Indeed there was a silver band floating in front of Pierre’s face. “That is amazing and lucky!” whispered Pierre, as he hoisted up Micah. My vaguely visible hand reached under the prince’s armpit, pulling him up close to me on the rope. “The bloody cardinal is here. Marla has been keeping him asleep, but I don’t know for how much longer.” Pierre’s distinguished and perpetually calm face was nothing of the sort at this moment. His rage was real and his genuine fear apparent.
I made my way up the rope as quickly as I could with one arm. I saw Pierre throw his satchel of bombs to Malcolm. More painfully loud booms echoed through my eardrums as gunshots went off around me. Zan, Billiam, and Nairee were picking off the guards that rushed the courtyard from all sides.
“We are running ahead, meet you two in the sewers! We are not so inconspicuous,” called Nairee, running and shooting ahead of her at the same time, Pierre following close behind. The two elders looked shaken but determined. I was worried but confident in them, mostly because I hadn’t seen the cardinal myself yet.
“There is a lot of trouble,” I gasped out as I finally reached the top of the rope. Zan and Billiam each grabbed one of the prince’s shoulders, gently bringing him into the basket. “Get the hell out of here, now!” I yelled and cut the rope before even jumping. I would waste no time on that, and was able to absorb most of the fall by rolling into a bush.
“Give me back my lamb, you bloody specters!” roared the cardinal as he emerged from Micah’s burning room, completely unharmed. He was an attractive man who never seemed to age. His face was sculpted, his hair smooth and shining like onyx. As angry as he was, a small smile never left the corners of his lips. He was holding Marla’s head in his hand and threw it up into the sky, to where he saw the prince disappear.
Much to Billiam’s surprise, Shemmy reached out and grabbed it. “Bite that focker!” she growled, drawing a hex on the head before handing it to Zan. “Throw it back at ’is face!”
Zan obeyed, and Marla’s head connected with Aldrious’s chin, chomping down hard. It caused a small geyser of blood to spurt out above his strong jaw.
All that could be heard was a thundering, unearthly voice booming from the cardinal. “Die! Die! Die! Defy me and perish!” As he screamed this, he raised him arms to the air, ignoring the head still chewing up his face. He snapped back his wrists, breaking the bones and ripping his flesh. Blood poured out from the new holes and following it, seeped out two growing forms. The bloody figures flew up, contorting until it was clear what they really were. Two reapers lunged up from out of his hands and were barreling toward the balloon.
The crew in the air had already begun flying away and now had a reaper on either side. It was obvious the creatures could not see them but could either smell or hear them. They snapped and snarled ever closer to the basket.
Zan stood at the edge, examining the beast. “It’s a spell,” he explained calmly. “I can see the energy’s epicenter, and if I break it, the spell will disperse.” He grabbed his sword and thrust forward, hard. To Shemmy and Billiam, it looked like he was aiming below the wing on the right reaper, not even at the actual creature. Regardless of how it appeared, the reaper evaporated into charcoal dust before their eyes.
As the passengers looked on mystified at the disappearance of the right reaper, the left slashed at the balloon with its talons. Zan ran and thrust again, annihilating the spell though it had already done its damage. The balloon had barely reached outside the castle and there was now a large tear in its fabric. Billiam handed the prince, whom he had been cradling, over to Shemmy. He stood up in the basket, grabbed his handkerchief out of his pocket, and held it over the hole.
“Shemmy, can you enchant the air behind this cloth to hold it steady to the balloon?” he gasped out to her as the vessel bowed around, heading downward.
“I fink so!” she squeaked, lifting her hand to draw the hex. The balloon leveled out and moved forward. Billiam fanned its flame before slumping back down, both relieved and exhausted.
On the ground, I had drawn my sword to defend against any of the cardinal’s underlings who might see me.
Aldrious was still screaming demonically, and he then suddenly turned toward Malcolm. “I smell you, piggy!” he hissed, pulling the chewing head off of his chin. Blood squirted out rapidly, which he pointed at my partner, covering him and clearly showing his location.
Malcolm threw one of the small bombs directly at the cardinal’s face. My bloody friend turned tail to run the moment he threw it, though Aldrious imploded it before it could impact. He seemed to be able to negate its power and was unscathed. He ran after Malcolm, so I swung my great sword into the cardinal’s arm as he reached for him. His wrists had somehow already been repaired, yet I made his right forearm thud against the ground. He used this opportunity to point the flowing blood at me, ruining my invisibility as well. Undeterred, I swung again and struck his chest. He fell over, allowing Malcolm and I to escape toward the slave tunnels.
I wanted to see what became of Aldrious. A regular human would be quite dead simply from the gash to the chest, let alone all the previous blood loss, but it was quite apparent the cardinal was no ordinary man. My desire to survive won over my curiosity, so we ran, hurling bombs behind us and shooting all foes in front of us.
Malcolm had much more stamina than you would expect of someone of his stature and kept pace with me as we made our way though the tunnels. We passed at least three-dozen disposed-of guards before making it to the entrance.
It was a drop down straight into the drink, which appeared to be about a twelve-foot fall. Malcolm hesitated, so I grabbed him and dunked him down the hole like a play ball. The huge splash of sewage blew all the way up to me. I grabbed the lip of the entrance and swung myself onto the dry edge. Nairee and Pierre were there and already helping Malcolm out of the filthy water. I looked up as I heard plate gauntlets scratching against the stone tunnel. Pierre lit a piece of dynamite, handed it to me, and I set it easily right at the entrance I’d just swung from. With that we started running as fast as we could along the sewer ledge.
We reached sunlight at the end of the tunnel and were greeted by the torrent of waste that followed us from the blast. We heard giggling yards ahead as we shook off the filthy water that drenched us. It was no use; we were soaked to the bone, but at least we were all safe. Katrina ran over to us, smiling until her mental counting reached only four.
“Marla’s sacrifice is why we are here, and why the prince made it out. The revolution would be impossible without that slave girl, so don’t you be frowning, child,” explained Nairee to her daughter, resisting the urge to embrace her. There was no need for us all to be soaked in filth.
While we walked over to the boats, Malcolm and I regained most of our visibility, revealing our clothing stained by the cardinal’s blood.
“Are you hurt?” asked Pierre, taking in the gruesome mess.
“We are fine. The cardinal just wanted to take a look over us so badly, he donated a pint or two on us,” I joked grimly, though it was actually quite accurate.
The initial deluge washed most of the blood on our skin away; however, I had a patch of it stuck at the base of my neck. I was eager to study it, and I thought perhaps it would turn to ash or never dry as I had heard happens to blood magic spells. There was nothing of note; it was dark red and crumbled off me as I rubbed it with a dry finger. Pushing away my slight disappointment, I joined the others cleaning up in the river. It was also compromised by the sewage flood but still cleaner than us.
We then said our short good-byes and readied ourselves to begin our respective quests. Katrina gave her parents an extended embrace and each a kiss on the cheek before joining Malcolm and I in the canoe.
I pushed hard against the shore with one of the oars to propel us toward the other side of the large and angry River Marken. Across its length were the forests of western Casperland, known as the Lostwood. It would be a long journey through it to Alafor, but at least it would
be dry. We could spy our destination, the western shore of the voracious stream, when we lost sight of the skipper manned by Pierre and Nairee. They were carried swiftly south and out of our hands.
I sat in the middle of the canoe, with Katrina in front and Malcolm behind. I decided I’d do all the rowing myself, as I had reserves of energy left and would rather not have to work in teams for everything. The water was cold, splashing up as it fought against us. This river used to be a pristine blue flow of crystalline water. It was once full of life, but years of sewage and runoff from the corpses in Peace Valley had wreaked their havoc. Any fish that could be caught would be inedible; bears and foxes had not been seen alongside it in decades. The color of the raging rapid was a deep, dark olive with its spray a dingy brown.
We crossed the noxious river in a half hour’s time. We unpacked the few bags from the canoe before abandoning it. Malcolm and I took time to get out of our soiled and soaking clothes, and then we were ready to commence.
Our walk to Alafor would take approximately eight days. The last ten miles of our journey were to be spent scaling the mountain range of Alstair, before we could emerge in the icy kingdom of Alafor.
I had brought much of my savings in the hopes that somewhere in this wilderness a horse or two could be purchased. There would be one ghost of a town we would be passing through called Pottleton, which I had a strange sense of hope for. I made sure to include it in our route. I was desperate to get us to Alafor as fast as possible, as it would be ten days at the soonest that the prince’s group could get there. Two days did not feel like nearly enough time to make friends, let alone assess the level of safety for Micah.
As soon as we were dry and ready, I started off without a word. My companions followed suit, and silence became the fourth member of our team. It was apparent Katrina was still not herself and was looking as dour and serious as the two of us. I knew I would have to do my best to cheer her up before we got to Alafor; she was supposed to be the charming one, after all. I decided to leave that for later. I hadn’t the patience for human emotions on the first day.
Chapter 5
May 4-6th, 989
THE BALLOON floated on valiantly, high above the wastes, with its handkerchief bandage working just fine. Billiam and Shemmy had switched back positions, and he was now cradling Micah while seated on the floor of the basket, and she was the “pilot.” Piloting the balloon consisted of occasionally yanking on one or the other of the two pulleys, making sure the balloon was headed in about the right direction. She also kept a watch on the flame. Zan had his eyes behind them, scanning the sky toward the castle to be ready for any more flying interlopers.
Billiam sat cross-legged in a corner of the basket, the prince’s head in his lap. He brushed Micah’s chin-length hair off his skin to take in the view of the face he’d been removed from for years. As he looked over the prince’s lovely visage, he noticed a scar starting at his collarbone and disappearing beneath his light blue silken blouse.
“That was not there before,” whispered Billiam in a trembling voice.
He opened the prince’s shirt to inspect him, prompting Shemmy to stoop down and gawk as well. Zan realized he had lost them both and turned from his lookout position to take over as pilot. Farther down Micah’s smooth, pale chest was a veritable graveyard of scars, burns, and bites.
“Cardinal musta been punishing him, I reckon,” Shemmy mused and pointed to one of the marks, a round pink mound above Micah’s belly button. “He smokes cigars, eh?”
“I suppose he must, or at least when torturing the prince. Oh Micah, I am so sorry.” Billiam clutched the prince closer to him, kissing the corpse on the top of its head. He rolled up both sleeves of Micah’s top to reveal four-inch vertical and gruesome gashes on each arm. “Spirit, that bastard could have killed you…. Well, I mean… sooner.” He got choked up as he rolled the sleeves back down.
Shemmy grabbed his hand before he could finish covering the horrible wounds. “Now, those ain’t from the cardinal. Those be from Micah,” she told him sadly.
“What are you implying? The prince would never be so weak.”
“’Ey, I dun fink he be weak at all. I fink he was being smart, or at least trying to be. I mean, he was sure to have figgered wot the cardinal planned, and how he wos keeping him alive until his twentieth and such. He was juss tryin’ to thwart Aldrious in his own way, prolly.”
“I bet you are right, Shemmy,” he agreed, buttoning up Micah’s shirt. As he got to the bottom button, he coyly lifted his trousers and slipped his hand in and out quickly.
“Bloody hell, Billiam. What are you doing?” Zan grunted out from above them. Billiam had almost forgotten he was there.
His face grew hot with embarrassment as he stammered out, “Um, since I was inspecting him… and the parts down there, well, they’re important to me…. Just wanted to make sure they were intact, is all. It feels like everything is in good condition.”
Shemmy giggled and looked over Micah for herself, though only with her eyes. “He really is quite a pretty thing, isn’t he? If ya had’nae juss grabbed at ’is privates, I’d ask if yer sure he’s a boy.”
Although dead, Micah had been very well preserved and did not look much different than he had when he was alive. He was a petite young man, less than an inch taller than Shemmy, with a slender, waiflike build. His skin was the fairest alabaster I’d ever seen. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it had never been touched by sunlight. It was perfectly smooth and milky, or at least had been before the cardinal sadistically decorated his midsection. His hair was fine and silken, the lightest of yellow strands falling all around his regal face. His eyes were large with extravagantly long, dark lashes that added to his feminine appearance. Had he been alive, surely his dark blue eyes would be sparkling and his smile beaming. This was how I always remembered the happy young prince.
“I bathed him and dressed him most of our childhood. I assure you he is very much a male,” replied Billiam, proud of his beautiful sleeping prince. “It’s funny you should say that, though, for many people could not believe he was. He was only six when royals within our kingdom and also other nations started contacting the king and queen. They all wanted to secure the hand of the royal family’s youngest daughter for their offspring or for themselves. Tales of his beauty spread fast and wildly, yet somehow his sex never seemed to register with those who heard of him. Paintings of Micah, commissioned by the queen, became mass-produced, adding to the hysteria and desperation for all to make him their bride first. There were many humiliated dukes and barons who immediately rescinded their offer for his hand when they were informed, again, of his sex.”
“You gotta be kiddin’ me? Those daft bastards!” Shemmy cried gleefully, snorting as she laughed.
“Oh that’s not the end of it. One of his suitors was a prince from Alafor. Homosexuality is completely normal in their society, as all love is celebrated. He was so pursuant that he came here to Drummond to ask for Micah’s hand himself, since the royal couple refused to entertain the idea. Micah was ten at the time; I had to keep him hidden in his room because Prince Gabriel refused to leave without him. I remember Micah telling his parents that he was not opposed to being a man’s bride. He got quite a lecturing for that comment from King Quincey. After catching a glimpse of the wrinkled and desperate Gabriel, he conceded that he was not the man he’d like, anyways. Gabriel was eventually arrested for lechery and slated for execution, but the Alafor parlayed his release to them, ensuring his complete banishment from all Casperland. All the noise of that made the people of the globe concede he was surely a boy, albeit ever so lovely, and the requests for him to marry noblemen ceased.”
“Oh I remember that tosser,” interjected Zan, smiling for the first time that day. “He was so crazy it took your father and four other knights to hold him back without seriously hurting him. I think he ended up getting assassinated anyhow, but I’m glad they didn’t execute him for being such a pervert. You know Micah�
��d think it was his fault.”
They were enjoying the last bit of their flight together, feeling relaxed and laughing. Shemmy looked over the basket and saw them drawing near her home. “Down, down, less go down! I see my shack coming up! I miss my Gam, I do!”
“Your gam?” asked Zan, with exaggerated enthusiasm. He obeyed her and started cutting down the flame. They wafted down slowly before getting caught suddenly by a pine. The balloon thrashed about, ultimately deflating around the spindly branches. “Oops. I hope you know this is my first time in a hot-air balloon too!” he said, smiling his big phony grin, as he squashed the flame out entirely.
Zan jumped out of the basket and reached up to catch Shemmy, who followed him, shrieking excitedly. Billiam seemed to be the only one who thought about their precious deceased cargo. Carrying Micah against his stomach, he stepped as carefully as possible down the branches. When he neared the ground, he reluctantly passed the prince to Zan, and hopped to the dirt. “Excellent landing, my friend,” he joked with a loud scoff.
Shemmy had already started off toward her shack, forcing Billiam to chase after her. “Shemmy, we shouldn’t go to your house. We don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. The cart is up ahead this way.”
“But my Gam! He can carry the prince, and he makes for a brilliant distraction should we find ourselves some trouble,” she rebutted.
Sensing Zan’s hopeless confusion, Billiam turned to him to explain, “Gam is her corpse carriage. It has human legs and follows her around like a puppy.” Returning to Shemmy, he scolded, “And it can’t come. We don’t need the attention associated with such a wonder.” He mussed up her hair and put his arm around her, directing her away from the path to her hovel.
“Fiiiine,” she hissed at Billiam and skipped along beside him, as Zan continued carrying Micah. He looked like a rag doll, limp and small in the giant arms of my brother. They reached their destination within twenty minutes of brisk walking.
Defiant Revival Page 7
