A small voice in the back of my head says that Aldred did indeed follow us into the Primeval. That’s when the flash of yellow disappears. Maybe I imagined it. For a while, it’s all I can do to stare at the moon dreamers. I never see the flash of yellow again. Searching becomes a bore.
Eventually, I do settle against Lincoln’s back. My guy’s regular breathing tells me he’s fallen asleep. It takes some time, but I finally catch some rest as well.
40
Lincoln
Once more, I dream of angelfire.
I’m surrounded by an inferno of white flame. When the blaze dies down, I find that I now stand in the clearing of that unusual forest once more. The Guide awaits me. Again, he appears as my perfect doppelganger, save for the fiery wings on his back.
“You have wings as well,” he states.
It’s an odd way to start a conversation. “They show my inner nature. It’s for show only.” It’s also part of a very private ceremony, but that’s nothing I wish to discuss right now.
While wing facts are fascinating, they aren’t what’s truly crucial right now. Ever since my last dream, I’ve been thinking about the Guide. Indeed, there is one key question I wish to ask.
“You’re part of my soul, aren’t you?” I ask.
The Guide nods. “I am to lead you to battle the larger danger.”
Perhaps I’ve been spending too much time with my fiancée, but I simply must ask the question. “Why not simply tell me what the risk is?”
“If I did that, the words wouldn’t have meaning.” He takes a pointed step backward. “Until we meet again.”
The dream ends.
My questions remain.
What’s this great hidden threat behind it all? And why can’t I see it directly? I know the magic of the Primeval is affecting things in odd ways, but I’ve no idea how. That said, I do know one thing.
The answers simply must appear before it’s too late.
41
Lincoln
I awaken to the gentlest tremble on the tree branch beneath me. Early sunlight brightens the forest as I scan all around. Nothing seems amiss.
Interesting.
Whatever causes the movement, it isn’t coming from nearby. Setting my palms against the branch, I soak in the staccato rhythm. It takes me a moment, but I place the tremor.
Footsteps.
Someone’s marching this way.
Based on the depth of the reverberation, this is quite a large group. I scan the horizon.
No sign of anyone approaching. Yet.
Minutes pass. The shaking grows more violent.
Myla wakes up. “What? Hey? Who?”
I kiss her cheek. “Good morning.”
She slaps her palms against the branch. “What’s up with the tree?”
“The problem comes from the ground. We’ll have company soon.”
A greenish line finally appears on the horizon. Soon the group comes close enough to determine who approaches: a great crowd of humanoid reptiles. Just as I saw in my visions with Peli, they have green textured skin and dress in elaborate clothes. Their outfits seem more appropriate for Marie Antoinette and Versailles than a desert. The men wear long coats with short pants and heeled boots. The ladies sport foot-high wigs and dresses that jut out three feet on either side.
And I thought being stuck in the middle ages was bad.
The only Reptilians not dressed up are the great beasts which lumber along the front line of the group. They are truly large with streamlined bodies and bat-style wings. Myla gestures toward them.
“Those look like…” Myla snaps her fingers. “What are those flying dinosaurs called again?”
“Pterodactyls,” I state.
“That’s it.”
“Actually, they’re not dinosaurs. They’re archosaurs.”
Myla shoots me the side eye. “Sometimes, I just want to punch you in the junk.”
“But then you’d have no BAEJS.”
Myla groans. “I am never living that down, am I?”
“Nope.”
The group pauses a short distance from the forest’s edge. The Pterodactyls lurch forward. Using their massive taloned feet, they scoop up the emerald sands, depositing their quarry in great piles to the side.
“You called it,” says Myla. “They’re digging up the very spot you pointed out before.”
I frown. “But for what?”
After digging out a shallow pit, the Pterodactyls flap their mighty wings, blowing away a final layer of sand. What they reveal is a surprise.
It’s a collection of statues.
A jolt of realization moves through me. These aren’t just any statues. These are the Reptilian apprentices who were frozen by the Contagion. Earthly reptiles bury their eggs to keep them warm and safe. The Reptilians in the Primeval are doing the same with their frozen loved ones.
One by one, Reptilians step into the pit, find a loved one, and brush their fingers down the statue’s frozen face. The world seems to pause as the ritual continues. Myla and I have focused on finding the Contagion. Meanwhile, these poor souls have lived with the loss and pain brought on by that awful wizard.
Even so, these Reptilians can’t hang out forever. We must make contact before they go. According to Peli, we’ll need an introduction first. I look around again. This is the place where our small monkey friend could help.
Peli is still gone.
Can’t say I’m surprised.
42
Myla
That Reptilians are here and Peli has ghosted us.
Classic.
And I wouldn’t eat any of the funk Lincoln scrounged up, so I am craving another Demon Bar like it’s my job.
One figure steps up to the edge of the pit and bows his head. Unlike everyone else, this guy has red skin, tiny horns, and a long and pointy tail.
“That would be our demon,” I whisper. “Peli said he was named Spivey.”
“Genus?”
“Standard Red. Can’t tell the subtype, though. Stealth, maybe?”
“It’s unclear. Whatever he is, it’s a fairly calm genus. They don’t attack unless desperate. Perhaps we can reason with him.”
Spivey lifts his head before stepping back to the fringes of the crowd. In fact, Spivey hangs out rather close to the forest line.
Could be useful.
“So.” I tap my chin. “How do we contact the Reptilians without a formal introduction? Peli said we needed one.”
“Hold on a moment.”
Lincoln does that thing where he kneels and touches the ground—or in this case, the branch—and concentrates like a mutha. When my guy focuses on me again, he whispers three words.
“Others are coming.”
The entire tree rumbles. Someone is definitely heading this way, and it’s not the Reptilians. Following Lincoln’s line of vision, I detect a yellow blob moving across the dark desert.
The group comes into better focus.
I blink.
Pinch myself.
Blink again.
All thoughts of Demon Bars fade from my consciousness.
Aldred is here.
Lincoln shakes his head. “I thought I detected him when we first crossed over.”
“Last night, I thought the moon dreamers carried some Acca stuff. Guess I was right.”
Quelle bummer. Trumpets blare from Aldred’s group, followed by the plinky-plink of lute players. What, did this guy bring along bulldozers, too? I’m no expert hunter and even I can detect these guys.
“Any ideas?” asks Lincoln. He’s a long term planning man. I’m stronger in off-the-cuff situations.
“Let’s see.” I purse my lips. “Maybe we split up. I go north and chat up the demon. If I work my mojo, perhaps we can get an introduction that way.” I squint at Aldred’s group. “Team Aldred parked themselves by the woods south of here. Think you can use your super hunter skills? Get some reconnaissance going?”
“Absolutely,” replies Lincoln. “The ea
rl wouldn’t enter the Primeval without both a plan and Rufus. That old lion and I go way back. I’ll gather some intelligence easily.”
“Meet back here when we’re done?”
“You got it.”
My guy and I share a fist-bump before jumping down from our branch. We’ve both got some serious sneaking to do.
43
Lincoln
I slip through the woods. As I speed along, I can’t help but notice how all the seed trees stand spindly and bare, their leaves picked over. If I weren’t so familiar with the wilds, I wouldn’t have found anything to eat.
A memory appears. When Peli took me to the past, all the peoples of the Primeval seemed healthy and well-fed. That isn’t the case any more, at least with the Avians. Something to consider.
With every step through the woods, the racket of Aldred’s camp grows louder. There’s the clang of pans, whinny of horses, and even a new lute tune.
I roll my eyes. Minstrels. Only Aldred.
Moving quietly, I pass the main camp. Rufus wouldn’t want to be near so many noises and smells. He’ll choose the high ground and keep sentry.
Sure enough, I spy the old lion sitting atop a boulder, far away from the main group. He’s not wearing his armor, but there’s no missing the battle-ready edge to how Rufus scans the desert. Ever since leaving Myla, I’ve been careful to ensure foliage separates me from the wind. Now I step out to the perfect spot for the breeze to catch my scent.
And I wait.
For his part, Rufus sits Sphynx-like on his rock, paws forward and belly against the stone. With the vista of emerald sand behind him, the lion looks more like a painting than a living creature. That won’t last. The very moment my scent reaches him, a shudder rolls down Rufus’ spine.
Cupping my hand by my mouth, I let out the classic whistle that signals the start of our matches.
Rufus’ gaze locks on my direction. He rises up onto all fours and stretches, before leaping off the rock. If I didn’t know the lion, I’d think he was just off for a meaningless walk.
There’s no missing the glint in Rufus’ eyes, though. Or the way his muscles bunch with every step. My friend is on high alert.
Rufus pads into the forest and heads right to my spot. He eyes me from head to toe.
“You’re alive.”
“That I am.”
“You may scratch my mane, if you wish.” For Rufus, this is a the emotional equivalent of jumping up and down while screeching with joy.
“It is my honor.” Stepping closer, I rub my fingers just behind Rufus’ ears. It’s a favorite spot.
“I worried you were dead.” Rufus inhales. “I scent Myla on you as well.”
“We’re both here.” I drop my hand. Rufus isn’t one to like a lot of touching.
Rufus scans around us. “No one is nearby. We can speak freely.”
“When did you cross over to the Primeval?”
“Right after you left,” replies Rufus. “We’ve been marching for days. I’ve met my people along the way. Unofficially, of course. They slip up to camp at night while everyone else is drinking and singing.”
“And were they welcoming?”
“No,” says Rufus. “They were starving.” He bares his teeth in anger. “It isn’t right, Felines without food.”
“I saw the same thing with the Avians. I’m sorry, Rufus.”
“I stole some meat from Aldred’s larder and handed it over. I’ve never seen such lions. Their rib cages show through their pelts. Patches of fur have fallen off.” Rufus’ voice lowers to a growl. “And it’s all the Contagion’s doing. He turned the best of the pack to stone. There’s no leadership. No one to set hunts. And precious little game remains, even if they tried to catch it.”
“Myla and I are here to destroy the Contagion. Kill the caster, end the spell. It will release those he froze, both here and in the after-realms.”
Rufus scratches at the ground with his claws. “Aldred wants to do the killing. Yet he’s no warrior.”
“What do you know of the earl’s plans?”
“We’re to find the thrax Marked One who lives in the Feline lands. Once we have him under our protection, we’ll make our way to the Golden Arbor, or what’s left of it. Aldred will set up camp there.”
I nod slowly, thinking this through. “So Aldred wants to use use the thrax Marked One as bait in order to lure in the Contagion. The Golden Arbor is where Peli cast the spell to crate the Marked Ones in the first place. It makes sense as the best place for Aldred to destroy the Contagion.”
“It won’t come to that,” states Rufus. “You and Myla will end the Contagion long before he reaches the fifth and final Marked One.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Rufus!” Aldred’s voice carries on the wind. “RUFUS!”
“You’d better go. We’ll meet up soon.”
“Be safe,” growls Rufus. “Kill quickly.” With silent moves, Rufus takes off toward the camp.
As I watch Rufus leave, my thoughts wind back to my childhood. Mother and I used to play a thrax game called Remembrix. You stacked up small slats of wood, and for each tiny plank, there was a fact to recall. The game ended when the stack fell over or one player couldn’t recite everything that had been built up so far.
At this moment, it’s as if I stand before a Remembrix stack that towers far above my head. There are so many things to keep track of, especially with all these messages from the Guide thrown in as well. Some key fact is bound to be lost.
I only hope that the omission doesn’t bring everything crashing down.
44
Myla
I’m not a hide behind the tree kind of girl.
I’m more of the kick first and ask questions later type.
Still, here I am, lurking behind a blue trunk in a random universe, waiting for a chance to catch someone’s attention. In this case, the someone is a demon named Spivey who could be the definition of what’s called the Standard Red.
Backwards knees? check.
Cloven feet? Check.
Shaggy body, pointy face, and little horn-buds on his head? Check, check, and check.
This guy even has a long and pointy tail. Totally rat-like without any dragonscales or pointy end, though. Not that I have a better tail or anything.
But yeah, I totally have a better tail.
Turns out, hiding behind a tree trunk gives a girl time to contemplate these things.
All this while, my demon target has been chatting up a small group of Reptilians. Now Spivey steps towards the forest. And based on how he’s gripping his groin? Someone needs a potty break.
This will be gross, but I can work with it.
After entering the woods, Spivey relieves himself on a nearby tree. I wait until he’s almost ready for the tap when I clear my throat.
Spivey resets himself (thankfully that fur hides a lot) and turns in my direction.
I sashay out from the line of trees. “Hello, fellow demon.” To back up the point, I make sure my eyes flare red.
“You… you’re from the after-realms.”
“Yup. I’m Myla.”
“They call me Spivey.” He scrapes his hands down his face. “I’m so glad you’re here. This place is horrible. Everyone is so mean to me.”
Hells Bells. Now I know his sub type. This guy is a Whinus.
Which is a problem. I can handle rage, envy, lust… pretty much all your deadly sins. But whining drives me batty. The less time I spend with Spivey, the better.
“Look, I need an introduction to the Reptilian King. Two introductions, actually. My warrior friend is off on a mission now.” I don’t mention how Lincoln is a demon hunter because, duh.
“You want an introduction to King Salientian? He’s meanest to me of all. His Royal Stinginess won’t give me extra insects for my collection. How cruel is that? I need entertainment, considering how I’m living with a bunch of reptiles.”
There is so much strange in that story, I won’t even a
cknowledge it.
“Great. Cool. Bugs. Now let’s just do the introduction thing with the thing.” I don’t wait for a reply. I grab his wrist (not the one he was just using for potty time) and drag Spivey out of the forest. “Time to meet King Salientian!”
“Now you’re being mean, too. Ow, that hurts my wrist!”
No question who the king is, either. He’s the reptile guy who’s helpfully wearing a big-ass crown. Salientian stands in a small circle with other reptiles in long coats and overly tall heels. I step up with Spivey in tow.
Salientian is on the short side with big bug eyes and a wide frog-style mouth. He stares at my hair.
Hair?
Hair.
Whatever. He’s got pingpong balls for eyes. Maybe he’s looking across the way at something else. What do I know about Reptilian vision?
“I am Myla, a demon from the after-realms, just like Spivey.”
Salientian’s long froggy tongue flicks out. “Have you a formal introduction to be here? The consequences for approaching royalty without one is death.”
“You know, my friend here was just about to mention that.” I stare at Spivey while rolling my hand in circles, encouraging him to start talking.
A long silence follows where Spivey says zero.
“Spivey,” I urge. “Help a fellow demon out here.” My tail swoops over to prod Spivey’s elbow. Totally appreciate the back-up.
Spivey groans. “You’re putting a lot of pressure on me. This is really hard.”
Salientian just keeps staring at my hair, which I suppose is better than making more death threats. Still, we can’t just stand around forever.
“How about I sum up? Spivey and I are buddies and he wants to make a formal whatever so we’re all good.”
Salientian turns to Spivey. “Is this true?”
Spivey lets out a long-suffering sigh. “It is. She’s been super draining to deal with, but yes, Myla and her warrior friend have my introduction to join our court for a few weeks.”
Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3) Page 15