Dirge of the Dead

by Reed Logan Westgate

  “Payment for the riverman,” Xlina pulled away from Penny excitedly, “Styx, this is how he summons the hearse!”

  “Tis no hearse,” Penny explained, “Long has there existed the riverman Kharon, ferrying those between the shores of this world and the others. The vessel takes the form of its master.”

  “This is how we do it, this is how we find the Pair Dadeni... This is how we bring Amber back.”

  “Master Oxivius,” Burglecut merely shook his head in wonder.

  “I must see to this,” Xlina smirked, holding the bag to her heart, “Thank you, for everything my dear friends.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Druid of Morrigu

  Xlina rushed down the brick walks leading back to New Pandora’s. Her simple trip to the Heart’s Hearth had turned into an encounter with the faithful, exactly what Valeria had cautioned her to avoid. The hour was growing late with nearly half the night gone by the time she had left the Hearth. The moon hung in a clear sky, providing ample light as she crossed the empty streets of Portland. The salty brine of the harbor was heavy in the night air, signaling the tide was out. While she sometimes missed the hustle and bustle of the big city, Portland held a charm to it that was slowly working its way into her heart. She may have been born in Massachusetts, but Portland, Maine, was becoming her home.

  “Late night,” a voice cut through the night, echoing in the tiny alley she had taken. She had let her guard down, had allowed her mind to wander. She peered into the darkness expecting a foul creature of the night, something from Otherworld or the infernal plane, but emerging from behind the dumpster of a run-down takeout restaurant was just a man. His Caucasian skin was barely visible through the dirt and grime on his face as he flashed a smile, revealing a mouth full of unkept yellowed teeth. A knife gleamed in his hand and if she had to wager a bet, she would guess the knife was the cleanest thing on the vagabond.

  “Rough night?” Xlina paused, placing her hands on her hips casually. She was itching to punch someone. To tear into something with all her rage and this fool was a prime target. His filthy demeanor, preying on the innocent, here was a target that deserved her wrath.

  “Rough life.” he moved into the open and she could clearly see his tattered clothes. A green army jacket tattered and unwashed covered a dingy brown shirt. The sleeves of the jacket were rolled up to the elbow. She saw it then. The track lines up the inner arm, a clear sign of the insidious addiction that had infiltrated the city. While she battled demons of the infernal plane, the inhabitants of the city battled demons of their own. “Money. Wallet. Fast”

  “I don’t think so,” Xlina retreated a step. The desire to punch something fading as she looked on the no doubt homeless fellow. “The caterpillar’s struggles do not differ from the King’s.”

  The man swiped his knife threateningly, but she was clear from contact range. The memory of her conversation with the old man Weh in front of the cathedral earlier this very night haunted her thoughts. She could exert her nightmare magic, light her fists with raw nightmare energy, and dispatch her assailant easily. He had no doubt victimized others; he had no doubt done terrible things; he deserved it, didn’t he? Then again, she had done terrible things, had she not? According to Tamera, the druids were coming to kill her in the same manner. Because she deserved it, after all. She had done terrible things.

  “I’ll hurt you,” the man stalked closer, brandishing the knife menacingly.

  “No,” Xlina replied, reaching deep into her nightmare magic, “No you won’t.”

  Her eyes dimmed as she focused on her energy. Instead of pushing it out through her fists, she reached out with empathy. Magic was about intent. Life was about intent. She felt the nightmare energy in her as her brown eyes flared purple with her magic. Wisps of violet smoke trailed up from the corner of her eyes as she pushed her magic out. The man simply froze, his eyes locked with hers as the mist filled the alley.

  She pushed her magic from her eyes to his, unsure of what she was doing but resolute that there had to be a better way than bludgeoning the man senseless. She felt his fears; they lingered on the surface of his thoughts. Xlina was a Baku. She fed on the nightmares of others. What if one’s existence had become their nightmare? What if a person, so devoid of hope, was overcome, was trapped within their own nightmare?

  Purple nightmare energy spilled from her eyes like a haze floating in the air, forming a cloud of dream magic that enveloped the man’s head. His jaw went slack, and his shoulders fell. The knife tumbled from his hand and clanged on the pavement clumsily. She could see it tangibly in his mind. His fears, dying alone in an alley much like this. A needle in his arm. His... children standing over him. Identifying him to a man in blue before a bag zipped closed over his face. A truly human nightmare. She felt his shame, his loneliness. The desperation that drove him back to his addiction. She extended a hand, placing it delicately on his cheek, and allowed her magic to flow through her. Unlike the violent torrents, the blasting explosions, it came to her call like a gentle tide. Like the waves on the harbor bringing in the sea’s bounty.

  The magic coiled and rolled over the man. She could feel his despair, overwhelming. His fears weighed heavily, dominating his thoughts. But she was Baku. She was the monster of legend that fed on hopes and dreams. She could smell it. Could sense it. Buried deep under all the pain, a glimmer. A hope. A dream.

  She pushed her magic forward, allowing it to envelope the man fully. Xlina consumed his fear, feasting on the nightmare and clearing it away. The more she consumed, the brighter the glimmer grew. It was tangible just beyond her reach, and she desperately yearned for it. Her mind went slack, allowing instinct to guide her in this newfound application of her power. Her mind conjured images. Moments of her life. Amber. She could see her face, feel her warmth. She remembered the gentle brush of Amber’s lips on hers. The way her heart lit up. Confused. Afraid. Her feelings a jumbled mess as the girl kissed her in her room back at the hearth. It was her hopes; her dreams. Dreams of a normal life, dreams of loving without hurting those around her. That was the hope that lived deep in her heart, and she clung to its warmth like a blanket in the cold.

  ‘It’s what makes us human,’ Amber’s voice sounded in her head. ‘It’s easy to get lost in power. It’s even easier to forget how you are treating the people you happen to be stepping on to get that power.’

  The words echoed in her thoughts the night they had moved into Heart’s Hearth. They had laid on her bed and just talked, like normal people. In that moment, she was not the Baku. Was not an awakened. She was just a girl. Xlina held that feeling, the moment in her mind, and fell into her magic.

  The man’s hope glimmered like a jewel in her thoughts as she cleaned away the nightmares and pain like a sculptor removing the stone to show the statue below. Tears fell from his eyes, tears of hope. The thought grew, and she felt her magic coil around it. She could see it clearly. The man in clean clothes dropped to one knee as a child ran, arms spread wide into his arms. There was no failure, no shame, and no addiction. There was only hope. Xlina waded carefully. Legends of the Baku included the stealing of such dreams and desires. Her magic coiled around the glimmer of hope in his mind, and she reached out with her own hopes. The glimmer grew, shining every brighter as the image became clearer in her mind. She continued to brush away the nightmares, consuming them and turning their energy back on the man’s hope, fueling it. Defining it. The image of the man holding his daughter became clearer. He smiled warmly, lifting her into an embrace and spinning. The Park expanded in her mind until she could see not just the silhouette of the man but the swings and the sandboxes too. Then the buildings at the edge. She didn’t stop. She pushed further, seeing his son at the walk, hand in hand with a woman who smiled excitedly and waved before running to him. He wrapped them all in a hug. The sun hung in a blue sky and the sounds of the city filled her senses around them.

  What had been a mere glimmer of light now extended before her in all its panoramic g
lory. She saw the life he had hoped for. The life he dreamed of before things went awry. Before he chose the wrong path. Tears of joy streaked down his face and gone were the nightmares of his existence. In that moment, her attacker in the alley saw what he hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Hope. He fell to his knees, face wet with tears as her magic dwindled. His hands raised to cup her hand on his face as he sobbed.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed through tears.

  “I know.” Xlina placed her free hand on his shoulder as he held her hand to his face. “It’s still there. You can get help. It is not too late.”

  “Are you an angel?” he looked up hopefully into her eyes.

  “No,” she pulled away, retreating a step, “I’m... just a human.”

  “Not like any I have ever seen,” his words were soft and came on hushed breath.

  “Suppose not,” she smiled and bent low, retrieving the knife and tossing it casually into the dumpster.

  “I would have killed you,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “And I would have killed you too,” Xlina shrugged with a smile, “Not so different are the troubles of peasants and Kings.”

  The man nodded, still dumbstruck, as he turned and retreated down the alley. She knew he would find help, that he would venture into one of the city’s many counseling centers and seek treatment. She did not know what he would say to the counselors about the night in the alley, if anything at all. They would probably just discount his tale as another drug induced delirium. It mattered not, for he now saw his dream clearly. Once more, he could see hope lighting his path. Deep down she knew he would be alright.

  She turned back and rushed to the entrance of New Pandora’s. A sense of pride beamed inside her as she digested this new ability. She had never wielded her magic like that before. She had always been told by her father and those awakened around her that her powers were destructive. That they left nothing but misery in her wake. If they were wrong about that. If she could indeed harness her nightmare magic in other ways. What else could they be wrong about?

  She reached the door to the club without further issue as her mind tumbled through the new possibilities. She felt drained. Her magic reserves had been depleted in the fight with the faithful and the nightmare energy she had consumed from the mugger she had funneled back into him. She was exhausted, and the hour grew late, but as she pushed through the door to the club, finding a lively party scene. The music thrummed in her chest as the crowded club seethed with youthful energy. People danced in throngs on the floor, grinding and churning with the techno beat. Customers lined the bar where Ivanka stood shouting order to servers and bartenders alike.

  She waded into the club, weaving between dancing patrons and servers, finding her way to the back. The crowd was an assortment of young and horny college students mingling and mixing about. The dancing growing lewder as the night drew on. She fended off multiple hands as she worked her way past the dance floor, eager to get to the door leading to the living quarters below.

  “Look at this oinker,” a voice cut above the crowd. She turned to see a throng of collegiate athletes in lettered jackets pushing a short stocky man to the ground.

  The man tumbled awkwardly, only a few inches over five feet at best with a beer belly he was neither graceful nor intimidating. Xlina looked over to Ivanka behind the bar, who only smiled wickedly in return. The husky man collided with the floor in a chaotic mess of tangled limbs as he rolled into other patrons on the dance floor, bringing a round of raucous laughter from the onlookers.

  “Come on Chubbs,” a well-built athlete called as he poured a beer over the unfortunate man on the floor. The beer splashed over the stocky man’s flannel shirt. He placed his hands on the floor firmly and pushed his way to his feet. His hands trembled and shook. Xlina caught sight of a tattoo on his forearm of a raven in flight holding a black scythe in its talons. She looked back at the jocks, who were laughing and pointing.

  “Leave him be,” Xlina closed in and offered the downed man a hand.

  “Come now,” the head jock flung his arms out to the side innocently. “We are just having some fun. Nobody is getting hurt.”

  Xlina turned a steely gaze on the jock and a moment of recognition flashed in her mind. His name was Scott. He was the stud that had drugged Amber in the nightclub last fall. She had rescued him from the Cephalopod only to leave him in the alley clutching his manhood after a swift kick. She snarled a look of disgust.

  “Back off.” Xlina pulled the stout man to his feet, his bearded smile greeting her warmly.

  “Settle down girl,” Scott patted his hands in the air softly, “Paul Bunyan, there will be just fine. A couple more push-ups from the floor won’t exactly be hurting him.”

  “Scott wasn’t it,” Xlina replied, drawing close to the jock, her arms wide and welcoming.

  “Do I know you?” He looked about his crowd of friends with a shrug. “Break your heart babe?”

  “Amber says hello.” she moved tantalizingly close to the jock as he eyed her lewdly with a wide smile, drawing hoots and hollers from his pals. Her face even with his, she stopped just short so he could feel her breath on his lips. He froze for a second, closing his eyes and moving to kiss her. She could smell the beer on his breath mixed with his heavy cologne. As he inched forward, she lifted her knee with all her strength, finding his groin with ease. His eyes flung wide as his pouted, kissing lips turned to an exhaling blast of air. His hand immediately covered his groin as he staggered back. Drawing hoots from his buddies as they teased him viciously.

  “Crash and burn dude,” another of the athletes chimed in, drawing laughs from all around. Xlina turned back to the stout man and offered an arm. With a wide smile, he graciously accepted, and she led him away through the crowd. He was much shorter than her at only five foot five. They looked an odd pair as she wound her way through the crowd to the back of the club.

  “Thanks,” he finally stuttered awkwardly as they sat at a booth in the back.

  “Not needed,” she looked cautiously back, noting Scott still holding himself and receiving many cheers from his comrades. “I am not a fan of bullies.”

  “The gesture was friendly.” He gathered up his flannel shirt and twisted it over the table, squeezing the beer from the damp material.

  “You’re not exactly dressed for the club scene,” Xlina eyed the curious fellow. He didn’t seem as flustered as she would have expected as he fiddled with his shirt and cast a sad look at the beer dribbling on the table and pooling. It filled his green eyes with sadness.

  “A shame,” he shook his head unapprovingly. “And waste of an excellent brew.”

  “This is no place for a gentle soul,” Xlina leaned forward, looking at the distraught fellow. Below the flannel shirt, he wore a gray t-shirt that was similarly soaked with beer. From his neck hung a silver medallion bearing the Dara Knot. A Celtic symbol of interwoven designs, the Dara Knot had no beginning and no end. It symbolized the root system of the oak. Both her brother and father wore a medallion just like it.

  “I suppose not.” he looked up, misreading her intent gaze and his cheeks flushed. “My name is Owen, Owen Murphy.”

  “Owen, a pleasure to meet you,” she leaned back in the booth and smiled warmly. “Such a mild-mannered soul in a raucous club like this. It’s like you stumbled in from a monastery.”

  “Pretty close,” he chuckled bashfully, looking down at the table. He was painfully awkward in his interactions.

  “What brings you to New Pandora’s?” she pressed, sliding her leather jacket off to reveal her crisscross halter top. He shifted uncomfortably and averted his gaze instead, looking out to the patrons of the club.

  “Just exploring the city,” he mumbled awkwardly, doing his best to avoid making eye contact.

  “What brings a Druid to Portland,” Xlina dropped the smile for a serious glare. Her words smacked Owen, drawing his gaze to hers.

  “How did you?”

  “I didn’t until just n
ow. I suspected based on the Dara Knot, but the uncomfortable way you handle yourself around women. It reeks of an up bringing in the Order.”

  “I could just be bashful,” Owen settled into the booth and eyed Xlina cautiously.

  “Perhaps,” Xlina nodded, gesturing to the club. “But I was warned of druids this very night. A stunning set of coincidences.”

  “Warned... who are you?”

  “I’m the great evil you’re here to extinguish, Owen,” Xlina leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. “Are you going to kill me here or do you want to go out back?”

  “I’m only here to kill a demon.” Owen shook his head dismissively. “Wait, you’re not a demon, are you?”

  “No, I am not,” Xlina looked back to the bar, noting her suspicions about Ivanka, and then returned to gaze into the emerald eyes of the Druid Owen. “Though if you’re looking to kill demons Portland is the right place.”

  “Why do you suppose I am here to kill you, then?” Owen’s voice raised an octave as he stroked his reddish beard.

  “Because I am marked Owen. Because a demon tricked me into servitude. Most of all because the Order lacks empathy seeing every problem as a nail and every solution as a hammer.”

  “You want to die?” Owen’s hand grazed his tattoo, rubbing it like an itch.

  “I want to live, Owen,” Xlina corrected firmly. “Ideally live in peace, but we awakened don’t have that luxury, do we?”

  “I’m not here to kill humans,” Owen shook his head dismissively, “I don’t care what you been warned of.”

  “Well then, my dear Owen,” she smiled, extending a hand warmly, “The name is Xlina, Xlina Dar’Karrow.”

  “By Morrigan’s ghost,” Owen’s face blanched, and he looked away sheepishly. “Your Arrivan’s sister.”