Greatshadow

by James Maxey

  No-Face was first to strike, leaping forward with a noise half war cry, half grunt: “HRUNN!” The iron ball sliced through the air and came down dead center of Nowowon’s face, bouncing off without so much as leaving a scratch, at least from my point of view.

  Nowowon met the blow with a thrust of the Jagged Heart, moving at blinding speed. No-Face didn’t stand a chance; the harpoon impaled his rib cage, driving down into the stone beneath him until the icy blade was completely embedded, leaving only the shaft exposed. Blood bubbled around the wound, then froze, as the ball and chain slipped from his fingers. No-Face sank to his knees, pinned by the shaft, unable to fall completely. No ghost appeared; as horrific as the wound was, he wasn’t dead yet.

  The wolverines let loose angry howls as they launched themselves at the god, sinking their teeth into his throat. Nowowon grabbed them, then tossed them away, shouting, “Ooze zoo!”

  As the beasts spun through the air, they began to break apart into dozens, if not hundreds of animals. Instead of two wolverines hitting the ground, the floor was suddenly covered with countless pint-sized creatures, no larger than they’d been depicted on the original tattoos. There were kitten-sized lions, wolves smaller than mice, and sharks no bigger than goldfish flopping on the floor.

  As bad a development as this was, it was followed by something far worse as the miniature animals launched into a feeding frenzy. The lions leapt upon the sharks, the bug-sized boars were stomped by ankle-high elephants, and worm-like anacondas wrapped themselves around tiny eagles. Blood, fur, and feathers flew in a bloody whirlwind.

  “Bad animals I slam in a dab,” Nowowon laughed as he stomped over the surviving beastlets, smearing them to paste beneath his heel.

  No-Face groaned as he writhed on the harpoon, sinking lower, until his trembling, outstretched fingers reached his fallen ball and chain. With a muffled groan, he flung the weapon, bouncing it off the old god’s ear.

  Nowowon stopped laughing as he paced back over to No-Face. He stared down at the impaled mercenary and growled, “Lived as a dog, reviled? Deliver god as a devil!”

  He placed his thick fingers beneath No-Face’s chin flap and gave a sudden yank. With a sickening slurp the tumorous mask tore away, revealing... nothing. A completely blank, unblemished mass of skin, unmarred by scars, devoid of mouth, nostrils, or even eyes, despite the fact he’d always had one showing.

  “I know how the god’s power works!” I shouted at Relic, hoping that my insight might be of some help. “No-Face was afraid there was nothing under his skin flap! Menagerie was afraid that there was nothing human left in him, that he was nothing but a mass of animals!”

  Relic nodded. “And Tower feared that his only legacy to the world would be a statue. Nowowon destroys men with their greatest fears.”

  “I really hope your greatest fear is of something harmless, like squirrels,” I said, as Nowowon stalked toward Relic.

  Relic looked around the island; the Goons certainly looked dead, even if I hadn’t seen their spirits. Zetetic was curled into a fetal ball, sucking on his fist, his face awash with tears and snot. Father Ver was unconscious, Tower was stoned, and Infidel was still leaping around like a drunken jackrabbit. Finally, Relic looked back at me. Stall him while I mentally guide Infidel back across the shifting terrain.

  I felt his mental hands grab me and hold me in place as he beat a retreat for the edge of the island. I struggled to break free of his invisible grasp, and did so just as Nowowon reached me. The old god grabbed me by the throat and lifted me from my feet. He brought my face to his. I could see right through him; the whiskey fumes of his breath left me dizzy as his lips brushed my ears and whispered, “Murder for a jar of red rum?”

  Though he asked it as a question, I was apparently not intended to answer. From nowhere he’d produced a glass pitcher full of what smelled like rum, but looked like blood. He pushed me to the ground, pinning my arms. He pinched my cheeks to force my lips open, and poured the alcoholic blood between my teeth.

  The taste... the taste was heavenly. The booze played upon my tongue like a symphony, sweet and bitter, cool and burning, and with each precious drop I swallowed my heart beat stronger. I grew increasingly aware of the stone beneath me. I moved my legs, feeling my naked foot scrape along the cold stone, chilled as it was by the Jagged Heart embedded not twenty feet away. Goosebumps covered my skin as he freed my arms. I used both hands to grab the glass and sat up, still guzzling the precious fluid, fire burning in my veins. This bloody broth had brought me back to life!

  Murder for a jar of red rum? The Black Swan had been right. I’d kill my own mother for more of this. I emptied the glass and ran my tongue around the inner rim, searching for the final molecules of goodness.

  I rose, woozy, and held the glass out toward the old god.

  “Thank you, sir, may I have another?”

  Giggling, Nowowon pointed toward the Jagged Heart and said, “Red rum, sir, is murder.”

  I nodded, and stumbled toward No-Face’s still body and the long harpoon that jutted from his chest. The sound of my feet slapping the stone was a wondrous thing. I nearly wept as my solid fingers closed around the cold shaft of the harpoon. Needles of ice ran up my bare arm, but even this sensation took my breath away. My breath! My breath! I heaved out great clouds of smoke as I strained to free the Jagged Heart from its sheath in No-Face’s massive rib cage, and the solid stone beneath.

  The ground creaked as I withdrew the frozen weapon. No-Face’s body slid down the narwhale tusk slowly. I placed my foot on his neck to pull the harpoon free. There was no question he was dead now. Maybe I had missed his departing spirit in all the excitement.

  Or perhaps he’d lingered on until I’d removed the harpoon and, alive once more, I could no longer see ghosts. It wasn’t a power I would miss. Of course, who knew how long Nowowon’s brew would restore me? I needed to guarantee a second glass. Who to kill? Who to kill to prolong this feeling? Zetetic, who was getting on my nerves with his rabbit-like shrieking? Father Ver, who I didn’t like much, and who was an easy target in his slumber?

  Relic?

  Oh, definitely Relic.

  I turned to face the man who’d been jerking me around like a puppet and discovered that he’d fallen into Nowowon’s clutches. Nowowon was tearing away the hunchback’s robes to reveal... a dragon?

  I blinked. The blood rum was blurring my vision ever so slightly, but there was no mistaking what I was looking at. It was a baby dragon only a little larger than the dead one I’d seen in the hands of the lava-pygmy shamans. Unlike the earlier specimen, which had looked healthy save for, you know, being dead, this dragon was badly lamed. Its wings were tiny, twisted knots perched upon its back. Its legs were spindly and bent at odd angles, as if they’d been broken then mended without being set properly. The little dragon hung limp in Nowowon’s grasp; the old god had the disfigured dragon’s long spindly fingers splayed out in his palm, and was bending them backwards until they snapped, one by one. Had Relic possessed a fear of dragons and been transformed into one by Nowowon? Or had he been a dragon all along, with a fear of being crippled?

  “Maim? I? Him I am!” said Nowowon, giggling.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Infidel fly back onto the platform with one final lucky leap, landing near the fallen statue of Tower. She picked up the stone knight by the ankles and charged at the old god. She didn’t even glance in my direction. Was I still invisible? Or, was she just locked into combat tunnel vision?

  With a savage growl she leapt, swinging the statue like a hammer. She struck Nowowon squarely on the top of his head, driving his skull down into his shoulders, forcing him to drop Relic, assuming that’s who the dragon was. The blow also had the effect of sending a spiderweb of cracks across the surface of the statue. Bits of gravel flaked away, revealing gleaming armor beneath.

  She raised her knight-club again and hammered the old god once more. Now shards of stone the size of saucers were flaking away from the statue;
suddenly, Tower shrugged, and broke completely free of his stony prison. The old god had been driven into the ground up to his knees, and his head was completely flat against his shoulders. Apparently, this wasn’t fatal to a god; his arms were still flailing about, trying to grab his assailant. Infidel, still in her battle rage, danced around his groping hands, and either didn’t notice or didn’t care that her weapon was alive once more. She again swung Tower overhead, and chopped him down to smash the old god even flatter.

  “Stop!” Tower cried out, as she raised him once more overhead.

  Infidel looked up, confused.

  Nowowon’s hands found Infidel’s ankles and jerked her from her feet. She hit the ground hard, as Tower fell on top of her with a loud crash.

  I didn’t know what horrors Nowowon might be ready to inflict upon Infidel, and I didn’t want to find out. I charged with the Jagged Heart, driving it into his body, which still appeared to be liquid despite the mangling Infidel had inflicted. I sank the weapon in until my fingers reached his fluid skin, and twisted.

  In response, two fresh arms emerged from Nowowon’s armpits and pulled aside his liquid breastbone, revealing his bashed-in face beneath. He still had his original arms clamped on Infidel’s ankles. She was kicking, to no avail. Her fingers left small trenches in the stone as she tried to drag herself away. I’d never seen such fear and confusion in her eyes as she looked back over her shoulder and saw me.

  “Stagger?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  Having seen the fate of No-Face, Menagerie, and Relic, I didn’t dare give Nowowon time to get creative with Infidel’s weaknesses, whatever those might be. I yelled out, “Tower! Use the Gloryhammer on this thing!”

  Tower scrambled to his feet, reaching for his magic book. The Armor of Faith had resisted Nowowon’s powers, protecting him from full statuefication. Maybe the Gloryhammer would prove equally effective.

  “I hope this hurts,” I said, wriggling the harpoon around as the Gloryhammer burst into full radiance behind me.

  A grin passed over Nowowon’s liquid lips. “Won’t lovers revolt now?”

  “I don’t need your help to save her!” Tower cried. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I spun with all the speed I could muster, tearing the Jagged Heart free, as Tower swung the Gloryhammer not at the old god, but at me. With a speed that shocked both of us, I was able to raise the blade of the harpoon into the path of the enchanted hammer. There was a blinding flash, like the high noon sun dazzling on pure white snow. The force of the impact knocked the Jagged Heart from my fingers. Yet, as the light of the hammer spun off behind me, I realized my blocking action had not only spared my skull, it had knocked the Gloryhammer from the knight’s grasp.

  Infidel screamed, kicking uselessly as Nowowon’s body restored itself, rising above us. He now had six arms; I had a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach as I saw that one of these arms now grasped the Gloryhammer, and another the Jagged Heart.

  Nowowon pinned Infidel’s ankles to the ground as he flipped her over on her back. He placed the tip of the Jagged Heart against her sternum as he grew ever larger. The sweat that beaded on her torso instantly froze into little diamonds. He raised the Gloryhammer, ready to drive the world’s biggest nail straight through her.

  “I’ll save you!” Tower cried, reaching for her left arm.

  “I’ve got you,” I yelled, grabbing her right hand.

  We both pulled with all our might as Nowowon struck.

  I lost my grip and had my breath knocked from me as I hit the ground, rolling. Nearby, I heard a loud crash as Tower’s armored ass slammed into the rock. I rose on my hands and knees, looking at him. He was flat on his back, staring up at a young girl in a lacy white gown who stood before him. She had a silver tiara atop her brow, studded with emeralds. Green ribbons threaded through her platinum braids. There had still been some of Princess Innocent inside Infidel after all, it seemed.

  Where Infidel had been pinned only a second before, there was now only her empty clothes.

  It was then I noticed the tree trunk next to me. I gave it a closer look. It wasn’t a tree trunk. It was a dark green shin, covered with thick, overlapping scales, like the hide of a rattlesnake.

  I looked up. I was sitting between the legs of a woman at least twenty feet tall. Her feet and hands ended in three-clawed talons, sporting dagger-length claws black with dried gore. A long, thick crocodilian tail thrust out from just above her buttocks. A fringe of dark green scales ran up her spine, to join with a mane of what looked like spiky vines.

  I made a hasty retreat as the half-giantess, half-dragon reared back and roared, her voice causing the false matter of the cavern to ripple. Her jaws opened much further than an ordinary woman’s should have, revealing a mouth full of glistening fangs.

  Not that I’m complaining, but in a fair world, the knight in the enchanted armor would have gotten the enraged she-dragon to deal with, while the unarmed naked man got to face off with the little girl in the frilly dress.

  Alas, as it turned out, neither of us had a chance to take any action at all. Perhaps a little worried about what he’d unleashed, Nowowon frowned at the giantess. “God damn mad dog,” he growled, bringing the Gloryhammer around in a vicious back swing. He caught the dragon-woman in the side of her head, knocking her from her feet, sending her bouncing toward the swirling light of the spirit doorway. There was a loud sucking sound as her tail pointed straight as an arrow toward the gate. Her knife-like nails trailed sparks as the vortex to the spirit world sucked her toward its depths. Her face was a mask of rage, her eyes a bright, glowing green, as jade spittle foamed on her snarling lips. Then, as if understanding there was no escape, she smiled, casting her gaze toward young Princess Innocent. A long, slimy, serpentine tongue flicked from between her lips, flying across the gap toward the girl. The tongue wrapped around Innocent’s forearm, then yanked her from her feet swiftly enough to pull her out of her white silk slippers. Innocent screamed at an octave that would have made bats wince as she was sucked into the spirit vortex in the wake of the dragon-lady.

  With sickening suddenness, the screaming stopped. The doorway to the spirit world was gone.

  Tower leapt at Nowowon, punching him hard in the knee. “Bring her back!”

  “No sir! Prefer prison,” chortled the old god, before smashing the knight in the head with the Gloryhammer. The metallic chime that rang out from the impact practically made my ears bleed. I could only imagine what it must have sounded like on the inside. Tower fell to his knees, holding his head, and Nowowon pushed him over with an oversized toe. He pinned the knight beneath his foot, then tossed the Jagged Heart so that it imbedded in the ground near my feet.

  I didn’t flinch. He wasn’t trying to strike me.

  I still owed him a murder.

  “I need another drink to do this,” I said, holding out my trembling hands. “All the excitement has left me shaky.”

  He nodded as he gave me a look of sympathy, an expression out of place on the features of a sadistic god of self-destruction. One of his free hands produced a second jar. “Regal lager,” he said, offering it to me.

  “Regal lager,” I agreed, taking the crimson brew from him. I lifted it to my lips, inhaling one long, intoxicating sniff of the heady aroma. Never had I wanted a drink so badly.

  But instead of drinking, I spun around, covered a dozen feet in three long strides, and dumped the ice-cold liquor on Father Ver’s face.

  The priest’s eyes snapped open, his bloodied brow furrowed in confusion as he focused on me. “You’re the boy who ran away after stealing the poor box,” he said.

  Considering that had been damn near forty years ago, I was more impressed than offended by the greeting. The bastard really was good at seeing truth.

  “False god!” I said, pointing in Nowowon’s direction. “Get him!”

  “Was it a rat I saw?” asked Nowowon. He snapped his fingers and, instantly, my heart stopped. I moaned as my body faded back to
its spectral form.

  If Father Ver was bothered by my vanishing act, he showed no sign of it. Instead he rose, wiped the blood from his eyes, then straightened his shoulders to look at the old god.

  “No! It is opposition!” cried Nowowon, as he shrank back down to the height of an ordinary man. He brandished the Gloryhammer in both hands and growled, “Raw war!”

  “War is not necessary,” said Father Ver. “You’ll drop the hammer. It isn’t yours.”

  The Gloryhammer slipped from the old god’s shaking fingers.

  Father Ver walked toward Nowowon, stepping over the gibbering form of the Deceiver. He looked down on the man with contempt, but took pity as he said, “Your vision isn’t real. You’ve been caught in a mental trap. Arise.”

  Zetetic’s eyes opened. He pulled his drool-covered fist from his mouth and gave it a puzzled look.

  Father Ver thrust an accusing finger at Nowowon.

  “You do not belong here! You are a false being, and have no place in this world!”

  Nowowon walked backward toward the vortex of stone, looking at it nervously, as if he was considering making a break for it. But he sounded defiant as he looked back at the Truthspeaker and shouted, “Evil dogma! I am God, live!”

  “We both know that isn’t true,” said Father Ver, as Tower crawled to retrieve the Gloryhammer. “I sense a summoning spell at work. Someone has trapped you here against your will. You faded from the memory of men long ago. There are no believers to sustain you.”

  “O no! O no! O no!” the old god screamed as he shrank before the force of the Truthspeaker’s words.