Made to Suffer (Journeyman Book 3)

by Golden Czermak

  The lesser nodded reluctantly and Dajjal found himself pretty confident, though perhaps biting off more than he could chew. Notwithstanding, the pressure didn’t matter to him in the slightest, only results, and those results must be success.

  To him, this was doable. After all, he did manage to remove all the wards protecting the Lodge in an instant, wiping out a huge area around it as well. If he did it once, he could do similar again. This time he would be without the power of a Hell Knight to fuel the spell, Dajjal knowing that it would require something big to ignite the spell. A mass sacrifice sure sounded like a promising avenue to take and luckily, he knew exactly where such fodder was readily available.

  Dajjal looked over to the demon, shaking in his designer shoes. “Tell Ronove to prepare what's left of that wretched creature Steinolf and his horde,” he ordered. “Go ahead and collect their families while you’re at it. Given the times we live in, we can't be too prepared.”

  ALLETE WAS RUNNING behind schedule that morning, having gotten in much later than expected from a meeting with the Leshy ambassador in Finland. Being mischievous creatures, they set about misleading her down paths deeper into their forest kingdom where she became lost. Eventually, she managed to find her way out again, only having to perform a few ‘coercive’ techniques she had learned from Drogir.

  Smoothing out stray wrinkles in the front of her light blue dress as best she could while hurrying along to the elevators at the far end of the entry hall. Though she felt fresh and rejuvenated from the extra and unexpected thirty minutes of sleep, a whole lot of stress followed when she woke up realizing it.

  A soft chime sounded and the doors slid open. She stepped into the lift and it rose skyward. Gazing from the windows, she was met with a cold sunrise over a pale city. The mood felt somber and chill, just like the condensation that clung in frosted splendor to the glass. There was another chime, signaling she had arrived.

  A few seconds later, the door to the meeting room opened and Allete hurriedly entered. Five grave faces turned to meet hers as she closed the door.

  Timothy was closest, standing to her right in the side bar with a glass of brandy in hand.

  “A bit early don’t you think?” Allete said, smiling as she approached.

  “Yes, and no. Troubling times seem to be on the horizon, so why not?” He watched as Allete began to look puzzled. “It'll all become clear shortly. Here, come on, I'll get you one.”

  “Oh that's alright, I should be…”

  “I trust the meeting went well with the leshy?” he asked, placing a similar drink in her hand.

  “Yes,” she said succinctly, taking a whiff of the amber liquid.

  Jane was right next to them now, stoic as ever with a glass of Nebbiolo, looking as if the world around her was devoid of any happiness. The amount of wine in her overfilled glass was obviously a means to remedy that.

  Quileth had seated himself on one of the two plush armchairs in the area, purring softly while puffing on his hookah. His outfit was one his brightest, worn in the hopes of brightening the mood. It was obviously struggling to do its job.

  Rounding out the group were Tyrol and Drogir, separated from the rest by a few paces and deep in talk amongst themselves.

  “Sorry for being late,” Allete addressed the group.

  “No problem at all,” Jane replied with a gentle tip of her head.

  “Have any of Gage’s company returned yet?” Allete asked.

  “Not yet,” Jane answered, her eyes hinting that she anxiously wanted to see them herself. “Sheridan and Mosely are due to return later on this morning and the Odyssey is due to dock at Front Street by sunrise tomorrow. We have much to discuss ourselves before then, so I suppose we should get down to business.” She turned, her flowing brown robes sweeping across the carpet.

  The curved table that normally sat at the front of the room sank into the floor, ripples moving to the center before a new one rose directly out of the fabric. It was circular this time and as it grew from the textiles, the members repositioned themselves next to chairs that had also formed.

  “Let us begin,” Jane directed and they all took their seats.

  Much was spoken in the hour that passed on the success of the alliance with the vampires. Despite initial qualms and hiccups which threatened to unravel the whole thing, morale had been boosted across the board against the Noctis, the recent Seattle operation proving it most clearly. Only humans were placed in leadership positions, in order to add an element of strain to test resolve. They even included Ralph Gideon, who had zero affinity for vampires, giving him an entire squad of them to command. He and the others did so admirably. There had only been one loss – one of the vampires had been mauled by a demon-possessed werewolf – yet over twenty fell on the enemy’s side. As an added bonus, a cache of documents was also retrieved, indicating the locations of possible safe houses around the region and seven hostages were saved from being turned, or worse.

  “We have Gage Crosse to thank for this,” said Drogir, his wings shaking as a side effect of the tincture he was administering to himself. “I do not know exactly what he did or had to sacrifice in order to see this through, but he definitely deserves our respect for doing so. In all my years, I never would have thought the Journeymen would form an allegiance dark creatures like vampires and their ilk. Especially a successful one”

  “Agreed,” said Tyrol, knowing that the others felt the same way. “All of this has been no small task – to do what has been done up to now. Though Gage has, without a doubt, spearheaded this, we would not be this far long without all of our combined efforts. Even here, in the Council, foreigners from distant lands are working together. That camaraderie gives me hope for the future and warms my heart. We will need it to find counsel for the tough times inevitably to come. ”

  “And do you know what the manner of that will be?” asked Timothy, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  Tyrol’s head slung slow. “The peril of this world and others. I foresee us all involved in what may be the greatest supernatural battle of all time.”

  Timothy lowered his own head, resting a bent finger on his brow as he took a swig. The remaining councilors stayed silent for a moment.

  Quileth the first to say anything more. “Well then,” he said as a wisp of spice left his nostrils. “I better hone my combat skills.”

  Light laughter rounded the table before Tyrol set his clawed hands upon it. “I have seen many wars in my time – from the battles families face between individuals, to the skirmishes all through Bavaria, all the way to the Incursion five years ago. Though it is a dark spot on my past, I was also party to committing many an atrocity; I have stories of those times that would make even the stoutest warrior quiver and flee. Yet, what is coming will make that look like Christmas morning.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you before, but is that why you changed your name from Kram –” Quileth enquired, but was silenced by Tyrol’s raised claw. “For atonement?”

  Tyrol bowed his head. “Indeed, and forgive my rudeness, but I would like to leave that part of me and that name in the past.”

  “Understood,” Quileth replied.

  “Strife is inevitable,” Tyrol continued, “due to all the differences in the worlds. What makes us unique as individuals or species also divides us. Each time we have been down this path of conflict, it widens, making the next time that much easier to arrive. Soon, I fear there will be no path to follow and all will be complete pandemonium.”

  Tyrol’s words were certainly depressing, but true.

  “Sadly, I dare say that you are right,” Quileth responded, setting down his hookah’s hose. He thought a change in topic was warranted. “Have you all had the opportunity to review the latest on demon movements in the United Kingdom?” With the collective shaking of everyone’s heads, Quileth proceeded to inform them, recounting all he knew about the moves the Noctis were making out of Whittingham.

  “What purpose is that servin
g for them?” Drogir asked, confused as to why they would simply depart their stronghold for somewhere new when the original one had not been compromised.

  “Unsure,” Quileth said, pondering. “Possibly to boost morale? Separate themselves from those formerly in charge? I'm stabbing in the dark here, but I agree there is no real strategic gain in this. In fact it exposes them a little more.”

  Timothy chimed in. “Speaking of that, do we know where they are going?”

  Quileth shook his head. “They did their homework on that front I'm afraid. We can detect them when they leave Whittingham’s magical barriers, but their destination is hidden. I believe wherever they are going, it was warded well in advance.”

  Jane had nearly finished her wine, looking across the table from her left over to the right. There was one notable absence from the table and he was the next and arguably most urgent of topics.

  “Considering our former colleague has chosen to depart for Ireland,” she began, “only to suddenly have the demons uproot, it begs the question if both actions are related.”

  The doors to the room suddenly opened and two figures walked in with slightly drenched clothes. It was Marcus with Joey in all their musty glory.

  “Without a doubt they go hand in hand,” Marcus said, “and please, excuse the interruption… and the state of our clothes.”

  “None of it is a bother,” said Jane who had risen to greet them. “Please, take a seat.”

  Two more chairs rose up between Quileth and Allete, the two soaked men settling into them. As they sat, the moisture from their clothes began to wick away.

  “What on Earth happened to you?” Allete asked Marcus in a whisper.

  “It’s a long story,” he replied, “but the short answer is: transportation runes suck balls and not in the good way.”

  “… and this time he told me to let him handle it all,” Joey whispered to Quileth, who was blowing fragrant smoke all around to cover the mustiness.

  “As you all were,” said Jane over Joey’s coughs, her glass somehow refilled. “Mr. Sheridan, if you would, let us know the state of things.”

  Marcus proceeded to detail their task in Ireland, punctuated at key moments by Joey’s overblown storytelling skills. He spoke of the meeting with Brandon and Hammer, commending them on their professionalism and aid. Joey also mentioned the leprechaun Brennan, a snarl on Drogir’s face indicating that he must have known him, too, and that the experience wasn’t pleasant.

  At last, he came to the elves and how things were tied to the Noctis. There was indeed an imminent war brewing that was poised to boil over. All of this conflict was to lay claim upon one of the Solomon Six, specifically the Ring of Dispel, prized by the elves in keeping their kingdom safe from harm since it came into their possession thousands of years ago. On one side, King Danann, seemingly under the corruption of Fenran, wished to keep the Ring for himself, damning everyone else to a fiery death. On the other, Danann’s daughter Meriden wished to see the ring handed to the Journeymen, where it could be guarded or destroyed. Thankfully, it seemed that the King’s side didn’t have as much widespread support, relegated to the single but large army of the capital. None of this was going to be easy for the elves in the slightest, the repercussions of what was about to happen likely to resound throughout the next few centuries.

  Given the information, the Council was faced with a terrible choice.

  “We must do something to aid Meriden and her forces,” said Timothy. “Fenran be damned for his arrogance!”

  “And go against Meriden’s direct request to not interfere?” Marcus asked, shocked.

  “He is right,” Allete joined. “That could do way more harm than good. Plus, as much as we need to assist, the demons are now on the move as well.”

  “Spreading themselves out,” Drogir grumbled, “to places unknown.”

  “With someone new and arguably more powerful at the helm,” Tyrol concluded. “The truth of this matter is we cannot fight a war on two fronts, least not one we can win. But, we still must decide what to do: fight on both fronts, or wait out the elven conflict to deal with the victor… whomever that may be.”

  All eyes then turned to Jane, who had been preparing herself for this moment the entire morning.

  GOLD CHANNEL LIT up, from HQ all the way to remotest cabin in the woods. A person spoke, their tone confident and strong.

  “This is Jane Carter, with a message for Journeymen everywhere. Firstly, thank you, for all the things that you do in order to safeguard the world. The Assembly was a remarkable thing, knitting the bonds that were frayed during the Incursion just five years ago. As Journeymen, we are no strangers to how cruel the world can be when it deals out fate, for we stand now on the brink of another set of conflicts that threaten to tear us apart again. As a result, the decisions the Council have had to make are not easy ones.

  “On one front, the Otherworld is about to be embroiled in a bitter conflict, instigated by former councilor Fenran Dur. Because of his arrogant actions, what happens there may well be a defining moment in the annals of history. It is with the heaviest of hearts that we order you not to interfere with the happenings there, for we need everyone’s focus on the larger problem at hand – what we called the Assembly for in the first place – facing it with a united front.

  “The Noctis must be stopped, at all cost. We ask that you continue to be on guard, ever diligent, and ready. Night is approaching and we are the last beacon of light. Together we must shine, for the sake of all.”

  THE EVENTS OF PINE Springs now gratefully behind them, Gage and Adrienne laid out right on the deck of the Odyssey as they returned to New York. Light clouds drifted by while the stars glittered high above them.

  They were due to arrive at Front Street in the early hours of the morning, planning to visit HQ a few hours afterwards. Any chance they could get for a little bit more rest was always welcome.

  Gage had sprawled out on his stomach, shirtless in jeans as he cushioned himself with his wrinkled tee. He gazed intently at the wooden deck and although he knew that it was smooth as silk, he found himself overly paranoid about splinters. Walking on tiptoes whenever he was barefoot, he was adamantly going to make sure the only splinter on entire the ship did not enter his big toe.

  “I wonder how the others did on their mission?” he asked Adrienne, who was on her back in a simple pair of leggings and knit crop top. The spells in effect on the deck kept the temperature fairly comfortable, despite traveling at five-hundred miles per hour, thirty thousand feet up in the air.

  “J and Marcus? I think they did just fine, any mistakes Joey happened to make notwithstanding.” She chuckled. “It'll be good to see them again and no doubt Joey will be excited to tell us all about it.”

  “Yeah, we should be able to coax it out of him with sherbet ice cream or a Creamsicle,” Gage replied, knowing those things had the same effect on J as pancakes had on him.

  They both joined in laughter before Gage rolled over on his side, looking to Ady. A shooting star darted by overhead.

  “Did you see that?” Adrienne asked. “It's so beautiful.”

  “Yes, you are,” Gage replied, reaching for her hand.

  She grabbed it, glancing over and for the briefest moment, probably due to the the color of the moonlight, she was reminded of his dad.

  “You know,” she said, “Not that I was the least bit attracted to him, but you and your father look a lot alike. I don't know why I didn't see the resemblance for the longest time in the Astral Plane.”

  Gage’s thoughts took a trip down memory lane, though it wasn’t a pleasant stroll. It was crazy to think how things had turned for the Crosse family: both of Gage's parents were dead, yet still managed to help him – physically no less – on this wild and crazy adventure. The only thing that could have made things better would have been if they were still alive to see it. And of course, if the task at hand were nearly over.

  “Yeah, I’ve been told that a time or two,” he answ
ered with a flimsy grin. “‘Spitting image of him’ they used to say. Often. I never could see it myself, so I won't hold that against ya, but I guess for my part I held a little resentment toward him. All that obsessing he did over artifacts versus his own son.” There was a long pause, Gage obviously mulling over some hurtful things. He sniffed loudly before letting go with a better smile. “How was he?”

  “Brave,” Adrienne replied immediately, “and incredibly helpful. I have to say, I wouldn’t have made it out of there alive without him – if I can even say I was alive. I think, once he found out I knew you, he poured himself into getting us out of the Astral Plane, as if it renewed something in him. Personally, knowing what I know now, I think it was to atone for how he lived his life… missing you.”

  Gage found comfort in those words, thinking on the toy he was handed over before his dad was taken. “He did carry that lil’ truck around with him the entire time, didn't he?”

  “Yup,” she said quietly, returning her gaze skyward. “If that’s not dedication and loyalty I don’t know what is. The same can be said for your mom, too, staying in that house all those years trying to manifest and then, once she did, helping us.”

  “Yeah, they were both great for sure,” Gage said as he joined her in watching the stars go by. “Ya know what? This reminds me of something,” he whispered, jutting their still held hands skyward.

  “It sure does,” she said with another smile, remembering their makeshift camping experience in Denver. How long had it been since then? It had to have been months ago, though the memory of it seemed like just yesterday.

  “Ya remember that night? We didn't actually do anything,” Gage recollected with a look of mischief. “Maybe you'd like to take the monster for a little evening walk?”

  “My god, you're always so corny,” Adrienne said as she shifted, looking into his eyes. She ran a hand across his wide back and there she felt those raised scars, scabbed over and already healing thanks to Om’s application of some potent salves. However effective those medicines were, she knew that his trademarked back would never be the same again.