The Last Cleric

by Layton Green

  He stooped, not caring if anyone noticed. He had to take a chance while the battle in the central basin was still raging.

  The sight of what lay beneath the grate caused him to clench the iron bars and suck in a breath. Thirty feet below, he saw a chamber that mirrored the structure of the open-air courtyard. Yet instead of green-hued spa water, a pool of molten lava bubbled within the basin. Rough-hewn rock comprised the archways, and the walkway was a moss-covered path dotted with enormous, misshapen fungi. Women in various stages of undress lounged in the mouths of the alcoves, using the fungi as furniture. Not women, Val realized as he noted the bat wings and barbed tails, the pointed ears and forked tongues.

  Succubi.

  He scurried around to get a better look, keeping an eye out for approaching demons. A few were already giving him the eye.

  A multi-tiered obsidian platform sprawled along one side of the lava basin. On the third level—the top of the platform—a tall and shockingly handsome demon lounged on an ivory throne. Two ram horns curved back from his head, jeweled rings covered his fingers, and black veins pulsed across his pale, bare torso like a living tattoo. Fear rolled through Val at the sight of him. The eeriest thing of all was how human his face looked. Except for the horns and his height—nine feet tall, at least—it could have been a dark-haired movie star lounging on that throne.

  A succubus stretched out like a cat in his lap. Two more sprawled at his feet. On the second tier of the platform, a brown-haired human male in a filthy patchwork cloak occupied a much smaller throne. The man looked dazed, as if not quite present, and Val caught his breath when he noticed his eyes were missing. Atop the man’s head was an elegant crown with a bluish-white hue that Val recognized from Cyrus’s briefing.

  A crown made of congealed magic. The Star Crown.

  Tobar.

  Fascinated by the macabre scene, Val almost didn’t notice when the handsome demon tilted his head towards the grate, as if sensing Val’s presence.

  Val flung himself backwards at the last moment, praying he hadn’t been too late, sensing the immense power of the being.

  No outcry was raised. Grimly satisfied with the discovery but shaking at the knowledge of what he had seen, Val returned through the steam-drenched warren of passages, flinching at every turn. He arrived without incident and described the throne room to the others.

  “Yer sure about the tall demon?” Rucker asked.

  “I’m sure,” Val said. “Why?”

  The adventurer and Synne exchanged a glance. “Because that sounds like Asmodeus,” Rucker said slowly, with the only flicker of fear Val had ever seen cross his face.

  “Who’s that?”

  “A Demon Lord of the Thirteen Hells,” Synne said. “A cambion, they say, born of a succubus and a human.”

  Ferin clutched his hair as he paced back and forth. “The legends are true, then. Asmodeus came to Badŏn, and now he’s taken Tobar.” He stopped pacing and looked around the group. “We can’t fight that sort of power. He’ll kill us all.”

  Val turned to Rucker. “Is he right?”

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Probably.”

  “I don’t understand,” Adaira said. “Is he trapped here? Why bother with this realm?”

  Rucker leaned on his axe. “Maybe this is an alternate dimension, or maybe we’re in his world. Or maybe he came through with Tobar and is trying to cross the veil, like we did, to gain access to the real Urfe.”

  Dida’s face turned quizzical. “How can we help him gain access to Urfe?”

  Rucker threw his hands up. “I don’t know. Maybe he needs someone from our dimension to manipulate the powers of the crown.” He turned to Val. “A stronger mage than Tobar.”

  Val swallowed. Impossible odds or not, as far as they knew, there was only one way out of this dimension, and it lay through Asmodeus and Tobar. “He’s immune to magic, I assume?”

  Rucker pointed his axe at him. “Boy, no matter what the books or anyone tells ye, no one is immune. Magic resistance is a relative thing. I’m sure he’s powerful, maybe too powerful for the likes of ye, but he’s not immune.”

  “That is correct,” Dida said. “At least for the beings and worlds catalogued by the mages of Urfe.”

  “Asmodeus,” Ferin muttered again, sinking against the wall and running a hand through his dirty hair. “They say he flays humans alive and keeps them as pets, to torture for all eternity.”

  “Maybe we can’t defeat him,” Adaira said. “But we don’t have to, do we?” All eyes turned her way, and she gave a calculated smile that belied the trembling in her hands. “We just have to get the crown.”

  “And do what with it?” Rucker said. “We still don’t know how to get back.”

  “She’s right,” Val said. “We can worry about that later. But we don’t have to kill Asmodeus. We just have to escape with the crown.”

  Ferin threw back his head in mock laughter. “We just have to steal it from underneath a demon lord’s nose and slip through a city full of hell spawn undetected. Is that all? It must be nice to possess the false confidence of a privileged birth.”

  As Adaira turned an icy gaze on Ferin, Dida wagged a finger and said, “If we can retrieve the crown, I could hide us inside a Rune Box until our enemies have dispersed.”

  “Do you have enough magic left for that?” Val asked.

  “I’ll manage.”

  “What are the chances Asmodeus can see into one of those?” Rucker said.

  Dida grimaced. “Probably good. We’ll have to construct it someplace clever.”

  Val scanned the faces of the group and knew they needed him to make a decision. “If that’s our best option, then we’ll have to make it work.”

  -36-

  Caleb, Marguerite, and the Brewer slipped back into the forest moments ahead of the regiment of armed tuskers. A quick glance over his shoulder told Caleb the newcomers were at least thirty strong. They would find their dead compatriots and see the freshly spilled blood and give chase through the forest, tracking them with those huge ears and snouts.

  Oh Christ, Caleb thought as they plucked Luca out from inside a cluster of ferns where the Brewer had hidden him. They’ll catch us in no time.

  They grabbed their packs and fled through the darkened woods opposite the main trail. A full moon gave them just enough light to see by. The Brewer changed his tune from a rousing battle song to a series of chirps, hoots, and other avian cries that possessed a ring of authenticity. It helped to mask the sound of their movement and allowed them to move more swiftly through the undergrowth. Luckily, the forest was not too dense in that region, and they made good progress. Luca looked terrified.

  Marguerite risked another glance and almost tripped over a tree root. Caleb caught her by the arm. “What about their noses?” she asked. “I’ve ’eard they can smell humans from a mile away.

  As she asked the question, they heard the faint sound of large bodies crashing through the forest.

  “Do I really need to answer that?” the Brewer said.

  Caleb grabbed the boy’s hand and ran faster.

  A short time later, breathless and on edge from the sounds of pursuit, they caught a break when the Brewer spied a bed of plants that resembled a cross between leeks and garlic. He raced over, got on his hands and knees, and started digging out the bulbs.

  Caleb recoiled at the familiar, urine-soaked smell. “Stinkweed?”

  The Brewer nodded as he bit into a bulb and crushed the brown pulp in his hands, then wiped it on his arms and clothes. Remembering the allergic reaction that had almost killed Yasmina, Caleb hesitated, then realized they had no choice. He and Marguerite and Luca grabbed their own bulbs and followed suit. The boy’s hands were shaking, and Caleb helped him finish.

  “Will this fool them?” Marguerite asked the Brewer.

  “Sure, until they start wondering why the stinkweed is getting farther and farther away.”

  After a few sips of water, they fled through
the forest again, covered in the foul-smelling herb. Marguerite had an uncanny knack for finding the easiest path through the undergrowth, leaving Caleb in awe of her abilities. After another hour of clambering over roots and rocks and suffering the constant slap of branches, she spied an old game trail, and they picked up the pace even further. Caleb asked if anyone had any idea where they were headed, but the Brewer could only shake his head, too tired to respond. Caleb remembered the man was quite a bit older than he and Marguerite, and had just spent a year in captivity.

  By the time the game trail spilled into a sizeable stream, twenty feet across at the widest point, all sounds of pursuit had faded, and the Brewer collapsed in exhaustion at the edge of the water. Luca hugged his knees and took in huge gasps of air, and Marguerite sank to the ground beside Caleb.

  After quenching their thirst and refilling their water skins, they followed the river downstream, away from the mountains and towards the coast. The thieves that had robbed Marguerite after the fairy attack had also taken her compass.

  Tracking the stream by the light of the moon, they walked through the night, not daring to stop. At times the riverbank grew too dense, and they had to wade through the cold water, struggling over submerged boulders and fallen trees. Caleb had to carry Luca much of the way.

  With dawn came a whisper of hope. They had heard no sounds of pursuit for hours, and the river would help confuse trackers. They reapplied stinkweed two more times, and no one complained about the forced march. The memories of the destroyed settlements hovered around them, driving them on.

  Wary of fairy rings and predators, they finally decided to stop when, close to dusk, they saw a rock slab in the middle of the stream large enough for them all to sleep on. They foraged for dinner and made their bed on the cold hard stone. Luca laid his head in Caleb’s lap, asleep in moments to the gurgle of water. Caleb stroked his hair as Marguerite snuggled tight against him.

  Two days later, the forest broke to reveal a rolling meadow of orange poppies spilling down to the ocean. They had seen no sign of the tuskers. With a cry that sounded closer to a sob than a whoop of delight, an outburst of repressed emotion, Luca ran circles through the wildflowers and collapsed on his back in the middle of the meadow. Marguerite jumped into Caleb’s arms and hugged his neck as the Brewer broke into a familiar song.

  “Really?” Caleb asked. “The Sound of Music?”

  “What?” Marguerite said, as both men roared with laughter.

  As they headed south along the coast towards Freetown, the tenor of the trip changed, becoming less foreboding and more alive with the promise of a safe return. Luca began to open up, dashing through the surf when they bathed and asking constant questions about the marine life they could spot offshore. As did most children that age, he prized adventure above all else, and listened in rapt attention as the Brewer lifted his spirits with child-friendly tales of his travels.

  Still, a sadness lurked in the depths of Luca’s blue eyes like a plundered shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean, a place once full of treasure that was gone from the world forever. Caleb noticed it most at bedtime. More than anything in the world, he wished he could ease the boy’s pain and make him whole again. They had still not discussed his parents, though when they reached the ocean and turned south, Luca had stood quietly facing in the opposite direction, towards his homeland, knowing his life had changed forever.

  Near dusk on the fourth day along the coast, just a day or two from Freetown, the Brewer stopped to inspect a set of enormous footprints in the sand trailing down from the coastal hills.

  “Too small for giants,” Marguerite said, peering down. “And too big for human. Definitely not troll.”

  “What’s that swishing thing in between the prints?” Caleb asked.

  “A tail,” she guessed, which earned a nod from the Brewer. With a grimace, the older man stood up straight and announced that the tracks belonged to a shibomos.

  Marguerite wrinkled her face in confusion, but Luca looked stricken by the mention of the name. The Brewer noticed and squatted down to talk to him. “Don’t believe everything you hear. I’ve met one before, and they’re not nearly as bad as their reputation. They can even be quite friendly.”

  Luca peered at him with a dubious expression. “They can?”

  “Sure,” the Brewer said, with a wink. “Especially if you give them the right mushrooms covered in honey.”

  “What? Shrooms covered in honey?”

  “Indeed,” he said gravely. “It’s their absolute favorite.”

  As the boy pondered his words, the Brewer stood and pointed at the ocean. “Is that a sea lion?” he asked, prompting Luca to whip around. “Why don’t you go see?”

  As Luca ran towards the shore, the Brewer’s face darkened. “The shibomos really aren’t as bad as the stories. But still dangerous.”

  “What is it?” Caleb asked.

  “Think of Bigfoot with green fur.”

  “What?” Marguerite said.

  “A big hairy man-beast that lives alone in the forest. Extremely solitary creatures. I’ve only seen their tracks one time, and no one has reported a sighting on the beach. My guess is the raiding parties are forcing them out of their homes.”

  Caleb cast an eye towards the edge of the forest, a hundred yards in the distance. Sloping gently upward and covered in lichen and scraggly wildflowers, the area was much rockier than most of the hills hugging the coast. “How dangerous are they?”

  “Oh, they could do us in, if they wanted. But they’re not usually aggressive.”

  “Usually?” Caleb said.

  “Exactly,” he replied, putting a hand on his sword as he called for Luca to return. “They’re a wild card, for sure. No one knows much about them. But I do know they’re nocturnal, and, if the stories are true, they hate caves and will never go inside. I know these hills. They’re limestone and porous. If we can find a cave before dark, we can hole up for the night, set out at sunrise, and be long gone by the next nightfall.”

  “Why don’t they like caves?” Caleb asked.

  The Brewer shrugged. “I hear they’re afraid of the dark.”

  They delved back into the forest, tracking as close to the beach as they could while searching for a suitable place to camp. Moss-covered boulders abounded, causing them to flinch at every turn, wary one of the fuzzy green mounds would reveal itself as a shibomos and rise up to attack them.

  The shadows lengthened inside the forest, heralding the night. After a half hour of searching, the Brewer disappeared inside a crevasse set between a pair of boulders. Most of the openings only penetrated a dozen feet or so into the hillside, not deep enough for his liking.

  He was gone so long Caleb began to worry, but finally he emerged holding a brass oil lantern, no bigger than a coffee cup, which he kept in his pack. The Brewer gave a tight smile and held up a thumb.

  “Yeah?” Caleb said.

  “Yeah.”

  Luca’s eyes grew wide as he stared inside the cave. Marguerite linked arms with him as they went inside, claiming she was afraid and needed support. The damp narrow passage, strung with cobwebs and tree roots, soon widened into a smooth-walled grotto the size of a two-car garage. Other than a dried bed of sticks and pinecones that looked long abandoned, it was empty.

  The Brewer set the lantern down well away from the entrance, gathered everyone close, and said, “Just to be sure, we should eat quietly and turn in. Might as well have an early night.”

  No one disagreed. After dining on nuts, berries, and salted beef sticks, they set out their bedrolls and turned off the lantern. The darkness was silent and complete, almost tangible, a second skin both alien and familiar.

  As usual, Caleb slept between Marguerite and Luca. As soon as the light went off, as he did every night, the boy scooted closer to Caleb and pressed his head against his shoulder. Caleb reached for his hand and squeezed it. Luca didn’t let go, and they lay like that deep into the night, Caleb comforting the boy’s fear of the dar
k, and the boy easing Caleb’s fear of being useless.

  The Brewer was softly snoring, and Marguerite’s breathing had assumed a steady, quiet rhythm. She, too, made Caleb feel things he had never felt before. Not just the electric dizziness of love, but the selfless, freeing feeling of living for another human being. With that came fear, of course. Fear of rejection, of betrayal, of bodily harm to his lover.

  But that was okay. That was all human. He could live with those kinds of fears.

  Yet the boy provided something that even Marguerite did not. Caleb knew that while his gray-eyed paramour truly loved him, and even respected him, she didn’t need him. Marguerite was an accomplished member of the New Victoria Rogue’s Guild. She could kick his butt with one hand tied behind her back, had skills he could only dream of, and made her own way in life.

  The boy, on the other hand, needed him. At least right now. While Luca was affectionate towards Marguerite and entranced by the Brewer, it was Caleb’s hand he always sought when scared or tired, Caleb’s shoulder he liked to lean on after a meal. Caleb’s eyes he gazed into whenever the memories trapped in his head or the trauma of the last week became too much to bear and the haunted look consumed him, the incomprehensible loss of his family washing over his fertile young mind like a tidal wave.

  A rustling from outside the cave broke Caleb’s reverie. Something pawing through the brush they had piled up to conceal the cave mouth.

  Caleb stilled, and his mouth grew dry. Should he wake the others? He didn’t want them to make any sudden sounds. The noise from outside grew in volume, and he swore he could hear a shuffling and then a sniffing sound, as if something on two feet had stuck its nose in the entrance of the cave and was searching for prey. Luca trembled beside him, gripping his hand and scooting even closer, until he was almost on top of Caleb. The Brewer and Marguerite were still asleep, and he realized the boy must have been awake the entire time.