This is much worse. Aldred has found a way to connect our reality to a totally different world. And not a happy place called Butterflyland or something. This is the freaking Primeval, AKA the place that already spat out nothing less than Rufus the battle lion.
Crap on a cracker.
Forget sexy battle-gaze time. Now Lincoln and I have a new goal in life: dealing with Aldred’s Trials of Acca while preventing him from opening a gateway into trouble.
5
Lincoln
I knew Aldred was scheming something. Still I held complete faith that Myla would crack him like a coconut. But finding out that the earl’s plan is to open magical passage to the Primeval?
That’s rather a surprise.
Before me, the round gateway changes. The colored edges solidify into what looks like a thin metallic loop. In the center of the disc, the mists lighten until they vanish completely.
A view to the Primeval appears.
It’s as if a circular window opened in the center of the gymnasium. If I step to check the gateway from the side, I only see a thin line hanging in the air. It’s when I stare straight-on that I view the Primeval.
And what a sight it is.
Heavy clouds churn overhead. Dark rock walls loom in the distance. The dead remains of a forest stretch off in every direction. Broken trunks jut up from the dark ground, reminding me of blackened teeth. In the center of this wasteland, there stands a hulking stump of a tree that reaches six feet high. Instead of bark, shifting threads of tar wind up and down the trunk.
Aldred gestures to the gateway. “Behold the Primeval!”
At these words, the oozing sludge on the trunk shifts. A long face forms, one with deep holes for eyes and a jagged gash as a mouth.
“Who awakens the wizard Contagion?” cries the tree. “Prepare to fight!”
Back in the gym, Aldred speaks yet again. “Close the gateway!”
Instantly, the view clouds over in an orange haze. The mist swirls, pinwheel-style, as it moves in ever smaller rounds. I blink hard, not believing what I’m seeing. No magic of the after-realms looks like this. Orange pinwheels? Within seconds, the gateway vanishes completely. I try to process what I’ve seen. It isn’t easy.
The gateway to the Primeval is gone.
And a new world of trouble has opened wide.
Stunned silence fills the gymnasium. Aldred grins. “Did you see that magical tree? I shall defeat it at the Trials of Acca on Friday.” His voice takes on a growl. “It be… a demon arbor named the Contagion.”
“Did he say, it be?” whispers Myla. “What is this, Thrax Talk Like A Pirate day?”
I shake my head. “Aldred’s on a roll.”
Which is bad news. After all, I thought the soul slasher was a horror. At least that demon type is well documented. I knew its powers and how to fight back. But a talking tree? That’s unheard of.
The earl holds up his pointer fingers. “In two days time, the Trials of Acca will begin. Then you’ll see my true power… as well as the failings of others.”
Applause breaks out from the balconies. The nobility lovingly gaze upon Aldred. Some even cheer. No question why, either. My people adore a good fight. The stranger the opponent, the better. And the promise of a Contagion battle? That waves red meat before the hungry wolves at court. Sadly, the fact that Aldred will also use this fight to humiliate my fiancée doesn’t register. Even my parents clap like mad.
Unacceptable.
Protective instincts for Myla charge every muscle in my body. At this point, I’d love to wring Aldred’s floppy neck. At the very minimum, I want to educate my court on how Aldred’s plans to open the Primeval are beyond dangerous.
Yet I know the thrax.
If I speak now, my nobles will believe I only wish to spoil their fun. Not to mention the fact that most of the court is terrified of Aldred dropping blackmail on them. Even if they did disagree with the Contagion battle—which they most certainly do not—then it would still be extraordinarily rare for anyone to openly defy Aldred. Sadly, that includes my parents.
The truth is both clear and unavoidable. As long as everyone backs Aldred, I can’t keep this gateway closed. In order to stop the earl’s plans for the Primeval, I must find hard facts about the threat and push them hard. And to accomplish that end, I need more information. Sadly, that can’t happen right now. Taking in slow breaths, I force my body to calm.
Patience, Lincoln.
While waving to the cheering crowd, Aldred stomps off gym floor and through the main exit. Just outside, I spy Connor and Octavia. What a shame. My parents must have raced away from their balcony seats to wait in the outer hallway, ready and eager for Aldred to pass by.
Sure enough, the moment Aldred enters the passageway, my parents engage the earl. Father even pets Aldred’s shoulder. A weight settles into my soul. I know my parents think that by placating the earl, they protect both me and Myla.
They’re wrong.
I turn to the balconies one last time. “Thank you for attending today. This concludes our combat lesson.”
The cheers die down. Instead, low grumbles sound as the crowd leaves. All I did was stop their applause for the earl’s battle, and the court acts as if I spat in their collective mead goblets.
No question about it. This will be tricky.
Turning, I scan Myla’s beloved face. She wears her contemplative expression, which means there’s a little vertical line between her brows.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“Do we ever.”
Hand in hand, Myla and I march for the locker rooms. With every step, my thoughts whir through everything that just happened. All in all, Aldred just tore open a trio of problems.
First, there are the Trials of Acca.
Second, let’s not forget the gateway to the Primeval.
And third? There’s dealing with whatever that gateway unleashes. Knowing Aldred, it won’t be anything good.
Still, beyond everything, my hunter’s sense tells me another, even larger danger lurks in the shadows. I picture Lady Bentford offering Myla that foul drink… my parents applauding the earl’s Contagion battle… and Aldred smirking as he announces the Trials of Acca.
An image appears in my mind. I picture smoke curling above a night forest. It’s something I often see on demon patrol. Smoke. A small sign that might herald a large and destructive fire. That vision encapsulates the risk I now face. It’s far off, undefined, and can drive disaster.
No matter what, I must uncover the true risk and soon.
6
Lincoln
Myla and I slip into the locker room. The place has low ceilings, wooden floors, and walls lined with cubby-style spaces for belongings. The scent of old sweat hangs in the air. Happily, the chamber lies mostly empty. Only a few workers hover around Rufus, but they’re off in a far corner.
Myla and I huddle by the opposite wall. “Aldred is opening the Primeval,” I begin. “It’s beyond belief.”
“Your court was salivating at the idea. You’d think the circus was coming to town.”
I rub my neck and think things through. “We need concrete proof of a threat. It’s the only way to stop this or—in a worst-case scenario—to be fully prepared for protecting Antrum. Sadly, two days isn’t much time to grab that kind of intel.”
“It’s more like one day for me, considering how I have that huge Scala Bleugh in Purgatory tomorrow.”
In Myla speak, Scala Bleughs are public appearances where she must act otherworldly. Unfortunately, her people tend to lose their minds if anything about those events goes awry. Last week, Myla was one hour late to a grocery store opening. As a result, quasis took over the local news station to demand that whoever kidnapped their goddess come forward and name a ransom. Turns out, Myla got stuck in traffic.
This points out a number of limitations for Myla’s home realm, including the fact that Purgatory really needs cell service.
“I’d cancel the Scala Bleugh,” ad
ds Myla. “But you know my people.”
“That I do. Besides, this is a classic Aldred move. He doesn’t want us to have time to counter-plan. I’m sure he checked your schedule and knew you’d be stuck in Purgatory. And with this revelation about how Aldred is treating orphans like Baptiste? He also knows I’ll want to rescue any other affected children right away.”
Myla sets her fists on her hips. “It’s all a distraction from Friday and the Contagion. There’s got to be information about the Primeval somewhere.”
My thoughts whirl through my last trip through ancient scrolls. “There’s nothing in the royal archives. I checked when preparing for today’s lesson with Rufus.”
“What about the Dark Lands? The ghouls stole a ton of books. Maybe something is in there.”
“It’s a fine idea. Sadly, Walker is the only one who can enter the ghoul libraries on short notice.” By the way, Walker is our mutual friend and the only ghoul that both Myla and I trust completely. “Unfortunately, Mother sent him on vacation yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah. That ghoul cruise through the Bermuda Triangle.” Myla glances over to the battle lion. “What about Rufus?”
I bob my head, considering. “We can ask, but his family came to our reality many generations ago. Lions don’t exactly keep records the way we do.”
“Ugh.” Myla rolls her eyes. “Aldred is such a pain. Sometimes I just want to ship him off to Hell.”
At the mention of the word Hell, a dozen small lighting bolts materialize around Myla’s palms. Her igni. These supernatural bits of energy help send souls off the Pearly Gates or an eternal inferno. Igni also speak to Myla in her head, giving visions and pointers. That’s rare, though. Mostly they’re just noisy little buggers.
Myla winces. “Quiet down, guys. I’m not sending Aldred to fry this very second. I get that you hate him. Now vamoose.”
The igni arc and dive around Myla’s fingers. For a moment, they flare more brightly. After that, they disappear. It may have been a short visit, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful.
I cup Myla’s face in my palms. “Are you all right? I know they can get loud.”
“Deafening.” She kisses my palm. “But I’m good.”
I lower my hands. “Did they give you anything more?” Sometimes Myla’s igni give her hints about how to best solve problems.
“Not this time.” Myla snaps her fingers. “Although the whole igni-n-Aldred situation brings up a good point. This is one sweet example of yours truly following traditions. I won’t send Aldred to Hell without having a thrax court trial first. Maybe I should get T-shirts made.” Myla frames up her thumbs, as if picturing the finished product. “They could say… Myla Lewis. Still not sending Aldred to Hell.” She lowers her hands. “The back side would say, Yet.”
I chuckle. “I’d wear one.”
Myla purses her lips. “That still doesn’t answer our big question.”
“Right. What awaits us in the Primeval?”
A strange voice sounds from the floor. “Hello.”
Looking down, I discover the speaker. If I thought the gateway to the Primeval was a shock, this one is far worse. I do a double-take.
Nope, it’s still there.
A small monkey sits by my boot. It has large blue eyes, orange fur, and a wide grin.
“I’m Ukapeli from the Primeval,” he says. “You can call me Peli.”
I frown. As far as I know, the only Primevals in Antrum are Rufus and his extended family of lions. Peli isn’t setting off any thrax intruder alarms, so it’s possible he’s from a different reality. Thrax systems would have no way to detect Primevals. Still, I’ve never witnessed anything like him before.
Myla looks to me. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“That I am.”
Peli’s smile widens. “You’re the Great Scala.”
“Uh huh.”
“So young and full of life.” He hops on all fours while making ooo-ooo noises.
Myla hitches her thumb in my direction. “He’s young too, you know.”
“True.” Peli chatters his teeth in an odd kind of chuckle. “You’ve no idea what you’re into, do you?”
If you’d asked me some seconds ago, I’d have answered that Myla and I have a good concept of what’s happening. Or as much as we always do when Aldred is concerned.
But now? I’m not so certain.
7
Myla
A talking monkey sits by Lincoln’s feet.
With orange fur, no less.
I’d say that’s weird, but this is my life here. For my day job, I use little sentient lightning bolts to move souls around. Strange is normal for yours truly. It’s the thrax who should be shocked by Mister Monkeypants.
I scan the locker room. In a far corner, some workers still fuss around Rufus, chatting in low voices as they clean his armor and whatnot. A few glance our way.
None react to the very orange monkey. It’s like they don’t even see him. Whoa.
Thrax keep a tight lid on security. When you’re a demon hunter, enemies want to sneak in and kill you in your sleep. It’s why Lincoln’s people live deep underground. It’s also why anything out of the ordinary makes all of Antrum lose their collective minds.
Take last week, for instance. A thrax warrior returned from demon patrol with an unexpected friend—namely a field mouse who’d camped out in the warriors’ backpack. The moment the Pulpitum transfer platform reached Antrum, the whole place went on lockdown. Red lights flashing. Voice alerts yelling up a storm. Total drama.
If a field mouse causes that much worry, then an orange monkey should definitely launch superfreak fests all over the place.
Yet no one’s reacting.
Maybe they just can’t see Peli from a distance.
I cup my hand by my mouth. “Hey, Rufus.”
The lion lifts his mighty head. “Yes, Great Scala?”
“Come here for a sec?”
Rufus rises onto all fours and lopes over. All the while, Peli picks bits of who knows what from his fur. Rufus pauses beside us. “How may I be of service?”
I gesture toward Peli. “Do you see anything here?”
Rufus scans the floor. “No.”
“Really?” asks Lincoln. “You don’t see a small orange monkey? He claims to be from the Primeval, just like you.”
Rufus rechecks the spot. “Nothing is there. Are you playing games with this old lion?”
“I’m a trickster,” says Peli. “Every inch of me comes packed with magic. I only show myself when and how I wish.”
Lincoln refocuses on Rufus. “What do you know about tricksters? Are they common in the Primeval?”
Rufus snuffles, which is his version of a laugh. “My people left the Primeval many generations ago. We don’t write history on scraps of paper like you. I’ve nothing to tell. Excuse me.” Rufus saunters back to his corner.
I stare at Peli. This little monkey is playing us somehow. And I should know. I love doing the exact same thing.
“So, you’re magical, eh?” I ask. “Did you open that gateway for Aldred?”
“Of course.” Peli does a kind of curtsey that morphs into a him spinning around in a circle. Odd little dude.
“Why help Aldred?” asks Lincoln.
“Not telling,” says Peli.
“Let me get this straight,” I declare. “You’re just now appearing to me and Lincoln, you announce you’re behind the whole Primeval gateway, and you won’t say why?”
Peli mock claps. “Yay for the girl with the pretty tail. She understands a trickster!”
At these words, my tail perks up to arc over my shoulder, whereupon it starts waving at Peli. Total ham. I smack it lightly on the arrowhead-shaped end. “Not cool, bud. This is really serious. Friday could be a disaster.”
“Maybe they will,” says Peli. “And maybe they won’t.” He lets out a long and dramatic sigh. “Don’t take this is the wrong way, but I do hope Friday is a horror show.”
&nbs
p; “Any details?” asks Lincoln. He’s now using his regal voice, which usually gets results.
“To answer that, I must first check something in Purgatory,” replies Peli. “Or rather, someone.”
I make my yuck-face, because this conversation is the pits. “That’s not really specific.”
“How’s this?” Peli hops closer. “The fate of Friday depends on a ghoul. He or she will have the mark of an orange skull here.” Peli taps his right shoulder. “If I find this ghoul, then your day of trials shall be a beautiful catastrophe… one that I have worked for ages to bring to pass.”
I sniff. “You’re kind of irritating, has any one ever told you that?”
“And you don’t ask the right questions,” counters Peli. “You should be wondering what Aldred’s done in Purgatory for your trials.” Peli giggles. “Someone’s been a busy earl.”
I debate threatening Peli bodily harm. Nothing serious, mind you. I’d just wave my tail around and see if that gets me anything more specific than ghoul with an orange tattoo. Like an actual name, for example. But before I get the chance, orange mists surround Peli’s small body.
A moment later the monkey vanishes, leaving nothing behind but questions.
8
Lincoln
The colored mist disappears and with it, Peli. A long pause follows before Myla breaks the silence.
“What. A little. Dick.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well said.”
Myla’s eyes blaze red while she paces a line by the wall. Across the room, Rufus and company stop to watch.
“Is your fiancée all right?” calls Rufus.
“She’s about to tirade,” I explain. “It’s a demon thing. Not a problem.”
And it’s almost always enjoyable, if I’m being honest.
Rufus nods, shrugs, and goes back to getting his fur brushed.
“I can not believe this,” rails Myla. “Did we—or did we not—just rid Purgatory of Lucifer’s Orb?”
Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3) Page 3
