Wrath of the Risen God: Arcane Renaissance Book Three

by Tim Paulson

  “It worked fine in the lab but in this case, we had the veil crystals wrongly sized, despite my explicit orders that they should be of a particular dimension. This caused there to be an imbalance that resulted in the subject's transformation.”

  “Ah, and you expect it will work as well as what I saw with the boy?” Buckley asked.

  Vivian made a face, tilting her head. “Eventually... yes. Right now we infect the subject with a veil spirit and the stones, if properly sized, keep the transformation at bay for at least a day, sometimes two.”

  The subject? They were using people? Like that poor boy, professor Von Bosch's son, who'd had nineteen of them inside his tiny body. That had been a tragedy but this... this was monstrous! If only he could break free of his mental bonds and crush them both right now, all of this would end. No wonder the baroness had been so opposed to these people. Everything she and the professor had said about them, all of it, was true.

  Unfortunately, Aaron wasn't sure he could crush them, not of his own volition. He wasn't a killer, or was he? His own hands had killed so many. Maybe it wouldn't be as hard as he imagined.

  “Just two days? What use is that?” Buckley snapped, frowning.

  Vivian stared at the cage. “We don't know why but the transformation happens regardless of whether we bleed the accumulated power away or not. Something isn't quite right. It may be the arrangement of the stones or their quality, I've yet to determine it, but I will, I will.”

  “You haven't explained why it is useful if it's so short lived,” Buckley said.

  Aaron was frustrated, for a man who constantly labeled others idiots and imbeciles, Buckley was remarkably obtuse. The answer was staring him in the face.

  Vivian sighed, “Think about it. Most goliaths can only range so far during a day, the larger the goliath the more veil they require. When we bleed the subject completely, the result re-feeds even the largest goliath. Doubling their range.”

  “Ah... that is good, but it's not perfect. I was hoping for a great deal more,” Buckley said, still somewhat crestfallen.

  “It will improve, I promise you. In time I'd like to eliminate the need for the powder entirely. I've got the technical engineering folks on it, Ander's team, he does good work.”

  Buckley looked around, his eyes glancing at each of the nearby technicians and assistants. “He can be trusted to keep all of this... silent?”

  “Oh yes,” Vivian replied, waving her hands. “When your golem crushed two technicians last month, what complaints there were from the staff just evaporated! Poof!” she said, laughing.

  Aaron remembered it. The older man had tried to reason with him while the young woman had cried and begged him not to kill her. Then the two of them had held hands in a show of solidarity before he crushed them. It still haunted him. If he had dreams, he was sure they would be there.

  Yet another reason to continue working to free himself.

  “Still, I'm not entirely happy with this arrangement. Using the general projects area for something like this, it's reckless,” Buckley said.

  “I would be using the lower halls under headquarters but it's my understanding those areas are still under construction,” Vivian replied, narrowing her eyes.

  “Indeed, to my continual vexation,” Buckley replied. “Still.. do something about the visibility of it. Cover the cages with metal.”

  “But the subjects would suffocate!” Vivian replied.

  “So cut some damned holes in the top, just make it so very few know what's going on. That's what we've done with powder production and it's kept us in business for seventy years.”

  “That reminds me. There will be a monument to my father's accomplishments, yes?” Vivian asked.

  “Of course, it won't say what they are precisely, but he will be remembered.”

  She nodded. “Good... We're well on our way Chester, that sorcerer of yours can't keep his secrets forever.” she pointed at her own chest. “I won't allow it.”

  Buckley nodded. “Nor I.”

  * * *

  “No, ” Elzbieta said, her whiskers twitching as she looked down her short weasel-like muzzle at Thira, and Wilhelm who were seated before her in the back room of the brothel, where burning herbs filled the air with a pleasant scent.

  “Why?” Rosa asked, her arms folded. “You just said your people saw the golems. You don't even have a piece of one?”

  “No, we do not. Is not just that,” Elzbieta said. “The old mother has been very clear. We are told to monitor the demon, but not engage, not yet.”

  “You mean the sorcerer Buckley has with him?” Wilhelm asked.

  Elzbieta nodded. “We call him a demon because he is. Not all of our people know the truth, that we dierlijt were made by creatures like him. They enslaved us, made us servants and soldiers. They possess power beyond measure, the power to destroy the world.”

  “One of them saved my life... they can't all be bad,” Wilhelm said.

  “No, they are not. This one is. We know only that he is hunting, but not what he hunts. I fear it is the old mother and others like her. They remember the past, the truth of it.”

  Thira's lip curled automatically. The thought of anyone trying to hurt the old mother filled her with rage. “What can we do? You cannot help us at all?”

  Elzbieta put a clawed hand to her chest where a fluff of white fur puffed from her jacket. “I am well aware of the debt our people have to this man, for his understanding and his kindness.”

  Wilhelm looked to Rosa, brows raised as if to say: see?

  “You're not telling me you believe this man to actually be the former king of Faustland!?” Rosa said.

  “He is the king my dear. All dierlijt who have smelled him know the truth.”

  Rosa shook her head, pacing with a gloved hand on her chin. The solid sound of her wooden leg clonking against the floor reminded Thira of a broken clock.

  “Well thank you. I appreciate your candor. We will look elsewhere,” Wilhelm said.

  “Do not go to the akkikul clens. They run much of the criminal business in the dierlijt sections of Valendam. They are corrupt and untrustworthy.”

  Thira nodded. “Thank you.”

  Wilhelm stood and turned to go.

  “Out of curiosity... How do you intend to get passage to Pyrolia? There is a war is there not? Ships moving is difficult, expensive,” Elzbieta asked.

  Thira stood also, shaking her head. “Wilhelm has an idea to contract with a pirate we met who betrayed us. It is a foolish plan and I am against it.”

  “Giselle said he was very helpful after my... incident,” Wilhelm said.

  “Would this be Robert McCarron?” Elzbieta asked.

  Rosa snapped out of her reverie. “That's the same man you said...”

  “That's precisely who I aimed to see,” Wilhelm said.

  Elzbieta smiled. “Good, this is wise. You should leave immediately.”

  “Why do you say that? What do you know weaselwoman?” Rosa asked, frowning.

  Elzbieta did not respond.

  “We're leaving,” Thira said. “Thank you so much, please let the mother know we are in her debt.”

  Elzbieta nodded.

  As they walked toward the docks, passing fish vendors and tackle shops, the sounds and smells of the sea grew greater. Wilhelm seemed to be at peace but Rosa was still annoyed and mumbling to herself.

  “I don't know why you're so upset,” Wilhelm said. He was dressed as a landsknecht with purple and black striped tights, a ruffled shirt the color of mustard, and a large hat with a single yellow plume, though he had no sword and no musket. He also wore a thick winter long-coat Thira had taken off a deadbeat customer a month and a half ago.

  “I hate not having information. That dierlijt was holding out on us,” Rosa said.

  Thira grumbled but said nothing.

  “If there's one thing I've learned in all my years, it's that the dierlijt are a funny lot. They don't always tell you what you want, but usually, yo
u get what you need,” Wilhelm said.

  Rosa pointed a gloved finger at him. “That's another thing. If you think I've accepted your story that you were the king of this country, you're loco.”

  Wilhelm shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  As a gull glided overhead, suspended by the light sea breeze, they turned the corner and emerged from the small city of warehouses and ramshackle vendors into the wide open docks themselves. Rows upon rows of great ships were tethered there, their masts and rigging jabbed into the sky like ten thousand spears. Just the thought of an ocean voyage made Thira's stomach roil. The last time she'd been able to handle it because it was short. Sailing to Pyrolia would not be accomplished in a matter of hours, but days. That's if everything went perfectly and when did that ever happen?

  “So how do we find this pirate's ship?” Thira asked, arms folded.

  “How do you find anything in Valendam when you don't know where it is?” Wilhelm asked her, smiling.

  Thira shrugged.

  “You ask the person in charge!” Wilhelm replied, turning left to head south along the docks. “Come, the dockmaster is down here.”

  Thira followed, keeping her eyes and ears turning. This was difficult however as the docks were swarming with activity of all kinds. Hundreds of dockworkers were loading and unloading cargo from ships all around so there was a constant press of humans and dierlijt on all sides moving back and forth to transfer crates to and from carriages and pushcarts.

  The strong smell of fresh and not so fresh fish was distracting as well, it made her mouth water one moment and her stomach seize the next. It was no wonder the humans had invented ships, the cacophony of sounds and smells they created upon docking was enough to overload the senses of even the most deadened dierlijt. It was a wonder to her that she saw so many akkikul and keralti carrying things to and from the ships.

  Though to be fair, a good many of them were hanging in the shadows, watching. Thira knew predatory behavior when she saw it. However, it seemed they were more intent on the cargo than Wilhelm, which suited her just fine. They could take Rosa if they wanted though, she would not interfere.

  They arrived at a tall boxy building with an upper landing that looked out on the docks. In front of it was a long line of men and women in formal attire. The sign on the front of the building read “Dockmaster, low docks.” Below it was the name of someone. It was scrawled in a script that had largely worn away.

  “So what do we do now?” Thira asked.

  “We wait in line,” Wilhelm replied, stepping in behind the nearest man, a portly gentleman with a cane and a short goatee. The man wore the long black overcoat common among the dierlijt hating puritans, but Thira had little knowledge which particular sect he was a part of. He cast eyes at her, however, and she watched his features twist with disgust.

  “If you're so important, go barge ahead, I'm sure the dockmaster is one of your dear friends from the olden days,” Rosa said.

  Wilhelm just stood, a tiny smile curling the edge of his lips. “It's nice to be in line. I don't mind it.”

  “I do,” Thira said. “This is tiresome.”

  “If you don't like it go buy some food or something. I saw a vendor with herring for sale. I'll stay here,” he replied.

  “I'm not leaving you here alone,” Thira replied. Though the prospect of a nice juicy herring made her lips twitch and her tongue curl against the roof of her mouth.

  “I'll be here lion woman, you can leave him alone for one second,” Rosa said, standing behind Wilhelm with her hand on his shoulder as if to say, he is mine.

  Thira's eyes narrowed. “The last time I lost sight of him, he died!”

  “I almost died... you mean,” Wilhelm said, a wry smile on his lips.

  Thira's eyes widened. “That's what I said, didn't I?”

  Both of them shook their heads.

  Thira frowned. “I know what I said... I-” but as she was gesturing her elbow jabbed into the back of the man in front of them.

  He rounded on Wilhelm, eyes aflame. “Would you keep your dirty pet away from me sir! I'm an honest God-fearing man. I deserve better!”

  Wilhelm's mouth formed into a line, his eyes hardening. “You will not speak about my friend like that you fat stupid pig,” he said.

  The man sputtered, drawing the attention of many others in line.

  “Stop!” Rosa said. “This is stupid. If we get in some sort of scuffle we could be tossed from the line, then we'll never find the Caros.”

  Suddenly, up the ramp ahead, Thira saw a man stop short, frozen. He was a short human man with dark skin who wore a colorful bandana wrapped around his head and a thick gray coat. In his hand was a folded slip of paper. His eyes met hers and widened considerably. Then he took off running.

  Thira sprinted after him. He was fast and wily for a human but she caught up to him soon enough. He was trying to duck into a dockside bar when the claws of her left hand dug into the back of his coat, yanking him into her grasp before he could wriggle out of it.

  “Who are you? Why did you run?” she asked.

  The man's face had filled with terror. He continued to try to twist away but she had both hands on him now. There was no human, man, or woman who could twist out of her grip.

  “Tell me or I'll rip your legs off!” she said.

  Wilhelm came running up, panting. “By God Thira, that was quite a sprint. It's too cold for that, seizes the lungs. I hope this gentleman is of interest to our current,” he gasped again, sucking breath, “predicament.”

  “Tell me!” she said again, shaking the man. “What is that paper? Where is the Caros?”

  “The Caros is gone my dear Thira,” said a voice from the darkened entrance of the bar, a voice she recognized.

  “Robert, good to see you,” Wilhelm said, extending a hand.

  Robert McCarron laughed and took the hand. He looked like a proper sea captain indeed, with a large hat, a thick overcoat , and a leather bandolier. Three pistol handles peeked from various places along the open insides of his coat. “I should say it's good to see you as well. Now if you'd ask your sweet leothan companion to release my first mate, I'd be much obliged.”

  Wilhelm nodded, smiling. “She does get somewhat overzealous.”

  Thira narrowed her eyes, releasing the man. “He didn't answer a single one of my questions.”

  Robert rolled his eyes. “Of course he didn't. He's a smart man. However, so there's no mistrust amongst us, let me tell you what that slip of paper is,” Robert said hanging a hand on one of his pistol grips. “It's my ticket out of this God-forsaken place!”

  Chapter 10

  "All children are equal in the eyes of our Lord, even if they have fur and a tail."

  -Luddite tract on the Dierlijt, page 7, first printing 1613

  A loud sound cracked over their heads and bits of dust and splintered wood rained down from above, making Giselle jump nearly a foot.

  “I have to find her first of all. Whatever magic the baroness is using to shield her from me is working well. I haven't caught but the faintest glimpses of her but I can tell you where she's been,” Veronica said.

  “And where is that?” Giselle asked.

  “The living quarters, the lower halls, and... uh. There was one other place. I always forget it. Ah yes the rear courtyards near the garden,” Veronica said.

  The garden. Mother had always loved the garden. She'd seen her there countless times... Well... actually she hadn't. Giselle had been there countless times, telling stories, smelling flowers, enjoying the sunshine with a book, or a new print sheet, but mother not so much. Giselle had seen her going to and coming from the garden, but rarely in the garden. Perhaps she didn't really like it after all.

  “Well, we were just in the living quarters right?” Giselle replied.

  “This is not good idea,” Piotr said, waving his hands as another crack sounded from a different direction. “Not good. Someone is shooting castle!”

  “We don't have much ti
me to lose then. We can just go,” Veronica said as she stood up. “I'd already ordered my men to evacuate before I came in here.”

  Giselle frowned. “What would you have done if we hadn't agreed to help you?”

  Veronica shook her head, “I didn't have a plan actually.”

  True to her word, when Giselle poked her head out of the room they'd been held in, the guards from before had gone. Indeed they saw no one as they walked the castle openly, heading toward the upper residence halls. It was difficult to see all the Halett barony sigils replaced by the Holy Ganex double-cross, but as the explosions intensified, she found it mattered to her less and less.

  A quick glance out a window to the east courtyard showed both goliaths had gone as well, either they'd been repaired or destroyed. However, the broken cannon remained along with several piles of tools and repair cranes, a silent testament to the technicians who'd been present only minutes before.

  When they arrived at the halls Giselle saw no one, heard nothing. Her heart tugged at her, asking her to consider once again a return to her room, where she and Aaron had finally been together. It had been so long ago. She missed him.

  Veronica must have seen her looking in that direction. “There isn't time,” she said. “We need to check the locations before this-”

  Another loud crack caused more debris to rain from above them. This time bits of stone were included. One of them clipped Giselle's right arm as it fell causing sharp pain and a dribble of blood.

  “Ow!”

  “I was going to say before this place falls down around us.”

  “Why is republic shooting castle? Wasn't this their property? Is stupid!” Piotr said as he grabbed Giselle's arm and wrapped a small stretch of cloth around it. “Wound is not bad, use your hand and press like this.”

  Giselle winced, but she obeyed. “Piotr do you smell anyone here?”

  He swung his long neck to one side and another, sniffing. “You and her,” he sniffed some more. “One other, a woman, but not new.”