by Ethan Proud
“My kind of odds,” Artemisia said amiably, though she felt anything but.
“We’ll see,” Glautous croaked.
***
Time passed differently in the demon world and Artemisia had difficulty determining just how long she had spent there. Mere hours in the demon plane could be an entire day on the first. Glautous told Artemisia that the Tooth Mountains were called the Spine of Hunger. She snorted at this. “Did the scenery of this plane predate the creation of humans?”
“The gods fashioned humans after the fourth plane. I believe their rationale was that the first plane was too beautiful not to have something hideous in it. They have a strange sense of humor,” Glautous commented.
Artemisia stiffened at the mention of human ugliness but compared to nature it was an accurate observation. She decided not to add further remarks to that conversation.
The demon and witch reached the base of one molar on the Spine of Hunger. Its surface was cracked and a large chunk was sloughing off. Many millennia of travelers had worn a stairway of sorts and several hand and footholds where the stairs tapered off into nonexistence. Artemisia reached out her hand and touched the tooth. It was surprisingly warm, and unsurprisingly sticky. The entire demon realm smelt of infection, but this was overwhelming.
“Stay close,” Glautous warned as he started up the mountain path. His spidery hands clicked nervously in front of him. A howl of keening wind ripped at Artemisia’s hair and she wondered, not for the first time, if this was a trap planned by Vahrun.
Chapter Thirty-one
Swain crinkled his nose. He wasn’t fond of the smell of cow shit, chickens, and compost. However, he knew a business venture when he saw one and he knew that the Cronley Farmstead was ripe for the picking. The garden next to the house had been harvested and now a cover crop of radishes and legumes served to prepare next season’s planting. Plant material, food scraps that weren’t given to the dogs, and manure were piled high, a pitchfork stuck at its base like a flag. Two young children were running in the yard, chasing the chickens or digging in the dirt while the other four were helping their mother and father with chores.
Willem Cronley spotted their visitor and shouted a greeting and trotted over. He wore a friendly grin, which darkened when he saw who it was.
“Swain,” he said curtly.
“Willem. Good to see your cattle have returned,” Swain noted. The primal part of his brain fell prey to a flashback and saliva welled in his mouth.
“To the point,” Willem urged. “I got work to do before the snows.”
“I have a proposition…” Swain began but Willem shook his head and started to walk off. “A gentleman would invite me inside to at least hear said proposition.”
“I never been called that in my life, but ‘ere. Come on in.” Willem resignedly led the businessman into his home.
Swain was shocked. The floorplan was completely open. A kitchen area merged with a living space and a hearth, and on the far side of the home were cots and blankets on the floor. Swain instantly began pondering how more Cronleys were brought into the world if they lived like this. They probably copulated in the field with the cows.
The Cronley residence was warm, maybe too warm, but undoubtedly it would grow cold in a few hours and the heat would be necessary. The smell of stew and straw mingled unpleasantly in the air.
“Pull up a chair,” Willem said offhandedly as he sat down at the table.
“If you wouldn’t mind offering me a drink…” Swain said as he joined the table.
“If I remember right, you wanted to offer me something. Not the other way around. I’ve had plenty of you businessmen knocking on my door, and I ain’t recalled inviting any of you,” Willem said heatedly.
“All right then. I won’t mince words as civilized folk do. I came to make an offer on your farm,” Swain said and pulled out a bank check from his coat pocket. On it was written five hundred in crisp lettering.
“Paper money isn’t no good. I only take things that I know have value. But my answer is the same as before. My family’s land is worth more than your money ever will be,” Willem said firmly and rose from his chair. He had received many offers lately and Swain had made the lowest. He didn’t even have to consult his wife on that decision. Not that Helen was a proponent for selling.
“Willem, I think you are making a mistake,” Swain said as he showed himself to the door.
“You Rameks are making a mistake every time you don’t watch your tongues,” Willem said. “Now get out of my house and go to hell.”
***
Out in the late autumn air, Swain pulled his collar up over his scarf and stalked back to his house. He hadn’t bought a horse since he and Hugh had devoured the poor animals during their first transformation. Buying three of the animals every month would raise suspicion in the small town of Northgate.
Had Willem just refused his offer, Swain would have forgiven the farmer for his pride. The jab he made about his late son would not go unavenged. Swain would make another visit to the Cronley Farmstead as the next full moon rose.
Chapter Thirty-two
Gripping the crown of the decaying molar, Artemisia felt the enamel beneath her hands begin to break and felt for a better handhold. She found one deep enough to slip her entire hand into and heaved herself onto a ledge on the Spine. Glautous stood waiting for her, another rise of slimy calcium above their heads. A warm breeze threatened to send them over the edge, but as they headed deeper on the tooth, the wind subsided.
“Vahrun’s home is just there.” Glautous pointed at an orifice on the side of the mountain. It was only another hundred feet above them, but this ascent would lack any of the well-worn stairs. A series of pockets wound their way to the home of the demons.
Her guide didn’t wait for her to catch her breath, but instead began nimbly navigating the route up the tooth. His long fingers found purchase on even the smoothest rock while Artemisia second and triple checked each hold. Should she choose a poor grip she would plummet nigh a thousand feet to her death.
The slimy texture of the enamel didn’t offer her much confidence, nevertheless within the next hour she found herself standing on a landing next to Glautous.
The wind whipped about them bearing hot, burning scent, though both had become accustomed to it. Artemisia in the hours or days she had spent on the fourth plane, and Glautous had endured a lifetime of the sulfurous smell.
“Verina will no doubt be asleep when we enter her home, but she is not one to slumber throughout all manner of noise. We must be quiet,” Glautous warned as his spindly fingers clasped around a doorknob shaped like the condyle of a femur. He pushed the door open without a creak and the two stole into the demon-dwelling.
The corridor they entered was smooth and white, though it lacked the slime of the surface outside. Flames set in lard lined the hallways into an area where coats and hats could be hung on protruding fingers, though Artemisia had never seen a demon clad in clothes. Holding a three-foot finger to his lips, Glautous snuck through the house. A chandelier of blinking eyeballs set the mood for one room, while another was adorned with a greeting rug that yawned a mouthful of angry teeth. She gingerly stepped over the orifice and tried to ignore the groping hands along the wall. Between cracks in the plaster she could see the glow of flames and peering eyeballs. She tried to imagine the gods piecing together a human with this macabre decoration as inspiration. It simply wasn’t possible. She was wandering through the halls of an abomination, nothing beautiful could be manufactured from this. The next hallway expanded and shrank as if it was breathing. The walls were rows of ribs and screaming souls howling from beyond these barricades.
“What are you looking for?” Glautous whispered.
“A basin,” Artemisia answered just as quietly.
“Any bowl will do?” the demon continued and Artemisia resisted the urge to slap him.
“For scrying,” she insisted hoarsely.
“Ah,” Glautous said and t
ook a right turn at a juncture as grotesque as the rest.
Artemisia grabbed him by the shoulder. “Where is Verina?”
“Hunting,” the demon answered and turned his back to the witch.
“Hunting what?” the witch asked persistently.
“Us,” Glautous answered and attempted to move through the house again.
“What?!” Artemisia exclaimed, a little too loudly.
“Shh,” Glautous started. “As soon as we entered her abode, she detected us. We will have to face her before we leave this place, but it will be on her terms.”
“If this is a plot of Vahrun, I will slit your throat before Verina kills us both,” Artemisia hissed.
Glautous held his hand up for silence as the creaking of footsteps echoed through the walls and ceiling above them. “Verina does not move through this plane as a human would. She can pass through walls and hides in the intangibles.” At this, Glautous took off in the direction he had indicated earlier.
Artemisia followed him this time. No matter how quietly her footfalls were, Verina’s own padding steps made themselves known in between walls and through the floor. More than once Artemisia thought she saw the imprint of paws bulge through the floor. Now she was certain this was Vahrun’s plan all along. She was about to curse her luck when the floor bubbled and burst. Verina stood between her and Glautous in the hallway. She too was catlike in appearance, though she had eight legs, eight eyes, and four tails. She purred for a moment and the entire mountain range buzzed before she grinned broadly.
“Artemisia, where are my brothers?” she asked in her sultry voice.
“Glautous, find the basin. I will deal with Verina,” Artemisa shouted and doubled back through the tunnel. The cat-demon easily bounded after her, sank into the floor, and reappeared in front of her.
“Did you really think this would be so easy?” the demon purred.
“If your siblings were an indication, you are lesser beings,” Artemisia challenged.
The cat-demon laughed, an uneasy sound. “For that comment, I will keep you alive for centuries.”
The witch knew she was outmatched by the demon on this plane, but that didn’t mean she was helpless. She unslung her pack and in one smooth movement had a burning torch of sage. Verina hissed angrily but didn’t hold her ground. With a yowl of displeasure, the cat turned and fled.
Pulling the witchdoctor-gifted-knife, Artemisia cut a hole into the wall. A shimmering mirror appeared in the cut and she watched as Glautous searched for the scrying basin. Artemisia stepped into the wall and was teleported right behind her demon guide.
“We need to be quick,” Artemisia said without warning.
Glautous turned an ugly face at the burning sage. “Keep that going for much longer and the very floor beneath your feet will dissolve and drop you right into the third plane,” he warned.
Artemisia snuffed out the sage, but still kept it in hand. “That may come in handy if we don’t want Verina to hunt us to the Tree of the Morning.” Artemisia began searching her pack for other useful herbs and artifacts.
“There are easier ways to banish a demon to a new plane other than dissolving the fabric of this realm,” Glautous said sternly.
“Find the basin and we won’t have to do either,” Artemisia snapped just as Verina yowled from the very air around them.
“I already did,” Glautous said with a flourish and a stone bowl appeared in his hands. “I am trying to find a way out.”
“WE’RE LOST?” Artemisia screamed.
“…Yes,” Glautous said sheepishly.
Artemisia struck him across the face. “Get. Us. Out. Of. Here.”
The walls reverberated with the sound of Verina’s laughter. The doorways on either end of the hallways gnashed open and closed with a plethora of teeth belonging to many creatures.
The wall flexed and split apart in a shower of blood as Verina stepped through.
Glautous fell prostrate on the ground and proclaimed, “Free me of her oath and I will help you kill her.”
“It won’t be that easy,” Artemisia growled.
“That’s what they all say.” Verina laughed easily. “But I will devour you both and free my brothers.”
Now it was Artemisia’s turn to laugh. “Their oaths do not end with my death. I would have to be a fool to not add insurances to each of my bonds. Should I die, Vahrun will sacrifice his own life force to resurrect me as long as his oath is unfulfilled.”
“What about Volker?” Verina seethed.
“He remains with me through no oath. He is my servant willingly as repayment for his failures,” Artemisia answered haughtily.
“What about my oath?” Glautous asked angrily.
The witch withdrew an opal consumed in amber from a pouch by her breast. “With this pendant I am able to alter any oath made to me. It was given to me by the god Nocti in my younger years and promises me safe keeping from demons… at least those foolish enough to swear fealty to me. Now, if you wish to see your brother dead, you will strike me down. If you are wise, you will allow me to leave your home and continue on my quest to the Tree of the Morning.”
Verina made a show of grinding her teeth and growling before stepping out of the way. “You may pass.”
“You swear you will remain here and not hunt us while we seek safe passage from your home?” Artemisia pressed.
“Yes,” Verina answered tersely before she realized her mistake. She had not sworn to the witch in the demon tongue, yet she had made a promise, nonetheless. Her eight eyes widened, as did Artemisia’s smile.
“Glautous, kill her,” the witch commanded.
Verina felt herself bound in place as the goat-demon tore her limb from limb. When the task was finished, Glautous returned to his master’s side.
Artemisia patted his hand lovingly. “Were you not so ugly you could be useful on the first plane. Alas, I do not love goat’s milk either so take me to this Tree and I shall release you.”
Glautous grumbled his agreement and fantasized about rending the witch into bite-sized pieces.
Chapter Thirty-three
The jail cell was empty, its last occupant had vomited all over the floor and himself the night before. Kerfield was cleaning the mess now. The sheriff was drinking his coffee idly despite the pervasive smell.
With a light knock, the door swung open to reveal Beatrice Axel, Secretary to the Mayor. She was a well-built woman with most of her weight hung around her hips and off her chest. Allegedly she kept the mayor warm at night as well as her daytime duties. Ruckstead was certain that she actually ran Northgate and the mayor was simply a figurehead. The mayor spent his days drinking, hunting, and rubbing shoulders with the rich, somebody had to stay in the office and make sure that the town’s coffers didn’t run dry.
“Beatrice,” the sheriff said with a smile.
“Wilder,” the woman answered. She was very pretty; her auburn hair cascaded down to her shoulders and her puckered lips matched her golden red tresses.
“Only my wife calls me that,” Ruckstead said sternly.
“Oh yes. I forget,” she said coyly and set a letter in front of him. “The mayor wants to see you.”
“James,” she said nicely as she turned to leave. “You missed a spot.”
Once the flirtatious secretary had exited James said, “She likes you.”
“That doesn’t make her special,” Ruckstead harrumphed. James went back to work. Ruckstead opened the envelope and tossed it in the waste bin with one hand as he unfolded the letter with the other.
Sheriff Ruckstead,
I wish to see you in my office to discuss this recent string of murders. It is quite unsettling, and I have been informed that you don’t even have a suspect yet? Please come at your earliest convenience.
Kind regards,
Mayor John Kerrick
Ruckstead snorted. “I have been summoned by the mayor himself.”
“What for?” Kerfield asked as he put some elbow grease in
to a particularly difficult stain.
“Hopefully to demand my resignation,” Ruckstead answered as he donned his hat.
“You don’t mean that, you’ll be the sheriff until you are old and gray,” James said and laughed at his own joke.
“Sheriffs don’t grow old. But I’m already turning gray.” Before the deputy could counter that argument, the sheriff headed out the door.
***
At Ramek Manor, Swain and Vahrun sat around the table drinking whiskey straight from the bottle now. Swain took a hearty pull and slid it across the wooden surface to Vahrun who snatched it up and tipped it back.
“What do you mean we can’t kidnap Mission anymore?” Swain said on the verge of slurring.
“She is still alive. Either she is taking longer to find the basin, or she has escaped my sister. She will fail at the Tree,” Vahrun explained and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“But how do you know? You haven’t left this house since yesterday,” Swain protested.
Vahrun pointed to his laurels and cloak. “You think I wear these accessories by choice?”
“Yes, they make quite the impression,” Swain answered honestly.
“These are my shackles, tools the witch used to bind me. I can feel their magic, but when she ceases to exist or becomes a slave to the Tree, the enchantments will fade,” Vahrun said and Swain nodded like he understood.
“So why can’t we kidnap Mission right now?” the Ramek asked.
“The oath prevents me from causing Artemisia and her allies any harm,” Vahrun said with a sigh.
“What’s stopping me from luring him here and poisoning him?” Swain pressed.
“Other than the fact that he would flee at my mere presence, the oath would compel me to prevent you from causing him harm as well,” Vahrun explained and downed another pull of whiskey before passing the bottle across the table.
