A Devil's Bargain

Polished 3.1 to 3.4 — 36m00s — 2023/12/10

Polished 3.5 — 17m08s — 2023/12/11

There is another side

that is not often seen—

and yet it is always here with us.

With ghosts and spirits

and apparitions of all different sorts—

and not much better than men

—The Book of Odim Kalodim, author unknown

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 3.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Celesi glanced at Toar. She insisted on walking next to him as they followed Apulton and Andrus through the crowded streets of Ebertin. When there was a break between the trees and houses, she could see Lake Kundilae, and so she assumed they were in Edgewater—or near to it—and thereby fast approaching their destination.

Celesi gaped at the crowds on the street, shocked to see so many of her people wandering free, as if there was no war at all. At once, she was glad that so many of her cousins would go where they may—and yet, disappointed to see so many of them with petulant scowls upon their faces. Were they oblivious to their freedom? Or perhaps bothered by it? Then, after spotting yet another Degorouth patrol with several Ministrian advisors at their head, she wondered if perhaps they were not as free as she suspected. Still, it'd been a long time since Celesi was around so many of her own kind, and her heart was glad for that alone.

As they walked, her conflicted emotions only increased. Celesi sensed a distance between herself and the people of Ebertin. She didn’t know them, and none of them knew her. Indeed, she found herself wondering what had happened to all the people of her old life? Did any of her old neighbors and friends evade the sneaky Ministrians, and their Degorouth collaborators? Was there anyone she knew in the city of Ebertin? Might she run into anyone from the old village—or any of its tiny neighbors?

The crowds continued on and on, and Celesi realized anyone she knew would be lost in this sea of strangers. She had to accept that all of her old relationships were lost to her. Her old life was gone. She did not know anyone anymore—except for a handful of new acquaintances. After that, there were only her enemies. Indeed, after a year of captivity, was it possible that she was a touch too Ministrian for her people?

A lump formed in her throat as she remembered what it was to be a Jay. There were many levels to the Order, and she was the lowest among them. Her sisters, Alise and Karamina, made a point of reminding her of that—and frequently. To be the lowest of the Jays meant that she shared in all the niceties of her sisters profession; an appreciation for the arts, lessons in cooking, manners, and the like. In ways, she was well educated—after a fashion. They were even so liberal that they allowed her to keep a personal journal—though she caught both Karamina and Meriona poking about its contents. Celesi adjusted her words accordingly. She never caught Alise in her notes—but then, Alice was a sly one and not often caught at such mayhem.

As a foreigner, and held in such low regard, Celesi had little understanding or access to the political cloak and dagger that seemed to dominate the Order’s true work. Admittedly, she never wanted to be a part of the Jays anyway and had simply resigned herself to such a life. At least she was young and beautiful, so she was not kept with the other slaves.

And how long could she expect her privilege to last? How long could she expect her good looks to hold out, especially among such an ugly people? She longed for escape.

For too long, Celesi was low on fight. After her village was ransacked and her friends and family rounded up and taken to the Invader’s Fort, she managed to evade the supposed Saot marauders—which were actually the blended forces of Minist, Wibbeley, and Ebertin—for over eight months. Not to mention all the bugbear. But the ordeal took its toll. Thin and emaciated, she was finally caught trying to fish a proper dinner out of a half frozen creek—and wailing like a banshee as lack and frustration took their toll. Her captors found her at the edge of the stream; frightened, starved, freezing—and nearly out of her mind—as she screamed about her bloody torments. Indeed, the soldiers secured her capture with a bit of sweet liquor, some hard tack, and the offer of a thick blanket.

At the Invader’s Fort, Meriona took an interest in her. Celesi complied and allowed the Jay to give her the ‘rudiments of a proper education’. Despite the occasional insult, Celesi was thankful to Meriona. With the lady looking over her, she missed few meals and had a warm bed. Yet, Celesi soon realized her situation had its own perils. Indeed, Meriona was quite open about her plans for Celesi, and explained quite pragmatically how she expected the Trohl to handle the various embarrassments and inequities that approached her. The senior Jay revealed that she had recently returned from selling her last prodigy: another native girl of uncommon beauty—and claimed that the lady had even thanked her and hugged her for making such a fine match! Indeed, Celesi would soon be a concubine to some man of position, her virginity sold to the highest bidder, and her person hid deep within some palace grounds, behind curtains of lace and intrigue. But before she could be sold, she had to be trained in the niceties of Baradha society.

Still weak from running and hiding in the wilderness, Celesi allowed Meriona to do as she wanted. Celesi saw how the other slaves were treated, often abused for minor and imaginary offenses. She knew in many ways she had it good. She went along and built her strength as she studied her enemies. She made no attempt to escape—in part because she had no where to go. Her family was gone; dead, or sold down river. Even before Celesi arrived at the fort, they were all gone. When she was first captured, she thought that at least she’d see her family again—but there were very few of her neighbors left in the slave pens, and none that she knew too well—all among a great congregation of strangers.

Although her body healed, her heart suffered. To dull the pain, Celesi focused on the slanted education she was afforded and clung to what was useful; learning the language, the customs, the habits of her enemies. So what if her life was hollow? At least it was comfortable. After surviving all on her own and quite exposed to the elements, It was a grand thing to have a sturdy roof over her head and others to talk to.

There was no point in fighting. Celesi’s captors had already won and could only make her life more of a living hell. Instead, she grew complacent, grew accustomed to the occasional pins and barbs delivered by her senior sisters. A date was set for her departure to Tikatis, where Meriona would parade her among the Baradha. The months slipped by. Celesi wondered if perhaps she’d squandered her opportunity of escape.

Then, only a week from the day she was to go west, the duke appeared in their house—and everything changed! Karamina and Alise went east with the duke. The very next day, Celesi found herself following!—as a war of bugbear attacked the fort.

East!

Toward her people!

And away from those that would buy and sell her!

And that was not even the last of her shocks! A week after that, a rock smashed through the dome of the Great Court and killed the mighty judge, Kezodel. In the mayhem, Celesi found the courage to stand up to Meriona—and just like that the young Trohl girl was free—as free as the day was long! Now she couldn’t help but grin as she wandered the streets of Ebertin; among thousands, perhaps a million of her own people—and with a handsome and dour man next to her!

Celesi glanced again at Toar and fancied that the young explorer would make a fine anchor for her new life—a free life! All she had to do was win him over.

“They move around as if nothing has changed," Celesi wondered aloud as she glanced at the crowd. "Is it possible that such a lord should die, and the people won't even know it?" She said of Kezodel.

“There's not much talking in this city,” Andrus, the younger of the two Jindleyak, replied. “Anything beside the official story must travel in furtive whispers. There are plenty of Degorouth and Ministrian spies in the city, and they don’t take kindly to gossip.”

Apulton shook his head in disagreement. “The secret is out,” he argued. “Nothing stops the rumor mill. Indeed, when people appear quiet is usually when it is doing it’s best work.”

“For many of them, it won’t matter,” Toar interjected. “Even if they know, they’ll assume the new leader is just as bad as the last—and likely as not, they’re right.”

“But the shaman promised a new day,” Celesi replied.

“And who is he to know the future?” Toar shook his head. “That’s just the hyperbole of a holy man; a best guess, a wild hope.”

“Will there be fighting?” Celesi asked.

“The Degorouth are bitter and petty,” Apulton noted. “They’ll bloody somebody.”

“They're a rotten bunch,” Andrus agreed. “The Degorouth will take their frustrations out on someone—once they get over the initial shock of it all. Likely, there’s fighting already—somewhere in the city.”

“Do you think they'll maintain power?” Celesi asked.

“Without Kezodel?” Andrus shrugged. “With him in the lead, I'd say they were likely to break Ebertin—eventually. She's a tough egg, but Kezodel was something else. Among the various sychphants and lickspittles that groveled at his feet—it is hard to say if any of them are worth their salt—but then, I haven't paid too much attention. I didn't see a reason. I assumed Kezodel would stay in command for another fifty years,” he admitted.

Apulton nodded. “I wonder what talent there is among those other muckety-mucks. Indeed, we all heard the priestess yelling, 'you will be swept aside!' and what not. So who knows? Maybe it is a new day for Ebertin."

“Perhaps the loss of their leader will be enough to shake the parasites,” Celesi noted. “The people deserve better.”

“Do they?” Toar wondered aloud.

“I fear we shall not get to see it, even if we should like,” Apulton stated. “I think Traust will see us all go home.”

Celesi stared at the man. “You would stay? Even with all the coming troubles?” she asked.

“Because of the coming troubles,” Apulton grinned. “I cannot be of help if I am somewhere else. Besides, these troubles will not affect us as much as these others. Our home is in Hearthstone, and we are supported from there. No matter how dire it gets, we are more insulated than most,” he noted. “And what of you two? Do you wish to go east with this Saot lord?”

“What do I know of this town?” Celesi hedged. “What of you, Toar? Would you stay in Ebertin?”

Toar shook his head. “I am not taken with this city. Not in the least. I am all too happy to serve the duke.”

“Didn't you grow up here?” Celesi asked.

“Not altogether,” Toar answered. “I did grow up among the Degorouth, but I should not like to be near them at all.”

“How is it that Kezodel knew you?” Celesi asked—a question that piqued both Apulton and Andrus—as they were not in the main audience hall as Kezodel spoke to Toar. They did not hear the brief, yet familiar exchange between the two.

“I was raised in Kezodel's house,” Toar told them. “I was about Claiten’s age when I escaped.”

Well?” Celesi said as Toar went silent. “Continue,” she half-commanded.

Toar shrugged, then chose his words carefully. “Several of Kezodel’s men had kidnapped the daughter of a political rival. She was young and fetching, so they gave her to the judge as a gift. For her part, the girl only wanted to go home. Some of the ladies of Kezodel’s harem colluded to help the girl. A few were genuinely concerned for the child—though many were simply jealous of a new rival. I was young and petulant at the time. I was often in trouble. Yet, I was trusted by many, as I preferred to keep secrets. So it was that I was enlisted to help this girl escape, to go with her, and help her find her people. The plan worked.

“As good as it was for me, it was bad for Kezodel. Her family was rich and well-connected. When it came to light that Kezodel was behind the kidnapping, it was too much for the judge, and he was chased from his position. The locals rousted him and drove him to Ebertin,” he shook his head. “For years, it seemed the judge was forever out of our lives—except that he managed to take over the capital, and thereby the entire tribe,” Toar continued. ”Then, with the help of his Ministiran allies, he began to ruin the western settlements and slowly sold the people off as slaves,” he added with a sordid tone. “Sometimes, I fear my actions led to Kezodel taking power in Ebertin. If I had not escaped, if he was not confronted by his enemies and driven away; might he still be the judge to some backwater county? I think he’d be unable to ruin a whole tribe of Trohl if he were still in Cedarvil.”

“And who is to say he wouldn't have taken Ebertin over that much quicker if you hadn't contributed to this downfall?” Celesi replied.

“Besides, he has not spoiled the Bouge,” Apulton added. “Not completely.”

“Perhaps,” Toar shrugged. “Yet, the Bouge are not as they claim. I’ve always wondered how we can call ourselves part of the Freelands when so many of us are born to slavery. The doublespeak of our leaders is disingenuous at best.”

“Even among the Freelands, few are truly free, and most are willfully blind,” Apulton noted. “It keeps them from the discomfort of having to make their own decisions.”

“Is Hearthstone not free?” Celesi wondered.

“It is for the most part,” Apulton muttered. “For now.”

“What is this?!” Celesi asked. “I thought Hearthstone was the most beautiful city in the world!"

“It is!” Andrus replied. “But there is no place in the world that is safe from the ruinous effects of stupidity. Even among the Jindleyak, there are those that advocate for their own slavery.”

“I imagine there is no city without its troubles,” Toar said.

“And it seems that most of ours come from Gramgoar,” Apulton complained. He turned to Celesi. “Now that you know it, do you still prefer to go to Hearthstone; or might you like to stay here in Ebertin?”

“This is the greatest of all Trohl cities,” Apulton added with a smile.

Andrus snorted. “It is merely the largest. It is in no way the greatest.”

“Being the largest makes it the greatest,” Apulton explained. “Now shush. We have asked the lady a question, and I for one should like to have an answer.”

“I am not attached to Ebertin,” Celesi began with a shrug. “I know nothing of it, and if there will soon be fighting, I'd just as well go elsewhere.”

“Ebertin is a vast city,” Apulton noted. “I should think there will be fires—and most people won't see them. There will be fighting in the streets—and most people won't hear it. A new order will establish itself—and half the populace will never look up from their daily doings long enough to notice.”

“It is not my home,” Celesi continued. “My home is gone, and my family with it. The only people I know plan to move on, and I wish to go with them,” she smiled at Toar. At once, she hoped she did not betray her interest in the young man—and yet she wondered how was it possible that he had not noticed her attentions?! She thought perhaps it was the stress of their situation—but stress brought it out of so many others! It certainly seemed to get his Saot friend, the tea-drinker, with the lustful eye. Of course, that man gave the priestess the same look, and even looked at Meriona with want, the lout!

But then, what did Celesi know of men? The good men she knew before were all several years in the grave, or slaves in a foreign land. Oh but don't think of your father, she told herself. Instead, think of your newfound freedom! Think of the handsome man at your side! Such thoughts will keep the tears away, she noted, as she wiped the gathering moisture from her eyes. I am free! Free in the Freelands! Think on that! She told herself as she followed the others through Edgewater.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 3.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Aim carried the injured and unconscious Krumpus as the members of the Oak and Beast militia led Creigal and his Saot guards through the dark corridors of Beletrain—but they did not walk alone. A host of ethereal creatures, beings of radiant light and love, swirled in the air about the shaman—all but invisible to the others. The meteor that destroyed the Great Court and crushed Kezodel had sent tremors throughout the area, and made many things uneasy—but despite their restlessness, the beasts of the dark shrank and shivered from these angelic guards as the party passed. Indeed, even a priest of the naga attended in astral form, and warned away several of his own race, for under no circumstances were these trespassers to be disturbed.

Thanks to her venom, Meu was connected to the shaman's mind, and since he could see these creatures, she could also see them. And what a sight they were! They were the most beautiful beings Meu had ever encountered! They were perfect in their manifest forms with brilliant eyes, pristine smiles, and elegant dress—for those that cared to wear clothes. The love and power that radiated from these beings was pure and beyond measure!

Several of the attendant spirits were human, though several had evolved into higher forms and wore wings of light. There was a high dragon, and a couple of his lesser cousins crowding in from the edges. There were several burly dwarves, and a naga with a long flat tail and stick-thin arms. There were also a couple of Meu’s own cousins, though their coloring was strange to her. Their wings were dark, nearly black, and their bodies were marbled from the deepest crimson red to the softest golden yellow, with every shade in between. Their eyes were a striking amber, streaked with hazel and a brown that verged on black. Meu had never seen, never even heard of such coloring, which made her wonder if they were even from this world—or were they possibly from another?

After that, there were a number more of the crowd too weird for the wyrm to even name—though she might hazard a guess or two. One she thought could be an elf—though it looked more like a weird chopped tree. Another could be a warhorse—or a nightmare—as some might call them. Yet, there were a handful more for which she had no names, of types that she could barely describe for their strangeness.

Caught in the ecstasy of the shaman's visions, Meu couldn’t contain herself. She shifted into her winged form, then flew up and up, as she studied this heavenly council from behind the shaman’s eyes. She rose into the sky above Ebertin and spun in exuberant spirals as she spied on the shaman and his visitors. She basked in their magics as she swam in the cool breeze above the clouds. The sun glared down from its zenith, and Meu danced in its rays—yet, despite its incredible heat and light, the sun could hardly compete for the wyrm's attention. Her amazement swelled as she beat her wings and climbed higher and higher into thin air.

Despite the burns Krumpus suffered from the meteor’s lightning, Meu knew he’d be okay. Indeed, once he healed, she suspected he’d be more potent than ever, as he was touched by the strange magics of his ethereal visitors. But the shaman wasn't the only one to benefit. Meu could feel her own understanding and abilities stretch. She marveled at what she witnessed, baffled that such potent magics were not only possible, but seemingly simple! She realized many of her own magics were overly difficult and complicated in the manner she used them, made so by her own fear and uncertainty. The magics of these creatures seemed boundless in the various ways in which they grew and branched. She drew a number of valuable secrets from their words and thoughts, from their songs and dance. Yet, Meu knew there was a good deal she was missing—as the creatures tailored their words and actions to the shaman’s needs—and not her own.

Meu climbed higher and higher, and the city shrank below. Ebertin dwindled and the far shore of Lake Kundilae crept into view. She wheeled as excitement and strength poured through her, as the conversation between Krumpus and these holy others raced on and on. She would have sworn that weeks or months had past—if it wasn’t for the slow march of the ever present sun. Could it really be that only a few hours had passed since all this began?!

Suddenly, the angelic council spoke no more. In their silence, they simply stared at the shaman and waited, expectantly.

No, Meu realized as a nervous surge ran through her. They were not staring at Krumpus whatsoever. This host of incredible beings looked through the shaman and observed the one attached to his mind. They stared at Meu!

She was discovered!

Her heart skipped a beat. Meu leveled out and spiraled in a lazy glide as she accepted the fact that she was known. She wondered what her punishment would be as she hoped these creatures would not turn terrible and destroy her for her trespass. She was sure they could. She only hoped that her destruction would be immediate.

But there would be no punishment, one of her wyrm cousins explained. Indeed, many of them recognized she was there from the start. How could it be otherwise? But it is not you alone, the distant cousin noted. You have brought another. Do you not hear her?

For several seconds, Meu hung in the air, unsure of what he spoke. Then, in a forgotten corner of her mind, she heard Wenifas plead and beg for rescue as she stumbled about in the darkness under Ebertin.

Wenifas!

Meu had forgotten and ignored the priestess—and now her friend was in danger once more! Meu’s heart lurched. I am here! She called to her friend.

With a rush of relief, Wenifas told the wyrm what had happened to the Lady Yandira. Despite close proximity to soldiers all her life, Wenifas rarely witnessed such open and immediate violence. She was used to the creeping secretive malevolence of the Corpus, hidden by the thick canvas of her own tent, justified by custom and rite. It was the violence of a dark night—fists and feet, bites and bruises—strains, sprains, and all sorts of various pains. But there was rarely much blood. Not with the Lady Yandira. They’d murdered her—and not just by some unknown thug—but Gliedian was the one that did it!

The commentary stopped. Wenifas heard Scurra curse as she threw her weight backward, then rolled away, and lost her torch—though she managed to catch her feet. With a hoarse cry, Elpis turned to confront the terror that lurked at the edge of the darkness. The priestess also turned and saw a mallet flash out of the shadows and smash at Elpis. The mace crushed against the handle of his axe, and since he only had one hand to wield his weapon, the handle of his own axe was forced back into the Jindleyak’s face. With an “oof!” he crumbled to the floor.

Wenifas screamed a bloody wail that filled the dark. Next to her, Claiten waved the last of their torches. He yelled his defiance at the strange beast before them. It had long skinny arms, a wide flat tail, and bluish scales all about.

A naga!

But this naga was not a kind and caring specimen, as was the one that attended Krumpus. This beast had dark, malevolent eyes; and a heavy mace in hand. Claiten swung his torch at the beast—but the creature brushed it aside—and the boy also. The torch fell and was dashed on the brick flooring.

“Claiten!” Wenifas called as her boy tumbled into the darkness. She reached for her child—but the beast grabbed her face and shoved her into the brick of the wall. A rude pain shot through her head as she bounced off the structure, and for a split second, her mind went black. She crumbled. By instinct alone she cushioned Evereste as she fell to the ground.

As this violence occurred, Krumpus spoke to Meu. I cannot return yet, he told her. My body is weak, and my spirit is not yet prepared. Will you go and do what you can do to help her?

What can I do?! Meu thought to ask. Is this not already over?! Yet, as she spoke, a resolve filled the wyrm, and she vowed to do what she could. She pulled in her wings and dove. Wind rushed over her form as she raced for the ground.

As she raced, Meu called to the priestess. In the dark, Wenifas regained consciousness—only to hear the sorry song of Evereste, as the toddler howled. Shocked awake, Wenifas sat up and screamed as the naga tugged at her crying babe.

Panic caught in Meu. She knew she’d never make it in time. She fanned her wings and halted her dramatic descent, as fear and impotent rage surged through her. She screamed at Krumpus and his heavenly council. Do something! She begged them. Do anything! Please! Please save her!

All eyes turned to the shaman. It was for him alone. The shaman stared into the mind of Meu, and through it, into the mind of Wenifas. His thoughts burned as they caught hold of the woozy priestess. He traveled back in time and made her insist on taking his cloak. Then he returned to the present, and with her permission, he took control of her hand and grabbed an innocuous little object tucked among the many folds in a secret pocket; a thing of paper, flint, and Gaurrish black powder. She wrapped her hand about it; then, not knowing what it was, Wenifas thrust it at her attacker.

Let go! The shaman commanded—but the priestess wanted to make sure the object worked, so she pressed it against the naga’s face.

Light and heat exploded from the flash bomb. The beast roared and dropped the screaming babe. Wenifas smothered the flames that danced upon her hand in the rough cloth of the shaman’s cloak, and with her free hand, she pulled Evereste to her bosom. Evereste squealed with delight to see the flames, and proceeded to grab at her mother’s burned hand.

Yet, Wenifas was not the only one burned. Peels of agony ripped from the naga as it retreated. The cries ended as the creature dove into an aqueduct at the far end of the dark room.

She still needs you, Krumpus told Meu as he peered back through her thoughts.

I will go to her, Meu replied.

You must, Krumpus smiled—then the smile took on a contrite air as the shaman continued to speak. I am sorry but we are distracting you from what must be done, he told her. His thoughts became overwhelming. At the point of his brow, a spark grew into a flame, which became a raging fire in Meu’s mind—and as it burned, a strange thing happened to the wyrm that she had never experienced before. The connection between her mind and the mind of the shaman was severed!

For several seconds, Meu wheeled in slow circles far above the city as she tried to understand how this had happened. She’d never met someone who could prematurely sever the telepathic connection of her venom. It always took its natural course and lasted as long as it lasted. Indeed, she could not end it early but always had to wait it out. How did the shaman do such a thing?!

The last words of Krumpus echoed through her head. She still needs you. But it wasn’t just her connection to the shaman that was severed. It was also her connection to the priestess. Resolved to find her friend anyway, Meu tucked her wings and dove toward the earth.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 3.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Scurra brought up the van as she followed Elpis and the foreign priestess through the shifting dark of Beletrain. One moment everything was fine, then a curious scrape caught her ear, and instinct took over. She pulled up and leaned away from the sound, just as the head of a long mallet punched out of the darkness and rebounded off the ancient brick of the wall. If she had not moved, the weapon would have smeared her brains against the stones!

“What…?” Wenifas began as she turned back to the militia woman.

Scurra pulled her knife and turned on the strange fish/snake/man amalgamation that lurched out of the shadows. She struck below its guard, and cut across its form—but did not penetrate the beast’s thick leather armor.

Again, the heavy mallet crashed at Scurra. She flung herself back to avoid the strike, but lost her balance, and wheeled away, out of control. The mallet clipped the end of her torch and showered the scene in a thousand sparks, which fell to the ground and disappeared. Trying to regain her balance, Scurra stumbled several steps into the darkness, caught an edge, and flopped onto the hard tile floor.

The beast did not pursue her. Instead, it turned on the others. Elpis gave a yell and interceded between the naga and Wenifas. With only one good arm, he was forced to drop his torch, so he might raise his axe instead. The beast stood tall on its thick tail and smashed at the man with its mallet. Elpis caught the blow—but the strike carried such force—and he had just one arm to brace his axe. He could not properly block the strike. The shaft of his own weapon slammed back and smashed his face. The militiaman crumbled from the force of the blow.

The naga turned on Wenifas. She screamed and clutched her babies as she tried to dodge aside.

With a yell, Claiten pulled his hand from his mom, and swung his torch at the naga. The naga brushed the torch aside and pushed the boy past him. The boy lost the torch and sprawled on the ground.

The naga turned to the priestess, and since she did not present a weapon, it lowered the mallet. Wenifas tried to dodge past him—but the creature pushed her head into the brick wall. Stars erupted in her vision. She crumbled. Her only thought was to cushion her babe as she fell.

Wenifas blinked away the pain as Evereste shrieked in her ear. The naga pulled at her child. Rage and defiance burned through the priestess as she felt her babe slipping away from her—and then a cold and calculating presence infused the priestess. Clear as a bell, she felt the reassuring mind of Krumpus ring through her head. With a smile, he guided her hand as she reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled what felt like sand wrapped in paper from a hidden pocket. With a scream, she shoved the packet in the beast’s face—though Krumpus urged her to let it go.

Heat and light exploded from her hand. A searing fire ripped at her fingers and palm—but she was not the only one that got burned. The beast roared in agony as she pressed the fire into its face. The naga let go of her baby, that it might cradle its own face, then retreated into the darkness.

Wenifas thumped her hand against the shaman's thick cloak and managed to put out the fire. With her good hand, she reeled Evereste in and held her child close. She checked the babe for signs of distress. Thankfully, Evereste stopped her screaming, since she no longer suffered the tug of the beast, and since there was such an attractive dazzle of light and heat. The child had gasped and cooed at the flame, then settled as she was pressed into her mother.

Somewhere at the far end of the room, Wenifas could hear the beast, as it scurried away. Only as it slipped into an aqueduct did she realize that the monster was dragging something as it escaped. A chill came over her as she cried her other child’s name, “Claiten!”

From out of the darkness there was no reply.

“Sweet Jeiju,” Scurra muttered. “That beast came out of nowhere…"

Elpis gave a weak croak as he slowly propped himself against the wall.

"At least we drove it off," Scurra noted. She struck her knife against a flint. Sparks gave the darkness dimension. Able to see once more, Scurra stared at the priestess. “So you found one of my brother’s flash bombs, but how did you know what it was?”

“I didn’t,” Wenifas admitted. “I burnt the crap out of my hand!” she cried.

“He never did teach me how to make ‘em, but then, I never saw the utility,” Scurra stated as she ripped her shirt and gently wrapped the injured hand. “Next time be careful when playing with my brother’s toys?”

“I had to do something!” Wenifas bawled.

“You did great,” Scurra kissed the lady’s forehead, then huffed. “So much for never seeing nagas. Damn thing moved quick!” She raised her torch and assessed the scene. “Holy Tronde, Elpis! How much more bleeding do you mean to do?!”

Elpis snorted and tried to wave her off as she examined his bloody face. With a muttered curse, Scurra helped him to his feet. She gave him his torch and lit it with her own.

"There," Scurra smiled then attempted to give the last torch to the priestess.

Wenifas closed her fingers around the torch, then sucked her breath and dropped it. “I cannot hold it,” she held out her burned hand. She cursed and kicked the dropped torch, and sent it rolling into the dark.

“Well, we should have enough light,” Scurra replied. “Where’s the boy?” She glanced about the room.

“That beast took him!” Wenifas cried. “It took him, and I didn’t do anything to stop it!”

“And what could you have done?” Scurra gathered the crumbling woman into her arms. “Shshsh…” she comforted the foreign woman. “You did everything you could. It’s not your fault.”

“You’re the only reason any of us are alive,” Elpis noted. “And if we don’t leave, we might not live much longer.”

“Can’t we search for him?!” Wenifas asked.

Elpis shook his head. “People that go searching in these caverns don’t often come back. There is no end to the number of traps and dangers down too many of these passages.” He put a light hand on her arm.

“No!” The priestess whirled on him and glared. “You coward!” she snapped.

Elpis stared back at her, pale and drawn, blood mingling with his tears as they dripped down his face. He hanged his head, already defeated. “If we go after your boy, we will lose ourselves, and we will lose your daughter too,” he noted. “We’ve all lost today. Let’s not lose anymore.” He wiped his face, then turned, and hobbled away.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 3.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Meu spotted clothes hanging on a line and swooped into the yard. She shifted into human form, grabbed a thin sundress, and let herself out by the gate. Still barefoot, she made for a nearby market.

She knew that Wenifas and her companions were somewhere under the city, among the tunnels of ancient Beletrain. All she had to do was find the nearest entrance. How difficult can that be? She thought, brimming with courage and confidence.

Meu stepped into an eatery and sidled up to the bar. It was a fine place with fancy decoration and a gallant air. The barkeep stared at her for a full second before he thought to approach. He closed his mouth and formed it into a smile as he stepped close. "Welcome to the Fatted Calf,” he began. “Would you like to hear what Branson has made in the back? Or maybe you’d just like a drink on this warm summer’s day?” he asked, a chipper and amiable fellow indeed.

Meu did not speak. She found human language difficult to mimic and could never make the sounds to her own satisfaction. She thought to lick her lips and use her venom, but decided to try a trick used by several of the shaman’s council instead. She leaned toward the bartender and stared into his eyes.

After a long second, the barkeep leaned back and shook his head with a tsk. "Beletrain ain’t no place for a lady! Let me get you a tonic and a dram of my finest gin! Then, perhaps one of these strong men will regale you with the misfortunes of Beletrain—that bitch of a hole!"

With a frown, Meu shook her head. She gave a pleading nod as she continued to stare.

“So be it,” the barkeep shrugged. He leaned close and whispered low. "Two blocks down and one block over, there’s a tanner. He’s almost as mean as the naga—but for the right price, he'll let you into that snake pit. I tell you, miss, you don't want to go down into ol' Beletrain. It's a nasty nest of slow and painful death,” he shook his head. “Or maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll only lose a limb,” he whispered as he pointed to the end of the bar—where a man leaned over a drink with one arm.

Touched by his concern, Meu pulled the barkeep close and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"You pay with the finest coin!" the barkeep blushed. "Before you go, take this refresher," he lifted a bottle from under the counter and set it before Meu. "Please take it, so that I might beg more payment; another kiss to lighten the other cheek?" he said with a wink.

Meu returned the wink, took his face in her hands and obliged, then turned and ran out of the bar. Still barefoot, she ran until she found the tanner's door, then banged against it repeatedly, as she held the dram of tonic.

"Keep yer pants on!" a gruff and irritable voice roared from the other side of the barrier. Meu stopped banging. Seconds later, the door ripped open. The disheveled face of a large and angry man glared at Meu. “Where’s the fire?!" snapped the tanner.

Meu gave him a beguiling smile. She stared at the tanner the way she stared at the barkeep, that he might read her intent.

“Beletrain?!” The tanner recoiled with a snort. “In a sundress?!” He stared her up and down. “You ain’t got no shoes! Don’t even got a knife!” he roared. “You won’t last an hour!"

Still, she stared at him.

The tanner huffed and shook his head. “It's your funeral—but I don't unlock that cage for less than a lune!“

She held up the bottle.

“What’s that?! Water?!” he snorted.

Meu frowned. She had no coin. Of the three purses she took from Fedring; Wenifas had one, Claiten had another, and the last was with Krumpus.

Not that it mattered. There was more than one way to purchase a thing—and this tanner seemed the type to take advantage. She touched the collar of her dress, pulled it down to expose more skin, and gave the man a suggestive look.

The tanner snorted as he looked her over. His mouth twisted into a wicked grin and he pulled the door wide open. "I do like the looks of you!" He said as he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the shop.

The tanner whipped Meu into the room and slapped her ass as she wheeled past him. She braced herself for impact against a table full of an indescribable accumulation of junk and dross piled high on its rough and dirty surface. As she slowed to a halt and regained her balance, Meu glanced about the dingy quarters. Thin paths cut between massive jumbles of clutter and build up. What a mess!

The gruff tanner swiped at the door and it banged shut with a violent shudder. Several objects fell from their precarious perches and clattered to the floor. The greasy man turned on Meu expectantly as he blocked the door. She'd made the offer and now he meant to collect.

Meu hesitated—which turned out to be a mistake. The tanner rushed forward, grabbed at the front of her dress, and almost yanked her off her feet. "No need for clothes!" He roared with the rancid smell of how many meals still on his breath?

Instead of resisting, Meu lunged at the tanner with a lusty look, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She didn’t believe she could possibly convince him with just her eyes. She needed in close, and quickly, before he had time to do any real damage. Wrapping herself about him, she buried her face in his neck and planted her teeth.

With a yell, the tanner threw her off. Meu landed heavily on a table and tumbled to the floor amid a clatter of mess. The tanner charged her as she stood. He wrapped his meaty fist about her neck. “You bitch!” he roared as he touched at the blood that dripped from her bite.

Meu jerked and grappled with the tanner—though she could not keep him off. Her breath caught, and for a split second, she wondered if she’d miscalculated—then fetid thoughts of violent sex poured into her head. He didn’t care if she was dead or alive, so long as she stopped her struggle. Her world began to spin, and if it wasn’t for the rough tanner holding her up, she would have crumbled to the floor. With her mind reeling, and the darkness overcoming her, she commanded him to release her.

The tanner's eyes went wide as he realized he was no longer in control of his own body. He thought to back away—and Meu allowed it as she settled wobbly on her own two feet. She blinked and coughed, as he stood several steps away from her, unable to move.

In full control of both their bodies, Meu spoke in the tanner’s head. I take back my invitation, she said. I apologize for the ruse, but you must let me into Beletrain all the same.

Unable to resist, the tanner turned, and led her into a dingy basement. The rest of his dwelling proved to be just as cluttered and messy as the workshop.

There were several barriers that had to be unlocked and removed in order to get into Beletrain. There were massive chains and locks, even multiple doors to open—and when the tanner was finished, there was simply a dark corridor with nothing beyond it—just a sucking void of pitch black stale air.

"I won't let you back up," the tanner snapped.

You'll do whatever I ask you to do, Meu replied as she ran a hand down the gruff man’s cheek. She gave him a slap and the man flinched from her. I admit I never meant to sleep with you, she continued. And normally I would return the insult and injury you meant for me. In his mind, the tanner saw the punishment Meu thought appropriate. He saw himself turn and run headlong into the brick wall behind him. Such a blow would surely knock him out—if it didn’t have more permanent effects. However, I am blessed today, Meu continued. I will not sully the grace I am given. Go. She ordered him. Go upstairs, and use your vicious anger to scrub your hovel clean. You might not have much, but it is yours, she lectured. To care for your stuff is to care for yourself!

"What is it to you?" The gruff tanner huffed.

Despite his belligerence, Meu could sense pain, fear, and abandonment under the thick layers of resentment and hostility. It is little indeed, Meu smiled. But you have given me access to Beletrain, and I would yet pay you—if only after a fashion. She said, as she stepped backward into the dark.

The tanner stared after her—and then he was no longer before the entrance to Beletrain at all. He was far away, in water over his head, naked and wet, as he fought the grip of the ocean. With ragged breaths, he swam for shore, then stepped from the surf with a sponge he'd retrieved from the chill waters. His chest heaved as he regained his breath and strength.

Safe on the beach, the tanner studied his surroundings. The sun drifted at the edge of the horizon, far over the ocean. Was it about to set, or did it just rise? he wondered. A massive tower sat atop a cliff, and overlooked the crashing waters. There was a trail that led from the beach, up the side of the hill, to the tower atop the cliff.

This is mine, the tanner realized as he stared at the tower. He followed the path from the beach and looked out over the ocean as he proceeded. The day was warm, and he could not believe the beauty of the landscape; the peace of the birds as they wheeled, and called, and played above the surf.

The tanner approached the tower and saw Meu standing at its top. She wore the same slight dress, as she smiled and waved at the man—only she was different—she was younger and even more beguiling.

With a smile, the tanner went up the trail. He approached the massive door and pushed it open. Meu stepped down a set of stairs and smiled at the man’s nakedness—which caused the tanner to blush. She took the tanner's free hand and pulled him into the tower, then gently shut the door behind him.

In a corner of the room was a small pool filled with steaming water. Meu approached the large tub and shrugged out of her dress. She beckoned the tanner to join her, turned, and stepped into the warm bath.

With sponge in hand, the tanner washed the young Meu’s back and shoulders, arms, and legs. A persistent grime covered Meu’s skin. It required a bit of soap and a fair amount of massaging with the soft sponge; but as he washed her, a constellation of freckles appeared across her shoulders and dappled her back.

"Will you see to my hair?" Meu asked, and pointed to a brush on a small table. Her voice was as rich and sweet as any he’d ever heard, and he realized he could not possibly deny her.

The tanner retrieved her brush, sat behind her, and brushed her long strawberry strands. As he brushed, Meu sang a song of heartache and longing. The tanner barely breathed as he listened to the sweet lilt of her voice echo among the stones, his heart full to bursting, his little man thick with longing.

After several silent breaths, Meu turned her loving eyes on the tanner. "A towel, my darling."

The tanner turned to a fine cupboard filled with clean linens—indeed, everything about the tower was neat and orderly—a place for everything with everything in its place. Slowly, Meu stepped from the pool and took her towel. He smiled at her as his longing continued to build—yet he knew the only way to get what he wanted was to remain patient. He knew he had to let her give in. If he should try to force her, she’d only slip away.

With a playful smile, the tanner wrapped his arms about her legs and lifted Meu off the ground. As he picked her up, Meu laughed and ran her fingers through his hair. His face was just above her navel as he carried her up the stairs, to the top of the tower. As he carried her, he reveled in her scent; a faint citrus zest—a warm, fertile, earthy smell.

On top of the tower was a large canopied bed with heavy weatherproof drapes, made by the tanner’s own clever hands. These were tied back to reveal soft, inviting covers.

A warm wind blew out to sea as the sound of crashing waves and seabirds drifted up the cliff. The tanner set Meu on the bed. He ran his eyes over her alabaster skin, broken by a fine smattering of freckles; tan stars against an ivory sky. Out to sea, the sun settled to the horizon, and the world turned a warm red.

The application of a fine scented lotion turned to touching and kissing. Emerald green eyes shined with mirth and thin lips curved in a playful smile. Meu pulled the tanner close. The tanner could not imagine what good he had done to deserve such a woman! She climbed on top of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and for a second he feared she might bite him again. Instead she took him in and sang a song of heavy breathing—moaning and begging—as the tumultuous sounds of the ocean and the shrill cry of seabirds accompanied her.

Afterward, Meu laid on top of the tanner and whispered to him in the growing dark. "You can have these things," she began. "They are all for you. But you must remember your passion,” she stared into his eyes as she brushed back an errant curl. “Do you not lust for such a life?"

The tanner settled next to this slip of a woman as tears of joy and ecstasy clouded his vision. He did not reply, as he had no interest in making excuses. Besides, this creature knew everything about him, and somehow still found him worthy!

"There, there," she whispered as she ran her hands over his gruff skin. "You deserve such love! We all deserve such love! But you will not find it the way that you are! You must make yourself the way you used to be. Remember who you were when you cared, before hate and lies took hold and began to terrorize you? Before selfishness and small comforts consumed you?" she lectured.

Meu filled the tanner’s head with memories of years gone by. He was a young man with ambition—a thousand dreams caught in his eyes. His deepest regret was that he could not chase them all. "These dreams are meant for you," Meu whispered. "What will you pursue? The riches of the world beg to be claimed, and our reward promises to be more than we need. Certainly, it is more than we deserve!" she smiled. "But we must be worthy! We must take the hard road! Admittedly, it is long and fraught with peril—but you are up to the task! Be worthy once more, my fine man, that you may claim your share of the world’s treasures!" she said as she kissed him one last time.

Meu and the tower receded into shadow. Before the tanner, there was nothing but darkness. There was only the sucking hole of Beletrain.

Remember yourself, Meu whispered as she disappeared from his mind forever.

Standing at the entrance to Beletrain, the tanner stared into the darkness. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see her, smell her, and feel her still—but he could no longer hear her. He leaned into the darkness of the tunnel. “Hello?” he called. He had no light. He could not proceed. “Don’t go!” he yelled. “COME BACK TO ME!”

His heart longed to see her come out of the shadow and throw her arms about his neck once more. He promised to be gentle, to care for her as only a real man could.

For several minutes he stared into the darkness, listening for anything creeping in the shadows. How long was he dreaming? How long was he standing before all the dangers of Beletrain, completely lost in fantasy?

He thought to follow after her—but he knew she would not be found. She would not allow it. Instead, his thoughts returned to the life he knew before this slip of a woman barged in. He stared down at the dirt on his hands and the mess of his clothes, his filthiness suddenly obvious and overwhelming. He reeked. Seed soaked his pants. A deep and profound longing filled his heart to bursting. Slowly, reluctantly, the tanner shut the door to ancient Beletrain. He replaced the chains and the heavy locks; and when he was done, he sat on his haunches, put his face in his hands, and wept. He wept for his squalid conditions, because he had abandoned his dreams, and sold himself so very cheap.

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