B00M0CSLAM EBOK

by Mason Elliott

  Mason smiled. “Tell them…I insist.”

  With that, he was sleeping.

  53

  Four members of the local religious community joined their band, as well as a handpicked platoon of thirty militia troops from David’s Blackhawks. A young priest, Father Michael Petrowski led the religious contingent. The priest was thirtyish, tall, slender, and dressed all in black except for his collar. He wore a long, black wool coat and leather gloves. His dark brown hair was trimmed short, and his gray eyes in his angular face gave him a hard but intelligent look, slightly disarmed by an occasional grin.

  “Yoo are a holy man?” Jerriel asked him directly. “What do you know about demons?”

  “I have never encountered one directly, but I have studied some of the Church’s extensive lore on demonology and methods of exorcism.”

  She flashed a puzzled look at David. “I do not understand?”

  “How to defeat and banish demons,” David said.

  “Oh, verry good. We will certainly have need of yoo.”

  A little, short chubby man in his forties, with gold-rimmed glasses, steel-gray curls, and a black kippah butted in and took Jerriel’s hand. “A great pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle. I am Rabbi Yosef Bergman. My good friend Michael asked me to accompany this group and help out if I may. Will we really confront an actual demon? It all sounds so impossible.”

  His blue eyes twinkled merrily. Jerriel studied the man intently and stared at his hand in an odd fashion.

  “I fear it is soo,” Jerriel said.

  “Excellent!” The rabbi was clearly excited.

  But David had the feeling this was not going to be a very fun game at all. “Father Michael, who are the other members of your team?” They were both young and wore helmets, armor, and even swords at their sides.

  “These are our friends as well as our bodyguards. Jason Inada is a devoted Japanese-American Buddhist, as well as a practitioner of Iaido, the Way of the Sword.”

  David bowed briefly to the intense-looking young swordsman. His daisho appeared to be of the highest quality, and the athletic, mid-sized man looked as if he could handle himself well.

  The other man was both young and huge, wearing what appeared to be a full suit of field plate armor, complete with chainmail, and two swords. He actually had an elaborate red cross painted across his breastplate and on his battered shield. Father Michael introduced him.

  “Pastor Bryan Doran of the Methodist Church just joined his parish recently, and is also a student of the middle ages and their combat styles. He successfully led the defense of his church against the monsters that attacked his area.”

  Doran’s short red beard and hair and green eyes added to the fierceness of his overall appearance. He looked like Barbarossa reborn.

  “Well met,” David said, and extended his arm.

  Pastor Doran took it and grinned. “Well met, milord.” He had a slightly southern accent, maybe Tennessee or Kentucky. “Medieval Historical Society?” he asked.

  David nodded. “Yep. Good old MHS. Good thing we learned how to fight there.”

  “Good thing,” the pastor agreed. “I’m just not sure what use fighting will be against a real demon.”

  “Sometimes it is necessary,” Jerriel said. “They are inpredicatable, and may decide to attack you directly if they think they can. Yoo must bee ready for anything.”

  David readied his weapons, just in case. “So, how do we hunt a demon? How do we find it?”

  “First,” Jerriel said, “yoor holy people must give us their blessings, and bless and anoint our weapons with holy water, incense, oil, or by touch, amulets, relics, or chanting. That part is up to them. But we all must empty our minds of negative or impure thoughts and doubts. In the face of a demon, yoo must find yoor own way to stay focused and ignoore their many tricks and deceptions.”

  David turned to their platoon. “All right everybody. You heard the wizard lady. Present arms. Hold your weapons up to be blessed. C’mon, don’t laugh or argue about it. This is important.” Father Michael and the others went up and down the ranks, praying, chanting, sprinkling their armaments with holy water or dabbing them with blessed oil. Jason Inada chanted and rang a small clear bell. The very tone of it sounded beautiful and serene.

  Finally, Jerriel and David received their blessings. Jerriel’s staff glittered with a blue aura for a moment, then faded. She had added a long curved fighting sword and a matching dagger to her belt from Dirk’s sword collection–as gifts.

  One by one, David drew his weapons and received the blessings of their band of holy people. When he drew his longsword, the runes Jerriel had etched on it each shimmered in turn a different color, like numbers going up on an elevator. And the magically honed edges of the blade glowed white-hot.

  Even the holy people looked a little surprised at that.

  David turned to her. “We haven’t had time for me to ask, but what did you do to my sword?”

  “Simple enchantments, really. I can put similar ones on yoor other weapons when we have time. The blade will remain unnaturally sharp, and will be more effective against magical creatures, even dragons and demons. It will return to your hand at will should you drop it. The runes can detect enemies if they are near and will glow red, brighter as your foes or anyone who means you harm draws closer. Powerful beings will cause the edges to glow darker and darker, even to black in the presence of demons, shadows, or other negative plane creatures.”

  “Wow. All of that?”

  She smiled and nodded. “If you are going to face down dragons for me, I thought maybe yoo should have weapons worthy of your bravery. That was very foolish, by the way, but exceptionally brave.”

  He held his longsword up and studied it. “These runes are Tharanorian magic?”

  “Yes. As powerful as I could make them.”

  “What do they say?”

  “They do not speak anything. They are signs of power. I will teach you their meaning and how to invooke them, alone or in combination. The first on this side is ‘Shi,’ or Spirit; next is ‘Vae,’ or Air; then ‘Doru,’ Earth; ‘Zae,’ Water; and ‘Kal,’ Fire.” She suddenly looked at the sword and blinked.

  She touched her staff to it. The blade suddenly flared brightly.

  She drew back in surprise.

  “Verry odd,” she said. “The sword has gotten even stronger than I made it. It is filled with power.” She went to touch him with her staff. Energies crackled between them.

  She drew back again.

  “Daeved. You are filled with magic essence. It is pass-hive, but you are conducting it in a very raw, intense foorm. This is not norm-hal. Even foor mages.”

  As if anything about magic were normal to him.

  She patted his shoulder. “This could be dangerous. We will study it more when we have time.”

  Whenever that would be. Each day they barely had time to sleep and eat or catch their breath before running off on some new mission.

  Now they were hunting a dangerous demon.

  Again, the intense rush of frustration. So much they didn’t know. So many growing threats and so little time. But they had to keep going forward anyway. No choice.

  They left the station with their new, merry band of holy men and their fledgling strike force in tow. David turned to Jerriel once more.

  “So, how do we find this demon?”

  She turned to the holy men. “None of you can detect it in the area?”

  They all looked uncomfortable and shook their heads. “We currently have no means to do so,” Father Petrowski said. “Is there anything that can help us?”

  Jerriel reached into one of her belt pouches and pulled out a small, clear sliver of either crystal or gemstone. She held it up between her right thumb and forefinger. “This is an Illigixxian crystal–an ancient spiritstone of great power that I have from my mother, and all of my mothers before them. Some call it a soulstone–which may mean nothing to yoo. It is verry rare. They are found sometimes alon
g primary ley lines of power at prime nexus points. They grow very slowly over eons, absorbing the residual interdimensional energies that leak out from the endless realities–the myriad universes.”

  Dead silence.

  “Jerriel,” David reminded her, “none of us are wizards.”

  Jerriel smiled at Rabbi Bergman. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  She handed Bergman the enchanted crystal. He took it in his fingerless gloves. It flashed white-green as soon as he touched it with his fingertips.

  “This man,” she said, “has a strong talent somewhere in the white and green aura spectrums. I sensed it almost immediately; it is raw and undeveloped, but I don’t know what it is yet. But he certainly has one. Josef, you are a mage.”

  “I am a rabbi,” he said. And quickly handed the soul stone back to her as if it were white-hot.

  “You are a teacher. I understand. Know that being a mage never makes you less, only more. But you have been blessed with a magical gift as powerful as any I have ever seen–and that is saying something. Whether you deny or accept your gift, whether you choose to develop or ignore it.” She clenched the stone in her fist and spoke a few mystical words.

  The stone and her hand holding it glowed bright blue, with a radiance that lit the entire area.

  “A soulstone reveals, exposes, and detects power. All kinds of power. My aura is blue. My primary talents are spell casting and enchanting. My minor talents are conjuring, healing, and illusion.”

  “What about the demon?” Jason Inada asked.

  “I was getting to that. Were we close enough, David’s sword that I enchanted would detect its vile energies. But we are not close enough for that to work yet.”

  David drew his sword and looked at it. Nothing.

  “The spiritstone can help us. But it is only a tool, and must be focused and directed. Spells, meditation, even prayers can help focus the effort. Demons are beings of intense, negative power, and that malignant power can be detected. Once we home in on it, the stone will glow more intensely as we draw closer.”

  Jerriel slowly turned in place, holding the crystal before her while she chanted. Surprisingly, the stone glittered and flashed several times in several different shades of color as she completed her circle, even when she passed David and the rabbi.

  She dropped her arms and shook her head.

  “Nothing. My skills are not attuned enough by themselves. Yoo must all help me. Form a circle about me. Focus yoor thoughts, yoor faith, all that yoo are, into detecting the demon and its evil power. Will it so.”

  David and the holy men gathered around her, lending their thoughts and prayers to her efforts.

  She made another full circle.

  The crystal suddenly turned dull gray and pulsed ominously as it pointed in a certain direction.

  “We’re getting something, but it’s faint,” she said. “Stay foocused! Everyone draw closer. Touch the crystal with yoor fingertips.”

  David emptied his mind and tried to picture the creature in his mind while the holy men chanted and touched the stone.

  A shot of pain went down his arm. In his mind’s eye, he had a brief vision of a bizarre, twisted creature, sitting intently...in front of a mirror, of all things. But it was only for the flash of an instant.

  “We’ve loocated it!” Jerriel said.

  They drew back.

  Jerriel held the soulstone before her. A small black imperfection smoked within it. It smoldered strongest when she turned due west.

  “That way,” she said. “We need to seek the demon that way.”

  “Then let’s head out,” David said. “Let’s find this vile thing and put it down.”

  The spiritstone’s focus signal slowly grew stronger as they followed it west through town. They passed checkpoint after checkpoint. The night was cold. Early spring winds wailed through the skeletal trees. Clouds came in. The troops lit oil lamps to keep going in the deep darkness.

  “Sir,” one of the troopers said, “we’re less than a mile from Black Town. We’ll reach their lines starting at Chapin Street. What do we do there, if they don’t let us pass?”

  “If it comes to that, we’ll ask for their help and try to negotiate something. Hopefully they’ll listen. This thing is a threat to everyone.”

  Pastor Bryan Doran rubbed his red beard and pointed at the soulstone. “We must be getting closer,” he said. Black wisps of some kind of magical ichor or vapor curled off the stone and vanished in the breeze.

  David drew his longsword. The edges of his blade turned from gray to black. He moved the sword and found that at this range, he could also track the demon.

  “Looks like we’re going the right way,” he said. “Jerriel, what do we do when we get there?”

  She continued following the stone. “We’re close. If we can coorner it, we can try to destroy or banish it. It will try many tricks and attempt to get away. Or it may attack. Yoor holy men must try whatever rites they have to dispel demons and break their power. Who knows what will woork after the Merge.”

  As they went forward, the night darkened noticeably. Some of their lanterns went out and could not be re-lit in the harsh wind. David felt as if a cold hand scratched lightly all over his body. He found it both annoying and very unnerving, making it hard to think or concentrate.

  They weren’t to Black Town yet. At least they didn’t have that issue to deal with.

  From what he could see, the block up ahead of them looked to be a total wasteland. Burned houses; scorched, bare trees. Dead bodies. Bones–from humans and animals. The entire place stank of death, smoke, and ash.

  “This looks like hell itself,” Jerriel said.

  They came to a big, skeletal, white oak tree, lifeless, scorched, and blackened from house fires. The corpse of an old man hung from one of the remaining high branches. His body and bones had been horribly shredded.

  David’s blood locked up cold.

  Just like the bodies in that serial killer’s basement.

  At the same time, Jerriel held up the spiritstone. David held up his sword. Weird black flames curled off of them both…

  In the exact direction of the last house standing.

  That dwelling was a bleak, collapsing, three-story brownstone. The dark red brick had been scorched with ash from the house fires, like black bloodstains on rotten flesh. It looked like a gigantic, charred skull half-buried in the ground. A skull that leered at them.

  “There. The demon lurks in that defiled place,” Jerriel said.

  All of their lanterns went out.

  54

  Mason fully intended to rise up early the next morning and somehow sneak away.

  But when he woke up, the medics already had him in his restraints, and Marisol walked into the room, the same resigned look on her grim face.

  He felt his own eyes widen like searchlights.

  Marisol came to him and whispered briefly. “Thanks for that sponge bath, Mr. Pistolero. I tried to beg off at first, but I’m glad that nurse Donna insisted. Talk about magic. I have not slept like that in weeks!”

  Just like before, she examined his body and his wounds first.

  Mason tipped his head back and tried not to look at her as a fresh gag was stuffed between his teeth.

  Marisol didn’t look at him directly, either, but he heard her voice.

  “Shall we begin?”

  No!

  She wasn’t really asking him.

  The pain was just a terrible as before, but the strange thing was that Marisol was right.

  The first day was the worst, somehow.

  It wasn’t as if anyone could get used to pain such as that, but today, it somehow seemed…less.

  Nor did the treatments seem to last as long.

  He didn’t sweat as much, either. He wasn’t as exhausted. He didn’t need as much water, or sleep.

  He was only out for less than three hours, and then the next thing he knew, they were preparing for the second treatment.

&nb
sp; Each treatment was still excruciating while it lasted, of course, but now he could keep telling himself that it was going to end.

  In the end, all three treatments on the second day took less than nine hours, while the first day, they had taken almost fourteen hours.

  Only one day to go.

  He could do this.

  He was very hungry that night, and ate several helpings of chicken soup with carrots, celery, and chunks of real chicken…from a can, he was told. He had a baked potato and ate the skin. Then apple cobbler for dessert, fruit juice, and applesauce by his own request.

  Another sponge bath from Donna and he was ready to sleep.

  He thought he heard sounds of fighting outside that night.

  That wasn’t a dream.

  When he woke up, Major Avery had the troops evacuating that building and the entire area, pulling back before an enemy advance.

  No matter how badly Mason asked, Bill would not tell him how tough things were.

  Mason feared the worst.

  They got him settled and secure in a new building. He went to sleep, but woke up several times, filled with worry and doubt.

  The war continued, while he was living high on the hog and getting sponge baths.

  He felt guilty and worried about Blondie and Thulkara, and the rest of his friends and comrades.

  Before dawn, he told the medics that he felt great, to strap him in and go fetch Miss Marisol for his final treatments.

  The healer was with him within a quarter hour.

  The first treatment took twelve minutes.

  Not one bit less painful than all of the others. Mason and Marisol were sweating and exhausted, but it was all nothing that they did not expect by then.

  They both slept for two hours.

  The second treatment lasted eleven minutes, followed by two more hours of rest.

  Marisol came to him without a word for the third and final treatment.

  Ten minutes.

  Mason drank some water and went to sleep.

  Four hours later, he got out of bed without hesitation. He dressed without any assistance, pulled on his boots, and even called for his guns.