The Devil's Influence

by Chris Pisano

  Chenessa approached, and Landyr surprised himself by not moving. Nor did he flinch when she placed one hand on the small of his back and the other on his face. Who to blame for the lightning radiated from his cheek, from her fingers. The demon? The woman? The wizard? Smiling, she said, “So you finally admit to looking at my tits?”

  Landyr brought his hand to her face. His action started as a gentle caress, but he then covered her mouth, threw her against the wall, and pressed his body against hers. Before she could make a noise, he turned her head to the tunnel opening. A figure stood silhouetted by the light behind him. The man tentatively took a couple steps into the tunnel and looked around. Silence. He then exited and moved on.

  Landyr removed his hand from Chenessa’s mouth. Her curls blanketed his face, and he wondered how a creature born in Hell could have hair so soft. His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, “Sorry.”

  “I understand,” she whispered back. “Shall we investigate?”

  They moved toward the end of the tunnel, toward the light. He gripped the handle of his sheathed sword and focused on his footsteps, careful not to make a noise. He did not hear a sound from Chenessa and wondered if she even touched the ground or if she tapped into her demon abilities to hover. When they reached the end of the tunnel, he wished he had asked if her demon abilities could make them invisible.

  The passageway opened to an enormous circular room, with a dozen openings along the wall. Stairs in the form of concentric circles led down from the perimeter to the center of the room. On the floor were twelve eggs, larger than Landyr had ever seen before. His heart raced, beating from a subconscious primal fear that comes with being prey in the presence of a predator. Twelve unknown, sleeping predators.

  Voices. There were others in the room. Landyr cautiously stepped from the tunnel and saw the group he attacked in Bernum. Except for the man with the skeleton arm. Landyr heard him, though. He was close, talking with someone. Landyr started to pull his sword from the sheath, but a warm hand stopped him. Chenessa whispered, “Let’s not make the same mistake twice.”

  Landyr tightened his grip as he looked into her eyes. Gradient swirls of gray. Pleading. How could a monster possibly reside in such beauty? Her eyes conveyed more than her words. He released his sword and said, “Let’s get the others.”

  As they ran down the tunnel, Landyr felt certain he was damned—he was in love with a demon.

  twenty-six

  Diminutia squeezed her hand. Dearborn squeezed back. A mountain. Eleven days of traveling with the two most hated men to ever stain her life culminated in standing at the base of a mountain, one of gray stone sprouting from within a valley.

  “Now, I know all of you are brimming with questions as to where we are and why I brought you to this specific area,” Haddaman started. “This mountain is the key to everything. Actually, that is a misstatement. The real key is him.”

  All eyes went to Praeker Trieste.

  Bale leaned over to whisper to Phyl, his words much louder than any form of whisper, “He’s not shaped like a key. Am I misinterperlating something?”

  “Not this time, Bale, because key or no key, I don’t see a lock,” Phyl replied.

  Haddaman folded his hands together and chuckled. “Oh, dear simple creatures. You mustn’t look at the world so literally.”

  “Haddaman, I beg you. Enough with the showmanship,” Diminutia said.

  “Yes, yes. You’re right. It has been a long journey and we’re at the precipice of a new one, so I will ask Praeker to touch the mountain.”

  “Touch the mountain?” Praeker asked.

  “Yes. Simply place your hand upon it.”

  Praeker went to the wall. He reached his hand out, but hesitated. Two of the scorpions scuttled from his face and along his arm. They tapped their claws against the stone. Nothing. They scurried back to repairing the remaining burns on his face.

  Praeker pressed his hand against the stone.

  The ground rumbled as a crack formed up the side of the mountain. And grew larger.

  Dearborn wanted to stop right now, to turn around and go back home, back to her children. She did not want to know what lay beyond, nor care about the villains she kept a watchful eye on. Let someone else take care of this; let the king’s army take care of this; let the new Elite Troop with names she did not recognize take care of this. A bizarre feeling moved through her as she thought about her children. They were with Captain Wahl, a man who had led her on missions like this before, to mysterious places to rescue someone, or to investigate trouble in the name of the king. A small part of her missed having Wahl there with her, but she was also satisfied that he could take care of Ideria and Nevin. How hard could two children be compared to wandering into a moving mountain?

  No. Not a mountain. A wall. The top of it curved inward giving the illusion of it being shaped like a mountain, but as the thick door covered in ages of growth and formerly hidden from view slid open, she got a better look at where they were going.

  The noise of stone against stone was almost deafening, shaking the ground making the pebbles dance. A few trees snapped as the door pulled the branches caught in the crevices. The moving stone sloughed away decades worth of vines and created flowing paths of dust and loose gravel down the sides of the rock face. Squawking their discontent, a flurry of birds took flight from nearby treetops.

  Eyes locked on the doorway, Diminutia leaned close to his wife and asked, “So . . . any idea what’s happening?”

  “None,” she answered.

  “Excellent. Fantastic. This will be fun. Undoubtedly rainbows and unicorns reside behind this wall.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Her husband put her at ease like none other, not Captain Wahl, not General Iderion. Her army superiors always made her prepared for battle, while the confidence in her husband’s demeanor let her know that the battle was already won.

  The motion of the door stopped. Even though the entrance led to what lay behind the wall, the path was far from inviting. Paved in gray slate, the way led between two sheer walls, cloaked in shadow.

  Smile curving from ear to ear, Haddaman used both hands like a showman to present the doorway. “I give you Vierennia!”

  Everyone else exchanged glances. Almost everyone looked confused, giving Dearborn an odd sense of comfort that she was not the only one who had no idea what Haddaman was talking about. The only two who reacted differently were Silver and Praeker. The usually stoic wizard looked downright angry. Praeker the man-monster held a sense of childlike wonder upon his face. “You mean . . . it actually exists?”

  “It does!”

  Lapin hopped over to the threshold and sniffed. “Okay,” he started as he looked up to Haddaman, “What in the eight Hells is a Vierennia?”

  Haddaman crossed his arms over his chest and leaned down to scold the rabbit. “You’ve never heard of Vierennia?”

  Lapin reeled back. “No! Why should I?”

  “Because you’re hundreds of years old.”

  “That gives me magic knowledge of everything in the world ever?”

  “Well, you should certainly know more than I, a mere man bound by the mortal coil.”

  “I was cursed by a dragon who caught me trying to steal his gold! And, oh yes, I was forced to live in a cave with that very dragon for all those hundreds of years. Bale! Get me my flask.”

  The ogre did as instructed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flask. After uncorking it, he placed it on the ground. Mumbling curses to himself about Haddaman, Lapin hopped over drank heartily from it.

  Praeker moved to the threshold of the doorway. “I’ve heard stories about Vierennia, but always dismissed them, never once believing there could be a place in this world for me. That’s why it was so easy to assemble my Horde—no matter the race, everyone just wanted t
o belong.”

  “That was why you razed entire villages looking for the stones cursed by Wyren, the mad wizard?” Silver snapped. “You wanted to summon and control the demons of Hell, because of a profound sense of loneliness?”

  Praeker looked to Silver. Had there not been four scorpions on his head mending his face, his expression might have been pitiable. “If the rabbit were but a baby, I’d be a bent back old man needing a cane. I have seen this entire world many times over. Have you even left this continent? This country?”

  Silver spat on the ground. “You’ve caused the deaths of thousands, and yet you justify that with the excuses of a petulant child.”

  The scorpions crawling along Praeker’s body stopped their mending. All of them opened their claws and extended their tails, pointing at Silver. Praeker clenched his fists and jaw. Silver reached into his robes, readying unseen ingredients.

  Being unaware of the situation, Tingle turned to Phyl and asked, “What’s happening? What does this Vierennia have to do with the Demon Wars.”

  “Nothing that I can think of,” Phyl replied. “But I still don’t know what Vierennia is.”

  “Neither do I,” Dearborn growled, frustrated by this situation. “But Haddaman is going to tell us.”

  Haddaman sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. “I still can’t believe that being soldiers and thieves—”

  “Now!” Dearborn bellowed, loud enough to make everyone jump. Even Praeker’s scorpions skittered to his back.

  A subtle fury washed over Haddaman’s face as he glared at Dearborn, his thoughts and feelings about her obvious. His expression softened as he turned to regard Praeker. “It’s a city. A hidden city, one filled with wondrous inhabitants. A city where Praeker would be worshiped as a god.”

  “Oh, good,” Diminutia said. “Just what we need—another opportunity for Praeker to form another Horde.”

  “Yes, Haddaman. It seems like leading him here would give him the designs to rise to power again,” Silver said, not looking away from Praeker.

  “If the people of the city will love him so much, why would he ever want to leave?” Bale asked.

  “Our large friend has an excellent point!” The glee in Haddaman’s voice sickened Dearborn.

  “I do?” Bale asked.

  “He does?” Tingle and Phyl asked in unison.

  The scorpions went back to healing Praeker as he stood before the stone path. Dearborn noticed that for a being who purportedly sloughed off millennia like soiled clothing, he looked concerned. He crossed the threshold anyway. His first step was tentative, but after nothing happened, he continued.

  “Absolutely. This is where he belongs. This is his home where he’ll be accepted. A man stops questing when he finally finds what he’s looking for,” Haddaman answered.

  Lapin paused from gulping from the flask and looked up at Haddaman. “So, what you’re saying this is a city of miracles. A hidden city of miracles where Praeker Trieste becomes warm and fuzzy and Bale Pinkeye makes sense. Is this what you’re saying?”

  Haddaman sneered as if even talking to the rabbit sullied him. “Insolent dolt.”

  Bale ran his hand along one of the rock walls by the doorway, and mumbled, “I don’t see an insulated bolt. With a door as big as a mountain, why would they even need an insulated bolt?”

  Shaking his head, Haddaman grunted in disgust and followed Praeker.

  “Haddaman!” Dearborn called out. “Haddaman! Tell me what this place is. Tell me what this city has to do with Praeker and the Eternity Seed.”

  “Dearborn, let’s take a breath,” Diminutia said as he put an arm around her waist and his chest to her back. His breath was warm against her neck, his whisper soothing to her ear, his presence comforting. She did as requested, her inhale unsteady. “We both know that we’re going to be following Praeker down the dark and mysterious pathway no matter what Haddaman does or says next, so let’s control how we do that. Right now, Haddaman is controlling you. Through the words he chooses, he controls how you feel. Is that something that you wish to happen?”

  Dearborn’s breathing steadied. She even allowed herself a glimmer of a smile. Ten years ago, Haddaman controlled the situation. His words swayed the opinions of General Iderion and Prince Oremethus, leading them both into making bad decisions. Those decisions led to Iderion’s death as well as the rest of her Elite Troop, the madness of Oremethus, and contributed to Wyren collecting the gemstones necessary to open a portal to Hell itself. No, she decided. She would not let this despicable insect control her.

  Turning to face her husband, to stare deeply into his eyes, she said, “You are correct. We’re going in there anyway, so we should not let anger cloud our minds.”

  Diminutia placed both hands on her cheek and returned her loving gaze. “By the double suns, I so do love when you tell me how amazing I am.”

  They pressed their foreheads together and shared a laugh. “Yes. You are indeed an amazing man. Now, shall we venture forth to discover the rainbows and unicorns awaiting us?”

  Diminutia took a step back and bowed, gesturing to the stone path. “Yay, verily, milady.”

  They were the last, behind the others following Haddaman and Praeker. However, Silver slowed his pace, allowing Dearborn and Diminutia to join him. She felt the unspoken tension between the friends and felt bad for her husband. But she still had questions, and if they were true friends, they would work it out when the situation resolved itself. She asked, “You know of this place, Silver?”

  “I do.”

  “I assumed as much, the way you reacted- angry about its presence.”

  His face held strong features—pointed chin and cheeks, dark eyes made even darker by being deeply set—but they betrayed a bit of mirth when he said, “I’m not angry about it existing. I’m angry about not knowing where it was. More specifically, the Wizard’s Guild didn’t know where it was; yet Haddaman did. This along with the campfire tales you told me concerning your dealings with him makes me wonder how treacherous this ‘simple antiques dealer’ might be.”

  “So, why would Praeker be worshiped as a god here?”

  “If he were to have a totem, what do you think it would be?”

  “Scorpions, obviously.”

  “There’s your answer,” Silver concluded by accelerating his pace, pulling ahead of them.

  Dearborn turned to Diminutia and he could only offer an expression of shared confusion. Being an ex-thief, he was used to walking into a situation with little to no information. Thinking on his feet was part of his vocation. As a soldier, a Sergeant, Dearborn planned. She knew very well that plans dissolved as soon as the battle started, but her improvisation depended on her knowledge of the environment, the enemy, and any details about the situation. Even though Silver sided with her about the duplicitous motivations of Haddaman, he demonstrated that he was truly a wizard with the cryptic and unspecific answer of, ‘Scorpions’. She swallowed the choice words she had prepared and challenged herself to be more like her husband who was always prepared for anything.

  The darkness from the sheer walls on either side subsided, opening to a bright green. Dearborn gasped as she stepped through.

  The secret jungle held colors she had never seen before. All shapes and sizes of leaves cascaded from trees of varying heights, shades of green reserved only for Vierennia. Flowers sprouted all along the ground and from some of the trees and there was no hue from the rainbow missing. One of the benefits of being Sergeant of the Elite Troop, she had unrestricted access to Castle Phenomere and its grounds, including the queen’s gardens. After the queen had died while giving birth to prince Daedalus, King Theomann commissioned a massive garden in her memory, importing every flower and tree known to his botanists from all around the world. Any chance she could take, Dearborn would wander through the gardens. Poets and painters could never
replicate the beauty found there, never replace the experience of the sights and smells. Dearborn had never seen anything so resplendent in her life until now. The world found within these curved walls rendered her memory of the queen’s gardens a dull, gray image. The curved walls were greedy arms protecting these sights from the outside world.

  “Wow,” Diminutia whispered as he entwined his fingers with hers.

  Dearborn squeezed, and a warmth spread through her, a strange happiness to be experiencing this magnificence with her husband, despite the reasons for being there. “I agree.”

  “I wish the kids could see this.”

  Dearborn’s heart fractured. As a mother, she would love to have her children see this place, share this experience, a wonderment that very few in the world could behold. However, the soldier part of her remembered why they were here, to follow through with a dangerous mission. She never wanted her children to have that feeling, to know this level of fear she had to crush within her to succeed. But she still tried to take in all the colors, to memorize the size and shapes of such exotic plants and trees, so she may share this part with her children. The spell was broken, though, with one simple observation—a path.

  Cut through the thick grasses, a trail had been worn down to the dirt; even the earth possessed a richness in color that implied anything could grow in this ground. The path went straight from the opening in the wall through the grasses and plunged into the jungle. Basking in this unnatural beauty would not bring her any closer to completing this mission, to getting her back to her children. Catharsis cut short, Dearborn gestured to the path and said, “This way.”

  “I agree,” Haddaman said, his words making Dearborn’s skin crawl.

  Praeker led the way, walking in a daze, looking all around while he seemed unaware that his legs were leading him further into the jungle. Haddaman and Silver followed close behind. Dearborn and Diminutia gathered the rest, each of the others in a gape-mouthed stupor. Dearborn punched Bale in the arm as she walked past and grabbed Phyl by the ear, the part of his body she found least repulsive enough to touch. Diminutia scooped up Lapin, the rabbit so absorbed by the surroundings, he remained limp while being carried. Diminutia then swatted Tingle’s horse rump, and the centaur mumbled a diatribe about inappropriate touching.