The Destroyer of Worlds

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Yeah,” said Mary. “A week ago I would have said you were nuts. But I know better now.” She cooked in silence for a moment. “Are Ally and Lithon up yet?”

  “No,” said Arran. “They sleep yet.”

  “They sleep a lot, you mean.” Mary flipped the pancakes.

  “It is best,” said Arran. He thought of the despair that had overtaken him after the fall of Antarese. “Some wounds only heal with time and rest. And most wounds leave scars.”

  “I guess.” Mary poured more pancake batter onto the griddle. “I’m worried about them. Not so much about Lithon. He's dealing with it better, I think. But Ally’s…Ally’s in pieces. And there’s that thing with the magic. I don’t even know who she is anymore. She’s my best friend and I don’t even know her.”

  “She didn’t know herself,” said Arran. “She still doesn’t. How could you be expected to know her if she did not know herself?”

  “That makes sense, I suppose,” said Mary. “She saved my life, you know. Did she ever tell you about it?” Arran shook his head. “My old boyfriend. Nathan Jameson. I was a stupid kid. He was bad, but I was too stupid to see it. He would’ve killed me, but Ally saved me. Almost killed him, too.” She looked at Arran. “And you saved her life. She needs you.”

  “Luck and fortune saved her life,” said Arran. “Another minute later, another second, and she would have perished.”

  Mary shook her head. “But she remembers you jumping in with that burning sword and cutting the winged demon to pieces. I remember it. Hell, I see it every time I close my eyes. And if I remember it, Ally definitely remembers it. She needs you.”

  “Her parents are dead, yes,” said Arran. Mary looked away. “But she still has Lithon. And she still has you.”

  Mary shook her head. “But we can’t protect her. You can.”

  Arran stared out the window. “Find Alastarius on Earth. I do not think you can understand. I crossed half a world, traveled through the Tower, saw terrible things,” some of the things he had seen in the Tower still troubled his sleep, “all to find Alastarius. And then I met you and Ally. And I was really looking for her all along, Alastarius’s successor.” Arran met Mary’s gaze. “Ally Wester has become the mission of my life. I will die before I let any harm befall her.”

  Mary turned off the stove. “You might have to die, if it’s her destiny or fate or whatever to fight Marugon and those monsters.”

  “I know,” said Arran, “but all men die. We can only hope to die well.”

  Mary snorted. “What a happy thought. I don’t know about you, Mr. Belphon, but I don’t want to die for a good long while yet.” She handed him a plate with pancakes and bacon. “Now shut up and eat.”

  Arran gave her a little salute. “As you command.”

  Mary made a disgusted sound. “Wise ass.” She served herself some food and sat down. They ate in silence for a moment. “Um…how is it?”

  “Delicious,” said Arran around a mouthful of pancake. “Superb. Food worthy of the gods themselves.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Yet Mary looked pleased.

  “I’ve lived on dried meat and roots,” said Arran. He pointed his fork at the plate. “I much prefer this.” Something moved outside the window, and Arran turned, his hand dropping to his sword. A gray car made its war up the snowy driveway. “Conmager’s back.”

  “Well, good,” said Mary. “He can eat his breakfast before it gets cold. Besides, it’s freezing out there. He’d probably appreciate warm food.”

  “No doubt,” said Arran. He took another bite.

  The door opened and Conmager stamped into the kitchen, brushing snow from his parka. He pulled back his hood, kicked off his boots, and hung up his coat. “Cold as the Wastes out there.”

  Mary stared at him. “You shaved.”

  “Perceptive, my dear,” said Conmager. He had indeed shaved, trimming his wild beard to a neat gray and brown goatee. His hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, and he wore faded jeans, a polo shirt, and a gray sports jacket.

  “You look like a reformed hippie,” said Mary.

  Arran gestured with his fork. “No, he looks like…how did it go? A predatory merchant of secondhand automobiles?”

  Conmager snickered and moved towards the table with a heavy limp. “You mean a used car salesman.” His leg had gotten worse in the cold weather. “And if you think so, all the good.” He dropped into an empty chair with a sigh, leaning his cane against the wall.

  “Why’s that?” said Mary. She rose, put bacon and pancakes onto a plate, and handed it to Conmager.

  “Ah, thank you.” He took the plate and began to devour his food. “Descriptions of a wild-bearded, wild-eyed man are appearing in the news reports. Believed to be an anarchistic terrorist of some sort.”

  Mary’s eyes got wide. “We're on the news?”

  “Oh, yes.” Conmager poured more syrup over his pancakes. “You, Ally, and Lithon are believed to have been abducted by the wild-eyed terrorist and his accomplice, a ‘tall dark man’ armed to the teeth and with a fondness for swords.”

  Mary snorted. “If that doesn’t describe Mr. Belphon, then I don’t know what does.”

  Arran sighed and finished his bacon. “I wish I had remained unseen.”

  “I as well,” said Conmager. “I wish many things had gone differently that night.”

  “Yeah, you’re not the only one,” said Mary. She sat down and returned to her food.

  They ate in silence for a few moments.

  “So they think you abducted us?” said Mary.

  “They do,” said Conmager. “There are at least a hundred theories about what happened that night, ranging from erroneous to downright ludicrous.”

  Arran scowled. “And has any blame fallen on Senator Wycliffe?”

  “None,” said Conmager, stabbing a pancake with his fork. “No one has noticed that the majority of the guns used in the battle came from Wycliffe’s complex. No one has realized the Westers’ connection to Wycliffe.” He chewed, eyes glaring. “But I’m not surprised. Wycliffe is too powerful, too well connected. And if anyone does question him, he need only rely on the black magic to…dissuade them.”

  Mary swallowed. “Do you think they’ll find us?”

  Conmager shook his head. “Unlikely. Chicago’s police are in disarray. Besides, once we left Illinois, it became a case for the FBI. I know how they work. They’ll not find us. And even if they do, I have other safe houses prepared, far from here.”

  Arran leaned back in the chair. “The authorities of this world are fools. They are complacent. We can avoid them with ease. But what of the winged demons and the changelings? Marugon will surely send them for us, once he learns that we did not perish. We cannot fight them,” he thought of Ally’s powers, “at least not yet.”

  “The wards,” said Conmager, waving his hand at the window, “the wards I have laid around the farm. They shall turn aside a creature of the black magic, leaving it confused and forgetful.” He smiled. “They shall wander away and forget they were ever here.”

  “But suppose it does not work,” said Arran. “The winged demons are strong in will, and can sometimes resist a spell.”

  Conmager shrugged. “Then I suppose we shall have to flee again. But the wards will give us sufficient warning, at least. We can flee with plenty of time to spare.”

  Arran grunted. “I hope everything goes as you foresee…this time, at least.”

  Someone came down the stairs, and they fell silent. Arran turned in his chair as Lithon walked into the kitchen, his hair tousled, his bare feet slapping against the tiles. He looked pale and worn.

  “Your Majesty,” said Conmager.

  Lithon scowled and got a glass of water. “Stop calling me that, I told you.”

  “Yes, your…er…Lithon,” said Conmager.

  “Your Lithon?” said Mary. She snickered. “That’s an improvement. You sleep well, Lithon?”

  “Not really,” said Lithon, his voice listless. �
��It’s cold upstairs. I hate Wisconsin in the winter.”

  Mary wrapped her arms around herself. “You’re not the only one.”

  Lithon stared at the counter, blinking. “Hey!” He smiled for the first time in a week. “Mary! You made breakfast!”

  “I’ve made breakfast every morning,” said Mary. “You usually sleep too late. I tried to save you some, but those two,” she jerked her thumb at Arran and Conmager, “eat it all.”

  “I most certainly do not,” said Conmager. “Allard eats it when he comes in from the morning watch.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Allard is an idiot.”

  Conmager shrugged. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.” Lithon ignored them and shoveled food onto his plate.

  “Is Ally awake yet?” said Arran.

  “No,” said Lithon, chewing. “I don’t think she slept well. I heard her crying, through the vent. I think she stayed up all night and fell asleep later.” He chewed and swallowed. “This is really good.”

  Mary smiled. “Thanks.”

  “We never used to have breakfasts like this,” said Lithon, spearing some bacon with his fork. “My mom…she…my mom…” He stared at his plate, blinking. A muscle in his temple trembled.

  “Oh.” Mary looked at the dingy tiles on the floor. “I’m sorry. I made you lose your appetite. I…”

  “I’m still hungry,” said Lithon, covering his plate. “I’m just sad, okay? Can’t I be hungry and sad at the same time?”

  Arran snorted. “I speak from experience when I say that it's entirely possible.” He shook his head and stood. “I’d best go take the watch before Allard freezes himself to death.” He pulled on a heavy black coat, gloves, and wrapped a scarf around his face. His old cloak, tattered and worn, lay by the door. He put it on and pulled the hood over his head.

  Mary shuddered. “You look as if you’re going to go kill someone.”

  “Good,” said Arran, voice muffled beneath the scarf. He reached into one of the cabinets, retrieved his Kalashnikov and Luthar’s Sacred Blade, and slung them over his shoulder. “I believe that is the point.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Conmager, seizing his cane and clawing to his feet.

  Mary gave him a look. “You just got in. You didn’t even finish your breakfast.”

  “His Majesty…I mean, Lithon can eat the rest.” Lithon seized Conmager’s plate without missing a beat, and Conmager shrugged into his coat. “And I need to speak with Sir Arran.”

  The steps creaked, and Arran turned. Ally shuffled into the kitchen, red hair hanging limp over her face. She wore sweatpants and an old T-shirt, the same clothes she had worn for the last three days. She slumped into the chair Conmager had vacated and stared out the window, eyes glassy.

  Arran wanted to comfort her, but he had no idea how.

  “Sir Arran,” said Conmager. “This way.”

  Arran followed Conmager onto the back porch. The sky had gotten darker, and thick snowflakes swirled through the air. Arran pulled his cloak tighter, his boots clumping against the floorboards.

  “Damn this snow,” said Conmager. “I’ll have to plow the driveway again.”

  “That seems to be the least of our problems,” said Arran.

  “You’re right.” Conmager stopped out of earshot of the farmhouse. “You’ll be prowling around the woods, I assume?”

  Arran nodded. “The better to stop any foes before they reach us.” He adjusted his Kalashnikov's strap. “Allard seems to think huddling by a space heater in the barn makes for adequate guard duty.”

  Conmager chuckled. “Allard is not an evil man.”

  “I know.”

  “He has his limitations, but his heart is in the right place.” Conmager brushed the snowflakes from his coat. “And we still have my wards.”

  “We should depart, head farther from Chicago,” said Arran.

  Conmager frowned. “Why?”

  “We are still too close,” said Arran.

  “We’re five hundred miles away,” said Conmager.

  “I still think it is too close,” said Arran. “How did you obtain this place, anyway?”

  Conmager chuckled. “Dishonest means. How else? Senator Wycliffe has numerous enemies, though few have the courage to oppose him openly. I go to a wealthy Republican businessman, or to a wealthy Democratic liberal, and say I have means to undermine Wycliffe…if they give me money. They give me money, and I disappear. Though I suppose it’s not totally dishonest.” He waved his hand over the snow-cloaked farm. “I am opposing Wycliffe with the money, after all.”

  “True,” said Arran. “We ought to leave this place as soon as possible, though.”

  Conmager frowned. “Why? It’s perfect for what we need. This is a rural, wooded area. There is nothing but small villages for dozens of miles in all directions. Few even know this place exists. It will take Marugon a long time to find us here.”

  “But he will find us,” said Arran. “And sooner than we may think. You have other safe houses, yes? We should not linger here.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” said Conmager. “That is the nature of battle, is it not? The enemy shatters your plans. But we must stay here for a time. It would be unwise to leave too soon.”

  Arran frowned. “Why?”

  “Ally and Lithon.” Conmager grimaced and scraped his cane through the snow. “Gods. Three inches already.” He looked at the sky and sighed. “Ally and Lithon need time to come to grips with what they’ve been told, with who they really are, and to mourn for their parents. Their entire lives have been turned upside down and destroyed. They need to rest, to heal. And perhaps more importantly, they need to come to grips with their powers.”

  “But you are teaching Ally,” said Arran, scanning the mass of leafless trees. “You are teaching her the white magic. Surely you can teach her elsewhere just as well as you can teach her here.” He frowned as something occured to him. “Their powers? Lithon doesn't have the white magic.”

  “Remember?” said Conmager. “Lithon saw the spirit of Alastarius first, before any of us did. He spoke to it. It was only after Ally cast that spell,” his eyes grew glassy, “that we could see his spirit. It was her power that drew him here, and only after she used her power could we see the spirit. But Lithon saw him first.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It is the royal blood of Carlisan, the blood of Scepteris,” said Conmager. “Legend holds that an angel lay with the first king of Carlisan, passing the white magic into the blood of his descendants.” He shrugged. “True or not, I don't know, but Lithon will have special abilities as he grows older. Some of them have already manifested. You may have noticed them yourself. He seems faster than a normal boy.” Arran nodded. “He is also stronger and more resilient, both physically and emotionally. He can see spirits and magic energies, and he already has some resistance to magic. Eventually he will prove highly resistant to all but the most powerful spells.”

  “Useful,” said Arran, “if he is destined to overthrow Marugon.”

  “And Ally,” said Conmager with a sigh. “Her magical strength is tremendous. But I can only teach her a little, in truth. I was never much more than a half-trained apprentice. And her mind is…damaged. The grief weighs heavily upon her, and she seems to have inherited Alastarius’s memories, in addition to his powers.”

  “Memories?” said Arran. “How is that possible?”

  “I do not know," said Conmager. “I still do not know how Alastarius even passed his powers to her. She still remembers nothing before she woke up on the Crimson Plain and Sir Liam rescued her from the gunmen. How did she even get there? There are thousands of miles between the Crimson Plain and Castle Bastion.”

  Arran nodded. “I know. I walked every one of those miles.” Twice, in fact.

  Conmager shrugged again. “I can only guess that some of Alastarius’s memories buried themselves in her mind, along with his powers. And she seems to have gotten some of his more unpleasant memories. She r
emembers his death at the hands of Goth-Mar-Dan. She told me she’s dreamed of that for years.”

  “Gods.” Goth-Mar-Dan had ripped out Alastarius’s heart. And Arran knew what it was to relive one's worst days in dreams, over and over again. “How has she endured?”

  “She is strong,” said Conmager. “But right now she needs us. She needs you.” Arran stared at him. “She trusts you, Sir Arran. You told her everything, and everything you told her was proven to be true. And you saved her. With our help, true, but it’s you that she remembers.”

  Arran stared at the ground, fingering the hilt of his Sacred Blade.

  “You might do well to teach Lithon the sword,” said Conmager

  Arran tapped his sword’s hilt. “He has the making of a true Knight.”

  “Hey!”

  Arran turned, his hands twitching towards his weapons. Allard trudged towards them, Uzi cradled in his arms. He wore a ridiculous pair of orange earmuffs. “You going to make me wait out here all morning? I’m freezing!”

  Arran clapped him on the shoulder. “You seem to have held up well.” Allard gave him a sour look.

  Conmager jerked his head at the house. “Mary made breakfast.”

  “Oh, good!” Allard hurried away, boots crunching against the snow. Arran and Conmager shared a look.

  “I’d best get started,” said Arran, turning off his Kalashnikov's safety.

  Conmager nodded. “I’ll see you this afternoon. And then you should start teaching Lithon the sword.”

  Arran started into the woods, his eyes scanning the trees.

  ###

  Ally sat in the chair, staring at the bowl on the coffee table. An odd warmth filled her head, seeming to pump into her veins, soaking into her bones. Conmager said something, and Ally paid him no heed. Her parents’ faces swam before her eyes.

  She remembered lying on a cold stone floor, the winged demon towering over her, claws plunging into her chest…

  “Ally?”

  Ally gave a small shriek and almost fell out of the chair. “What?”

  Conmager grunted and rolled his cane between his palms. “You’ve been staring at that bowl for the last fifteen minutes.”