by G. P McKenna
“Fair enough,” I said and grabbed the railing. The wood was moist and spongy, and as I leaned over to peer deeper into the glowing abyss it began to crack. My entire hand sunk into the rotting wood and something slimy and alive immediately slivered over my wrist. Pogue laugher roared over the pouring water as I jumped backwards. “It’s not funny,” I shouted.
“It’s a little funny,” he said.
“It’s not,” I exclaimed, wiping my hand on my dress, “this entire place is a death trap.”
“Ah, it’s not that bad.”
No sooner had the final word left his mouth than a deafening bang came from below as if the tree itself had fallen off its roots. Pogue at least had the decency to gingerly rake a hand through his hair when I pointedly glared at him. Cautious to avoid the pest infestation, I looked over the railing once more, “So, how do we get to the Ivory cage?
“Depends,” Pogue said as he copied my position, “you want the fast or slow way?”
“Fast would be best,” I said while squinting at the orange glow. It was so odd, appearing almost to be pulsating, “I assume that orb drains your energy and—hey, what do you think you’re doing?!” Pogue had wrapped one hand behind my knees as the other supported my back as he scooped me up bridal style. My eyes widened, realization of what he was planning flooding my senses as he held me out over the railing, “Pogue, put me down.”
He shook his head, not even flinching as my heel connected with his cheek, “I promise it’s not as far down as it looks.”
“I’m not blind, I can see how far down it is,” I said, my voice annoyingly high-pitched, “put me down, or I swear I’ll-”
Pogue dropped me.
The orbs blue light disappeared before my eyes as I fell through the windless darkness. I didn’t scream as my body relaxed, allowing gravity to take me. It wasn’t how I wanted to go, but it was too late, and there were worse ways to go. At least it would be quick, over in seconds once my body hit the water.
Except it didn’t.
There was an audible squelch as my back collided with something cold and gelatinous. It immediately began sinking under my weight. I opened my eyes, only to close them again as my senses were overcome by an all-consuming orange glow. Digging my hands into my mattress, I pulled up a handful. Small and beadlike, the glow came from an orange core that was pulsating within a translucent jelly. There must have been millions of them, possibly even billions. Somebody was calling my name in the distance, but I paid them no heed as I burst a bead between two fingers. Like yolk from an egg, orange goo dripped down my arm. The glow faded until there was nothing but a clear, sticky annoyance. Odd indeed.
A sudden yodel from above snapped me out of stupor before it disappeared into the fluorescent ocean behind me with a heavy splat. Pogue’s head shot up several seconds later, “Blah, salty,” he whined as he spat out a mouthful of beads.
“Don’t talk to me.” I hissed as he sloshed his way over.
“Why? What did I do?” he asked without pausing.
“What did you do?” Spit flew from my mouth as I exploded, “why did you toss me?”
“You said take the shortcut.”
“I said to take the short way.”
“Exactly.”
There really was nothing in that gorgeous head of his. Beauty, brawn, but no brains. That was Ascot’s Shield. I crossed my arms and huffed, “Whatever, let’s just get out of here and find Pierous. These beads give me the creeps.”
“Relax,” Pogue said with a smile as he waded past, “it’s only the tree playing tricks again.”
The beads shifted around us, sending waves knocking into our backs. I growled under my breath, “you just had to open your mouth, didn’t you?”
Pogue lowered his head sheepishly as we made our way over towards a low-hanging edge with haste. It was too high up for me to pull myself up, and so I pressed my back against the wall and waited for Pogue to climb first. The beads continued to sway softly around my waist, the occasional wave breaking on the side. My eyes followed them as if magnetically attracted, hands clenching and unclenching as I silently prayed for Pogue to move his ass. A hand dangled in front of my face.
“Coast is clear.” Grasping his forearm tightly, I found footage in the crumbling pool wall as Pogue pulled.
Only for something to suction tightly around my right foot. My stomach plummeted, and I lashed out with my left foot, “Let go, let go.” Pogue’s grip on my arm immediately loosened, and I dug my nails into his bracer for dear life, “not you, idiot. Something has my foot.”
Sharp needles penetrated my flesh, sending a chorus of pain through my body. I cried out. Not like that. I didn’t want to die in a pool of goo, eaten by some unseen thing. Pogue wolfishly growled and dropped my arm. I slipped into the pool, head disappearing beneath the beads. Pogue was right, they were salty. Salty and fishy. The last thing I would ever experience. How pathetic. I struggled to wade upwards, but something from above pushed me back under. Something suspiciously hand-like. Then there was a blinding white light. My eyes were covered, my head submerged in beads, but still, it overwhelmed my senses. The pressure on my leg disappeared, only to be replaced by something planting itself between my legs and pushing me upwards. I cried out for a different reason, balling my fist to punch downwards and hit something hard and hairy.
“Ouch. Stop hitting my head.”
I opened my eyes to find myself sitting on Pogue’s shoulders, almost face-to-face with the ledge. Swallowing, I pulled myself onto it and turned around to pat Pogue’s head softly, “sorry.” My leg stung in the stale air. I looked down. Whatever had been in the water had taken a circular chunk from my thigh. It was no bigger than my fist, but it was deep, and a slimy yellow substance dripped out with my own blood. Cringing, I reached into my pack and pulled out a bandage and healing tonic to douse it with, praying to the Deities that would be enough to keep the inevitable infection at bay until I could clean it with something stronger. Pogue flopped down beside me, breathing heavily. In the unflattering glow, he looked sweaty and slightly green.
“You alright?” I asked.
He nodded weakly, “It takes lots to call energy to the Casteel sword like that, and I haven’t really slept since…well, the past few days.” Running a hand over his face, Pogue sat up and looked at my leg with a hiss, “that looks bad. Are you gonna be alright to talk to Pierous?”
“I think I’ll manage,” I said and tied off the bandage, “what was that in the water?”
“Dunno, didn’t get a good look,” Pogue said and took three deep breaths before climbing to his feet, “but it was really big. Slimy,” he picked up the Casteel sword and wiped the yellow slime covering it on his pants before replacing it in the sheath. Pogue took another deep breath before holding out his hand with a lopsided smile, “come on then. The Ivory cage isn’t far.”
Twenty Two
Trichophobia
Fear of hair
Despite popular rumour, the Ivory cage wasn’t made of ivory. There was no bone incrustation, no walls made of polished tusk. In fact, it was black. Inky stone melted down the domed walls, causing the dripping of the water filling the room to echo with a hum that could drive anybody to madness. Thick wooden trunks consumed each corner, roots twisting unnaturally until they met in the centre of the cage to form a platform, upon which sat nothing but an uncomfortable-looking horned stone throne and an empty sword pedestal in the shadow of a small, leafy oak. The only thing left alive in that dank underworld. Fallen leaves and twigs had been dragged to its foot, giving fuel to a measly campfire, but that was it. There was no Pierous.
“You said the Ivory cage, yeah?” Pogue asked as he ran from trunk to trunk, checking each hollow, “but there’s nobody here. You said he was here.”
“He said he was here,” I stammered. It was true. I remembered it clearly…didn’t I? I turned on the spot, looking for any movement, any sign of intelligent life, but there was nothing but the crackling of flames and the const
ant dripping. Nothing, except for the rustling of leaves. My head snapped upwards, just in time to spy something hairy fall from the oak tree and land on the platform behind me. On instinct, my elbow jutted backwards, only to be intercepted by something ice cold and fleshy.
“Honestly you two,” a smooth voice spoke, “do you have any idea how easy it would’ve been for me to slaughter you just now? If you allow your emotions to get the better of you like that, you’ll lead very short lives.”
I yanked my arm and the one holding it slowly released one finger at a time until I was free to turn and come face-to-face with…somebody. The voice had definitely been Pierous’, but the face was little more than a thick, black beard hanging halfway down his chest, split only by a toothy grin and sharp turquoise eyes that glittered with malice.
“What’s with all the hair?” I asked.
“Bit chilly in here, don’t you agree?” The grin grew to the point it appeared almost painful. He tapped his temple, “I need to keep the old oven warm. Don’t you like it, little Kilco?”
It was a big difference from the clean-shaven persona I had stumbled upon in the mages workshop. But it wasn’t just the hair. The face was different, the skin paler, but those eyes…oh, those eyes. Pogue appeared by my side, tipping his head as I shrugged, “Meh.”
“In that case, I shall change it.” Pierous fixed those predatorial eyes upon me. The faintest scent of cotton and frangipani washed over my senses, and then right before my eyes, the Warlock’s hair started to recede into his scalp. It reminded me of a doll I’d had as a child. His hair continued consuming itself until it was styled in a shaggy manner similar to Pogue’s, his face clean-shaven once more. Pierous winked at me, shit-eating grin still slapped across his face, “I can change my eye colour too,” he said and winked once more. When his left eye reopened, it was a deep brown colour, so starkly different to the vibrancy of its right twin. A simple glamour trick that any common street magician could master, but to perform it with such speed, with colours so spectacularly different…
“How do you do that?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“When you live as long as I have you master a trick or two,” Pierous punctuated each word with another wink. Each time they reopened, his eyes were majestically different, but not even the brightest shade of magenta could breathe new life into his ice-cold gaze.
“Can you stop?” Pogue asked, “you’re making me sick.”
“You’re no fun, Shield of Ascot,” Pierous said, eyes flashing purple one final time before he lowered his head. Upon looking up, his eyes had settled into a more natural shade of brown, “and here I thought you of all people would appreciate a little light display.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Evidently,” Pierous said and rubbed his hands together until the colour returned to his skin.
“Is that all you can do? Glamour?” I asked.
The Warlock’s head snapped towards me, face screwed up in disgust like I’d just pissed beneath his family hearth, “That’s most certainly not all I can do,” he spat, “ask your little boyfriend here to attest to my powers. Had it not been for that blessed blade of his, he wouldn’t have survived a minute of our first meeting.” Pierous slapped his hands together with a huff, “you should thank your Deities that the pointy one upstairs has reduced me to little more than a glorified fire dancer because I would’ve gladly shown you what true power is for asking such a ridiculous question, little Kilco.”
“Speaking of fire,” I pointed towards the pathetic campfire, “open flame in a giant tree-”
“Is risky business, I know, but beats freezing my bollocks off,” Pierous sighed dramatically, “Besides, fire appears to be the only thing that keeps it away.”
“It?” Pogue asked. I held my breath and looked around. Incredibly, nothing burst inside.
Pierous pursed his lips, “surely you’ve heard it?”
Pogue and I looked at each other. The Armoury was loud. Things banged and splashed constantly, birds chirped, and the cries of other unseen animals echoed all around, but the inner sanctum had been almost entirely still with very few signs of life at all. I glanced at Pierous from the corner of my eye. His stared back intently, soulless as a hungry shark. That was a dangerous man. He was down in that cage for a reason. His word couldn’t be trusted, he would do anything to escape the Ivory prison, he would-
There it was. A haunting, low-pitched hum that was almost like a whale song, only throatier. Pierous stomped the wooden platform three times, and it silenced, “hear it now?”
“What was that?” Pogue asked.
“That was it,” Pierous said before groaning when Pogue covered his eyes, “I’m not entirely certain what it is, alright? It’s been banging around since my arrival. It almost broke through earlier, so suffice to say it’s becoming a bit concerning.” He looked between our faces almost expectantly before throwing up his hands and stalking to the throne, flinging himself down in a heap, “I see you’re not here for my review on this darling accommodation, so say what you came to say and get out already.”
Pogue shot me with those puppy dog eyes, but I shrugged and turned away. It was his favour to call. He stomped his feet in a similar manner as Pierous had, and took a breath, “I need a favour.”
“I’ve already done you a favour, Shield of Ascot,” Pierous said dryly, “and if my memory serves correctly, that’s precisely how I ended up in this lovely little predicament. I have no desire to relive that experience, thank you.”
Pogue’s breath whistled through his clenched teeth, his face scrunching up unpleasantly. For the briefest of moments I feared he was going to jump the old man, but then everything slumped, “forget about it,” he said and grabbed my arm, dragging me towards the door in a painful grip, “have a nice life down here.”
“What does this favour entail?”
Pogue paused mid-step over the nearest root, almost sending me flying into the water. He spared me a sympathetic smile before facing Pierous once more, “you’ll help us?”
“I didn’t say that. I merely inquired about the nature of this fav-o-ur,” Pierous sounded the word out as if it had come from a foreign tongue, “forever is a long time, and that’s precisely how long I intend to live. I can outwait the lifespan of a dying institution like the Armoury, but that doesn’t mean it shall be fun. I’m willing to hear you out, for entertainment sake.”
Pogue looked at me, a single question clear on his face. The same question I was asking myself. Can we trust this guy? The answer was an overwhelming NO, but there was no other choice. I cleared my throat, and the Warlock’s hazel eyes gravitated towards me, “exactly how powerful are you?”
“This again?” Pierous huffed and pointed a liver-spotted finger towards Pogue, “be a dear and tell her, won’t you Shield? Explain how I blew up a building and flattened half a forest with a single ritual. How I literally dematerializing myself to open a window to another dimension searching for your friend,” he held out his palms flat, lip curling into a cocky snarl, “so to respond to your question, Princess, I don’t believe I’m tooting my own horn when I say that I’m a force not to be reckoned with.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen what you can do with destructive magic,” Pogue bluntly said, “but what me and Kilco want to know is do you know other kinds?”
The mirth fell from Pierous’ face, and he tipped his head back with a frown, “that depends,” he said slowly, “Hypothetically, what is being asked of me?”
Pogue looked at me with a confused look. That made me confused too, unsure of what he wasn’t getting at. We’d spoken about this earlier, he knew how to answer the hypothet-…ugh, that idiot. He was the only hero in history whose downfall would be a big word. Elbowing his side, I looked to Pierous, “are you familiar with necromancy?”
Pierous blinked once, twice, before nodding, “yessss.”
The way he had practically hissed the word sent nails of ice down my spine, but I wiggled them off, “You can bring somebody
back from the dead?”
“Hmm,” Pierous hummed and rose to stand by the edge of the fire. He motioned for us to join him before rubbing his hands over the flames, “that depends on several key factors, all out of my control. If the person has been dead for yonks, no. All the energy in the world cannot undo purification once it has set in.”
“Three days,” Pogue said with no resemblance of a poker face at all, “is that too long?”
“Hypothetically speaking, that should be doable, but there are other factors too,” Pierous glanced at Pogue, visually eyeing him up like a troll does a goat, “like say, how attached the deceased was to their life. You know, if I could view the body of the deceased…”
“Sure,” Pogue said, already turning on his heels towards the door, “I’ll go get Ilya, and-”
“Not so fast, Shield,” Pierous interrupted, “I know you don’t believe I am willing to do this for free. This entire conversation is, after all, merely a hypothetical.”
Pogue turned around, his blue eyes ablaze, “I don’t know what that mean-”
I held up my hand to silence him. Those eyes remained enraged, but his mouth audibly snapped shut. That would do for now. Setting my own fine-tuned poker face into action, I turned towards Pierous, “You have our attention, Warlock. What do you want in return?”
“My, aren’t we serious? Very well,” his face fell into its own smooth line, a vision of a man plastered on wanted signs for unspeakable acts, “Freedom. I want the Shield’s solemn oath that if I assist you in this little blasphemy, I will never return to this wooden prison.”
“I can’t do that,” Pogue groaned, “how do I know you won’t go right back to Deniliquin?”
“I never desire to see that man again,” Pierous exclaimed as a shiver shuttered his body. A little too dramatically if you ask me, but nobody ever did, “that man is pure evil. Though this will be difficult to believe, the very night we met, Shield, I was planning to skip my duty. That’s why I was so active directly from sleep.”
