Hero Wanted

by Dan McGirt

  “What archer can hit seven moving targets in the dark?” I asked.

  We walked back to the bodies. Merc tugged an arrow loose. Thick black fluid oozed from the wound.

  “Adamantine steel tip. It can penetrate just about anything—even an ogre’s thick hide.” He sniffed the arrowhead. “Dipped in Swangrave, extracted from the glands of the Lethal Black Swans of Lake Asheron. The poison congeals a victim’s entire blood supply within seconds. Instant heart failure. Instant death.”

  “But who did this?”

  “See the crescent symbol on the shaft?”

  “BlackMoon!”

  “I was wrong to say you’d be safe from bounty hunters in the Incredibly Dark Forest. BlackMoon probably vacations here.”

  I looked about nervously for any hint of the hunter’s position.

  “Don’t bother,” said Merc. “BlackMoon is only seen when he wants to be seen. He obviously isn’t ready to kill you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You’d already be dead.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Hope he doesn’t change his mind.”

  “I like this less and less.”

  “If you have any better ideas, keep them to yourself. Remember, he can hear every word we say, even a whisper. But so long as he’s guarding our backs, we may as well get going.”

  “You still think we should follow the Arbenflow until we find the Hidden River?”

  “It’s the only choice we have.”

  “Not so, four-limb mammal manling!”

  The cheerfully inhuman voice came from above. We looked up and saw fifty glowing green spiders as big as ponies descending toward us on phosphorescent green web strands.

  Wearily, I raised my battle axe for yet another desperate fray. Merc restrained me.

  The largest spider touched ground while its companions formed a protective circle around us. Their presence bathed the whole area with a ghostly light.

  “The sharpstick choppy-thingy you will not need,” said the big spider. “We come in peace!”

  “The ghastly glowing green spiders are on our side?” I asked, glancing sidewise at Merc.

  “So it seems,” said Merc.

  The spider lifted its forelegs and made an almost human flourish. “The being you’re seeing is Luggogosh Longlimberly, King of the Lugs! Lug being the shortspeak for luminous green spiders that you see we are! And may I be called King Luggo, also for your convenience! You are the four-limbs Jason Cosmo and friend or I am mistaken greatly!”

  “I’m Jason Cosmo,” I said, bowing. “This is the wizard Mercury Boltblaster.”

  “Welcome, then! To welcome you each! You am I come to fetch! Am I sent by the Keeper of the Shrine of Greenleaf!”

  “I thought lugs were extinct,” said Merc.

  “Sadly, almost so!” said King Luggo. “In numbers great are the slaughtering by murderous four-limbs who our bodies take make into glowing toys sold in boxes of breakfast cereal. Dwindled greatly, my folk retreat to this tree-place.”

  “Nor did I know you could speak,” said Merc.

  “Yes, we speak!” said Luggo. “Among ourselves with clicking clatter-chatter. But me the Keeper grants to the power of human speech and to all my people is promised it when I the four-limb Jason Cosmo safely to him bring. A great boon this, for by speech we friends and allies may gain! Now time wastes! You must come!”

  “Tell us of the Keeper,” I said.

  “Meet the Keeper will you and I need not tell! Now, Jason Cosmo, ride upon my back. You, wizard, Gokollogriklik will convey! Make the haste! Far have we to go!”

  King Luggo bent low. I climbed aboard his furry green back. Merc mounted another spider that scuttled forward at a chittering command from its king. The army of spiders then rose as one, racing up their web lines with quickness and grace.

  It was almost as bad as flying. With no strap to hold me in place, I clung tightly to Luggo’s spidery exoskeleton. We soon reached the canopy level and headed north along a highway of branches and vines that took us deeper into the Incredibly Dark Forest—and closer to learning my destiny.

  *****

  Chapter 18

  We traveled for three days to reach the Shrine of Greenleaf. I could not tell night from day in the perpetual gloom, but King Luggo insisted the darkness was slightly less intense during the daylight hours. I saw only the green luminescence of our escorts. Luggo would not take us to the forest roof where the sun shone, saying lugs found its glare unpleasant.

  At my suggestion, the spiders spun sticky silk belts to hold Merc and me in place, allowing us to sleep as we rode. Not that it is easy to sleep while gummed to the back of a glowing green spider scuttling through the canopy of the Incredibly Dark Forest. A spider’s eight-legged gait is utterly unlike that of a horse. I particularly disliked those parts of the trip spent in vertical travel. I almost would have preferred another magic carpet ride.

  Almost.

  None of the dangerous denizens of the Incredibly Dark Forest molested us on our journey, not wishing to battle the lugs in force. True to King Luggo’s word, we reached our destination safely. The lugs deposited us at the edge of a small clearing lit by a warm shaft of welcome sunlight. The spiders then withdrew to the comfortable shadows.

  The clearing was no more than a small, neatly clipped lawn. At its center stood a white gazebo. Here the Arbenflow was little more than a large creek that widened into a placid pool in the clearing. The shining surface of the water reflected the sun and clouds. No other stream was in evidence. If the Hidden River was here, it was well hidden indeed.

  “King Luggo! Are you sure this is the place?”

  “Yes, four-limb Cosmo,” called the spider. “Greenleaf, Shrine of. This is the placing you beseek.”

  “So where is the Keeper?”

  “I am not knowing. I here arrived just now also.”

  “Hello!” I shouted. No reply.

  “Not much of a shrine,” said Mercury. He sniffed. “Is that fresh paint I smell?”

  We approached the gazebo warily. Mercury touched a rail, getting wet paint on his fingers. The ground near the structure was littered with sawdust and wood shavings.

  “This is not the most ancient of shrines,” I observed.

  Mercury stepped into the gazebo, tested the floor, looked up at the ceiling—and stood transfixed.

  “What is it, Merc?”

  “Excuse me,” he said to the ceiling. “I’ll get him.” He beckoned. “It’s for you.”

  “What’s for me?”

  He exited the gazebo. “Just go in and look up.”

  I did as he suggested. Instead of rafters supporting the latticed roof I beheld the dome of a lemon sky and a crowd of huge disembodied faces peering down at me as if I were a cricket in a jar. Young and old, male and female, they radiated power. Glorious, majestic, infinite power. Divine power.

  “Jason Cosmo, welcome to the Gazebo of The Gods,” said one face, that of a bearded man who wore a storm cloud like a hat. His voice was as the thunder that shatters mountains. I knew him to be Great Whoosh, Emperor of the Winds. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Here I am,” I said, wondering if I should fall to my knees.

  “No need to fall to your knees,” said Great Whoosh. “You have proven your devotion by reaching this place. We have observed you carefully in your travels and we are well pleased in you. Your skills, your knowledge, your will to survive—all have grown greatly. You have demonstrated courage, loyalty, and resourcefulness. You—”

  “Am I late?” said a holy voice I recognized. The Goddess Rae forced her way into view, appearing beside Great Whoosh. She smiled down at me. “Hello again, Jason!”

  “Greetings, O Rae.” I bowed. She was, after all, my patron goddess.

  “You look so tiny! Like a doll. How cute!”

  “As I was saying,” rumbled Great Whoosh. “You have become the hero you were meant to be. Now it is time to reveal unto you why all that has happe
ned has happened as it happened.”

  “This should be interesting.”

  “Archiva, would you relate the needed background?”

  The Goddess of History, a silver haired old woman with skin the color of parchment, nodded. Her voice was like the turning of ancient, dusty pages. “In the beginning there were The Gods, who dwelt alone in Paradise. And The Gods grew restless and created a world and Named it Arden. Actually, it was to be called Garden and to be their Garden, but a certain god, who shall remain nameless, failed to enunciate clearly during the Naming Ritual—”

  “Are you still harping on that?” interrupted the Nameless God.

  “In any event,” said Archiva. “Arden was good, and beautiful, and perfect—except for the name thing. But no man dwelt in it, only the birds of the air and the beasts of the field and the fishes of the—”

  “There is no need to go back quite that far,” said Great Whoosh.

  “I like to start at the beginning.”

  “You always start at the beginning. But, just this once, could you skip ahead a bit? He’s only a mortal. He hasn’t got time to hear it all.”

  “Skip ahead how far?”

  “To the Age of War.”

  “How can you contemplate the Age of War without considering the Age of Nature and the Age of Peace before it? It is the sharp break with the past that makes the Age of War so significant.”

  “Please, Archiva.”

  “Very well. Age of War. Its origins lie in a complex interaction of such diverse factors as the controversial creation of other sentient races that competed with humanity, the regrettable invention of economics, ill-considered petty feuds among various gods, and the untimely arrival in our universe of the race of demons. All are important factors, though the last has the most bearing on the current situation. The demons came from Somewhere Else, we know not where. They constructed the Assorted Hells as a mockery of Paradise, though some speculate that they merely—”

  “Move it along, Archiva.” Great Whoosh was growing impatient. A small tornado formed beside his left ear.

  “The War of a Thousand Years, involving gods, demons, and the mortal races, blasted Arden and ended with the Great Eternal Pan-Cosmic Holy/Unholy Non-Intervention Pact. By this treaty, all gods and demons promised to leave one another in peace and to withdraw from direct involvement in mortal affairs. The Gods honored the agreement. The demons, led by Asmodraxas, did not. Unopposed, they created an Empire of Fear. For a thousand years, this Evil Empire stood. This was the Age of Despair. Then The Gods could no longer bear to see evil thrive. We brought forth a Mighty Champion to free mankind from the yoke of demonic slavery. After a hard struggle, he defeated Asmodraxas, brought down the Evil Empire, and ushered in the current Age of Hope. The important historical trends of this Age have been—­­”

  “Stick to the matter at hand,” said Great Whoosh curtly.

  “The pattern to note is that each Age lasts one thousand years. We don’t know why. It just seems to work out that way. The Age of War ended nine hundred and ninety years ago, making this the critical decade that will determine the character of the Next Age.”

  “Thank you, Archiva,” said the Wind God, cutting her off as she gathered her breath to continue the history lesson. He turned his attention to me. “You have learned that you are a namesake of the Mighty Champion. Know now that you are truly of his bloodline. This is why the Dark Magic Society fears you above all others. Until recently, they believed—as the world believes—that the Line of Champions was extinguished. The Dark Magic Society hopes to release Asmodraxas from his prison and bring an Age of More Despair Than Last Time. They fear that you will thwart their evil plans, as your great predecessor thwarted evil in his day. That is why they seek you.”

  “What about the Demon Lords? How does killing me fit their plans?”

  “They are Demon Lords. Their first response to any problem is to kill it. However, we have reminded them of their obligations under the Non-Intervention Pact. The Lords Below have agreed to take no further action against you. But they will abide by this agreement only so long as they believe it will prevent the return of Asmodraxas. You must act quickly.”

  “What must I do?”

  “Arkayne will explain.”

  The God of Magic, his face hidden by a hood the color of mystery, leaned forward. His voice was a reverberating whisper. “Erimandras and the Dark Magic Society seek the Superwand, for by its power alone was Asmodraxas bound and by its power alone may he be freed. Put simply, Erimandras must not gain possession of the Superwand.”

  “So where is it?”

  “None know. The Mighty Champion hid it and never told us where he put it. Ideally, it should be brought to Paradise for safekeeping.”

  “You want me to find the Superwand and bring it to you?”

  “Absolutely not! We can’t be trusted with it!”

  “But you just said—”

  “Ideal conditions are rarely found. The Superwand’s power equals the might of all The Gods combined. Were the Superwand brought to Paradise it would be a constant source of temptation and strife. Mistrust would fester in our ranks. A God War would be inevitable. Possession of the Superwand by anyone upsets the cosmic balance of power.”

  “So you want me to do what exactly?”

  “Prevent the Superwand from being found. The Dark Magic Society believes you know its location thanks to a clever bit of disinformation planted by our colleague Heraldo, God of Gossip, Rumor, and Sensationalism. This has distracted them from making any effective search for the Superwand. Instead they hunt you. You must ensure that the Society never returns to their abandoned search.”

  “Back up! The Gods put the Society on my trail?”

  “Well, er...yes.”

  “Why do I even pray to you people?”

  “We, uh, move in mysterious ways. It’s theological.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Trust me, it will all work out in the end. We have a plan and our plan is working. The unpleasant circumstances you have recently endured not only keep Erimandras preoccupied, but have forged you into a true hero capable of destroying him.”

  “So your plan is for me to slay Erimandras the Overmaster, the most powerful evil sorcerer in all of Arden?”

  “As the God of Magic I wouldn’t rate him the most powerful evil sorcerer. But certainly in the top five. Nevertheless, you need not actually slay him. Just render him and the Society incapable of pursuing their quest for the Superwand. Wherever it is hidden, there is must remain.”

  “This is all very confusing,” I said. “No offense, but your plan isn’t exactly clear. I’m to distract the Society from hunting for the Superwand by letting them hunt me. They must not capture me. At the same time, I should destroy Erimandras. But, then again, maybe not. Is that about it?”

  “More or less,” said Arkayne.

  “We have brought you this far,” said Great Whoosh. “We have prepared you for your task by giving you a superb mind, body, and will. You have learned the skills and shown the courage of a hero. Now we charge you with a great heroic mission: to be our Champion and safeguard the Next Age of Arden. You will oppose the Society and all other evildoers who would enslave mankind. Ensure that the next thousand years will be an Age of More Hope, perhaps even a second Age of Peace.”

  “A second Age of Peace? Are you kidding me?”

  “Okay, that might be a bit much. Just prevent the Dark Magic Society from plunging Arden into a long night of evil and we’ll sort the rest out later. Fare you well.”

  “You’re leaving? Wait a minute!”

  “In this place you will find the holy relics of your ancestor, the Mighty Champion. May they serve you well in the battles before you.”

  “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”

  Heedless of my cries, The Gods vanished. I was left shouting at the ceiling of an ordinary gazebo.

  “What was that all about?” asked Merc. “I only caught your end of the conversation.”<
br />
  “They want me to stop the Society from finding the Superwand, prevent the return of Asmodraxas, and make sure the next thousand years turn out all right.”

  “Sounds simple enough.”

  “Oh, right, I didn’t hear them laying any giant cosmic burdens on you!”

  “Did they have any suggestions on how you might accomplish all this?”

  “The relics of the Mighty Champion are supposed to be around here somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “Gods are cryptic that way.”

  “Cryptic! They want me to destroy the Society! I’m not even a wizard! The Gods must be crazy!”

  Merc shrugged. “Think this through. The Society is trying to kill you, right?”

  “Right.”

  “You can run, fight, or surrender. Surrender is certain death. No good.”

  “I’m with you so far.”

  “Running or fighting are both risky, but at least you’ve got a chance. Still with me?”

  “Sure.”

  “When we met I agreed to help you in hopes that your aura would reveal how to get the Society off my back. It didn’t. So why am I here with you now?”

  “Because you promised to protect me?”

  “Only to Rae City.”

  “Because you’re my friend?”

  “You loan a friend garden tools. You don’t escort him through the Incredibly Dark Forest. No, I’m here because you are my best hope for survival.”

  “I’m your best hope? Merc, are you feeling well?”

  “Run or fight. Both are risky, but running does no damage to the enemy. Your situation never improves. You just keep running until you are caught. That has been my strategy because I haven’t had the means to fight back—until now. Fighting is only a sensible option if you have a chance, however slim, of winning. I had no chance before. Now, thanks to you, I do.”

  “Now you’ve lost me.”

  “Cosmo, you have strength, brains, courage, and charisma. The Society itself has given you a worldwide reputation as a powerful, dangerous man. The Gods are behind you. You will soon possess some of the most powerful relics in existence. You’re a hero. Even I, a cynical and disillusioned wizard who doesn’t believe in heroes, can see that. If anyone can bring down the Dark Magic Society, it’s you.”