Sorceress Super Hero

by Darius Brasher

  “You’re in no position to make demands, witch,” Brown Patch said. His voice was hard to understand, alternating between low guttural rumblings and high-pitched screeches that were almost whistles. “Nothing can stop us from killing you, drinking your blood, gnawing your flesh, and grinding your bones to powder and making them into bread. You’re in our domain, not Aboveworld.”

  They clearly weren’t afraid of me. Maybe they hadn’t gotten a good look at my Deadmau5 t-shirt.

  I ignored the witch slur and the threat. He was trying to provoke me to violence. “I said stand aside. My patience wears thin.”

  “And if we don’t?” Dirty Gray said.

  “All right, I was trying to do this the easy way, but have it your own way. I formally request safe passage and an audience with your leader under the terms of the Conclave Compact of 1500.”

  They laughed at me again. “Foolish witch,” Brown Patch said. “The wererats are not a part of your Conclave, or your Compact.”

  “True, but almost all of the rest of the magical world is. Which means that if you don’t honor my request, the Conclave will fall on you like a ton of bricks. Remember what happened to the vampires? They weren’t signatories to the Compact either, so they thought they could violate its terms with impunity by attacking and turning Conclave members. And you know what happened to them? The Conclave has almost exterminated them as a species.”

  “Conclave, Conclave, Conclave,” Dirty Gray repeated mockingly. “You wield the word like it’s a sword. I don’t see the Conclave here. I just see a foolish woman, alone and surrounded by my kin.”

  “Do you really think I would be stupid enough to come down here without telling others where I was going?” Unfortunately, I had been stupid enough to do just that, but I was not going to volunteer the information. Maybe Oscar had been right about me being impulsive. In my defense, I had no idea I was walking into what was apparently a nest of wererats. “If something happens to me, a bunch of Conclave Otherkin and magicians will come down here and kill every rat and wererat they can get their hands on. The Conclave is not to be trifled with.” That last part was true. It was why I was so scared of them.

  The wererats hesitated for a moment. Then, Brown Patch said to his companion, “Let’s take our chances with the Conclave. They’re not here, she is, and I’m hungry.” He stepped toward me. His companion followed after a moment’s hesitation. The swarming rats parted in front of them like the Red Sea.

  “Stop right there,” I said sharply. “Don’t you know what I am? Look at this globe of light, the sphere around my head that lets me breathe down here, and the glowing arrow hovering over my hand. Add it all together, and it equals sorceress. And as a sorceress, it’ll only take a split second for me to conjure up some spellfire. Here’s another math problem: Add spellfire to the flammable gas swirling around down here, and what do you get? If you’re thinking ‘Kaboom!’ then you’re smarter than you look.”

  The wererats froze in their tracks.

  “You’re bluffing,” Brown Patch said nervously. “If you set off an explosion, you’ll kill yourself too.”

  “I die in an explosion, or I die while you’re chugging my blood and tearing my flesh. Either way, I’m equally dead. And an explosion that kills me quickly is more appealing than what your teeth and claws would do to me.” I shrugged. “You two have a choice: You can continue to stand in my way, threatening and annoying me. In that case I’ll light the invisible powder keg surrounding us, and we’ll blast off to that big mousetrap in the sky together. Then the Conclave will come down here and kill all your friends and relatives in retribution.

  “Or option two, we can play nice with one another, and you can take me to your leader as I requested pursuant to the Compact. I know which option I’d take if I were in your loincloth, but maybe you’ve got a death wish.”

  The wererats just stared at me. Their beady eyes glittered malevolently in the light of my glowing orb. Then they broke eye contact with me and looked at each other. They screeched at one another in what must be their native tongue. It sounded like a bagful of drowning cats.

  “Follow,” Brown Patch finally directed me grudgingly. He turned and retreated into the darkness. I hesitated for a beat, then cautiously followed him. The swarming rats moved out of the way as I walked, narrowly avoiding my footsteps.

  Dirty Gray leaped from his walkway onto mine once I passed him. He trailed behind me as I followed his companion. I felt like the Pied Piper of Hamelin with Dirty Gray and all his disgusting rodent friends behind me. I did not like having Dirty Gray’s claws and fangs where I couldn’t see them. I wished I had eyes in the back of my head. I kept my fire spell at the ready, alert for the first sign of treachery. I had not been joking before—I would blow us all to kingdom come before I let myself become a wererat snack.

  There was more twisting and turning as I followed Brown Patch with Dirty Gray as my creepy shadow. On a positive note, my tracking spell indicated we were moving toward the wererat whose fur I carried. On a negative and nauseating note, droppings from the rats crawling on the ceiling fell on my head and shoulders as we traveled. It was the most disgusting drizzle ever. I resisted the temptation to brush the rat dung off. I pretended to be unfazed, like I got pooped on by a swarm of rats every day of the week and twice on Sundays. I feared the wererats would see anything else as a sign of weakness and pounce on me.

  Finally, the tunnel we were in widened dramatically, becoming a massive cavern that, thankfully, had no sewage running through it. I was even more twisted around now than I had been before the wererats showed up. If someone told me we had reached the center of the earth, I would not have been surprised.

  I had hit the rodent mother lode. Rats and wererats dotted the cavern for as far as the eye could see. My heart, already pounding like a drum, skipped a beat and tried to take refuge in my throat. I fought to keep my anxiety off my face.

  The rats who had escorted me here fanned out in the cavern, most of them getting lost in the gloom of the large space. Other than my magical floating sphere, the only sources of light in the vast space were luminescing objects mounted high on the curved walls of the cavern.

  I realized with a jolt the glowing objects were skulls. They were mostly human and werewolf skulls, but there were several others I could not figure out the origin of.

  Brown Patch paused until I was abreast of him; Dirty Gray came up and joined the two of us. Both of their nostrils flared. Wererats were said to have a very acute sense of smell. A look of disgust passed between them as if it were I, not they, who reeked.

  With the two wererats on either side of me, they escorted me through the cavern. I only saw male wererats. I wondered where the females were. Maybe the regular-sized rats were all male too. I had no idea how to tell a male rat from a female one, and I had zero interest in learning.

  The rats and wererats in the cavern stared at me as we passed by. Their hard looks did not say, Oh goodie, a guest. Let’s break out the good china. It was more like, Oh goodie, long pork. Let’s break her bones and eat her on the good china. I wished, for probably the hundredth time since encountering Brown Patch and Dirty Gray, that I had told someone where I was going before I descended into the sewer. If my skull wound up joining this wall of glowing skeletal fame, no one aboveground would be the wiser.

  I relaxed my will, and let my light spell dissipate. Not only did the skulls glow enough so I could see without my spell, but I also wanted to have as much of my will available as possible if the rat poop hit the fan. I had no illusions about surviving if all these wererats attacked, but I would go down swinging. There was no way I would let myself become the star of a wererat gangbang and dinner party.

  We came to a short line of wererats who were queued up in front of steps to a stone dais. The dais was pitch black, and it glittered dully like it was wet.

  Thirteen grinning skulls shined down on a throne resting on the dais, bathing the massive chair in an otherworldly light. Initially, I th
ought the throne was made of a white wood. As I got closer to it, I realized it was not. It was made of bones of different body parts, species, and lengths, arranged so cunningly that it was as if the throne had been carved from a single block of wood rather than assembled out of hundreds of bones.

  It had taken me a while to realize what the throne was made of because I had been too busy staring at who was on the throne. Or maybe what was on the throne was more accurate.

  A three-headed wererat sat there. The eyes of each head glowed like they were radioactive—red on the left, white in the middle, and blue on the right. God bless America. The creature was bigger by far than any other wererat in the room; it was probably almost nine feet tall if it stood up. Its fur was slick, and black as soot. The oiliness of the fur reminded me of how a snake looks right after it sheds its skin—slick, wet, and evil. That was not the only way the wererat reminded me of a snake. The wererat’s fur rippled and spasmed like a molting snake’s skin, as if small creatures were crawling around inside the wererat, right under its skin, trying to break out.

  Each of the wererat’s heads bore a crown, one platinum, one crystal, one gold. Unlike the other wererats I had seen, this wererat’s loincloth was made of gold cloth, not leather. I wondered if the gold was real. The thought of getting close enough to touch it and find out gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  On each side of the throne stood two strapping wererats, one white, one black. Each had a gold collar around its neck, and each was armed with halberds. The shaft of the weapon was wooden, while the ax and spear parts appeared to be silver. The edges of the axes gleamed with sharpness.

  “Who’s this, Cerberus’ distant cousin?” I asked Dirty Gray about the three-headed wererat in a low voice. I tended to say silly things when I was nervous, and I was most definitely nervous now.

  “This is the Rat King,” Dirty Gray said, also in a low voice. Even with his heavily accented voice, I heard the surprise in it, as if I had just asked what the sun was. “Now hold your tongue before I bite it off.”

  I didn’t like being told to shut up, but being surrounded by dozens of Otherkin with sharp fangs and claws was not the best time to take offense. I did not know how anybody could have heard my whispered question over all the noise in the room, anyway. The noise did not come from all the rats and wererats in the cavern. Rather, two wererats knelt on the dais in front of the Rat King, screeching at each other in their native language. It sounded like they were arguing. However, since I didn’t understand wererat, for all I knew they were singing the praises of the city’s cat spaying program.

  The Rat King’s red-eyed head said something. The kneeling wererats immediately fell silent, as if their vocal cords had been cut. The red-eyed head spoke again, and the white rat armed with the halberd stepped forward. The halberd descended like a silver scythe toward the head of one of the kneeling wererats. The wererat’s alarmed squeal shut off like a light when his head was sliced off his neck. Like a dropped watermelon, his head hit the dais with a dull thud and a spray of red.

  The other kneeling wererat stood up while his companion’s headless body fell sideways, spurting blood from its neck like a geyser. The standing wererat picked the other’s head up by its ears and held the still-bleeding head over his head like it was a trophy. He lifted his snout and drank the blood dripping down from the severed head. Screeches and squeals rose all around me. They were cheering the blood-drinking wererat. I deduced the two wererats had been arguing, and the Rat King had decided on the winner. To the winner, apparently, belonged the bloody spoils.

  My mouth filled with saliva. My stomach churned, threatening to spew at the revolting sight. Conscious of Brown Patch’s and Dirty Gray’s malevolent eyes on me, I fought the internal eruption down by sheer force of will. I forced myself to look calm and disinterested, as if this was my fourth decapitation of the day. I sensed that, Compact or no Compact, the wererats would be on me like rabid dogs if I showed any sign of squeamishness or weakness.

  While the cheering continued, I glanced down at the green arrow still hovering over my palm. It pointed to the left, blinking instead of being solid green as it had been while I followed its lead. That meant the wererat I sought was close.

  I looked at where the arrow pointed. I spotted in the crowd an Otherkin who I thought was the brown wererat I had fought in the alley. Without the guidance of my locator spell, I would not have known it was him. For all I knew, the other wererats who had attacked me were in this cavern as well. Except for their differing coloration, one wererat looked much the same as another to my untrained eye. In fairness, they probably thought I looked like every other human female. Kate Upton would have been insulted.

  Perhaps feeling the weight of my gaze, the brown wererat turned his head and looked at me. He did a quick double-take. He obviously recognized me.

  I smiled broadly at him. I mimed shooting him with my forefinger, dropping the hammer that was my thumb. The wererat’s bloodshot eyes just glittered at me, and he turned to face the dais again. My quivering insides gave lie to my surface self-assurance, but I believed in faking it until I made it. I had hoped to find the wererat alone, not find him surrounded by dozens of his closest friends. Beating answers out of the Otherkin about who had hired him and his friends to attack me was out of the question here.

  The wererat who had drunk the decapitated head’s blood stepped off the dais, still carrying the dripping head. Several wererats mounted the dais, picked up the headless body, and carried it away into the gloom. A shrill whistle from the black wererat with the halberd brought dozens of four-legged rats scurrying onto the dais. The rodents licked the black dais clean of blood. In seconds, the dais glittered again. My stomach gurgled anew at the sight.

  The rats scattered off the dais. Three wererats in line ahead of us mounted the steps onto the dais. They knelt before their king. The center head said something to them, and they answered with a series of shrieks, screeches, and caterwauling. It was like listening to a violin concert performed by six-year-olds. It set my teeth on edge.

  Eventually, the three kneeling wererats were dismissed, and left the stage. Two more in line ahead of us took their place on their knees on the dais. I started to think the wererats were bringing problems and disputes before their king for him to resolve them. It was like The People’s Court: Wererat Edition. I hoped my turn on the dais was a lot less bloodthirsty than the first adjudication I witnessed.

  Finally, Dirty Gray, Brown Patch, and I mounted the dais. Dirty Gray and Brown Patch knelt as the others had. I hesitated for a beat, then remained standing.

  The king’s right head, which had seemed bored and half-asleep through the rest of the proceedings, perked up. His glowing blue eyes looked down at me with interest. The king’s other four eyes studied me as well, making me feel like I was pond scum examined under a microscope. The constant writhing under the Rat King’s skin made it appear like he was always moving, though he sat still. It creeped me out.

  “Kneel before the king, Aboveworlder,” the white halberd wielder snarled. At least he had the decency to say it in English. The way he brandished his weapon threateningly needed no translation.

  “No,” I said loudly. My voice echoed through the cavern. “I kneel before no one.” A stunned hush fell over the assembled wererats. I was still playing my show-no-weakness game. My bold words were betrayed by my mind recoiling from the sudden mental image it got of the halberd whistling through the air and biting into my neck.

  Incensed, the white wererat stepped toward me. My thoughts might have become reality had the king’s blue-eyed head not stopped the white wererat with a sharp whistle.

  “Let her be,” the right head said. “I am curious what has made this human bold enough to enter our domain.”

  “Why do you soil our presence with an Aboveworlder?” the white-eyed head asked of Dirty Gray and Brown Patch. His snout wrinkled, as if his big nose had just gotten a whiff of me and he did not like what he smelled.

 
“This creature is grotesquely ugly and it stinks. We should kill it before it reproduces,” the red-eyed head said.

  So far, old blue eyes was my favorite. I would have laid massive odds a few short hours ago I would not now be thinking things like the right head is my favorite.

  “She claims safe passage and the right of entreaty under the Compact,” Brown Patch said. Neither he nor Dirty Gray looked the Rat King in the eye. I knew how they felt. Looking the Rat King in the eye felt akin to a deer staring a tiger in the eye. I forced myself to do it anyway. If I didn’t play this right, my head would do its best bloody basketball impersonation on the stone dais. I’d have to rely on my wits, not my magic. The wererats on the dais with me were too close. There was no way I’d be able to get a spell off before they were on me.

  “I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself,” I proclaimed, putting a lot of haughtiness into my voice despite my flip-flopping stomach. I addressed the Rat King, saying, “My name is Sage Hawthorne. I am a sorceress. Four wererats attacked me without cause aboveground yesterday. I used my magic to track one of them here. I want to know why they attacked me and, if they were hired to do so, who hired them.”

  “The creature is immensely stupid to come here alone,” the red-eyed head said. “We should kill it before it reproduces.”

  “My brother king has a point,” the blue-eyed head said to me. “You are either very powerful, very brave, or very foolish.”

  “All of the above,” I said. The blue-eyed head laughed out loud. Even the homicidal red-eyed head chuckled slightly. A ripple of laughter ran through the rest of the cavern. Apparently, when the king laughed, everyone did. Rat see, rat do. Perhaps wererats and humans were not so different after all.

  Only the white-eyed Rat King head didn’t laugh. Glowering down at me, he said, “We know nothing of such an attack.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but he does.” I pointed at the wererat in the assembled throng whose fur was wrapped around my wrist. “He is one of the ones who attacked me yesterday, and the one my magic led me to today.”