Firetale
Page 23
Chapter 23: The Tower
“Deed is done, again we won. Ain’t talking no tall tales, friend.”
Pantera, “Cowboys from Hell”
Judges always acted alone. That made it easier to avoid attention. One strange fruit is just a weirdo, but two strange fruits together signal trouble. Besides, there were few Judges, so pairing them would waste scant resources. But a Judge was supposed to inform his colleagues of his movements and verdicts, so that the others, wherever they were, could always find him. But Judges rarely met in person, and did so only for the most serious matters. They did not invite each other to a barbecue or get together in a bar to remember the good old days, bragging about who had sent the most mongrels home to Hell. No, Judges rarely called on each other.
So when Lazarus Bernardius left the tent and saw eight vans lined up on the circus encampment, a man standing in front of each of them, he was surprised. Eight Judges in one place—he doubted that anyone had ever seen such a thing. The Judges were like their cars—old, worn, dusty, scarred—they had endured. All were men and all were armed, and in the eyes of each were hatred, contempt, and the desire to kill. Lazarus took note of the one standing in the middle. The right side of his face was hidden, but his left eye reflected not only the moonlight and the headlights but also pure insanity. He took a step forward, but the shadow on his face did not change. He took another step, and it became clear that the right side of his face was not hidden by a shadow or an optical illusion.
The right side of Judge Caius’s face and neck resembled steak that had been burned to char. Underneath the cracked black skin were red streaks, bits of muscle not consumed by fire, and there were white spots where the fire had penetrated to the bones of his skull. In place of his right eye was a gaping red and black hole. During his long life, Lazarus Bernardius had seen people die from such wounds, and he wondered what mysterious force was supporting the Judge’s life, as if he were not an ordinary man, but a comic book character.
Caius pointed at Greg with his harpoon.“Him,” the Judge cried in a hoarse voice. “Bernardius, give him to me! Give me this asshole, and I’ll think about telling my boys here not to kill every last one of yours.”
As if showing their disagreement with Caius, the seven other Judges loudly and purposefully adjusted their weapons in their hands. In the silence of the night, the rattling of their those weapons sounded grotesque and ominous.
“We both know what would happen if any of my fosterlings are hurt …” Lazarus began, but the Judge did not let him finish.
“Fuck you, mongrel! Screw you and your ‘you know what would happen.’ If the Devil himself rolled up here, me and my guys would shoot off his balls to take this bastard. And no matter how you like to talk, we both know what would happen if just one of your circus freaks touched one of my people.” The Judge’s eye glittered with triumph, and he spread his hands in a theatrical gesture. “I don’t know why we haven’t already shot off the heads of your rotten little freaks.”
“Demionis are not allowed to attack people, as you correctly noted,” Ino said. “But your problem is that you’ll have to deal not with them, but with some others.” Ino grinned as the surviving muscles on Caius’s face twitched.
“What are you talking about, whore? And who the fuck are you?”
Lazarus tried to respond to the insult, but the witch put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Boys,” Ino called loudly.
Behind Ino and Lazarus came a mechanical roar, and one after another, spots of light began to appear. The lights approached, hovering above the ground, one, two, three, finally a dozen lights joining the witch and the other inhabitants of the circus. The lights gathered in a line behind Ino, and merged into one. The bright line a few feet above the ground became blindingly white and then faded, and the source of the lights was at last discerned. They were the headlights of a dozen motorcycles, revving and rattling like steel horses impatient for an attack. Among the riders, Greg recognized a few that had been in Ino’s bar when he first met the witch. The bikers’ look had not changed—leather, chains, and fancy hats, all remarkably like the bikers in movies. Only their facial expressions were different. When these guys had met Greg, they just wanted to kick some arrogant stranger’s ass. Now he saw determination on their faces. To kill or to die.
“Bravo, Lazarus, I see you’re prepared,” the Judge said. “Your friend has decided to help you.” The Judge sounded anything but frightened. “I’m sure it was her idea. But for me, women are just troublemakers.” He looked around the circus. “By the way, speaking of women, I do not see the tiny blonde. The lad is here, though, but I swear to God, he was as dead as yesterday during our last meeting. Surely, magician, you could not have saved her, eh?” Caius looked at Greg. The magician was ready to burn the Judge alive. But a voice inside told him that this was not the time, and Greg calmed the flames.
“Well, both sides are armed and very dangerous,” the Judge said, his voice full of mockery. “We can play war games, if you so desire. It will be fun.” Caius gave an exaggerated wink with his surviving eye. “I confess that I was counting on it. But I’m afraid that losses on both sides are inevitable. My friends and I are not against it, but you, Mr. Bernardius, something tells me you’re a pacifist and it is unlikely you would agree to leave one half of your circus here to save the other. “So my proposal is this: give me the boy, and my friends and I will forget about your circus forever.” Caius turned to Ino and leered at her. “Although this lady will long remain in my memory.”
“Judge Caius, I run this circus, and everything that happens in it is my responsibility,” said Bernardius proudly, firmly, and loudly, as befits a real ringmaster. “I offer myself as your prisoner if you let the others go.”
“You’re crazy,” Ino hissed at Lazarus.
“Honey, I know what I’m doing,” the tentmaster replied, staring at Caius. “They can’t hurt me.”
Caius began to applaud slowly. “Oh, very generous of you, Mr. Bernardius. Please, please, come to us.” The Judge made an inviting gesture. Lazarus did not play for time. Sighing, he moved toward the Judges, holding his cane. When the ringmaster came up to Caius, the Judge smiled an almost sincere smile and patted him on the shoulder. “How honorable. I did not expect this from a mongrel. Alas, prudence is not your thing.” Caius pushed Lazarus behind him, toward the other Judges, two of whom instantly grabbed Bernardius by the arms.
Caius turned to the rest of the circus performers. “However that may be, I’m still waiting for you to give me the magician, too.”
“What?” shouted Ino and Pietro at the same time.
“We agreed, Caius,” Lazarus growled from behind the Judge.
“I do not recall, Mr. Bernardius,” the Judge said without turning to the ringmaster. “You offered yourself, and I agreed. But I haven’t canceled my previous condition.” Mr. Bernardius could see only part of Caius’s burned face, but he knew the Judge was smiling.
“Well,” came the voice of Greg. “I’ll go with you.”
“Attaboy.” Caius could hardly restrain himself from not crying with joy. Greg moved toward the Judges, sparks flashing between his fingers, a smile on his face.
“Whoa!” cried Caius, putting up a hand to stop Greg halfway. “Not so fast, fuckhead.” The Judge pointed a finger at the magician, like a teacher rebuking a bully.
“Now!” Caius shouted. Behind him, the door of one of the vans slid aside, and two Judges came out, holding a hose. “Charge, boys!” Caius’s cry bore little resemblance to a human voice, sounding more like a predator’s roar at the sight of his prey. A stream of water thick as a human leg shot out of the hose with a loud hissing sound and hit Greg in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The Judges continued to shoot water out of the hose, nailing Greg to the ground, making it impossible to stand up.
“So, gentleman, leave not a single dry square inch on this bastard!” Caius said. “Let’s see how he will do his fire tricks now.”
Finally, the water pressure slackened and then turned to a trickle. Greg lay on his belly in a mud puddle, unable to rise. His whole body hurt, and his mouth and nostrils were stuffed with mud. Two Judges grabbed his legs and dragged him along the ground as the other Judges laughed.
“Damned bastard!” Ino screamed. The water in Greg’s eyes made it difficult to see what was happening, but he could hear the bikers’ motorcycles roaring, and the Judges’ weapons rattling.
“Ino, no!” Lazarus’ shouted. “No, we can handle it. Take the rest away.”
Greg heard the voice of Caius whispering in his ear. “Simple precautions. To equalize our chances.”
Greg felt the Judge’s boot on his head.
“Now I am satisfied,” shouted Caius to the circus performers. “I got even more than I wanted. You all can get out of here. Fast. Before my boys decide they also want trophies.”
Greg was dragged to the big top and made to kneel in the center of the arena. Mr. Bernardius entered behind him, driven by a shotgun in his lower back. To the ringmaster’s astonishment, Caius had kept his promise. He and the other Judges had watched as the ogre brothers hustled the demionis into vehicles. Ino had spat curses and threats at the Judges, who responded with bawdy jokes directed at her. The lights of the vehicles had finally disappeared over the horizon, accompanied by the bikers. Caius left a pair of Judges on guard and went with the rest in the main tent.
Greg’s body ached, and he was soaking wet and cold in the night air, but he tried to calm the trembling, not wanting to appear weak. He attempted several times to call the inner fire, but the water that covered his body and soaked his clothes was a reliable barrier. He needed at least a spark to turn into flame. One of the Judges near Bernardius, bald and incredibly tall, took out a cigarette and held it to his lighter.
“Hey, shit, drop that!” Caius shouted a moment before his fellow Judge threw open the lighter cover. “I don’t want to give that bastard a chance. No open fire here!”
That’s for sure, cowards, thought Greg. He was kneeling, with his hands tied behind his back. Two Judges stood beside him, their crossbows a few inches from his head. Next to Greg’s overseers were water canisters. Two more Judges were next to Lazarus. Caius walked about the arena, his hands clasped behind his back, smiling. His lips moved slightly, as if he were practicing a prepared speech. He finally stopped abruptly and looked at Greg.
“You know, when I recovered my senses, I was so angry I thought I would kill you as soon as possible. I thought the only thing I wanted was your death. It didn’t matter how you died. I was not going to talk to you before I killed you, like the villain in some shitty movie. I just wanted to put a bullet or arrow in you. Cut your head off. Kill you quickly. It didn’t even have to be face to face. But then …” The judge paused and sighed, his arms out to the side. After glancing at the gathered Judges, he went to Greg, grabbed him by the hair, and threw his head back. Caius leaned toward the fire mage so closely that their faces were separated by barely an inch. The magician smelled a whiff of burnt flesh. Perhaps the Judge wanted to scare him, but Greg had seen worse sights, and he had often been the cause of them. So he just smiled, and for a moment, the confident expression on Caius’s half-face cracked. Greg could almost hear the gnashing of the Judge’s teeth, but Caius pulled himself together.
“Then I thought that I needed not just your death, but also vengeance.” The Judge released Greg’s head and stood over him, looking down. “You gave me too much trouble to get off so easy.”
The Judge smiled, and in the next moment the toe of his boot hit the magician’s chin, sending Greg reeling. White flashes exploded and died before his eyes. His lower jaw was numb, as if immersed in cold snow. Greg rolled over and took two more blows, in the groin and abdomen, and found himself on his back again. The Judge stood over him on one knee, one hand grabbing Greg’s hair, the other hand raining blows. To Greg’s surprise, the first few hits hurt, but then he seemed to lose sensitivity. He just saw a small bloodied fist, a big bloodied fist, white flashes, a small bloodied fist, a big bloodied fist, white flashes, over and over again, but he felt no pain.
I’m sorry, but that’s all I can do now. Kill the pain.
“Thank you,” croaked Greg. Caius raised his hand for the next stroke, and froze.
“You talking to me, Greggy?” The Judge smiled, but his eyes expressed bewilderment. “So, you’re a masochist bastard. Well, I’ll be generous and give you a bit of fun.”
“Enough!” Lazarus shouted. Greg had never heard such anger in Mr. Bernardius’s voice. Caius stopped beating Greg and laughed.
“You want to take the place of this magician, old man? Wait, I’ve been on your show, and now you’re a guest on mine.” The Judge theatrically shook blood off his fist.
Lazarus moved forward, toward Caius and Greg, who still lay on the ground. The bald Judge tried to stop him. Lazarus whipped his cane through the air and knocked the shotgun out of the Judge’s hands. The bald Judge rushed the ringmaster. The two men, both lanky and lean, grappled, looking like praying mantises, and after a short exchange of blows, fell to the ground. Lazarus landed on top of his enemy and pressed his cane against the Judge’s throat. The second of Bernardius’s guards slammed the old man in the head and threw him to the ground. As Lazarus tried to regain consciousness, the two men pushed him to the ground and held him there.
Caius approached Mr. Bernardius. “Nice, old man. I could kill you, but I’ll let you watch the show to the end.” The Judge pushed the cane away with his boot, turned around, and went back to Greg.
Though his eyes were filled with blood and sweat, Greg clearly saw Lazarus smile at him. It was the smile of a poker player holding cards that would let him drop the mask of equanimity.
“I may need your help.”
“Anything.”
“Who are you talking to, Greggy?” Caius was amused and almost danced with excitement. He was two steps away from Greg when something flew past him and fell in front of the magician with a faint clang.
The cigarette lighter.
For Judge Caius, time stood still for a moment. Behind him, Lazarus was grinning, and the bald Judge, stunned, was checking his pockets. In front of him on the ground was that damned magician, laughing raucously and spitting blood and about to flick the lighter. Caius rushed toward him, intending to kick the lighter away. He almost reached it, but it suddenly sparked, and just as quickly, the spark grew into a huge flame, as if the lighter had turned into a dragon spewing fire. Caius recoiled from the flame.
“Shoot!” the Judge screamed to his colleagues, who were staring in horror at Greg. But instead of shots, he heard heart-rending screams as a thick flame rose around the magician and streamed toward the Judges. Caius did not see Greg behind the veil of fire, did not see how his fellow judges were burning alive.
“Get the old man!” ordered Caius. Lazarus was their only chance for salvation.
Give me some of your power.
Greg stepped out of the fiery wall with his clothes on fire. The sight sent the surviving Judges reeling back. Greg felt no pain, did not feel fear, felt only his inner fire, stronger than ever before. Usually the flame was just a tool, but now he himself was the fire element.
“It is not over, fire boy!” exclaimed the Judge. Caius held his harpoon against Lazarus’s head, and two more Judges had wrung the ringmaster’s hands behind his back. “Just try any of your tricks, and I will shoot an arrow through his head,” said Caius, and he poked Bernardius’s temple with a tip of an arrow.
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“Let me ask you, Judge,” Lazarus said quietly, so that only Caius could hear him. “You were able to identify almost all the mongrels in my circus. Do you know my secret?”
“I only know that you talk too much, old man,” muttered Caius.
“I am immortal,” said Mr. Bernardius. “I cannot be killed.”
Greg couldn’t hear what Lazarus said to the Judge, but he saw the anger in Caius’s eyes replaced by panic and fear.
Greg hoped. Hoped that the power of the new Martha, or what used to be Martha, would unite with his. He had not tried this. They had not tried. And if this didn’t work out …
Greg gathered his inner fire to the last bit, the last spark. But he did not direct it at the Judge. Instead, without letting the fire go, he gave it to Martha. She took it and boosted it, heightened it with her divine powers, and only then did Greg and Martha release the fire.
The flame knew no barriers, no mercy. Greg’s body became the epicenter of the fiery wave, swift and unnaturally dense and hot. It was alive and full of vengeance. The wave scattered hundreds of feet from Greg, destroying everything in its path, glass and iron, rubber and steel, flesh and bone. The wave swept Lazarus, Caius, and the other Judges. The flash was so bright that it was visible for several miles, to people in houses on the outskirts of the nearby town, and to the ogre brothers and the bikers who accompanied them. The flash was so bright that when Ino saw it, she insisted that they turn back.
When they returned, the night was as dark as when they had left. The flame had disappeared as rapidly as it had come crashing down, burning everything to the ground, leaving no spark behind. In the middle of a huge scorched circle, Greg lay naked. His skin was as clean as a baby’s. His chest was heaving, as if he slept. Around the magician, where the fire had raged, the earth was as smooth as a mirror, with no truck’s wheels or motorcycle’s tracks, no signs of armed men, no remains of the circus encampment. Not far from him, an incomprehensible figure crouched on the ground and sighed. Burnt almost to a skeleton, Lazarus Bernardius, the ringmaster, was difficult to recognize.