by Mark Eller
Calto
Raising his eyes to the mirror, he started. A reflection that was him and yet not him stared back from a nimbus of white. Calto broke out into a cold sweet despite the cool, morning air.
“Larson?” He reached out to his only sibling with a shaking hand. “Brother?”
Larson reached back, his clear blue eyes sad, regretful. He said only one word before fading from the mirror’s golden circle, leaving Calto behind.
Sulya
For long moments, Calto stood in front of the mirror, staring at his lonely, ragged reflection. An anguished keening sounded, and Calto realized it was his own voice raised in despair. Tears slid from his eyes. Emptiness entered his heart.
Larson was dead.
* * * *
Trying not to cringe as the junior god of Hell bellowed above her, Sulya knelt in front of Athos’s throne while a pale spawn hovered near his side.. The dark god’s roar rose in volume, becoming a crashing boom that shook lose precious stones and bits of rock from the walls and ceiling. His thick, barbed tale whipped around, striking his demon attendant, smashing it into the wall. The hellborn made a sick, squelching sound as it fell to the floor. Broken black bone stuck through its red scales. A dark, sticky spot marred the wall where its body had struck. Swallowing, Sulya hoped Athos dared not vent his anger upon her, not when his father, Zorce, the creator of all evil, favored her. If Sulya died, the dark god would punish his son horribly for harming his general.
Athos roared again, making Sulya’s battle armor rattle. He turned eyes the color of molten lava upon her. She swallowed again and refused to drop her gaze. Any show of fear would be seen as weakness— and showing weakness, before the father or the son, was fatal.
Taking two thunderous steps, Athos bridged the ten feet between them with ease while the cowering spawn scuttled away to press against a cavern wall. Diamonds popped beneath the god’s large, taloned feet, spraying her with debris. Snatching her by the topknot, Athos lifted her into the air until their faces were mere inches apart.
Sulya relaxed in his grip. Fighting would only get her dead.
“Tell me again what you did.” Athos’s voice grated out between teeth as long Sulya’s fingers and ten times as many. His lips pulled back from his gums in a blackened snarl. She tried not to breathe in his breath’s stench, but the vapors were too much. Gagging, tears ran down her face, and her skin’s color shifted to mottled lavender.
“I did as I was asked. The sword disappeared of its own accord. It must have been charmed. As for Larson, his dying was an accident. I didn’t mean to break his neck.”
Sulya gasped in pain as Athos’s grip tightened. “Stupid whore! I wanted him alive! He knew things— important things.” Throwing his horned head back, the god roared. The sound shocked through her body like a jolt of lightning. He shook her hard.
Sulya feared he would lose control and snap her neck. Athos had never been a stable god.
“I do not take failure lightly. You know…” Pausing, he drew her closer. “It might take months before my father finds out who killed his trained pet, and by then he will no longer care.”
He flexed his hand, and Sulya could not stop a ragged whimper from escaping. The tip of one dark talon pierced her neck’s delicate skin. Athos’s tongue flicked against her cheek, then stroked her throat. Two of the protruding spikes upon his tongue scraped through flesh and lapped at her blood. Sulya shivered. Hellkind found similians a treat, their blood an aphrodisiac.
Growling, Athos pulled her closer to his body and wrapped his grotesquely muscled arm around her butt. Throbbing, his barbed member pressed between her legs. Sulya thanked the gods she still wore armor.
“Before I make you disappear,” he said, “let’s have a little fun.”
“Harm her and I'll torture you myself.” A voice, colder and darker than any pit in Hell, slithered around the room.
Athos jumped, releasing her abruptly. Hitting the ground hard, Sulya scrabbled quickly away, diamonds and rocks cutting into the flesh of her hands. She rushed behind her savior, hand on her sword, and glared fiercely at Hell’s lesser god, daring him to touch her again.
A living darkness faced Athos, a being clad in the abyss itself. Mercktos, Zorce’s Black Knight, stood before Athos, challenging, arrogant, and angry. Like faint ripples in a pond, the void she hid behind shivered with displeasure. Sulya gasped as the edge of Mercktos’s dark cloak brushed faintly against her boot. A moment of panic, of raw, cold fear, pulsed through her. Sulya took an unsteady step back and held her ground. She would not run and cower in the dark, not from the devil beside her. Cowering from him would be a bigger mistake than doing so in front of the Two. Zorce and Athos might torture and kill, but Mercktos— Mercktos dragged his victims away into the dark, shut them in his private hell, and made ahobbyof tearing screams from beings who knew the hopelessness of unending suffering. No warmth remained in the creature Zorce called his right hand, his Black Knight. Even Anothosia’s faithful ran from his path.
“Youdare threaten me, Mercktos?” Purple veins pounded and pulsed in Athos’s neck in stark relief against his head’s white flesh. He took a step forward, his muscles rippling like each was a beast of its own. “You may be my father’s right hand, but I am his son.”
“One among many,” Mercktos replied, “And yet you still tempt his anger by going against his wishes while screwing up even the simplest tasks. How do you do it?” His voice oozed condescension.
Howling, the dark god leapt for Zorce’s second. Sulya heard the rasping of Mercktos’s sword but didn’t see him move. Like liquid night, the sword, thrust upward toward Athos’s gut. Just when she thought the god’s innards would shower down upon her, he spun to the side, narrowly missing the vicious blade, and landed with a heavy thud.
Athos’s body ignited in flames. The fire roared outward, striking Mercktos full in the chest, but Mercktos did not stagger. No fire could penetrate his wall of darkness. Flinching, Sulya took another step back as a fetid wave of heat blew by her, a heat so intense it blistered a small patch of exposed skin on her hand. Fighting the urge to cry out, Sulya grit her teeth and squeezed her eyes tightly closed against the smell and feel of her own singed flesh. If this was the worst to happen to her this night, she would gladly thank the gods for it.
“Now, now,little one,” Mercktos said quietly. “Control thyself or I'll be forced to spank you and tell daddy what a bad boy you were.”
Holy Hell! What was the fool trying to do? Get them both killed? Sulya sucked in a lungful of stinging, raw air and readied herself for battle. Athos wouldn’t let the insult slide.
Roaring, Athos pulled himself to his full eight feet, pounding his chest with his fists. Power pulsed from the four horns jutting from his head, forming a ball of sizzling blue, electric light. The projectile flew into Mercktos’s chest. Again, the darkness swallowed Athos’s rage.
Painful pinpricks jumped across Sulya’s skin. The air, thick, heavy, filled with hate and the promise of total destruction. How could a mere devil withstand the attack of a god? How much more could Mercktos take before he broke and got them both killed?
A low rumbling started deep in Mercktos’s chest before bursting from his blood red lips as a sharp bark of laughter. “I’ll let your father know you are well and send your regards. Now, if you’re done playing, I have two messages for you before I depart with Zorce’s general.”
Athos’s anger was a horrible sight. Lightning danced brutally over his body, making his muscles jump and spasm. Sulya found it more frightening than any storm she had ever witnessed. Never would she venture into this god’s presence alone again.
“There’ll be a day when I’ll find you off your guard Mercktos,” Athos promised. “I’ll gorge you upon my horns and feast upon your flesh.”
“Fine, fine. You've made your threats. Now is the pissing contest over or do you want to go another round?”
Groaning, Sulya put her hand over her face. Even she was not brazen enough
to anger a god. Her eye twitched, her stomach quivered, and the urge to piss herself became almost overwhelming. “Please, Mercktos, tell him what Zorce wishes and let us leave,” she whispered.
Mercktos sighed, sounding bored and bothered. “Zorce says he is pleased another of Anothosia’s knights is destroyed, especially one from the House of Morlon. However,” his voice dropped to a bare whisper, “he is unhappy you only supplied his general with one of your lesser devils,one barely stronger than Phrandex, Sulya’s nursery minding son and the least of your brothers. Larson Morlon was no mere knight. He was a chosen one of the bitch goddess. It was stupid to send Zorce's best spy with such inadequate troops. Had you thought more about the end goal instead of your pride you could well have tortured him for more information.”
Athos’s mouth dropped open. A strangled sound of rage sputtered forth. He tried to speak, but the words would not come.
“But,” Mercktos’s voice grew loader, more commanding, “your father is willing to give you another opportunity to prove yourself. He wishes you to collaborate with his general and myself in entrapping Calto during the end days. Furthermore, he wants you to keep Anithia Morlon, Larson’s wife, under close scrutiny until he decides if she knows any of her husband’s secrets. Can you manage such a simple task or should he assign the deed to one of your underlings? Phrandex, maybe, or even Berferd.”
Athos hissed. “Tell him—”
Holding up a hand, Mercktos growled, “I am not finished. Your father also wishes assurance you have not disrespected his most precious gift to you, the hook. He wants to know what safeguards you have placed on your pet wizard. War with the usurpers will soon be upon us. At the least, The hook may figure prominently in your father’s plans. At worst, in the wrong hands it can cause irreperable harm.”
Athos hissed again. “You can tell my fucking father that I will not be—”
Mercktos shook his head, uninterested. “My message is delivered. Complain to him yourself.”
Spinning in a cloud of black silk, Mercktos grabbed Sulya’s arm in a painful grip, dragging her along beside him. Sulya flinched, trying to break free, but his long, nimble fingers held her fast.
Once they were far from the great hall, he stopped and twisted her around. His hand was invisible before her face, but the pain it delivered when it struck her was intense. Sulya flew into the cavern wall and slid down its rough surface, dazed and suffering.
“You idiot,” Mercktos growled.
Mercktos proceeded to beat her unconscious.
Sulya wasn’t sure how long she was out, but when she awoke she lay beneath a pale sky dumping rain.
Groaning, she tried to roll over, but found she could not. She knew bones were broken.
"Over here, over here! Sulya's over here!"
Pounding feet reverberated on a boardwalk, and then a blond, bearded face appeared above her. Stomach churning, Sulya closed her eyes, unable to tolerate the bobbing motion of the man’s head. Another face formed in her mind, Mercktos, pale, cold, and raging. Molten black eyes poured out hatred until bile rose in her throat. Someone grabbed her head, turned it to the side, and the bile spewed out.
Mercktos had done this to her, had beaten her until she couldn’t move, had brutalized her as a lesson in self-control. All the while, as his fists thudded into her body, he had laughed, enjoying her pain. Sulya’s last conscious memory before her senses fled was still very clear. After stripping away Zorce’s armor and raping her battered body, he had bent down, licked the blood from her mouth, and whispered in her ear.
“Do not fail us again,General, or I will delight in making you my new plaything.”
Lesson learned. Sulya would be damn sure to never fail her god again. She would be equally sure Mercktos got back twice what he had given her.
Oh yes. Payback was a bitch, and she was the biggest one around.
* * * *
Pre-dawn light through her parted bedroom curtains broke into Anithia’s troubled dreams. She rolled over, looking for the comfort of her husband, needing his embrace, but only found a cold and empty spot.
Ani struggled to sit up and looked to see if the clean clothes she had set out for Larson were gone. Maybe she had been sleeping when he came home and was still sleeping when he rose, but when she looked at the chair she had sat the clothes on they were still there, neat and untouched.
Maybe he had fallen asleep in the front room.
Tossing back her covers, Anithia swung her legs over the edge. She wanted to stay in bed and enjoy the early morning coolness, but worry kept her from doing so. What if Larson hadn’t come home? What if one of those demons had‒had‒Ani stopped herself, refusing to complete the thought. Her husband was fine. No matter what,he was fine.
But, of late, things had not felt fine, not for a long while. Strange goings on had left her feeling troubled and uneasy. Even their six-year-old daughter, Missa, acted ill at ease. The disturbing dreams her Missa had been having these past months were unnatural, even for a child. They seemed— touched. By whom or what, Ani didn’t know, and that scared her. When she mentioned the dreams to Larson he had shrugged them off as a child’s wild imagination.
As if the thought had summoned her, Missa burst through the door and flung herself into Ani’s arms, crying. Stomach clenched, Ani hugged her close.
“Momma, Momma, the lady took Daddy. She took him.” Missa’s wail grew high and hoarse. Her long, blond braids were almost out of their ribbons. Missa’s normally bright blue eyes looked puffy and tired.
“Shhh, baby. Calm down. What lady, little Miss?”
When Missa didn’t answer, Anithia rubbed her daughter’s back and held her until Missa’s sobs turned to whimpers.
“Missa?” Ani pulled her away. “Did someone come to the door this morning while I slept?” She hadn’t heard anyone knock.
Missa shook her head. “No, Momma. It was the pretty lady with the green eyes and long white hair.”
Anithia stilled. This was the lady from Missa’s dreams? “I don’t understand. How Missa? How did she take him?”
Shuddering, Missa straightened and rubbed her eyes on the back of her sleeping gown. “She took him in the light, to her garden. She said he had to come live with her.”
Releasing Missa, Anithia clutched at her chest and stomach and slid from the bed to her knees. “No. Stop it Missa. Stop it. It’s not okay to tell Mommy tales.”
“But—”
“No!” Ani took a deep breath and closed her eyes a moment. This was Missa’s dream. It was a dream. Nothing more. Missa was a six year old child who believed the sky held the ocean because it was blue. A child’s dream.
“Anithia, do not despair”
Ani tensed. Opening her eyes, she expected to see someone else in the room, but there was only Missa and herself.
Gazing into her daughter’s sweet, round face, Ani froze.
A voice, much like her Missa’s, but deeper and sounding further away, slipped from her angel’s mouth.“I forsake none who believeth in me. I will not forsake you or your daughter.”
Missa’s eyes swirled a misty blue so bright it seemed as if someone held the moon behind them. Peace and love radiated from her face. Ani began to shake. What witchery had come to her house?
“Tis no witchery, Ani, only a promise of light.”
Missa’s hand reached out and stroked her mother’s hair. Anithia tensed at the touch. The smell of flowers permeated the air. Warmth stole into her numb mind and body. Unbelieving, Ani watched with tear-blurred vision as the swirling light faded from Missa’s eyes. Her daughter blinked and looked sad again.
No. It could not be. Not her Larson.
Missa gave her a sad smile, just like Larson often did when he knew something was about to break Anithia’s heart.
Chest constricting, Ani fought back near blinding panic. Somehow, she knew she would never see her husband’s smile again. Swaying, she caught herself on the edge of her nightstand.
“Momma?” Missa’s
normally soft, pale features were strained and serious.
No, Ani thought.Until I see his body, I will not believe he’s gone. I will not. She shook her head. “He’s not dead. He isnot dead,” she whispered.
Anithia straightened and tried to stand. Again, she fell to her knees. A broken sob escaped her lips, and she clamped her hand to her mouth.
Missa reached out a soft, chubby hand and caressed Ani’s head. Stepping closer, she wrapped her arms around her mother.
“He’s gone, Momma. He’s gone.”
Anithia returned her daughter’s embrace and let the pain engulf her. Larson gone? Her bright and glorious husband? What were they going to do now?
Chapter 4— Singing the Arvid Blues
A year had passed since the death of Larson, not that Ludwig was aware or even cared. He looked at the ass end of the arvids in front of him and wished he were walking anywhere but along this caravan trail winding itself through the foothills and up into the dark blue mountains. A stone rolled beneath his foot, making him stumble. His already abused foot protested. His other foot echoed its own complaint. New blisters were forming on both of them, which was surprising because he hadn’t thought there was room for new blisters amid all the existing ones. One of his two arvids butted him in his shoulder, causing him to stumble one more time.
“The gods curse these beasts with boils” Ludwig muttered. “May worms stop their bowels. May Athos flay the skin from their bodies and use the skin to fill their lungs. Please gods, bring death and mayhem and all the ills of the world down upon their heads so I may once again know peace and own feet that are free from pain.”
Up ahead, Harlo chuckled and clicked to his charges. His swarthy, sun hardened features wore a fond grin. The arms he used to pull his arvids to order were much better developed than Ludwig’s. Then again everything on Harlo was better. Though they were both of medium size, and, at twenty-five, the same age, Harlo’s frame wore heavy muscle where Ludwig’s body remained spare.