Demon in the Mirror

by Andrew J. Offut

  She slid through the window and onto the beam just below. Aye, it was broad enough. After securing her rope in the window, she lowered its silver-coated end through darkness to the chapel floor. With a care for silence, she crawled along the beam toward the black drapes behind the high altar. She’d have a few moments’ sanctuary there, behind the drapes. Twice she paused and held her breath, having by accident knocked off one of the pieces of piaster that littered the beam. The chanting continued; its noise covered the impacts of the plaster particles. Releasing her breath and drawing another, Tiana crept on.

  She had crawled some ten feet when the incantation ended. Silence filled the chapel. She felt that she could put out her hand and touch silence; in its totality the slightest sound would resound like thunder. Aye, from below she heard the rustle of a death-dark robe.

  Even more carefully, not daring to breathe, Tiana continued her tense advance along the narrow, plaster-sprinkled beam. Her mouth was dry. Her heart thudded hard. Her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a great stone. Wretched farmwife — what did she put in that pie late? Curse her for being the worst of cooks. May she —

  Tiana chased the thought and paused while she shuddered. The baker of the fruit pie was most certainly crumpled below, limbs entangled with those of her own family, stripped naked and drained of every drop of blood! I shall weep later in repentance of my evil thought — -the slightest sound and I shall join that pile of white bodies before their altar of obscenity!

  Despite the night’s chill and her soaking wet cloak, she was covered with sweat. Her breath came rapidly in short gasps and she feared her heartbeat must be audible for a league in every direction. She was within a few feet of the mass of drapery now — and she saw that she must rush. Below, a nun approached the altar, carrying a brazier in which she had kindled a fire. When that source of light reached the altar beneath Tiana, it would be as effective as sunrise in destroying the shadows that cloaked her.

  Despite the danger of noise, she redoubled her speed and slipped behind the draperies — just as the shadows vanished before the flame-light from below.

  Tiana was still for a time, swallowing again and again, carefully wiping her hands free of sweat and bits of plaster. Then she looked, and she was able to see the head of the great figure behind the altar, eerily illumined by the light from the brazier. Cud of the Cow — the Sisters of Death, consecrated to Theba, were in truth worshiping a repugnant image made in the likeness of a giant sleeping bat!

  The black drapes were cut so as to resemble hugely spread wings. The realism of workmanship struck Tiana with a momentary horror that the thing was alive. But no — it must have been constructed here, for the bat was too tall and bloated to have passed through the door.

  The horrid fear removed and the “wings” providing invisibility, Tiana deep-breathed while she worked at relaxing tensed muscles and quivering nerves.

  Realisation came on her that she mightn’t be safe at all. She might have been seen and, rather than shouting alarm, the nun who saw might well have spread the whispered word among her loathsome companions that they prepare to receive the invader.

  No matter, Tiana told herself. It is time, anyhow; they’ll be sure I’m here soon enough!

  Unstopping the jug of oil, she began to trickle its contents onto the drapes. Oil sloshed, and she barely curbed her reaction when her hand touched flesh — the bat was alive! It must have been grown to its prodigious size in this noisome chapel of abomination! But… how could the nuns feed a monster of such gigantic proportions?

  Then she knew, and Tiana went sick and felt the weakness of horror.

  This place demanded the cleansing of fire; it must be removed totally from the surface of the earth. An army of murdered souls screamed voicelessly for vengeance on the nuns who’d drunk their blood and the colossal bat that feasted on their flesh.

  Swathing herself in her sodden cloak, Tiana drew its hood close about her head and made sure her mass of fiery hair was within. Then, with dagger and flint, she struck sparks to the oil. With a rushing sound as of wind, bright flames leapt up. Dagger in teeth, Tiana pounced onto the bat’s wing and slid to the floor. The dagger was back in her fist on the instant she alit — but she had landed almost in the arms of the Mother Superior, who seemed to be awaiting her. She had been seen!

  The fiend’s hazel eyes seemed ordinary enough — until Tiana found herself completely incapable of movement. The Mother Superior possessed power far greater than that of the nun Tiana had slain earlier! Tiana was helpless.

  Peripheral vision apprised her that the fire had thrown the other nuns into a howling panic. In a milling mass they rushed to the door. Bound with silver, it refused to open even for their demonic powers. Their fear redoubled; they milled in noisy terror.

  Tiana could not smile at her success in trapping the unholy sisterhood; she was trapped with them. She stood powerless to move while the Mother Superior easily pushed aside her dagger and bent back her head. Tiana seethed in mute rage and strove with all her will to break the fell paralysis. Desperation enhanced her furious efforts, yet the only effects were that her frozen body went atremble, her heart raced and her veins, including those of her neck, stood forth. Demonic eyes flashed greedily at the sight. Baring hideous fangs, her captor slowly lowered its open mouth to the smooth skin of Tiana’s throat.

  She felt its approaching breath, and Tiana knew that she was dead. They would all roast together — they her victims and she theirs.

  The monster bat must have been bound by spell or consummately deep sleep; only when its left wing was a leaping sheet of yellow fire did pain shatter its slumber. With a horrendous screech of pain and terror, it surged forward. Nuns scattered and some were crushed unnoticed by the agonised monster. The mad beating of its afflicted wing only fanned the flames, which spread to the chapel’s furnishings and the creature’s body. Higher sprang up roaring fire. A convulsion of the devil bat saved Tiana temporarily; she and her attacker were bowled over. The bat collapsed too, in the centre of the chapel, a howling burning mass of flame that writhed in agony.

  On the floor nearby. Tiana strove to free herself, but the vampire’s power held The intended victim remained unable to move. Once again the vampire lowered open, greedy mouth to the quivering flesh of Tiana’s throat. Again she felt the creature’s hot breath, close and closer to her pulsing jugular.

  It was then that the Mother Superior seemed to become aware of the fire for the first time, so intent had she been on her victim. She — or it — looked around in disbelieving horror. Terror clouded those dreadful eyes when it saw that the chapel had become an inferno of death. Its hands left Tiana; its hold left her as the horrified monster rocked up to its knees. Tiana stared up into the face of what seemed only a frightened woman — a terrified woman.

  When it rose, Tiana followed. She gripped a fear-quivering shoulder and forced the creature about even while her other hand struck. Turning it to face her, Tiana drove her dagger into the vampire’s heart.

  Rushing past the falling chieftain of the Woeand monsters, Tiana pounced to the high altar. Aye, that glass box looked just right to house and display a hand — but it was shattered, and empty. The shattered glass lay outside. The box had been broken from within!

  The hand of long-dead Derramal had sensed the fire, broken free, and fled.

  Acrid smoke roiled in the chapel as the fire spread. Lowering her face to the clearer air just above the floor, Tiana saw something like a small animal a few feet away. She hastened to it; a smoke-blinded vampire nun blundered into her and was hurled athwart a blazing bench. Eyelessly sensing rising heat all about, the hand was running in desperate circles in a horrid spider-like gait. Tiana restrained the impulse to snatch it up; though she had sought it with such assiduousness, it was a fell thing, the hand of a dead sorcerer that obviously lived on, Undead.

  Staring bright-eyed at the scuttling thing, Tiana lowered her cloak into its path. Instantly it buried itself in the cloak’s folds. T
here it clung.

  A nun with horrid eyes and bared fangs emerged from the smoke to lunge at her and Tiana kicked the vampire, almost carelessly, in the proximate centre of the flowing black robe. With a cry the creature staggered back — and flame leaped up its robe from a crackling wooden bench that became a great torch. Groping through the smoke, Tiana found the west wall and followed it half-blindly to her rope. Either the nunnish vampires had not discovered it or had been baffled and repelled by its rubbing of silver dust.

  “Hang on, hand,” Tiana muttered. And though her arms felt like lead, she seized the slender silken cord and began climbing.

  All about her fire crackled and roared; there were fewer cries from the dying vampire horde. The smoke was taking them, even while it choked Tiana as with demonic hands. Her eyes burned and streamed. Up she went. A new intensification of heat directly below her told her that the fire was coming for her rope. It seemed to stretch from hell to heaven as, gasping, blind, she forced her way up. Her wet cloak steamed and breathing became impossible.

  And then clear night air struck her face and she dragged herself over a windowsill she could not even see. The silken rope smoked when she drew it up. Leaving it tethered, she flung it out the window. Tiana slid to the ground and allowed herself to fall.

  Though her lungs ached and her eyes remained partially blinded by smoke-tears, she did not pause. First she recovered and sheathed her sword. Then she checked her prize. As she unfurled the cloak, the hand dropped free. It lay still, its unnatural death-life seemingly reserved for saving itself. Without hesitation she emptied coins onto the ground, stuffed the most valuable into her bosom, and crammed the lifeless, severed hand into her money pouch. She drew its rawhide string taut and double-knotted it. Then she plunged her hands into the water remaining in the pail.

  I have you, hand. I… rescued you. Just in the Name of the Cud of the Great Cow, fear nothing — and remain still!

  The air of night felt cold after the fiery interior of the temple, as Tiana ran many yards from it. There she collapsed, panting, to survey her bonfire.

  Now she heard fewer cries from within the chapel, and those she did hear were all but obliterated by the roar and crackle of leaping flames. The place was evidently the work of superb masons; despite the intense fire that raged inside, walls and dome stood firm. Tiana was surprised that the stone building contained so much that was combustible.

  Wait, she thought, until the fire eats those beams — then we’ll see if that place of horror doesn’t fall in on itself!

  Judging by the screams, the bat-worshiping drinkers of blood were also burning rather well. Those vampire cries of anguish comprised the sweetest song Tiana had ever heard. A very pleasant night’s work, she thought. With a perfectly sincere hypocrisy, she had already forgot her fright of this night — her several frights. Ever after, she would recall this as a glorious adventure and herself as a hero.

  The people of Woeand would not know that they and their whole land owed gratitude to a mere thief, bent only on stealing a relic from the vampire nuns.

  Hmm. The nuns had stopped burning the sacred lamps and in consequence there was a large supply of oil. No doubt they’d stopped drinking wine, too.

  And I’ll wager yon wooden door amid the bushes leads to a wine cellar!

  It had been a thirsty night’s work.

  4 Paradoxes

  Far beyond the northernmost borders of the civilised lands, a fertile valley sprawls amid cold and barren wastes like a serpent of green basking in warmth. Life is more than hard for the savages who inhabit the desolate land round about. Yet no matter how great their hunger, they never venture into the valley where both game and fruit flourish in abundance. The valley s centre sprouts a lofty building at once gracious and austere. A castle rises within the protective ring of its moat, behind defensive wails narrowly sliced by archery ports. Yet it is no castle, for the edifice in the impossible valley has no conventional defences.

  A paradox, the valley; a paradox, the undefended “castle” that is never molested; a paradox, too, its name.

  Its name is Ice.

  Though surrounded by envious savages, he who dwells in Ice has no need for conventional defences. Ice is the home of a man as greatly feared as he is little known. His name is Pyre. He is foremost among wizards of all the world.

  The wizard sits this day before a table spread with arranged replicas of certain places in Escallas and Calencia, in Leiden and the mountain Erstand, and the chapel of the Sisters of Death. This last model, perfect in detail, is afire. After staring deeply into the flames for a time, the sorcerer gestures. No eye could blink so swiftly as the three men appear before him. In the quiet, calm tone of command long held and totally assumed, Pyre speaks.

  “Some idiot thief has stolen the left hand of Derramal. Should this thief succeed in stealing the rest of the corpse, incredible danger will be loosed upon all. All. The thief will be rewarded for his folly… by being eaten, body and soul, and we and all that live will pay a bitter price. Prepare. At dawn you will go forth and slay this idiot meddler.”

  Pyre gestured in dismissal, and the three men vanished. Next morning at dawn three large Arctic hawks rose from Ice and flapped swiftly southward.

  5 The Elixirs of Serancon

  With a great flagon of wine and his kingly personal goblet of gem-studded beaten silver, Tiana’s foster father adjourned wearily to his cabin on Vixen. Caranga the pirate, formerly Caranga the cannibal and always Caranga the black, finest detector of poisons in the world, sat down at his chart table.

  “Cud of the Cow and Susha’s paps, what a day, what a day!”

  First he filled the goblet, and emptied it in long gulps. He refilled it and pulled together the materials for the log he had promised that damned meticulous Tiana — Susha keep her well and safe from sorcery and pointed steel!

  After a moment’s thought, the mate of Vixen prepared to record his first part in this mad quest. (Lamarred indeed! Mummified body parts of a dead mage, indeed! Bealost indeed! Ah, he’d taught the dear girl too much of honour and responsibility, he had.) With a sigh and a sip from the great goblet, Caranga began laboriously to write:

  The first part of our southward voyage went well, Tiana. A fair breeze in our sails and but a touch of unfriendly weather. I had time to pore and pore over the mage’s map and its instructions and to worry over you, my sweet girl with no knowledge of woodcraft for she would not list to her wise father. The map Lamarred gave us shows the isle of the wizard Serancon a few leagues off the western coast of the Dark Land. On its back he wrote that the isle is barren rock, with Serancon’s keep built on a hill shaped like a skull. He noted too that Serancon was not deeply learned in the black arts, but was the world’s most skilled brewer of elixirs — mostly, one assumed, poisons. From such a man, a poison-maker living atop a skull, we were to gain the legs of Derramal.

  Ho! I’m sure you had no such difficult time with a few gentle nuns!

  When we arrived, we found not barren rock but a lush green paradise, as lovely a place as these eyes have seen. Made a man’s blood rise and his brain turn to thoughts of womanflesh, it did — and so did the naked girls who came a-running down to the beach to smile and wave at us. Naturally the crew wanted to go ashore at once! I was of steel, though, and decided to sail first around the island. Was this the proper place?

  About halfway around there came… a strangeness.

  The air shimmered like water somebody’s thrown a stone into. One second the island was lush and green. The next it was black rock, devoid of vegetation. I had to pretend calm to hold the sweet crew in check; they were shaken, muttering, ready to stampede. As you know, daughter, I myself am without fear. To distract the men, I pointed to the stone fortress that squatted high up on a rocky hill. The stones were white as a marble but shot with red, so that the high keep looked splashed with blood. It also looked invulnerable to frontal assault, with a lot of barred archery ports but no windows and only one door — which we c
ould see was strongly made and reinforced. Too, the hillside was smooth naked rock, without the slightest cover for attackers. There’d be no taking Derramal’s legs by force.

  We sailed on around the island. Again that sorcerous eeriness: the air shimmered… and the isle was again all tropical beauty!

  We anchored twenty yards offshore; I was cautious by now, wondering what was illusion and what was not — and why.

  “No point in all of us going ashore into danger,” I told the crew. “I’ll take six volunteers.”

  Since the girls were back on the beach, smiling and waving, every man volunteered. The real problem was making the others remain on Vixen. A threat and a few promises accomplished that, and seven of us rowed ashore in the small-boat. Sweet Susha’s sweet paps! What a sight! Not a one of those girls wore a sweet thing, not even a flower in her hair. And believe me, considering what nature had done for them, they needed no ornaments! Black as night their skin, like the shining wings of raven every maid’s hair — but glossier.

  As we landed, they squealed and ran into the jungle. At that instant, your Caranga lost all control over the shore party!

  The girls led us a pretty chase, with me arguing that I smelled a trap. Yet there was no sign of ambush. Indeed, there was no sign that we weren’t the only men on the island. At last we broke into a small glade — and there they were! As many smiling maids as I had leering crew on Vixen. Only one of them wore aught — their queen.

  She was tastefully dressed in a gold crown. Naught else. And you know how I like my women, Tiana — with meat on their bones! Oh, that queen was a prize. A head taller than I she was, broad of shoulder and with superbly shaped limbs. Skin like black velvet I could fair feel under my hands, with great standing breasts large and firm as melons.