The Red Winter

by Henry H. Neff

  David trailed off, blinking rapidly.

  “What?” said Max.

  But David did not hear him. He was pacing again, muttering to himself. Max could only make out bits and pieces, such as “risky,” “only a theory,” “many unknowns.” The sorcerer glanced at Mina.

  “What is it, David?” she asked. “What’s only a theory?”

  “Yuga!” he exclaimed.

  “What about Yuga?” said Max. He recalled only too well the time he and David had nearly been devoured by the demoness outside Bholevna. She was like entropy itself, a floating, ravening entity the size of a hurricane.

  Hurrying back over, David pulled his chair right next to them and sat down. Max hadn’t seen him so animated since he’d figured out a way to sabotage the dreadnoughts. His speech was an eager, almost breathless patter.

  “Months ago, Queen Lilith brought something interesting to my attention. She wondered why Yuga—supposedly a mindless, insatiable monster—never attacked Blys even though it was relatively close.”

  David turned to Max. “The reason I asked you to capture Prusias alive is because I suspect he has some means of influencing Yuga. Things have been so busy since we took control of Blys that I haven’t had a chance to question him. But it’s time Prusias and I spoke. Max, are you all right to walk?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good,” said David. “You come, too, Mina. I think having both of you present will make a difference. Prusias isn’t afraid of me.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Max, sitting up slowly.

  David helped him up. “The Hollows.”

  The Hollows were Rowan’s original dungeons, a honeycomb of cells hollowed from bare rock deep beneath the Manse. Max had visited them before when he’d freed Ms. Richter, Miss Boon, Bob, and others who had been imprisoned during a coup led by a former commander of the Red Branch. They were a dark, miserable place where prisoners were rendered catatonic by grotesque, batlike creatures called bakas that perched upon their shoulders and plagued them with perpetual nightmares. Max despised the practice even before he’d been subjected to a baka’s torments in Prusias’s dungeons.

  Descending Túr an Ghrian, Max, David, and Mina slipped out its door and crossed Old College. It was midmorning, and the quad was crowded with people clearing rubble, roping off dangerous areas, and trying to come to grips with the fact that Rowan had become an island. The sight of the famous trio making for the Manse brought some cheers but also questions, as people wanted to know what was happening. The three did not stop to answer.

  There were broken windows in the Manse and some fallen plaster in its foyer, but Max noticed little other damage as they descended past the dining hall and down a long, dim hallway with a trapdoor at its end. Two guards stepped aside as the three descended a winding staircase of dressed stone that transitioned to rough, dark granite. At the bottom there were more guards, along with Orion, a young shedu that had been the charge of a deceased classmate named Rolf Luger. The shedu sat in a Sphinx-like posture, staring down a row of twenty cells with an unblinking, impassive expression.

  Those cells had been updated. There were no more bakas or corroded bars. Gleaming runeglass enclosed the cells now, their sigils glowing a soft blue. The place was eerily quiet.

  Max was feeling better after their walk. His limbs still trembled occasionally, but his head had cleared and the pain from his wound had subsided to a throbbing ache. He no longer needed to lean quite so heavily on the gae bolga as they walked past the first cells.

  “When was Prusias brought here?” he whispered.

  “Shortly after you captured him,” replied David softly. “Mina had to undo her banishment, but I wanted to get Prusias out of Blys as soon as possible. The situation was too chaotic to look after him properly. I should warn you that Alex Muñoz is also here. Connor gave him up so we can question him about the Atropos.”

  David walked ahead. Max and Mina followed, passing by cells occupied by some of Prusias’s senior braymas—fearsome oni and rakshasa sitting cross-legged by their imps and glowering silently at their captors. Alex Muñoz was asleep in the eighth cell, sprawled on a pallet with an arm flung over his face. He was barely human anymore—Max only recognized him because of the close-ups he’d seen in the archived Workshop footage.

  Prusias was in the last cell. The demon lounged with his back against a wall, idly scratching his chest through an opening in his loose blue robe. His black hair was wild, his beard unplaited, his half-lidded eyes burning like two blue coals beneath his heavy brow. In the opposite corner, Mr. Bonn was dutifully washing his master’s soiled bandages in a basin of soapy water. Upon seeing their visitors, the startled imp splashed water over the basin’s edge. Prusias glanced up, and a piratical grin spread slowly across his face.

  “What did I tell you, Mr. Bonn?” he said. “Where there’s life, there’s hope. Didn’t I say it was only a matter of time?”

  “You did, my king.”

  Prusias chuckled. “Oh, I’m not a king, Mr. Bonn. Not anymore. These three have seen to that. But the game isn’t over, is it? Evidently, Rowan needs something from us. If they didn’t, why would they provide such ‘luxurious’ accommodations?”

  Pushing up from the floor, the demon walked with a slight limp toward the runeglass. There was something vaguely simian about his build—a barrel chest set atop relatively short, bandy legs. Taller even than Max, Prusias stopped just short of the glowing glass and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You have a means of controlling Yuga,” stated David coolly.

  Prusias shrugged. “What if I did? I don’t anymore, now, do I?”

  “What is it, and where is it?”

  The demon merely yawned and turned slowly on his heel. “You know, I’m rather tired, Director. I’m not ashamed to say this war was exhausting. Ask me again next week.”

  “No,” said David. “Tell us now, or I can make things extraordinarily uncomfortable for you.” He held up his hand so the demon could see the ring he wore.

  The demon pivoted back around. “Think twice before you torture demons with the Seal of Solomon. Not even Lilith will approve. And there’s no need to get nasty—we haven’t even been formally introduced! It’s a pleasure to meet you after all these years, Mr. Menlo. I admire your talents as a strategist. How are you at negotiation?”

  “I suppose we’ll find out.”

  A delighted Prusias clapped and rubbed his great hands together. “That’s what I like to hear. You need something from me; I need something from you. You won’t like my demands, of course, but they say a good compromise leaves both parties unhappy.”

  “What is it you want?” asked David evenly.

  Prusias’s grin was so unapologetically greedy, it was almost charming. “I want my freedom, Director. And a few creature comforts. Nothing too outlandish.”

  David shook his head. “Out of the question.”

  The demon sighed. “That’s unfortunate, but I understand things can be touchy after a war. Sleep on it and see if you feel differently tomorrow.”

  “This can’t wait until tomorrow,” said David. “What would you accept instead?”

  “That’s my demand. Let’s understand one another, Mr. Menlo. I played an ambitious game and lost. I overreached. I can live with that. But I won’t live with captivity. It doesn’t agree with me. This world’s too interesting to spend one’s days in a box. I’d rather perform ahülmm.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Don’t make idle threats, Director. If you waste time killing or torturing me, Yuga will remain beyond your control. And I know you need her right away—you just told me as much. And look at the Faeregine. Her eyes are red. She’s been crying, poor thing. Something’s gone very wrong—something so dire that it’s brought the three of you here.”

  The demon wagged a playful finger at David.

  “Here’s your first lesson in negotiation: never let the oth
er chap know you’re desperate. Do you agree to my terms?”

  David’s mouth formed a hard, tight line. “If you don’t tell me how you controlled Yuga, this ‘interesting’ world might cease to exist, and you along with it.”

  Prusias stooped to David’s height, their faces inches away from one another. “Then I suppose you’d better give me what I want,” he whispered.

  “You’re too dangerous to be released.”

  The demon cackled. “Come now. The Hound pulled my fangs. You wouldn’t be releasing the Great Red Dragon—just little old Prusias. I know braymas are signing peace treaties with Rowan, Director. I’ll sign one, too, if I’m given lands of my own.”

  David considered a moment. “If you were given lands, you couldn’t leave them. And you’d have to let others cross them safely, provided they went with Rowan’s blessing and didn’t make war upon you.”

  The demon spread his hands in a convivial gesture. “I’ve always been a friend to trade. We have an agreement, then?”

  “We do,” said David. “We’ll work the details out later, but you have my word.”

  The demon gave a gruff laugh. “Your word? No, that won’t do, Director. I want the Faeregine’s pledge. If she offers those terms, we have an accord.”

  “Very well,” said David impatiently. Turning to Mina, he dictated the detailed terms and conditions in a manner suggesting he’d made many such bargains before. It was almost comical to see Mina—so young and small in her Ascendant’s robes—listen so earnestly to legalese. When David had finished, she gazed up at the expectant demon.

  “Prusias,” she said, “in exchange for telling us everything you know regarding Yuga and the means to control her, you will be freed from imprisonment and granted sovereignty over lands when we sign the peace treaties ending this war. To ensure your good conduct, you must swear an oath not to leave these lands or make war on other peoples or nations. You must also guarantee the safety of any who bear Rowan’s mark and wish to trade with you or cross your territory. Do you agree to uphold these terms?”

  “I do,” said Prusias, bowing his head. Throughout Mina’s recitation, he had listened to her with a respectful, almost chastened expression. It was clear the demon regarded an oath made to the Faeregine with something like superstitious awe.

  “That’s settled, then,” said David. “How do we control Yuga?”

  When he turned away from Mina, the demon’s swagger returned. Glancing at David, he spat a bloody gob on the floor of his cell. “Yuga’s too damn powerful to control, but you can communicate with her. There’s a green stone the size of an egg set within my throne. If you hold it and concentrate on Yuga, you’ll be privy to her thoughts—or what passes for ‘thought’ in such a monster. She’s more like an idiot child having a tantrum. Tantrum or not, she will be aware of you. Suggest she drift this way or that and she usually will. Not right away, but eventually. It’s like steering a barge.”

  David’s shoulders sagged. “That’s it? That’s the extent of the control?”

  “That’s it,” said Prusias. “The stone should still be in Blys, provided your riffraff haven’t looted it.” The demon’s eyes drifted to Max. “Where’s the shining god, eh? You’re looking sickly, Hound. Rather mortal. Has the clones’ scratch started to fester?”

  Max gestured at the demon’s bandages. “Time to change those.”

  The demon laughed. “Touché, Hound. Touché. You were always the great wit of the world. When I hear of your death, I’ll be sure to raise a glass. Maybe two!”

  David tugged at Max’s elbow. The three of them left Prusias and walked back down the row of cells. As they approached Alex Muñoz’s, Max saw that he had awoken and was leaning against the runeglass to watch them pass. “They’ll never stop,” he hissed. “Never, Max. And once they get you, it’s little Mina’s turn. She’s in the Grey Book, too.”

  Max didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge Alex’s existence. That would have pleased him too much and validated his sense of importance. Instead, Max continued on, looking stoically ahead and swallowing his horror that Mina was also an Atropos target. Alex would not have lied about that; the guild regarded such matters as sacred.

  David spoke when they were climbing the stairs. “Put the Atropos out of your mind. If we do stop Astaroth, they’ll be next. Our task now is to retrieve this stone.”

  “What’s the point?” asked Max. “Even if Yuga obeys you, she can’t reach Ymir in time to help us destroy Astaroth. She’s thousands of miles away.”

  “One problem at a time,” David muttered.

  As soon as they reached the Manse’s main level, David hurried to a side table and rummaged through his pack. Rifling through a folio, he selected two sheets of Florentine spypaper and laid them on the table. Two pens flew up from his pack and began writing as though they were taking silent, rapid dictation.

  “Who are you contacting?” asked Max.

  “Miss Awolowo and Cynthia,” replied David. “We need someone to retrieve the stone and get it to Cynthia. She knows how to use my trunk and can bring it right to us. With any luck, we’ll have it within the hour.”

  Once the messages had soaked entirely into the spypaper, David slipped them back in his folio, grabbed the pens from midair, and tossed them in the pack. “Let’s go to the Observatory. Cynthia should be there soon.”

  Five minutes later, the three were sitting around the table on the Observatory’s lower level. Above, golden threads linked stars to form constellations that winked in and out of view in an endless cycle. A fire crackled quietly in the hearth, its light casting a warm glow on the bookshelves and armchairs. The room’s quiet, tranquil comforts were a surreal contrast to the crisis they faced.

  Kicking off his boots, David shooed away the room’s resident pinlegs before it could settle beneath the table. Max watched in silent horror as the hideous creature chittered and scuttled off to bask on the warm hearthstones. He wondered idly if Alex Muñoz would like a cellmate.…

  “Good,” said David, scanning the spypaper as replies appeared. “The Raszna have sent people to the throne room. Cynthia’s standing by, and Miss Awolowo says the tremors have stopped and Astaroth’s monsters have been killed or driven out of the city—all but that dragon, which flew off on its own.”

  “So how are you going to use the stone?” asked Mina, examining a jar containing one of David’s preserved homunculi.

  “I’m not,” he replied. “You are.”

  Mina set down the jar. “You want me to do it?”

  “Of course,” said David. “If anyone can communicate with her, it will be you.”

  “But if Yuga’s as mindless as Prusias says, how can anyone—even someone like Mina—communicate with her?” asked Max.

  “I don’t believe she is mindless,” said David. “You know about her origins.”

  Max did indeed. Mr. Bonn had told him the tale of Patient Yuga when Max was a captive in Blys. She had been an imp in long service to a powerful but cruel demon that refused to grant her koukerros. Through careful scheming, she managed to bring about the deaths of her master and three other demons to become the floating monstrosity that devoured anything in its path.

  “Yuga was clearly brilliant at one time,” David continued. “That alone makes me suspect Prusias’s view that she’s just an ‘idiot child having a tantrum.’ But even if there’s little left of her former intelligence, Mina might still get through to her. She’s the most powerful empath I’ve ever seen. Spirits want to talk with her.”

  Mina looked seriously at David. “What do you want Yuga to do?”

  David leaned forward. “To come if she’s called. Yuga’s much too powerful to summon against her will—even with this.” He held up the Seal of Solomon. “She must come willingly.”

  “To do what exactly?” asked Max, trying to imagine what would happen if Yuga materialized suddenly in the skies above Ymir.

  “Oh, any number of things,” David replied. “Destroy Astaroth, destroy a g
ateway … Yuga is our last resort if all else fails.”

  From the second level, there was a dim pulse of light from David’s bed. Cynthia Gilley appeared atop the stairs, bundled for cold with cheeks as red as her hair. She was breathing hard, as though she’d run a ways with the milky green stone clutched in her hand. Hurrying down the steps, she gave it to David, who set it on the table.

  “What is this thing?” gasped Cynthia, sliding next to him to share his chair. “The Raszna were handling it like it was a bomb. Is it dangerous?”

  “No,” said David. “If it was, I’d have retrieved it myself.”

  Cynthia’s kind blue eyes glanced from face to face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Max, what happened to you? You look dreadful.”

  David sighed. “I wish I could explain, but we don’t have time. Every minute counts.”

  Taking his hand, Cynthia gave David a hard, searching look. “You’re scaring me, David. You can take ten seconds to tell me what’s going on. I’m your girlfriend.”

  David sighed. “Fine. Astaroth has kidnapped my grandfather and plans to sacrifice the entire world to ‘Starving Gods’ from another universe. We’ve got less than a day to come up with a plan, climb a mountain halfway around the world, and stop him.”

  “Well, maybe I can help,” said Cynthia.

  David closed his eyes, as though choosing his words carefully. “Cynthia, do you remember when you told me that I can be patronizing and it’s not an attractive quality?”

  “I do, and it’s not.”

  “Well,” said David delicately, “what I’m about to say might come across as a little patronizing. How can you possibly help us defeat Astaroth?”

  Cynthia patted his hand. “For the record, that was patronizing. But to answer your question, I can help you because Astaroth can’t hurt me.”

  David rubbed his temples. “What on earth are you talking about?”