by Plague Jack
“Of course I would,” said Calcifer. “Wouldn’t anybody?”
“A few wise men have declined. Death can be preferable to power. You must hunt down those who would abuse my gifts and punish them. Are you willing to do that?” asked Cambrian.
One of those things just killed my mother, thought Calcifer. “More than willing,” he answered.
“Good,” hissed the god. “Very good…” A shelled hand extended towards Calcifer. “Let us shake on it.”
Icicles shot up Calcifer’s arm as the old god grasped his hand. The pain spiraled up his body until it hit him in the head. Calcifer wanted to cry out in pain but his mouth was frozen. The ice beneath him melted and he sank into water that bubbled with steaming heat. “Goodbye, Calcifer,” said Cambrian. “We will meet again.”
Calcifer awoke along the shores of Lake Crescent while his sister sobbed over him. She embraced him when she saw he was awake, and together they traveled away from their burning home. As children they struggled to survive as they roamed from city to city. But for some trades there is always a market, and Monica never failed to earn them food. The only love either one of them knew was the embrace of the other. Slowly and gradually desperation drove them to become lovers until time and duty pulled them apart.
Calcifer took a left through Solace, at the fork where the Stone Road diverged from the Iron Road. The local villagers slammed doors and shutters closed as he passed, but he cared not. As he traveled west the forests thinned into hilly grassland dusted with snow. The western horizon was blocked by the great Frost Fist Mountains, and anyone who sought to cross Amernia from the northwest had to pass over the frozen summit. Needless to say, the southern detour along the Gold Road was the more popular route.
Calcifer hated the cold, and the winds battered and abused him as the traveled the Stone Road north. Twice the weather got so bad he had to rest at an inn for the night, but thoughts of Monica kept him from sleep. The snow grew thicker the further Calcifer traveled along the Stone Road. Calcifer breathed a sigh of relief when he finally closed in on the mountain summit.
Of all the peaks in the Frost Fist Mountains, Harpy’s Point was the highest. Teryn’s Landing was a large southward facing platform, built in the shadow of the mountain’s peak. Harpy’s Point was named after the massive harpy statue carved into the rock overlooking the snow-covered landing. Her face glared down angrily at Calcifer from the mountainside. Her long hair draped over her breasts and hung down almost to her navel. Outstretched arms melded into massive stone wings. There was such detail in them that Calcifer thought he could count the feathers if he bothered to try. At the waist the harpy became mountain once again.
Beneath the statue was the gate into Harpy’s Point, a massive pair of stone blocks magnetized together in the middle. Carved into the gate, the dwarf warrior Teryn battled a score of harpies. I wonder how many men it would take to smash that gate down, thought Calcifer before remembering, or how long they would be able to hold out in there before the Queen had them all gassed.
“Goodbye, Sheila,” Calcifer told his moa as she was led away by a dwarf with an obscene amount of braids in his beard. “I’m here to see Duchess Evrill,” said Calcifer to the guards lazily chatting at the city’s gate. Their tabards were deep violet, marked with a silver harpy. “Let me in,” he demanded. Two weeks in the cold had put the elf in no mood for manners.
“Of course,” said the guard. “You are always welcome here, Bottler. Open the gates,” he shouted. There was a great whirring noise followed by a slow grinding as several hundred tons of stone slid apart, revealing a subterranean wonderland.
The city of Harpy’s Point was built in a truly gargantuan cavern. Despite being underground, the city was famous for its endless day. The cave’s ceiling was a falsely starred sky of thick glowworms that shone blue, rendering torches nearly unnecessary. Their webs dangled from the stalagmites to catch careless moths or bats that flew to close to the worm’s traps. Fireflies blinked in the air around Calcifer as he walked down soggy stone stairs and towards the moss-covered bridge leading to the city market. Catfish with eyes that had long since forgotten how to see swam in the Crystal River below him. Calcifer was blind to the beauty that surrounded him, his mind on only Monica.
Harpy’s Point was built on a shallow lake, and canals of shallow creeks trickled everywhere in the city. All the buildings were made from large, thick mountain stone, each delicately carved with dwarven knots and idols. Building materials were mined from the cavern’s walls whenever the city needed to expand. Armies of helmeted mushrooms gathered wherever there was space between the mossy rock and earth.
“Thief!” cried a dwarf merchant who was selling mushrooms and fish from a rickety booth. “You little shit! Try and take my mushrooms? I’ll break your fucking jaw!” shouted the dwarf while he held a filth-covered human boy by the arm.
“I’m sorry,” wailed the boy. “I was just hungry. I’m sorry!”
“Not yet, you aren’t!” said the angry merchant, raising a hand.
“Hurt him and I’ll turn you into a toad and the boy will stomp on you,” intervened Calcifer. Why do men always jump to violence for even the smallest injustice? Violence should be saved for the big crimes, the ones that scream for punishment.
The dwarf must have recognized Calcifer because he instantly realized his mistake. “I’m so sorry, but the boy, he stole from me!”
“He stole fungus from your cart,” said Calcifer, bending down and plucking a mushroom from the dirt. “Here’s a replacement,” he said, tucking the mushroom into the flustered dwarf’s chest pocket. “Consider his debt paid.”
The Bottler escorted the child away from the red-faced merchant. They turned the corner before Calcifer spoke. “Now that should be far enough. I have a request.”
“Wha—what kind of request?” asked the scared child.
“I need to know where I can find the Duchess. Do you know where she is?” asked Calcifer.
“No—no, sir. I’m just an orphan. I don’t know where she is,” stammered the child.
Calcifer smiled. “I was a street rat once too, boy. Street rats hear things. Now I need a favor for a favor. Where can I find the Duchess?”
The boy gulped. “You’re a magic man, aren’t you? Did someone send you to hurt her? Please don’t, she’s nice to us.”
“Better,” sighed the magic man. “I’m not here to hurt her. She has something of mine I’m here to collect.”
“Last I saw her she was taking refugees from the Church. It’s towards the dark district,” said the boy, pointing a finger towards the northern corner of the glowing ceiling, which the bats nested in and the glowworms avoided. “But don’t go into the dark district,” he continued. “They don’t like outsiders there.”
“Thanks,” said Calcifer, tossing the boy a coin.
There was no organized layout to the city, and Calcifer almost got lost navigating the islands. A Church of Cambrian stood tall and proud in a city square, its door frame overgrown with glowing pink mushrooms that rained down neon green spores as the door opened. Monks in robes of gray blue descended from the church steps, their heads hooded and down low. One of them looked up, his eyes meeting Calcifer’s, and fell to his knees. “Bless me, Life-Bringer, for I am in the presence of one of your chosen.”
The rest followed and all fell to their knees. “Bless us,” they chanted.
“You want your blessing? Shut up and get out of the dirt, and you’re all blessed.”
They stood up, shocked at being spoken to so harshly. You should be nice to them. Their lives are hard and bleak, his conscience reminded him. A wave of his hand sent the monks wailing with appreciation.
“Calcifer? Is that you?” asked a familiar voice.
That’s not Evrill, thought Calcifer as one of the monks ran forward and pushed back her hood, revealing a bob of black hair and wide angular eyes.
“It’s me, Selina! I’m not a whore anymore.”
“Hello again, S
elina,” said a less-than-enthusiastic Calcifer.
“I’ve cleaned up since we last talked. I joined the church and took a vow of chastity!”
“Why would you do a thing like that?”
“Well, after you hired me only to use me only as hellion bait, I decided whoring wasn’t for me. I’m happier now. The monks here are good to me.”
“Congratulations on shifting careers,” said Calcifer. “I can’t stay and talk; I’m looking for Evrill. An orphan boy told me that he’d seen her here caring for the refugees. Have you seen her?”
“She was here a week ago. Took the refugees to the hospital.”
“There’s a hospital?” asked Calcifer. “Where?”
“Right over there, silly,” said Selina, pointing down the street lit with low-lying braziers. At the end was a tower that loomed over the Crystal River. “That’s where they’ve been sticking the refugees. It’s more of a sanctuary these days.”
The “sanctuary” was a large building, framed with stone and walled with wood. When Harpy’s Point was ruled by dwarfs, the sanctuary had served as a guards’ barracks. The Crystal River started from a crack in Harpy’s Point’s eastern corner. Evrill’s sanctuary jutted from the river’s clear water, and white banners marked with red caducei hung from the windows. A pair of guards in violet saluted him as he crossed the bridge to enter.
The hospital was a mess on the inside, with patient-filled beds lining the main hallway. Most of the patients were elfkin, with only a few humans here and there. Doctors and nurses in white bustled around Calcifer, oblivious to anything that wasn’t bleeding.
“Nurse Joy, can’t you give me something for the pain?” asked an elf, who was having the brown blood-soaked bandages around his leg stump cut away.
“I’m sorry, Joseph—we don’t have the morphine to spare. The most I can do is numb the pain with ox-nettle.”
“Where is the Duchess Evrill?” Calcifer interrupted, much to the nurse’s disapproval.
“I’m right here, Calcifer,” said a familiar voice, emerging from around a corner. She was a slender old woman, and she wore her hair in a tight bun, the loose strands held back by her half-moon glasses. A white smock smeared with blood hid her form-fitting clothing. If Calcifer hadn’t known her, he would have never guessed this woman was noble-born.
“Where is my sister? Has she gotten better? Is she talking?”
Veronica Evrill stared softly into Calcifer’s eyes. “No. She’s the same as she was, Calcifer. I’m sorry,” Evrill said, shaking her head and stripping off her bloody gloves and apron.
“Take me to her!” snapped Calcifer. “I have to see her now!”
“Hush, child,” said the Duchess. “Are you sure you are ready? She is not the woman you knew, nor will she ever be again. Her mind had it worse than her body, and though we’ve healed her cuts and fractures, we can’t fix her mind.”
“I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be,” said Calcifer. She was a beautiful girl, working in a brothel. There’s no way she was just attacked. “Is she pregnant?”
“She was,” said Evrill as Calcifer inhaled sharply, “but we fed her red tansy and gave her nightshade tea to calm the sweats.”
“And the child? Did it appear normal?” asked Calcifer.
“It was too early for there to be a child,” said Evrill. “But there was no curse—you can take my word for it.” She paused. “Monica’s room is on the fifth floor. This way,” she said, ushering Calcifer down the hallway.
“Are all these people from Norfield?” asked Calcifer as he stepped over a heavily bandaged gilnoid who sat slumped against the wall, his legs outstretched.
“Most of them. We’ve gotten more injured than uninjured,” said the Duchess, pulling a rope hanging along the wall. A pair of doors opened automatically, and Calcifer raised an eyebrow. “An invention of mine we call ‘the elevator.’ It’s particularly useful for transporting patients’ beds between the floors.” Evrill gave four tugs on the rope and the elevator began to ascend with a grind.
“Good to see that big brain of yours is still ticking,” said Calcifer. “I thought you had retired from inventing.”
“The elevator’s nothing special—it’s just a box attached to some pulleys.”
“Pulleys you invented.”
“A trinket more than anything. Now I only use science to help people.”
“How does it work?” asked Calcifer.
“It’s pulled by a trio of gilnoids in the basement.” She smiled. “Might not be the most dignified of jobs, but I pay them well for their labor. After the Norfield riots we’ve been getting huge waves of elfkin from all over Amernia. Humans as well. Many are just as sick of the endless inequality. Most have found employment in Harpy’s Point. There’s always work to be done around here.”
The elevator came to a jarring halt. “You’re building a sanctuary. Brave, but aren’t you worried about the attention that’s going to draw from the Blood Queen?”
The Duchess stepped out of the elevator. “Believe it or not, Minerva doesn’t want the elfkin wiped out. Just controlled. She and I are good friends and there are things I could tell you about our queen that would make your head spin.”
“Horseshit,” said Calcifer. “I was at Capricorn.”
“And so was I. Mistakes were made on both sides, but be assured that if the Queen ever wanted to wipe out the elfkin, she would,” said Evrill as she approached a closed wooden door marked with a red 6. “Your sister’s inside,” she said softly, and then to Calcifer’s surprise she wrapped him in a tight hug. Affection was rare to Calcifer and he stood still and stiff, unsure of how to react. “Remember, Calcifer, you are never alone.”
Calcifer felt alone as the heavy door shut behind him. It was a sparse room, consisting of only a bed, a chair, and a window across from the door with a view overlooking the city. The glowworms outside provided the only light, casting the room in an eerie blue. The woman that lay in the bed was scarcely recognizable as his sister. Monica had always been pale, but now she was completely devoid of color save for the darkness under her sunken eyes and her chapped purple lips. Her head had been shaved and her eyes stared emptily.
“Can you hear me?” asked Calcifer. Monica made no response. “Are you awake?” he asked, pulling a chair from the corner and taking a seat beside her bed. Still she stared blankly. “What happened to you?” Calcifer asked the empty girl. “You were always the stronger one. I used to think you could take anything. I would be dead if not for you, you know that? We would have starved.” Calcifer laughed nervously. “What would our parents say if they could see us now? Dad disowned us, and Mom… Mom probably would have too. You were the only one, I hope you know that.” Calcifer’s voice began to choke up, but he would not cry. I won’t, he told himself. “Sex never meant anything to you, but you couldn’t let it. It meant so much to me, though.” Calcifer slipped off his bandanna and brushed his hair back over the scar on his forehead. “I love you,” he said. “And you claimed you loved me, too.” Still there was no response from his sister.
“I didn’t want to leave you, Monica. Norfield wasn’t the kind of place you deserved, but I owed everything to Cambrian. I owed my life to Cambrian. You wanted to come, but I told you to stay, because it was too dangerous. I should have taken you with me. When I came back…” He paused. “When I saw you again, that was the last time we talked, and I said and did some things I shouldn’t have.” He put his head in his hands. “I should have stayed. You should have been safe with me.” His eyes swelled. I won’t cry, I’m stronger than this, he thought. “I’ve failed you, my love. I’m sorry.” Calcifer buried his head in the bedsheets. “I’m so sorry.”
Grief enveloped Calcifer as he lay with his love for what could have been hours, or days. The only movement in the room came from the gentle rise and fall of Monica’s breast. It would have been better if she had died, thought Calcifer. Maybe she should. Calcifer unsheathed his katana and rested the blade on his palm. How should I
do it? What would be quicker? To stab her in the heart? The head? Should I slit her throat? No, too messy. I can’t do it. She’s not a sick dog that needs to be put down. She’s still alive. She’s still alive and that means she still has a soul. His tankard glowed with a pulse of its own, as if to remind the Bottler of its existence. A dark thought crossed Calcifer’s mind. Her soul wouldn’t be the first soul you’ve imprisoned, would it? Calcifer had made a career out of imprisoning souls, although it was an unkind thing reserved for the wicked. Better that than this, thought Calcifer, glancing at the frail vegetable in the bed. And that way she’ll never leave me. She’ll never be in danger again and when the time’s right I can bring her back…
He pulled out a small vial from his jacket. I’m going to regret this, he thought as he made a small cut in his sister’s arm. The light dampened as the sword sucked it hungrily from the room. Monica gasped, and her eyes opened wide as her life force was sucked out. Her breathing stopped. Her soul, a grape-sized ball of energy that glowed red, rolled softly across his blade. Very carefully he slid his sister’s soul from his sword into the vial, where it shimmered briefly before going dim.
Veronica Evrill’s office was located at the end of the hall. She was known for being a soft, idealistic woman, and that idealism allowed her to walk through her city without fear. Even the gangs of the dark district dared not harm her. Evrill firmly believed that if you did your job as a leader correctly, you had nothing to fear from the people. The door to her office opened and Calcifer stumbled in, slamming the door behind him.
“Calcifer, have a seat,” said the Duchess, gesturing to a pair of arched-back seats lined with purple leather.
He threw himself into the chair and clanged his runic tankard onto the floor. “Monica is dead,” said Calcifer in a dreadful monotone.
