I bob my head, considering. “Better than five. I’m in.”
We scale down the ladder. More than once, I curse the fact that I agreed when this is clearly a three on the safety scale. The wood isn’t bolted to anything most of the time. Some steps are totally rotted through. The entire experience definitely stress-tests my ability to produce adrenaline.
At last, we reach the solid ground. Whew. Peli pulls away some dried branches from the base of the cliff wall. What he reveals is s shocker.
A tiny door.
“This is why we made camp here.” Peli pulls the handle. The door swings open with a long squeak. “Come along. I should like to show you what’s inside.”
Entering is easy for Peli. The door’s not Myla-sized, though, so I have to crawl through. Not sure what I expected would be inside, though.
Not this.
A small living room greets me. Every surface gleams. Fresh flowers sit atop the kitchen table. A figure sits on the ground nearby.
It’s a woman.
Or rather, it’s a carving of a woman. She’s a monkey like Peli, and she’s crouching over something. Every inch of my body feels numb. My mind blanks.
With uneven steps, I move toward the wooden figure. The woman holds twins on her laps. The children cling to their mother.
Peli moves to stand beside me. “The Contagion came here and froze them. My wife is named Nora. The twins are Mlinzi and Walinzi.”
All the anguish in the world shines in Peli’s blue eyes. I try to imagine having Lincoln frozen somewhere for who knows how long. Can’t.
“Why were they frozen?” I ask. “Lincoln told me there were other victims in the Primeval, but they were all apprentices.”
“The Contagion wanted to hurt me, plain and simple.” Peli steps closer to his unmoving family. “From the moment I found them frozen, I vowed to free them while killing the Contagion. He’d never willingly set them loose, you see. And if you kill the caster, you kill the spell.”
A realization appears. “This is where you’ve been.” I scan the gleaming surfaces and fresh flowers. “When you’ve been disappearing, you return home and care for them.”
Peli nods. “I had to. I’ve been away for so long.”
“Why?”
“For centuries, I’ve been in the after-realms, searching for the Marked Ones. My original spell wasn’t too specific. And if a current Marked One dies, then the power moves to the nearest person of the same lineage. So when I’ve found a Marked One, then I would send them back to the Primeval for safe keeping. The ghoul was last on my list.”
“That’s why you said you were looking for a ghoul back when we first met.”
“True. Yet I wasn’t searching the after-realms only for the ghoul. I also needed a magical source strong enough to destroy the Contagion.” Peli sighs. “Imagine my joy when I learned about a new and incredibly powerful Great Scala.”
“Hey, if you need me to kill something, I’m all about that. You don’t have to drag me anywhere.” I mime writing in the air. “Sign me up.”
“It won’t be easy.”
I narrow my eyes. This is rapidly sounding like a crap deal. No wonder Peli dragged me out for show and tell. “What are you asking me to do here?”
“You must give the Contagion some of your life force. You’re angel, demon and human. Here in the Primeval, that’s powerful magic.”
I frown. “And how will that kill the Contagion, exactly?”
“The Contagion doesn’t know how I built my spell for the Marked Ones. That evil wizard thinks he can take in any magic. But he can’t. Your energy has no tie to the Primeval.”
I nod, processing this news. “Because I’m not a Marked One?”
“Correct. And one the Contagion consumes your power, it will eat him alive.”
“That’s rather graphic. Not that I care about how the Contagion buys it. The guy deserves what he gets at this point. My question is, once the Contagion is destroyed, what happens to me?”
“The energy you give him will be gone, but you’ll still be alive. Only more… sedated.”
“Riiiiight. That doesn’t sound like fun.”
Peli grips my wrist. “Think of my family. There are so many others out there, too. Your igni will be freed once your life force is gone. The after-realms will still function. Please, just promise me you’ll think about it.”
I stare at Peli, open mouthed, and I don’t say no right away.
That scares me quite a bit.
“Let’s get back to camp,” I say at last.
And when we arrive, I don’t tell Lincoln how I never actually said no to Peli.
That frightens me even more.
64
Lincoln
For hours, I lay beneath our blankets and try to sleep.
Not happening.
My thoughts whirl through everything Myla told me about her visit to Peli’s home. I’d be outraged that someone would ask Myla for her very life force, but I also know what it means to truly love a woman.
All in all, I can’t blame Peli for trying.
Shifting under the blankets, I stare out the tent’s exit flap to the vista beyond. From this high ground, I can make out the edge of the cliff wall, as well as the great expanse of stars glimmering over everything. Myla curls against my side, the gentle rhythm of her breathing a comfort. Even so, it isn’t until the sky begins to lighten that I actually fall asleep.
There isn’t much rest, though.
My dreams fill with white fire. Once more, the flames surround me without burning. Before, I’d felt wary of this nocturnal journey.
Now, my soul trembles with anticipation.
I’m a man who memorizes schedules, names, and strategies. Things just don’t fall to the wayside, especially when I’ve deemed them important. And yet? There’s an open question of what trouble lurks beyond the Contagion.
If I can find the Guide again, perhaps I can get some answers.
The white flames die down. I find myself at the edge of the same surreal forest. I follow the familiar path to the clearing and small campfire. This time, the Guide is waiting. Once again, he looks like me, only with fiery wings.
“I need to understand why you’re here,” I state.
The Guide nods and lifts his arms. Blue smoke rolls out from his palms, surrounding me in a magical haze. When the colored cloud is gone, I find myself back in history.
My personal history.
I stand in the stables of Purgatory. It’s just after Myla fought arachnoid demon. She’d gotten infected with its poison and fell ill. I tried to help her, but I wasn’t sure if it was enough. Now I stand, watching over a previous version of myself as I cradle Myla’s body in my arms.
The Guide stands beside me. “Do you remember what you promised here?”
“Yes,” I say. “Myla was dying. I decided nothing was more important than us. Whatever happened, I would follow my heart and keep her in my life.”
“And what do you face now?” asks the Guide.
“The Contagion,” I state. Yet even as the words leave my mouth, I know they aren’t the full truth. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes. And no.” The Guide shakes his head. “There is also a bigger threat to you both.”
“I realize that. I simply can’t see what it is.”
“That is the problem.”
There are a dozen things I’d like to say in this moment. Most of them revolve around pushing the Guide for more details on the true threat to me and Myla. Only there isn’t time. A combination of white flame and blue smoke surrounds me.
The dream ends.
I open my eyes to find Myla still asleep. Dawn has just risen. At last, it’s time face Aldred and the Contagion, once and for all. Normally, I savor the thrill of a future battle.
This time, I can’t stop the sense of dread that fills my bones.
65
Myla
Lincoln, Peli and I march over to the burned out pit that once held the so-call
ed Golden Arbor. No matter what lands we visit, they all talk about this freaking tree with reverent tones.
I thought that was I got closer, maybe I’d pick up the vibe.
Not exactly.
It’s a nasty old black pit, that’s all. The Contagion took over the tree and marched off, end of story.
Woo hoo.
Things don’t get better as time passes. The sun rises in a cloudy sky. It’s a Purgatory kind of day. Back home, the most we ever see is the halo of a sun behind a light gray cloud. The whole Purgatory vibe isn’t helping this, either.
Lincoln and I share a dry look. Both of us raise our brows with an unspoken question. How long do we wait?
After all, I wouldn’t put it past Aldred to just make us stand around like losers.
Peli scans our faces. “You need to be patient. Aldred will arrive soon.”
I poke at the pit’s edge with my boot. “What about you, Evil Greasy Treebeard? Care to bubble up make an appearance?”
The pit does zero.
Oh, well.
The soft trill of lute music carries on the air. It’s a sound I’ve heard before.
Aldred’s minstrels.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Don’t tell me Aldred brought his back-up band.”
“Only one of them,” explains Peli. “He wanted to make an entrance.”
“Of course,” quips Lincoln.
The good news is that we’re done waiting. The crap side of things is that Aldred is clearly on his way.
It’s showtime, and in more ways than one.
66
Lincoln
The plinking tones of a lute echo across the wasteland. A single minstrel’s voice sounds.
Allllldred
Nothing but Allllldred
All-All-Aldred
I tap my chin, trying to remember. “I believe I’ve heard that song before.”
Myla’s opens her mouth in dramatic surprise. “That’s the theme to Star Wars. It’s only the most famous song in the history of ever. Aldred added new lyrics.”
“Star Wars? You mean the movie with the space puppets?”
“Sha! We walked about this. Those have a name. Wookies.”
“Right.” I do so love needling her on this topic. And at this point, I believe we both relish the distraction. “The wookie space puppets.”
“I don’t know why I try to educate you on the basics of modern culture. Star Wars is a super-important movie.”
Peli picks bits of lint from his fur. “I’ve never heard of Star Wars. And I’ve spent hundreds of years in the after-realms. On the other hand, consider the Bayeux Tapestry. Now that’s culture.”
“See?” I wink. “Peli agrees with me.”
Myla rolls her eyes. “Can we please focus on killing the Contagion right now? Otherwise, I’ll make you watch all the Star Wars prequel movies.”
“Heaven forbid.”
I’m not being dramatic, either. Myla has started this unfortunate prequel viewing experience a few times. So far, I’ve been able to derail her. Mostly, I use sex.
Aldred approaches. Four men in yellow uniforms hold a fabric canopy above his head. The minstrel skips along beside him, replaying the same tune. Rufus lopes along in the back of the group. An older man with a grizzled face, gray hair and a lean body rides upon the lion’s back.
Aldred pauses before us. “Greetings, my friends. Lincoln and Myla, you both look judgmental as usual.”
“We forgot our minstrel,” sasses Myla. “Puts us in a bad mood.”
“Obviously,” retorts Aldred. “And Peli, you brought them both here, just as we planned.” Aldred tilts his head, waiting.
Seconds pass. The older man riding Rufus looks especially confused. The minstrel yawns.
“What?” asks Myla.
“Aren’t you shocked that Peli and I are in league together?” asks Aldred.
“Not in the slightest,” I reply.
“Come now, not even a little bit?”
“Not even this much.” I hold my thumb and forefinger so they almost touch. I gesture toward Rufus and his passenger. “Why don’t you introduce us?”
“If you insist,” huffs Aldred. He’s really disappointed that his Peli surprise was no surprise. Perfect.
Myla raises her hand. “Insisting here.”
Aldred gestures to the very old man in a new Acca tunic. “Meet Hereweald. He’s a thrax and the final Marked One.”
Hereweald grins, a movement that shows off his gummy toothlessness. “I six huuunnned-an-four.”
“What?” asks Myla.
“Hereweald says he’s six hundred and four years old,” explains Rufus.
“An I wanna drink,” adds Hereweald. “Primeeeeeval ale!”
“That means it’s whiskey time,” says Rufus. “Check my side pouch, Hereweald.”
What follows next is a lot of Hereweald almost-not-quite falling off Rufus while trying to pull out a bottle.
“Are you certain that’s a good idea?” I ask. “It’s over a hundred degrees outside and that’s a very old thrax.”
Rufus smacks his lips. “At six hundred and four, Hereweald can do whatever he wants.”
“Good point.” Myla nods. “Guy seems happy.”
Hereweald uncorks the bottle and chugs. That must be a half-gallon of booze the guy downs. In some ways, it really is an achievement.
Aldred saunters to Hereweald’s side. “Remember how we talked about performing a magic trick for our new friends? It’s time for that now.” The earl helps Hereweald to the ground.
“Maaaaaagic.” Hereweald finishes off the rest of his bottle and tosses it into the wastelands. The container smashes against a nearby tree stump.
With Hereweald leaning against Aldred, the pair march across the burned-out ground, pausing before the darkened pit that marks the original place for the Golden Arbor.
Aldred gives the thrax a gentle shake. “Show them your mark, Hereweald.”
Hereweald pulls the neckline of his tunic, showing off the mark on his shoulder. This time, it’s a yellow shield.
“Thank you, Hereweald.” Aldred shifts his arm behind Hereweald’s back. A snick sounds. The elder thrax’s face slumps over, his mouth dribbling blood.
“What?” Myla gasps. “Did you just kill Old Drunk Medieval Grandpa? What is wrong with you?”
“Patience,” cautions Aldred.
The mark on Hereweald’s shoulder vanishes. Aldred releases his hold on the old man, allowing Hereweald to slump to the ground, dead.
Aldred pulls at the neckline of his own tunic. The shield mark now glows on his own shoulder. “The magic trick complete. Peli told me how his spell worked. The mark goes to the nearest one of like bloodline. Thrax to thrax.” Aldred scans our faces closely. “You still don’t know what I’m really planning, do you?”
Myla and I stay silent.
Sadly, I fear Aldred’s true schemes are still a mystery. And I’ve the sinking feeling that’s about to cause a Primeval-sized world of trouble.
67
Myla
There’s an old dead thrax and the ground and the heavy scent of alcohol in the air. Unbelievable. Who kills a medieval dude who’s whatever-hundreds of years old?
Aldred does, that’s who.
Even worse, the old thrax guy has a very clear dagger in his back. Blood pools around the wound. That’s not an honest death, thrax wise. There’s a reason it’s an insult to call someone a back stabber. It’s just a shitty kill.
Fury tightens my limbs. I point at the dead thrax. “You murdered one of your own people, Aldred. We need to talk about this.”
Aldred rolls his eyes. My rage demon roars inside me. Electric jolts of anger charge through my nervous system.
Aldred using an eye roll to me as an actual response to getting hassled about stabbing an old dude in the back? I may have wanted to kill Aldred before. That’s nothing compared to the level of loathing I feel in this moment.
Aldred snaps his fingers. “Peli,
clean up the mess and summon the Contagion.”
My fury makes it hard for me to follow what happens next. Peli summons some orange cloud thing that makes Hereweald disappear. Lincoln says something about what a crap idea it is to bring the evil tar monster here at this point.
Those words snap me out of my rage funk. Did I just hear what I thought I heard?
I round on Lincoln. “Let me get this straight. Aldred is bringing the Contagion here? Now?”
“Unfortunately,” says Lincoln. My guy fingers the dagger strapped to his thigh.
Meanwhile, Peli summons another big old blob of orange air goop. I debate about smashing the little monkey to the ground, killing Aldred, or both.
Then the image of Peli’s frozen family appears in my mind.
No question about it. When it comes to magic, Peli is a rock star. And that monkey adores his family. Whatever is happening now, I have to believe it’s for the best of everyone.
And if it isn’t? Then I can start flattening and killing.
The freaky orange air slop congeals into one big ass tree stump. With a nasty face and arms.
The Contagion has arrived.
On his tar-trunk face, the Contagion’s scooped-out eyes narrow while his mega mouth curls into a sinister grin. “Just the people I want to see. Thank you, Peli.”
Peli bares his teeth at the Contagion. “I didn’t do this for you.”
“That makes no difference,” booms the Contagion. “You still brought me what I want. Enemies to destroy.” The hollowed out eyes swing in my direction. “And new life force to consume.”
Sure, Peli said that if the Contagion consumed my life force, then evil Treebeard might explode. But so will a big chunk of me. There’s a lot to try before considering that route.
The Contagion isn’t waiting, though.
The tar-covered stands of bark churn more quickly on the Contagion’s trunk. Cords stretch out into long branches that reach for me. Pointed fingers drip dark goop as they get nearer.
Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3) Page 20
