Death's Reckoning

by Will Molinar

  More embarrassment clouded his thoughts as the regular citizenry watched their strange procession stroll by. Some of the people gasped; others screamed in fright, but all stared. Those that were brave enough to watch where they were, huddled together in tight groups. They whispered in hushed tones and pointed. Their curiosity overrode their fear.

  Cubbins didn’t blame them as the captured ghost was quite a sight to see. The cousins had modified the enclosure, and now Beni, Yoseph, and Karl held onto chains that connected the magical tent top where the specter could not escape, latching another set of chains to the ghost’s ‘wrists.’

  Cubbins had trouble determining the difference between each man, being so alike. Yoseph was the tallest and strongest. He had the air of the leader among them. His beard had streaks of gray, which led Cubbins to believe their culture demanded not only respect for elders but also for the elder to take control when necessary. That irked the captain because in truth, he thought Karl was the brightest of the three, for the man had a succinct gleam of intelligence in his eyes and radiated confidence. Beni was quiet and nondescript, doing whatever the others did without remark.

  Cubbins still didn’t understand the ability to capture a ghost with mundane contrivances, but then they couldn’t have been mundane. Unri had said something about binding the soul of the ghost to the chains. The cuffs were made to contain the otherworld.

  The ghost tugged and strained its limbs, pulling at the bonds, but nothing mattered. It wailed in agony, begging for release, but the five men didn’t listen. Cubbins was impressed with their discipline. It was hard not to listen. He thought about setting it free many times, for the sole reason of not hearing the horrifying. He also felt a great deal of pity for the creature.

  “Kinda like a weather vane, eh, captain?” Jenkins gave a nervous chuckle. “Point it in the right direction and have at it, I suppose. Pretty smart.”

  Cubbins sped up to walk closer to Unri and his brother Yuri as they conversed.

  “Perhaps someone could explain how this thing works,” he said and nodded to the chained apparition.

  Unri stopped mid-sentence and glanced at Cubbins over his shoulder. “Yes. Understood. Please to forgive. We do for so long, I forget how must look to others. The Evil One binds a spirit, some free entity used for his purpose, to his being. We know not the method but controls minions this way. Now we have release one, we can use it to be close to him. Unbound from him, it has no strength to resist.”

  A few men approached their group from the side, dirty, unwashed regular citizens with frightened expressions.

  “Hey there, Officer Cubbins. What’s this all about?”

  “Yeah, what gives? Never seen nothin’ like that afore.”

  Cubbins waved them off. “Go about your business.”

  They argued with him and persisted. One man was very belligerent, but Cubbins called over some of his men, and they shooed them away.

  “Run along now,” Cubbins said. “Go on.”He grabbed one of his officers and pulled him close, feeling anger grip his mind. It should not have been necessary to tell them. “Round up some city watch, damn it. Get these people back in their homes. Do it.”

  “Yes sir!”

  The officer obeyed, running off without hesitation, but Cubbins heard an undercurrent of fear in his voice. Either he was frightened by the specter or understood the volatile nature of these idiots watching them. The riots weren’t too far removed from all of their minds.

  The crowd grew as they moved along. The ghost wailed all the while. It grated his nerves. Maybe he would tell Unri to release it into the crowd; that would shut them up. Curiosity could doom many of them, gawking fools. Screamed understandable words, on and on about the pain, to release his tormented soul. Then it disintegrated into gibberish, or maybe they were slurs in the foreigner’s tongue.

  But the stone-faced cousins didn’t listen, nor did Unri or Yuri seem concerned. They were professional. Cubbins both admired and was annoyed by them. He wished more of his officers were like them; instead of playing cards on duty or going to the tavern when they should’ve been working, helping people. These men were unconcerned with walking a chained ghost down the street.

  Maybe they weren’t even human. Maybe they were themselves possessed and this was some kind of inner spectral war he had stumbled into. It figured. He couldn’t even die like a normal officer in Sea Haven but instead had to get tied up in this conflict, have his soul stripped away by a spectral monster.

  His musings were interrupted by a rotten ball of cabbage that sailed through the air. Cubbins ducked, and it struck one of his officers. The man cursed and faced his assailants as a crowd threw whatever they could get their hands on. Their fear turned into anger as it always did.

  Cubbins roared at them. “Get these people back! Damn it, men, move them back! I want some city watch up here now!”

  The police scurried to obey, taking out their cudgels and lining up to push the angry crowd back. Jenkins barked some orders at them, and soon they moved as one unit towards the mob that had little heart. However, there was one man with the desire for a fight. He was a tall, scruffy man with a tattered shirt, a vagrant Cubbins knew by sight.

  He shoved forward through the crowd and tried to take a swing at one of his men, but Cubbins saw two others step forward and clubbed the man across the side of his head. The lout fell like a timbered tree, smashing face first into the street. Some in the crowd groaned, but they all backed away.

  Sometimes all that was needed was to stomp down one loud mouth, and the rest quieted down. City watch came running up a few moments later, alerted to the commotion, and Cubbins sent Jenkins with them to clean up the rest.

  Unri and his men didn’t wait for them. They kept marching down the street, every so often stopping to wait for the ghost to figure out where to go. Cubbins shouted at Jenkins, and they ran after them.

  They walked up and down the streets. The night wore on later and later until very few people were about, and even the ghost began to whimper less and less. His pitiful wails still nerve rattling, still horrifying, but Cubbins became accustomed to them to some degree.

  Some people stopped to gawk. Others walked by, glancing and staring for a moment but then acted as if they couldn’t care less. They had seen worse in this town. They had their own demons and ghosts within them. And they lived with it every day.

  Soon the ghost led them towards a more secluded portion of town, northeast of the marketplace and not far from the open end of the northern part of the shipping yards. It was a marshy, craggy place where the water had carved into the broken edge of the tributary. Cubbins knew a few caves dotted the landscape outside of town near where they were and to the south of town as well.

  The mountain range to the north loomed above them, and Cubbins wondered if they were heading that way. He hadn’t been this way for years, and all of a sudden he wanted his nice warm bed. Even his office couch sounded good.

  The captured ghost had quieted down, perhaps resigned to its fate, perhaps its energy was spent. It floated and spun around like a bird caught on a string. The chains went slack in the men’s arms. They stayed ready, though, alert and watching all around.

  Cubbins respected their discipline. It would be difficult to hold onto those chains for any length of time and lesser men would’ve blanched away from being so close to the apparition.

  The ghost did nothing but hover there for several minutes.

  Cubbins shared a look with Unri, and the man looked frustrated and lost for a moment. He frowned. “Sometimes matter is not so clear. Time much longer than expected here.”

  Cubbins held his gaze. “This is a feint. I don’t know the word for your language. This is a feint or a trap. This entity is smart. You said he was ancient. I’m not convinced you could stop him even if we found him this way as it is.”

  One of the cousins, Karl, said something to him Cubbins did not understand, and the five of them conversed for a few moments. Yuri became very
agitated. After some time, Unri turned back to Cubbins and spoke.

  “He agrees with you, my brother. Says is trick. Has happened before.” He said something to the cousins, and the three men dragged the creature closer. It renewed its wailing with intense fury.

  Release me! I know nothing, nothing! Release me, I beg of you! Pleeeeease!!!

  Unri shouted back at it, frustration clear in his voice, and they dragged it down further towards the ground. Arms strained with the effort as the spirit fought hard to free itself. Unri stepped closer with an opened vial and sprayed it with the fluid within.

  The wailing grew in volume and intensity. Cubbins and the other officers had to cover their ears and back away. Jenkins looked frightened. And unlike before, when the ghost would quiet and cower in fear, this time it didn’t stop. It cried and tugged at the bonds in fits like a ship straining and pulling at its anchor in an effort to escape a dock. Something was very wrong.

  Whether or not Unri recognized it was unclear. The police captain ordered his men back, and they obeyed. They kept their feet moving, and their ears covered, but neither could they look away. There was an odd energy in the air, popping and cracking, a vortex that held them close.

  Unri’s eyes widened at the spectacle. The pure rage and fury of the ghost’s protestations, Yuri shouting at him all the while, and the older man took an involuntary step back. Beni, Yoseph, and Karl fought a losing battle.

  The specter went in a frenzy, screaming and yanking on its chains with a frantic strength far beyond that of man. Yuri shoved Unri out of the way, and he flew backwards, tumbling to the ground as the vial flew from his hands. Yuri yelled at the cousins and joined them in trying to reign in the mad ghost, but it kept screaming.

  Cubbins couldn’t think. His mind melted inside his skull. All he wanted to do was run away, or fall to the ground and beg for it to end.

  Yuri pulled out a scroll from his bottomless pouch and read from it, still keeping a hand on the chains, like trying to hold down a monstrous kite in the mightiest gale imaginable. The specter screamed and fought every step.

  Unri got to his feet, shouted at his brother, and tried to step forward, but Cubbins cut him off. The man fought him, but Cubbins yelled at Jenkins and another man to keep him still, and together the three of them held him back.

  It seemed impossible, but the ghost’s screams and struggles grew stronger. So loud all other sound disappeared, and Cubbins’ ears buzzed. A strong hum replaced the screams, deep in his head.

  Then the ghost exploded.

  A light flashed, and Cubbins felt a powerful concussive force knock him backwards while Unri fell off to the side. Several things were very clear to him in that instant: his nose bled, he laid on his back, and he was deaf. Only a dull buzz filtered into his battered brain.

  Someone stirred next to him. Cubbins sat up too fast. Dizziness struck him hard, and he felt a gritty wetness under his palms, like dirt covered in oil. A high pitched wine entered his skull.

  The first thing he heard was coughing. Then those farther away from the blast started yelling orders. One man squatted down behind him and put his hands under Cubbins’ armpits. “…okay, Captain?”

  Cubbins patted his hand, and with the man’s assistance, he stood and shook his head. Several police stood nearby, most with cudgels in their hands. Others were helping the fallen to stand, those still alive. None of his men had run. They had stood their ground.

  In front of him was another story, where the grisly remains of the three cousins and Yuri sprawled in bloody pieces. It smoked and bubbled eviscerated innards and splattered brains. The chains, the only evidence of the ghost’s existence, lay limp and lifeless as if they had never held anything at all.

  When Cubbins saw Unri’s face, staring in utter horror at the remains of his family, the man looked like a ghost himself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The office door was closed; had been for some time.

  A few slugs walked by from time to time. Some of them even stopped to stand in front of the door, always about to knock, but with one look at the sullen man standing on the other side of the hallway made them freeze. Something about his look caused them to reconsider the idea of disturbing whatever it was that was happening.

  Jerrod stood in line, waiting on these damn fools Derek and Desmond. He had already been rebuffed by one of their sissy aides, a fop dressed like a woman, with a stupid looking hat, and frock thing Jerrod had never seen before. A nice solid punch to the nose would have gotten his attention. But the man told him they were busy.

  “Busy? Then why the fuck was I asked to come here?”

  “Sorry, sir, but they are not available at the moment. Please wait here. They will call for you soon.”

  “Then bugger off, you little shit.”

  So Jerrod waited, arms crossed over his massive chest, leaning back against the wall where the wood nailed together chucks of insanity that shouldn’t hold up a squirrel. It poked into his skin with the threat of splinters.

  He wasn’t accustomed to being inside the fighting pits for more than a few hours at a time. It was easier to come in, bet, watch the fights, and then leave. The last few days he had spent more time there than he cared to admit. The inside of the construction, deep down in the inner confines, was nothing but stale air, saw dust, and shit.

  It was high time he took a break out to his cabin. If they let him leave. Jerrod heaved a mental sigh. He and Zandor were the ones that were supposed to be running this place, not these two sissies. They were supposed to be in charge, reaping the benefits from behind the scenes, making money but not working so hard. That was the whole point.

  The door opened. A wormy little man, another of the fools’ assistants, stuck his head around the door and motioned for Jerrod to come in as if he were a dog. Fuck that. Jerrod gave the man a glare but entered. Derek and Desmond were waiting for him, and they ordered their stupid pet to leave them alone. Jerrod stepped in, wary and alert, eyes darting to the sides. These two morons were way too happy for his liking.

  “So, Jerrod,” Derek said and smiled, his face like a thick boned rat. “How goes the arena floor? I must say we are quite pleased with how things have progressed thus far.”

  “Quite pleased,” Desmond said.

  Jerrod eyed them. “Good,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  “So then,” Derek said, “we are also much impressed with Thruck’s performance.”

  “The ogre is quite capable,” Desmond said. “Quite capable.”

  “Indeed.”

  Derek went silent. His face grew more serious, grim even, and Jerrod felt a tremor of worry. It wasn’t fear. These two made him laugh, not afraid. Unease was more like that.

  “But there is an important issue we must discuss with you, I’m afraid,” Derek said and shared a look with his partner, but Desmond sat there like a toad on a log. “The problem is simple, Jerrod. Our main attraction is fast becoming a ponderous beast, a dangerous animal.”

  Jerrod frowned. “No shit. Of course he’s an animal. What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “Thruck is too strong, my dear boy. None of the other fighters wish to face him. They are refusing to fight him, in fact.”

  Jerrod scoffed. “Buncha cowards.”

  Derek regarded him with an air of impatience, but his voice remained controlled and professional. “The last four nights he has killed seven men, injured twice that number, most of which are permanent injuries.”

  Jerrod crossed his arms, the metal studs that adorned his upper shirt felt cold and dull. He tapped his foot. “So? What the hell are you two getting at? And why call me? Talk to Zandor. He’s got that thing’s leash.”

  Derek smirked. “Indeed. You and your associate brought him back and thus know him. The beast listens to you, responds in a way no one else can summon.”

  “We have already spoken with Master Zandor,” Desmond said.

  “Yes, indeed we have.”

  “So, I’m sure y
ou understand our dilemma. The situation with Thruck is both a boon and a curse because it brings in an incredible amount of extra income to the arena. But now things have changed.”

  “We are grateful,” Desmond said.

  Derek had his hands over his knees and he sat back, making a face as if he had drank some piss wine. “Oh yes! My goodness. Of course we are grateful for all you have done, very much so. We do indeed appreciate all that you and your associate have done, Jerrod.”

  “But something must be done.”

  “Yes, something has to be done. Protecting our investment is very important, I’m sure you understand how important. The arena must go on, and we feel Thruck must be a part of it. The people demand him.”

  Jerrod tried not to show his frustration on his face but failed. Zandor should deal with this. “What am I supposed to do about it? Talk to the other fighters and tell them to man up and not be cowards. Is that it?” He barked a laugh. “That’ll be the day.”

  Derek smiled and stayed relaxed. “Oh, heavens no. No, no, no. I do believe some of them ought to question their commitment to their chosen profession, but can anyone blame them? Since his return, Thruck is competing at a much higher level, fighting like a brutal animal. Since he is not human, any man facing him is at a distinct disadvantage.”

  “Several men would be,” Desmond said.

  “Yes, several men. We wish only for you to speak with him, ask him to show some mercy to his opponents.”

  “We aren’t asking him to lose.”

  “No, no, of course not. Not to lose on purpose. We want Thruck winning. But killing men, trained fighters of the arena, is bad for business. To show mercy, to fight and win, but lessen the amount of damage is what’s needed. Now, accidents happen in the arena all the time.”

  “All the time.”

  “Yes, all the time. So please speak with him about this matter, if you would. It is in everyone’s interest that he plays by our rules.”