Tell
Page 17
“I’m fine,” Sylvie said.
“Scotch.” Tell nudged Dochi with the toe of his boot. “Master’s thirsty, possum.”
Dochi wagged his tail. “Yes, Master.”
“Sit down, Dochi. I’ll serve the ungrateful brat.” There was no malice in Seneca’s voice. He poured the alcohol into a tumbler, then carried it to his son. “No, it’s something besides current demon affairs. It’s about your sister.”
Tell’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth. “Yeah?”
Seneca poured a drink for himself, then sat on the edge of his desk. “Really, it’s easier if I show you.” He flicked his hand at the window.
The scenery out the window was the same dismal gray, clearly right outside his palace. But it changed, darkening until only a single candle lit a small room. A young girl, perhaps four or five years old, lay awake in the darkness. Her eyes reflected the candlelight and she tossed restlessly in her narrow bed.
“Sandra.” A low, deep voice oozed out of the shadows.
She sat up, surprised, but the smile on her face announced her pleasure. “Zobeldach.”
Gooseflesh rose on Sylvie’s arms.
“Come, child, let’s take a walk.” A figure melted from the room’s corner. Violet-colored eyes glowed in the light. “I crave fresh air and exercise. My room at home is cramped. I long to stretch my legs.”
“We can’t wake Father and Ma,” Sandra whispered.
With the wave of his hand, Zobeldach raised the windowframe without touching it. “They’ll never know we’ve gone.”
Sandra threw back her blankets and scrambled across the room. The candlelight touched her hair, showing lighter streaks in the dark curls.
Sylvie glanced at Seneca, astounded by the resemblance between them. She saw hints of him in the brothers, but Sandra could have been carved from his likeness in feminine form.
Zobeldach lifted Sandra from the room—she seemed to trust him without question. He held her hand as they took to the street. Bright stars dotted the night sky and as they passed beneath those and the moon, Zobeldach’s features became clearer. His wide violet eyes glowed over his long, slender nose. His skin shone pearly white and his mouth made a perfect cupid’s bow.
No wonder Sandra was so taken with him—Zobeldach wore the skin of an angel.
“I missed you. It’s been two weeks since you last visited,” Sandra said. “Where do you go when you’re not in Berner?”
“Hither and yon. I must visit with other good little girls in the world, sweetling. I missed you most of all while I was gone. No other children are as special as you.” He patted her head. “Come, let’s sit at the fountain and I will tell you a tale.”
Sandra smiled. “About a princess?”
“About a very important family.” Zobeldoch led her to the center of town, then lifted her and settled her on the rocks in front of the marble angel fountain.
Sandra dipped her fingers into the water. “Father built this statue for Ma. He loves her very much and tells her so every day. We come here all the time. Or we used to. Not since Harlowe was born. Ma’s busy taking care of him.” A frown crossed her pretty face. “I don’t remember when Eban was born, but I’m sure he wasn’t as fussy and loud as Harlowe. I don’t like him much.”
Zobeldoch perched beside her. “I saw him on the day he was born. Ugly wrinkled thing, isn’t he? Your real brother must have been switched with a changeling. That creature couldn’t be related to such a beautiful child as yourself.”
Sandra traced the leaves of a primrose. “Ma and Father seem happy with him.”
“Would you be rid of him if you could?”
Sandra looked up. “I can’t sleep for his crying some nights. I don’t think I should wish him away though. He makes my folks get this happy, silly look.”
Zobeldach rubbed his chin. “Hmm. You’re stuck with him then. What if…no, no, we shouldn’t meddle.”
“What?” She tilted her head. “What are you thinking? I want to know.”
“We could make him better. Quiet the crying, make him a happy baby. It’s simple, if you want to help me with a little spell.” The demon smiled. “Your parents would thank us both.”
Sandra’s face lit up. “Really?”
He nodded. “Cross my heart.”
Sylvie tore her gaze from the window. Tell sat in his chair, the crystal tumbler in his hand shaking so badly, the liquor sloshed onto his shirt. He didn’t seem to notice the growing stain. She reached across the space between them, then settled her hand on his knee. He didn’t look away from the window.
“How?” Sandra rose to her knees and clutched Zobeldach’s arm. “What can we do?”
A leather-bound book appeared in front of Sandra, floating on air as though held by a ghost. “It’s all in here, sweetling. You only need to read the pretty words to help your little brother.”
“Let me see!” She reached for the book and nearly fell off the rocks.
Zobeldach grabbed the back of her dress to prevent her tumble. “Wait, Cassandra. Remember, I promised you a story. I’d like to tell it before we progress into this…deal.”
The book vanished.
“I—okay.” Sandra settled herself again and stared up at him with rapt attention.
“Once upon a time, there were four great kings of the Cosmos. Ea, Astaroth, Azazel and El. They presided over the affairs of the farthest reaches of the known universe, sometimes laughing, sometimes fighting as brothers will.”
“Why are they always boys? Why not sisters?” Sandra’s lower lip slipped out. “Girls can be great queens.”
“Indeed, but in this story—a true story—they are brothers.” Zobeldach patted her head. “They each had designs on the way life should emerge from the blackness of the cosmos. But it was El who created this universe and Earth as we know it. El believed because he made men of clay, oceans rise and fall, land spring from the depth of blue, that he should control all of Earth. His brothers were quite displeased as they wanted their share of the pretty blue-and-green marble too.”
“Why didn’t they make their own universes?”
“Ah, a smart question, sweetling. El’s was far nicer than anything they could make. The other brothers didn’t share his talent. A great fight broke out between them. Jealous of his brother’s perfect Earth, Azazel did make his own world. We call it Hell, but for him, it was paradise.”
Sandra wrinkled her nose. “Father says Hell is horrible. He was born there.”
“Indeed, Hell is not the same paradise as Earth. Azazel found pleasure in it though, and set about ruling it. Ea created a world too—we call it the Gray Lands. It lacks the warmth and character of either Earth or Hell. There are many mysteries about it, some we may never unlock. The followers of Ea are shrouded in gray clouds.”
“What about Astaroth?” Sandra whispered his name. “What did he do?”
“Astaroth was the weakest of the brothers, the one most often overlooked. He flitted from world to world, trying to find his place among his brothers and their people. Bitterness turned his heart brittle and he was often turned away or ignored by his brothers. I know a certain little girl who is similarly treated by her own brothers.” Zobeldach stroked Sandra’s dark hair.
“Sometimes, but they’re boys. Ma says they’ll grow up and learn to respect me someday.”
“We can hope.” He grinned. “Your brothers may grow into fine men.”
“Tell me more about the kings.” She leaned against the demon. “What happened to them?”
“El created a palace for himself high about his world so he could watch the comings and goings of the clay men he created as servants. Not only clay men and animals, but angels and other beings who revered him. He gave them laws and rules so they might lead good, honorable lives, but men are headstrong and easily led astray. They bent his words for their own p
urposes and can’t be swayed back. It will take a different leader to make that happen.”
“Astaroth?” Sandra’s eyes widened. “Father works for him. He’s a baron under the liege lord.”
“I’m aware. Astaroth is a good king, no matter what others say. It wasn’t only him who tried to win the hearts of man. The others made attempts too and there are many who followed the other kings, although their homes remain here on earth.” Zobeldach looked up at the marble angel. “Astaroth tried to talk sense to his brothers. He challenged Azazel for the right to rule Hell—and he won because his followers outnumbered those of his brothers. He became sole crowned prince of Hell and convinced Azazel to follow him. Ea shuttered his Gray Lands away from Astaroth. It’s impossible to go there unless one finds his favor. But when he challenged El, a mighty war started. As El’s champions attacked Astaroth’s and sides were chosen, fissures and cracks developed between the worlds. Hell fell deep below Earth and the Gray Lands disappeared, lost to all but those who know how to enter. El retreated to his palace in the heavens.”
“God? You’re talking about God?” Sandra sat up straighter. “But Ma says—”
“Yes, the stories in your little bible. Do you want me to finish the tale as I know it?” Zobeldach’s face was serious, hard and stern.
Sandra seemed uncertain. “Yes, please.”
“El’s warriors are strong. They fight to get the word out that El is the one true king of the cosmos. He struggles against Astaroth’s minions, twisted and blackened by the touch of El’s angels. It’s selfish of El to expect all the worlds to bow to him, don’t you think? His poor brothers are trapped because of petty fighting. If he would reach out and extend the hand of friendship to Astaroth, to his other brothers, we might find real peace. No more sickness, no wars, no hunger. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Cassandra? Because of El’s lies, the world is awash with suffering.” Zobeldach stared deep into her eyes. “Astaroth knows if he could reach his older brother, get him to listen to reason, all of the bad things in all the worlds could disappear forever.”
Sandra chewed her lower lip. “He sounds bad. I don’t think he just wants to talk to God—I mean El. I think he wants Heaven and Earth too. He’s a bully.”
Zobeldach frowned. “You’re wrong. He will raise Hell and let it overrun the earth as it should be. The demons will turn into angels and all the brothers will raise Astaroth as a hero.”
Sandra lowered her chin to her chest. “I don’t like that story.”
The demon sat silent for a moment. “Sometimes, sweetling, stories have important messages. You are no more important to this world than your brother Harlowe, but like Azazel, you can lift him to greatness.”
“Why can’t I be great?” Sandra shifted on the rocks. “You see, you’re making it about boys again.”
“Because, little one, you’re meant for greatness in other ways. There are plans already in store for you and your other brothers.” Zobeldach summoned the book again. “Do you want to read from it now?”
She nodded and accepted the big tome. “What shall I read?”
“Clever girl.” He cupped the back of her head. “The words are big. Can you manage them all?”
She smiled. “I’m very smart. Ma says so.”
“Then read this part here.” He tapped a section. “In a nice, clear voice.”
“It will make Harlowe grow up to be strong and good?” She met Zobeldach’s gaze. “You promise?”
“Of course.” His angelic smile hid the lie.
Above them, clouds gathered, blocking out the moon and stars. Only a glowing gas flame in a streetlight nearby gave them light.
Sandra took a deep breath. “‘My enemy’s name spoken, his life will be a token, a gift to the soul, banished long ago, new birth for his name awoken.’” She beamed. “It’s a poem.”
Zobeldach curled his fingers around the book. His violet gaze went wild and his lips curled into a feral smile. “What’s his name, sweetling? Your dear little brother’s name?”
“I told you. It’s Harlowe Heckmaster.”
Lightning crashed into the street. A swirl of dust rose and twisted around them. Zobeldach raised his arms and laughed.
Sandra shrieked and fell off the rocks. The book fell down beside her. “What happened? I’m scared.”
The demon’s handsome form melted away, leaving him small and withered. Two heads grew from his neck. One cackled while the other spoke. “Your brother is ours now, little girl. A weapon to unleash Hell on earth. If you speak his name, he’ll be ripped apart as Astaroth’s power is reborn.”
She pressed her back into the fountain. “W-why?”
“Astaroth will rise.” Both heads laughed and the thing danced around the fountain. “Do you feel him on the air?”
Tears stained her small face and she trembled as she hefted the book onto her lap. “I won’t let anyone hurt him. He’s my brother.”
“You’re Seneca’s daughter to the marrow, aren’t you?” Zobeldach reached a clawed hand toward her.
Sandra jerked back. “You can’t hurt me.”
“No?”
She reached into her nightdress, then pulled out a silver St. Anthony pendant on a ribbon. The disk, the size of a double eagle coin, flashed. “You can’t hurt me.” She threw the pendant at him and struck him across the left head.
The creature squealed and clawed at its damaged skin. It snarled at her, then ran for the darkness as the clouds rolled away from the moon.
Sandra scrambled to get the medal again and clutched it in one hand while holding the book in the other. “Oh no. Oh no. He’s a baby.”
She rocked back and forth for a moment. “They can’t say his name.” Her voice came out in a squeak. She looped the ribbon around her neck again. She clutched the book to her chest, seeming uncertain about what to do with it.
Above her, the angel cast its benevolent smile.
“Hide it. I have to get rid of it.” She rose and held the book out as though it would bite her.
“Sandra!” Seneca’s voice echoed off the buildings. “Where are you?”
She dropped the book behind a bush then turned toward her father’s voice. She didn’t say a word as he scooped her up and hugged her close.
“What are you doing out here?” His voice was rough with worry.
“D-demon. He got me out of bed and he said some funny words. He said we can’t ever say Harl—the baby’s name again. He made a bad spell happen.”
Seneca set her down. “What do you mean?”
“He read from a book. A poem. It was…” She shrugged. “I don’t remember it all, but he said if we say the baby’s name then a demon will come out of him.”
He grabbed Sandra’s hand. “Come on. We must get home. We can’t let your mother or the boys say his name.”
The window turned gray again and the last words of the memory faded. Sylvie gripped Tell’s knee. He closed his eyes and drained the tumbler of scotch.
“What did she do with the book?”
Seneca stared at the liquor in his glass. “I never found it. I didn’t even learn of her part in this until years later. Perhaps she intentionally forgot where she hid the book. Liber Animae Perit, it’s called. Copies are extremely rare, almost nonexistent, at least in the form we’d need to remove the curse. Some are improperly translated. Some have lost pages. Despite my best efforts, I can’t get my hands on the one we need.”
Tell squeezed the glass in his hand so hard, it shattered, then tinkled to the floor. “How could she not know that thing was a demon? That it intended to ruin my life?”
“She was a child, Tell.” She leaned across the chair and took his bleeding hand. “That thing tricked her. It made her think she was helping you. That’s what demons do best.”
Tell stood. “What was the point of showing us that if it can’t help?”
“Then why not give you the book?” Tell’s hand dripped blood as he crossed the room. “She had to know someday someone would find out my name and use it.”
“I can’t speak for her, son. Your sister’s reasons remain a secret.” Seneca remained calm, even as Tell stood in his face. “I wish I could go back to that day and wait for Zobeldach. He wouldn’t like what he found in Sandra’s place. Unfortunately, the past is well behind us.”
“The book is still in Berner.” Sylvie met Tell’s gaze. “She never left the town, did she?”
Tell’s dark expression remained fixed. “She might have left it there, but by now it’s rotted because of the moisture or stolen by some other lunatic demon. She was too young to hide it in a good spot.”
“You don’t know that. She was small—she wouldn’t want anyone noticing her lugging a giant book around. She’d have looked for an easy hiding place.”
“I searched the area myself when I learned what had happened there, Sylvie. It’s a good idea, but there’s nowhere to hide a book.” Seneca frowned. “Someday I may be able to find another copy. Until then, we’ll have to protect Tell the best we can.”
“My dream come true, a life in the Gray Lands.” Tell shook his head. “I need some time to think.”
“Dochi, please take Tell and Sylvie to their room.” Seneca slid off the desk. “Forgive me for upsetting you.”
Tell’s shoulders slumped. “I never knew exactly what to imagine when I thought about how it happened. Knowing is good and bad. I’m sorry I yelled. It’s a lot to take in.”
Sylvie’s heart ached for him. “I’m tired too. Let’s settle in.”
He slipped his non-bloodied hand around her waist. “I’m sorry for involving you in this.”
“I love you, curse or not. This doesn’t change anything.”
“What if I destroy everything and everyone you’ve ever loved?” He lowered his gaze. “Maybe you ought to go home and stay with your sister. Do normal things for as long as you can. This ain’t fair to you.”