Something still needled at Dustan; he could not get the spirit realm out of his head. “I promise not to go there, but will you please tell me what I saw…on the other side?”
The timidity of his tone seemed to soften Geras. “Very well. The spirit realm is not so different from this one. You might say it is a hyper-version of this world. The mountains rise higher, the seas sink deeper. The heat is more extreme, as is the cold. Our world is rock and water, flora and fauna, filled with sounds, substances and textures. Some believe your earth is a sort of mirror image of our own. A ripple cast by a concentric swirl, touching all the realms. We are not so arrogant as to assume ours is the center of the universe, though it may very well be. It is certainly older than any we have found.”
“But the creatures I saw, monsters from myth and legend.”
“Hmm.” Geras scratched his chin with a nod. “So far as it is known, every dimension evolved in a similar fashion and share common characteristics—physical and natural laws, and such. Creatures appear as variations from one realm to the next. Perhaps lions and eagles are echoes of the gryphon, and so on.”
Dustan pulled his jacket tight against a sudden chill. He stared at the ancient demon, confusion turning dream images of a spirit battle into blurry shapes and figures.
“Everything I witnessed seemed so real, but later, and now, it’s hazy. I can’t see it clearly.”
“Because you are spirit, your presence was able to pass into our realm. You remained human as well, so you lacked the experience and knowledge to comprehend the spirit world. More so, you lacked the capability. A brief glimpse into our realm was not enough to allow your spirit half to claim dominance. The human element retained control of your imagination, being all you have ever known, and consequently worked to reject what seemed implausible. It is said a human mind needs only seconds to rationalize away the fantastic or miraculous. And is correct to do so in most cases. You were an insect attempting to make sense of a Shakespearean performance.”
Dustan took mild offense at the comparison. Geras rose, apparently unable to remain in the same position for long. It amused Dustan the old man’s time in the human realm compelled his adherence to faux infirmities even though no one was around to see. They completed their circuit of the grounds and returned to the veranda.
“I think I understand. By the time Aamon woke me, I already assumed the gryphons were lions, the dragons only big snakes. I doubted everything I observed and figured, if it happened at all, it merged with a dream or hallucination brought on by the ceremony.”
The demon cocked his head side-to-side, creaks and pops issued from his straining neck. Geras wiped his hands on a cloth and pitched it onto the table. “Exactly. Consider humans’ understanding of a god. Man is made in God’s image, so they say. Do you comprehend the significance?” Dustan shook his head. “He has never seen a god, nor possesses any inkling what one might look like, or what would make up such a being. Consequently, he creates a god in his own image. The Supreme Being appears human. The supernatural rendered in terms the human mind can comprehend. God is jealous, wrathful, loving, et cetera. All qualities people can relate to, you see? We always turn the unfamiliar into something we know, something we’ve seen before, experienced.”
Dustan smiled. He followed Geras’s logic. If Jory and Thomas could see him now, talking philosophy with a demon, half demon himself. Wouldn’t they shit themselves?
“What about you and the others? You don’t look like this in your world. I was too far away to see anything but the armor and auras.”
“Again similar characteristics to humans, but packaged quite differently.” Geras snickered. “We have all the same external parts—two arms and two legs, eyes, ears, nose, mouth. We possess the same senses. Our skin is translucent and shines with our aura, cast by the energy within us. The ‘heart’ is a core here.” Geras tapped his chest. “It pulses energy to receptors throughout our bodies that appear as tiny sparks of light. These receptors act like your nerves and send signals to our minds, a concentration of energy in the noggin.” The old demon pointed to a temple.
“Sounds amazing…and beautiful.” Dustan shut his slacked jaws.
“Quite,” smiled Geras. He pushed back from the table. “Enough for one day. I need a nap.”
“Are you ready for me?” Saerna purred from the doorway, one hip seductively cocked, her eyes boring into Dustan.
Gulping a knot down his throat, he nodded.
8
The Oedipus Complex
“Deception is an art. To make others see only what you wish them to see and hide that you wish to remain unseen.” Saerna glided across the great room floor, gesturing with graceful, delicate hands. “Blending, becoming part of your environment is the first step toward mastering the art.”
“You mean hiding?” Dustan tried to concentrate, but it was proving difficult with the low cut of Saerna’s bodice, and the hypnotizing sway of her hips.
“Humph. You dress like the rabble. And your speech…” She glared at him.
“Now I don’t dress or talk right?” He threw up his hands, exasperated.
She laughed then. “Blending is hiding in plain sight. Your accent gives you away. We all carry with us the traits of our first forms—my speech, Geras’s, Shax’s…” She scoffed at the mention of Shax’s vernacular and shook her head with amusement. “We carry our accents, and our bodies display habits and quirks. We learn to mask those when we take different personas. Unfortunately, you cannot change forms as we can. Yours will always try to slip to the surface. The way you speak, dress, and act suggests who you are, where you are from. You should shout a greeting to the angels. Your presence would be less obvious.”
“I don’t understand. How is the way I talk going to let angels know anything?”
“True enough. You are new to the war. Anonymity will hide you…for a time. However, they cannot remain blind to your existence forever. Not if you are successful.” She sat down next to him. Close. His pulse sped up several dozen beats per minute, a film of sweat slicked his palms. “Disguising your own mannerisms and appearance while learning to follow a spirit through alterations in form are necessary skills you must master.”
Dustan straightened. “I’ve practiced spotting auras since I was twelve. I can pick out the characteristics unique to an individual spirit after only a few minutes of observation.” He hoped his attempt at a more sophisticated manner of speech impressed her. Perhaps, reading all those books would finally pay off.
Instead of appearing impressed, Saenra shot down his burgeoning confidence. “Those angels were unaware of your scrutiny. Once they suspect you are watching, they will not be so easily tracked.”
“What do ya…uh, you mean?”
“We have the ability to mask, or subdue, our auras for short intervals. Enough time to take a new form and evade attention. The more powerful with the skill are true chameleons. An ability discovered for the spirit realm, but it will be adapted here in short order, rest assured.”
“Great.” Deflated, Dustan sank into the seat. “How am I supposed to follow them if they can practically disappear?”
“You will not encounter an angel as adept with disguise and deception as I. It is my duty to teach you.” She shrugged as if suggesting the statement was not conceit, but simply fact. “Just as you learned to identify peculiarities in auras, you must also learn to spot ticks and traits in human forms. No matter how expert a spirit is at disguise, they will lapse and reveal some habit they fail to suppress. You must focus and never trust your senses. Sight, most of all, will allow you to be deceived. Instead, see with your instincts and gifts.”
“I understand,” said Dustan.
“Do you? We shall see.” She smiled, flipped her silken hair over her shoulders, and strolled from the room.
Dustan did not like that grin one bit.
He met Saerna only in passing over the next few days. She smiled and flirted, but said no more about disguise or deception. Aamon h
ad not been present since the ceremony. Dustan assumed his duties with the war kept him away from the human realm. Geras dawdled about the house and grounds, though Dustan found himself avoiding the old man. He had discovered one must be in the proper mood to converse with the ancient demon, and that mood never seemed to be present at the same time as Geras. His philosophic rants were interesting, if puzzling, and always left Dustan with a headache.
Dustan had selected a room at the end of the second floor corridor to be away from the others. He found himself often observing Valefar from his bedroom window, and watched transfixed as the demon warrior practiced with sword and spear. He assumed Valefar would take up his training soon. Unless he served as a bodyguard for the others, it seemed the only reason the warrior would be here. Dustan anticipated that part of his education most of all. He pictured himself spinning and leaping, sword in hand, angels falling in his wake. Daydreaming, he stepped through his bedroom door and into the hallway. Shax appeared behind him.
“I really wish you wouldn’t do that. Near jump out of my skin every time.”
“Sorry, lad. Habits, you know?” The little man shrugged. “How’re you adapting to our guests?”
“Fine. I’ve known something would come since childhood, but it’s still overwhelming.”
“I would imagine so. What do you make of Saerna? A real beauty ain’t she?” Shax grinned and adjusted his crotch.
“An understatement. I don’t think there are words to describe her. I find myself as attracted to her as I am terrified of her.”
Shax laughed at that. “Wiser words never spoken.”
The two ambled down the corridor toward the landing. The dwarf took the lead and headed down the stairs.
“Who you talking to, lad?”
Dustan spun on his heels. Shax emerged from his own bedroom three doors from the end of the hall. Dustan’s gaze shot to where the dwarf stood an instant before. The diminutive demon smiled up at him. Eyes darting from one Shax to the other, Dustan leaned against the wall. A soft touch steadied him as Saerna dropped the illusion.
“Take a moment,” she said, stroking his arm.
“Ha. Dame got you good, boy.” Shax chuckled and ambled down the stairs.
“How…” Dustan shook the cobwebs from his mind and braced with a hand against his forehead.
“You’ve watched Valefar in the yard. You know how proficient Shax can be with jumping portals, appearing first one place then another. Geras has his knowledge and intellect. Aamon…well, he has many gifts. My talent is deception, in every way imaginable.”
“You can look like other demons?”
“And angels. I can also hold human appearances other than my first form much longer than most, possibly any.” Saerna led him down the landing, hand in hand, caressing his knuckles with smooth, velvety fingertips. “Never trust your eyes. Did I not warn you?”
“Yes. Sorry.” Dustan hung his head.
“Do not apologize to me. It is your life at risk. If I had been an angel masquerading as Shax, you would be dead now, swimming in the Void.” Her voice carried no chastisement, only instruction. “Whenever a spirit enters a realm, there is an unavoidable disturbance in the atmosphere at the site of the opening portal. A shimmer, like heat rising off a surface. The majority of our kind cannot leap the distances Shax does, or with the frequency. They will reappear, possibly in a new form, in close proximity to where they departed. Even so, powers differ, so remain aware of the various abilities you encounter.”
Dustan rubbed his chin and took a seat on the sofa. “So I’ll know about where they are?”
“With patience and practice. For instance, you spot an angel and at some point they become aware of your presence. They will attempt to find an isolated location to leap from, that is, exit this realm. On occasion, they may remain in the spirit realm, in which case they are lost to you. However, both angel and demon are arrogant when it comes to humans. We loathe the thought of being bested by our lessers.”
Dustan found it difficult to feel insulted by anything Saerna said. So matter-of-fact was her tone, even potential insults sounded blasé.
“The angel will likely reenter near the spot where they left. The entry will produce a shimmer. As you grow practiced, you will feel this disruption and seek it out. Once you are able to spot it, you can resume the chase.”
“How often can a spirit leap back and forth?”
“All activity in this realm requires exertion. Maintaining our first forms is the least debilitating. Other actions depend on individual talents.” She gazed out the window.
The gleam of her smooth, bare back framed in a scarlet silk gown mesmerized him. It took a moment to recall her last words. “I assume eventually my pursuit will force them to face me?”
“In most cases, yes, I would think so. Their arrogance will serve you well. Even if you are successful and dispatch their kind in great numbers, each will wish to be the one to destroy you.”
Dustan blanched. Put in such dire terms, he recalled the dangers he faced, and his lack of experience. Over the next few weeks, Saerna came to him as Shax, Valefar, even Aamon once. He began to recognize her in the disguises—little quirks and traits singular to her. He suspected she exaggerated these tells for his benefit, and felt quite certain, if she chose, he could never detect her with a thousand years of practice. Still, distinguishing the deceptions grew easier. Shax helped him rehearse sensing shimmers and before long, he could locate where the dwarf would manifest in seconds.
With a break from training, Dustan reclined on an elbow, a blade of grass between his teeth, and his fishing pole’s line in the water. A warm day, the sun reflected off the tranquil water, making him squint. Feeling lazy, near dozing, he felt a tug at his line and saw the cork go under. He jerked the pole back with a violent yank. The tiny brim almost smacked him in the face as it came flying from the pond.
“Ha. Caught yourself Moby Dick.” A young man about Dustan’s age stood on the far bank of the fishpond. With the glare of the sun at the man’s back, Dustan could not make him out. The man sauntered around the water’s edge, soon arriving a few yards away where his features became clear. A checkered flat cap atop sandy hair crowned mischievous eyes. It was the lopsided grin twisted with a haughty smirk, however, that made Dustan inhale a June bug flying past.
“Jory? Jory!” Dustan rushed toward his friend. “How…I don’t understand. How did you find me?”
Jory’s grin widened to a bright smile. Dustan extended his arms to embrace his long lost pal and ran chest first into a fist. The impact knocked him on his back, his head whipping onto the ground. Stars buzzed past his eyes as he stared up at Jory with shock and hurt. However, Jory was no longer Jory…but Saerna.
“Shit,” said Dustan. “Shit.”
“My sentiments as well.” She offered her hand and assisted him to his feet. “Most disappointing. Can you tell me where you erred?”
“I didn’t believe it at first, but the grin, the hat, and hair. I guess I wanted it to be Jory.” Dustan kicked a stone into the pond, his chin drooping.
Saerna nodded. “Yes. You trusted your eyes and allowed your emotions to rule your mind. You sensed something askew, did you not?”
“Yes. But ignored it.”
“Correct. My walk, my stance, I even allowed my eyes to remain their usual color. All you needed, and more, was there if you had only looked with your talents.” Saerna softened. “Trust nothing, and no one.” She pivoted toward the mansion, but turned back. “Not even yourself.”
“Is…is Jory dead then?” Dustan’s heart sank, a hollowness in the pit of his stomach.
“Not to my knowledge. As far as I am aware your friend is very much alive.”
“I thought you couldn’t assume the appearance of a living person.” Relief mixed with confusion.
“Shax told you that? He may not know. As we discussed before, each spirit develops specialized talents. I have trained thousands of years in my art. Even so, taking the form of th
e living is straining. Only masquerading as another spirit in our realm is harder.”
The sun had set behind the hills when the group gathered for dinner. Spirits did not require human sustenance, but often enjoyed it nonetheless, and they always joined Dustan for the company. However, they never declined the opportunity to consume copious amounts of alcohol. He once asked about the discrepancy, to which the others replied with hearty laughter. Dustan ended up laughing right along, though he had no idea why.
Later into the night, the demons departed to the spirit realm to recharge, as they now referred to it. Dustan, alone in the house, read for a time and headed upstairs. The shadows cast by his dim lamp and the animal noises outside the windows no longer frightened him. This was his home. He felt more at ease here than ever in London.
After undressing down to his night pants, he lay back on the soft bed. Sleep was reluctant to come with his mind wandering to all the new things he had learned. Thoughts of slashing angels with his sword and earning a name renowned and feared in the spirit realm consumed him. How he ever lamented his destiny seemed difficult to fathom. A singular life never before lived by any other in all of history. Dustan smiled into the darkness.
Fine cloth curtains waved to the push of a gentle breeze. He let the window remain open, enjoying the cool air. A bright half-moon shined and flooded the room with silver illumination. A rustling from the doorway brought his head up.
Saerna entered dressed in a nightgown so thin the outline of her body shone through the silky material. He moved to rise, but she placed a palm against his chest and eased him back onto the bed. With two fingers, she inched the gown off her shoulders, let it slide down her body and drop to the floor. She pulled the cover back and climbed onto the bed. Her hands went to the waist of his pants and tugged. Dustan halfheartedly protested.
Blood for the Dancer Page 7
