Lying beside the dead soldier was another skeleton without a gas mask. Tiny footprints surrounded the bones.
The imp, he thought grimly.
The little bitch had beat him here. He’d have to hurry if he was going to win this race.
Filip Faix grabbed hold of the helmet and cracked the skull off its vertebrae. He lifted both mask and skull, shaking it a few times before the cranium dropped out. Drawing his knife, Filip Faix was ready to cut the part he needed from it when a rustle sounded nearby. He turned his sights to a pile of skeletons rising up before tumbling off the body of a large beast.
“Shit,” he cursed as the creature cocked its head from side to side.
The thing had no eyes and no nose. Filip Faix suspected the creature could neither see nor breathe. The fact that it breathed no air was likely the reason its ancestors had survived the asteroid. Or, perhaps it was a new kind of animal evolving on the planet.
The creature was twice the size of a horse, with the muscle mass of a gorilla. Its jaws were little more than bone with many hooked, shaped teeth lining it, some of which were broken. It had no hair anywhere on its pale, veiny body, only whiskers sticking out of its misshapen cranium. What Filip Faix first believed were hollowed-out horns curving like those of a ram all the way down past its callused knees were actually ears. It was how the monster had discovered him. The curious manner in which it swiveled its head indicated it didn’t know exactly where Filip Faix was, only that he was somewhere in the cave. The Trickster suspected it had heightened sensitivity that enabled it to feel the vibrations of a bird hopping along the ground ten miles off. As long as Filip Faix stayed perfectly still, the beast wouldn’t be able to home in on his location. However, time was not on his side. He couldn’t afford to wait for the creature to lose interest. Besides, it already had a good idea of his whereabouts, thanks to the ruckus he had created.
As the creature was tuning in on its prey’s whereabouts, the Trickster put on the gas mask helmet. It wobbled on him, for it was much larger than his own head. At least he could see just fine through the single bigger glass eyehole. He slowly brought out his knife and bolted through the chamber. The creature laid chase. It ran faster than Filip Faix expected, charging like a rhino, crushing bones into dust under its sheer weight. Before he knew it, the beast was at his heels.
He dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back. Using his razor-sharp blade, the Trickster sliced deeply into it, slitting its belly open as the thing raced over him. It kept going for a little while before stopping. Filip Faix gripped the knife tightly.
“Come on, you bastard,” he dared.
Adrenaline rushed through him, making him blood-thirsty. It had been ages since he fought like this.
The creature seemed about to charge once again. It took a step and then halted, letting out an agonizing wail just before its innards bottomed out from under it. Apparently, the cut across the stomach was deeper than Filip Faix first believed. The creature stumbled around a bit before falling sideways, moaning painfully.
“Damn,” Filip Faix said, approaching it.
The creature was dead before he reached it, yet the excitement was hardly at an end. There was movement within the belly, amidst the pile of intestines and the liver. Something was pushing against the lining of the beast’s stomach and stretching it like raw dough. Something the underground monster had recently eaten was trying to free itself. The thick lining kept the victim from clawing out. If the Trickster weren’t so curious, he’d have ignored it altogether. After all, there could be anything in that belly, such as another creature wanting to eat him. Whatever it was, he was confident he could handle it.
He slit the lining and a screech echoed loudly as the creature leaped from the stomach. When Filip Faix recovered from his shock, he tilted his chin up to the imp hanging from a stalactite. Stomach acid and other nasty stuff dripped off her. More goo was stuck in the moss and twigs of her body.
“You got yourself eaten?” he asked.
The imp vomited and wiped stomach acid from her eyes.
“Swallowed me whole, it did!” she said and then spat.
He pulled off the helmet and shook his head, tutting. “I wish I had known it was you. I would have left you in that beast.”
“You’re a real fucking prince,” she spat angrily, scanning the cave a moment.
She eyed something, leaped off the stalactite, and raced toward it.
“Why didn’t you just vanish?” he asked her when she had landed.
“I’m weak from traveling through space.”
He couldn’t argue with that. His own might had dwindled from the deep space journey. Coming to this place soon after passing through The Gate had greatly contributed to the decline of his strength.
She lifted a gas mask and used her long nails to claw a ball out from inside it.
“Got it! See ya!” she said, dropping the helmet and dashing over to the water.
“Hey!” he yelled, chasing after her.
He reached the water’s edge, put the gas mask on, and dove into the jelly liquid after her. He swam toward the surface and when he got there, he saw her scaling the wall of the pit. Filip Faix wished he had enough strength simply to fly up, but he was still very weak. Then it occurred to him that once the imp had climbed up out of the pit, she would need time to recover before returning to Earth.
After hours of climbing, he pulled himself over the edge and rested a while. Instead of fretting about the imp, who had darted off into the forest somewhere, he took off the gas mask and studied it. It was constructed of black metal. Age had eaten away the long vacuum hoses made from some sort of animal skin, leaving it in tatters. The glass eyepieces were red-tinted, a large one on the bottom and a smaller one directly above it, aligning it with the eyes of these extinct lifeforms. Above the second eyepiece was a marble-sized metal ball with a military symbol engraved on it.
He pulled his knife again and chiseled at the mask until the ball popped out. Filip Faix caught it in midair.
He had it! The last item on the list! And the moment he had regained his strength, he would head home and claim his prize.
Chapter Two
The Hounds are Hungry
Élie sat alone in the dark inside her hut. She had drawn the shades to block out all light and keep the darkness in. She had spent hours asking the spirits to help in the search for Joaquin. In the past three days, since the boy went missing, no one had found him. Ailani’s people and even the elves had had no luck. Taisia’s health had declined with her grief and worry. She cried daily, hurting and waiting for her son’s return and longing for her husband. Fearing that the stress would result in harm to her and the children she carried, Élie was willing to go so far as to keep Taisia tired and asleep most of the time. She’d rather it didn’t come down to that, but for the sake of the unborn, it needed to be done.
“What are you doing?” a voice came from out of the darkness.
Élie did not recognize the voice and assumed it was some curious disembodied soul who had become attracted to her energy.
“I’m searching for Joaquin,” she answered.
“Which Joaquin? I have met two others by that name.”
“My great-grandson. He has gone missing.”
“And none of your spirits have found him?”
“No.”
“And you cannot locate him?”
“No.”
“Then you’re not trying hard enough, Élie. Honestly, you would have such potential if only you would refine your senses. It isn’t too late.”
Élie opened her eyes to the darkness. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“The same as you. To destroy Freya.”
Élie gasped. “Mother of Craft?”
A soft light lit up the inside of the hut. A woman Élie had never seen before appeared.
“No. Not Mother of Craft. Not anymore. I am merely Orenda these days. There is no Mother of Craft . . . at present.”
Éli
e had expected Eilidh, the vessel Orenda was hibernating in. Then it occurred to her that she was gazing upon Orenda’s true form and listening to her actual voice.
Orenda appeared fairly young, although the signs of age were starting to show. Her hair was long and curly, her skin pale and luminous. She was dressed in a robe of red and blue velvet.
“I cannot stay, for if I’m outside my temporary chamber too long, I’m liable to lose the connection that binds me to Eilidh.”
“Why have you come to me personally, then? Why not use telepathy when I woke you?”
“I am allowing Eilidh to be with her children. She is tucking them in and telling them bedtime stories.”
“I see,” Élie mused. “Have you spoken to Pierce?”
“We had a chat. He understands and accepts what is expected of him, which is to allow Freya to lead him into the trap she has set for him. I have been able to locate Huld, who now lives as a psychic human named Diana Gabor. In her many years as a sorceress, she managed to gather a great deal of knowledge. I was right to send her to Pierce.”
“This is overwhelming,” Élie complained with a sniff. “I cannot possibly protect Pierce and work to tear down Freya’s own protection while, at the same time, trying to find my great-grandson.”
“Stop it,” Orenda commanded. “Quit being so weak!”
Élie was taken aback by her tone of voice. Never had she spoken to her like this.
“You’ve had all this time to build your strength after your abilities were restored to you, but instead, you chose to be lazy and hold tight to this stupid notion that you could convince Pierce to stay rather than face Freya. Perhaps you do not deserve to be Mother of Craft.”
“It’s hard!” Élie blurted out. She did all she could to hold back her tears. “How am I able to save everyone?”
“You’re not supposed to,” Orenda stated. “You’ll have to make a choice between two of the three. I have already explained to Pierce that his own protection will be gone. He understands the risk.”
“How can you say that? Pierce’s life is just as valuable.”
“What do you think he would want, Élie? His life over his son’s? Besides, it will shift too much focus off our plan. The days to come are going to be a trial for us both. We must combine our strength to pick apart Freya’s defenses. You’ll have to use your power, the same as I, to penetrate the shield over her. All I need is a crack to get to her.
“You can find the boy and help me fight her. You’re not using your gifts appropriately. You need to awaken your mind and open it fully. Abandon the common fear and confusion that has chained your abilities.”
Élie considered her. “What about my great-grandson?”
“If your spirits are unable to locate him and you can no longer feel his presence, then it means he is hidden.”
“Do you think Freya has him?”
“It sounds like it.”
Panic seized her throat and closed off her airflow. “Freya came to Joaquin in his dream. Pierce told me.”
“She did? What did she tell the boy?”
“That he needed to be brave and let his father go.”
Orenda laughed.
“What?” Élie demanded.
“That wasn’t Freya, silly. I visited him. It was helpful to have at least one other person not giving Pierce any flak about leaving.”
“I wish I was made aware of this sooner.”
“Does it matter? The boy is still missing. To bring him home, Élie, you must step up and claim your crown.”
* * *
The cool autumn air no longer chilled Pierce Landcross. His astonishment at everything he had learned when he’d followed the girl, Diana, out into the field, was too great a distraction.
The Teller of Forgotten Tales had removed his metal mask. His icy white, unblinking stare targeted Pierce. He had no evidence of a mouth, only a section below his nose with two small nostrils. Pierce saw all this in the light of the floating fires that surrounded the Teller.
After the shock of seeing the man’s strange face had subsided, Pierce swallowed thickly. “A djinn?”
“Yes,” the Teller of Forgotten Tales answered even though he had no mouth.
“Freya wants to create a bloody genie?”
“Genies are a fabrication derived from the djinn. The djinn are reckless and hold only disregard toward others, which causes them to be dangerous.”
“You don’t say,” Pierce whispered. “So, the three wishes bit isn’t real?”
“There is no limitation to their servitude to their masters. That’s why the djinn needed to be destroyed.”
“Destroyed?”
“Were you not listening, boy?” the Teller of Forgotten Tales asked, his voice frosty in the air.
Had learning so many unbelievable things damaged Pierce’s senses? The Teller of Forgotten Tales had just told him a story about the djinn, who once tried to stake their claim on the universe as its gods, angering the other deities who were ruling at the time. One of these djinn had murdered the Egyptian god, Bes, which prompted the frightened gods and goddesses to turn to a humble priest for help. The Priest tricked the djinn into disrespecting the deceased god, which in turn caused all the djinn’s imprisonment inside lamps built from parts of the dead god’s body. The gods and goddesses then claimed them as servants. The Priest understood that owning a being with unlimited power was extremely dangerous. He was left with a djinn slave of his own, and so he ordered it to kill all the other djinn before destroying itself.
And the djinn did just that.
“I was listening,” Pierce said defensively. “You mentioned rules about respecting fallen gods, but were there others put in place after the djinn were killed?”
Pierce wanted to know more, such as why Freya and her Trickster couldn’t come after him themselves.
“Before the djinn’s demise and their energies were spread throughout the world, the Priest already recognized that they would never be completely eliminated, for energy can never be eliminated. He understood that, in time, the ones who carried the different pieces of the djinn were bound to breed with each other. If all the bloodlines were joined together, the djinn could be reborn.”
Pierce honestly thought he had heard it all and then some.
“To avert the djinn’s rebirth, the Priest wrote a series of rules,” the Teller of Forgotten Tales explained. “And in order to ensure they were never broken, his first request of his djinn slave was to place an unbreakable binding spell over the laws, thereby preventing anyone from breaking them.”
“And these laws are . . . ?”
“That is not for you to hear. The only reason I told you the story is because of your involvement in this. It is very important that you remain alive. As per the Priest’s directions, a payment of sacrifice has to be met. You are meant to be that payment, Landcross. If you perish, the chance of the djinn’s return is much greater.”
“What else besides killing me has to be done?” Pierce pressed, trying again.
“That goes back to the rules I’ll not disclose. But I shall say this: It will be much easier for the witch to take your life from this point on.”
Pierce hoped he would elaborate on these laws, but he knew the Teller wouldn’t reveal the whole story to him.
He crossed his arms and huffed. “Is this true? This yarn about the djinn? It sounds a tad farfetched to me.”
“Stranger things have happened, Landcross. You have only seen the world through a very small keyhole, and it is obscuring your view from everything else out there.”
“I have no doubt about it,” Pierce said.
The Teller of Forgotten Tales tilted his head sideways. “You sound disappointed. Do you wish to explore more than what your mortal self can visit?”
Being the curious type, Pierce always wondered what more might exist beyond his own line of sight.
“S’pose. Reckon I’m a wee envious about what supernatural blokes like you are capable of doing.”
The Teller of Forgotten Tales rubbed his chin as if considering. “I see. To answer your question, the story is true, although, like most stories, this tale has different versions.”
“Different versions? What does that mean?”
The Teller of Forgotten Tales rose from his position on the stone wall. He approached Pierce with the fires following him like fiery Yorkshire pups. One flame drifted close enough to warm Pierce’s face, still disguised under the old man makeup that Lada Yenin had applied to him. Pierce did his best to remain calm as the mouthless tosser, who was a good foot taller than he was, came closer.
The Teller of Forgotten Tales halted and clutched his tall walking stick by his side with both hands.
“I have told you everything you need to know, boy. The djinn must never have a chance to live again. Stay alive for all of our sakes.”
The fires blew out and everything went dark. When Pierce’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he found himself alone.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
Pierce returned to camp. The shock had drained him of energy. During the walk back, he thought deeply on everything the Teller of Forgotten Tales had told him and asked himself many questions.
What are these rules? What more does Freya need to do after killing me? Am I even the only person she wants to murder? Shite, what does any of this have to do with my son?
Pierce wished the storyteller had given him a chance to ask, though he doubted the wanker would’ve given him an answer anyway.
When he arrived at the bonfire, Diana greeted him.
“Did he help?” she asked.
“I reckon.”
She nodded and sighed sharply as if frustrated. “I think I used to know things. A lot of things . . . in my other life. I’m sure I once knew the story he shared with you.”
A group approached them and a young lad with a Turkish accent said, “Mr. Landcross?”
“Aye?”
“Mr. Landcross, we admire you,” the Turkish youth admitted. “We have heard much about you over the years.”
The Payment Page 3
