Witchwood and Seabound

by Ethan Proud

The demon and his secretary crossed town, Vahrun astride Glautous and Beatrice riding an actual horse. Beatrice’s steed surveyed both Vahrun and Glautous with a knowing eye. It detected that neither of them belonged on this plane. As such, it hung back several feet behind and would not respond to Beatrice’s urgent heels.

  “He never behaves like this…” Beatrice said and made a clicking sound with her mouth. “If only my father could see me now, he would say, I told you to get a gelding.”

  “Isn’t that a little too familiar of a conversation for public officials to be having?” Vahrun asked drolly.

  “As if our sortie in the Hanging Moose was not even more scandalous?” Beatrice rebutted.

  “I had not been sworn in yet.” Vahrun sighed and wished he had cast a stronger spell on the woman. There was time yet.

  “Turn here,” the secretary said as she struggled with her horse. Vahrun obeyed and halted Glautous while he waited for Beatrice’s further instructions. She dismounted and grabbed her horse’s reins and dragged him along as she marched alongside the demons.

  “This is it,” she said and pointed. She handed her horse to a servant and Vahrun did the same. He was surprised that the servants still stayed at the manor, with the mayor being dead.

  “How long will Mayor Kerrick’s slaves work at the property since he is deceased?” Vahrun asked as the horses were led away.

  “Until Missus Kerrick passes. Or at least until John is in the ground,” Beatrice said rather cavalierly about a man she had once slept with. The two town officials entered the home and passed the barely breathing form of Kerrick’s wife. She would draw her last breath after the demon had exited the building.

  Beatrice needed no introduction or tour of the building. She led Vahrun upstairs to the study. The demon wasn’t sure what he was looking for, he had seen more signed papers than he had ever needed to in his centuries long life in the span of a few days. He still couldn’t differentiate between the different forms or grasp the necessity for them.

  Beatrice, having authored the warrant, began scanning the papers expertly. She did so methodically and expeditiously.

  Vahrun lost interest in the warrant and began running his fingers along the spines of the many books that had belonged to the late mayor.

  He wandered the room without purpose before settling into the moose paddle chair. He recalled the conversation with Ruckstead, who had seen the warrant. The sheriff had been too clever to have left it lying around. Surely the document had been destroyed.

  “We can always write another one,” Vahrun said to the air. “We are wasting our time here.”

  Despite the fact that he was talking more to himself, Beatrice answered.

  “It won’t take me long at all to replicate it.” She began sidling over to Vahrun. He groaned inwardly as she straddled him. She grasped his face with both hands and leaned in, her tongue finding its way between his teeth. Vahrun returned the kiss and fought the urge to shove the woman off him as she fumbled with his belt.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Fat snowflakes slowly floated to the ground, despite the blue skies that were visible. Gertrude rode a mare named Lily. It was the horse she had ridden when she recruited Mission to help her save Ruckstead and Artemisia. The other horse was a young gelding named Ransom, who would eventually be Benjamin’s when he was old enough to ride. Gertrude left Ransom in the paddock this morning before she set out. Already the young boy was exuberant when it was time to feed the horses and Ransom would lean down so Benjamin could pet his nose.

  Pulling her fur-lined hood closer around her face, Gertrude urged Lily to a quicker pace. Just because the sky was blue did not mean it wasn’t cold. It seemed like days when the sun shone it was the coldest and overcast days insulated the air just a little better. Lily obeyed and in minutes they were speeding through the forest. The snow accumulated on the pine branches, but very little of it reached the ground, at least for now. In another month the forest floor would be a thick blanket of snow several feet deep. Gertrude reined in Lily as they neared the witch’s cottage. The sheriff’s widow slid from the saddle and let Lily into the paddock with Newt. The two horses nickered when they spotted each other. It brought a smile to her face, as Ruckstead had never known the stallion who had sired Ransom. Hopefully this visit wouldn’t yield another surprise colt.

  Gertrude knocked on the door and this time Artemisia answered. The witch still looked miserable, though some color had come back to her face, an improvement as her complexion was naturally pale and she had looked especially corpselike.

  “Come in,” Artemisia said hoarsely. She pulled up a chair for Gertrude. “Would you care for some tea?”

  “If you have some brewed,” Gertrude said politely.

  Artemisia obliged, tea had been her sole source of sustenance since Vahrun had eaten Ruckstead. The witch set down a cup in front of Gertrude and poured herself another. She sat down and awkwardly regarded Gertrude.

  “I am so very sorry. I never meant for things to happen how they did…” the witch said as tears budded in her eyes.

  “I did not come for your apologies. Ruckstead came to you for help and you offered what you could. The werewolves are dead, you did what he asked,” Gertrude said.

  “Then why have you come?” Artemisia asked, though it wasn’t rudely.

  “I have come to ask you for help,” Gertrude asked. “I need to kill the demon Vahrun.”

  “What about Benjamin? He needs his mother now more than ever,” Artemisia asked miserably.

  “I have hired a nanny. Once his father is avenged, I will see to his needs and never leave his side until he is old enough to ask me to,” Gertrude said icily. “Now, will you help me kill Vahrun?”

  Artemisia shook her head. “I am trying to figure that out. I have read every book I have. I would have to bind a more powerful demon or trick him into swearing another oath. I would have to travel to the fifth or sixth planes to find a demon that is lesser to only a god.”

  “And that is not possible?” Gertrude asked.

  “I would have to trick one of them into the oath or trap them and bribe them into it. That is beyond me. There is a reason why I only hunt for demons on the fourth plane,” Artemisia said.

  “Could we petition a god?” Gertrude pressed.

  “I have tried and been sent away by the entire pantheon of the seventh plane. Even if we found one willing to help, the seventh plane calls Vahrun the Godkiller. He and his siblings have killed several of the highest beings.”

  “What about his siblings?” Gertrude asked. “Can you bind one of them?”

  “His sister, Verina, I defeated in my last demonic foray. His brother,” Artemisia said and glanced at Volker who was snoozing by the fireplace, “is right there.”

  “The cat is a demon,” Gertrude said in disbelief. “Why didn’t you use him to kill the werewolves?”

  Gertrude tried to keep the tone in her voice neutral, but by the look on Artemisia’s face, she had done a poor job.

  “He has been bound on this plane in that form for sixteen years. His powers have waned and the vulkodlak had been returned with the blessing of the Goddess Mond. Hugh would have been more than a match for him. And if he fled the cat’s body the poor animal would have been driven mad,” Artemisia explained.

  “So, he cannot defeat his brother?” Gertrude asked. She found Artemisia’s explanation rather weak.

  “It is all right if you do not trust my judgment. But I can’t ask Volker to take on his brother and end his self-imposed banishment. Besides, Vahrun would recognize his brother’s human form. He would need to occupy another body that had access to Vahrun,” Artemisia said defensively.

  “Vahrun has taken up residence as the Mayor of Northgate. I cannot sit by idly.” Getrude had a fire in her eyes. “I can ask him, if you allow it.”

  Artemisia nodded and glanced back over at the cat. Volker shook his head, stretched, yawned as wide as his jaws would allow and cantered over to Getrude. He jum
ped up onto her lap and stared into her eyes deeper than any mundane creature could.

  “Your brother killed my husband and is now ruling over Northgate,” Gertrude said as evenly as she could. She felt utterly ridiculously speaking to an animal like this. “Will you help me kill him?”

  True to cat form, Volker leapt from her lap and yawned and stretched once more. Pensively, he rubbed behind one of his ears and licked his paw before repeating the gesture. Gertrude looked to Artemisia for guidance, but the witch only shrugged.

  “Volker does not belong to me. He is his own being,” Artemisia supplied.

  Gertrude stood to leave, but the wind began howling interminably loud and the trees to moan as their tops whipped in the gale. Gertrude turned back to Volker. A mist began pouring from the mouth and ears of the cat, pooling on the ground and condensing into a viscous puddle of silver. Soon a puddle five feet across in any direction began to boil and bubble while the cat the demon had been possessing shrieked in terror and hid behind the stove. Its body shook from tip to tail, its eyes wide in obvious confusion.

  The demonic liquid began to rise and take shape. It morphed and stretched at its boundaries before it settled, and the liquid condensed further into a solid as the figure grew hair, eyes, and teeth. Volker stood before the witch and the widow in his true form. He had five eyes, and two mouths and noses. His four ears swiveled independently. Like his brother he had four arms and walked like a man.

  “I will help you, Gertrude,” Volker said, each mouth speaking a different part of the sentence. The intonations as the different tongues pronounced the different syllables sent chills running down Gertrude’s spine. “Perhaps this can be my penance for turning Mission into an orphan.”

  “Great. When do we start?” Gertrude asked, feeling courageous for even facing the demon.

  “As soon as possible, but Artemisia is right. I will need to inhabit a body that can get close to my brother. We will need an elaborate ruse as I have grown weak and Vahrun has grown stronger in my absence from the demon realm,” Volker answered.

  “So, whose body and mind do we sacrifice to defeat Vahrun?” Artemisia asked. From the dark look in Gertrude’s eyes, she already had a host in mind.

  “I can only think of one we will be able to lure here to possess,” Gertrude said, and her lip trembled. Artemisia already knew who she was referring to.

  “James Kerfield?”

  At the mention of the victim’s name, Gertrude let her face fall into her hands.

  ***

  “Will he be driven mad, no matter how long the demon is in his body?” Gertrude asked once she had recovered from her premeditated guilt.

  “Will it be irreparable? Perhaps. He may resume some sense of himself, but he will never be the same,” Volker answered.

  “Can we ask for his permission? He is sworn to uphold the law…” Gertrude asked, though she knew the futility.

  “Would you sacrifice your sanity to stop Vahrun?” Artemisia said pointedly. “It may not be fair, but it is better than dooming the entire town to the demon’s whims.”

  “Whatever is to be done, must be done soon. Now that Vahrun is no longer bound by oath to Artemisia, he will seek his revenge. First, he will either take Mission or come here to bring me back to the fourth plane. We do not have the luxury of time,” Volker said.

  The witch and widow had a wordless exchange, the looks in their eyes stating that they would take whatever measure necessary. And with that, the fate of Deputy James Kerfield was sealed.

  Chapter Fifty

  De’lune sat near a pond outside Mond’s temple. Large blackfish that scintillated yellow when the sun struck them swam fleetingly near the surface. A frog as white as snow was perched on a lily, while underwing moths and night-witches fluttered across the water. De’lune absentmindedly touched the water, her fingers barely breaking the tension as she reveled in the cool sensation. The fish darted over to her, eagerly nibbling her fingers with gentle mouths before they discovered that she was not feeding them and their interest waned.

  Fairy rings of little brown mushrooms sprouted to her left, and De’lune knew that the goddesses were near. She straightened the front of her dress and moved to stand up when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “There is no need for you to grovel each time you greet us,” Mond said gently in her rough voice. “You are a daughter of mine and deserve the same respect I command.”

  The barefooted Goddess of the Moon easily reclined next to the pond, her feet dipping below the water to tangle with the elodea and algae. Detrita remained standing, no doubt because her presence would cause the pond to foul. De’lune pushed the image of belly-up fish and frog skeletons from her mind. Then again, the grass behind Detrita had greened where the fungi bloomed earlier. De’lune recalled what Mond had said, that Detrita, Mycorr, and Hizae enriched the ecosystems of her plane. Mond’s temple and gardens were a bounty, and perhaps it was due to the presence of the Goddess of Death and Decay. Detrita’s presence could still mean ill for Mond, or so De’lune fretted.

  “As it were, De’lune,” Mond said. “It is time for you to return and test your powers.”

  “Test my powers?” the Ramek asked.

  “Your body has been discovered, you must destroy the humans who have it,” Mond answered. “Simply ask and I will smite them.”

  De’lune nodded. “Can I come back here when I have done what is needed?”

  As she asked that, she felt the pull of her physical body and her ethereal form responded. She grew thin, like fog blown in the wind and her essence was wisped from the Garden of Mond. The last thing she heard from the seventh plane was, “All of my children dance in the moon.”

  ***

  De’lune blinked blearily and felt the very human ache of her bones and the hunger in her stomach. She had been gone from her body for days and the neglect it had received was obvious. Her throat burned from the parch of thirst. She tried to sit up and realized that she was bound spread eagle over a rock. Around her, figures dressed in animal furs and feathers danced gleefully. She saw one wearing a bear skull and claws, another with a beaked face and feathered arms, and as she glanced around she recognized her peril. She had heard rumors and legends of the First People who inhabited the Windgall and Corpinia Ranges since her arrival in Northgate. They would kidnap and sacrifice humans to their gods in order to achieve union with their animal spirit. Ruefully, De’lune wondered if their god was familiar with Mond or Detrita. One of the First People danced over to her, grabbed her by the face, ran his tongue from her collarbone to her ear, and whispered something incoherent. He was dressed in a pelt made from the skin of many lizards and snakes and his eyes glowed avaricious and yellow from behind the mask. Behind his ghastly visage, the moon waxed gibbous in the late afternoon. Its nearly full and yellow form smiled down at De’lune.

  “Mond, help me,” De’lune whispered. Without warning, the tethers around her wrists and ankles slackened and fell away. Instinct rather than reason driving her, De’lune pushed herself from the block and grabbed the lizard-man by the neck and lifted him from his feet. She clenched her fist and effortlessly crushed the man’s windpipe. She hurled his corpse into his comrades, who tumbled to the ground. Stepping from the sacrificial stone, her skin glowed with the same light as the moon and her eyes were the color of opals. Raising her hands, she drew the remaining humans to her.

  Like the guiding force of the moon to the tides, they were dragged across the ground to her feet. De’lune breathed on them and mushrooms began to grow rapidly from their mouths, ears, eyes, and nostrils while other growths burst from their skin. De’lune had pledged no loyalty to the Goddess of Death, yet still Detrita offered her aid. For some reason this terrified De’lune. The divine powers fled her body once they were no longer needed, and De’lune felt weak and hungry. She darted off into the forest, searching for water and food. Despite that she was starving, the thought of eating human flesh turned her stomach.

  She found a str
eam easily enough and greedily slurped at his burbling flow, while frost licked at its edges. There would be much less plant forage to find this close to winter. In a bind she could eat acorns, but she had no pot to boil them in to leach their tannins, and they would make her ill. Ill was better than dead, though. If she could find burdock or a field of sego lilies, she would have enough sustenance to make the return journey to town.

  She had fled her home, at the south end of town when she discovered the henbane, growing as a testament to Mond. But that did not mean that the First People had not carried her north from the Coprinia foothills to the Windgalls. She needed to find high ground and study the peaks. The sun dipping westward would do little to help her navigate without any landmarks. It was nearly nightfall and she had little desire to be caught out in freezing temperatures. She would need to move quick if she was to survive.

  After walking a quarter mile, De’lune found a hillock devoid of any trees. She saw the town of Northgate in the near distance, settled in the valley behind the Windgalls and Coprinia Mountains. Turning around, she saw Mimbry, Northgate, and Horned Peak staring back at her. She laughed and whirled around as gleefully as the dance of the First People. As she moved across the clearing, she nearly tripped when she spotted a single white flower with three petals, each holding a single spot of purple. She stooped and held it delicately in her hands. She glanced up at the rising moon in appreciation.

  Raking her hands across the soil she found the first bulb and held it aloft. She didn’t bother to wipe the dirt free from it before popping it into her mouth. She felt saliva well in her mouth and wondered how many days it had been since she had ascended planes. She found a second and third bulb and didn’t stop until she had her fill.

  Rocking back on her heels, De’lune carefully considered her plan. She had no home, she would need an ally. There was only one that she could think of. She started towards Northgate with purpose, her destination: The Oyster Block of Raven’s Barrow. Mission would certainly offer her shelter, but she would have to be silent on her divine quest.