by Garon Whited
I stepped out of the workroom and closed the door. “No problem. I don’t really want to watch it, either.”
“You’re hurt?” she asked, touching the rents in my shirt.
“Some,” I admitted. The wounds were closing, but only slowly. It was an itchy, pins-and-needles feeling in the cuts along both sides. I opened up one of the rent places in my shirt and examined one. It was taking longer than usual, but the flesh was visibly knitting back together. “I should be in good shape in an hour or two. I’m just glad this didn’t happen right before sunup.”
“Good.” She hugged me gently, careful of the wounds.
“Go on and tell me why devourers are myths and I’m not,” I suggested. I put an arm around her and kept an eye on the other windows. I didn’t put Firebrand down.
“The Church has records of the hunt for your kind,” she replied. “It happened. But the demons… demons were forbidden in the world by the Light. Legend says the Light and the Dark once had servants abroad in the world; the lights—” the word she used was arheru, meaning, roughly, starborn. Literally translated, it was more like lightmade, but the inflection carried meanings I didn’t know I knew— “and the demons. But they nearly destroyed the world; neither wanted it destroyed. So they agreed to fight through the hands and hearts of those living things upon the world. So some serve the Light, some serve the Dark, and some simply live, uncaring or unknowing.”
Aha. Creation myths versus ancient history. Makes a sort of sense. I can believe in that World War Two happened because it’s history; believing in six days of Creation is myth. Okay. Pay no mind to the fact I wasn’t there for either of them.
“So where does one find out about these things? Especially when one just tried to eat my face off?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Perhaps the Church has some sort of records. Maybe the magicians do. It is not something I know a great deal about.”
“Great. Just great,” I muttered. “I wonder if I should ask Ander about them.”
“I am certain he would take the opportunity to explain in detail, and expound upon his faith.”
Lights clicked on in my head. Typically, I am not one to be entirely happy with organized religion. When it stops being a connection between the individual and the deity and becomes more of a big business, I’m done with it. I avoid it reflexively, without thinking about it any more. I had been doing that with Ander and his Church. Maybe it was time to walk into the dragon’s mouth, so to speak, and pay him a visit.
“Good plan. I may do that. I may see if I can scare up a fire-witch while I’m at it. Maybe a priestess will have some other legends.” I didn’t feel like mentioning Tamara directly.
Shada nodded against my shirt. “Very likely; it is their myth. The Church merely appropriated it. But fire-witches are scarce; few—if any!—remain. The Hand has hunted them.”
“But they managed to kill off all the nightlords?”
She withdrew from our mutual embrace and sighed. “Nightlords are not born of mortal man and woman. A fire-witch is born, not made.”
I nodded, seeing her point. If fire-witchery is a recessive gene, then a few should show up in every generation. Nightlords need someone to cause them. Which made me wonder how vampires all got started in the first place.
“Thanks. Got those pearls somewhere safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good. If something does happen to me, that’s your getaway money.”
She looked puzzled. “Why did you give so much of the money back? I have meant to ask you.”
“Because Keldun, as far as I can tell, is a kind, generous, and loving husband. He worries about things most people take for granted. And he gives without stinting when he feels he is indebted. It would be a bad thing to put him in the poorhouse; every world can use more people like him.”
“You gave the money back because he is a good man?” she asked, curiously.
“Well, yes. If he were a nasty, underhanded bastard he wouldn’t have called me in to help his wife in the first place. If he was such a person and still called me for help, I doubt he’d have sent me anything; I’d have had to dun him for my compensation.”
“So he was helpful to you and you want him to remain wealthy?”
“Not exactly, no… he’s a nice guy and nice guys need all the help they can get.”
She stared at me. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She shook her head. “I will never understand you.”
“Could be,” I agreed. “I don’t.”
I went back into the workroom; the last of the puddle of demon was turning to vapor. The smell was awful, but at least most of the smell was venting out and up. I wondered if anyone would be complaining to the baron about the stink in the morning. Hopefully not.
I found a carpenter this morning; the glass would need a mounting. We talked for a while and I presented him with sketches—and a goodly amount of gold. Wonderful motivator.
Then I went to find Ander. Not that finding Ander is a difficult process; one goes to the local church and asks for him. If he isn’t in, the lay priests will know where he is. As it was, Ander was present.
“Good morning, lord wizard. And how do you fare this day?”
“Eh. I’m alive; that’s always a good sign.”
“Indeed,” he said, smiling. “How may I be of service to you today?”
“Well, actually, I was hoping to speak with you privately.”
Ander nodded and led me into a small office-like area, saying, “Many wish to speak privately; I am always willing.”
I settled into a comfortable-seeming chair; it looked more comfortable than it was. I missed my recliner.
“Ander, I have a problem.”
“I suspected as much.”
“Oh?”
“A private conversation usually means there is a problem.”
I nodded. “I suppose it would. Well, let me begin by stating I am in the dark; I have no idea where this problem came from and I am completely mystified.”
“I understand. And your problem is… ?”
“Last night a demonic entity entered my window and tried to eat me.”
Ander smiled. “And what sort of entity was it?”
“As far as I can tell, it was some thing called at devourer.” I described the creature and outlined what had happened, implying I had used spells to repair myself instead of a natural (normal? Innate?) regenerative capacity.
Ander’s expression went from tolerantly amused to uncertain, rounded the corner to surprised, and finally pulled up to park at serious.
“You truly did as you describe? There truly was such a thing?” he demanded.
“I did. There was. And I do not understand.”
“What were you doing in your workroom? May I ask?”
“I was fooling around with bits of glass and a candle, watching how reflected light changed shape and size through different kinds of glass.”
“Nothing magical?”
“I was also changing the color. That was magical.”
“That is all?” he demanded, sounding worried.
I stared at him. “Yes, that was all,” I replied. “And no, I don’t even know how to call up a demon. I wasn’t even aware these devourer things existed, much less that there’s apparently a process to summon one. I’d really rather not know, thank you. I just don’t want them coming in my window and trying to eat me!”
Ander looked relieved. He reached for a decanter and a mug, poured himself some water.
“Very well. Please, pardon me if I seem disturbed; these things are an abomination of ancient days. Their like has not been seen in the world since the Cleansing. If one has returned—however briefly—then it must be investigated. Doubtless, some magician has stumbled across a forbidden grimoire or a fire-witch has invoked the dark fire to open a gate. I will send a report to Telen and the Hand will send an investigator.”
I considered that. A professional Inquisito
r, essentially, was my impression. That could prove to be a bit tricky. Then again, I wasn’t being hounded by the Hand; they must be having trouble locating me, either from my blocking spell or from a bit of divisiveness between the Hand and the magicians—kudos to the magicians with the magical chaff! Then again again, someone sent the Hunt after me, and now a demon; that wasn’t a coincidence, surely.
Sit it out and endure the attacks by the forces of Hell? Or call for help and risk being blasted by the armies of Heaven? Is mankind always in this spot? Or just the undead? Whatever happened to “live and let live”?
“Okay. How long do you think it’ll take?”
“I do not know; there is much evil in the world. But I think this will be swift. It is powerful, dangerous, and unusual; it merits immediate attention. Ten days or so, at a guess.”
“I look forward to it. Anything special I should do before they get here? I don’t have any bits of demon to hand over; it boiled away on its own.”
“That is characteristic of devourers. Other demons, according to what I have read, behave differently.”
“Could you give me some examples, just in case something else tries to slither into my rooms?”
“Certainly. Some will burst into cold fires when slain. Others explode into foul clouds of poisonous vapors. Others become clouds of caustic fumes, burning and etching anything they touch. Some burst like overfull waterskins, coating their slayer in slime that eats flesh and steel alike. I recall that the lesser breeds tend to simply die and lie still, leaving poisonous corpses behind. Only the greater demons are dangerous even in dying. Devourers, if you do not know, were middle-ranked in the hierarchy of evil. A… a ranking enlisted, but not quite an officer in the legions of the damned, I suppose.”
“Good to know. Anything else for which I should be alert?”
“Some can become invisible. Others cloud men’s minds and make them see things that are not there, or not see things that are. Some instill emotions by their mere presence—lust, hatred, greed, fear—and some, very powerful, wield magical powers far in excess of mere mortal magicians.”
“Also important safety tips. Okay. I’ll see about a few magical defenses of my own. I don’t suppose you would be so good as to bless me and allow me to borrow a medallion of your faith?”
Ander smiled. “I understand that you do not share my faith, Halar. Few willworkers come to the light, preferring to pretend they do not need Him. But you have my blessing, regardless. And yes, I will provide you with a medallion—and I will pray for your safety, every night.”
I’m not always a fool. I thanked him and accepted his help.
Just as a footnote, I do not dislike priests, clergy, religion, or whatever gods there may be. I dislike organized religion. Ander I like. Ander is a good man in every sense of the word. If his entire Church were to be obliterated overnight—not that I’m implying anything—I’m sure that Ander would still be at work in the morning, preaching his faith, helping those who need it, and doing everything in his power to not only rebuild the Church and the church, but taking the time to care.
That’s the ticket. A huge organization like the Church can’t care. A man (or woman, depending on the religion) can.
I’m going to take a chunk of Ander’s favorite religion and pound it into rubble because of what they did to Sasha… and I can’t even feel good about it. Thanks, Ander.
That afternoon I went for a ride. The carpenter was working on the mounting for the lens, the glasscrafter was doing well on the polishing, and I had the spells ready for shifting the light—and some minor reshaping of the lenses for better focus. Now, there was just the waiting.
This whole demonic thing was bothering me. I have felt persecuted and hunted enough by the good guys (the theoretically good guys, anyway) that I don’t need to feel hunted by the bad guys, too!
So I headed out to the bonfire site. Maybe the local fire-witch had some insights. On the way, I waved to the local farmers; they waved back every time. I wondered if it was because they were friendly or because Bronze pretty much made sure I was recognized. She’s bigger than any other horse I’ve seen and she tends toward really glossy highlights.
Either way, it was nice to feel at least a little bit loved for a change.
The bonfire site was in a valley-type area between hills; the whole area was extremely green. I noticed the charred circle of the bonfire had green shoots springing up in it. Whatever else, this place was a farming dream. I wondered if anyone had ever planted crops here.
I dismounted and let Bronze wander around. She cropped at the grass, almost absent-mindedly. I wondered about that. A left-over instinct from the horses that went into making her? Or was she just trying to look like a normal horse? Or teasing me with horsey behavior? Or did the grass actually have some sort of use to a bronze golem? Do golems eat? If so, what?
I shook my head and looked around. Nobody was in sight, so I walked to the center of the blackened area and readied a spell. Firebrand caught my attention before I could actually do anything; it… well, it yawned in a psychic fashion, like someone near waking. Or awake but enjoying lying in bed and drowsing. That was, to say the least, odd. I looked around for something that might have disturbed it. On levels other than the visual, I found something.
Looking at something with magical vision—seeing the eddies of magical energy—sometimes looks like being on the bottom of a pool with colored currents going by. Or being surrounded by thin, colored mists on a breezy day. In either case, they glow. It doesn’t usually obscure vision, but it’s there. Spells look similar; they have their color or colors, but are much more opaque, more solid. Enchanted objects are pretty much solidly existing in magical sight, and generally shine very brightly.
As an aside, when casting a spell, these currents or vapors are drawn to the wizard and concentrated; it’s one reason a spellcaster might gesture. Magical shapes are created—lines, cords, rods, squares, spheres, whatever. These are the actual spells, the circuitry, if you will. The colors of the mists or currents is usually a very pale pastel; it’s the will of the wizard that concentrates them into brighter color, gives them solidity and focus. The colors correspond to the function of the spell or object. But an area without a spell on it normally has no definite color, magically—just a faint haze of misty magical energy that changes color randomly.
Think of a soap bubble and the colors you can see in it. That’s close—now fill in the bubble with eddies and currents of those shifting colors and put yourself inside. That’s what it looks like.
So it was with some surprise I noted the area around me seemed solid and brightly glowing. With my eyes shifted into second-sight mode, I couldn’t see much past my fingertips through the intense magical fog. I was standing in it.
With considerable caution, I stepped out of the blackened area and well away from it; that seemed to be the center of the effect. After a bit of cautious analysis and experimentation, I discovered the whole area was much more alive than anything short of a creature had a right to be. It was like a lake of life energy without anything to generate it.
Ah. Life energy, indeed. The living flame that Tamara keeps summoning here…
With considerable trepidation, I reached out to the energies to send up a magical flare and let Tamara know I was here. I had intended a simple reddish-yellow ball to go up, hover a bit, and slowly drift back down. A signal. Nothing complicated.
I made an error, somewhere.
Energy poured through me like an opened floodgate. No, like air pouring through the hole in a rubber balloon. And the hole in a balloon keeps opening as the balloon pops…
I don’t know what effect my spell had; I was too busy being exploded, inflated, and seared to pay much attention. Every blood vessel I had was expanded to twice normal size and my blood set on fire. My nervous system had every fiber used like a high-voltage line.
I would probably have screamed if I could. I might have.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 1ST
The sunset had woken me. Lucky for me, the window faced east. Aside from a prickly, unpleasant tingling, I felt alive and fine.
I burrowed down under the blankets more thoroughly and waited it out, wondering.
When it was finished, I threw back the blankets and stood up. A quick look around found some foodstuffs upstairs and a wooden chest. There was nobody in sight.
I sat down on the bed about the same time the door opened. Tamara came in, looked startled, and then smiled at me. Beyond her, I could see Bronze outside, looking in. Tamara came in and shut the door. She was wearing a dark skirt with a leather vest over a linen blouse. Her hair was tied back with a thong and she had a small basket of flowers and herbs, which she set down on the table.
“Good evening,” she said, still smiling at me. “Feeling better?”
“Much. What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” she replied, feeling my forehead. “You seem all right.”
“I came out to see you, actually. I sent up a flare and something went wrong.”
“Apparently. I noticed the flare. It was hard not to. Did you intend to attack clouds with it, or was that a part of what went wrong?”
“Um. I don’t know. I cast my spell and it felt like I was set on fire from the inside out. That’s the last I recall. Next time, I just stop by and knock.” That’ll teach me to call ahead…
She looked at me critically. “You sent up a column of fire that made me think that there was a new priestess in the world. I came immediately.”
World? I thought.
