Duel With A Demoness

by Liam Reese

  “More kings and queens for Lor Tas,” the filthy shaman chirped. “Kings and queens everywhere,” he chanted, rocking on his heels. “Enough for Lor Tas to make a living chess set.”

  “Has he told you anything?” Vi Rhane asked expectantly.

  Besmir shook his head.

  “Nothing,” he said sadly, his heart sinking. “I think this has been a complete waste of time.”

  Besmir looked down at the prone form of the shaman as he prostrated himself before some unseen being, hate and despair mixing in his chest.

  “I really am sorry,” the Corbondrasi king said genuinely. “If there is anything I can do, I offer the resources of my kingdom and people to achieve it.”

  “Well, thank yo...”

  Besmir trailed off as Lor Tas moaned and threw himself backwards. His entire frame trembled as if freezing, limbs shaking like leaves in a breeze. It was the fact he began to float that made everyone stop and stare at him. Easily a foot above the ground the shaman’s jerking feet cast cavorting shadows on the ground. His head lolled, rolling forward so his chin was to his chest and his arms hung limply at his sides.

  Besmir watched in awe as something appeared around Lor Tas’ body, as if he wore the shadowy thing like a coat. Muscular arms rippled forth, overlaying the Corbondrasi shaman’s own but twice the size and ending in claws. His head became engulfed within another, massive, head its glowing eyes staring at them all dispassionately.

  Besmir watched as the Corbondrasi king and queen fell to their knees, leaning their heads to the ground, any other Corbondrasi following suit and bowing to the shaman. Besmir frowned as the enveloped shaman pointed at him.

  “Mortal,” his voice echoed around the palace like granite exploding. “Thou hast been advised by my brethren to turn from thy present course lest you bring about the cessation of all life.”

  “My lord Mwondi...” Vi Rhane began but the God ignored him in favor of Besmir.

  “Why dost thou seek that which cannot be found?” Mwondi asked.

  “Porantillia?” Besmir asked even though fear clutched his heart. “She’s taken my son.”

  Mwondi raised his vast head, the beginnings of horns rising from his forehead, and fixed Besmir with a steel eyed glare.

  “Thee mortals breed endlessly,” the God rumbled. “Have thy mate bear another child.”

  Besmir heard Arteera sob behind him and rage burned his fear away. No one, not even a God should speak to her in that way. He strode towards the flickering form surrounding Lor Tas. Mwondi’s large face showed surprise as he watched the small human walk towards him.

  “That’s not an option,” Besmir spat. “I want my son back!”

  “Impudent human!” Mwondi thundered. “Porantillia reclines in Hell, if it is Hell thee seeks, then Hell I shall cast thee into. Meet with her and suffer thy fate!”

  The form of Mwondi lashed forward, his clawed hands wrapping around and through Besmir who screamed in agony.

  Arteera watched as her husband defied a living God before her eyes, pride and love vying with utter terror as the massive thing grabbed Besmir before they both disappeared.

  Collise stared out of the window and sighed. Her mother seemed happy to be living in the royal household but to Collise it felt like a prison. True she was dressed in the finest clothes Gazluth had to offer, her skin and hair glowed with cleanliness and they had somehow even managed to get the stink of poverty off her. Young women had been sent to curl and braid her hair, adding oils and perfumes to each strand as they brushed it yet none of them seemed to want to know her. It felt as if she was a job, something they must do, a task they had to complete as quickly and efficiently as possible before they could leave.

  Collise caught the glances they gave each other as they worked in silence. Derisory stares and little sneers she was not supposed to see painted their faces. Collise hated them.

  I will never be anything more than an illegitimate child of Tiernon.

  “What are you sitting there for child?” Collise’s mother, Deremona, demanded as she hobbled across the room towards her daughter.

  Collise turned to see her mother had bought another dress. This one was the color of red wine, trimmed with silver and gold embroidery and came with a heavy gold chain that pulled at her sagging neck. Her hair had been pulled back into a severe bun and she had another new piece of jewelry draped over her skull like a fishing net. This net, however, had been crafted from gold and had gemstones dripping from it like tears.

  “Everyone hates me,” Collise told her mother sadly.

  “Nonsense,” she snapped. “They fear you just as they did your father. Do you think Tiernon sat moping at the window, bothered about what people thought of him?”

  Collise shook her head slowly.

  “Of course not. He was too busy taking what he wanted, gathering power and wealth, just as you should be doing.”

  “But...King Besmir killed Tiernon,” Collise said with an air of confusion. “Would he not just come and kill me too?”

  A nasty, scheming smile wriggled across Deremona’s face then and she clasped her hands before her in glee.

  “Not when you have his friends as hostages,” she said.

  Both women turned when the gentle knock came and Branisi entered the room, offering a small bow. Collise beamed, her whole face lighting up as she trotted over to the housecarl, embracing her in a tight hug.

  “Good morning, your highness,” Branisi said to Collise. “And to your highness,” she added with a nod to Collise’s mother.

  “What do you want?” Deremona snapped.

  Branisi moved over to a table and deposited a number of sheets of parchment, arranging them in some order Collise could not begin to fathom.

  “There are a few details that need your highness's attention,” Branisi said calmly. “Both the Ninsian and Waravalian ambassadors are requesting an audience as is the chairman of the Board of Commerce. I believe they wish to discuss trade agreements and such, shall I show them in?”

  Collise’s face fell at the thought of having to discuss anything with a man. What did she know about trade agreements? They would probably try and bully her and a sick lump grew in her throat at the thought. She looked at her mother who saw her distress and shook her head in disappointment.

  “I thought you were supposed to deal with all that,” Deremona said, giving Branisi an arch look.

  “My duties are such only when the monarch is unavailable,” the housecarl said. “Now your daughter has asserted her claim to the throne my duties are to assist your highness's by organizing your schedule.”

  Collise watched her mother’s face as she stared at Branisi. She could see the hate and anger boiling just below the surface but did not really understand why she was so angry.

  “Very well, Branisi,” Deremona said in a falsely pleasant voice, “then I have the pleasure of delivering some excellent news to you. Collise and I were discussing things just before you arrived and she decided you should take care of all these little meetings.”

  Collise was about to speak when Deremona stared at her with wide eyes, silencing her daughter. Collise turned back to the window and stared out over Morantine as her mother carried on.

  “Collise and I have full confidence in your abilities and we are both sure you can secure the most profitable deal for us.” Deremona gave Branisi a nasty smile. “After all, we would hate to have to find another housecarl. That is all,” she added dismissively.

  Branisi smiled sweetly and bowed once more before leaving the room. Collise stroked the side of her own face as she stared out of the window, curling a lock of hair around her finger and pulling it hard.

  “Stop that!” Deremona snapped. “I have only just managed to get those servant girls to make your hair look normal and I will not have you ruining your look by pulling your hair out.”

  “Why are you so angry, mama?” Collise asked, letting her hand fall.

  “Don’t mistake determination for anger, Collise,�
� Deremona said. “Everything I do is for your benefit, remember that.”

  “I don’t see how spending money on dresses and jewels benefits me,” Collise murmured.

  Her head snapped sideways with the slap her mother delivered, making her cheek sting and eyes water.

  “Ungrateful little...” Deremona growled. “Do you think people will take me seriously if I was dressed in rags?”

  “No mama!” Collise begged as her mother slapped her head and face.

  The young woman brought her hands up in a vain attempt to ward off the blows her mother was raining down on her but several of them still landed.

  “Want me poor and starving do you?” Deremona screeched. “After all I have done for you...”

  “Stop, mama! Please. I am sorry,” Collise begged.

  Eventually, spent and panting, Deremona stepped back from her daughter.

  “Never question me again,” she growled. “Never, you hear?”

  Collise nodded mutely, wiping tears from her cheeks as her mother turned and left her alone in the room. She sniffed and thought about her mother, how she managed to alienate everyone and turn them against Collise.

  She makes them hate me. She is the problem.

  Branisi strode along the corridor that ran the length of the royal household. Guards snapped to attention as soon as they saw the look of thunder on her face, the clenched jaw and balled fists. Servants dodged out of her path as she made her way down the rear staircase to enter the kitchens.

  Aromatic steam wafted out the door as soon as she opened it and Branisi felt her chest loosen a little when she entered the familiar surrounds. The scent of warm bread made her mouth water and the pig that was slowly roasting on a spit over the apple-wood fire looked as if it was just about ready. Sprigs of herbs and other ingredients hung from racks and sat on shelves while a cook toiled to make some pastries on the massive table that dominated the room.

  Branisi grabbed a stool and leaned an elbow on the table, watching the woman fold and mix, roll out the pastry and add a little filling to the delicate shapes she cut from it. After a few minutes she stared at Branisi, wiping her hands on a cloth.

  “Something wrong?” Nashal asked

  Branisi gaped at Nashal as if she had lost her mind.

  “Is there something wrong?” Branisi asked sarcastically. “Yes, I think I can categorically say there is something wrong,” she ran her hands through her hair. “Have you ever poisoned anyone?” Branisi asked.

  Nashal’s eyebrows shot up and she leaned one fist on her hip.

  “Are you saying my cooking is not up to standard?” She asked.

  “No,” Branisi said with a chuckle. “I meant on purpose. I wouldn’t be too upset if Deremona accidentally died horribly.”

  “Well I nurture and feed, not poison and kill so you will just have to look elsewhere for someone to off her,” Nashal said as she slid the trays of pastries into a brick oven and slapped the door shut. “She cannot be all that bad, can she?”

  “The woman is a harridan,” Branisi said, “and spending money as if there is an infinite supply,” She sighed. “It’s not that I don’t sympathize with her situation. I saw Tiernon’s breeding pits when King Besmir discovered them and she hasn’t had much of a life since we got them all out but...” Branisi trailed off.

  “What?”

  “It’s not our fault,” she said. “King Besmir has done his utmost to care for those women Tiernon used. He housed them, fed them and provided clothing, yet where is the gratitude? Where are the thanks? There are none. Rather she seeks to usurp the throne from Besmir and take as much as she can in the process.” Branisi shook her head.

  Nashal reached out and took one of her hands, kneading her flesh gently.

  “Surely it’s Collise that would take the throne?”

  “She is the heir,” Branisi said, “yet her mother controls her. Collise fears Deremona and will do anything to avoid her anger, but she’s the one who can wield magic,” the housecarl sighed again. “It’s a shame, without her mother Collise is a pleasant young woman, if a little naive.”

  “I’m sure King Besmir will sort everything when he comes back,” Nashal said confidently.

  “If he has anything to come back to,” Branisi muttered. “So, no poison then?” She asked again.

  “No. No poison.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hell was little different Besmir discovered. The scouring, acid wind that blew almost constantly was still there. The gray ash that covered the ground like a million tiny knives ready to pierce anything that touched it was still there.

  It was Besmir who was different.

  When he had been here before, his body had remained in Gazluth and it had been his immortal spirit that had been sent here. Creatures called Ghoma had feasted upon him while the acid had burned his lungs from inside his chest. Yet his spirit had repaired itself despite the agony he felt.

  Now, however, Besmir’s body was here as well and the effects of this world were leaving a more permanent mark on him. His hands and face were raw, scoured down by the incessant wind even though he had tried to cover them with cloth cut from his clothes. The back of his throat was sore from breathing the toxic atmosphere and he started to cough up blood as he tramped across the almost endless plain.

  That had been another difference he noticed. The spirit of his father had been sent here to guard the portal to the world of the living and had taught him how he could use his will to fly from one area to another. In his physical body, Besmir was unable to do the same. Directionless and lost he carried on, hoping he was not walking in a circle and waiting for something to appear in the bleak landscape.

  “Father!” He called, the wind stealing his voice.

  Besmir recalled some of the creatures that existed here and decided against calling again. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other he constructed a picture of his son in his mind. A symbol of why he was here and Besmir lost himself in the image as he plodded through Hell.

  It took awhile for him to realize something was different, yet when he looked up the wind had died down and a lone figure stood before him. Horns rose from its head and his heart leaped.

  “Father?”

  “In a manner of speaking I suppose I am,” Cathantor said.

  Now closer Besmir was able to see the varying forms that the God chose to display himself. Numerous animals blended together to produce the thing that stood before him, clothed in living fur and various skins.

  “Are you here to stop me?” Besmir asked in a cracked voice.

  “Here’s the thing,” Cathantor said. “Even I have rules I must follow. When we created man we gave you all free will so you could choose your own destinies, shape your own fates. That also means I can’t force you to do anything or not to do something. You see?”

  Besmir stared at the God of the Afterlife, his cracked, dry lips starting to bleed as he fought to form the words that wanted to escape.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Cathantor continued. “I can make things difficult for you. Put obstacles in your path and try to steer you wrong. I just can’t understand what Mwondi was thinking when he brought you here, this is the last place I would ever want you to be.”

  “He thinks I’m going to die,” Besmir croaked. “He thinks Porantillia’s going to kill me.”

  “Oh, she’ll kill us all,” Cathantor said in an almost conversational tone. “We barely managed to contain her last time and we lost one of our own in the process. No, I’m afraid if you let her out of her eternal prison we’re all done for.”

  Besmir’s jaw dropped at that news.

  A God died when they went against her?

  Cathantor nodded, reading Besmir’s thoughts as if he had spoken them aloud.

  “So you see if you do let her out, Joranas is dead any way. As are you along with anyone you care for and myself of course.”

  “But why?” Besmir asked like a child asking a parent something. “Why does she want u
s all dead?”

  “We remind her of the great betrayal,” Cathantor said. “She hates me as I represent the offspring that should have been hers and she hates you because you are our creations.”

  Besmir shook his head.

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “At the dawn of time there was Porantillia and her lover Gratallach. They cavorted among the stars playing like children, finding joy in discovery and in each other,” Cathantor said. “Eventually, however, Gratallach created another, a third being, Coranstansia. Her beauty was so great it transcended all else and Gratallach was smitten. He followed Coranstansia through the heavens and across vast worlds spurning Porantillia utterly.”

  Besmir realized as the God spoke that, if this were all true, Cathantor was speaking about his parents. Besmir swallowed, his dry mouth working as he listened to the story Cathantor laid out before him.

  “Twisted by hate, rejection and loneliness Porantillia plotted her revenge. She came against Coranstansia again and again but each time Gratallach aided his new love and together they thwarted Porantillia’s plans. You’ll be surprised to find she wasn’t the happiest when Sharise, Mwondi and I were born along with Deurine.”

  “Deurine?” Besmir asked, shivering as a sudden chill hit him.

  Cathantor nodded, his antlers swaying dangerously.

  “My sister was...lost when we bound Porantillia in the absence,” he said sadly. “When Porantillia discovered our birth, she left and we believed she had exiled herself. Childish really,” the God added with a self deprecating smirk. “Instead she was changing. Becoming a malevolent force with such infinite patience she waited until we had all but forgotten about her. Then she attacked.” Cathantor fixed Besmir with a pain filled look. “You mortals might fear death, might balk against it but it is part of your existence, something you must finally accept. We are supposed to be eternal, so our own death is inconceivable and not an easy thing to bring about but Porantillia managed it.”

  Besmir looked at Cathantor, a living God that he had been taught to revere, and saw he was as flawed as any human. He, Sharise and Mwondi might be powerful and immortal but they were just as fallible as people, Besmir realized. His lip peeled back in a sneer and a rush of anger flooded his chest.