by J D Franx
“I will only call on you when it is imperative that we do not fail.”
“You have my thanks. We remain few in numbers even after so many years. Living off-phase from Talohna has not been easy, especially for those trying to have children,” Eva said, bowing with respect. “Before I leave, have you decided what to do with the priestess?”
“Sister Nikki? She is free to go if you have no objections. She is not important, and it will serve us better the less she is told.”
“I agree,” Eva said. “Even Giddeon feels she is insignificant. A temple-sheltered priestess does not belong mixed within these events. It merely means another lost life. I will return her to wherever she wants before I jump back to Vaenaria.”
“Once word spreads of what happened to her, she will be hunted—especially by the Dead Sisters. Perhaps she will be safer here on Ver Karmot?”
“It will be her choice,” Eva stated.
“Should she leave, I will offer her a blade of marked soul for her protection. If any Dead Sister, witch, or debased fanatic should go after the girl, the blade will send souls killed by it to Kael in the underworld. It will give him the strength he needs and may help him understand.”
“Jasala came the closest, but even with nineteen years and the best Guardian to ever live, she couldn’t figure it out.”
“Kael is not Jasala, Eva. Have hope. Now, take care, my dear," Shelaryx said and turned, signaling for her guards to follow. A bright flash and crisp snap of power at her back let her know her oldest and dearest friend had returned to the Fae Realm, taking the shackled Darkling with her.
Queen WhiteScale, followed by two Talon guards and one Zephyr wizard, headed for the dungeon deep below BloodKin Castle in Cyrstalis City, dragging Giddeon with them. It was time for the ArchWizard to answer for the death of his own son. Though she did not have to, the Queen walked. It would help cool down the dragon-fire temper roaring in her heart and in her blood. If she did not, Giddeon would not survive the interrogation.
Chapter Three
THE AFTERLIFE
1ST DIMENSION OF HELL, YEAR 1
The sensation of falling overwhelmed Kael. He swung his arms as he tried to grasp onto something, anything. The fall lasted several seconds before he hit the ground, hard. Rolling as best he could to reduce the damage from the sudden stop, he slammed against a wall of red rock. He looked up, and he saw fire and brimstone everywhere. The air reeked of sulfur and death. A high-pitched squeal of a laugh reached his ears, drowning out the wailing of suffering souls. He shook the stars from his pounding head. Blinking finally helped to clear his vision, and he opened his eyes. A short demon stood in front of him. It laughed a second time.
“Great,” Kael mumbled. “Out of the frying pan and straight into the fires of Hell.”
“You have no idea, my boy.” The demon cackled. “You lucky you land here first. The others would already have you tied to a rack.”
“I'm lucky,” Kael muttered sarcastically. “Says the demon who finds the DeathWizard. Wouldn't that make you the lucky one?” The small demon smiled, flashing rows of razor-sharp teeth. He reminded Kael of the gargoyle statues adorning the most expensive hotel back home in Sam's Bay. It was even complete with wings, claws, and a forked tail.
“Me? Only if could keep you, I cannot.”
“You don’t want me for yourself.” He repeated the sentiment, not quite sure he had heard the demon right.
“No. Would love you,” the demon said, licking his sharp teeth. “But, no. Other plan. Salo big plan.”
“Lucky me,” Kael grumbled. He had no idea what the gargoyle meant.
“Yes. You lucky, yes. I am Rajazeye, ruler of First Hell and second most powerful demon in Perdition.” Kael shook his head at the boastful statement.
“You rule the lowest level of Hell, and you are the second strongest demon lord? I guess math isn't your strong suit or the truth, for that matter.” The demon laughed, and again, the high-pitch cackle hurt Kael's ears.
“Lesson one, DumDum DeathWizard. Souls equal power for afterlife, not torment level. 1st Hell draws more souls than others, except 9th. Souls are power. Not forget. Now, I do little to help, but offer my realm in exchange for deal.”
Kael snorted and stood. “A deal with a demon?” Glancing down at his feet, he shook his head. “I'm not standing at a crossroads, am I? It's a little cliched don't you think? What do you want? My soul in return for your realm? But let me guess, you don't collect for ten years.”
“Nonsense, boy. I give you two totems of Rajazeye realm, one for door back home. Second, you wear until back Talohna. Then, you take to Salo RedMaw. No questions, no failure, no change mind. Deal?”
“Lycori's vampire clan? Yeah, I know where they are, kind of.”
“Queen Reetha not playing well with others. Getting artifacts to your realm... difficult now. This easier for both, you and Rajazeye. Agreed?”
Kael nodded.
“Good,” Rajazeye said, grinning. The rows upon rows of teeth made the smile appear more like a grimace.
“So, just like that. Easy, no fighting, no dying? Is there some kind of ritual or something?” Kael asked, stunned as he took the twin totem necklaces from Rajazeye. He put one around his neck and slid the second deep into the inside pocket of his Orotaq cloak.
“No want soul. Just favor. You may spend centuries fighting way out of afterlife, Kael. Less time here means back sooner. You need return Talohna sooner. I slow you not. One more can do help. Push you to 8th Hell... I think you land there... should, yes. Perhaps land in Heaven… ew, hope not,” he said, shivering. “Either way, you fight… you kill, but in 8th you find Kin to help.” Magic flared in the demon’s hands.
“Wait, for Christ sake!” Kael cursed. “I don't even have a weapon!”
The demon cackled, again. “You are weapon, DeathWizard. Good luck, boy, and be wary. Seldom what you see in lair of Kroa be real. Beware Reetha’s Ichor.” With a pop of magic, a rift opened behind Kael. Rajazeye jumped forward and shoved him into the black, rippling doorway.
Again, Kael fell through darkness for seconds on end before he came to a jarring halt.
He opened his eyes and stared around. He struggled to comprehend what he saw. A meadow of colourful flowers stretched for as far as his eyes could see while the sweet scent of pollen and dew wafted up his nose. The gentle setting calmed his mind, and it eased his sore and weary body. Towering snow-capped mountains reached soaring heights far into the distance.
“8th Hell, my ass, ya stupid demon,” he grumbled as he glanced to the far side of the meadow. The only sight his eyes could focus on was the woman sitting on a white blanket less than a hundred feet away from him.
“Ember?” he whispered. She smiled and waved as she slowly stood to greet him. He took a step forward and nearly tripped over his trembling knees. Tears fell from his eyes, and his throat swelled with joy at the sight of the woman he loved so dearly but had not seen in so long. He took another step forward as she rushed into his arms.
“Kael! You made it!” She cried into his neck and crushed him with her hug.
Holding her close, he struggled to find his voice. She felt and smelled exactly as he remembered. “How... what?”
Pulling back, she beamed. It still melted his heart every time he saw it. “This is Paradise, babe. The 3rd and highest tier of Heaven. You made it safely, and we never have to leave.”
Her response sparked his suspicion. “But the Arkangel said you weren't here. This can't be real...”
“Kael,” Ember said, gently touching his cheek. “The Arkangel has been gone from the Paradise heavens for years. Time passes differently here, babe. Max and I weren't here when she left the High Heavens, so she wouldn’t know we were here. You can stop fighting, love. We have eternity together now. Max will be along later. I wanted some time alone with you first. I’ve missed you so much.”
Kael grabbed her arms and forced her back a step. He could see the hurt in her expression, but the
situation made no sense. “But the Arkangel said that...”
More agony danced in her eyes. “Babe, listen, please. We were minutes, less than an hour, behind you... Remember the Animus chamber? You died on the seal. I even know how you—” She choked on the last words and he involuntarily reached for his throat.
“You couldn’t know that unless—”
“We were there. Yes, babe,” she said, her eyes wet with tears. “Sythrnax was still there waiting for the seal to open. Devastated by what he had done to you, Max and I were no match for him and his men. We died the hour after you did. That’s why Seraphi didn’t know. The angel, Tydariel, told us Seraphi left to help you the very second you died and had not returned.”
“I’m sorry.” He gasped. “I... how does that work? I...”
She stepped closer, again, and gently cradled his face in her hands. “Shh, babe. Time passes much faster here than on Talohna. While Seraphi helped you, the hour passed in Talohna. Since then, I've been here, waiting for you for days.”
“Days?” Kael said, shaking his head in disbelief. “How much faster does time pass here?”
“Faster, but I’m not sure, and it doesn’t matter anymore,” Ember whispered calmly. “None of what happened in our lives before matters here. Seraphi will be along soon to explain, I think. Time is almost irrelevant here. You’ll see. Now, kiss me, and tell me that's not real.”
Ember melted into him as he laughed. All the pain, suffering, and loss of so many agonizing months fled his mind and body. He picked her up and twirled her around, happier than he had been in a long time. She giggled and held onto him tight as they crashed to the soft meadow. He opened his eyes to watch when her lips touched his. All his doubts faded in that moment. She did not disappear in a cloud of ash. She was truly there, in his arms, finally.
It was a moment so incredible that he never wanted it to end.
FLATWATER BAY, KAZZADOR MOUNTAIN RANGE
SUMMER'S DAWN 5025 PC
Dominique Havarrow stared across the still waters of Flatwater Bay. The dawning sun gradually peaked its way over the eastern horizon, and his hand rested on the hub of the ship's wheel even though his mind was far from well-rested. The events of the previous few days and the decisions he would have to make because of it weighed on him heavily.
He shook his head and pulled his thoughts back to the matter-at-hand. Eamon O’Leary had been right. The miserable and ornery dimensional traveler always seemed to be right. It had taken one month to cast, mix powder, test-fire, and then retrofit and rig two of Dominique’s ships with the new armaments. Each vessel carried sixteen cannons per side and two chase cannons at the bow. All were tested several times while Eamon altered and reinforced the mounts for the ship so the cannons did not tear the decks apart the first time they fired. Still, he warned everyone that any cannon could just as easily explode as fire off at any time. It made everyone on board both ships twitchy and irritable.
Eamon's insistence on adding the chase cannons had already caused a serious blowout between his first mate, Shasta Trey, and the irritable Irishman. The grumpy transplant from the dimension called Earth was an invaluable addition to his crew, even if the old man and Dominique’s half-sister did nothing but fight. The Northman shook his head as he chalked the dislike up to his sister's youth. Northmen pups were known for being brash and abrasive at times, and Eamon was the epitome of stubborn. If his chase cannons did not work as promised, all the demons of Perdition would not be able to keep Shasta from beating the crazy alchemist senseless. From what he had seen of Eamon, he was not sure it was a fight his sister would win.
The whip of a strong wind filled the dropped sails and bought Dominique back to the task at hand.
Captain Sandra Innac nodded as her ship, the Reaver's Curse, pulled even with his Twilight Reave. Dominique smiled wider at the sight of the floating weapon. It was an identical match to his own ship.
“Sythrnax's scouts said to the south,” she shouted as the two ships moved close enough for them to communicate across still waters.
“Good,” Havarrow yelled back. “Let’s go show the bastard our new ships.” Dropping his voice, he muttered, “Hunt me, you black-heart bastard. Never even thought of turning against you.”
“Don't matter now,” Eamon offered up from his right side. “Every fecking Suns' ship will be hunting us.” Shasta smacked the short Irishman upside the head and received one in return. “God fecking dammit wenchling! Stop effing doing that. Next time, I swear to the Lord almighty, I will shove my boot right up your tight ass—” A second smack would have knocked him to the deck planks had he not ducked beneath it. Planting his boot on her backside as she passed, he gave her a light push.
She stumbled but easily recovered and whirled back around, her fists raised for a fight. “Stop complaining!” she barked. “It’s all you’ve done for months, and you wanted Captain Havarrow to betray Bauro. Now that we're forced to fight him, you whine even louder. The only time you're happy is when you're blowing shit up.”
“The Irish don’t whine, womanling. We just state the fecking obvious that yer stupid pirates seem to overlook.”
Shasta sighed and lowered her fists. “Go mount those useless chase cannons. Prove they work better than our ballistae draglines. That way, if they explode in your fecking face,” she mocked, “then I will never have to look at it again.”
“Yeah?” Eamon asked. He stared at Dominique, but slowly raised his right arm toward Shasta and lifted the middle finger attached to it.
“I know what that means now, you little fuck,” she snarled and took another swing at him, but the Irishman was already up and over the railing.
“You made them,” Havarrow shouted after him. “Go operate them, and slow that BlackSpawn bastard as if all the ghost ships below us were dragging him to the deep.” Eamon spun from mid-ship and grinned. Dominique heard him mutter something about whiskey making for a perfect day and laughed his agreement.
“You know, that crazy bastard is gonna be the death of us both, right, brother?” Shasta said, looking back at Dominique.
“Probably. But no one lives forever, and I get a hell of a lot of enjoyment from the little bastard in the meantime.” The words were barely out of his mouth when his crow's nest spotter hollered from above.
“Suns' ships off the bow and to the starboard side!”
“How many, Scag?” Shasta yelled and glanced up.
“Eight? No… ten...”
“Bloody bastard.” Shasta cursed, glancing back at Havarrow.
“Sorry, first mate. The last two just cleared the point,” Scag shouted. “Twelve ships total! All flying the Bastard's flag!”
“That means Bauro's there,” Dominique said, frowning.
“But twelve ships? Against two?” Shasta asked. “We won’t even get you close enough to offer a leadership challenge.”
“Let’s just worry about Bauro’s swamp scout,” he said. “Make sure Eamon’s ready. I can’t form a battle plan until I know exactly what these cannons will do to a wooden ship, and the scout will be the first one at us when they try to swamp this ship.”
Shasta frowned. “If that drunk misses, the elementalist aboard the scout will carve through our hull like a red-hot blade through fancy leather armor.”
“If that happens, make damn sure the flagmen signal Innac to unleash all she has, and then get to safety.”
“This,” Shasta began, but paused and stepped closer, “is a foolish risk, brother.”
“I agree,” he replied. “But something about Eamon’s crazy stories… I can spot a liar, sys, and he is not.”
“I agree, but these noisy bastard weapons better work. Cause I doubt these so-called flying machines and men who walk through the stars work as easily as he explained.”
“We shall see,” Dominique hissed. “Bauro’s swamp scout is away.”
Shasta growled and hopped the railing. Landing on her feet, she headed straight for Eamon. “Irishman!” she barked. “Now’s
your chance to show us what these weapons of yours will do. That small ship headed our way, destroy before it gets too close.”
“It’s moving too effing fast,” he snapped back. “How the hell does a ship move like that on only wind power?”
“There’s a magic user on board, you idiot,” Shasta answered. “If he reaches us, he’ll use that magic to tear out our hull. Sink him!”
Dominique frowned, and the Irishman grumbled and pulled the chase cannons up, locking them in the stow position.
“Never hit him with these,” Eamon said and pointed to their starboard side. “Broadsides. Shot balls and don’t pack them too tight.”
“Fill the starboard monsters, boys. You heard the man! Pack them too tight and we dream the deep blue,” Shasta yelled. “Firing order, Eamon?”
“I need a bloody rangin’ shot from the forward most cannon. I will aim and fire it. Have your men ready to spark the rest when I shout.”
The first mate nodded and passed Eamon’s orders to her crew. The earlier hatred and their mocking banter vanished as the seriousness of battle set in.
The scout ship sped up, and Dominique frowned. The smaller vessel’s sails bulged as the mage pushed his magic and the ship even harder.
“Eamon?” Dominique barked.
“Aye,” the Irishman growled. “Give me a second, I have to take in the wind.”
“Eamon,” Shasta began, but the Irishman stood and touched the flame stick to the top of the cannon’s barrel. The ship shook violently as the barrel belched flames. Dozens of gasps and a few shrieks rolled through the crew as the cannonball slammed into the water behind the approaching craft, tossing water ten feet in the air. Several of the youngest crew members ducked under the lifeboats and hid.
“You missed,” Dominique stated calmly.
Shasta stared at Eamon and shook her head. “That was not impressive, at all, Irishman.”
“Really? Water displaced the pressure of the shot, Einstein,” Eamon quipped. “Coulda swore the Bastard’s whole fleet was on its way to Davy Jone’s locker.”