Raising Evil

by Liam Reese

  “Narcotics,” Arteera said. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes!” Ru Tarn clapped. “They were being drugs. Someone started putting drugs into drink and selling it in Boranash,” she added. “Many people started to be having problems with this.”

  She shook the bottle. “Many army people started taking it, and royal guards.” She looked at the queen with a serious stare. “So king is being making this illegal. He sent army to go and burn all plants, arrest any people growing or making, and salt the ground so nothing grow there again. I was thinking this was over, but...”

  “What happened?” Arteera asked. “To the people drinking it, I mean?”

  “They were all dying,” Ru Tarn said, not realizing Besmir was the one taking the drink. “I am not remembering anyone surviving.”

  “How did it happen?” Arteera asked in a choked voice.

  Ru Tarn screwed up her face as she thought. “Some people were being poisoned, needing more all the time until dead. Some people, it … took them away,” she said. “It made them being gone, so then they not eating or cleaning themselves and wasting away.”

  The Corbondrasi looked pleased that she had managed to explain it all, until she saw Arteera’s expression. “Who is being drinking this?” she asked nervously.

  “B-Besmir,” Arteera said with a hitch in her voice.

  “No!” Ru Tarn gasped. “Where is he getting it from?”

  “I don’t know!” Arteera wailed.

  Ru Tarn took the sobbing queen in her feathered arms and rocked her gently, tweeting softly to calm her. “Ru Tarn will be sending riders to be looking for anyone making this poison again,” she said. “And telling Corbondrasi king, so he can be sending army again.”

  “But Besmir’s still going to die!” Arteera sniveled.

  “We are not knowing this,” Ru Tarn said. “All people dying before were Corbondrasi people. We are not knowing what it is doing to Gazluthian people; it might be being safe for them,” she added with a hopeful tweet.

  “Or it might kill them faster,” Arteera moaned.

  7

  Besmir tried to break into his daughter’s mind. Able to take control of animals and bend them to his will, he had assumed it would be the same with a person. Yet when he had cast his mind loose, heading for Emmerlin’s pavilion, he had not been able to penetrate her skull. Now that his hands were locked onto her head, he could feel the gentle pulse of her thoughts just a short way from his own.

  He pushed against the barrier her mind had around it, sharpening his thoughts until they were like needles trying to enter Emmerlin’s head. Vaguely aware of someone shouting, Besmir carried on his assault in an attempt to curb her volatile ways.

  Let me in.

  Something weakened around his daughter’s thoughts, and Besmir felt a savage victory as he managed to enter her mind. Anger burned around him, utter unflinching rage, powered by her feelings of negativity towards him.

  Flashes of her recent memories slammed into his mind, and he recoiled as he saw Senechul’s face loom close, felt the rush of lust that hammered through her. Then he watched as she took control of Khendor Marall, forcing him to his knees as he cut his own throat.

  No!

  Emmerlin bellowed inside his head as he tried to burrow deeper into her thoughts, tried to influence her and change her behavior. Yet his daughter was having none of it, and she soon discovered how to fight back, cutting off his assault and forcing him back out of her body.

  “What was that?” Emmerlin demanded as she stood, panting, before her father. “You were inside my head!”

  “You’ve gone too far, Emmerlin,” Besmir said. “I had to come and change your ways.”

  “Invade my brain, you mean!” she screeched. “How dare you?”

  “I dare because I must,” Besmir growled. “I’ve got responsibilities, some of which I thought you were mature enough to assist me with, but now I see you’re still a child with childish thoughts.”

  “And you’re a weak, old fool who can’t see how powerful I am!” Emmerlin raised both hands towards her father, flame erupting from both before he had a chance to put up any kind of barrier.

  “No!” Merdon shouted, throwing himself between them.

  Besmir watched as his daughter’s fire engulfed his grandson, surrounding him in a blazing orange light. The king flinched back from the searing heat as the pavilion around them caught light. Emmerlin’s guard, Senechul, grabbed her hand and pulled her from the flaming tent as Besmir reached for Merdon, hoping he still lived.

  Outside, people started to scream as the alarm was raised, and buckets of water were brought to douse the raging fire that threatened the other tents. Besmir ignored them, looking at Merdon, who stared back at his grandfather with surprised eyes.

  The king breathed a sigh of relief when he realized the lad was completely unharmed. He frowned, wondering if this had been another trick his mind was playing on him, but shook his head, knowing the boy had been bathed in fire.

  “You’re all right?” he asked in wonder.

  “Somehow, grandfather,” Merdon said, his eyes already searching for Emmerlin.

  Senechul was dragging her through the tents towards the horse corral, possibly intent on trying to escape. Emmerlin looked to be trying to pull away from him, but without much success.

  Besmir sent his mind lashing across the distance, crashing into the consciousness of a large stallion and making him rear. Through the horse’s eyes the king could see his daughter and her guard running towards him. A little farther back, he could see his grandson making for the corral too, royal guards in close pursuit.

  Besmir ripped his thoughts from the stallion, jumping into the nearest animal and spreading panic like wildfire. Moving from horse to horse, he put fear into each animal until they all started to whinny in terror, pulling at their tethers and kicking madly at the weak fences that held them.

  Pulling his mind back into his own body, the king bolted for the horse corral to try and stop Emmerlin from escaping.

  There’s no telling what she’ll do if she gets away.

  Despair seized his chest again as he saw Emmerlin turn and bathe the ground in flame, Merdon again taking the brunt of the fire. He watched his grandson completely engulfed in the flame, the guards behind him falling back from the intense heat as Senechul tried to catch one of the fleeing horses.

  Merdon knew something was different. He felt different inside. Something fundamental had changed within him.

  Utter fear and horror had gripped him when Emmerlin had covered him in flame in her pavilion. Yet even though he could feel heat, it was more like the warmth of a summer day. Some force from within him had somehow protected him from the intense flame and saved him from injury.

  He had left his grandfather, whose eyes had gone distant, and dashed through the camp after his aunt and her guard. It was plain to see they were heading for the horses, but there seemed to be a massive commotion in the corral, with rearing stallions and screaming mares. As Senechul reached for one massive horse, Emmerlin had turned, a snarl across her face, and lit the ground again.

  Merdon again felt the heat surround him like a warm blanket, but remained unharmed, even as he heard the screams from behind him. When the flames subsided, Emmerlin stared at him agape.

  “How..?” she managed.

  Merdon shrugged and drew his swords, advancing on the pair carefully. “Just stop this,” he said. “Come home, and we can work it all out.”

  “He tried to control my mind,” Emmerlin shouted. “Like one of his animals, he tried to get me to think differently. Invaded my brain.” She tapped the side of her head. “No, Merdon, there’s no working that out. He violated my mind!”

  Behind her, Senechul had finally managed to wrestle a mare into some semblance of control and the animal stood there, trembling and snorting, as he threw his leg over her back, reaching down for Emmerlin.

  Merdon leaped forward, trying to grab her hand or somehow stop her f
rom leaving, when a sharpened wooden post rose before him. Originally part of the fence that held the horses, the pole had been shaved to a point to aid pounding it into the ground. That point was aimed directly at his chest, and it looked as if Emmerlin were in control of it.

  As Senechul pulled her up into the saddle before him, the post flew at Merdon, arrow-fast and deadly. The prince dropped, rolling out of the way, but still felt the post scrape down his side as it whipped past him.

  A thick crunch from behind drew his attention, and he turned to see Herdin grasping at the post where it jutted from his chest. Bloody smears stained the wood as his knees buckled, his eyes widening.

  That was meant for me!

  Merdon swallowed, leaping to his feet and turning back to where Emmerlin and Senechul were galloping across the grasslands of Ninse towards Gazluth. King Besmir pounded across to where he stood. Panting and sweaty, he looked as if his heart was about to give out, and Merdon gripped his elbow to steady the suddenly-old man.

  “Merdon, are you all right?” the king asked. “I saw you burned twice.”

  The prince held his hand out, turning it over as if seeing it for the first time. “I think I’ve just found out what my power might be,” he said.

  His grandfather grinned, but the expression fell away as he turned to see Herdin slump sideways into the arms of his fellows. Merdon and Besmir went to him.

  “S-sire,” Herdin said, with a dribble of red spittle.

  “Hush, lad,” Besmir said. “Save your strength for healing.”

  Herdin smiled, but only half his mouth turned up, the other half remaining slack as something vital in his brain stopped working.

  “Not … going to be on duty, sire,” Herdin said in a half whisper.

  Merdon watched his grandfather kneel beside his guard and take his arm in a warrior’s grip. “I’ll have to dock your wage,” Besmir said in a gentle voice.

  “Is it night … so … dark,” Herdin muttered.

  Merdon’s gaze flicked to Lyeeta, who cradled Herdin’s head in her lap, tears falling from her eyes as she watched her friend and mentor die. Anger and hate swelled in Merdon’s chest at the thought of what Emmerlin had done here. Not only killing Herdin and trying to kill Merdon himself, but hurting Lyeeta as well.

  Why does that matter so much?

  He put that question aside for later and turned to see his aunt’s horse disappearing over the crest of a hill. Disregarding his better judgment, Merdon started to move, running for the horses, even though they were scattered across the grasslands. Before he managed to take more than a step, however, he felt a tight grip around his wrist. He turned to see his grandfather staring into his eyes.

  “Not yet,” Besmir said. “We need a plan to tackle her. She’s too strong.”

  Torn between the need to obey his grandfather and king, and the need to rip his arm from the old man’s grasp and chase Emmerlin down, Merdon managed to nod at his grandfather, who returned the nod with a tightening of his eyes.

  “Let all here remember that this man, Herdin, died a hero,” Besmir cried. “Let none forget his name!”

  “Herdin!” the guards chanted, Merdon along with them.

  Queen Arteera had spent so much time in meetings with various people that time had passed without her knowing. Servants had come in and lit candles around her as she worked to draw up plans to search for the source of Besmir’s drug herself. The queen had finally admitted her husband was using a drug, rather than drink, to rid himself of his dreams and waking nightmares.

  She had spent hours writing letters to the Waravalian king, Vetrulian, husband to Besmir’s cousin Collise, telling him of her intent to pass through Waraval, heading for Boranash. She wrote to Merdon, keeping him abreast of her findings, and begging him to look after Besmir.

  And finally, she wrote to her husband. Tears streamed from her eyes as she wrote of her love, and how she missed him, but the kingdom was well in his absence. She left out her knowledge of his problem, not wanting him to know she knew about the drugs.

  “I just hope you were tricked into taking it,” she said aloud.

  Arteera looked up to see night had drawn in. Someone had left food for her, but she hadn’t noticed until now, and her stomach growled to tell her she was hungry. Rising, she grabbed a slab of bread and spread jam on it, savoring the sweetness.

  A weariness fell over her and she dragged herself into her bedchamber, struggling to climb onto the bed as her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep.

  Birdsong woke the queen, but she was nowhere near her own bed. Rather, she lay on a patch of the softest grass she had ever felt, the sweet smell of its leaves gracing her nose like perfume. Above her head she watched birds of every species flit from tree to tree, singing their hearts out.

  Arteera stood, her simple robe feeling silken against her skin as she looked about. A cloudless sky stretched off forever, broken only by the branches of trees that grew in every type, shape and form, some of which she had never seen before. She stood at the edge of an immense forest where squirrels jumped from tree to tree, while foxes trotted between the trunks, oblivious to her presence.

  To her other side, a vast grassland spread out like a lawn, verdant and lush. Herds of cattle and other beasts she had never seen munched on the grass as predatory cats crept among them. Unafraid, the cattle watched the deadly cats as they passed by, their teeth bared as they panted, but seemingly completely uninterested in the prey that stood feet from them.

  Arteera swallowed, recalling Besmir telling her of the beauty and diversity of animals in the afterlife when he had been brought here before. I’m dead!

  Panic crashed through the queen as the thought hit her. She couldn’t be dead. Not now. Not when Besmir needed her the most.

  You’re an old woman. Of course you can be dead.

  Part of her felt utter, blessed relief at being here; yet another part felt the pressure of guilt as soon as the relief washed through her.

  No! I don’t accept this. I can’t be dead.

  Arteera looked around, realizing only now that there was no sun in the sky, rather, the light seemed to come from everywhere. Her eyes lit on a figure walking slowly along the edge of the forest towards her, and she headed towards it.

  Now, let’s see…

  Arteera’s breath caught in her throat, a massive lump forming when she got close enough to see who it was. She ran, the grass whipping at her legs, tripping and stumbling towards the figure, halting a few feet away.

  As if she stood before a mirror, Arteera studied the woman before her to see if this were some kind of trick or dream. “M-m-mother?” she asked in a small voice.

  Emmerlin senior smiled warmly at her daughter and held her arms out. Arteera fell into her mother’s embrace, transported back through time to her childhood. Sobbing uncontrollably, the queen let her emotions all out, howling into her mother’s shoulder and releasing her pain.

  Eventually her mother turned, still with an arm around her daughter, and began to walk.

  “Come. There’s someone who would speak with you,” she said.

  Arteera looked at her mother’s face, something she had not seen for forty years, and felt the rush of maternal love that washed over her like a flood.

  “I’ve got so many questions,” Arteera said. “And so much to tell you.”

  Her mother smiled, but there was a pain in her smile. “Your questions will have to wait,” she said. “And I’ve been keeping an eye on you. You’ve done well, Queen Arteera.”

  The immense sound of pride rang from her every word, and Arteera felt her life had been worth something, if only to make her mother proud. “I’ve got children!” she said. “You’re a grandmother.”

  “Joranas and Emmerlin,” her mother said. “I know, and great-grandchildren, too. Plus that husband of yours; you’ve done well there.”

  “He’s in trouble,” Arteera moaned. “And I can’t help him,”

  “Maybe he can assist you,” her mothe
r said, pointing to a strange-looking creature sitting beside a lake. “Now, go, with my love and blessing.”

  Her mother kissed her on the forehead, as she had done when Arteera was a child. “Oh, you’re not dead, either,” she added.

  Arteera watched her mother back away, fading into the perfect distance, but was unable to follow. She turned to look at the form on the edge of the lake, awe making her knees shake.

  A single antler erupted from his deer-like head, a silver ooze dripping from the stump of the other where it had been snapped off by his father. His body was a weird amalgamation of animals, hooves rather than hands, with numerous different types of fur. The huge, wet eyes of a deer regarded her kindly.

  Arteera dropped to her knees.

  “My Lord Cathantor,” she greeted the God, trembling.

  “Oh, there’s no need for all that, my child,” he said in the kindest, calmest voice she had ever heard. “Come, sit by me, and let’s talk.” He patted a mossy hump with one hoof and turned his attention back to the lake.

  A God wants to talk to me?

  Arteera struggled to her feet, her legs unwilling to work correctly, and managed to approach the God, who was peering down into the glass-clear water at several fish circling before him. Each one would swim in a complete circle before jumping from the water to get closer to the God, splashing him with water when they fell back in.

  Cathantor chuckled, wiping drops of water from his various hides. “I must apologize,” he said.

  Arteera gasped. Why would a God have to apologize? And to her?

  “Your daughter has powers beyond anything any human has wielded before,” Cathantor muttered. “And I think we gave them to her.”

  Arteera looked at the fish, wondering what to say.

  “When we brought your husband back from death,” Cathantor said, “we gave some of ourselves, our essence, to do so. We repaired his body, made him strong again, but something extra went into Besmir as well.”