by Norris Black
"For both our sakes I'm going to pretend I understood that."
"It's not important. What is important is Garm is one of the rare breeds of creature that can pass back and forth between the two places of existence. He'll take you from here, travel along the wyrd, and exit where it intersects with Jack's safehouse. Given your recent experiences, it's the safest way."
"I think you and I have vast differences of opinion on what the word safe means."
"Do you have any better ideas?"
I didn't. Between the ambush at the club and the attack in the alleyway I was currently zero for two in avoiding nightmarish situations I barely survive through.
With a great deal of trepidation, and a couple of pushes from Mara, I managed to clamber up on the monstrous wolf's broad back, grabbing two handfuls of wiry fur to steady myself. The tails of my longcoat laid flat against Garm's hips like it was some sort of cape. I felt ridiculous.
"I feel ridiculous," I said. Some thoughts need to be shared out loud. "To be absolutely clear, I am about to ride a giant wolf through some freaky transdimensional hellscape. This is actually happening."
"It's not a transdimensional hellscape," she said. "Well, I suppose it kind of is in spots, but you'll be perfectly safe as long as you don't let go."
"There's that word again, safe. Wait, what happens if I let—"
I never had a chance to finish the sentence as Garm exploded into motion and all my attention was focused on not flying off. I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but the wolf running full tilt at the corner of the room hadn't made the list. Closing my eyes, I braced for an impact that never came. An intense cold wrapped me in a momentary embrace before being replaced by a humid heat, the air so heavy it felt like a blanket had been laid over me.
I opened my eyes and gazed out on the wyrd.
In my mind I had been expecting some blasted landscape, maybe crisscrossed with streams of blazing lava while winged daemons flit to and fro. What I got was well… not that.
We raced through a primordial forest with tree trunks as big as buildings whizzing by on either side. Far above, a green canopy blotted out the sky, casting the world in dappled shadow. I almost lost my seat as Garm veered to the side to avoid a massive, moss-covered boulder blocking the path. Clods of dirt flew up from his churning paws as he straightened and surged forward once again. Remembering Mara's warning about not falling off I held on tighter and scanned the surrounding forest but saw nothing. No birds, no squirrels, nothing. It was only the two of us.
"Three of us," corrected Parakas. As before, the daemon’s voice sounded right in my ear despite the revolver housing him being secreted away in an inner pocket of my coat. "Though technically that's also not accurate. There are a lot more than the three of us out here."
Garm growled, a deep rumbling in his chest that thrummed through my entire body, but he neither slowed nor changed course.
"What exactly do you mean by more?" I whispered the words, not wanting to upset Garm any more than I had to.
"My brethren. I can feel them out there, all around, keeping pace."
It was hard not to immediately swivel my head around wildly in an attempt to spot these mysterious daemons Parakas was talking about, but I resisted. Maintaining my hold on Garm's fur was taking all my concentration.
"I wouldn't worry too much. These are scavengers, driven by hunger but not brave enough to tackle even a lone wulfen."
I caught multiple movements out of the corner of my eye but as soon as I tried to focus on one it would disappear like a mirage. I knew they were there though, things scurrying among the trees, pacing us on either side.
Up ahead thick, ropy vines were strung crisscross across the width of the path. Garm picked up speed and leaped through them, tearing them apart like wet paper. Flattening myself on the beast's back, I held on as best I could to keep from being swept off.
Parakas chucked. "I could've told them that wasn't going to work." A few moments later the movements at the edge of my vision ceased. Whatever had been pursuing us had given up.
"How exactly can you talk to me? I thought I had to be making physical contact for us to communicate." It wasn't an important question, but at the moment I needed a distraction.
"In your world that's true, but this is my world. The rules are different here."
The wolf dashed through a shallow stream before leaping over a fallen limb the thickness of a medium-sized car and I began to settle into his rhythm.
"So, this is where you're from?" I asked.
"It's where all things are from, initially. This is the first world, the world that never was."
"Look, if you don't start making sense I'm going to pitch you over the side and let you figure out how you're going to genie yourself out of that gunpowder bottle you're in."
"There's no need for threats," hissed Parakas. "We're all friends here."
Grunting in reply I felt an agreeing growl from Garm.
A clearing appeared and Garm broke from the forest into a meadow filled to bursting with wildflowers of every hue imaginable, and a few never imagined by the likes of man. At the far end sat a tall throne, close to twenty feet in height and fashioned from brambles and vines. Atop its seat sat an ancient figure dressed in a flowing robe fashioned from yellow sunflowers. Across the man's knees rested a staff of gnarled root and floating a foot or so above his brow was a crown made of beaten gold. He smiled a kindly smile, raising one hand in greeting, as we rushed past and plunged back into the forest.
Parakas hissed, a viper warning away a threat.
"An old friend I take it?"
There was no response from the daemon gun, but I knew a good sulk when I saw one.
My breath was taken away as the old-growth forest gave way to a never-ending sea of white sand.
There was no transition. One moment we were surrounded by soaring wood behemoths and the next a stark white plain stretched to every horizon. Of the forest, there was no sign. The humid heat that had me sweating through my clothes was replaced by a scorching dry one.
I wouldn't call it an improvement.
Something moved in the distance, its shape hazy and indistinct but massive. Shoulders the size of mountains brushed the sky and long, tentacle-like appendages thrashed at the ground all around it, stirring up a great cloud of dust hiding the lower half of its body from view. Garm changed course again, thankfully in the opposite direction of the towering figure.
"You called this the world that never was. What in the hells is that supposed to mean?"
"These are the places that were imagined but never fashioned, creations laying stillborn in the dreams of a god. He formed us in his thoughts, but never cast us out into the real, never empowered us with his Will. When He fell from the heavens we remained. Even the dreams of a dead god have potency."
"Trust me, the real world is over-rated. Crash City isn't exactly anybody's idea of good living."
Parakas cackled. "'Oh, if you only knew how foolish you sounded. 'The real world' indeed."
I had lost all appetite for the conversation and the daemon didn't seem inclined to add anything further.
The glaring white plains were replaced again, this time by a festering swamp. Stagnant water splashed as Garm powered through, mud threatening to pull us down at every step. Something long and sinuous moved below the surface nearby and I pulled my legs up onto Garm's back as best I could. Up ahead was a willow tree, old and twisted with age. The gnarled wood stood proud of the surrounding reeds, resting on a raised mound with exposed roots reaching down in a tangle to the life-giving waters below. The wolf angled towards a gap in the roots and re-doubled his pace.
I couldn’t say how I knew, but I was certain this was our destination, our exit back into the real world. The strange, shifting landscape of the wyrd wasn't going to be missed one bit and, as much as I wasn't super thrilled about being at the whim of a maniac like Happy Jack, the truth was nobody had a handle on the dark side of the city like Jack did. If
I had any chance of figuring out what the hells was going on, that chance was with the temperamental Wardlord.
I was looking forward to finally getting ahead of this thing.
Garm hit the root tangle at speed and darkness swallowed us. Again, I felt an intense cold as we passed between places. A yell of triumph burst from my mouth as the wolf's paws struck asphalt and my world was once again illuminated by the familiar bluish tinge of streetlamps.
The cheer died in my throat as Garm skidded to a stop and I realized those lights were reflecting off the drawn swords of more than a dozen Seraph soldiers.
Chapter 11
"Ooff..." The air left my lungs in a rush as a fist the size of a small ham crashed into my ribs.
"Your mother sucks co— argh!" A second punch slammed into me before I could finish the retort. The owner of the unnecessarily large fist made sure to hit the exact same spot, a spot already tender from the many blows that had come before it. Instinctively, I tried to curl up to defend myself but there's only so much you can do when you're hanging by the wrists like some sad, naked pinata.
I'm not sure how long I'd been locked up in the bowels of the Seraph's fortress headquarters. Time ceases to have any real meaning after days of not seeing sun nor moon. Not to mention being pulled from whatever fitful slumber I might've been able to scrape together every few hours to be dragged from one musty cell to a completely different musty cell—this one outfitted with manacles and chains bolted high up on the wall. At some point your internal clock just kind of shits the bed.
These little excursions also had the added woe of little old me being battered to a pulp by one of the most humorless bastards I've ever had the misfortune to get beat up by. Ostensibly these sessions were for questioning, but my jailer seemed more interested in getting a vigorous workout than he was in gathering any actual information.
The individual who had been meting out all the violence was more toad than man. He looked like someone had taken a regular human being and just squished him down a foot or two. A broad, flat face sat atop heavy shoulders, any neck he may have once claimed long ago leaving the field of play. A barrel chest and protruding gut stretched the leather apron he was wearing to nearly bursting. He had never given me his name, but I had taken to calling him Dogfucker. Partially it was because he looked the type to enjoy a little forbidden lust between man and beast, but mostly it was because I had used the insult on him during one of the earliest sessions and the level of fury the accusation triggered made me think I had touched a nerve. The toad was protesting a little too much, I think.
Panting, I tried to regain my breath, the sharp pain in my side fading to an only marginally less painful throb.
"So... I have to... ask. How do you keep them... from biting you? Do you drug them first... or... are... are you a muzzle kind of guy?"
This time the fist caught me full in the face, snapping my head back and—to add injury to injury—smashing the back of my head off the rock wall behind me. I swallowed blood, and what may have been one of my teeth.
Sweat covered the jailer's bald head in a sickly sheen as he glared at me, red-faced and furious.
"You better start answering some questions," he said through clenched teeth.
"Absolutely," I wheezed. "Any chance of you asking one?"
The jailer's face deepened to a dark crimson. I guess he forgot he hadn't actually asked any questions yet, just walked into the tiny cell and started laying into me like I was a sexy terrier and the bar had just closed. I could almost see the poor hamster manically scrabbling on its wheel as the brute tried to remember one of the questions he was supposed to be asking.
"The abomination that was with you when you were arrested, the one that got away, what was it and where did it go?"
"O ho! Of course, you'd want to know about that. I guess it would be considered a rare conquest for you. I can already see you getting all stiff at the very thought of it." It was almost worth the pain from shattered lips and bruised ribs to see his look of satisfaction at remembering what question to ask change to a mask of pure, murderous rage.
I never saw the next punch. One moment I was wearing a blood-drenched grin and the next I was waking up, laid out on the hard cot of my own cell.
The lightless cells beneath the Seraph's keep were small. A taller man wouldn't have been able to stretch out without hitting a wall no matter which direction they faced. The cot I lay on was made of rough wood and topped with a straw-filled mattress that stank of mildew. The only other furnishings in the room were a small pail half-full of water and a second bucket used for eliminating into. The buckets were the same size, so I had gotten into the habit of being extra sure I had the correct one anytime I went to get a drink.
My father spent his last days in a cell similar to this one, a victim of his own vices and the family tradition of bad luck. I was still a child when word came that he would never be coming home, and I had long ago buried any feelings I had about that under a lifetime of bad decisions of my own. But stuck down here in the dark with nothing for company but my own thoughts, I was surprised to find those old feelings unearthed from a grave much shallower than I would've thought. They came with shocking suddenness. The rage that the Seraph had taken him away from me, and the relief I would no longer have to endure the violence which always accompanied his all too frequent drunken episodes. Above it all, was the fear. The fear that I was left to make my way in a world that seemed to hate me, that wanted to drag me down and devour me like it had so many others.
For all his faults my father did his best to prepare me for that world, and I had vowed to travel a different path than him. I stared into the blackness of the cell. So much for that idea. Maybe the only apples that fall from withered trees are the rotten kind.
I massaged my wrists where the steel manacles had turned them bloody and raw. To distract from the sudden dreary turn of my thoughts, I played back what had happened after my harrowing journey through the wyrd. We had come out of that strange and terrible place to land smack dab in the middle of a Seraph raid on Happy Jack's hideout.
Frying pans and fires.
Garm had slammed into the line of Seraph soldiers, scattering them and, to my grand misfortune, me as well. I slid off the wolf's back as he skidded sideways, hitting the ground hard and rolling over and over until I fetched up against the tire of a parked car. I didn't see much of what happened next as my vision was suddenly obscured by the bootsoles of a half-dozen soldiers descending on me with considerable enthusiasm. Apparently covering your head with your arms while screaming 'please stop kicking me' repeatedly is considered resisting arrest.
I managed to piece most of it together later from overheard conversations as the Seraph carted me away. Garm had tried to get back to me but, faced by so many flailing swords he was forced to retreat. Likely back into the wyrd and hopefully back to Mara to report on what had gone down. I didn’t know if there was much even someone of her abilities could do, but I took comfort, slight as it was, in knowing someone out there knew where I was.
Ever since then I had been stuck in this closet of a cell. The only times I'd been out of it was for my regularly scheduled beatings.
I squinted as the heavy iron-bound door squeaked open, the harsh lights from the hallway performing a frontal assault on my retinas. Was it time for another questioning already? Had I been unconscious that long?
"Gideon?"
It took me a moment to place the voice.
"Dagda?" I would've said it was a relief to hear a friendly voice, but Dagda's tone was far from friendly.
She didn't move from her place in the doorway as I propped myself up on my elbows to get a clearer view. I couldn't make out the expression on her face, but the rigid stance of her silhouette radiated tension.
"I don't suppose you could get me out of here, could you? Maybe squirrel me out a back door when no one's looking? I mean, I appreciate you folks giving me a place to lay my head and all, but house service is a little too free
with their fists and the neighbors squeak all night and steal my bread."
"How dare you." The words came out in a hiss.
Inwardly I groaned. It had been a long shot but there was a part of me that, despite my best efforts, had gotten hopes up that salvation was at hand. Still though, I wasn't anticipating the level of obvious hostility in the Seraph's refusal.
"You'll need to narrow that down a bit. I've dared a lot of things. Is it my current wardrobe?" I asked, plucking at the threadbare and ragged pullover robe that was the only piece of clothing I was provided to wear outside of questioning sessions. I'm pretty certain it began life as a potato sack before some enterprising individual with a pair of scissors turned it into dungeon high fashion. "I can't take credit for it, I think Dogfucker picked it out."
"Dogfu—" She broke off. "What the hells are you talking about?"
"Short fellow, big hands, no neck, fucks dogs? Have you not met? Give it a couple hours and I'm sure he'll be around."
"I'm not playing this game with you. My squad mates were slaughtered in the street." The anger in her voice was palpable.
"Now, hey wait, that wasn't my fault. I was minding my own business when those things came at us."
"Even now you lie? The audacity!" Outrage rang in her voice, increasing with every word. "I know the truth. They told me how you appeared out of nowhere, riding a daemonic hellbeast. How you attacked those brave soldiers who were simply fulfilling their duties. You were the one who called those abominations forth, weren't you? You, who pretended to be an ally while snickering behind your hands as my comrades spilled their life out on the ground. You will know justice if it is the last thing you ever know."
Her accusations stunned me into silence. At least now I understood the source of her wrath. She thought I was some monster-summoning wych who had ambushed her squad and then manipulated and lied to her. I could’ve tried to explain, as best one could explain how one ends up on the back of a giant teleporting wolf I guess. I could've pointed out if I was responsible for the alley ambush, why would I have spared her? Why would I have bound her wounds and carried her all night through the city to a place she could be tended and then let her leave? All were reasonable arguments I could have made, but all those burned to cinders as the embers of my own anger flared.
