Bellator: An Anthology of Warriors of Space & Magic

by A. L Butcher

  “How about your arm?”

  He held out both arms. They looked the same. Flexing his left arm, then making a fist, he said, “It works just like the old one. You’ll be okay, Major.”

  “Thanks. Sergeant, it’s a pleasure to serve with you again.”

  “Major, it’s an honor to serve with you again. Get some sleep.”

  * * *

  About the Author: BR Kingsolver is the author of the Telepathic Clans series (The Succubus Gift, Succubus Unleashed, and Succubus Rising) and Broken Dolls, a paranormal thriller. I grew up in Santa Fe, New Mexico, among writers, artists and weird Hispanic and Native American myths and folklore. I've lived all over the U.S. and earned a living doing everything from making silver and turquoise jewelry, to construction to computers. I currently live in Baltimore and Albuquerque.

  Connect with the Author:

  http://www.brkingsolver.com/

  http://www.facebook.com/brkingsolver

  http://twitter.com/BRKINGSOLVER

  http://www.amazon.com/BR-Kingsolver/e/B007XDV5OW/

  Have you never heard of The Twelve?

  Well, I suppose I can’t be surprised at that. We did not end in the glory with which we began. Oh, who am I am kidding... We didn’t begin in the glory with which we began.

  No one but those who were called were supposed to know, see. Gerron was most skilled at what he did, which seemed to consist of a lot of talking. That’s why he was named Gerron the Golden-tongued, after it was all over. But, I think I’m getting ahead of myself.

  You are not a child, so you must remember the Time of the Demons when it covered the world. You do? Of course you do. Only an idiot wouldn’t know of that time, and I don’t see that sort of glassy look in your eyes so I presume that you’re not one. Anyways, the Time of the Demons lasted for hundreds of years, but my story is not to talk about that. It’s to talk about when it began to end.

  I’m talking about when the wars began. I’m talking about when centuries of oppression tried to break the back of humanity and we finally said that we weren’t going to take it anymore and we began to organize and to push back. I’m talking about when we began to fight, although the years to follow stretched out long and bloody. You must have been, what, about ten or twelve when the wars started? Did you fight in them? You did. Well, I’m not surprised. You look hale and hearty. You must have been an asset to your clan, but even with many assets such as yourself, things did not start well.

  Something drastic had to be done. That’s when Gerron sent runners to the chiefs of all the clans that he could find. Most of them responded. Some came themselves to hear what the Golden-tongued had to say. Others sent their emissaries and their champions.

  Gerron told everyone his plan and to say that there was disgust and shock is to say not nearly enough. Some left right away, but others considered it. What was his plan, you wonder. I can see it all over your face. You should learn to hide your thoughts better. Being too open in your gaze will only lead to trouble, as time goes by.

  His plan was simple enough. He said that a member of each clan should kill a demon, and then drink its blood. It was disgusting and blasphemous. To do so would make the drinker become part demon and it was the demons that had oppressed us. They had enslaved and slaughtered our race for hundreds of years, so how could he suggest anyone become that? Half-breeds were scorned, much as they are now, and only ever the result of collaborators and victims. If one became a half-breed in this way, what would they be then?

  Still, he was not called Golden-tongued for nothing. He managed to convince some of the wisdom of his plan. Simply put, that to beat the enemy, we would need to become part of the enemy.

  When all was said and done, there were sixteen who agreed.

  As you well know, there are three types of demons. There are those that resemble humans, those that resemble animals, and then the spirit kind. The first is the craftiest, because they think like us, while the third is the hardest to kill because there is little to them. They can do a lot of harm while not taking much damage themselves. The animals are the strongest, but the stupidest.

  Some chiefs partook themselves and others sent their champions. We all ventured into the wilderness and found ourselves demons to slay. Most killed the animal-like and a few the ones like us, while only one was able to kill one of the floating blue horrors of the spirit kind. Yes, the spirit kind bleeds, in a way. It was enough, at least.

  We gathered and drank the blood, beginning three days and two nights of torment and agony as the blood transformed us. Four didn’t even survive.

  After those days and nights, twelve of us emerged a new breed of fighter, a new breed of human. We were changed forever, each one attaining both benefits and drawbacks to the new blood in us and each unique to the person. We took on new names, distinguishing ourselves in our new lives.

  Gerron the Golden-tongued, to his credit, did not turn coward in the face of his own idea and he survived the trials. He became our leader. There was Misire the Silent, Halyah the Loyal, Norees the Fortunate, Cortirri the Black-hearted, Jollan the Oath-breaker, Tallyn the Wolf, Berrint the Secret-keeper, Auben the Little, Vinir the Winged, Zyrra the Reaver and Dorant the Fire-caller. I was among them.

  Oh, don’t look so shocked. How do you think I know so much about what happened if I had not taken part? Yes, yes, demon blood and all that. I’m not going to kill you so stop looking so worried and listen to what I have to say. The lessons of my tale should be heard by all and apparently, I’m going to start with you. If I had wanted to kill you, I could have done it already.

  Now, don’t worry about the names. There were many of us. It took even us a while to remember who we all were, so I will let you know who you need to know about as I talk. So, just listen closely.

  As you can well imagine, it was a difficult transition for all of us. We had known what we were stepping into, but that didn’t stop some of us from being angry about the changes that had taken place. Zyrra the Reaver, for example, was granted magnificent strength and agility, the ability to battle the demons like one of their own, with speed and skill, but she had been a very vain creature before and her face was torn apart in otherworldly ways. It took all of us a while to tolerate looking at her. She tried crafting masks, but it seemed the nature of her deformity shifted from day to day and she could never keep one. Eventually, she gave up, but never forgave herself or any of us. She fought as part of our new unit anyways, but never liked us.

  What did I get? Did I tell you to ask questions or to listen? Be patient and you’ll know all, but there is a flow to a tale and you’ll ruin it by speaking too much, so drink your ale and be silent.

  Where was I...

  Right, so, it took us all some while to learn about our new selves, but we didn’t have all the time in the world. There was a war and we had done this so that we could better fight in it. Thus, we could not wallow in self-discovery. We had to get out there. We would rise. Or we would fall. We didn’t have the time to influence our fate. We only had the time to go out there and make it.

  Thus we dove in, head first, and made a right bloody mess of it all. Oh, make no mistake, we were victorious. It was nearly three to one odds against us and we slaughtered them all, but it was a near thing and hardly the sort of precision that one would be proud of. Misire, the Silent, was named scout from then on because Auben certainly wasn’t cut out for it and that was our first mistake. The first of many that day.

  To our credit, we did learn from those mistakes. Gerron was able to soothe the wounds to our egos while we tended to the wounds of our body, and in doing so, he made sure that we looked at our troubles and figured out what needed fixing.

  “We have all become more than we were,” I recall him saying as he wrapped a long strip of bandage around Misire’s leg where an animal demon had bitten her. It had not gotten its teeth in too deep before she’d plunged her long dagger into the creature’s skull and twisted, leaving it a pile of twitching demon corpse.


  More than we were, the Silent signed, because she couldn’t speak. That’s why she was called the Silent. Gerron knew her signs and could speak her words for her. But we barely know what we are now. It does little to help us fight like we have a single clue about what we do, as a group. We all fight in our solitary ways, or in the memory of groups we are no longer side by side with.

  We all nodded.

  “Misire is right, but the start of such an endeavor is always bound to be treacherous and we must hold firm to our reasons for doing it and our purposes ahead.” Gerron tied the bandage in a tight knot that made Misire wince, but she bore it well.

  There were more than a few looks in the group that wondered how Gerron could talk like the voice of experience when, to our knowledge, this sort of thing had never been done. The only half-breeds ever known were born in the way of all children, almost primarily by the human-form demons. The others occasionally happened, but you don’t want to know what that offspring was like. Those by the spirits were the worst. The spirit blood was never meant to mix with a human’s, as Halyah learned. She was the one that drank the spirit kind.

  She inherited perhaps the most terrifying abilities. One could not be certain if it was a benefit or a disadvantage, really. It made the rest of them afraid of her, although of course no one ever said anything.

  Halyah could enter a person’s mind. The strong-willed, she could only glimpse some of their thoughts. But on the weak, she could make them do and say and think things. It gave her a lot of power, but would anyone really want to look into the minds of others? You look frightened and well you should be. It got to the point where just the sight of those patches of blue skin would send the flesh of the others crawling. The blue skin? Oh, that came because of the spirit kind. It wasn’t all of her, just some. No others had such an alteration. Many had their own kinds, but Halyah alone had this. She could cover it most of the time, but not always.

  I think I’m getting off the course of my story, however. Let me recollect myself and continue.

  We got better after that first disastrous and humiliating skirmish. We trained as best we could amongst ourselves, but it was really baptism in blood. We dove into battles and improved out of necessity. We learned by trail and error which role was suited to which person and their demonic advantages and disadvantages. We grew in loyalty and devotion to one another, although it cannot be said that we always completely liked one another. We named each other brother or sister, but like blood families, we had our share of disputes.

  Oh, you’re getting that look that all young people get when they are impatient with those older than themselves. I’m hardly ancient, you know, but you want to know why I’m telling you about all this. Don’t you find it an interesting story on its own? All right, I am telling you this tale because everyone should be warned and learn from our example. People need to know the truth of it all. One person in a tavern at a time is not perhaps the most effective means of telling a story, but it’s a place to start.

  The Twelve, as we came to call ourselves, fought together a long time. The wars, as you know, lasted just over ten years. We were fighting together as a unit for nearly eight of them and we were good. The demon blood gave us the edge we needed. We were strong. We were unstoppable, or so we thought.

  There came a day. It started out like any other as we prepared to lay siege to a thick demon encampment at the southern edge of the continent, near the coast. We had made our plans and were traveling. Misire went ahead to scout, like she always did. We held position. Jollan was particularly edgy that morning.

  I say particularly because the truth was that he was always in ill humor. He hadn’t been the friendliest of men to begin with and drinking an animal demon only made him worse. He was a human shield in our group, the enemy crashed upon him like the raging rapids around a rock, but when there were no demons to fight, he usually looked for one among us. Over the years, we’d all learned our methods to ignore him without getting into those troubles.

  Anyways, he was particularly abrasive that morning. We were waiting for Misire to return and let us know the situation, and he was so combative that he nearly drove Dorant, Zyrra and Berrint into fights with him. The first two were unsurprising because their tempers were close to the surface, but Berrint was the gentlest among us. The fact that he almost pushed him past endurance was a feat of skill.

  It was Auben that heard the noise. He was called the Little because he was, well, very little. He was smaller even than Misire and she was small herself. Auben spent most of his life afraid, even after the demon blood. No one knew why or how he hadn’t turned with the confidence that everyone else had, but he hadn’t. What he had gotten were sensory perceptions beyond anything before known. That was why we had tried to make him the scout first, but his fear drove him badly.

  “What was that?” His voice was a harsh whisper as he sunk into his body and looked around.

  “It’s likely just Misire returning.” Zyrra was another who was always out of humor, but her near brush with a fistfight between her and Jollan had made her worse.

  “That’s not possible,” Gerron said, looking to soothe all frayed nerves. “We would not hear it if it was Misire. She is the Silent for a reason, after all.” He stopped and listened. We all listened, and the noise came again.

  It sounded like something big was jumping from tree to tree. Gerron was right. We wouldn’t hear Misire approach. Besides, this sounded a lot bigger.

  We only had moments to get ready to fight before the thing hopping through the trees was seen and we discovered that it bore a huge force behind it. How had we not heard their approach? It was the question running through everyone’s mind. We did not know where Misire was or why she wasn’t back yet, or why she hadn’t warned us of a force this size being close enough to attack us. She should have known. It was her job and her ability to sense and find such things. We learned that after that first battle, of course, but it had served us unfailingly for eight years and no one could figure out why it hadn’t worked now.

  Not that we had time to contemplate it just then.

  The animals were the first to come upon us, large beasts the size of great horses with armor and spikes nailed to their thick hides.

  The heavier-set and thicker-armored of us dove to the forefront of the demonic wave and shield and hammer and spike and maw all met in a ferocious clang. Animal besieged animal with much roaring and blood. I looked and saw Vinir the Winged take to the sky. “They have spirits!” he cried and we all knew what that meant.

  Halyah almost shimmered with the fear and the rage of meeting the kind that she had drunk.

  Behind us, Misire appeared. Panting and with a slick of sweat on her skin, it was clear that she had run here but she did not look otherwise injured. There was no time for any of us to talk to her. She was already crawling onto the largest rock in the clearing and beginning a rain of arrows upon the monsters. Her eagle’s eyes and quick reflexes rendered many an animal inert before it could contemplate the upper hand on one of us.

  The human-forms were already flowing in behind them.

  Never before had we faced a horde like that. Our targets had always been considerable, because we were a force to be reckoned with and went after those that would make a difference when dead, but our attacks had also been orchestrated. Misire had never failed in getting us reliable intelligence on our foes, so we had always been able to choose our objectives with care and attack with precision. Even when they came after us, Misire had always seen them coming and we were always ready.

  Not now.

  This was mayhem. It was madness.

  I can’t say that I remember all the details. I know that the Fire-caller was dragging flames from the faintest hints of it in the demon’s blood and from the sky. A storm was far off but he was pulling its lightning through his hands and channeling it into every demon he could lay his glowing eyes upon. The fire and lightning was in those eyes and in his laugh—he always had been a little crazy—
as he set demonic form after demonic form into shrieking fireballs that ran rampant back through their own lines.

  Arrows flew. Steel crashed. The chaos of battle surrounded us and we all took part in the bedlam. Winged demons dropped from the sky in such swift numbers that we almost were crushed beneath their heavy bodies and leathery wings.

  I can recall Jollan and Zyrra with their feud forgotten, back to back. His broad spiked shield impaled many a beast, drenched in gore, and her board sword (nearly the length of her body) cleaved through their bodies like paper. Spurts of blood had drenched her face so fully that the horror of it was near impossible to see, only the whites of her flashing teeth and eyes.

  And the others were all in the thick of it. I know my blades saw more than their fair share of the massacre, and more than they ever had before.

  Blood drenched the clearing in what seemed to be no time at all. It was their blood as well as ours. I do not know that any of us had taken such injuries in all our fights together since the Calling as we did then.

  Somehow, I don’t know what made it possible, but we won.

  Bodies lay broken and scattered. Trees had been broken with great rage, laying amidst the fleshy carcasses.

  Norees the Fortunate lived up to her name. Her injuries should have killed another, but she survived. Berrint, the Secret Keeper, was the closest thing we had to a healer and he did his work despite his own bloodied body.

  “This was no accident.” Cotirri the Black-hearted spat into the dirt. “Someone betrayed us!” Her dark eyes swung to Misire. “Where were you? You are supposed to keep us from encountering these troubles!”

  Misire’s eyes, which had turned black straight through after her drinking, widened as she comprehended the accusation in Cotirri’s words. Her hands were not free of injury and it made her signs ragged, but the gestures were clear and emphatic. I can’t be everywhere! The movements were so hard and sharp that she might as well have been screaming. The look in her eyes told the rest. Something masked them. It’s not my fault!