Galefire III : Tether War

by Kenny Soward

  “Why would you do that?”

  The guy leaned back, looking around at his impassive angel friends as if they had some sort of response. “Why would we do that? Why? Because Azarah is one of my sworn enemies and this is the first good crack I’ve had at her in a while.”

  Lonnie’s eyes slid to Elsa. “Let her go.”

  The kid gave the angel a look, and it released her. Elsa turned and promptly spat on it, but it only stared back impassively.

  “Elsa, come on.”

  His voice seemed to break the whorchal’s potential fit, and she backed up until she was standing near Lonnie.

  The kid waited, then fixed Lonnie with a serious look. “We okay now? Everything good? Great, now let’s get on with the task at hand. Boys…”

  Two of the angels whipped their swords free of their sheaths, lifting the black, shimmering blades high, and started towards the tether.

  Lonnie wrapped his arm around Elsa’s waist and drew her back a few more steps. Who gave a shit if these assholes had a death wish? Bess was dead or dying, and there was nothing Lonnie could do to put her back together again.

  “You’re a cruel motherfucker. Why don’t you just let her die?”

  The kid, who had been watching his angels stalk toward the pulsing tether, turned slightly. “We still need her to get back. She’s our gate. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s going to die. Willingly, too. But she’s not in any pain right now.”

  Lonnie’s eyes slid to Bess, and then back to the kid. He swallowed the emotion stewing in his guts. “Well, it looks like it hurts.”

  The kid took another drag. Exhaled. “It doesn’t, trust me.”

  Lonnie released Elsa’s arm, giving her a look that said, “stay,” and went to join the guy, gritting his teeth against what he wanted to say, resisting the urge to draw up some power and hit this guy from behind. But it wouldn’t to any good. He was helpless against this entity, whatever he was. There was some greater power at work here, a power far beyond Lonnie’s own.

  The guy glanced up. “You okay, Boss?”

  “No, I’m not. You can’t let her die. She doesn’t deserve that.”

  “How do you know what she does or does not deserves?”

  “I can’t pretend to know where she stands on the scale of sainthood, but I can tell you one thing, the Earth needs her. She’s a warrior. She’s a friend.”

  The guy’s eyes lingered on Lonnie, studying him as Lonnie watched the angels work. As the winged creatures approached the tether, the guardian’s mechanical arms whipped out of the mist to strike. But the angels were good with those swords, parrying, hacking, and slashing, sending the tentacles slithering back, cut to pieces.

  The guy waved his cigarette. “I’ll tell you what, Lonnie. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe there’s a way Bess can live.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “No problem. You like my angels?”

  “Impressive.” Lonnie gestured. “Hey, man. Can I have one of those?”

  The kid looked at his cigarette, then nodded. He fished around in his jeans pocket and pulled out an unmarked pack. He snapped the pack open and a cigarette popped out so Lonnie could take it. “Need a light?”

  “No. I got it. Thanks.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Lonnie took his dragon lighter out and lit the cigarette, taking a drag of the smooth tobacco. Good stuff. Heavenly.

  “Hey, can I see that?”

  Lonnie handed him the lighter. “Didn’t think it would still work to be honest.”

  The kid rubbed his thumb over the raised dragon and the flames pouring around the edge. “Naw, this is a nice piece of work. Got some life left in it, I bet.”

  “Thanks. I got it from a cool chick.” The gold glinted as Lonnie took it back and stuffed it in his pocket. “So, man. Where are you from?”

  The guy snickered. “I think you know.”

  Lonnie nodded slowly. By this time, the angels had worked their way through the tentacled mess and were standing at the tether. Without looking back, without saying a single word, they raised those wicked looking longswords and swung them at the pulsing light.

  Their first blows exploded in flashes of light and sparks, rejecting the black steel as if the tether was made of the toughest leather ever made. But subsequent blows chipped off pieces of the flowing pink light, a color Lonnie could see was already starting to pulse erratically and fade.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Yep. And trust me, you couldn’t have done this. We’re saving you a ton of hassle.”

  “Looks like it. So, not a fan of Azarah’s?”

  “Not at all. Been fighting her off and on for a long time now. Finally got a chance to cross over to Hell.”

  “You couldn’t before?”

  “Nope. Hell is off limits to us, laws of nature as they are. We needed Bess to help us skirt those laws. Bess was our ticket in.”

  Lonnie thought about it a second. “It was her godsight, right? You put that in her, like a seed, and it grew into a portal. A portal she didn’t suspect she had inside her. And it became your way in. Maybe the only way.”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “A lot of people died getting you here.”

  The kid shook his head, smiling at his angels’ work. “Going to be a lot more dying before all this is said and done. I hope we can work together when the time comes.”

  Lonnie nodded, feeling angry, sad, and mystified all rolled into one. “What’s your name?”

  The kid seemed to think about that for a minute, his expression hard to read. “Just call me Paul.”

  Chapter 31

  Torri stood at the corner of the visitor’s building, between it and the burning car. Em lay on the ground thirty yards away, trying to sit up. She held her arm by the elbow and—

  Stomach turning, Torri almost looked away. Her arm was broken just beneath the elbow, bone poking through the skin.

  Em waved her away with her good hand and pointed for her to follow Azarah.

  Although it broke her heart to see her friend in such pain, Torri nodded and went after their old enemy. The building was big enough for an entire football team or more. Today, it served as Lindsey Walls’s dressing room.

  Steeling herself, Torri pushed through the double doors and into a short hallway, lined with even more doors. She followed the charred remains of the Lindsey Walls business suit to a door about halfway down. Holding the Rowan branch before her, Torri shoved the door open and looked inside.

  The room was well lit. A nice sized space filled, temporarily, with unique, albeit not priceless, decor—likely stuff Azarah traveled with to make her feel more at home on the road. An old divan that looked quite comfortable, its wooden frame carved with intricate markings Torri remembered from the first time they’d met on the battlefield, the fluent, curving, pointed script that had been written on Azarah’s warriors’ armor and shields.

  Next to that was a tall, full-length mirror on a rich-looking stand, its gilded frame cut with the same intricate script.

  A couch sat with its back toward her, a long glass table just behind it. On it rested two ornate onyx statues made of delicate little branches. They dripped with necklaces and other baubles. A bottle of white wine soaked in an ice bucket, a half-empty glass sitting in front of it.

  The room was Azarah’s, but she could see no sign of her anywhere.

  Torri went to the table and looked at the little tree statues with their decorative jewelry. Looked expensive. Not the ancient, old stuff a goddess might wear, but stuff Lindsey Walls might wear. She touched the glass of wine. It was still slightly warm. So, Azarah had come in here, poured herself a glass of wine, and then what?

  Torri stepped slowly to her right, carefully, like someone walking in a pit full of snakes. She moved around the couch, eyes still looking and senses on high alert. She stopped to study the divan and the nightie strewn across it. A pair of tennis socks thrown on the floor as well as some
underwear and a bra and a pair of running shorts.

  “Not too neat, are you?”

  That’s when she noticed the shower in the corner of the room with an opaque door. Not a luxury hotel bathroom, but good enough if you’d just got done running on the track outside and wanted to hop in the shower right before your big rally. Otherwise, there was nothing here to see. No other doors except the two she’d come through.

  Closing her eyes, she let her senses explore just a little more, allowing herself to pick up the vibe of the room.

  Nothing.

  “Hmmm.”

  Maybe Azarah had fled after all, although Torri couldn’t see how she’d gotten past her. But Azarah was a tricky one. She could have cast any number of spells that might have hidden her or allowed her to slip by.

  Torri squinted her eyes, turning away from the mirror to peer harder into every corner, every nook and cranny.

  That’s when something grabbed her arm and yanked her with incredible strength, nearly lifting her off her feet. Torri had a second to yelp before she was flying through the air, feet barely touching the ground, into the mirror, its silvery surface wrapping around her and sucking her in.

  She fell to her knees, skidding, skin shredding on a cold, gritty floor. Yet, she’d held on to her Rowan branch, instinctively swinging it around as she stumbled to her feet.

  The room was blackness.

  Her instincts told her what this place was. The in between, some space carved from the Fade. A place any witch was fine traversing provided there was a doorway to return. It wasn’t a place to be trapped in.

  Torri’s way out was a mirror-shaped opening spilling forth the pale light from the other side. From her world. She rushed toward it like a drowning swimmer might gasp their way towards the surface of the water. But someone stepped in front of her, causing Torri to draw up short.

  A naked Azarah stood bathing in the pale light cast against her olive-tinted skin. She was even more imposing up close. Several inches taller than Torri, with a lean muscular form Torri knew she couldn’t defeat in a straight up fist fight or with magic. At least not alone. She needed Em.

  Azarah gestured. “I made this little place. Do you like it?”

  Torri glared at Azarah as fiercely as she could. “What is it?”

  “It’s just a place for emergencies. Like this emergency. Well, it’s a punishment, really. Your punishment for being such a thorn in my side. Your prison.”

  “I ain’t one to be put in a cage.”

  The woman stood with her feet wide, fists hanging loose at her sides. Her shoulders shrugged. “It makes no difference what you want. The stars are aligning. It’s my time to rule.” Her eyelids fell, and Azarah looked around through half-lidded eyes. A shiver touched her lips, then a smile. “Do you feel it? Do you feel this place draining your spirit?”

  Torri didn’t say anything, but she could feel it, the Fade sapping her of her warmth and determination. And this had only been a minute or so. Imagine being trapped here forever.

  Panic edged its way up her spine, walking with tiny fingers like an insect. Torri cringed, waiting for the sting. “Is that what you wanna do? Keep me here forever?”

  Azarah’s eyes glinted. “Yes.”

  “And you don’t think I can just go right through you if I want?”

  The head shook.

  “You don’t think I’ve been practicing all these years for just such a thing? You don’t think I’ve prepared for this?” Of course, she hadn’t, but there was no reason Azarah needed to know that. And with every word she spoke, Torri took another step, her mind racing over spells and incantations. Things that might help her out of this current pickle. But nothing would be fast enough to stop Azarah from stepping through the mirror to the other side.

  As simple as that.

  Yet, Azarah wasn’t one to win without getting in the last word. “You know, I’m tempted to fight you right now just to prove to you how easily I could defeat you. But I won’t. It’ll be much more fun to check in on you every thousand years or so to see how you’re doing. To watch your slow descent into madness as time ticks away, yet you’re still stuck in the insufferable blackness. It serves you right, Torri Dowe. Goodbye.”

  Hope slipped away as Azarah lifted a leg to step back through the mirror gate.

  Torri thrust her staff forward. The Rowan branch sprouted vinelings that shot toward the would-be goddess, a desperate attempt at keeping her locked in the darkness with Torri. But it was too late for even that.

  Then Azarah stopped as something slammed into her, and she was shoved unceremoniously back in Torri’s direction.

  Torri caught a glimpse of Em’s pale face on the other side of the mirror just as her vinelings wrapped themselves around Azarah’s legs.

  The Rowan branch jerked backwards seemingly of its own accord, nearly pulling the goddess off her feet. But Azarah was too strong, remaining standing even as her arms whipped up and gathered a twisting wind.

  Like a fire sucking up all the oxygen in the room to a single point, a spiral blade of wind appeared between her hands, and she cast it at Torri.

  Torri dove forward, burying her shoulder into the woman’s stomach just as the hacksaw of wind nearly cut her in two. Azarah oofed, doubling over as she brought her fists down into the small of Torri’s back. The blow simultaneously drove the witch to her knees and left her breathless.

  Torri had dropped the Rowan branch, so she wrapped her arms around Azarah’s legs in sheer desperation, jerking backwards to try and get her off her feet.

  Em’s good arm wrapped around the woman’s neck, pulling backward.

  But Azarah might as well have been a tree herself, rooted to the spot.

  Claws raked Torri’s back, drawing a cry from her lips, and the sound of a blow reached her ears, followed by Em’s shout of surprise.

  Tittering laughter filled the black space. “Oh, how cute. You’re like feisty little children. But I’m not your mother.”

  Torri felt her hair caught up, head jerked, a rough pain shooting through her scalp and neck. Tears stung her eyes, and then a spike of anger strengthened her spine. She opened her mouth and clenched the inside of Azarah’s thigh between her teeth. Bit and tore at the flesh. Flesh that seemed as impenetrable as tough rubber.

  Azarah gasped in pain, even if it was just a little.

  Something hard struck Torri in the back of the head, knocking her down even as her hair was jerked up. Another blow came, and then another. Dizziness sprouted in her brain. Her grip around Azarah’s legs weakened and she let go.

  “And when I’m done with you,” the goddess said, driving her knee into Torri’s face. “I’ll finish your little sister. Maybe I’ll leave both of you in here until you’re babbling to one another like two fish out of water.”

  Dazed, Torri attempted to slip into smoky tendrils, but Azarah yanked her back into existence, laughing.

  “Oh, no. You’ll not play tricks with me, girl.”

  Another knee smashed into Torri’s face, blinding pain and blood in her mouth, and she collapsed onto her back.

  When Torri came around, she saw Azarah’s bare foot in the air above her head, descending to crush her skull.

  Throwing up her arms, she expected to feel them break from the power.

  Then the foot struck her, and Torri cried out, wincing against… The kick wasn’t as crushing as she’d expected.

  It was just like any plain kick from any plain foot.

  Torri peeked over her arms to see a strange look pass over Azarah’s face. A second ago, she’d looked ready to kill, lips twisted in a sneer and eyes lancing Torri through. Now, she just looked ill. Sick to her stomach.

  But she snarled, lifted her foot, and kicked downward again. Torri blocked kick and blindly grabbed Azarah’s foot, unable to understand what was happening from her dazed senses, but not arguing with it either.

  She twisted to her left, taking the foot with her. Taking Azarah with her.

  The leg sl
ipped free but Azarah was off balance enough to come tumbling down on top of Torri.

  Torri whipped her elbow around, connecting with a satisfying thump. She swung her elbow again, but Azarah had quickly come to the realization that something was seriously wrong with her powers and had turned into a wild woman, a banshee. Gone was the sure power of before, replaced with sheer brutality.

  Screams assaulted Torri.

  Claws tore at her back.

  Punches slammed down on the back of her head.

  It turned on something inside her. Not fear or intimidation or even pain, although it hurt like hell. For the first time, Torri realized she could actually win this, and wrath exploded inside her.

  For the ECC people who’d died protecting her hill.

  For her forest and animals.

  For poor Tavia who’d died at the edge of a pond.

  Growling, Torri squirmed to get out from under the much bigger woman, but Azarah had her by the hair, punching her around her neck and shoulders. Torri grabbed around one of the muscular legs straddling her and (who gave a fuck if half her hair was ripped from her scalp in the process) she rolled hard. Azarah came with her, a surprised cry escaping the woman’s lips as her hold was broken. And then they were fighting for position, all elbows and fist and curses. Torri maneuvered blindly, instinctively, getting herself atop the woman and pinning her briefly.

  But that was all she needed.

  Reaching into her pocket for the remaining dirt (she hoped there was enough), she flung it in Azarah’s face, spitting the word of conflagration as the first particles struck Azarah’s olive skin.

  The dirt caught fire, erupting in a flash of sparks and heat. Torri knew it could scar demon flesh, but had never used it on someone unprotected by magic.

  The effect was devastating. A blaze of enriched dust seared tiny pockmarks and burns across Azarah’s flesh in the blink of an eye, ruining her face, nearly ruining her eyes if she hadn’t jerked her head away.

  Torri stared in wonder at the colors. The blood. The sudden stench of burnt flesh.