Authors: Garon Whited
Sit it out and endure the attacks by the forces of Hell? Or call for help and risk being blasted by the armies of Heaven? Is mankind always in this spot? Or just the undead? Whatever happened to “live and let live”?
“Okay. How long do you think it’ll take?”
“I do not know; there is much evil in the world. But I think this will be swift. It is powerful, dangerous, and unusual; it merits immediate attention. Ten days or so, at a guess.”
“I look forward to it. Anything special I should do before they get here? I don’t have any bits of demon to hand over; it boiled away on its own.”
“That is characteristic of devourers. Other demons, according to what I have read, behave differently.”
“Could you give me some examples, just in case something else tries to slither into my rooms?”
“Certainly. Some will burst into cold fires when slain. Others explode into foul clouds of poisonous vapors. Others become clouds of caustic fumes, burning and etching anything they touch. Some burst like overfull waterskins, coating their slayer in slime that eats flesh and steel alike. I recall that the lesser breeds tend to simply die and lie still, leaving poisonous corpses behind. Only the greater demons are dangerous even in dying. Devourers, if you do not know, were middle-ranked in the hierarchy of evil. A… a ranking enlisted, but not quite an officer in the legions of the damned, I suppose.”
“Good to know. Anything else for which I should be alert?”
“Some can become invisible. Others cloud men’s minds and make them see things that are not there, or not see things that are. Some instill emotions by their mere presence—lust, hatred, greed, fear—and some, very powerful, wield magical powers far in excess of mere mortal magicians.”
“Also important safety tips. Okay. I’ll see about a few magical defenses of my own. I don’t suppose you would be so good as to bless me and allow me to borrow a medallion of your faith?”
Ander smiled. “I understand that you do not share my faith, Halar. Few willworkers come to the light, preferring to pretend they do not need Him. But you have my blessing, regardless. And yes, I will provide you with a medallion—and I will pray for your safety, every night.”
I’m not always a fool. I thanked him and accepted his help.
Just as a footnote, I do
not
dislike priests, clergy, religion, or whatever gods there may be. I dislike
organized
religion. Ander I like. Ander is a good man in every sense of the word. If his entire Church were to be obliterated overnight—not that I’m implying anything—I’m sure that Ander would still be at work in the morning, preaching his faith, helping those who need it, and doing everything in his power to not only rebuild the Church and the church, but taking the time to
care
.
That’s the ticket. A huge organization like the Church can’t
care
. A man (or woman, depending on the religion) can.
I’m going to take a chunk of Ander’s favorite religion and pound it into rubble because of what they did to Sasha… and I can’t even feel good about it. Thanks, Ander.
That afternoon I went for a ride. The carpenter was working on the mounting for the lens, the glasscrafter was doing well on the polishing, and I had the spells ready for shifting the light—and some minor reshaping of the lenses for better focus. Now, there was just the waiting.
This whole demonic thing was bothering me. I have felt persecuted and hunted enough by the good guys (the theoretically good guys, anyway) that I don’t need to feel hunted by the bad guys, too!
So I headed out to the bonfire site. Maybe the local fire-witch had some insights. On the way, I waved to the local farmers; they waved back every time. I wondered if it was because they were friendly or because Bronze pretty much made sure I was recognized. She’s bigger than any other horse I’ve seen and she tends toward
really
glossy highlights.
Either way, it was nice to feel at least a little bit loved for a change.
The bonfire site was in a valley-type area between hills; the whole area was extremely green. I noticed the charred circle of the bonfire had green shoots springing up in it. Whatever else, this place was a farming dream. I wondered if anyone had ever planted crops here.
I dismounted and let Bronze wander around. She cropped at the grass, almost absent-mindedly. I wondered about that. A left-over instinct from the horses that went into making her? Or was she just trying to look like a normal horse? Or teasing me with horsey behavior? Or did the grass actually have some sort of use to a bronze golem? Do golems eat? If so, what?
I shook my head and looked around. Nobody was in sight, so I walked to the center of the blackened area and readied a spell. Firebrand caught my attention before I could actually do anything; it… well, it yawned in a psychic fashion, like someone near waking. Or awake but enjoying lying in bed and drowsing. That was, to say the least, odd. I looked around for something that might have disturbed it. On levels other than the visual, I found something.
Looking at something with magical vision—seeing the eddies of magical energy—sometimes looks like being on the bottom of a pool with colored currents going by. Or being surrounded by thin, colored mists on a breezy day. In either case, they glow. It doesn’t usually obscure vision, but it’s there. Spells look similar; they have their color or colors, but are much more opaque, more solid. Enchanted objects are pretty much solidly existing in magical sight, and generally shine very brightly.
As an aside, when casting a spell, these currents or vapors are drawn to the wizard and concentrated; it’s one reason a spellcaster might gesture. Magical shapes are created—lines, cords, rods, squares, spheres, whatever. These are the actual spells, the circuitry, if you will. The colors of the mists or currents is usually a very pale pastel; it’s the will of the wizard that concentrates them into brighter color, gives them solidity and focus. The colors correspond to the function of the spell or object. But an area without a spell on it normally has no definite color, magically—just a faint haze of misty magical energy that changes color randomly.
Think of a soap bubble and the colors you can see in it. That’s close—now fill in the bubble with eddies and currents of those shifting colors and put yourself inside. That’s what it looks like.
So it was with some surprise I noted the area around me seemed solid and brightly glowing. With my eyes shifted into second-sight mode, I couldn’t see much past my fingertips through the intense magical fog. I was standing in it.
With considerable caution, I stepped out of the blackened area and well away from it; that seemed to be the center of the effect. After a bit of cautious analysis and experimentation, I discovered the whole area was much more alive than anything short of a creature had a right to be. It was like a lake of life energy without anything to generate it.
Ah. Life energy, indeed. The living flame that Tamara keeps summoning here…
With considerable trepidation, I reached out to the energies to send up a magical flare and let Tamara know I was here. I had intended a simple reddish-yellow ball to go up, hover a bit, and slowly drift back down. A signal. Nothing complicated.
I made an error, somewhere.
Energy
poured
through me like an opened floodgate. No, like air pouring through the hole in a rubber balloon. And the hole in a balloon keeps opening as the balloon
pops
…
I don’t know what effect my spell had; I was too busy being exploded, inflated, and seared to pay much attention. Every blood vessel I had was expanded to twice normal size and my blood set on fire. My nervous system had every fiber used like a high-voltage line.
I would probably have screamed if I could. I might have.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 1
ST
I
woke up in a sod house. It was dark, but not completely so. I was lying on a comfortable cot, wrapped in warm blankets. Firebrand was leaning against the wall by my head, in easy reach. There was a small table, two rough chairs, a chopping block with a basin, a freestanding cabinet of some sort, and a ladder that went to a half-attic above me. A woodstove provided heat and a bit of firelight through the grate. The window was shuttered, but let me know that what I was feeling was definitely sunset.
The sunset had woken me. Lucky for me, the window faced east. Aside from a prickly, unpleasant tingling, I felt alive and fine.
I burrowed down under the blankets more thoroughly and waited it out, wondering.
When it was finished, I threw back the blankets and stood up. A quick look around found some foodstuffs upstairs and a wooden chest. There was nobody in sight.
I sat down on the bed about the same time the door opened. Tamara came in, looked startled, and then smiled at me. Beyond her, I could see Bronze outside, looking in. Tamara came in and shut the door. She was wearing a dark skirt with a leather vest over a linen blouse. Her hair was tied back with a thong and she had a small basket of flowers and herbs, which she set down on the table.
“Good evening,” she said, still smiling at me. “Feeling better?”
“Much. What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” she replied, feeling my forehead. “You seem all right.”
“I came out to see you, actually. I sent up a flare and something went wrong.”
“Apparently. I noticed the flare. It was hard not to. Did you intend to attack clouds with it, or was that a part of what went wrong?”
“Um. I don’t know. I cast my spell and it felt like I was set on fire from the inside out. That’s the last I recall. Next time, I just stop by and knock.” That’ll teach me to call ahead…
She looked at me critically. “You sent up a column of fire that made me think that there was a new priestess in the world. I came immediately.”
World?
I thought.
“‘A new priestess in the
world?
’” I echoed.
She cocked her head to one side, regarding me. “Of course. I am the only one that survives of this generation. Perhaps, in another few years, another will be born and I will teach her.”
“Oh.” Again, I didn’t grow up here, so nobody sees fit to tell me these things. I hate that.
“You did not know?” she asked, curious.
“I didn’t even know about fire-witches until I met you.”
“Really?” She seemed slightly taken aback.
“How do you know that you’re, you know, the only one?”
“Mother says so.”
“Mother?”
“The goddess,” she clarified.
“Oh. Right. Sorry, I’m still not completely pulled together. But… well, how is that possible? I mean, wouldn’t there be fire-witches in, what is it, that southern kingdom, Kamshasa, or whatever it’s called?”
Tamara smiled slightly. “There are. But the Church—the Church with which you are so displeased—was once much greater than it is. Fractions of it, or factions of it, each worship the Light in their own way… and my way…” she trailed off.
“Is right?” I guessed.
“I hear the voice of the Mother,” she said, simply.
“And they hate that.”
She nodded. There’s nothing to inspire hatred like claiming to be right while everyone else is wrong. There are a couple of other religions that can testify to that.
“I’m sorry,” I offered.
She took a breath, let it out, and smiled. “Do not dwell on it. I will not.”
“Right. So. You found me. Do go on, please.”
“There is little else to tell. I found you lying in a charred circle with your horse standing over you, standing guard. She let me examine you. I could find nothing wrong, as such.”
“As such?” I echoed.
“You seemed to be far too bright, but that need not be wrong.”
“Bright?” I asked again, feeling like an echo canyon. I know I sounded stupid. I hate that.
“Inside. You were too alive. There was too much of the divine Fire inside you. Unguided, that could be bad; even a simple illness could prove deadly as it grows far more swiftly than it should. But you seemed healthy, so it did no harm. I vented much of it into the valley, to relieve the stress it placed on you. I also see your sword and your horse tend to absorb such things. A good portion of that power is yet within the metals.”
I glanced at Firebrand. I got the feeling it was smug. Then I realized what she’d said.
“You know that an illness is alive?” I asked, startled. Microbiology with medieval technology?
“Of course,” she replied. “Most illness of the body is caused by tiny lives, feeding on you and sapping your strength. Like mistletoe growing on a tree, really.”
“How do you know that?”
“I am a Priestess of the Flame,” she answered, primly. “I can see the colors of the living flame within you. How can I fail to see the dark red and deep orange against your own blaze?”
“It’s not really something I understand,” I said. “So I’m okay now, right?”
She looked me over again and froze.
There was a long silence while I waited. She just stared at me, eyes widening… and widening… her breath seemed to stop and she grew very pale, then she began to breathe rapidly and color came back into her face with a vengeance.
“Oh… certainly. Yes. You seem… quite strong.”
“Good. I need to be; Things are bothering me.” I didn’t press her. It also occurred to me I didn’t want her examining my inner living-ness too closely. I don’t know what I look like to a fire-witch’s vision, but I bet I look different at night. I needed to distract her, provided I wasn’t too late for that already.
“Ah, right to business,” she said. She turned away and busied herself at the counter. I got the feeling she was nervous or frightened. I think it was her body language. Her movements were a trifle too fast, a little too jerky. She started making tea. “Is it something that will keep for ten minutes?”
“Hmm. Probably.”
“Then it can wait for tea,” she replied, not turning around.
“Okay, but none for me, please. It doesn’t agree with me.”
“Of course. If there is anything you would like to drink? In moderation, of course…?”
“No, thank you.” I doubted she would contribute a pint from that pretty neck of hers.
“Very well.” She seemed slightly miffed. That boded ill; not accepting her hospitality didn’t strike me as a good idea. Pretty low on my list of Things To Do was to get her mad at me.
“However,” I added, “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for your help. Would you do me the honor of lunch, tomorrow?”
She turned to look at me again. She blinked at me for several seconds, thinking. “You want me to come into town and have lunch with you?”
I’m glad I can’t blush at night. “No, I know the Church has a thing about red hair,” I said, having been recently reminded. I can absorb new facts when they’re hammered through my skull. “How about I bring lunch with me and we can picnic?”
She cocked her head and looked thoughtful. “Why?”
I started to say something about how I had nothing better to do than have lunch with a pretty lady. But somewhere between brain and mouth, the words changed—and thank-you to whatever gods look out for fools.
“Truthfully, I don’t want you to feel upset with me for not accepting your hospitality. And to say thanks for helping me, both recently and in the near future.”
“Hmm. That’s fair enough, I suppose. I accept.”
“Then I’ll see to it. Your water is boiling.”
She made the tea and sat down at the little table to drink it. Lemon, no sugar. Ack.
“So what is it that brings you to consort with the high priestess of a pagan goddess?” she asked, sounding moderately amused.
“Demons.”
She set the cup down and looked at me seriously. “Summoning or banishing?”
“More of a hunting. Hunting
me
. I want them to stop.”
She arched a fine, reddish eyebrow and indicated I should continue.
I repeated my story about the devourer that tried to eat me, and she nodded intermittently.
“I see your difficulty,” she replied. “What do you wish of me?”
“Ideally, I’d like you to make them stop. I’ll settle for anything you can tell me about demons, their summoner, and how to get rid of either. Preferably both.”
We talked about that for quite some time. In short form, this is what I learned about Tamara’s perspective:
The Mother is the sun; this is her predominant aspect, the goddess of life. She has another aspect, the Grey Lady, in the moon. In that aspect, She is the goddess of those who are nearing the end of their lives, as well as those whose bodies have died. This is the face the Mother wears when she’s going to do something that isn’t necessarily what most people would call nice. It’s the “tough love” face. She is also known as the Guide, but we didn’t go into why.
The Grey Lady also has associations with nightlords. The present Church would have it that nightlords are all evil fiends and unholy creatures of the darkness. According to Tamara, those are the
marivel
. Nightlords are supposed to be more like Valkyrie. They are the hands and fingers of the Grey Lady, finding those who need to die—whether because they desperately want to or because even Mom won’t let them live—and seeing to it that it happens. Antibodies in the body of the world, eating anything that gets out of line. Metaphysical cops. Supernatural enforcers.
There is another deity in this pantheon, however, referred to as the Dark One, or the Father of Darkness. He is in charge of cold, entropy, the dark, and all empty things. He is a characteristically male deity, with a tendency toward warfare, bloodshed, destruction, and death.
Mom is the warmly nurturing deity (with Her occasional savagery when necessary) while Dad appears to be the brutal, abusive father people tend to want to horsewhip. Between the two exist the whole spectrum of Their children—everything that lives.
Dad, being the faithless piece of dirt that He is, has had more offspring than just the ones by Mom; He has created Things on His own as well as through incestuous relations with the living things of the world.
The ones He created are the demons. They have none of the divine Fire of the Mother, just a dark, empty, brooding hunger, or a cold blaze of dark fire in the more powerful ones.
The second, the get of darkness and of living things, are significantly less pleasant than their mothers. Examples include
marivel
(surprise!), dragons, basilisks, cockatrices, minotaurs, trolls, and all manner of other unclean things—all of them inimical, hostile, dangerous, and carnivorous.
As for dealing with demons, there are too many shapes and sizes to describe; they hate fire and light of all sorts. They also slip away between the boundaries of the worlds with ease, returning to the outer darkness before dawn; they cannot endure the gaze of the Mother—that is, sunlight. The most powerful of them can remain in the world through the daytime, but they must not encounter direct sunlight lest they burst into flame and be obliterated. But none of them can enter this world unassisted. Since the world is a joint creation of Mom and Dad, Mom won’t unlock the door. They have to have something to provide that sort of implied permission from Mom; someone with a spark of the divine Fire must help. That is, one of Mom’s kids has to unlock the door before a Thing can come in the house.
As for finding out who that idiot was, only the Thing would know. They are lying, deceptive, and brutal; getting a straight answer out of one is like doing engineering drawings with a noodle for a T-square and a pretzel for a triangle.
“So I’m going to have to wait until someone tries to kill me again?” I asked.
“It would seem so. Unless you wish to call up one of those dark brethren and interrogate it?”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Wise,” she observed, nodding. “I cannot say this is a good thing, but it does seem the laws of the Church are weakening.”
“Yeah, that is good news for you, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “I dislike being condemned.”
“I’m not fond of being hunted. Tell you what; you don’t get grabbed by the Hand and I’ll try to keep from being eaten by demons. Fair?”
She chuckled. “I will make the attempt, surely.”
“Excellent! I think you’ve been a great help; I may not be better equipped to cope with demonic things, but at least I feel less completely ignorant.”
“I’m happy to have helped,” she replied, smiling.
“Well,” I said, rising, “I thank you for your help. If you will excuse me, I’ll be going.”