by Plague Jack
Like most of his kind, the elf was slender. He wore a tight blue coat, ornamented and tailored with golden thread. Sewn into the fabric upon his breast were a pair of hummingbirds sewn with golden thread, their long tails continuing until they wrapped around the elf’s chest like vines. A bandanna covered his forehead, and long black hair poked out the sides and back. It wasn’t the katana on his waist that frightened away the humans but the large tankard on his back glowing softly with runes.
A seventy-foot wall bedecked with dried and withered vines surrounded the Queen’s palace, and the elf found himself eclipsed in its shadow. Before him was a gaudy massive complex more showy than practical. The palace was famous for the nine pointed towers which were covered with stained blue copper. The old metal roofing had earned the complex the nickname of the Tarnished Palace. The crown jewel of Amernia, built by elves and conquered by humans, thought the elf as he was stopped by a large group of guards at the palace gate.
“You can come into the castle,” said a guard, “but the bird stays here.”
“Fair enough,” said the elf dryly.
“That, too,” said the guard apprehensively, pointing at the tankard on the elf’s back. “The Queen’s orders.”
Oh, the Queen wants me to hand over one of the most dangerous weapons in Amernia? How shocking, thought the elf, amused. “But, my good Sir, if I just gave it to you I wouldn’t have any collateral,” said the elf, dismounting and tossing his bird’s reins at a flustered guard.
There were three guards at each of the pillars in the palace’s throne room, all itching to use their weapons. The elf gazed up at the domed ceiling. Interesting, he thought as the alien faces of the old gods stared back. I didn’t think the Queen would concern herself with deities. At least she has the sense to worship true power. He rolled through their names in his head: Volcanoth, Cambrian, Prezmordia, Scassix, Mamillian, and Ceno. All pictured—one for each continent in Archipelago.
“Presenting Calcifer the Bottler!” shouted a three-plumed guard.
Oh, good—they do know my name, thought Calcifer as he walked the length of the hall. The Blood Queen’s throne was elevated on a pedestal, seated so high that ten steps were required to reach it. Minerva stared down at the man in blue, her face nearly expressionless. Those tits are heaving slightly too fast, thought Calcifer. I’ve scared the poor girl. Her massive sentinel guardians watched him with empty eyes as he approached. Calcifer bowed gracefully. “It is an honor to be in your presence, Your Majesty.”
She smiled a false smile. “The honor is mine, Bottler,” she said before her eyes darted to the silver canister hanging from his back. “I commanded his tankard be taken before he entered. Why is it here?” she snapped.
A familiar guard stepped forward. “He… refused, Your Majesty.”
Calcifer was a Sorcerer, a rare breed in Amernia. Before the Green War there had been thirty of them. Thirteen had died in combat, three had fled the country, and one still worked for the Queen. In the name of their kingdom, twelve others had mutated into hellions during the Green War. Calcifer had made a career of hunting them down, imprisoning them inside the tankard he so proudly wore. “I didn’t mean to offend,” said Calcifer. “But I have nasty things in this jar of mine, and I would just feel a lot safer if it was in more responsible hands,” He shot a tentative glance at the sentinels.
Minerva showed no anger. “Very well,” she said with a nod. “I called you here today because your country has need of your services.”
They call this woman the Blood Queen? I guess even the ruthless understand the importance of occasional ass-kissing. “My country?” asked Calcifer. “If I had a country it certainly wouldn’t be Amernia. Maybe Keonan,” he added, staring the Queen down with quiet indignation. “What do you want?”
“Do you know of what’s happened in Norfield?” asked the Queen.
“Everybody does. Fat Fuck gets killed, presumably by a hellion, and humans respond with genocide. Amernia’s favorite war criminal is killed, or possibly defects. National embarrassment,” said Calcifer.
“In other words,” she replied, “an organization of elfkin terrorists called the Wild Hunt has taken credit for the kill.”
Calcifer smiled with mocking eyes and reached into the breast pocket of his coat. Slender fingers pulled forth a wooden flask. The room stared intently, waiting for him to act. Such a silly thing, he thought as he flicked it open.
Every guard in the room pulled out their swords at once and Calcifer couldn’t quite tell if he saw the Queen jump. “Calm down, will you,” said the Bottler, taking a drink. “It’s only wine,” he added, his eyes laughing for him. The Queen didn’t appreciate his joke, so the elf continued: “You can calm down now. I’m not going to unleash anything here in some sort of vengeful rampage. I have nothing to do with this… Wild Hunt. I’m more Amernian than elf.”
“Put your swords away,” commanded the Queen. “You can’t blame us for being cautious, Calcifer. There are only three sorcerers left in Amernia, and you’re one of two who don’t work for me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Three? I thought there were only two. Guess that explains the invitation.” He paused. “What makes you sure they’re Amernian?”
“I’m not,” said the Queen. “But you didn’t kill Phineas, and neither did Eldred. It must have been a third sorcerer.”
“And how do you know I’m innocent?” asked Calcifer with a grin.
“You’re a powerful man, Bottler. Do you really think we aren’t keeping an eye on you?”
Of course not. I’ve been paying your spy for intel, thought Calcifer. “Are you? I had no idea.”
The Queen traced her finger in circles upon her golden armrest. “We’ve interviewed witnesses, and they all say the assassin disguised herself as a serving girl before mutating. Only humans were allowed at the Yulander Festival, so either she was aided by a traitor, or she was altered by a skilled surgeon. I need someone who knows what they’re up against to deal with her. I need someone who has faced a hellion before and lived. I cannot have a renegade witch rampaging across my kingdom, Bottler. I need you to deal with this criminal before she starts a war.”
Interesting. “I’ll do it, but how much are you willing to pay?” asked Calcifer.
The Queen sighed as if repressing great pain. “I will give you seven thousand gold if you kill her and ten thousand if you bring her back alive,” she said, shooting another glance at Calcifer’s tankard.
That’s three thousand more than I’ve ever been offered for a capture. I could live off that for ten years, thought Calcifer. “Double it, and you have a deal.”
“I would rather hang my men than send them to fight a hellion,” said the Queen, rubbing her temples. “But your price is absurd.”
“I’m a man of opportunity,” said Calcifer smugly. “And seeing as how there’s no one else capable of catching your little instigator, I don’t think you have any other options.” He brushed a strand of black hair away from one eye. “Of course, you can correct me if I’m wrong.”
The Queen’s eyes grew cold and her face twitched, hinting at the anger within. Still she responded politely. “Very well.”
I’m going to sleep atop a bed of coins when this is over. Calcifer smiled widely. “It would be nothing short of an honor, Your Majesty.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “The witch was last seen flying into the Nixus fields, towards the ruins of Capricorn. My men will direct you to the armory in case you need a gas mask. Will you need someone to accompany you?” she asked.
And have to worry about a knife in the back? I’d rather not. “No, thank you, that will not be needed… nor will the gas mask.” Calcifer paused for thought. “But could I get one for my bird?”
Calcifer was proud of himself as he rode through Voskeer’s cobbled streets without bothering to look back at the palace. Across a shallow canal a pair of dragon statues guarded a thick iron gate rimmed with spikes. That must be the Pendragon estate, thought Calc
ifer. On the other side of the wall was a large marble-columned mansion, and in the courtyard stood a massive white birch tree, its leafless branches shooting into the sky like wooden lightning.
Strange that such an accomplished swordsman would just go missing, thought Calcifer, pondering whether or not Pendragon could have had anything to do with the hellion’s attack. Not likely, he decided. Professional war heroes don’t just defect for no reason. Calcifer raised his hand to his brow and saluted. “May you rot in peace wherever you are,” he said before continuing his trek from the city.
The messenger stopped him just in front of Voskeer’s north gate. The dwarf girl rode a donkey wearing the red and green patchwork colors of the Jester House Courier Company. “Are you Calcifer the Bottler?” she asked, staring with wonder at the legendary bottle.
“The one and only. How can I help you, ma’am?”
“I have a message for you from Harpy’s Point,” said the courier, pulling out a letter from her coat pocket.
“Thank you, ma’am. Do you have any idea who it’s from?” asked Calcifer.
“No, sir.” She shrugged. “I’m just a courier.”
Calcifer tipped her double for her humility and waited until she was out of sight before opening the letter. The cream-colored envelope was sealed with purple wax and marked with the letter E. This cannot be good, he thought as he tore open the envelope and fumbled with the neatly sealed paper.
My Dear Calcifer, it began. You once did me a great favor for which I am ever thankful. I promised you that a time would come when I would repay that debt. I wish I could say that it has been repaid joyfully, but you’re going to find this painful. Calcifer’s heart began to race as he continued. The brothel where your sister was working was destroyed during the Norfield riots. She is alive, but not the same. The attack has left her mind tattered. She has regressed and is no longer the girl you once knew. Harpy’s Point has inherited the surviving refugees from Norfield, both elfkin and those humans who did not wish to stay. I am taking care of her personally, and will continue to do so until you come for her. Wishing you the best in the dark times ahead. Your friend, Duchess Veronica Evrill.
Whatever joy Calcifer had been feeling, whatever sense of pride or accomplishment, had been drained from him. His knuckles went white as he crushed the letter in his fist. A wall of pain hit him in the chest as his heart broke, and a swarm of jittery and nauseating hummingbirds tore angrily at the inside of his stomach. He could not have fled Voskeer faster.
The rain was bitter and cold as he rode north along the Iron Road towards Norfield. The road was lined with signs for Norfield, and its every mention made Calcifer angrier. Damn that city, damn it to hell. The farmlands and vineyards, now barren with winter’s frost, seemed to expand endlessly. Had his rage not set his blood aflame, Calcifer might have been bothered by the freezing rain pelting him in the face and making his hair stiffen with ice. The promise he had made the Queen was all but forgotten.
Calcifer had been a boy of ten when Capricorn had fallen. The siege of Capricorn had come in three waves. The first was an attack by the loyalists’ hellions, who had rampaged nigh unstoppable through the city. Hellions had been sent first in an attempt to demoralize the elves and force them to surrender. When this strategy had failed, the Queen’s forces had tried to take the city by traditional means, but Capricorn had resisted and endured catapult, ballista, and battering ram. When all else had failed, special forces teams had been deployed through the city sewers. Canisters of Nixus gas had been placed throughout the city and before long the city was green with the cannister's poison.
Calcifer had made his escape during the first wave, while hellions still ravaged the city. His mother had struck him hard across the face. “Pay attention, Calcifer!” she’d yelled, her nails biting into his shoulder. “There’s a passage in the cellar your father would use to sneak out,” she’d said, her eyes wide with fear. Screams of pain and fear could be heard faintly from the city streets, and the flames reflected off the windows with an orange glow.
“Are you going with us?” his twin sister Monica had asked. Monica was the calmer of the two, while Calcifer had been prone to tears.
“Of course I am,” their mother had said. “But if something happens to me, you need to know where to go. The cellar exit is hidden behind the wine rack. When you hit the sewers, make a right. Follow it and it will lead you out of the city, past Pendragon and Quintero’s men.” She looked at Calcifer. “For fuck’s sake, boy, be brave. Take care of him, Monica—he needs it.”
A crash shook the building and there was a shower of glass and wood as the thing tore open the front of the house. The hellion was massive and its once human face was distorted and twisted. A snub nose twitched in front of tiny white eyes. Its body was smooth and leathery, and wings that had once been hands grasped the walls of the crumbling ruin of Calcifer’s home.
“Oh, look,” the hellion had screamed, “another little elf whore!”
Rodent-like teeth had snapped forward, and Calcifer had watched in horror as his mother, was shredded into bits of viscera and marrow. His sister grabbed Calcifer’s arm and pulled him out of his terrified trance. As debris crashed around them, they’d run just as their mother had told them to, down through the cellar and onward to the sewers.
The stones had become slippery and the tunnel seemed ever more labyrinthine as the twins had plunged frantically into the blackness. Monica had pulled along a sobbing Calcifer, his wails echoing off the walls. She was pulling him so fast and hard that when they’d finally reached the sewer, the twins had lost their balance and tumbled together into the water.
Wet waste churned violently as it carried them through the sewers. Monica had found a piece of floating debris and latched onto it, but the water continued to smash them violently against the stone walls. After what had felt like ages, they’d finally seen moonlight, and the river of sewage had dumped them into the waters of Lake Crescent. As Calcifer was sent tumbling from the sewers, he’d let go of his sister and plunged head first into the deep. Monica had gasped for air at the water’s surface; above her, Capricorn had burned and the laughter of hellions had echoed in the distance. Fire had danced off Lake Crescent, the massive moon-shaped lake that Capricorn was built beside. On a distant hill the fires of the loyalists’ camp had burned. “Calcifer,” Monica had called out desperately, but she was alone, her brother nowhere to be seen.
Calcifer had floated amongst the reeds, his forehead caved in from a rock. As his body had filled with water, he’d sunk beneath the lake’s surface. Blackness had risen to envelop him and it seemed to take him to another world entirely.
When the blackness faded, Calcifer had found himself in a realm of endless ice. There was no sun here, but still the horizon glowed a dull blue. After finding his footing, he’d poked at the spongy brain exposed on his forehead, finding the wound bloodless. This land was barren, save for Trilobites the size of cattle that left trails as they scuttled through the ice and snow.
The boy had taken a step back in surprise as the ice before him began to melt and boil. The ice had opened to reveal a hole,through which deep blue seawater sloshed lazily. A shadow stirred in the depths and grew bigger and bigger as it rose to the surface. Water fell from the emerging creature’s chassis in sheets. Its slender humanoid body was carapaced with a white shell. Below its pelvis were six tentacles feathered with cilia, which delicately felt for the ice beneath it. The thing had a long neck that reminded Calcifer of the mollusks the merchants in Capricorn used to sell. Blue eyes glowed, but the creature had no face. Two curved horns sprouted upward from the top of Cambrian’s head, and two more curled downward from his cheeks. Cambrian was the first god to create life, and his punishment had been the amputation of his arms, which had left mangled stumps below the shoulder. The Life-Bringer had made himself surrogates from the shells of his dead children, and his prostheses floated eerily where elbows should be.
“You are afraid. Don’t be, child—I
wish to see you live,” said Cambrian, his voice radiating in Calcifer’s head.
“Am I dead?” asked Calcifer. His fear had waned when the god had demanded it. “Is this the afterlife?”
If the god had had a face, he might have smiled. Instead he cocked his head and extended his long neck to further inspect Calcifer. “There is nothing after,” said the god. “Mortals live, but their souls are little more than raw energy coursing through flesh. When they die, that energy is broken down and returned to the cosmos. There is no heaven and no hell. Only delusion.”
“You’re Cambrian. It’s your church says that good people go to heaven and the bad go to hell.”
“They worship me,” said the old god. “But they pay me no respect. They look at those upon whom I have bestowed my gift with jealousy—or worship. Both are just as weak. To rationalize their feelings of petty insignificance, they tell themselves that utopia awaits them in death instead of cherishing the sacrifices I made for them.”
“If I’m not dead and this isn’t the end, where am I?” asked Calcifer.
“Currently? Your vessel is floating along the bottom of a river. Your sister is sitting on the shores of a lake and is calling your name while Capricorn burns. I am keeping you alive. I wish to propose a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” asked Calcifer. “What can I offer you?”
“Your mother was killed in front of you tonight. Release your sorrow,” said Cambrian, and at the god’s command, Calcifer’s sadness left him. “The things that destroyed your home tonight were once in a situation very similar to yours. I gave every Amernian sorcerer their power, but even the gods make mistakes, and that was one of mine. They have abused their gifts and must be punished.” Cambrian traced a finger under the boy’s chin. “So much fear in you, child, but deep inside there is also bravery. What if I offered you the chance never to feel fear again? Would you take it?”
