by Mark Eller
“Himself,” Mira snapped from Tessla’s side. “Jolson will always be himself.”
“Nedross,” Harlo cursed. “This shit makes my head hurt. We need Calto to look into the matter, but he and Anithia are long gone chasing down rumors of Missa. Ludwig, what are you doing?”
The fop glanced toward Harlo for a brief moment, and then returned to carefully watching the door. “I thought I heard a noise. There’s something out there, and I suggest you don’t bother about High Lord Calto unless you want to face his anger. He’s tied up with the Ani woman’s search. I doubt he’ll do us much good until the child is found.”
“Lord Calto made promises!” Queen Elise snapped. “He made me promises. If they don’t find the girl soon, I expect him to return.”
Jolson watched her with sudden understanding. There was more going on here than appeared on the surface. Hell had invaded the queen’s realm. Her husband had been turned, her child murdered, and she now must spearhead a rebellion against her husband and against beings more powerful than anything she had ever known. These things would have angered and frightened most humans Jolson had met. They would have overwhelmed their thoughts, leaving little room for anything else. Not Elise. Anger and fear were there, but she also exuded insecurity, and strangely, jealousy.
He heard a knock and a soft voice. Shaking his head, Ludwig moved away from the temple’s door. The pregnant woman, Gertunda, slapped the side of his head and pushed him back.
“Idiot! It’s Joss. Let him in.”
Ludwig reluctantly withdrew the bolts, slipped the door open a crack, and instantly shut it once the slim figure of a young man slipped through. One of the man’s hands was wrapped in a cast.
“Did you find out the secret?” Elise demanded.
“There are three or four demons and a devil out there,” Joss panted. “I don’t know why. We should be covered.”
“Don’t worry about them,” Elise ordered. “So far as they know, we are part of their plot. Now, the secret. Why did your flash powder prove so deadly?”
“What? Oh, it’s salt. One of my ingredients for the burning powder is a pinch of salt, only I don’t know why this salt made all that stuff happen. I’ve seen hellborn use salt before, so they shouldn’t be allergic to it or anything.”
The queen suddenly spun around. She pointed a finger at Harlo. “I’ve seen hellborn eat salt before, too. I’ve seen it many times, but during my last night at the palace none of them touched the salt. A succubus named Belthethsia even pushed it away, if I remember correctly. Where did the salt you hauled for Dern come from?”
Jolson started at hearing Dern’s name. It had been a long time since he thought of the villager. Truthfully, the man had barely crossed his mind since they parted. Dern had once murdered an innocent man, something which filled Jolson with satisfaction at the time. He had been cold and needed the murdered man’s cloak, so the murder suited his need. However, things were different with him now. Since their last meeting Jolson had gained a conscience. The memory of murder no longer made him feel satisfied.
Jolson shivered, suddenly realizing he felt cold now. He felt cold and uncomfortable, two sensations he relished after having felt nothing but numb for so long. A tingling sensation ran up and down his skin. Something unseen oozed into him. The tingling faded. The cold disappeared, and once again he felt nothing.
Harlo spread his hands. “The salt came from near Dern’s village. I never bothered to learn its name.”
“Greenswale,” Jolson supplied. “I traveled through there. I met a man named Dern, and he was hauling his first load of salt.”
Tessla snapped her fingers. “Greenswale! I know the place. I stopped there, but they didn’t haul salt then. They were farmers, and from the looks of it, not very good ones.” She glanced toward the boy. “Joss, is something wrong?”
“I’m just hurting a bit,” Joss answered.
Tirelle moved toward Joss and touched his broken wrist. She ran her hand along his arm, across his chest, and then wrapped him in her arms. “I wish I still had the power to heal, sweetie, but I lost it when I entered this body. Would a kiss help?”
Ludwig moved quickly forward, but Gertunda set herself between him and his target. “Leave her be.”
“She’s my wife!”
“And a nymph,” Tirelle called over her shoulder. “You’re mine. Touch anyone besides one of your wives and you’re dead. But I won’t follow the same rules. Now that I’m alive again, I have to share myself around. It’s a nymph’s nature.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “My tree grew near Greenswale. I seem to recall some legend— somebody’s here!”
Ludwig jumped when a thud sounded, and the door bulged. Jolson watched all the other men pull weapons free. Even Joss.
Jolson stilled, not breathing because he no longer needed to use his lungs. In fact, he no longer had lungs or heart or even blood. Frowning, Jolson gathered his new energies into himself, waiting. He didn’t know what was out there. He didn’t know what he could do, or even what he should do. He was no longer spawn, no longer human, and was unsure if he could be seriously harmed. However, he did feel fear. It was a new kind of fear, one foreign to him. He was afraid for those around him, for Mira and the queen and Ludwig’s women. He even felt fear for Harlo and Ludwig. Most especially, he was afraid for the young lad, Joss.
Joss backed deeper into the temple chamber. Eyes wary, he reached into a bag at his side with his good hand.
A feeling suddenly came over Jolson. A need. His skin tingled again, hurt, and then a burning rush raced over his body. He did not move, did not react. It was only pain, and pain was far better than feeling nothing at all.
“The temple is closed,” the queen called toward the door. “Come back tomorrow.”
The door shuddered under a tremendous blow. A voice called out. “In Athos’s name, I order you to open the door.”
“The door is locked,” Elise called out again, “and my master has the only key. He is communing with the god so he can’t come unlock it.”
The door shuddered once more. The burning in Jolson’s body became hotter, and hotter still. It shifted and centered in his left arm, then moved to his hand, but he did not have a left hand, had not owned one since obtaining the hook
Jolson looked down at where his ragged sleeve bulged and his arm ended, seeing dancing motes of energy circle, collide, and adhere. Wondering, he lifted his arm and saw he had a new— something. The addition extended from his severed limb, stretched out, and ended in something sparkling which looked somewhat like a hand. The thing ached and burned and flared, but none of the others reacted. None seemed to see. So it was only his eyes, his senses, which knew.
The thing swirled and sparked and flared. Sparkles drifted into it from the surrounding air, adding to its substance. Energy pulled itself from the walls and hangings and even from the statue of Nedross, the false god. Some came from Harlo and Ludwig. Shifting his gaze to Tessla, Jolson saw she wore the same energy, the same swirling motes of combating lights. Hers were less intense. They danced an erratic pattern. A thin stream arced between her and Jolson, dancing back and forth, circulating from one to the other.
Mira moved closer to him, a knife held in each hand.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Harlo muttered. He gestured to his friend. “Ludwig, dear chap, you better be good with your sticker today or you’re going to die. I’m not fighting another devil so this one belongs to you.”
“My powder is ready,” Joss said, just as the huge door boomed once more. Wood crackled and split. Splinters scattered across the floor. “I sure wish Calto was here.”
Jolson shifted his eyes, adjusted his visual spectrum, and he saw that everything around him glowed with the strange energy. He pictured worshipers, hundreds of worshipers, thousands, standing here, beneath this towering ceiling, worshiping this statue of Nedross. Listening to false services, false promises, bleeding hopes and prayers into the air, saturating it until those hopes and pra
yers had no place to go except into the building.
On impulse, he reached down with his impossible hand and touched Joss’s broken wrist. The boy released a gasp, whirled, and the door fell in.
Harlo stabbed at the first demon, stabbed at it again, but it was too fast, too sure. It dodged and leapt for Jolson. Joss threw powder and flame. Exploding in the air, it sent the demon reeling back, but other demons raced in. A young devil followed. Devil and demons formed a half circle, facing the others.
“How dare you burst into my temple,” Ludwig demanded in an imperious tone. “Have you any idea who I am.”
“Looks to me like you’re a human wearing a devil’s illusion,” the young devil answered.
“Don’t do this,” Tessla said quietly, drawing the devil’s attention away from Ludwig. She puffed on her cirweed pipe, her sword held negligently in her hand. The energy within her swirled wildly, something Jolson found fascinating. Almost, he forgot to focus his attention on the hellborn.
“I will kill you Phrandex,” Tessla continued. “I don’t want to, but I will.”
The devil pointed at Jolson. “We want him. The rest of you can live.”
“No,” Tessla said. “Jolson is under my care. My protection.”
Phrandex laughed, but he did not laugh well. His laugh was not happy or evil. To Jolson, it sounded uncertain and uneasy. “Tessla. My mother told me about you. You protect nobody. You are Trelsar’s Assassin. You murder on his command.”
Tessla seemed momentarily confused. Her eyes lost focus, regained, and then she shook her head slightly. “I’m not Trelsar’s Assassin,” she said, wonder falling from her voice. “Not anymore.” She pointed toward Jolson. “I belong to him. I’m his protection. His sword.”
She turned lost eyes on Jolson. “Why have you taken my god from me?”
“He needs us more than Trelsar needs you,” Mira supplied.
“This is going nowhere fast,” a voice growled, and then a wolf leapt through the door and landed on a demon’s back.
Mira lunged in front of Jolson, stood before him. Ghosting forward, Tessla slid her sword into a demon, sliced sideways, and the hellborn fell into separate pieces. Harlo and Ludwig danced about another demon. They stabbed and stabbed again, doing no damage, backing away while it gleefully stalked them.
Tirelle gestured. The demon stopped, struggled, and stepped forward once more, straining as if he pushed against a great wall.
“Run,” Mira gasped to Jolson, just before she was lifted from the floor. Talons extruded from her back. Entrails fell to the floor, and emotion like he had never experienced raced through Jolson. Mental pain, more excruciating than any physical hurt, tore into him.
The demon holding Mira tossed her aside like a diseased rag or a broken toy. Crying, Jolson raised his arm and stumbled away. He couldn’t act. He couldn’t attack. Something inside him had changed. He felt courage. He felt fear. But. He. Could. Not. Mira was dead, and he could do nothing.
Chaos reigned.
The wolf flew through the air, crashed into a wall, and landed at Jolson’s back. Ludwig, Harlo, and the queen lunged and stabbed and retreated, Ludwig’s women at their backs. Their demon stalked, moving one laborious step closer, fighting against the nymph’s magic. Most of its talons extended more than a foot long. Two were only nubs, severed in the fight, their remnants lying on the floor. Tessla danced and swirled and struck, fighting more hellborn at once than seemed possible if she were to survive. Closer to Jolson, the devil approached.
“I’m so sorry,” Phrandex said. His claws flicked out at Joss, missing the boy but ripping the magic bag from his hands. Joss stumbled into Jolson, righted, and stood boldly.
“You can always leave,” Jolson said, still retreating. “You won’t be sorry then.”
“I need to impress Athos,” Phrandex explained. “I have to impress my mother.” His black skin glistened, spilling shades of blue. Jolson saw Tessla break free from her battle long enough to lunge at Phrandex’s back, but a clawed hand caught her and dragged her back. Twisting, she turned, fastened hands into a demon’s chest, and blew smoke into its eyes. The demon screamed and staggered, but its claws remained fastened into Tessla. Its fangs neared her face.
Ludwig’s women passed by Jolson. Tirelle’s face appeared weak and strained. She gestured and muttered, but the demon she fought against moved quicker than it had before. Ludwig brushed against Jolson. Jolson reached up a hand to hold him off, but the hand he held up was not a hand. The energy roiling at the end of his severed arm brushed Ludwig, raced across his body, and fastened on the man’s sword. The sword paused, was stuck in air, and then moved freely once more. It stabbed out, entered demon flesh, and where it struck the demon sizzled. Screaming, the demon tried to pull itself free of the steel but failed. Instead, it shriveled and dried and died and fell, a thin husk, empty of flesh. Empty of life. Empty.
Phrandex suddenly looked alarmed. He leaped toward Jolson, reached out, but Joss suddenly stood in the way and swung a fist into the devil’s ribs. Gasping, Phrandex stopped and fell to his knees.
“Impossible,” he wheezed just as Tessla released a warrior’s yell and spread her hands wide. The demon she grasped by the chest grunted and then groaned. He tried to push Tessla away, tried to rip her with his claws, with his fangs, but he had no leverage. He had the wrong angle, and so Tessla continued ripping his flesh. Her hands spread wide, wider, puling meat from the demon’s chest, ripping bone free. It bled, bleated, and struggled. It no longer tried to kill her, no longer tried to maim. Instead the demon tried to push her away, sought to escape, but it could not. Tessla finished ripping away ribs, exposed its heart, and then Ludwig stepped forward, lunged, and shoved his sword through the narrow gap separating Tessla from the demon, piercing the exposed heart. Without a sound, the demon stilled. When Tessla released her hold, it fell.
Groaning, Phrandex remained on his knees. His devil’s ribs, harder than iron, tougher than steel, were caved in. Shards of bone poked through skin that writhed but refused to heal. He held his hands to the wound, pressed in, but the hole was so large it swallowed his hands and wrists.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I had to impress Athos. I had to impress my mother. Please-Please let me go. Forgive me.”
Moving forward, Queen Elise stared deep into Phrandex‘s eyes. “My husband is suborned and rumored dead. My kingdom lies in ruins. My child is murdered. I no longer know how to forgive.” When she held out an imperious hand, Ludwig placed his sword in it. Using a quick, practiced slice, Queen Elise separated Phrandex’s body from his head. The head sailed through the air. Joss caught it in a cast covered glowing hand which now bore the same webbed light as Jolson’s.
Jolson turned his gaze away. Water fell from his eyes, wetted his cheeks, and dripped to the gore covered floor. Fighting back a sob, he knelt beside Mira, but to no avail. She was gone. Her almost life had become true death. His friend, his protector, had fallen in his defense. Jolson wished they could have had a few final moments together. If they had, he would have told her how much he learned from her, how much he cared for her. He would have thanked her for sharing her bed, but life did not always work out that way. Sometimes people didn’t get to say goodbye.
“I remember. Not more than a hundred years ago,” Tirelle said. “A light fell from the sky. It landed near Greenswale, only a different village existed then. The village was destroyed, and my tree was damaged. Later, I heard humans talk about it. Some said it was a fallen star. Others said the light was Trelsar’s crap fallen from the sky. One old woman, a hedge witch, said it was a fallen god. She said the light was Flinstar, the god of balance.”
“Could the salt be imbued with Flinstar’s essence?” Elise asked. “Is it his dust?”
“This temple used to belong to Flinstar,” Joss added. “When his adherents left, it was given over to Trelsar.”
“Thus speaks Nedross’s chief priest,” Harlo chuckled.
“I’m a magician and a con
man and a thief,” Joss insisted. “I’m no priest. Not anymore.”
Jolson heard a low growl. Looking up, he watched through blurry eyes as the wolf who had fought with them slowly crawled closer. The wolf’s body was broken, bent, but even as he watched the bends straightened. The breaks mended. Jolson’s new vision showed him the wolf should have been a man.
Flopping at Mira’s side, the wolf licked her cheek before looking up at Jolson. Its muzzle parted, and it spoke. “I never knew your woman, but something within her was wild. It called to me. I wanted her.” Lowering its head, the wolf licked her cheek again.
“Nedross,” Harlo whispered, staring at the battle’s destruction. “We were damned lucky more of us weren’t killed.”
“Lucky,” Queen Elise murmured. Her steady regard fastened on Jolson. She leaned heavily on Ludwig‘s gore encrusted sword. “We can thank Nedross we are alive.”
“He doesn’t exist,” Ludwig said instantly.
“Doesn’t he?” The queen asked. “Did Flinstar? Tessla, why did Trelsar need you to kill hellkind for him? He is a god. He can be far more effective dealing death than you.”
“Only the hell gods directly kill or harmfully affect lesser beings,” Tessla explained. “The other gods are limited. They must work through avatars or risk destroying Terra Scientia. They can only stand among us for a short time without risking the near destruction of everything. Hell’s gods don’t care about a world they don’t control, so it doesn’t matter to them if they put it at risk.” She looked aggrieved. “Truthfully, Athos and Zorce don’t put Terra at much risk when they interfere. They are more powerful than all the remaining gods combined. They have more control and a greater understanding of Terra’s environs. The virtuous and the neutral gods are a little too removed to fully understand Terra and us. Only Omitan even comes close.”
“Might this explain why things have lately been strange,” Elise wondered. “I’m told the weather has been unreliable, and I’ve gotten a number of reports from people who thought they last saw me weeks ago instead of just days.”