by James Maxey
As Menagerie concentrated, oblivious to the world around him, I noticed Reeker peek at him from beneath his blanket. Deciding that Menagerie wasn’t watching, Reeker rolled slowly to the edge of the platform and carefully lowered himself down to the woven vine ladder.
If he hadn’t been so quiet, I’d have assumed he was going down to use the bathroom. But, he kept looking over his shoulder, and was taking care not to make a sound. He’d never struck me as someone who worried about disturbing other people’s sleep. Suspicious, I drifted closer to him, though not too close. Even though my sense of smell was muted as a ghost, I knew to keep several arm lengths between us.
Reeker reached the forest floor and stealthily crept toward the edge of the village. He went to the far side of a huge tree trunk and pressed his back to the bark. He took one more look around, then crouched and pulled out a small leather pouch, placing it on his knee. Quickly he produced a small rectangle of paper, flattened it out, then placed a large pinch of tobacco in the center. He glanced off to his right, then his left, as he rolled the paper into an untidy tube.
Finally, satisfied that he was truly alone, he pulled a wooden match out of the pouch. He ignited the tip with a quick flick of his thumbnail. A brief breath of sulfur scented the air. He brought the tiny flame to the cigarette and puffed once, twice, three times, firing it to a bright cherry ember.
He shook the match to snuff it. The small fire kept burning.
He shook it again, harder. Still, it didn’t go out.
He frowned, staring at the miniscule blaze as it sputtered down the wooden dowel, nearing his finger and thumb. He reached out with his free hand, and closed his forefinger and thumb upon the feeble flare to be done with it.
He screamed. A sizzle sounded from his fingers as white tendrils of smoke spun into the air. A yellow-orange flame danced over his hairy knuckles. He waved his hand frantically, crying, “Yowowowow!” as the fire grew brighter.
Now, his sleeve was on fire. He dropped and rolled on the forest floor. The ground was damp, but his efforts only stoked the flames to greater heights. In a matter of seconds, his clothes were engulfed. His screams grew ever louder.
With a sudden whoosh, Lord Tower shot down from the sky. He was fully enveloped in his armor; there was no way he’d had time to put it on in any ordinary way. The Gloryhammer turned night into day as the knight flashed toward Reeker. He grabbed the flailing skunk-man by the ankle, then streaked off in the direction of the stream. I followed at the speed of thought as he threw Reeker into the pool where Infidel had bathed. Reeker vanished beneath the surface with a loud hiss and a mushroom cloud of steam.
Tower spun around. There were flames dancing on the forest floor where Reeker had rolled. They flared higher and higher, the ground crackling and whistling as dampness boiled away. Tower gripped his Gloryhammer with both hands as the flames took on a decidedly serpentine form. At first, I thought a vine was on fire, curling from the heat. Then, I realized I was looking at a dragon — a small drake, no taller than a man, made of pure flame. It reared up on its blazing legs and sucked in air. Tower charged as the beast spewed a cone of flame. The fire engulfed the knight as he swung his enchanted hammer with a grunt. The weapon went right through the flame-beast.
“I’m on it!” shouted Aurora, running toward the conflagration with her hands outstretched. Snowflakes the size of saucers began to fall, vaporizing as they hit the beast with a staccato sss sss sss. Aurora was iced up and took a swing at the fire-dragon with her frozen gauntlet. She spun around, off balance, as her punch failed to connect. There was nothing solid about the beast to hit.
The fire seemed to laugh as it blazed brighter. Aurora raised her arm to cover her eyes as she stumbled back, her armor cracking.
Suddenly, Infidel dropped straight down toward the drake, holding an outstretched blanket. The fluttering edges engulfed the small dragon as she landed, dimming the light. The beast screamed as sparks swirled around the edges.
Off to one corner, there was a tiny remnant of flame curling around a small twig, no bigger than a cockroach. It leapt to a stick, and flashed into a tiny dragon the size of a mouse, then leapt again toward a fallen branch to grow as big as a cat.
Tower charged toward it, trying to stomp it beneath his gleaming boots, but the fire-cat darted away, burning leaves and twigs as it grew to the size of a dog. Aurora pointed both hands at the ground and the forest debris it needed to grow was suddenly coated in ice. The creature darted back toward Infidel, stretching its neck out to nip the edge of the blanket. Infidel jumped back with a yelp as the cloth flared; in the blink of an eye, the creature was man-sized once more.
“You guys are a frickin’ joke,” grumbled a voice from the shadows. The creature craned its blazing neck to discover Zetetic standing directly behind it, hiking up his tattered robes. The Deceiver grumbled, “I can piss out a fire no bigger than this.”
The creature roared toward him, reaching out with claws of flame.
The Deceiver began to pee.
The creature hissed, drawing back. It writhed as streams of urine spattered the ground where it stood. The flames flickered and danced, reaching for new fuel, but the Deceiver kept a steady aim and soon the ground around it was drenched. Fifteen seconds later, the flame flickered out, and the last pale red ember went black.
Aurora demurely covered her eyes as Zetetic stuffed his manhood back into the briefs he wore beneath his robe.
“Good job,” said Tower, his eyes on the Deceiver’s face. “Fast thinking.”
“I’m sure it seemed fast to you,” said Zetetic. He dropped to one knee, studying the blackened ground. His eyes flickered over it like he was reading a map. He reached out and picked up a twisted black twig a few inches in length, right where Reeker had first been standing. He studied it closely, then asked, “Which idiot lit the match?”
“The half-seed!” exclaimed Lord Tower. He turned and bounded through the forest, his armor clanging. Up above, there were a hundred voices jabbering; we’d probably awakened every pygmy in a five-mile radius.
Tower leapt into the pool with a splash, fishing around in the waist deep water with his gauntlets. He jerked upright suddenly, pulling a limp, blackened form back into the air.
Reeker wasn’t moving. His hair was completely burned away; his scalp was raw and red, with charred black flesh peeling away from the bone in places. Tower laid him on the stone by the pool. He pressed on the skunk-man’s chest, forcing out a fountain of water.
Menagerie rushed onto the scene, with No-Face trailing behind him. He didn’t pause to ask what had happened. He pushed Tower aside and dropped his ear to his friend’s chest. His brow knitted as he listened. Then, he jerked his head away and placed his mouth on Reeker’s lips. Reeker’s belly rose as Menagerie blew breath into him.
“Gluh,” said No-Face, sadly.
Menagerie continued to work, breathing in air, then pushing it out, pausing between breathes to listen to the chest.
“Is there a heartbeat?” Aurora asked.
Menagerie shook his head.
“I can’t believe he’s dead,” said Aurora, sounding sadder than I would have expected.
The Deceiver looked down at Reeker’s charred form and said, “Why not? He’s not breathing, there’s no heartbeat, his skin looks like charcoal. It’s not a difficult diagnosis.”
Menagerie looked at the Deceiver as if he was ready to pounce on the man. Then, his body slackened, and he said, in a soft voice, “Fix him. Please.”
The Deceiver shook his head. “The Truthspeakers stripped me of the power to raise the dead. I’m sorry.”
Menagerie ground his teeth together and clenched his fists, his anger rising. But instead of attacking Zetetic, he looked down at the fallen Goon.
“You moron,” he said, his voice trembling.
“That’s a fine goodbye,” said Reeker’s voice from the pool. I looked toward the rippling water and found a bilious yellow vapor rising, coalescing into the familiar f
orm of Reeker. The pale spirit lingered for a few seconds as it looked down on the scene.
“Reeker! It’s me! Stagger!”
Reeker’s eye widened as he saw me. I drifted closer. His naked, barefoot ghost seemed shorter than he had been alive. There had been whispers that he wore lifts in his boots; apparently these rumors were true.
“Stagger?” he asked. “What are you doing here? You’re dead!”
“So are you,” I said. “I’m haunting Infidel. Well, technically, I’m haunting a knife. If you pick something and focus on it, you might be able to stick around.”
He looked down at his burnt body. “Why would I want to stick around?” he said. “Look at what’s left of me. It’s going to hurt like hell popping back inside.”
“I meant you can stay here as a ghost.”
Reeker laughed. “How pathetic would that be? Life was fun because my body was fun. I could eat, drink, and fool around. Can a ghost do any of that?”
“No. But it beats just fading out to nothing, doesn’t it?”
“What? You don’t believe in heaven?” Reeker asked.
“You do?”
“Sure. Like a Black Swan barge in the sky. I’ll just keep on eating, drinking, and sleeping around, only there I won’t get bossed around by tattooed shapeshifters. And in heaven, all my friends will have, you know, faces.” He looked on No-Face with a look of unconcealed disdain.
The giant man was standing over Reeker’s body, shuddering, tears rolling over his blank features from his one visible eye, as he gurgled, “Guh huh huh huh. Guh huh huh huh.”
“The big baby,” Reeker said.
“Kind of a cold thing to say about the only man crying over your death.”
Reeker shrugged. “Remember that little calico cat that used to hang around the bar? No-Face cried like a little girl when it got run over by that cart. Him crying over me is nothing special.”
I had an epiphany as I looked into Reeker’s remorseless face.
“I never liked you,” I said.
“What a disappointment,” he said with a sneer. “You were the biggest loser in Commonground. You had the most gorgeous girl on the island giving you goo-goo eyes, and you never had the guts to sneak a kiss. You acted like you were smart, reading all those damn books, but what did you ever do that was important? You wasted your life.”
I ground my ghost teeth, sorry I’d called out to his wraith.
Reeker glanced up at the tree houses. A hundred dark faces looked down at us. Among them was the tall, thin form of my grandfather. “Must run in the family. Hard to get less ambitious than living up a tree like a damn squirrel.”
Before I could think of a retort, he turned his eyes toward the stars and drifted upward. “I’ve stuck around long enough. There are women waiting in the next world. I can hear them calling to me now.” His phantom body remained intact as he rose, not dissipating the way Blade had. He cast one last glimpse down at his battered, broken body.
“Damn,” he said, as he cleared the trees. “I was one handsome devil.”
Meanwhile, Relic and Father Ver had joined the others at the pool. The assembled dragon-slayers glanced at one another.
“This is insane,” said Zetetic, the first to state the obvious. “The dragon knows we’re here. Let’s call this off and try again some other century.”
“Maybe he does know we’re here,” said Tower. “But does he know who we are? If he knows the danger we pose, why such a feeble attack?”
Relic nodded. “I concur. This was merely a test to see what he was up against. If he was worried by what he’d seen, lava would now be flowing down the slope toward us.”
“We’ve lost a third of the party without reaching his lair,” Zetetic said to Tower. “How many of us will have to die before you call this off?”
“All of us,” said Tower. “We have a duty.”
“You have a duty,” snapped Zetetic. “What’s in it for the rest of us?”
“Munuh,” said No-Face.
“Money was going to be my answer too,” said Menagerie.
“Was it worth losing a friend?”
“Reeker broke the contract; he paid the price.” Menagerie’s face was hard as he said, “The next Goon I recruit won’t be such a pain in the ass.”
“That’s a very mercenary attitude,” said the Deceiver.
“Is that surprising?” asked Aurora. “We’re mercenaries.”
Zetetic looked at Relic. “Fine. So Tower and Ver are here for duty, and the others are here for money. What are you after?”
Relic pulled back his hunched shoulders and said, in a firm voice, “I’m surprised a man of your learning has to ask. Greatshadow’s hoard is more than a collection of gold and gems. The greatest treasures of the Vanished Kingdom may be found amid his trove. There are scrolls containing plays that no man has seen performed in centuries, sculptures that once adorned the gardens of kings, and paintings and carvings that show the long forgotten world of my youth. I would pay any price to look once more upon these arts.”
“You sound almost like you mean this,” I said.
I thought it would sound plausible. It’s simpler to say this than to reveal my true motive.
“Which is?”
Hatred. Pure and simple hatred of the beast. Every moment that he survives torments my very soul.
“Fine,” said Zetetic. “Let me set you all straight on the real reason we’re here. The Isle of Fire is the largest wild plot of land left in the world. It’s covered in virgin timber, beneath which lies rich volcanic soils begging to be cultivated. The island has fresh water rivers and deep harbors perfect for cities. The king isn’t trying to rid the world of some great evil by slaying Greatshadow. He’s trying to expand his empire. Are you willing to die for that? Because I think that the greedy dreams of an already rich king are a lousy thing to die for.”
“The king’s motives are of no importance,” said the Truthspeaker. “It matters only that you obey. Remember the X sanction.”
Zetetic looked at Aurora, Menagerie, and No-Face. “Don’t any of you wonder what he’s talking about? Do any of you care what kind of monsters are paying your salaries?”
“Enlighten us,” said Menagerie.
“I told you the Truthspeakers stripped me of the power to raise the dead,” said Zetetic. “When I do it, apparently, it’s ‘evil.’” He formed little quote marks with his fingers as he spoke the word. “But the Church is rife with hypocrisy when it comes to necromancy. I was captured a year ago. I didn’t go down easy. I killed... what? Fifty knights?”
“Forty-three,” said Lord Tower, tersely.
“They wasted no time when I was captured. I was bound and gagged and given a trial that lasted less than an hour. Ten minutes after my conviction, I was marched to the gallows where a noose was placed around my neck. Father Ver himself gave the order to hang me. I still have nightmares about the trapdoor swinging open beneath my feet.”
“Apparently, you survived,” said Aurora.
“No,” said Zetetic. “I died.”
Aurora furrowed her brow.
“King Brightmoon knew of my powers, and how useful those powers might be if he commanded them. So, he paid the church a bribe. He had the monks who pray Tower’s armor into existence pray that my heart would once more start beating. I awoke from death to learn I’ll stay alive only as long as they keep praying. Tower can send an order through his little magic book at any time for them to stop. That’s the X sanction. Tower and Ver act all high and mighty and righteous, but they aren’t above enslaving the unwilling dead if it will help the king expand his empire.”
Father Ver said, “You are no slave, Deceiver. You’re merely employed. Your wages are paid in heartbeats.”
Zetetic looked at Aurora with a desperate look in his eyes. “I’ve no choice but to obey these bastards. But you and the others are free to resist!”
Aurora shrugged. “The Goons and I work for the Black Swan. We aren’t all that shocked by a
boss motivated by greed.”
Zetetic shut up, a moderate pout upon his face. I suspect his feelings ran deeper, but his stitched lips prevented him from showing a full-fledged frown.
As interesting as it was learning what the X sanction was, I was more intrigued by the idea that Tower could communicate with the monks through his book. The notebook had been the only thing in Tower’s hand when he stepped off the platform, and two seconds later he’d had the Gloryhammer in his grasp. Did the notebook contain some kind of portal spell? Maybe the Jagged Heart was still at the monastery, and could be sent to Tower when he was ready for it.
Before I could ponder the puzzle further, Grandfather lowered himself down from the trees on a looped vine. He stopped with his penis-gourd at eye-level and said, “You’ve worn out your welcome, long-men.” Our packs and gear rained to the ground around us as the pygmies tossed them from the platform. “Leave at once. Return to the sea. You may not pass through our territory.”
“We’ll go where we wish,” said Father Ver. “Should your kinsmen threaten us, we will meet any attack with deadly force. You have no—”
Lord Tower raised his gauntlet, motioning for the Truthspeaker to stop speaking. “You were gracious to show us hospitality,” he said to Grandfather. “We will not cause you any further bother. We’re here to fight the dragon, not fellow men, pagans though you may be. We will find another path.”
The knight cast his gaze toward Relic. “It seems we must put your knowledge of this island to a test after all.”
Relic nodded. “I know a way.”
“Do you?” I asked.
Not really, he thought back at me.
I smiled. For the first time since I died, I finally felt useful. All these years of poking around the island were going to prove valuable after all.
“It looks like I’ve finally got the upper hand,” I said. “I know how to get to the lair from here while avoiding Jawa Fruit territory.”