by Robert Bevan
Frank nodded. “Yes. We should get some folks on that as well. But we need to make sure this is going to work before we do that. Doesn't anyone want to go first?”
“I'll go,” said Fritz, the elf who'd unmounted the die.
Cooper turned to Chaz. “Let me know if you need help finding a word that rhymes with Fritz. I've got one in mind.”
Everyone laughed. It was as happy as Stacy had seen this place since the Horsemen disappeared.
Chaz smiled. “Thank you, but I think I've got something.”
Mordred squirmed and struggled and tried to scream as Cooper forced his fingers open and Frank put the die in his palm.
Cooper closed Mordred's fingers around the die, then nodded up at Chaz. “Rock and roll, dude.”
Chaz cleared his throat and strummed his lute.
“I've but one life to live,
as everybody has.
I hope you can forgive.
Mordred, please say Chaz.”
“What?” said Fritz.
“You dick!” said Cooper.
“Chaz!” said Mordred, then gasped.
Chaz closed his eyes tightly and squatted like a paratrooper about to touch ground. He neither disappeared nor turned into a different person. After a long silent moment of nothing, he slowly opened his eyes to find everyone glaring at him.
“Shit.”
He would have time to answer for his dick move later. For now, everyone was speculating on why it hadn't worked.
“Maybe that wasn't his die,” said Rhonda, referring back to her theory from a few minutes ago.
“Maybe the anti-magic crystals are interfering,” said Julian.
“Maybe it doesn't work if he's coerced,” said Tony the Elf. His face suddenly went pale as he locked eyes with Mordred.
Half a second later, Mordred's eyes lit up with realization. He smiled wide. “Mordr– OW!”
Stacy kicked Mordred's hand, sending the die flying upward. It hit the ceiling, bounced off a wall, then shattered into a million black crystalline shards on the floor.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the memory echo of shattering die. Then Mordred started laughing.
“I hope you didn't pay too much for that cheap glass replica.”
Every other eye in the room turned to Stacy and Julian.
“That was no replica,” said Stacy. “That was the real deal.”
“That's strange,” said Mordred in a way that was inviting a kick to the face. “They didn't break when I threw them from the top floor of the Beauregard.” He sneered, slowly moving his narrow-eyed gaze from Stacy to Frank. “I'm curious, though, as to how and why you managed to procure a phony die. Could it be that you've misplaced the originals somehow?”
“Of course not,” Frank lied.
Mordred shrugged as much as his restraints would allow. “Then perhaps we should try again.” He opened his hand. “I'm ready when you are, Frank.”
Frank made a weak effort to mask his frustration. “Cooper, bag him.”
For what little satisfaction it was worth, that wiped the smug look from Mordred's face.
“No! No! N–” He dared not open his mouth to speak once the bag came down, instead continuing his protest exclusively with the letter M. He squirmed and bucked, but the ropes held firm. Finally, he went limp.
Frank glared up at Stacy and Julian. “What the hell was that?”
“Watch the tone, Frank,” said Stacy. “We've been out there in the field, risking our lives, while you've been sitting on your ass here in the Whore's Head.”
“Don't you tell me to watch my tone. We're back to square one, and now Mordred knows we don't have the dice!”
A long loud exhalation came from the bag of shit on Mordred's head.
“Actually,” he said in a nasally voice as he held up his head and both middle fingers. “I didn't know for sure until just now. So thanks for that.” His hands and head went limp again.
“SHIT!” said Frank. “Bring him back down to the cellar!”
Cooper and the dwarf picked up Mordred's chair and started back down the stairs. Frank hurriedly closed the door behind them.
“There's got to be some kind of logical explanation for this.” Stacy thought hard, but couldn't come up with anything that made sense. She turned to Julian. “We never let the die out of our sight, right?”
Julian shook his head as he nervously fiddled with something in his pocket.
“We've got to get out of here,” said Chaz.
“We're all well aware of your feelings on the matter,” said Frank. “We'll deal with you once we figure out our next move.”
“I know I'm not the most popular guy in the room right now, but you need to listen to me. That particular Mordred is insanely powerful. You can ask Cooper when he gets back. I don't have a lot of faith in those ropes and crystals keeping him contained for very much longer. And I've got a hunch that the other Mordreds will want to get this one back. We need to keep him moving and unaware of where he is at any given time.”
Stacy resisted her natural instinct to punch Chaz in the face. “He's right. The collective Mordred knows where we are by now. He also knows that the dice are up for grabs. If we play our cards right, we might be able to use this to our advantage.”
“How's that?” asked Rhonda skeptically.
“Much like myself, Mordred's biggest weakness is hubris. We can use that to feed him false information and lure his other avatars into traps.”
Frank shook his head. “I fucked up. He's not going to bother with us now that he knows we don't have the dice. There's no point in it. He knows we aren't going to kill the only Mordred we've got captive. That's our only leverage. He'll just let him stay in a vegetative state indefinitely while he seeks out the other dice. And he's almost certainly got more resources on hand to find them before we can.”
Stacy moved in closer to Frank and whispered. “He doesn't necessarily know that the dice were dumped on the Crescent Shadow. We could still get a head start. And we might be able to point the other Mordreds in the wrong direction.”
Frank nodded solemnly. “What about the Whore's Head Inn?”
“We'll have to torch it.” Stacy felt bad about having to lay this on Frank, especially since she felt partially responsible for having lost the magical die. “We don't want to risk other people coming here to hang out when Mordred shows up to unleash his wrath.” She shrugged. “Maybe we can leave a clue as to where we've gone or something.”
Frank looked up at her with despair in his eyes. “The Whore's Head Inn has been our symbol of hope since we arrived here. If people show up here and find it burned to the ground again...”
“Let it go, Frank,” said Tony the Elf. “If a Mordred gets his hands on a real die, he'll be able to send himself back home and re-establish himself as master of this world. He won't fuck around with us again. He knows that we now know that we're a threat to him. He might not kill us outright, but he'll damn sure put some thought into how he can subjugate us and limit our opportunities to strike back. Or, more likely, he'll not want to take that chance and just kill us outright. Stacy's right. We need to get out of here. We need to be proactive and find those dice before he does.”
Chapter 53
Hungry as she was, Katherine opted not to stop in at the Stinky Pickle on her way to the Temple of Life. She didn't know exactly how powerful the Eye of Rasha was, but it seemed like a pretty big deal. Maybe it might try to fuck with her mind like that ring in those movies about the midgets. Maybe it was emitting some kind of magical signal that would attract thieves to come try to steal it from her. These weren't chances she wanted to take. The sooner she got this transaction over with, the better. And besides, Tim would probably be hungry after being resurrected. It was enough to ask the High Cleric to transform him back into his proper midget form from a lizard turd. Asking to bring him back with a full stomach would be pushing it.
“That temple ain't goin' nowhere,” said Denise. “And it
ain't right to go in there empty-handed.”
“I'm bringing them the Eye of Rasha. I think that should suffice.”
“Aw, come on. I got all these fuckin' freaks to feed, and we ain't had a proper meal in I don't know how long.”
“I think Butterbean and I can make it on our own from here. If you two want to hang out and eat, that's fine with me. I don't know how long resurrections generally take. If it's instantaneous, Tim and I will come back and join you here. If it's a lengthy process, you can bring me a couple of those pickled goose eggs when you're done eating.”
Randy frowned. “I ain't all that hungry, to be honest.” Poor guy was still thinking about Basil. Katherine felt a little guilty that they were on their way to bring back Tim when Randy didn't have that option with his recently deceased loved one.
“And I ain't never seen a pile of shit turn into a person before,” said Denise. “I reckon that'll be a sight to behold.”
As they continued to the temple, Katherine's stomach grumbled with a combination of hunger and nervousness. There was still a lot of uncertainty. Those people who died in the fire at the Whore's Head came back normal enough, as did all the people who got turned into zombies when the flying boat attacked the city. Hell, even Katherine felt like her old self after getting unvamped.
But those were all cases of simply reuniting a lost soul with its host body, or so she theorized. Tim would have to be reconstructed from scratch. And his soul, wherever it was, had been away from his body for quite some time. She'd essentially just brought these guys a sample of his DNA. Were they merely going to clone him? That would be awful. Not only would she be responsible for incubating and raising some test tube embryo, but it wouldn't even be Tim. It would just be an exact genetic match of his fantasy body. Even worse, it would be a constant reminder that the real Tim, her brother, was really and truly dead.
And even if they were able to grow an adult version of Tim's body and put his own soul back in it, would the time it had spent in the afterlife change him? Was she about to rip him out of some eternal paradise? She supposed it was more likely that she'd be rescuing him from eternal suffering in Hell. But even then, would his mind be all fucked up from being tortured and burned? Or would he become some kind of pain in the ass Born Again? All of these questions were making her second-guess her decision to bring him back at all. She stopped at the vine-curtained entrance of the Temple of Life. Randy and Denise looked at her as if they were awaiting further instructions.
No, Katherine. That's just the resurrection jitters. It probably happens to everyone in this situation. Tim will be fine. You've come all this way. You can't turn back now. You can't tell Randy that Basil died for nothing.
“May I help you?” asked a heavyset bald woman with tired eyes and a tone that didn't suggest a desire to be helpful as soon as they stepped through the open front gate.
Katherine didn't want anything from this woman except for her to get the fuck out of her way. “I'm looking for Brother Mayfair.”
“Brother Mayfair is in meditation with the High Cleric.”
“Awesome. We need to see him too.”
“Her,” the woman corrected. “Meditation is not to be disturbed. You'll have to come back another time.”
“And who the fuck are you, Cue Ball?”
“My name is Shelda Moonfist. Acolyte in training here at the Temple of Life. My duties include seeing that the High Cleric is not disturbed during her meditation.”
“We been through a heck of a time, ma'am,” said Randy, stepping forward. “If we could just –”
“Stay where you are!” Shelda struck some kind of karate pose, threatening Randy with two fists and a raised foot. “Take another step, and I shall unleash my Flurry of Blows upon you.”
“I hate to break it to you, lady,” said Denise. “But I reckon you're barkin' up the wrong tree.”
Katherine put her hand on Randy's shoulder and pulled him back gently. “Let's all calm down. Nobody is going to blow anybody. I have something for the High Cleric. It's something she'll want as soon as possible.”
Shelda lowered her foot and hands. “You may entrust it with me, and I shall see that it gets delivered to the High Cleric once her meditation is complete.”
“I'm sorry, but fuck that. This isn't a basket of cookies. I've got the Eye of Rasha, and I'll not be entrusting it to anyone but the High Cleric herself, and only then on the terms I made with Brother Mayfair.”
Shelda scowled at Katherine. “Take your foul tongue and blasphemy elsewhere. You are not welcome on this sacred ground.”
It was time to pull out the big guns. Katherine reached into the Bag of Holding. “Ice Queen's scepter.” When she pulled the stone chunk of scepter out of the bag, she could see the glowing blue gem reflected in Shelda's astonished eyes. “I guess you can tell the High Cleric that she can find us at the Stinky Pickle when she gets a free moment.”
“Right on!” said Denise as Katherine put the scepter back into the Bag of Holding and turned to leave the Temple of Life.
“Wait!”
Katherine smiled to herself, then turned around. “Yes?”
“Shit,” said Denise.
Shelda bowed deeply. “I beg your forgiveness, holy messenger of Rasha.”
“Take it down a notch, Mrs. Clean. I'm not –”
“I shall take you directly to the High Cleric at once.”
On second thought, maybe riding this whole holy messenger of Rasha thing was the way to go.
Katherine performed a grand but ambiguous gesture with her right hand. “You are forgiven. Rasha is pleased with your service. Now go forth and... um... lead the way.”
Shelda led them to the altar in front of the giant statue of Rasha, where she'd talked to Brother Mayfair before. A radiant silver-haired elf woman in gold-trimmed white robes sat cross-legged three feet above the ground. Five subordinate clerics, dressed in nicer robes than the humble potato sack Shelda was wearing, but not quite so fancy as the elf woman's, likewise hovered in a sitting position around her, all facing toward her with their heads bowed deeply. Katherine recognized one of them as Brother Mayfair.
“High Cleric!” Shelda called out.
The elf woman's eyelids opened wide, revealing only bright blue light where eyeballs conventionally reside. She was quick enough to lower her feet and land gracefully in a standing position. Her underlings, whom she'd apparently been suspending in the air as well, weren't as quick. They cried out as they landed on their asses.
“Wha!”
“Oomph!”
“Ugh!”
“Hoo!”
“Harder!”
The others all turned to the olive-skinned half-elf whose cry was the most unusual and specific. The light from the High Cleric's eyes dimmed as she narrowed her eyes.
“Sister Kalia?”
“Challenge me harder, Rasha,” Sister Kalia continued hurriedly with her head bowed, “that I may serve you better.”
“Nice save,” Denise muttered.
The High Cleric's narrow-eyed gaze whipped toward them, specifically toward Shelda. “For what purpose do you disturb my meditation?”
Shelda took a knee and bowed. “Please forgive me, High Cleric. These people arrived, and I –”
“You give them a warm bowl of porridge and a blessing, then send them on their way. Who trained this one?”
“That was me, High Cleric,” said Sister Kalia.
In spite of the High Cleric's eyes being spheres of magical energy, Katherine thought she detected a roll.
“Of course it was. Take her to the Dias of Shame, strip off her clothes, and strike your open palm against her naked flesh until she walks again in Rasha's Light.”
Shelda and Sister Kalia locked eyes briefly, each of them biting their lower lip. Katherine suspected this might be less of a punishment than the High Cleric intended, and might actually be an activity these two practiced regularly in their down time.
“Excuse me,” said Katherine. �
��But we're not homeless.”
“Well...” said Randy.
“Okay, I guess technically that's not true. But we're not here to beg for food.”
“I don't know,” said Denise. “Some of that warm porridge would go down real nice right about now.”
“Would you two shut the fuck up for a second?” Katherine waved at Brother Mayfair. “Do you remember us?”
“How could I forget?” He gave the High Cleric a small, embarrassed smile. “This is the young woman who delivered us the jar full of basilisk excrement.”
“Lovely.” The High Cleric looked Katherine up and down and sniffed the air. “She appears to have brought more with her.”
“Listen, lady,” said Katherine. “I've had to put up with a lot of shit over the past couple of weeks, so maybe dial back the bitch?” She turned to Brother Mayfair, who was visibly shocked. “I got the thing you asked for. Do we still have a deal?”
“Th-th-the thing?”
Katherine nodded up at the statue of Rasha, more specifically at the empty socket in the middle of its forehead.
Brother Mayfair turned to the statue, then back to Katherine. “Impossible.”
The High Cleric raised her eyebrows. “Brother Mayfair?”
“I told her that you would resurrect her brother.”
“Did you?”
“On the condition that she returned here with the Eye of Rasha.”
The other four not-quite-as-high clerics gasped.
The High Cleric seemed less impressed. “You brought us a jar of shit last time you visited. Your gifting skills are much improved.”
“That jar of shit is my brother,” said Katherine. She thrust her hand into the Bag of Holding. “Ice Queen's scepter!” When she pulled it out, the High Cleric stumbled backward and shielded her eyes.
“The Eye!” she cried, her voice trembling with fear. She looked at Katherine with normal blue eyes like a scared child. “Please, you understand not the awesomeness of the power you wield.”
“I don't want to wield it,” said Katherine. “I want to cash it in. Can you magic that shit jar back into my brother or can't you?”
