Sarn hugged his son. I can't believe I'm related to the Litherians. The idea still boggled his mind.
“Papa?” Ran gasped. “Not so tight. Bear needs to breathe.”
“And so do you.” Sarn relaxed his grip a hair. “When you said, ‘they’re not right,’ what did you mean?”
The throng still packed the tunnel, but it was slowing, making it possible for Sarn to go against it—if he stayed close to the wall.
“You don’t see the flames in them?”
Sarn shook his head.
“Oh, maybe you’ll see them when you get your magic back. You’re getting it back, right? I like playing with it.”
Sarn tripped over a body as his son echoed his inner child’s testimony from the ‘Question.’ He freed a hand and checked for a pulse but stopped when he saw her throat was slashed. Turning away from the corpse, he searched for a safe place to put his son and settled for an outcropping at shoulder height. It was large enough for Ran to sit cross-legged on, so the boy did.
“Papa, why’re we stopping?”
“Look at the people going by. Tell me where you see those flames.”
“What about the m-monster?”
“There might be more than one loose down here.”
Sarn squatted by the dead girl and made certain his body blocked her from view. Her skin was still warm, which meant she’d died recently—how recently? As he rose, his pendant’s light fell on three others, all boys in their late teens or early twenties like the girl, and himself too.
“Papa? Why are those people just lying there? Are they sleeping?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Tell me about those flames.”
“Okay, but the sleeping people don’t have any.”
“Then who does?”
“Everyone else.” Ran waved at the crowd. “Some have fires dancing on their heads, and some are in their chests. But they’re weak lights. There are some black squiggly things too. I don’t like those. They make my head hurt. Can you brighten the little lights?”
“I would if I could, but I don't know how.”
“Oh, they make me sad.”
“Why do they make you sad?”
Sarn glanced at his son. The crowd was dispersing at last, revealing more bodies. At least these new ones ranged in age, but their wounds were different. They weren’t clean cuts to the jugular. Could the beast in the pit do that? How far could it reach? Or was he looking at a mundane murder amidst all this magical mayhem?
“Because they want to be big fires.” Ran fingered Bear’s sparkly bow. “Can we go home now?”
Sarn sighed. “Not yet, I still want to help J.C.”
And now there were more dead who had no one to speak for them except him because he was the only one who’d stopped to look. Their surprised faces were stamped on his memory. Sarn left the dead behind because he had to, but the mystery of their deaths followed him. There might be a killer down here, and I don’t have time to find him right now.
“But you need magic for that,” Ran said, as Sarn scooped him up. “How can you help J.C. without it?”
“Because I can get near the black lumir crystals in the Ægeldar. At least, I think I can.”
At Ran’s incredulous look, Sarn elaborated as he stepped over the dead. He hadn’t meant to discuss that with his son, but the dead had rattled him. Thankfully, Ran’s attention was riveted on him, and he didn’t look down, not once until after they’d turned into another tunnel.
“I’m in limbo until I answer the Question. Only one of my magics is gone—the one I use all the time.”
“The green glowy one?”
“Yes, that one’s gone, but the other one’s still there. It’s just locked away by the Question. If I’m right, the black lumir crystal can’t touch that one until the Question finishes, so it can't drain me anymore. I think I'm immune to it.”
“And J.C. isn’t?”
Sarn shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I want to find him.”
“Sarn!” shouted a familiar voice as footsteps thundered behind them.
Sarn turned and frowned at the man charging toward him.
“I’ve been looking for you. There’s been some mighty strange things happening.” Jersten puffed to a halt. “I’m so glad I found you.”
Jersten’s candle flickered as the black mist licked upward. He turned scared eyes on Sarn.
“It’s coming this way, isn’t it?”
“That black stuff or something else? What did you do?” Sarn stepped in close to the miner-turned-conman. Could Jersten also have helped the Adversary?
“I didn’t do anything, but oh, my God, it was awful.”
Every sense screamed a warning.
“Get down!” Sarn shouted as he ducked behind a rock formation.
Shopping for Demons
Gore surfaced for what felt like the thousandth time and braced himself. But this time, when his head pushed through solid rock, no summons slammed into him. Oh, thank Fate because the whole duck-and-cover thing was getting annoying.
Gore floated over a sea of tents. Why did I come here? Each time he’d defied his master, that defiance eroded a little more of his being, leaving him a bit ragged around the edges and momentarily befuddled until anger rescued him.
“Find me a demon,” the Adversary had said, and his last order made Gore's headache as it repeated itself a few more times, setting the goal firmly in what was left of his mind.
Oh, right, I’m looking for a demon to help me slip my chains. And where better to check then the place where everything was for sale?
Narrow aisles wound through the bazaar, and a smattering of shoppers browsed its offerings. Here and there, hawkers hawked their wares, but there was only a fraction of the usual contingent. How many people had reacted to the Adversary’s infernal call? How long have I been dodging him?
There had to be more people who’d escaped that vile summons. Perhaps they’d all barricaded themselves in their caves like good little sheep. Gore licked his lips feeling suddenly peckish, not for meat but for something else. What do wraiths eat?
Not the food on offer. One whiff of the mystery meats for sale made his stomach churn. Could wraiths sicken like mortals from spoiled meat? Gore surveyed the market from where he floated over its stained tents.
The smart denizens of the Lower Quarters had hunkered down in their caves. Only the brave and stupid conducted business as if all hell wasn’t breaking loose inside the mountain. But that was the charm of the Low Market. From the highest noble brat to the lowest slave, everyone passed through this place at least once both as a buyer and a seller.
The Low Market squatted in a mile-wide cavern near the Grand Staircase connecting all the levels inside the mountain. It was miles away from the Ægeldar and the devilry the Adversary had planned. But everyone slips up at some point. And when he does, I'll escape his hold over me. But for now, he had a demon to find and an empty stomach to fill.
Because everyone had something to sell, the Low Market had long ago spilled into neighboring caverns. Buyers entered the market in search of everything from groceries to black market items. Whatever your desire, from the banal to the bizarre, it was for sale at the Low Market's ongoing bazaar. And if it wasn't, there was always someone willing to acquire it for a price. Though a demon might be a tall order even for the Low Market’s shadiest procurers. But first, he needed to find them.
Where do those on the fringes of the occult congregate? Before the Adversary had turned him into an undead thing, he'd never had any truck with that lot. So he didn't even know what to look for as he scanned the buyers and sellers for clues. Just looking at them made his mouth water. Maybe wraiths eat people. Gore shook his head to rid himself of the idea, but it just made him hungrier. Get answers first then you can feed.
The reek of burning fish caught in Gore’s throat, and he coughed as a gangly old man passed by holding a smoking lantern. The coughing fit coupled with the graybeard’s fishy odor mo
mentarily distracted him from the hunger. Nor was that man the only one wandering around with an open flame.
What happened to the lumir crystals? Gore scanned the columns, walls, and ceiling for those ubiquitous crystals, but their trademark glow was gone. Something had snuffed them out. Had all the lumir crystals under Mount Eredren gone out as well? What could do that?
A vague memory of a light winking out in a long, dark cavern flitted by. Before it escaped his grasp, he remembered searching for another crystal. That other crystal was important somehow, but he couldn't recall why. Perhaps it was tangled up in how he'd become what he was now—a lesser servant of an evil lord. Gore shook those non-productive thoughts away. Find a demon then you can find out about that crystal.
Plan in mind, Gore floated over the neat aisles until a flash of silver caught his eye. Bells jingled on the shimmering costume of a veiled girl shimmying her hips. Beside her, acrobats tumbled, twirled, and turned cartwheels to the bells sewn into their clothes. Hundreds of tinkling bells made up each costume, and each performer’s bells were a different pitch. So, when they moved, they created their own accompaniment. The effect was dazzling in the firelight.
Shadows flitted between the shoppers, but they gave those performers, and the fire pit, a wide berth. Interesting. I wonder if it's the bells themselves, their chiming or the light reflecting off them that's keeping the Adversary’s lesser servants at bay.
Though, the spit roasting over that open flame, and its smoke, reduced some of the performance's charm and turned Gore’s stomach. Still, he watched mesmerized by the show. He didn’t notice some of his essence had dissipated into the smoke wafting past him or the shadowy tentacles stealing through the market.
“Come, sinner, let your dark desires rise,” murmured the Adversary, but his voice was muted by those silver bells.
Gore added silver bells to his shopping list then looked down at the wisps his legs had become and freaked out. He flew away from those bells and didn't stop until their song couldn’t dispel him anymore. But he stayed just within earshot, so their song muted the Adversary’s call. He wasn’t ready to face that creature yet.
Angels and Devils, that was close. A little longer, and I would have completely fallen apart. Who knew what would become of him, or where he would have ended up if that had happened. Gore wiped his brow even though he wasn’t corporeal enough to sweat. That familiar movement eased some of his distress as he took in the lines of stalls and the aisles wending between them.
The Adversary’s last command thundered in his ears: “Find me a demon.”
How? They’re not browsing around the Low Market waiting for work. Gore punched one of the tables, but his fist went right through it. Incorporeality sucked. So did that damned hunger. It was back and gnawing on his insides.
“Go, sinners, do what your desires advise.”
A couple of hawkers, standing too far from those performers and their bells, stopped mid-spiel. The one wearing a feathered mask decked his competitor, sending the other man flying. All around the market, shoppers exploded into violence—all except the ones bearing luminous symbols on their heads or hearts. Those lucky few fled, wits intact, from the spreading violence egged on by that hateful voice.
“You don’t happen to know where I could buy a demon, do you?” he asked a young woman jogging toward the southern exit.
A veil covered all but her dark eyes and the symbol burning on her brow. She gripped the handle of her basket as if it were a weapon as she strode away.
“Miss?
The woman kept walking. Maybe that mark blinded and deafened her to the Adversary’s servants. Or maybe she's just ignoring me.
Shouts of ‘stop that thief’ and other enraged screams finally overwhelmed the dancers and their bells. The instant they stopped, their eyes sharpened, and they turned on each other, shouting accusations that gave way to shoving. Without that song to mute it, the Adversary’s call strengthened. Gore shook out his fists and sank into the floor, merging with it. But not even cold stone could thwart the Adversary’s influence for long. Where do I find a demon?
Children darted between stalls picking up discarded items while some brave souls ignored the fighting and kept on haggling for the reeking oil lanterns and candles on display. The latter group was mostly women with babies. Though, there were a few fathers mixed in. Crosses and other religious symbols glowed on their chests each time the Adversary called. Not one of them answered his repeated questions as Gore passed by them. They didn't even acknowledge him.
So, there’s a way to mute my new master. Gore tucked that useful tidbit away for later. Right now, saving his friends was his top priority and that meant finding a demon and some dinner, so when he saved his friends, he could avoid eating them.
“They’re in trouble because of you. You led them into the goddamned Ægeldar,” rasped his conscience.
“No, that was Dirk. This was all his idea.”
And that's all Gore could remember, standing by that godforsaken pit then darkness and a voice ordering him to ‘find a demon.’ He had bits of other memories, but they were a hodgepodge of still frames. Some had associations, but most didn't.
“I didn’t know it was a sleeping giant biding its time, but I’ll bet Dirk knew. This was his scheme, not mine.” He told his conscience, but the truth felt hollow. He hadn’t cared enough to thoroughly research the job because rumors about ancient monsters were a penny a pound in Shayari. His throat burned with thirst, and he wanted to slake it with Dirk’s heart-blood.
“Or the blood of his friends,” prompted his dark side as it showed him images of a well-known cave. Blankets had been strung up to break up the Foundlings’ cave into smaller compartments and offer some privacy to its occupants. Ragged children and teens moved through those cloth aisles, and his mouth watered for a taste of the bright sparks dancing inside them.
Gore extended a hand to grasp one of their stick thin arms and pull the teenager into his arms, so he could drink, but she faded away and so did the Foundlings’ cave. He'd imagined both here. Five aisles over, a group of teens fought over a dropped candle. They reminded him of the lumir stones that cast nothing but shadows since their glow was extinguished. They didn’t tempt him, not like that Foundling girl. What did she have that they lacked?
A cold prickle at the base of his spine sent Gore diving for cover. He sank into the cold stone floor seconds before the Adversary’s voice boomed through the Low Market.
“Go, sinner, the prize is thine. Take it, my allies, our time’s nigh.”
A shadow of the Adversary passed through the market, leading the rabble out of the nearest exit. That devil had too many shadow-selves.
As Gore levitated out of the ground, his hunger increased. This wasn't the same summons he'd been avoiding for hours. What was this ‘prize?' Part of him no longer cared as his thoughts swung back to that Foundling Girl in a corset, and the pale globes of her mostly exposed breasts. Oh, they’d jiggled while that spark had danced inside her in that brief glimpse. His mouth watered for a taste.
The Adversary had cycled back to the beginning of his creepy summons, and it struck a chord in Gore’s dark soul. To hell with the Adversary, if he wants a demon, he can fetch one himself. Gore floated toward the Foundlings’ cave on the other side of the Lower Quarters.
“I know where you can find someone more powerful than a demon.”
“Who said that?”
No one who'd passed Gore had even glanced in his direction even though he’d been talking to himself for quite some time now.
“Someone who owes you a favor. After all, you did wake me up.” Laughter followed that shocking statement.
“I don't remember setting anyone free. That doesn't sound like something I'd do. Who are you?”
“Someone who's offering you a way out of a bad contract. If you don't want out, I'll find someone else.”
“What way out? What are you offering?”
What did the Adversary do to those
who displeased him? Could it be worse than what I am now? That thought gave Gore pause until his stomach growled again.
“Come to me, and I’ll show you what I have in mind. Your new master will find it quite vexing, I think.”
“I don’t need your help. I’ve been avoiding him just fine on my own.”
“Oh, really? And what about your friends?”
The word ‘friends’ was a hammer blow to the ash heap that was his heart. His growing hunger had driven all thought of them out of mind.
“Where are my friends?”
Gore struggled to remember where he’d last seen them, but there was only that fleeting memory of a dark pit and Villar calling his name. Did I answer him?
“Your friends only have so much air to breathe.”
“Then what? Will they die or become wraiths like me?”
“That’s up to your new master. He might let them go, or he might chain them to him like he did to you.”
And part of Gore wondered if that would really be so bad. But only for a moment then he cast such nonsense aside. Of course, that was bad. I don’t want my friends reduced to what I am now.
“Where are my friends?”
“They’re waiting for you.”
“Where?”
“The Adversary loves irony. Where do you think? The place where your unlife began.”
And the same place where he’d unknowingly released a monster just like Dirk had wanted. That jerk must have known what would happen. And now the Ægeldar’s talking to me. Everything was coming full circle if his greatest mistake was reaching out for a tête-à-tête. Gore dropped his head into his hands.
“You killed me. How can I possibly trust you?”
“That was an accident. I’ve been imprisoned for a long time. Telling friend from foe is hard after the first century of solitary confinement, and I’ve been down here for ten or twenty times that long. But that’s beside the point. I can’t hurt you now, but the Adversary can. I’m offering you a way to slip his leash.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Curse Breaker: Sundered Page 5
