by CM Raymond
But before they could, the vines climbing the tower pulled away from its cracking walls. They caught Hannah and Vitali, holding them firmly in their biotic grip.
“Holy shit.” Vitali exhaled as they hung in the open sky. “I thought it was over.”
Hannah started laughing uncontrollably. The vines pushed skyward, carrying them back in the direction from which they had fallen.
“Me too,” she replied, “but never question what a magician is capable of.”
The plants pushed them back through the hole in the tower and gently set them on the floor before retracting.
Sal was at Hannah’s side in an instant, making sure she was unharmed. She scratched his chin and laughed. “I guess you’ve gotten over your first-date jitters” she said to Laurel, whose eyes were still burning green.
“It wasn’t like you gave me much of a choice,” Laurel snapped.
“Please. I could have teleported us if I wanted to. I just thought a little extra encouragement might help you manage your powers.”
Parker grinned. “About bloody time.”
Laurel said an inaudible word, thanking the foreign flora for their service before dropping to her knees. She looked at Hannah. “Next time, let’s keep the lessons in the classroom.”
Parker reached down and offered Vitali a hand, pulling him to his feet.
“Thanks,” he said, then looked at Hannah and Laurel. “And thank you both. Thought I was about to use all nine of my lives on that one.” He glanced out of the hole and shoved his shaking hands into his pockets, hoping to hide them from the others.
“No problem,” Hannah replied. “You saved Parker’s ass, so maybe we’re even now.”
“I’d say so,” he whispered. “And I’d never doubt your powers, but... I’m still a little unsure. That freaking ghost just kicked me. Can your powers handle that?”
“I’m with the scaredy-cat. That thing came out of nowhere,” Parker agreed. “That was the first one we have seen this entire time. I say we just move as fast as we can. Try to outrun the ghosts.”
“You can’t outrun ghosts,” Laurel said.
“How the hell do you know?” Parker shot back at her, his face turning red. “How many ghosts have you ever seen?”
Hannah held up her hands to stop the bickering. “Listen, they’re not ghosts. It was a man. A magic user.”
“Come on!” Laurel replied. “You saw that thing...and then didn’t see it.”
“Laurel, think about it. If the power inside us can allow you to talk with trees and turned Vitali here into a cat-person, it can certainly give a magic user the ability to turn to mist.”
“OK, say you’re right. How the hell do we fight something we can’t see or hit?” She said.
“Well,” Parker interjected, “that’s not quite true. I mean, we couldn’t see that one when he came through the wall, but he didn’t stay that way. Not to mention, he had to materialize to land his boot on Vitali’s chest. He had to turn solid to attack, which I guess is how it works.”
All three of them scanned the room they stood in, expecting the ghost-man to show up any second. When he didn’t, Vitali asked, “How do we know when he’s coming?”
“I felt him.” She tapped her temple. “Up here. I don’t have mental magic as good as my friend Hadley’s, but I felt him just before he appeared. It might not make sense, but it’s like his mind snaps into reality before his body does. I think we can outsmart these things. We just have to work together.”
****
“Stay close. Stay ready,” Hannah said as they crept from the stairwell into the top floor of the tower. The rest of the climb had been without incident, but that didn’t stop them all from being on edge.
The doorway led into a giant open space with a row of rooms just off to their left. Hannah couldn’t tell what it might have been used for, but whatever it was, it had been cleared out long ago. It was empty, except for a giant metal cylinder directly in the middle of the room.
“That’s it,” Laurel whispered.
Hannah nodded in agreement. The thing was large—almost as big as Sal—and surprisingly smooth for something that had allegedly crashed from the sky.
“Um… I don’t think we’re carrying that bitch out of here,” Parker said as he stood beside her. His eyes darted about, taking inventory of what they might have to work with. “What if we—”
He didn’t get any farther, as Hannah cut him off. “There!” she shouted, pointing over his left shoulder.
Parker spun, swinging his spear with everything he had in him at the empty space behind him. Just as he did, a ghost misted through the wall and materialized in the path of his strike.
The sound of ribs crunching filled the air as the spear struck the man’s newly materialized side. His eyes grew wide, and he spat a curse.
Parker lifted his spear over his head with both hands and drove it downward toward him to finish him off, but as quickly as he had appeared the ghost turned to mist and dissipated through the floor.
“He got away,” Parker shouted.
“But not before you got him,” Laurel said. “Look.”
They all looked at the floor where she was pointing. A large pool of human blood had formed.
“I don’t believe it,” Vitali said as he stared at the red stain.
“That was a hell of a shot, Parker,” Laurel squealed. “Now we just have to—”
Hannah raised a hand, and they all froze.
“Where?” Parker demanded.
She shook her head, and whispered, “Everywhere.”
The mist seeped down around them from the ceiling and through the walls. The team stood back to back as the fog surrounded them on every side. It turned and twisted and took the form of six people, all of them large—well over six feet tall.
“We told you to leave. Gave you a chance. Now you will all die,” the largest of the group said.
“Give it your best shot, airhead,” Hannah said as she swiped her hands in front of her, drawing on her power.
Her fireball went straight through them and smashed harmlessly against the wall.
“OK, stay together,” she said. “We just have to wait for them to rematerialize. Everyone watch each other’s backs.”
It was safe to say that this was the strangest fight that Hannah had ever been in. Powerful kicks and punches came out of nowhere before she could strike back.
Laurel stepped away from the group and moved constantly—her rope blade cutting through the fog. Her constant motion, mixed with swift attacks, made it impossible for them to strike her.
Sal flew around the room like a madman. He kept trying to bite the smoke, and was supremely pissed every time he came up empty.
Parker and Vitali stood back to back, dodging and counter-attacking to no avail.
Hannah was having her own bad luck. She managed to burn one ghost who tried to touch her, but he disappeared before she could finish him off. They floated around the room, but they were concentrated near the technology. She took another look at it and realized that it was surrounded by other old-world artifacts laid out in a perfect circle, almost as if the thing were a shrine.
She stepped toward it, and immediately two figures appeared and began attacking her until she pulled back.
It was clear that their magic gave them an advantage.
So she decided to create a little advantage of her own.
“Parker,” she yelled. “I’m heading for the tech. Cover me.”
Parker ran toward her, his blue spear flashing. He fired and managed to take down a ghost who had stayed physical for too long near Laurel.
A ghost appeared in front of him and attacked with fury. Parker tried to jab it with his spear, but the thing was too fast, and it was blocking him from helping Hannah.
He watched as she beelined toward the metal cylinder. Two ghosts appeared behind her, but before Parker could do anything they turned their arms into two giant blades and stabbed her in the back.
But nothing happened. Their arms passed right through her like she was made of air. As they looked at each other, confused, two spears of ice sliced through their chests. The fake Hannah disappeared from their minds, and the real Hannah stepped up behind them.
“Looks like you’re not the only ghosts in the room,” she said as their bodies slid to the floor.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Parker said as he ran up to her.
“What do you mean you can’t believe it? That was con-artist gold. I almost picked their pockets while I was at it.”
He rolled his eyes. “I count four down.”
“Five,” she said. “Look.”
Vitali was standing next to another shattered window, and the ghost who was attacking him pushed him farther and farther toward the edge. The Lynqi looked backward, visibly afraid of the fall.
“Say goodbye, cat,” the ghost said as he showed his true form. He kicked at Vitali’s chest, but at the last moment Vitali grabbed the ghost’s leg and pulled. They both tumbled out the window.
Hannah ran to the edge and looked down at Vitali, who was hanging on by one hand. “I know we’re already even,” he remarked, “but a little help would be nice.”
She and Parker leaned down to pull him in. As they did, they saw the ghost tumbling toward the ground.
“Looks like he doesn’t fly too well,” said Parker. “Shame.”
“What are you all staring at?” Laurel said as she walked toward them. Sal was panting happily at her side.
“Nothing,” Hannah said as she quickly scanned the room. “Was that the last of them?”
Laurel pointed out the window. “That one, and the one Sal ate.”
“What?” Hannah looked down at her dragon in shock, expecting to see smoke pouring out of his ears. But the reptile just looked pleased.
“Craziest thing I ever saw,” Laurel said. “This ghost was bearing down on me, and right before I’m backed into a corner Sal here opens his big mouth and sucks the thing in like he was slurping stew. I stared in shock, waiting for the ghost to pop back out, but nothing happened.”
“Holy shit,” Hannah said. She knelt and gave her partner another scratch on the chin.
“I guess old Sal has a pretty strong constitution,” Parker said with a laugh.
“Whatever ghosts remain,” said Vitali, “will be telling horror stories about your dragon for generations.”
Hannah laughed, but her eyes were locked on the tech in the middle of the room. “That they will. Now, if we’re all done with that mess, who wants to help me move this huge piece of junk onto the roof?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
There was always great debate in Heema about which was better, the party before the festival or the one that immediately followed. Aardash was split on the argument. The anticipation of the festival and sending the victors down toward the gods always got his blood pumping like nothing else on the mountain. But there was something to the celebration that followed, the calm and content feeling he was experiencing at that very moment, when all was finished and he knew he had done his job and done it well.
He sank his teeth into a turkey leg and wiped the juices from his beard with the back of his sleeve. He chewed, and chased the meat with a long drink of mead. The good thing for him was that his responsibilities were over, at least for another six months—and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
He tried to savor his food and drink, but his mind kept going back to the rearick they sent into the mine.
Karl was a good man. A strong man, that was for sure. But still, the king had second-guessed whether it was right to send a foreigner to their objects of worship. What if they were displeased? Aardash and his people had never seen or tasted the judgment of the gods, but he was sure that if they did they wouldn’t live to tell the story about it. And if that were to happen, the blood of his people would be on his hands—no one else’s.
Just as he was thinking about their foreign victor, the double doors leading into the great hall flew open with a crash. Standing there, his figure outlined by the sunlight behind him, stood Karl.
“Ho-lee-shite,” was all that the king could say.
All the guests spun to see what he had cursed at. A great clamor rose in the room as everyone tried to figure out what was going on. Either their victor had returned, possibly spit out by displeased gods beneath, or else maybe it was his ghost. Certainly no man would return from paradise of his own free will.
Aardash stood up, his legs trembling at the thought of either plausible option. “Karl of the Heights, champion of the festival, is it really you? If so, why have you returned from the gods?”
Karl gave the king a slight bow and stepped into the room. “It is I, but about these gods you worship? They’re nothing but a couple of bitchy, saggy ball sacks.”
The others joined Karl from outside, and the group sat with the king and his people at the long banquet table by the fire. Many of the faces grew grim as Karl wove the tale for them and Hadley projected the images of their descent.
Hendrix interrupted, “You’re telling me that you tried to sneak a group of foreigners into paradise?” He turned to Aardash. “Sir, this is preposterous. They should be thrown off the mountain. No one except the victor is to enter the mines.”
Aardash raised his hand in Hendrix’ direction without even giving his bruised and swollen face the courtesy of eye contact.
“Continue, Karl,” Aardash said, speaking slowly. He glanced at Hadley. “And your magician friend too.”
Karl recounted the events in the cavern as well as he could remember, allowing Gregory to step in to walk the king, line by line, through the conversation with Atreus and Cronus. Those in attendance gasped as he did, and as Hadley continued to project the entire thing in the middle of the table.
“So you’re trying to tell me that there are no gods in the mine?” he asked Karl.
“There ain’t,” Karl replied, his eyes on the table. He knew that this was something akin to telling the rearick in the Heights that the amphoralds in their holes were worthless—or even worse. It contradicted everything Aardash and his people believed in; all that they lived for. “I’m afraid there’re just two old mind-manglin’ lunatics. They’re takin’ advantage of yer men, and then doin’ very fuckin’ ungodly things ta them.”
The room fell silent and Hadley zoomed in to show the devilish face of Atreus, her mouth opened in an animalistic snarl.
“This is horseshit,” Hendrix screamed. “Has the mystic warped your minds? Of course the gods are below. They always have been, always will be. The guards must take these charlatans into custody now.”
Karl smiled at him, “Ye should be the most thankful. If it weren’t fer me kickin’ yer arse, ye’d be down there right now. Bet they’d eat yer fat arse pretty quick, ye little prick.”
Hendrix slammed his hands on the table, shaking glasses, plates, and silver. “I have a mind to kick your ass, you backward mountain fucker.”
Karl’s face turned red and he rose to his feet across the table from the large Heemite. The room froze as the men stared each other down. Then, out of nowhere, Karl broke into laughter.
“What?” Hendrix screamed at him, spittle flying everywhere.
Karl swiped his hand through the air, dismissing the man. “Nothin’, really. I just been standin’ here tryin’ ta figure out what the hell a ‘mountain fucker’ is. Ye musta been thinkin’ about me big cock ever since I kicked yer arse like ye was a wee child. That it?”
“You son of a bitch!”
Hendrix jumped onto the table and leapt at Karl. He was fast, the best fighter on the mountain—except for Karl.
Karl reacted just in time to grab the man in flight and roll with his momentum. They both crashed to the floor and slid toward the fireplace. As they jumped to their feet Hendrix pulled two daggers, one from each side of his belt.
Grinning, Karl instinctively reached for his hammer, which was when he realized it was still barring th
e door to the mine.
“Scheisse,” he mumbled, his eyes looking for an impromptu weapon.
“Oh, no…” Hendrix cooed. “The little rearick lost his hammer? I’m gonna enjoy gutting you.”
Karl rolled his neck to crack his vertebrae, and lifted his fists. “I don’t need a hammer ta whip a pup into obedience. Come at me, ye little bitch.”
And Hendrix did. He lunged, right dagger leading. Karl sidestepped and caught his attacker’s forearm in his big beefy hand.
With his left, Hendrix arced his other dagger straight for Karl’s skull, but the rearick grabbed that arm as well. For a moment the men were frozen in time, looking like a statue of two ancient warriors locked in combat, each of them bearing toward the other. But Hendrix was the bigger man, and Karl had just been through shit—mentally and physically.
Slowly the dagger in his left hand edged toward Karl’s face, when out of nowhere there was a flash of motion accompanied by a sickening thud.
Hendrix’ eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped unconscious at Karl’s feet. Standing there brandishing a poker was Broderick.
“My father… Did you see him?” His eyes pleaded for the answer he only hoped could be true.
“Aye, kid.” Karl said, straightening his cloak. “Yer old man is still down there. And them loonies are usin’ him, all right. Might be time for his blood to be shed before long.”
“Whatever it takes I am in, even if it costs my life.” The young man turned to the king, who was standing with his mouth wide open. “We must!”
Broderick pleaded his case, giving his all to convince the king his religion and duty to protect the gods were a farce. Aardash hemmed and hawed and gave reason after reason why it couldn’t be true.
Finally he was won over, but it wasn’t by Broderick or Karl or Hadley’s display of magic.
It was by a small sweet voice.
“Father,” Mariah said, “we need to do the right thing.”
Aardash turned to his daughter, the love of his life. Her words stung his conscience, but he wasn’t ready to believe. “But… The gods, Mariah!”
