Carnival of the Soul

by Cebelius

  "Two favors," the skull persisted. "Once you kill Koschei, his power and knowledge will be yours. You'll be far stronger than you were. That should be payment enough for his death at least!"

  "I'll be earning that on my own," Terry said with calm implacability. "That has nothing to do with you."

  "I'll be giving you his weakness!"

  "You're forced to do that anyway to get what you want. No credit."

  The skull's eye-lights wavered as though searching for some way out, then she sighed and said, "You drive a hard bargain, T-Mack."

  "Oh it gets worse," Terry said, eyes flinty. "You'll pay me one of those favors now. You cursed me here, and I'll have you pay me for that before I do a damn thing. You and I will be even going into this, or I won't be going at all."

  "You must understand I have a limited capacity to do favors as I am now," the skull grated. "Whether I can satisfy you depends very much on what you want."

  "You said you have second sight and can see into all the worlds. What I want is information."

  The skull's eye-lights brightened a bit, and Terry smiled grimly. "I figured that might perk you up. If you can see all the way to Earth, you must know about Thomas."

  "I do know about him, yes. I also know he is your primary objective," Baba Yaga said, her voice turning smug.

  "Here's the first favor you'll do me then. Tell me how I can kill Thomas without gaining any more power than I have right now."

  Terry had been wondering about this for some time. From what he knew of the Dust Lord, Thomas had countless bonds and few practical limits on his power. He had an army and with over two thousand years of time on his hands, he was going to be way better than Terry was at pretty much everything. Terry needed an edge, and a straight-up arms race wasn't something he was equipped to win. Cecaelia had told him to gather an army, but he had a taste already of what he would be up against, and an army wouldn't cut it. The monsters and magic he'd seen on Celestine made armies too much of a risk. One look from Stheno could turn his whole army to stone. What he needed, was an edge. He needed some kind of actual advantage, and as far as he knew, there just weren't any to be had.

  "Right now you don't have any power," Baba Yaga said testily.

  "That's right," he replied evenly. "So? I've had plenty of people tell me that with the proper will, anything's possible. I never bought that shit, so I guess that means it's up to you to prove me wrong."

  "You're asking for the impossible!"

  "'Kill Koschei the DEATHLESS?'" Terry scoffed.

  The skull's jaw opened, then froze a moment before she conceded. "Hah. Fair. Okay, let's see here..."

  Baba Yaga was silent for long minutes, and after a while Terry stretched and pointed toward the rocking chair in one corner as he asked, "You mind?"

  "What? Oh, sure, be my guest. I won't even count it as one of the remaining favors I owe, since you're still waiting on the first. Do you want food, drink? This might take me a while."

  "If it won't put you out."

  "Nonsense. I should have offered sooner. Goran? T-Mack's my guest. See to him."

  Goran, as it turned out, was the name of the chicken-legged hut, and everything inside the hut was apparently under his conscious control. Terry was given fresh milk, cookies hot from the small oven, and Goran even rocked the rocking chair for Terry who — having satisfied himself with food and drink — soon drifted off to sleep.

  16

  True Lies

  Isthil quickly caught up to the fleeing tiger man but abruptly found herself embroiled in a fight as he screamed and turned on her, tearing the two-hander from his back and flinging the sheath away as he leapt to attack.

  She flung up her shield and deflected his blade, but was forced to backpedal as his grip on the sword shifted and he pulled it back across her body so adroitly that it slipped under her defense. Had she not been fully armored, his follow-up would have neatly eviscerated her. As it was sparks flew and the blow took her wind.

  It was obvious at a glance that Yuri Kolenko's mind had shattered. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated and unfocused. His tail was fluffed to three times its proper size and lashed furiously as he roared, baring his fangs in animal fury as he followed her. His sword glinted as he wielded it with the berserk skill only a lifetime of training could produce.

  In the real world of Celestine he would have been a dangerous foe and not to be underestimated. Here in the Wildervast, he was beyond deadly. His fears and despair had overwhelmed him. Baba Yaga's spell of mockery had crushed a spirit already weakened by the loss of his people. All that was left was frustrated rage and the desire to spread his pain.

  Isthil found herself afraid as she maneuvered, keeping her shield before her and managing to stay alive only by the slimmest margins. She tried to use her slumbering touch on him, but his reflexes were too good, and his sword was too long. She couldn't get close enough to lay even a finger on him. She slipped behind a tree only to see Yuri — fueled by his towering rage — cut through it with a single stroke as he sought to reach her.

  As the seconds passed, Yuri began to grow. His muscle thickened. His fur coarsened. His face grew evermore animalistic and primitive. Within moments he was wielding his two-hander in one hand, and it looked like a simple longsword in his grip.

  I cannae beat him as he is! I'm sorry, Terry Mack, but I'm no about to die here.

  Isthil turned and fled, running flat out. She passed through trees as though they were made of smoke. For a few moments she heard Yuri roaring as he tore down the trees she was passing through, but there was no way he would catch her. She knew it, and in the Wildervast that was enough. She soon out-paced her pursuer, and circled around.

  She found the fence without trouble, and Asturial only a few moments later. There was no sign of Terry Mack.

  As she knelt to see to the dragon, she heard Yuri's terrible roar of frustrated rage from deeper in the forest. She winced, glancing in that direction reflexively.

  What am I gonna do? Terry told me to nae leave him alone. I've known the man only a few days and I've already failed him!

  Isthil took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She may only have known Terry a little while, but she had watched closely. She had listened, and she had many long years learning to be a good judge of character.

  Terry and Thomas are completely different creatures. I made an honest effort, an' to a man like him that'll do. I dinnae have to fear him.

  She could leave. There was still nothing keeping her here. All she had to do was walk away. She felt certain he wouldn't chase her. He had bigger fish to fry.

  No, that's nae right. He wouldn't chase me anyway. Still, I cannae help Yuri as he is, and the longer he's in the Wildervast the worse it'll get. He's turnin' into a Wildling, a lost soul. What do I do?!

  She thought of Mila and her face contorted. She was going through everything Yuri was, and she hadn't even been able to come help. Losing her brother now would devastate the young tigress.

  "Asturial?"

  Isthil set a hand to the dragon's shoulder and shook her. "Wake up! I need you!"

  The dragon did not wake. A line of spittle dribbled from her parted lips, and Isthil could see where the blood had been wiped away from her eyes and nose. Baba Yaga's curses were legendary, and for a moment the Nightmare marveled at Terry Mack. While the witch's curse had laid low the dragon and sent Yuri into an insane frenzy, with nothing but the power of his own will to aid him Terry had remained his own master. He had flatly denied the curse, then shut it down.

  He's been living a nightmare, she reminded herself. How much pain must he have gone through to be able to weather Baba Yaga's mockery so easily?

  Silently, she revised her opinion of Terry a bit. He and Thomas were not so different as she had first supposed. Thomas was indomitable ... but so was Terry Mack.

  I cannae beat Yuri on my own, and I cannae leave him. I refuse to disappoint the man that gave me my freedom. I refuse!

  She looked
down at Asturial's blank and blood-stained face, then settled down next to her, put a hand to her forehead, and invaded her dreams.

  Isthil found herself in a sunlit stone block room with Asturial, Laina, Shy, Euryale, and Terry Mack. The template was seated at a wooden table with a hefty tome open in front of him, but he was looking up at Asturial in her proxy form as he spoke.

  "... may surprise you to learn that, in fact, your concerns are of no consequence to me. You're delusional. You're a liar, a killer, and you lack even the simplest social skills. The women with me are all desirable. They know what I like. They all have a place in my heart. They will bear many children. You? You're nothing. You can't even beat me in a fist fight. Now ... fuck off."

  Isthil watched as Terry's women all laughed at Asturial. She watched as Terry shook his head in disappointment but refused even to look at the dragon, and the scene dissolved into another.

  A roaring crowd surrounded Asturial and Terry as the two wove and fought in the middle of a sandy arena. It took Isthil only a moment to realize that the crowd was cheering exclusively for the template. They all wanted him to win.

  Asturial was desperately attacking as Terry effortlessly dodged all her punches, mocking her.

  "I told you you couldn't win. You never learn. Even if you could have beaten me here, I'd have died before giving you satisfaction, and we both know it. I would never have a family with a lying, sadistic bitch like you. When all this is over, you'll be lucky to keep your life. The idea of giving you children makes me sick!"

  Terry slipped her punches, kicked her legs out from under her with effortless ease, and caught her in a hold that both choked and immobilized her. The entire dream skewed around Isthil as Asturial's perception of her surroundings warped with her pain and panic, and the scene darkened as Terry choked the life from her.

  "Please, I surrender!" Asturial sobbed, begging as she held her hands up before her.

  Isthil saw they were near a covered wagon on rolling grasslands, and all the rest of Terry's companions stood around, pointing and laughing as Terry himself stood over the fallen dragon proxy.

  "Liars don't get to surrender. Your word means nothing to me!" Terry snarled, jamming what looked like the butt end of a magic staff right between Asturial's outstretched hands and down into her throat, crushing it and shattering the scene.

  The Nightmare watched one episode after another play out in Asturial's nightmare. In each one, her efforts, her pleas, her desires were consistently rejected. Always she was mocked for her shortcomings and her failures. As she analyzed each, she quickly came to realize that these weren't pure illusions. They were real. They had happened ... but they were being subtly warped by Baba Yaga's curse. The mockery, the insults and injuries, were mostly added in, but the essential rejection was true in each case.

  Then the nature of the curse shifted. They were in a cube-like room now, and corpses lay strewn across the floor, including one that looked like a green-scaled dragon proxy.

  Asturial was writhing on the ground, her face horribly maimed. Terry stood over her and sneered while his companions chuckled with pitiless mockery in their expressions.

  "Why did we keep you? You're good for nothing! Finally, a dragon attacks us. You have a chance to show your mettle and what happens? You get your face melted and I have to come save your useless ass. Prada! Cover this bitch's face up. It's too ugly to even look at now."

  That's not what happened!

  Isthil could see the traces left behind by the curse, she could sense the elements of the dream that had been changed. Here, the curse was more assertive. Now, it was having to change not only the wording of the scene, but the outcome.

  This was a turning point. Something happened here, some concession from him.

  More scenes played out, then they were standing in front of tall mirrors, and Isthil's eyes widened.

  Terry had gained a foot in height and was clad from the neck down in ornate, heavy ruby armor that shone like blood. His hands were massive talons, and in one of them he held a tiny crown of stars. Behind him a woman — a female template Isthil had never seen before — lay sobbing.

  As Isthil stared at the massive figure of Terry Mack in the ruby red armor it clicked. That must be Prada. The two of them, working together ...

  Isthil's thoughts were cut off as the dream Terry spoke.

  "I've had it with you, Asturial. You're nothing but a burden. Take this crown, bring us to where we want to go, then take that other useless bitch's place as warden of this overblown prison. I've finally found a way to leave you behind for good!"

  The lines of change were so complex that even Isthil had a hard time parsing this one. The curse was changing the tone of the memory, but somehow not the content. In Asturial's mind at least, Terry had given her the crown to get rid of her.

  But I've never seen a crown like that on Asturial.

  Before she could even begin to piece together what had really happened, the next memory faded in, and Isthil knew she had to act. Unlike the others, the details of this memory were impossibly vivid. THIS memory was both very recent and invested with enormous emotional value. If the curse was allowed to twist it, Asturial might never recover.

  Isthil began to exert her influence, and found that Baba Yaga's curse was more complex than she had imagined. It had a malignant will of its own and resisted her control. While Yuri had snapped almost immediately, his mind was untrained and had already been strained to the breaking point by recent events. Asturial was a dragon and already somewhat resistant to magic. She was also an accomplished mage, and her personality was much more deeply rooted. Nevertheless, the power of this memory convinced Isthil that she had to act, and she poured her energies into resisting the influence of the curse, struggling to hold it at bay.

  She had never had cause to oppose something like this, and was accustomed to having complete mastery of the dreamscape. She had always known on an intellectual level how powerful Baba Yaga was, but now that she stood in opposition, she began to wonder if even here, in the heart of her own strength, she had the might to withstand the witch's curse.

  Asturial was speaking, and Isthil was struggling to keep a domineering sneer off Terry's face as she said, "Everything is out in the open now. I admit you have very neatly put me in check. At the same time you gave me this place, you kept me from staying with you. Now that I have brought you to where you want to go, my word to you is kept save for one last detail."

  Her lips twisted, then she met his gaze and asked, "Do you remember?"

  The curse surged. Isthil lost her outsider's perspective as she fought to resist it, and blinked as she found herself inside Terry Mack. This being Asturial's dream, Terry's body was an empty shell. Isthil's desperation forced her to fill that shell, and she invested it fully, then allowed the memory to play out through her, letting the words flow as they would.

  She'd missed some of what Asturial said, but her lips, now belonging to memory Terry, moved, and spoke with his voice.

  "You've got a good memory," he said, sounding somewhat surprised.

  "Do you still want me to fuck off? Is that really what you want? I can help you. More than that, I want to help you. Please, tell me that this crown was more than just a clever way to get rid of me."

  Isthil waited, but no words came, and she realized two things at once. The first was that the curse was gone. It had expended all its remaining power. The second was that in doing so, it had erased the rest of the memory.

  I've got to play it out, she realized. I've got to preserve the tone of this memory, and I barely know the man I'm pretending to be!

  If she left Asturial's mind now, the dragon would fixate on this lost memory, and would likely never wake from her slumber as she waited in vain for an answer that had been utterly annihilated.

  Thinking quickly, she spoke with Terry's voice, stalling for time as she let Asturial's mind provide the strange template's accent. "Why would you think I wanted you gone?"

  Asturi
al blinked.

  The two were standing a few feet apart, and Asturial seemed confused as she spoke. It was obvious the break in the memory was causing her cognitive dissonance.

  "You ... hate me. You always hated me. No matter how much I ... no matter that I offered you my life, my service, my help, nothing made any difference. You're obviously trying to get rid of me, Terrence Mack!"

  As she spoke, Asturial's words regained their energy, and by the end she was glaring at Isthil with a pleading expression as she added, "Don't toy with me, please! I'm begging you, let me stay. Let me try. I know now the weakness of mortals. I want to help because I can. I've seen the respect the others give you, the respect you earned. You're weak, but still, they all follow you. Let me follow you! Let me learn from you, and I will learn, I promise."

  I've got no clue what to say to her, but it's obvious Terry let her stay. I need to make that much clear.

  "All right," she said with Terry's voice. "I believe you. You can stay."

  Asturial's face lit with hope, and she said, "Thank you! I ... I can give the crown to Marcus. He's steady, and he'll discharge the rest of Theseus' prisoners with Ariadne's help. Will you ..."

  She hesitated, her brow furrowing, and then she took a step forward and gently placed a clawed hand under Terry's cheek. "Will you really let me stay? After all that's been said and done?"

  "I said it and I mean it," Isthil said, uncertain again as she noticed the dream wavering around her in that way that told her she was completely off the beaten path of the memory now.

  She used her influence to refocus their surroundings. They were in a cave warmly lit by torchlight cast from silver sconces. Gems and coinage were heaped carelessly in corners in the manner of any dragon's hoard. In the center of the room was a pit filled with pillows, furs, silks, and other soft things. It seemed obvious that this was a place Asturial had made for herself.