The Red Winter

by Henry H. Neff

  David cursed.

  Cynthia looked up from her papers. It was not like David to voice his frustrations, much less with vulgarity. She said nothing, but watched silently as he rose to contemplate a large map of Blys.

  “We’re still far from Prusias’s city,” he mused. “If this weather doesn’t ease up, we may have to march five hundred miles up the peninsula. With this weather, we’d be lucky to make two or three miles a day. Very lucky. What’s the latest on food?”

  Cynthia consulted a logbook. “According to the original estimate, we have almost a year’s worth on hand, but we’re going through it faster than they’d projected. The weather’s making people sick and some of the livestock have died.”

  “How much livestock?”

  Cynthia found the latest report from the grooms, hands, and swineherds. Her eyes traveled swiftly down the list.

  “Fifty-seven cows, nineteen bulls, one hundred and three sheep, three hundred and forty-one chickens, forty-seven goats …”

  “Is that cumulative?” asked David, aghast.

  “This week.”

  David drummed his fingers on the map while the wind screamed outside. “Napoleon said an army travels on its stomach. We can’t sit here while our supplies dwindle away. This weather will have ruined any crops planted between here and Blys. We could exhaust our stores before we get within sight of Prusias’s city.”

  “We do have a lifeline,” Cynthia reminded him. She gestured at a large traveling chest sitting by several boxes.

  Despite its humble and even battered appearance, the trunk was David’s most prized creation. While Bram and Mina could teleport, David could not. And while David had created wormholes between his bedroom in Rowan’s Manse and locations around the world, those locations were fixed. The trunk represented his first successful attempt to create a moving wormhole—a portable conduit that connected his bedroom to wherever the trunk happened to be. It was the only reason Cynthia was in this pavilion and not at Rowan, where she had remained to tutor apprentices.

  “We could bring food through it,” Cynthia suggested. “We might even bring smaller livestock. The Sanctuary hasn’t been affected by this weather. Crops are growing and—”

  She stopped as an Agent from the Bloodstone Circle, an elite cadre of bodyguards, rang a small chime and entered the tent. The man stared at Cynthia.

  “I wasn’t aware the Director had company,” he said.

  “Agent James, this is Cynthia Gilley, my particular friend,” said David. “You may be seeing her from time to time.”

  “Sir, it’s imperative that we screen everyone for your safety.”

  David gave a noncommittal grunt and asked what he could do for Agent James. The man glanced uneasily at Cynthia as if the information was highly confidential.

  “A visitor has arrived,” he said significantly.

  David raised his eyebrows. “A royal visitor?”

  “Yes, Director.”

  David sat up and assessed his appearance in a mirror. There was only one person this could be. “Give me five minutes,” he said. “Is the visitor corporeal?”

  “No, sir. Shadow walking.”

  David nodded, his mind racing. He glanced about the tent, wishing that it looked more like a command center and less like the office of an overworked teenager. Demons were painfully hierarchical; it was important to make a good impression.

  “Five minutes, and you are not to mention this visitor to anyone, Agent James.”

  “The Bloodstone Circle takes confidentiality very seriously,” said the man stiffly. “We even take vows. Perhaps the Director was unaware.”

  “Sorry,” said David. “I don’t mean to doubt you, but this meeting is a little delicate. More than a little delicate. Five minutes and please send the visitor in.”

  With a bow, the Agent departed. David swiftly escorted Cynthia to the trunk.

  “You have to go,” he said, opening its heavy lid. “I’m sorry to kick you out, but this meeting is extremely important.”

  “Who is it?” hissed Cynthia, stepping inside the trunk but peering at the tent’s entrance.

  “I can’t say. I’m sorry, but I can’t. If things go well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

  “All right, all right,” she grumbled. As Cynthia was much taller than David, she bent down to kiss him. “Good luck. Write me!”

  She disappeared into the trunk as though descending a flight of steep wooden steps. When David closed and locked it, a sliver of golden light peeped through the keyhole. Cynthia would already be back at Rowan, sitting on David’s sleigh bed and battling the nausea that usually followed teleportation.

  With an absent wave of his hand, David straightened up the tent—covering maps and papers, rearranging furniture, and dimming several lamps in deference to a guest who might prefer darkness. Dipping his hands in a basin, David quickly washed his face, smoothed his hair, and glanced at himself in the mirror.

  You’ll be fine.

  A second later, Agent James announced his visitor.

  “Queen Lilith, ruler of Zenuvia.”

  The demoness glided in, a translucent ghostlike lady in a long gown of deep red silk. She was one of the oldest demons on Earth with roots that went back farther than Babylon. Rumors and myth clung to her like cobwebs. Some insisted she had been the wife of Adam. Others claimed she was a fallen goddess, a mother of demons and vampires that dined on lost or naughty children. David paid little heed to such rumors—the older a spirit was, the more their name was intertwined with history and legends, real or imagined. In any case, the rumors associated with Lilith had little bearing on this meeting. For David’s purposes, she was simply an important chess piece—a ruler who had once served Astaroth, had no wish to serve Prusias, and controlled most of what had been Asia.

  Even while in Nether, the Queen of Zenuvia exuded a regal and formidable presence. She was far taller than David and exquisitely beautiful. Her face had a languorous, ageless quality with large, almond eyes and lips that were as dark as wine against an olive complexion. Her black hair twined and curled like garden creepers, tumbling down from a slender golden tiara marked with her sigil—a crescent moon entwined with a sprig of hemlock. She stopped to stare at David, her gaze lingering on his restored right hand. David bowed deeply.

  “Greetings, Queen Lilith,” he said. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

  She gave an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. Her voice was soft and measured, its accent Middle Eastern. “I have not seen you since Walpurgisnacht. You are changed, David Menlo.”

  “I am,” he said. “So is the world.”

  “You are whole,” she observed wryly. “Only Astaroth could have restored your hand to you. You have seen him, then.”

  David nodded. There was no point denying it.

  “Where is he?” she asked, a malicious gleam in her dark eyes.

  “I don’t know. I encountered him unexpectedly in Nether. If anything, the Demon is unpredictable.”

  The queen’s lip curled. “That one is no true demon. He fooled us.”

  “He’s fooled everyone.”

  Lilith nodded and walked slowly about the pavilion. “So, what is it Rowan wishes to offer me?”

  “An alliance against Prusias, naturally.”

  A smile played about the corners of Lilith’s mouth. “Rowan wishes to make pacts with daemona? The world has changed indeed.”

  “War makes strange bedfellows.”

  “That it does,” she replied. “But my lands are not at war.”

  “Not yet,” said David. “But if Rowan is defeated, it’s only a matter of time before Prusias turns his attention to Zenuvia.”

  Lilith shrugged. “Zenuvia is far and Zenuvia is strong. And the more Prusias comes to rely upon the Workshop, the more he disgusts his own braymas. If he declares war on my kingdom, many of his followers will abandon him. Prusias does not worry me.”

  “If Prusias does not worry you, why have you come?”
>
  The demoness studied David as though he were a noteworthy painting. “Curiosity. Not many mortals could fool Astaroth. And I knew your grandfather of old. He summoned me once upon a time. I wished to see what his kin was like—particularly as he now speaks for Rowan. And I have missed seeing the Old Magic among humans. They were always the most interesting.”

  “And I thought only Prusias was interested in humans.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Lilith, resuming her perusal of the pavilion. “Most daemona are interested in humans. After all, mankind can summon us. It is the price we pay for lingering in this world. Humans may only be mortal, but they hold great power over us. If goldfish could summon you, would you be interested in them?”

  David ignored the barb. “What if you could have a lasting peace with humans? No more summoning. No more war. You have your realm and humans have theirs.”

  “I already have my realm.”

  “For now.”

  “Is that a threat, David Menlo?” she asked coolly.

  “No,” said David firmly. “Rowan wants a sustainable peace. But peace will be impossible while Prusias rules Blys. If he’s defeated, we have an opportunity to negotiate new rules to govern the relationship between humans, daemona, and other beings.”

  The demoness looked bored. “Rowan already signed a treaty with Astaroth. A treaty Rowan violated.”

  “That was entirely my doing,” said David plainly. “That treaty’s provisions were intended solely to isolate and humiliate Rowan. What I’m talking about is different. The agreement I envision is to lay the foundation for a new age. It’s to be a partnership among equals.”

  Now Lilith looked amused. “But you’re not our equals. We’re immortal; you are not. Even the greatest mehrùn die within a few centuries. Humans will never again rule this world as they once did.”

  David nodded. “I’m aware of that. But the pendulum is not going to swing as far as you might believe. Don’t underestimate mankind. While it’s true that humans live and die, they also evolve and adapt. We’ve entered a new age, one in which Old Magic has reawakened. There will be more mehrùn than ever before, and they will be more powerful than those that exist today.”

  “Perhaps we should hunt all mehrùn down before they become a threat.”

  “Over half are born to nonmagical parents,” said David. “Killing mehrùn won’t stamp out magic among humans.”

  “All humans, then. We can simply exterminate you.”

  David shrugged. “Then there will be war. But let’s be honest. If that’s what demons wanted and it was easy to accomplish, it would have been done. Astaroth thought he was invincible and was exposed before his entire court. Prusias thought Rowan was ripe for conquest and learned a painful lesson. Humans are stronger than daemona likes to pretend.”

  “That may be true,” said Lilith. “But mankind’s greatest army is huddled on a frozen shore. I have doubts you will even reach Prusias much less defeat him. If I support Rowan, I will anger many demons only to join the side most likely to lose. An alliance with Prusias would make more sense.”

  “And what would that gain you?” asked David. “You know perfectly well Prusias will turn upon you when it’s convenient. In the meantime, he’ll make outlandish promises. I’m sure he already has. I’ll even venture a guess … the Americas?”

  Lilith said nothing.

  “Of course he did,” David chuckled. “The Americas have a thousand independent rulers that bow to no one. Prusias is more than happy to offer you a theoretical title to something he doesn’t control. What he really wants is for you to stay out of his war and consolidate those territories on his behalf. Once you have, he’ll secretly sponsor uprisings against you, force you to exhaust your resources suppressing them, and snap up everything once you’re spread too thin. You’ll have done his dirty work in the Americas and given him the keys to Zenuvia, too.”

  The queen frowned as though David’s analysis echoed her own misgivings. Still, she remained unmoved.

  “Neutrality also has its benefits,” she observed. “One can see how things unfold while the value of one’s allegiance increases. What will Rowan give Zenuvia for its aid at the decisive moment? What will Prusias? Yes, I think perhaps neutrality is best.”

  David looked hard at the demoness, her ghostly form shimmering in the dim pavilion. “You don’t have to join with us, but can you promise Zenuvia won’t sign a pact with Prusias?”

  “No,” said Lilith. “But I will say that I have not yet done so. I will wait and watch. If the time comes when an alliance with Rowan might serve my interests, you will hear from me. As a token of good faith, I leave you with something to ponder.”

  “And what is that?” asked David.

  The queen bent to study an onyx rook on an antique chessboard. “Why has Yuga never attacked Prusias’s capital? It’s curious, is it not? Yuga is supposed to be a mindless terror, a monster that hungers for all life, but she’s never approached the world’s most populous city when it’s practically on her doorstep.”

  The observation’s implications floored David, who was privately furious for not making it himself. Why hadn’t Yuga gravitated toward Prusias’s capital? Was she truly mindless? Did Prusias have some means of controlling her?

  “Interesting question,” he confessed. “I don’t suppose you know the answer?”

  “If I did, I certainly wouldn’t give it away,” she replied. With a bow, the demoness glided toward the door. “Farewell, Director. If you don’t freeze to death on this little island, perhaps we’ll meet again.”

  Lilith departed, slipping through the tent. Would she go directly to Blys and bargain with Prusias? Probably. Lilith would always do what was best for Lilith. Still, her thoughts about Yuga were profoundly interesting. Would Prusias’s imp help them? He had before—Mr. Bonn had warned David when Prusias intended to attack Mina and the other children at Max’s farmhouse. David couldn’t summon Mr. Bonn against his will, of course (an imp’s bond to his master precluded outside interference), but perhaps they could get a message to him.

  A tiny grasshopper landed on David’s desk and began rubbing its forelegs together. David glanced at it, curious how it could survive in such cold. He brushed it off the paper so that it hopped onto a lamp and then onto the enchanted trunk. It peered inside the keyhole as though it sensed something unusual about it. David cocked his head.

  “Hello, Grandfather. How long have you been listening?”

  As the grasshopper expanded, antennae and extra legs receded until it no longer resembled an insect but a worn and grizzled Archmage. He sat on the trunk, his robes frayed at the hem, clutching a leather satchel.

  “Greetings, David,” he said. “Or do you prefer Director?”

  “David is fine.”

  Rising to his considerable height, Bram gazed down at his grandson. “Very good. To answer your question, I’ve been listening for almost an hour. Inexcusably rude, but curiosity got the best of me. Incidentally, I approve of your lady friend and this ingenious trunk. I don’t approve of that,” he said, gesturing at David’s hand. “What bargain did you make with Astaroth?”

  “None,” David replied. “I encountered him in Nether and he restored it to me. I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Evidently, he wants me ‘whole when he destroys God.’ ”

  Bram’s eyes kindled with interest. “Tell me everything.”

  David told his grandfather about his conversation with Astaroth while shadow walking. He detailed Astaroth’s appearance and behavior, the Demon’s assertion that his “children” needed to be punished, and finally his theory that Astaroth was going insane with the realization that he could never be God. He then turned to Max and Scathach, how he’d rescued them from the faeries and how the Fomorian had done his best to heal Max’s terrible wound. Bram listened carefully but did not comment until David was finished. When he finally did, his words were sharp.

  “You should relinquish the Director’s title,” he said pointedl
y. “I never imagined such titles or trappings interested you.”

  “I didn’t ask for the job,” said David coldly.

  Bram continued as though he hadn’t even heard his grandson. “Conversing with Astaroth. Negotiating with Lilith? How can you be so foolish? If anyone knew what you were …”

  “Some do,” David replied. “And you needn’t look so shocked. That I’m cambion doesn’t bother me anymore. I don’t see why it should bother you.”

  “You’re my blood,” the Archmage growled. “Emer is my daughter … Of course it bothers me. Putting aside my feelings as a father, you cannot negotiate with demons. They are not trustworthy.”

  “I’m surprised by the squeamishness,” said David calmly. “You’ve summoned more spirits than anyone. You know perfectly well that not all daemona are malicious. Some are trustworthy, even kind.”

  Bram gave a bitter laugh. “If you think Lilith is kind and trustworthy, you are sadly mistaken. She’s over seven thousand years old and has been worshipped as a goddess. Adulation is what she craves, not some Utopia where humans and spirits share the world. She will interpret everything you said as weakness—both Rowan’s and your own.”

  “She’s free to do what she likes,” said David. “I enjoy being underestimated. Even by my relatives. It usually plays out in my favor.”

  Bram laid a hand upon his grandson’s shoulder. “I don’t underestimate you. But you are young still and bear tremendous responsibilities. To negotiate with demons … mortals often regret such bargains.”