I could even begin to explain them to you. But the irrefutable conclusion is that Cosmic Rabbits exist.”
“Fluffy pink ones.”
“Some early scholars postulated orange rabbits, but this hypothesis was conclusively refuted by Telsor’s famous Kiwi Fruit Experiment in 862. But I digress. The Superwand has been lost for almost one thousand years. Were it found, the Society could free Asmodraxas from his otherwise eternal prison.”
“But how can they find this Superwand if it is so well hidden?”
Mercury replied with a thoughtful stare.
“You think my aura points the way to the Superwand?”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“Not to me. I never even heard of the Superwand until now.”
“Suppose the Superwand's location is encoded in your aura nonetheless. The Society learns this through some manner of dark divination and the hunt is on.”
“I don’t like your theory.”
We said no more on the subject, retreating into our individual thoughts. As we rode down the hill, the last of the wagons rolled into Offal. The city gates swung shut behind them. Shortly thereafter, the few indolent guards visible on the battlements collapsed like puppets with cut strings. Though I knew little of military matters, this seemed odd.
Many walled towns closed their gates at sundown, but that was still a few hours away. Such precautions were not much called for in Darnk, which was not a prime target of invasion. To the contrary, two rival kingdoms once fought a war to avoid taking possession of this land. Nor did Darnk suffer from the depredations of bandits and brigands, there being little here worth stealing. Yes, closing the gates in the early afternoon was most unusual.
We reined in our horses before the wall. Each of the double gates was more than twice a man’s height. They were formed of stout timbers set on great rusty hinges. The city wall was just over twenty feet high, fashioned of rough-hewn blocks of grey stone. The wall formed a square set against the east bank of the River Longwash. At each corner was a squat watchtower. No one challenged us. We heard no sounds of activity from within, nothing at all save the rush of the river, the stir of a slight breeze, the snuffling and stamping of our horses. It was as if we had come by mistake to a city of the dead.
“Maybe it is time for their afternoon nap,” I suggested.
“Maybe we'll keep riding,” said Merc, turning his horse southward.
“Wait! We should investigate!”
“Why?” said Merc, not stopping. “We have our own problems.”
“People may be in danger.”
“Yes. Us.”
/> “We should inform the proper authorities.”
“I'm sure that whatever authorities exist in Offal are well aware of what is happening within its walls.”
“We must get word to the king!” I protested.
With a sigh of exasperation, Mercury turned his horse to face me. “Ordure is a good four-day ride to the east. Back toward the Black Bolts and the Sanitary Police. By the time we reach the royal court—assuming we do and assuming Fecal IV doesn't throw you in his dungeon to collect a bounty worth more than his entire kingdom—the situation here will surely have run its course. So why get involved?”
“It's the right thing to do!”
“What's that got to do with anything?”
“He Who Sits On The Porch told me to act like a hero. A hero would help those in trouble!”
“As I recall it, The Gods made you a hero to help you survive, not so you could go looking for more trouble. Believe me, we'll get our share. Now come on. We have no obligations to these Offal people.”
“It seems you have no obligations to anyone but yourself!”
“That keeps me alive. But you'll recall I have obligated myself to get you to Raelna. I'm sure you'll have many other chances to play hero before we arrive.”
“I'm not playing! Something is wrong here. I'm concerned.”
“Have you friends or relations in Offal?”
“None that I know of.”
“Then nothing here need concern you. Let us be on our way.”
“I'm not going anywhere!”
My forcefulness surprised Merc. It surprised me more.
“Be serious,” said Merc.
“I am.”
We glared at each other for a long moment. My heart raced. Merc's face was expressionless. I couldn't see his eyes through those mirrored sunshades. For all I knew he was changing his mind about helping me and was about to disintegrate me instead. Or ride on without me. But I refused to waver. If fellow Darnkites were in danger, I had to help them.
Mercury cursed under his breath. “Fine. Fine. We'll take a quick look. It's a fool's errand, but we can't sit here and debate all day.”
“Great! How do we get inside?”
Mercury dismounted and produced a grappling hook and coil of rope from under his cloak. He hooked a merlon on the first try and tested the line. It held. “After you.”