“Those are some of the knives I’ve collected over the years.” said Karver, coming up to stand behind Rook. “See that one there that looks like animal bones? That was a sacrificial dagger. Who knows how much blood that thing spilled in the name of Apollyon.” Karver chuckled to himself. “And that one there, that one with all the gems on it, that one was Lady Calendula’s personal knife. She was Gatima’s third wife’s niece if I remember. Gatima had the Queen’s whole family killed—even her extended family—when he found out she had been exporting Jerusan black burlwood to Narbereth and the other countries.”
Here Karver tapped on the cabinet and Rook noticed the dark color and strange, spirally grain of it. “Jerusan black burlwood only comes from Grandal and is worth a fortune in the other countries. It’s a shame Gatima don’t let anything leave his kingdom.” Karver looked down at Rook. “Not even slaves. It’s all his, as far as he’s concerned. I wouldn’t even be running you slaves if it weren’t for fear of my cousin. Truth be told, I fear Kraken’s retribution more than Gatima’s. Gatima would only kill me.” Karver paused and tapped at his pocket and grumbled something in his throat. “Good thing this brings me good fortune, I suppose.”
“What’s that one?” asked Rook, pointing to the original dagger that had caught his eye. It was a simple dagger, plain of design, yet something about its form was so perfectly executed that it was a paragon of form. The blade was long and triangular, tapering smoothly and gracefully to a deadly point. Its hilt was straight but curved upward ever so discreetly that it might be overlooked. Its handle was wrapped in simple, black leather. The steel of the pommel, hilt and blade all gleamed silvery metallic, but at closer inspection Rook noticed that the steel had waves of lighter and darker metals in it, like the grain of fine wood.
Karver huffed and grumbled something under his breath. “Just a plain dagger. Looked nice, so I kept it. It was actually in the same crate I found the Golothic.”
Rook couldn’t take his eyes off the thing. Next to it was a knife that dazzled with colorful gems, there were golden daggers and knives that had exceptional metalwork, yet that simple dagger fascinated him.
“Here boy,” said Karver, pushing Rook aside and opening up the case. He took down the dagger and handed it to Rook.
With one arm holding Ursula on his shoulder, Rook took the knife in his free hand. “Wow,” was all he could say.
“Light, isn’t it?” said Karver. “I’d forgotten about that old thing. Made of some type of strange metal. Light as a feather.”
And it really was. Well, maybe not light as a feather, but it was no heavier than if it had been made of wood. Rook had held knives and other tools. Nothing made of metal was ever this light. It was remarkable. He held it in his hand, twisting it and turning it so that the strange, wavy grain of the steel caught the lamp light and sparkled. Then, something out of the corner of his eye moved. Rook turned his head and he swore he saw that shadowy child dart behind a row of shelves. Rook pointed. “Who’s over there?”
Karver looked, his brow furling. “Ain’t nobody else in here, boy.” He snatched the blade away from Rook’s hand and placed it back in the cabinet. He snickered and said, “Looks like you missed out on your one chance to be rid of me. Now enough playing around with us. I got work for you to do. I need the toilet pans cleaned from the basement and some of the slaves down there messed their clothes and need washing.”
Rook frowned but dared not complain. “Yes, sir,” was all he said as he followed Karver from the room. He took one last look over his shoulder before Karver locked the door. He was certain there was the shadowy form of a boy standing in there.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Rook woke with a start. From somewhere in the deep, dark roots of the house came a scream that was long, drawn out, agonized. A woman, or possibly a man in unbelievable agony. It was muffled and subdued through the walls and floors of the house, but in the absolute dark stillness of his bedroom Rook could hear the giggles of Rennic and the grumbly voice of Garrot. Yet, Rook was certain that was not what woke him. The room seemed unusually hot and he pushed down the blankets from his body. There was an offensive odor as well, something Rook couldn’t quite place. It smelled like burnt meat only more sickly and pungent. It mingled with another odor, something more familiar: scorched rock and earth. It was the same odor he had smelled upon the Golothic.
“K…Karver?” Rook’s voice was a hoarse whisper into the ultimate darkness of the room. There was no reply.
In the crook of his armpit Ursula was sleeping. She stirred momentarily, made a sucking sound, released a contented sigh, and then resumed her peaceful dreams.
Rook’s room was small and had only one barred window covered with heavy drapery. Very little moonlight penetrated it and it took a moment before his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He noticed his door was hanging opened. He had closed it before he went to bed. He peered into the shadows of the darkened hall beyond and saw nothing, though he could hear the rumbling snores coming from Karver’s room. From two floors below, in the basement, Rook heard the muffled crack of a whip and another long, agonized wail.
Then the drapes over his window stirred.
Rook’s head snapped to the left. A small black hand, about the size of his own, slowly drew back the curtains and soft, silver moonlight streamed in through the iron bars, casting eerie, lined patterns across the room. There was another child in the room with him, though he appeared as only a blacker shadow against the darkness of the wall beside the window. It was the same shadowy child he had seen in the artifact room. Rook was sure of it.
Rook sat up slowly in his bed. Ursula stirred slightly. “Who…who are you?” asked Rook, his voice a barely audible whisper.
The small figure stood silent and motionless beside the window. Only a sliver of the moonlight fell upon its right side but it was enough that Rook could make out something of its features. He gasped.
“Shh,” said the being and it stalked further from the window until it was again nothing more than a black form in darkness. “Don’t look at me. What the fires have done to me is terrible.”
Rook had only caught a brief glimpse of it. It looked like a naked child, but whose flesh had been scorched to a blackened crisp. He felt his heart racing. A part of his mind came to the sudden realization that the sickly odor was burned flesh. A million questions and ideas rushed his mind. Should he scream? Should he run? Should he ask it if it needs help? He had no immediate idea what to do, and fear froze him just as much as indecision.
“Will you let me help you, Rook?” asked the being. Its voice was childlike, but there was also something sinister about it that made a chill run down Rook’s spine despite the heat within the room.
Rook didn’t immediately answer. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could hear his breaths coming quick and sharp. The shadowy form moved toward the foot of his bed and stood there, bathed in dim moonlight. Rook noticed it was about the same height as he was. It looked to be no more than a boy of ten or twelve years. But its skin was charred and blackened. And it had horns upon its head that curled up, over and around the sides of its face.
And its eyes.
They glowed like coals in a furnace. From them Rook felt a terrible power—a terrible hatred—and something ancient. Despite the creature’s size and boyish appearance, Rook saw in those pulsing, ember eyes that this was something far beyond his own years.
Rook’s own eyes went wide. He wanted to scream, to cry out for his mother. But his mother was dead, and the only person he might summon in this house was quite possibly a creature more terrifying than this small…demon?
The thing’s eyes narrowed into crescents that throbbed with heat and its lips turned up into a smile, revealing charred teeth. “Yes, Rook, I am a demon.” It placed its hands upon the bed and Rook could now see they were clawed. It pulled itself up onto the bed, becoming larger as it did so, and sat up on its knees. The creature seemed to grow; to turn into some
thing less child-like and more terrifying than it had been. It was more bestial…more demonic. Rook froze in terror, and he could feel the heat from the being wash over him. Charred flecks of flesh rose and fell from its body, as if its entire form were being agitated by waves of heat from some unseen furnace. Rook let out a little yelp and scooped Ursula into his arms and pressed himself up tight against the bed’s headboard.
The creature placed a long finger to its lips. “Shh. You were right to think that I am not the scariest demon in this house.” From the building’s roots came a series of long, drawn out screams and the unmistakable giggling of Rennic Finn. The demon lowered its finger and its eyes burned into Rook’s own. “I’m only here to help you.” it said in between the horrific, muffled screams. It’s eyes turned down toward the floor, as if it could see through it, and smiled wide. “The pale man will peel your skin from your back just because he thinks it’s funny.” The rough voice of Garrot could be heard yelling at somebody to shut up and stop crying. The creature looked back at Rook. “Garrot might take you again. It’s late and he’s tired of the other boys down there. All they do is cry. You at least toughed it out. Kept your mouth shut.” The creature turned its head to the left, as if it could see through the wall into Karver’s room. It pointed its long finger that way. “And he might break your jaw and toss your little sister out the window just because you woke him up.”
“Wh…what do you want from me?” asked Rook. He felt himself trembling. Ursula started fidgeting and making discontented sounds in his arms. If she woke up and started crying it certainly wouldn’t go over well with Karver. And who knew what this demon might do to her.
“All I want is to help you, Rook.” it said. It placed its hands on the bed and leaned closer to Rook, its ember eyes fixed on him. Its hot breath wafting over his hair. He could see the charred, cracked flesh in all its gory detail now. Flakes of it fell off its jaw and horns and floated down upon his blankets. Its breath was hot and stank terribly. “But, you have to want me to help you.”
Rook looked at the thing and swallowed hard. “I…I…” he had no idea what to say. He was too frightened to even begin to know what to do. Ursula started making some preliminary sobs. She was waking up.
“Shh,” said the creature. It extended a hand and brushed its fingers over Ursula’s head and she suddenly went quite. Rook gasped but the being said, “She’s asleep again. She’s so young. So pure. So innocent.” It looked at Rook, fixing him with those ember eyes. “All she has in this entire world is you. Think about that. In this endlessly large, depraved world you live in, you are the only person she has, and her safety hangs in your own balance.”
Rook licked his lips and looked down at Ursula. The demon’s words were harsh and cruel in their truthfulness. He already knew that though. He had known it the day his mother died. Ursula was in his care. He was ten-years old and owned nothing. Had no money, no possessions. And he bore the sole responsibility of taking care of his 10-month old sister.
“This world is cruel, Rook.” said the demon. “And it’s going to get much, much crueler to you. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some help?”
Rook looked back at the creature and bit his lip. His trembling was subsiding, though he still tried not to focus too much on the thing’s horrific flesh or radiating eyes. “H…how do you know my name?”
The demon smiled. “I’ve known of you for many, many years. Since before you were born. Your great-grandfather’s great-grandfather was my friend. He was a good man. A very great man. He wanted nothing more than to secure a good life for himself and pass his talents to his family line.”
Rook’s brow furled. “Wh…what do you mean?”
“Your great-grandfather’s great-grandfather was a blacksmith.” said the demon. “His skills were legendary and he crafted some of the finest blades the world had ever seen. All the sons of his family line have had the skill. As did your father. As do you.”
“But I’ve never…I don’t know anything about blacksmithing.” said Rook.
The demon smiled. “If you live to be old enough to lift a hammer, you will find the gift in you. For six generations the gift has flowed in your family’s blood. Unfortunately, you are to be the last of the line. My promise was for six generations, and you are the last of the line. The sixth one. My payment now comes due.”
“Wh…what payment?” asked Rook.
The demon chuckled. “The Golothic that Karver has, it belongs to you. It has brought you to it. All that’s left is for you to take it. It is what your forefathers wanted.”
Rook’s eyes went wide. Take it? How could he ever possibly take it from Karver? And, even if he could, did he want to?
“Even if you die now my Golothic has fulfilled its promise.” said the demon. “But I feel I can make use of you, and I offer you, and your baby sister, Ursula, a hope and a chance. If I help you get free from Karver, if I help make sure that Ursula is taken care of, if I help make sure that you see your gift with the hammer and forge made real, you must promise to one day pay me back. I shall come to you, and a weapon you shall make for me. That is all I ask.”
Rook thought for a moment. “But…demons are evil.” said Rook.
The demon raised a blackened eyebrow. “Are we? Or are we simply your own desires made flesh? Is it evil to want help? Is it evil to need help? Is it evil to want your sister to have a chance at life? She’ll never have that chance if you die in this house.”
Rook looked at the demon for a moment but had to turn away from the hideous thing. Demons were evil, that much Rook was certain. In all the great tales of the Saints Caliber, the demons—the Unbound minions of Hell—were the enemy.
The demon began to laugh. It looked at Rook with those ember eyes. “You call the Saints Caliber good, do you? You think they are the heroes? You think the love of your goddess Aeoria can save you?” the demon laughed again. “I’ll make you another offer. I’ll help you and your sister escape from here, and then one day very soon you shall meet some Saints. After you meet them I shall come to you, and I shall ask you one question, and you must answer me yes or no with honesty. I shall ask you if you still believe the Saints are good and are here to protect the people of the world. If you answer me truthfully yes, then I shall leave and I shall forfeit the price of my Golothic. You shall keep the gift you were born with and I shall never come to collect my price on you or any of your family. If, however, you tell me no, then my Golothic shall be bound to you still and I shall come to collect one last payment of your family. I will come to you one day for a weapon, and the weapon you must forge for me. Once I have the weapon, the promise of my Golothic is settled and my payment comes due upon you.”
Rook’s heart leapt. The choice was easy. The Saints Caliber were good, he knew it. Above all else, he knew the Saints Caliber were good. Even Karver, who had told him of Saint Rathaniel who was bound to his cousin Behemoth Kraken, resisted Kraken’s evil ways despite knowing the repercussions. Rathaniel had his arm cut off for it. No, Rook knew the Saints Caliber were good.
“Tell me, Rook,” said the demon. “Do you accept my offer?”
“You’ll make sure my sister is taken care of too,” said Rook.
The demon smiled. “I swear it upon all the suffering in Hell.”
Rook bit his lip and regarded the demon for a moment. “Th..then yes,” he said. “I accept your offer.”
The demon chuckled and stepped from the bed. It was now a hulking creature, no longer resembling the child-like form. The ceiling hardly contained it, and beneath its charred flesh Rook could see veins of fiery light throbbing. “Leave your sister to sleep, and go quietly downstairs. Quickly now, for time is short.”
Rook was still in his new clothes when he had gone to bed, so all he had to do was slip on his shoes. The demon pointed toward his open bedroom door and Rook quickly padded his way through the darkness, leaving Ursula alone in the bed. In the hallway Karver’s snoring could be heard from the next door and Rook quietly made his wa
y down the stairs. As he went, the sounds of torture became louder and clearer. He could hear Garrot’s heavy breaths and Rennic’s disgusting giggles. A woman was pleading and a boy was crying. Rook looked behind him, but the demon was not there. At the end of the stairs was the door that led to the basement, but Rook took the door that led out into the dining room. It was dark and hard to see, but enough diffuse moonlight made it through the curtains to allow Rook to maneuver without bumping into anything.
Rook looked around, wondering what he should do, when he saw a tall, black shadow at the far door. The one that led to the artifact room. It was the demon. Its eyes opened and pulsed with an angry heat. “In here.” it said quietly.
Rook looked around and then crept over toward the door. “N…now what?”
The demon waved his hand and the lock made a click, then the door swung open slowly, squeaking on its hinges. “The knife,” said the demon. “You know the one. You must take it.”
Rook bit his lip and inhaled deeply. “B…but…if Karver or Garrot catches me…”
“Quickly,” said the demon. “Garrot and Rennic tire of their torments. Soon they shall come up the stairs.”
Rook scurried into the darkened room and made his way over to the cabinet. He opened the glass doors and, standing on his tip-toes to reach it, grabbed the knife Karver had shown him. It was cold and light in his hand. He gripped it tightly, and then ran back out the door. “W…what now?”
“Back upstairs.” said the demon. “Hurry.”
Rook took a deep breath and then scampered as quickly and quietly up the stairs as he could. When he reached the top he was surprised to see the demon standing in the hall before Karver’s bedroom door. The demon’s eyes were red-hot coals in the darkness and cast its grinning face in their terrible light. Rook could hear the faint snoring from within the room. “What now?” whispered Rook.
The Record of the Saints Caliber Page 29
