by S J Doran
“I don’t need more, I need less,” he began softly, “I have to find a way to be with her, without destroying the worlds as we know them.”
She hung her head. “There is no way. Not yet.”
He snarled and snatched his hand away. “There has to be. She is… essential.”
“Son, if I knew of a way, I would give it to you, freely.” A tear sparkled under her eye, then trailed down to her chin. “It wasn’t meant to come to this. We each made our move, none of us realized…”
“That your pawns would have feelings?”
“What the other was doing.” She glared at him for his interruption. “I gave everything I could to you. To keep you safe.”
“Everything but yourself. You left me to be raised by that monster.” He jumped to his feet. “You created me to be your stand-in for whatever divine power play you and your fellow fading gods lined up. I’m not a fucking martyr. I take what I want.” He growled. “And I want her.”
“You’d destroy creation for her? Burn your home, kill your Herald?”
He looked down at her and let out a dry chuckle. “Balance, mother. I will have her and keep my realms and my Herald. I won’t settle for anything less.”
She shook her head sadly. “You’re so very much like your grandmother, you don’t even know.”
He smiled coldly. “I won’t ever know. Because I was denied my family.”
“I didn’t abandon you.” She stood and balled up her hands into fists at her sides. “I gave you all I could. Did all I could before I faded. I’ve mourned your loss, I’ve planned on how this very conversation would go for centuries…”
“Sorry to ruin your script,” he said with a shrug.
She hissed low and grabbed his arm, “I just need to know you will heed my warning. Finding the Ruby Rod won’t help you.”
“I’m sure you will rest easy knowing that I’ve been warned about the dangers of grasping for too much power, but I really must run along. I’ll say hi to my father for you next time I set eyes on him. Right before I kill him.” He backed away from her, looking her up and down, committing her to memory, because this was the last time he’d ever seek her out.
He spun without a word, picking up his war helm with more care than necessary, trying to process. He needed to find Mara. Someone who could understand. He walked along the wall and began searching every inch for a way out, ignoring her presence, when the room faded around him, the cave walls once again visible.
Great. And he was still lost.
The playful blue light was back, flickering at the entrance, now his exit, seeing no other choice, he followed where it was leading. Out. Away from her and the past he wasn’t ready to face.
Bones, dust and demons
The underworlds were uncharted, ever-shifting territories, and none more so than the wandering lands of Kur. The lack of landmarks ensuring this realm remained particularly treacherous to navigate. Only dust and rocks. Without the sun, moon or stars to serve for a point of reference — the effect was disorienting.
With a compass in hand, she opened her senses, centering them, focusing them on finding an imprint of divine energy. But she couldn’t hold the faint impression that appeared. It was fading as fast as she locked on.
Rather than give into first instinct of panic, she forced herself to calm. To observe rather than react. A damned challenge when all she could do was worry for the demon.
Please be okay
Using dust and compass to mark the direction of each energy flare, she mapped her location as best she could, a faint smile curling the corner of her lips when a pattern slowly began to reveal itself. When assured it was the same pattern repeating over and over again, she resigned to the fact she had no other alternative and followed it into the wandering lands.
It wasn’t too long before she found herself amidst the condemned spirits of Kur. The tattered and dirty cloth of her cloak ensuring she fit right in. The air was filled with their despair, carrying the sound of their incoherent whispers and cries.
Head down, she kept her features and brown colored braids hidden beneath the oversized hood, the drab grey fabric easily blending with the bone dust that seemed to cover everything within Kur.
“I told you to not return here, Zagmi.”
“Ah, shit…”
She’d been so careful this time, she had to wonder what had betrayed her presence to this particular Galla demon.
“And you thought I’d listen? Truly Galla, I sometimes feel you don’t know me at all.”
Howling laughter pushed out a cloud of billowing dust from his mouth and nostrils. “Bring anything for an old friend?”
“I see no old friend here. You’ll recall having tossed me out on my ass last we met. I was bruised for days, I had to discover the use of a donut pillow. Do you even know what that is?”
An amused chuff answered her disgruntlement. “Sounds delicious. Zagmi here too long. You need stay in living realms, so Kur not fade.”
She’d argue the fact, except that the Galla was right. She’d been the one to explain this to him the very first time he’d caught her sneaking across the wandering lands. It was the only reason he’d not made her his dinner.
Alas, ever since then, the demon had taken it upon himself to chase her off, any time she’d ventured into the Underworlds. And had Amara not been who she was, he’d likely have succeeded. Anyone with some degree of common sense would find the Galla terrifying.
Their appetite for flesh was disconcerting, their bizarre appearance even more so. An elongated, serpentine body supported the torso and head of a bull, arms not tipped with hooves, but with the razor-sharp talons of an eagle. Towering over her at seven foot something, she hadn’t been eager to pick a fight with them.
She angrily shoved the sweet wine into his chest. “Have you found my sisters yet?”
Already his broad lips had closed around the leather mouth, muttering out words between loud gulps. “No. The fires were lit for them.” More loud chugging. “Crossed the veil already, I think”
“I need to know for certain...”
Her fingers moved to the crystal in her pocket, clutching it tightly.
“There is a more pressing matter.” She held up a second jug of sweet wine. The Galla tossed the drained jug aside before reaching for her latest offering. She quickly pulled it away. “I am looking for a demon, have you seen any Infernals here recently? Live ones I mean.”
“Why would them be here?” Yellow eyes squinted at her, before going wide. “You no bring him here...”
“Oh, I’m afraid I did.” She had to resist the urge to duck her head. It truly had been a risky plan. “We were separated as soon as we crossed the gates. Now stop avoiding my question.”
His head swiveled around a few times, Amara jumping back when those oversized talons swept out to snatch her last jug of wine. “Pretty creature fell from the sky. Looked scared.”
“You think that had something to do with the fact he was falling out of the sky, maybe?”
Dark gods, what if he’d been injured. Another gravely chuff. “Fell in bog, water ruin taste of meat.”
“Where is he?”
“Bog’s that way...”
Her heart dropped to her toes. “Wait, you left him in there?” She needed to get him back to the embankment immediately.
“Had bath five months ago.” The Galla sniffed himself for a moment, then graced her with a fangy smile. “Still clean.”
“Oh, for Hell’s sake!” Not wasting another second on the Galla, she set into a run.
Legs trembled and her sides cramped from strain by the time she finally caught sight of the dark waters of the bog, her pace faltering as rock turned to soggy peat beneath her boots.
“Cass!” She would draw wanderers this way with her shouts, but right now that was the least of her concerns. She had to find him. “CASS!”
The water’s dark surface was eerie still, the bog stagnant except for the occasional acrid smelling bu
bbles of gas popping up from its murky depths.
“Cassius? Cass, answer me!”
Tension rose with each second that passed, finally a rush of relief when she caught sight of his form floating amidst brackish water and rotted branches.
“CASS!” He was face down and unresponsive to her calls, his body weighed down by heavy armor and soaked cloak.
“Demon, hold on...”
Knowing the risk, but lacking hesitation she stepped into the water. As long as she didn’t actually drink the stuff, she should be safe from its effects, right?
She could feel water soak through the leather of her boots, wetting her skin. And knew she’d made a mistake. Still she kept moving forward. Neither time nor water would make a wanderer out of her today, she needed to save him.
“My name is Amara of Asurim, I am five hundred and thirty-one years of age, I’m a warlock. A Sarratum…”
She kept moving forward, with every small step her feet sunk deeper into the muck beneath, slowing her stride.
“My name is Amara of Asurim, I am five hundred thirty one years of age, I’m a…”
He was so far away still.
“My name is Amara, I’m five hundred… and something… I am a…”
What am I again?
GET OUT. The warning rang through her skull like a cathedral bell, overriding all thought as instinct sent her clamoring back onto the ridge of the bog. She discarded her cloak and tunic, her boots and leathers, anything soaked within that malevolent water.
“I am Amara of Asurim, I am five hundred and thirty one years of age…”
She didn’t stop until she was dry, shivering in nothing but her undergarments.
A heavy sob escaped her as she watched his figure continue to float helplessly within the bog. How long had he been in there, what damage would the water do to her demon.
“I am not leaving you here, you hear me? I’m getting you out!” Her voice rang over the cries and whispers of the wandering, which were growing louder as they approached.
Looking around in panic she could find nothing to help her make a bridge. Moving enough soil to reach him would be the work of years. They only had a few hours left.
Took a bath five months ago. Still clean.
The Galla! The demon had bathed in it, surely that meant he was immune to its effects. “I’ll be back Cass, I promise!”
Leaving behind her cloak, clothes, and boots, Mara picked up both bag and belt, then rushed back in the direction she’d come from. No longer disguised, she stood out like a beacon amongst the wandering, who slowly set into pursuit.
She didn’t care, getting the demon out of that water and back to the embankment was all that mattered.
“Ga...ll...a.”
She could hardly talk by the time she caught up to the demon, swallowing down bile when he looked up at her, a severed hand hanging loosely from the corner of his mouth. “That’s…” She let out a couple of hard breaths. “... disgusting.”
He ignored her and continued to chew his chosen dinner.
This was her chance. “How old was that corpse, anyway? You know, eating rotten meat is likely to give you a bad case of the runs.”
The demon’s eyes narrowed on her as he continued to chew. “Nasty water, not going.”
She’d seen, felt and smelled the bog, and really couldn’t argue his point. Damn it. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
The chewing stopped. “More wine?”
He’d already finished the two jugs she’d been carrying. Gold and jewels meant nothing to the Galla, and neither did vows nor magic. Food was the only thing the Galla responded to. She groaned with disappointment at the thought of losing her trophy.
“How about a fresh tongue?”
His eyes widened, just a fraction, enough to know she gained his interest.
“How fresh?”
“Cut it off an Infernal Prince myself only a few hours ago. A rare treat indeed. The tongue for the demon, and then we leave Kur. Deal?”
They’d made their way back to the bog in record time. The Galla’s serpentine body slithering along the rock and dust-covered landscape with ease. It proved just as efficient in water as he quickly moved through the murky surface, making his way over to her poor waterlogged demon.
“Careful with your talons, don’t cut him!”
“He look green... and stinks,” the gruff voice called out from the bog
Her stomach went queasy at the sight of his conscious form gently held within the Galla’s grip. “He’s drowned…”
She’d need to pump his stomach before taking him to Rasputin, get the water out of him. Surely the mad monk would know how to purge its effects.
When the Galla reached the edge of the bog to present her with his precious cargo, her knees buckled. That sense of relief she’d felt at having him safely out of the water vanishing as she pulled back the soaked hood and scarves.
“Ah, shit. You’ve got to be kidding me!”
She’d just squandered all her precious time and resources not on saving Cassius, but Levistus.
“My tongue.” The Galla was clearly disinterested at her outburst.
With a sigh of defeat, she untied the satchel from her belt before handing the small pouch to the eager Galla, grimacing as her trophy was devoured in one swift swallow, those yellow eyes of his closing in pleasure.
“Wouldn’t be so damned happy if you knew all the places that tongue has been,” she mumbled under her breath.
“You leave now, or more donut pillow for you,” was all the Galla said as he placed Levistus’s drowned form at her feet, before slithering back away into the darkness of Kur, scaring away approaching wanderers in the process.
There she stood, stranded in the underworld in her undergarments, left without anything of value to barter, and a waterlogged demon for a charge.
If she abandoned Levistus here, he would surely become dinner to the next Galla that came upon him. Though the thought was tempting, Cassius was sure to disapprove. Which meant she was stuck with the old goat.
“Very well, let’s get you fixed up.” She leaned her weight down as she forcefully pressed the heel of her hand into his stomach, repeating the action until black water stopped flowing from his mouth after each compression. The sight of it sickening enough to almost make her feel sympathy for him. Almost.
“Are all demons a pain in the ass, or only you royals?”
The foreign sound of giggling laughter caused her head to snap up in surprise, her eyes scanning for the source of that childlike titter. A woman was looking at her from across the other side of the bog, her form tall and proud despite the rags she wore. Another squeal of laughter revealing a small girl clinging to her skirts. They were both staring at her with eyes a luminous blue color. Wanderer's eyes.
Amara rose when the two figures approached, knowing she needed to flee from them, or risk being lured away from her task. Yet as they closed in, she found her feet rooted to the ground. She’d recognize that energy imprint anywhere. Had seared it into mind and heart during their very first meet. Impossible.
The woman stopped and knelt beside Levistus’s unconscious form. Her own knees gave out when the girl shyly moved to stand before her, her eyes downcast, her shoulders hunched as if expecting to be turned away, yet she stubbornly reached her hand out to her.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she took it. And was shocked to discover their touch corporeal, the girl’s small hand warm against her own as Mara’s fingers closed over it possessively. Not letting her go again.
A million questions swamped her mind, yet she found herself capable of asking only one as she pulled her discovered treasure close in her arms, her eyes locking with that of the woman who cradled Levistus.
“How is this possible?”
What little boys are made of
The light, instead of playfully darting about, stayed in place and grew as he got closer, in height, in density, in clarity. It had features. By the time he followed it
out of the cave, it was a little boy with a saucy smirk on his face.
“Well, come on then,” the apparition spoke, jerking Cass out of his melancholic musings. “You’re awful slow.”
He stopped walking altogether. “Wait. If you’re trying to lead me off so I get stuck here wandering, let me make it clear right now, I won’t be trapped here.”
The boy giggled, “I don’t think so, mister.” He walked back to Cass, his features becoming more clear. His hair was a mess of thick, dark, near-curls, his eyes glowed with the same blue light that encompassed him.
“You want to tell me where we’re going then?” He crouched down to eye level with the wayward spirit, a familiarity nagging at him.
“Sarratum is looking for you.” He put his hand in Cass’s. Confusion rocked him for a moment, then he closed his hand around the much smaller one and stood. “You got any chocolate?”
Cass laughed, the ache in his chest easing. “Chocolate, hey? I don’t have any with me. Don’t much care for it.” The boy gave him a look of utter betrayal. “You know what’s better than chocolate? Fresh peaches still warm from the sun. Or perfectly crisp green grapes…”
The boy made a disgusting noise that sounded like he was trying to cough up a hairball. “I always had to eat my vegetables cause Magister says they make me grow strong. But since I don’t got to grow no more…”
Oh. Shit. “You’re a warlock then?” He’d missed that he’d referred to Mara as Sarratum at first, only connecting the dots after he’d mentioned having a Magister.