Curse of the Red Evil

by Zel Spasov

  His first thought was that the fugitives were trying to confuse him. However, he was sure the sun had stayed behind him the whole time. The reason he was going in circles must be different. He ran forward without paying any attention to the tracks, careful to move to the east. He soon came across the same muddy handprint on the tree bark. That was impossible. He hurried forward again and encountered the muddy print on the tree again. He was in a forest trap. The woods didn’t want to let him go.

  He struck the muddied tree. He couldn’t fail when he was so close to his goal. The voice in his head appeared again, insisting that the wolf capture the man. Its call was angry and impatient, its rage flooding Bernard’s body and coloring the world in red. The wolf let the feeling envelop him, falling into a trance. He forgot where he was. He ran into the forest, acting more like a wild animal than a trained headhunter. He left the trail; instead, he followed his instincts. He scattered leaves and ran among the trees like a predator chasing its prey.

  When he came to, he was in an unknown place in the forest. How could he have lost the trail? No wonder Zacharie thought he was so stupid! Fortunately, he noticed more overturned leaves. Once he cleared them, he found the tracks of the man, which this time were deeper and further apart. The man had been running. He traced the trail until he finally reached a place where, underneath the foliage, he found human handprints. Someone had fallen here. Monsieur Gèroux looked up and saw a wide field. In the distance, there was a mountain massif, on the top of which was Windhaven. At last, the tracks led him out of the woods.

  After a few hundred meters, the trail went cold. Deep grooves in the road started from the same place, probably made by a cart pulled by donkeys. The tracks were headed to Windhaven.

  The sun would soon reach its zenith. The wolf ran at full speed toward the city. He couldn’t allow the fugitives to reach their goal. If they passed through the city gates, finding them would be almost impossible. And if the Windhaveners got to them before him, it would be a miracle if he found them alive.

  Though he didn’t want to admit it, he would have felt more secure if his brother were next to him. The captain was a master of the sword, and his mind was as sharp as a steel trap. The hunter could feel the invisible presence of his brother all the way from Agapea to here. No matter the distance between the two, their connection remained strong.

  At the same time, the voice in his head wouldn’t leave him in peace. “CATCH HIM!” The words reverberated before they retreated like the waves of a stormy sea. Bernard quickened his pace. Just a little bit more and it will all be over, he encouraged himself.

  Chapter 9

  K ing Fraud woke up late the next day. The night before had exhausted him, though he would never admit it. The two lionesses had long since left. Women's clothes were scattered on the floor of the room. He gathered the dresses and stuffed them into the royal wardrobe, then stood before the large mirror opposite the bed. Lipstick and smeared makeup covered his face. Truth be told, the dresses and makeup didn’t belong exactly to him, but to Lucretia Fraud, his real self. Every day he defined himself more and more as her. The role of king Fraud made him miserable. He wanted to be able to appear in society as his feminine self. The consequences of such an appearance would, however, be catastrophic—the royal court would ridicule him. In one day, he would lose the respect of his subordinates. They would dethrone him, and he enjoyed being a king. Not as much as he would like to be the queen ...

  As a young woman, Lucretia had been attracted to women's clothing. Even then, she had known it was wrong—lions couldn’t dress as lionesses. The opposite wasn’t so scandalous. But a lion imitating a lioness? It was ridiculous. That was why Lucretia kept her identity a secret.

  She wiped her makeup off and put on her royal garments. King Fraud's duties were awaiting him.

  Before she stepped out of her chambers, she cast a final glance back. The scattered sheets, the messy table with a used tea set on it, the makeup hidden in a cupboard... This was her secret world. Lucretia couldn’t bear the weight of the crown if, at night, she couldn’t dress in pretty dresses, put on makeup, and have parties with her girlfriends. Then, she removed the mask of Fraud, the respected king of Agapea, and turned into Lucretia, a young lady of the court who loved to have fun. She used the king's image as a shield to protect herself from the outside world. While her subordinates were afraid of him, no one would dare investigate her personal life. The fear of exposure made her make bold decisions, like the war with Windhaven, for example. Lucretia found the bloodshed to be tasteless. Once she conquered the city, however, no one could oppose her power. Then Lucretia would be free to step into the light.

  The fear of someone discovering her secret wasn’t the only burden lying on Lucretia's shoulders. The Red Evil grew stronger with each passing day. It also wanted the defeat of Windhaven and to kill Cayden Starosta. Lucretia didn’t feel an iota of doubt that if King Fraud failed in this task, It wouldn’t hesitate to remove him or—worse—turn him into one of its mindless slaves. The Lioness, however, was cleverer than the Presence assumed. It was she who was using It to achieve her goals. Having seized the absolute power, she would destroy It.

  She sighed and put on the mask of King Fraud. Lucretia stayed in the room. The king took up the reins.

  In the throne room, Count Porcius was snoring loudly. He’d rested his head on a table covered by maps. The king's most trusted adviser had stayed awake all night to draw up a strategic plan for the upcoming war. The events of the day had tired him so much that at the end, he’d just fallen asleep.

  King Fraud slammed the door open. The count jumped up from his seat.

  “Good morning, you lazy pig! I see that you’ve spent the whole night working hard.” The king slapped Count Porcius behind his head. “How are the preparations going?”

  “Well...” the count said, trembling.

  “You know, Porcius, I love the smell of an unwashed pig in full battle armor early in the morning,” said Fraud.

  “Well—” Count Porcius tried again.

  “If you don’t accomplish the task, I'll put you in armor and send your dirty ass to the front line!”

  The count’s spirits lowered further, if that was possible.

  “Don’t look so sad, Porcius; tomorrow we’re going to war!”

  “K-king Fraud,” Porcius said. “The custom during the Feast of the N-nine Moons is not to wage war. Maybe it’s best to w-wait after the Festival has finished…”

  For once, Fraud agreed with the Count. He didn’t like waging war during the Festival. It was a time for celebration, drinking, wearing pretty dresses and makeup, dancing—a time to enjoy the freedom and sweetness of life. The king sighed. Maybe they really could postpone the war for after the Festival. Surely, the Evil wouldn’t mind, as long as It got Cayden in the end.

  The Red Presence stirred in his mind. It sensed the disobedience of Fraud and was displeased. The king was overcome with images. First he saw himself wearing a breathtaking light-blue dress at a garden party, surrounded by a crowd of fans. Then he saw himself on the combined thrones of Windhaven and Agapea, the sole ruler of the realms, with the citizens of both cities bowing down to him in a show of respect and reverence.

  Without a warning, he was ripped out of those images and thrown into a fiery pit. The words “CATCH HIM! CATCH HIM!” echoed in his ears, and Cayden’s face appeared in his mind. The king was overwhelmed by unbearable pain. He pushed with his mind against the Evil and drove it out of his head. The pain faded away with the words and the images.

  When he recovered from the touch of the Red Evil, he understood what it was trying to tell him: if he didn’t defeat the Windhaveners and capture Cayden, the Red Presence would punish him in the most severe way possible. If he managed to do it, however, the world would be his.

  The count was looking at him with fear in his eyes.

  “Porcius, if I had a choice, I would’ve preferred not to start a war,” the king said. “After all, there is so
much alcohol to drink and so many women to love! Who has the time to fight?” He laughed in a fake voice. “However, Porcius, duty calls. You saw what happened yesterday. It awakened. It wants us to go to war. I can feel it.”

  And after I use It to conquer Windhaven, he thought, I’m going to have so much power that I’ll banish It from the kingdoms. He didn’t dare say these things out lout, for the Red Evil could still be listening to their conversation. For now, however, his thoughts were safe, as he had fended the Presence off.

  Yes, Fraud thought. He was going to obey the Evil until he got what he wanted. Then, when he had absolute power over both cities, he would drive It away from his world, becoming the greatest king of them all.

  A guard came in and saluted the king.

  “Your Majesty, I bring news!”

  “What is it?”

  “The three badgers we caught yesterday have escaped from prison! They tunneled a hole and—”

  “Is there anyone at all left in the prison?!” The king slammed his paw on the table.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, we’re still holding two hamsters for attempted murder—”

  “Get out!” Fraud shouted at the guard. “And you better make sure no one else escapes! I want the hole filled in as soon as possible!”

  “Yes, Your Majesty!”

  “Porcius,” said the king as the guard exited the room, “continue with the preparations for the war.”

  There was still much to be done, and no time left to do it. The king could sense Lucretia’s desire to be free from her shackles increase. “Soon,” he said to her, “soon you will be free.”

  ***

  The former Captain Gèroux followed Jean and the three badgers all night, but eventually lost them. The outlaws were at least as experienced in evasion as he was. As soon as they sensed he was at their heels, the badgers disappeared without a trace.

  Tonight, Zacharie had lost his temper. As soon as he had noticed Jean and the badgers escaping prison, a Red Mist had descended on him. He had lost himself in the ecstasy of the chase. In his desire to catch up with them, he hadn't felt the thrill of the hunt gradually turn into anger.

  Only when he lost track of the fugitives did he come to. Captain Gèroux stood in front of a road that branched off in two directions and wondered what had made him lose control this time.

  The meeting with Bernard had disturbed him. The two had always been different in nature—while Bernard was ardent, sometimes irrational, and acted on instinct, Zacharie was cool and objective. The monsieur couldn’t stand the captain’s detachment. In turn, Zacharie couldn’t stand his brother’s arrogance and selfishness. Bernard was prepared to do anything to achieve his goals, even if it hurt his own family, even though he claimed to do it for them. The captain deeply sympathized with them. He regularly gave aid to Anna and the children, but it wasn’t enough. If his brother ever found out that he was helping them, he would become furious and throw away all the money he had given them. His pride was too great to accept pittance.

  Zacharie was surprised to discover he still carried a deep hatred of Bernard for everything he had put him and his mother through. Their father had passed away when they were young. He had been an officer in the city guard, and he’d died in the line of duty. As their mother was too sick to work, the two brothers had had to find jobs to support the family. One day, the monsieur had taken their father’s sword and run away, leaving the family to their fate. His brother had hurt them with his selfishness. That was why Zacharie had aspired to become the opposite of him, to be obedient and responsible. The captain had turned into the guardian of the family, since Bernard couldn’t be relied on. He was the pillar of stone his mother could lean on. When she had passed away, Bernard hadn't even come to the funeral, probably because he had been passed out drunk in a ditch somewhere.

  No matter how much his brother’s irresponsibility annoyed him, the captain still loved him. Zacharie could almost sense Monsieur Gèroux's presence beside him. The feeling brought him calmness, as if the two sides of the same coin had finally come together. He wondered if Bernard was aware of his presence as well.

  The sun rose over the city. The consequences of last night’s attack stood out under the bright light. The streets of Agapea were full of holes caused by the fiery projectiles raining from the skies. Many houses had become ruins. Beneath them, once-living souls were buried. Empty bottles rolled in the streets, and drunks lay next to wounded citizens and the corpses of those who hadn’t survived through the night. Guards ran around attempting to restore order. The fires had been suppressed, but there was much more work to be done. The nauseating smell of burned flesh floated in the air.

  The pain that Zacharie felt for his city only reinforced his anger. His feelings were like a whirlwind inside of him, intertwining, swelling, and threatening to swallow him up. Though he fought with the anger and the pain, for a moment they overtook him. It was as if someone else's Presence took control over his body. The Red Mist returned, slowly engulfing his vision. He concentrated his mind, and the Cloud pulled away. Gradually, he regained his composure. Whatever this Presence was, the Captain wasn’t going to give it authority over him. The task at hand was far too important for him to afford a failure.

  He considered his shameful dismissal from the city guard and the risk he was taking by not obeying the king's orders. His life was the price he would pay if he was unsuccessful. His next move had to be thorough and executed carefully.

  Like every good watchman, Zacharie knew that crime could never be reduced to absolute zero. The guard's job wasn’t to stop all criminals, but to keep the lawlessness under surveillance. It was a public secret that, in order to do this, they cooperated with certain members of the underbelly of society. If they didn’t work with felons, the watchmen’s task would be impossible. The captain had a reliable network of snitches who, for a certain price, notified him of what happened in the city. The trick was to know where the boundary lay between using his informants instead of them using him.

  Zacharie had walked this thin line throughout his entire professional life without ever crossing it. The severity of the current situation had forced him to move away from the right side of the law and, for the first time, to cross the border between right and wrong. It all depended on the next few hours. If the events didn’t develop in his favor, the king would order his execution. In that case, he’d have no choice but to live as a criminal, anyway.

  The captain stood in front of the Outstanding Merchant tavern. There was nothing outstanding about this establishment. The doors barely hung on by their hinges. It was a miracle that the roof hadn’t collapsed. Dark cloths covered the windows to keep hidden the dubious deals happening in the pub. The other reason for the covers on the windows were the heavy hangovers of the patrons. The sun was their greatest enemy.

  As soon as he walked into the tavern, the heavy smell of stale air and alcohol greeted Zacharie’s nose. Under one of the tables lay rats, seemingly dead. The captain's trained eye noticed, however, that they had simply drunk too much. He stepped into the darkness, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom of the room.

  The rest of the customers were bent over their tables, drinking cheap alcohol. At the bar, a pig in a dirty white apron was polishing a glass. His name was Benji, and he was Zacharie’s best informant. The captain had rescued him several times from the city guard, and he owed him for that.

  “Why are bartenders always polishing glasses?” Zacharie asked as he came closer to the bar.

  “I'm not sure,” said the pig, shrugging. “It's part of the craft, I guess.”

  “Haven’t seen you in a while, Benji.”

  “Yes, and such a happy time it was.”

  “I need something from you,” said the captain. He wasn’t much for small talk.

  “What would you like? Whiskey, wine, beer? We have a great cognac...” Benji deliberately acted as if he hadn’t understood the captain.

  “You know what I'm talking about.”

&nb
sp; The pig stopped polishing the glass and put it on the bar, throwing the towel over his shoulder. His forehead wrinkled. Finally, the bartender nodded. He waved at the guard to follow him into a room behind the bar. Inside were a table, two chairs, a bottle of whiskey, and glasses.

  “Want something to drink?” Benji asked, pointing at the bottle.

  “It's early.”

  “Well, it's not too early for me,” the pig said and poured himself a drink. “What do you want to know?”

  “Three badgers, members of the Resistance. We apprehended them yesterday, but they escaped. I need their location.”

  “Oh, is that all you want?” Benji said sarcastically. “There are thousands of badgers in Agapea! Look, I'm not a racist, but they all look the same to me. I don’t know how they can tell themselves from one another.”

  “I know you have connections among the badgers. That’s where you get your alcohol, don’t you?”

  “Be quiet!” said Benji. “Do you want everyone to find out?! So what if I buy badgers’ alcohol? It's a little cheaper, but it's criminally underrated.”

  “And illegal,” said Zacharie.

  Benji sighed. He wiped the sweat that had broken out on his bald head with a handkerchief. “If I tell you anything, the badgers will ruin me. I'd be lucky if they spare my life.”

  The wolf was just about to remind him that the only reason Benji still had a bar was because of him, but the bartender had anticipated that response.

  “I know I'm obliged to you because you’ve had my back. But I can’t help you this time. Besides, if you really wanted to shut this place down, you'd have done it long ago.”