Black Warrior

by Jolie Jaquinta

  Chapter 17 – Reunion

  The madness descended on Moss. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was a transition, but the gibbering screaming tore it from his consciousness. Waves of colored nausea rushed over his skin and a stench like burnt lemons burnt his tongue. And behind it all he felt a presence. The same presence he had barely touched once, almost a decade ago, on a recovery mission gone wrong.

  His job had once been with the Babiru Special Service. An office established by the first Romitu Empire, its duties were to investigate and prosecute magical crime, and suspect supernatural activities. In the fragmentation that permeated the interregnum, several countries maintained most of the civil service set up by Romitu. Proving, once again, that there is nothing more constant than bureaucracy.

  Although by and large mundane, the agency was a threat to those who would wield magical power for personal gain. Consequently there were complicated internecine power plays amongst the bureaucrats running it and their influencers. It became clear to him and his partner, Goatha, after a time that they were being increasingly directed to seek out caches that were laid down during a specific era. All showed signs of wide ranging, but very specific damage. They started calling it The Cataclysm.

  Most were about three millennia old, and many had already been looted. In one such cyst they had found and revived Scioni, a powerful general from the early Romitu empire, entombed there for hundreds of years.

  Scioni's power was not in his political contacts, long dead. His power was in his mind and understanding of politics. He moved from being a pawn to being one of the prime manipulators with an ease that commanded respect. It certainly commanded the respect of Moss and Goatha who quickly became his closest confederates.

  Since someone thought there was something important about the relics of the cataclysmic era, Scioni felt it pertinent to pursue them as well. A picture of an age of high magic began to emerge. One that met its end quickly, and violently. Much later more clues fell into place, it was discovered that the cataclysmic damaged they had come to recognize so quickly, was the work of people trying to eliminate the source of weal and woe of that era: The Six Books of Magic.

  But before then, a side expedition following clues found in a cyst had lead Moss, Goatha and other confederates of Scioni deep into the Underground. They ventured, unexpectedly, into the presence of an Ancient order of being. In covering their hasty retreat, Moss caught a wave of its antagonism. The merest reflection of its thoughts poisoned his intellect like a virus, and its echoes buried him in waves of insanity.

  And so his life had been since. Coruscating light piercing his vision, pain wracking his muscles, he clung to the phantom textures willing it to end, trying to make his enemy appear tangible so he could defeat it once and for all. His hands clutched and he screamed at the face forming before him. If he could just choke the life out of it as it choked the thoughts from his brain.

  His breath came in ragged gasps pushing the guttural howls from his throat. Sanity dimly approached as he realized his senses were starting to converge on a consistent world view. The face before him resolved into Goatha, his wife. He briefly spasmed, strangling her tighter, because she could not be there. She was either inside him, fighting the delusions, or he was on ice. So close, but never touching for nearly ten years.

  But even as his grip tightened, he felt the pain in his hands. The synchronicity of cause and effect sobered him. That was what defined reality: when your actions had effect. Slowly he calmed down, and tried to will his fingers to release.

  Goatha looked at him, and then started blinking. Moss drew his hands back, his fingers shaking. Goatha drew back, tilted her head, straining, and with a crack the spell hardening her skin released.

  “Is...” began Moss hoarsely. “Is it really you?”

  “Yes”, answered Goatha, “It is really me.”

  He realized her arms had been holding him. He put his hands to them and squeezed her. “But, how?” He brought his breathing under control. “Am I cured?” he asked doubtfully. But, no, as he thought about it, he could hear the distant wailing that was always with him, even when Goatha was fighting for his sanity.

  Goatha confirmed by shaking her head. “Another has taken my place.”

  Moss rubbed his head. “Another?” He concentrated inwardly. When Goatha was in metaphysical residence in his skull, he had a sense of her. He was never really certain that he really was in contact with her, or that he just deluded himself into thinking so to make the separation more bearable. He mostly felt the Ancient presence. It was its absence, and how it was banished that he noted. Goatha's countermoves were always ones of unbearable pressure, guiding it away and deflecting it into harmless recesses. Until it reformed from scratch in new areas. But now, the cadence had changed. The corruption was pushed back in quick, stabbing jabs that cut and cleaved. It reformed, but from smaller pieces, to be attacked again. He thought he recognized the style. “Bianca?” said Moss, in surprise.

  Goatha nodded. “It was all she felt she could do after losing the ability to work magic.”

  “But she could have...” started Moss. “Or, does it mean she actually cares about me?”

  “She said it would free me up”, said Goatha.

  Moss sighed and shook his head. He relaxed in her grip and put his head on her chest. “I guess that was too much to hope for.”

  “Killing you would also have freed me up”, said Goatha with a slight smile. “That she chose this might indicate she cares a little bit.” She stroked his hair gently.

  Moss laughed quietly. “That's my daughter”, he said. Goatha stiffened slightly. It had always been taboo for both Goatha and Bianca to admit that Moss was her father. Even though it was obvious to all. Moss shook his head. “You guys and your freaky culture.”

  “All strong cultures are tyrannical in some way”, said Goatha. “If they didn't hammer down the nails that stuck out, they wouldn't maintain their strong identity.”

  “But why do you persist in identifying with a group you, yourself, admit are a bunch of barbarians on a miserable windswept island?” asked Moss.

  “They are inconsequential”, said Goatha. “I am what I am. I choose to be who I am.”

  “Do you really think I'm going to expose Bianca because you admit she's my daughter?” asked Moss.

  “In Bothnia, if the father is not known, it is the community's responsibility to provide for a child. If the father is known, it is that father's responsibility. There, yes, a father would rather expose his child rather than be burdened being the sole person looking after it. But don't you see?” said Goatha. “They also do not marry there, yet I have married you. And there is no community here to take on the responsibility of raising the child, yet you provide. To name you father would be to attempt to compel you to give what you already give freely. It would be an insult.”

  Moss was silent for a while. “I never thought of it like that”, he said finally. Then he tilted his head up and kissed her gently. “I'll try not to tax your daughter by thinking about it too hard.”

  Goatha patted his head twice and then sat up. Moss disengaged and sat up next to her. “It will be good to work together again”, said Goatha, pulling together a pile of clothes. Topmost was the grey cloak that they still both wore from their time in the Special Service.

  Moss smiled and began to pull things on. “Have we got an assignment?”

  “Oh, some crisis or another”, she said.

  “So Bianca's decision was in aid of some specific effort?” Moss asked.

  “No”, said Goatha. “She didn't know. I only got the alert half an hour ago, while I was testing her readiness.”

  “Testing her?” asked Moss, raising his eyebrows. “Boy would I have liked to have been a fly on the wall for that one.” Then he looked around at the restraining table he had been on. “Well, I guess I was. Wait?” he said, looking back at her. “Half an hour ago? Shouldn't we have been checking in rather than canoodling on the table?�
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  Goatha shrugged. “Probably”, she admitted. “But we've been early to all the other earth shattering crises we've faced. They should forgive us being late to one.”

  Moss smiled. “That's very sweet.” He pulled his boots on. “What's it this time? Elves? Dragons? Ancients?”

  “I'm not sure”, said Goatha. “I was a bit distracted. Something about The Black Hole.”

  “Ah”, said Moss. “All Hell breaking loose.” He flapped his cape out and then tied it around his neck. “Another day's work.”

  Goatha nodded. “I'll head to the Palace. You head to the Academy. Let's see how long it takes them to work out we're both on duty.”

  Moss grinned. “I like how you think.”