A mace shot. That’s how Mira’s head felt as she sat at the tavern table the next morning. Her wings hung limp, every feather ached, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the sun had a personal vendetta against her with how it ripped at her eyes. She winced at the stampede that was the chair sliding out next to her.
“I’ve no clue what these locals brew with,” Echo growled as she sat down, “but it ought to be outlawed under pain of death.”
“By torture,” Mira grumbled in addition.
“Larris brandy ain’t for the faint of heart, mes dames.” Armand laughed to himself as he put a steaming teapot before them. “Best drink on up then. Lorewort tea for them aching heads. Chase the last of the creature out of you.”
Under normal circumstances, Mira might’ve been amused by his playful teasing, but at the moment, all she wanted was her head to stop feeling like it was on fire.
Fumbling with the teapot as if her fingers weren’t quite hers, Echo poured them each a cup. Raising it to her lips, her face turned green. Her eye twitched as she turned to Armand as if they’d been offered poison.
“Medicine ain’t supposed to be something you wanna take, chere. Can you think of a better way to keep someone from doing whatever it was that made them need it in the first place?”
Sneering in resignation to his logic, Echo pinched her nose and gulped it down in a breath. Her face lost all expression. Strangled sounds rose in her throat as her dawn bright feathers fluffed. The teacup trembled threateningly under her grip as convulsing gags shook her.
“Well?” Armand continued, fighting back a grin as he looked to Mira. “Best get on it, mademoiselle chevalier. It only gets worse the colder it gets.”
A whimper unbecoming her station danced across Mira’s lips as she raised the teacup. The stench was like sardines and curdled goat’s milk filtered through sweat soaked gambeson. And as awful as the scent was, the flavor was somehow infinitely worse. Not only did it taste exactly like it smelled, it had an underlying bittersweet mockery of honey that clung to the back of her throat.
Heavy footfalls announced Norm’s arrival. He smirked at Echo and Mira’s state.
“What?” the duchess grunted.
“Nothing.” He took the seat next to her. “Just not used to being the one seeing the aftermath.”
A huff of a laugh puffed through Echo’s nose.
But their amusement was lost on the knight. Their revelation from the night before, devoid of full explanation, grated on Mira. She couldn’t stand the way they— or anyone for that matter —withheld information from her.
“So you two going to explain what you were talking about last night?” she muttered.
With a heavy sigh, Norm nodded to Echo. “Caleb!” he called over his shoulder to the stairs, summoning the young boy. “I need you to grab Healer and the others.” Shaking his head, he looked back to the duchess. “They need to hear this, too.”
***
The bench groaned under Healer’s weight as he adjusted his knees to slip under the tavern table. He couldn’t fault the smaller races for making furniture to their stature, it wasn’t like go’thial were known for venturing beyond their clans often after all, but it didn’t change the fact that he constantly ached from stooping and squatting.
“Right then,” he began. Turning his gaze to Mira, a part of him contemplated removing her hangover, it was a simple enough spell, but he resisted the temptation. She ain’t gonna learn if she don’t suffer. “What’s this the wee lad said you was needing us?”
She looked around the room before answering. “Are the kids gone?”
Brother Luke nodded. “I put them to work distributing food to the victims. Now that the curse has been broken, we need to get weight back on them.”
“Master Armand?” Echo called to the bar. “Could you be a dear and lock the door? We’ve… unsettling matters to discuss.”
The tavern keeper didn’t need told twice.
Placing his hands on the table, Norm leaned forward. His features darkened as he looked to the others.
“How much do you guys know about demons?” he asked no one in particular.
“From your tone, I fear not enough,” said Brother Luke.
“Evil spirits.” Healer grunted with disgust. “Foul beings belched up from the lowest reaches of Damnation.”
“The Abyss,” Norm corrected him. “Demons are from the Abyss. Devils come from Damnation.”
“Demons, devils, fiends all the same.”
“Either way,” Mira interjected, “Last night, they told me we didn’t kill that demon, or, well, we killed that one but not the one that was giving Romiér his powers.”
Healer rocked forward. “You wanna run that by me again?”
“I’m afraid she’s right, pastor.” Echo sighed. “Demons are technically spirits, and spirits cannot truly be killed in the physical realm unless…”
The demigiant gritted his teeth. “Unless they’re weaklings?” he ventured.
Echo shrugged. “Something like that.”
“That thing was a thrall, the demonic counterpart to a diabolical legion,” Norm explained. “They’re servitors. Not necessarily weak, by any stretch, but they’re nowhere near strong enough to make warlocks.”
“Were it Romiér’s master, his Ebon Maw, its physical form would have fallen away as naught but basalt and brimstone. Destroyed but not dead, its spiritual essence would have returned to the Abyss to reform,” Echo expanded.
Rosalie sputtered in disbelief. “You’re telling me that big nasty thing that got all bitey on me was just a servant!?”
Zhel placed a fist ponderously to his chin. “And you’ve known this since when? From the moment Mira felled it?”
Echo’s face contorted with guilt. “After all that’s happened, we thought everyone needed the victory. Some sense of closure at the very least.”
“This is quite troubling, friends,” said Brother Luke. “Not so much your concealing this, though I admit, that is slightly bothersome, but more what this would imply. A demon lord operating in the Larris Marsh?”
“Yeah,” Norm grumbled. “A powerful one. It shouldn’t have taken half as much magic to punch through that ward down in the shrine.”
“Don’t suppose we got any idea who it was, do we?” said Healer. “Grallis the Butcher? Thrik-Tuun the Undying? Thrslxlks the Mad?”
Echo shook her head. “I spent all night cross referencing demonic auras in my spell book; though, I admit, my understanding of demons is more than slightly limited. Not one was even close to a match.”
Healer grunted with frustration.
“Have we any clues?” Brother Luke’s offered. “Beside those disks, that is.”
“The dagger,” said Norm. “Where’d you put it, tiny?”
“Thought that might come up,” Healer responded.
He took a pouch from his belt, and tossed it onto the table. To Healer, it was barely a coin purse, but as the warlock took hold of it, he was reminded again of the size disparity between go’thial and them.
Norm turned it out onto the table. The cruel blade was still wrapped in Healer’s stole. The fine linen, the gold of ripe wheat, muffled the clatter as it fell out. None should touch it. Every part of the priest told him so, but the blunt human showed no such restraint.
Taking it by the handle, Norm unwrapped it. The demigiant’s stomach turned at the sight of it, the foul, demonic aura still clung to it as readily now as when the mad butcher held it.
“Nothing that sticks out,” Norm thought aloud. “No distinct sigils or glyphs.” He shook his head. “Wait.” His lips twisted. “What’s this made out of?”
Holding it up to the light, Healer saw what he meant. Yes, it shone, but not in the way a normal blade should. There was no glint. Not in the metallic way anyway.
Zhel moved closer, squinting as he appraised the weapon. “Polished bone?” he offered.
“No,” said Rosalie. “Not bone.” Climbing onto her chair, she leaned over the table. “It’s a… tooth.”
“A too—” Echo shook her head in confusion. “Rosie, dear, are you certain?”
The Yesha nodded fervently. “Oh yes, Miss Echo. I’d wager my favorite teacup on it.”
Everyone turned to her. Yesha were famously cautious and known for the sentimentality. For one to gamble as much as a copper let alone one of their favorite belongings…
“What the devil did it come from?” said Echo.
“Probably just that,” said Healer.
“The Ebon Maw,” Mira muttered. “If it’s got teeth like this, I guess that would be a fitting name.”
“Indeed,” Zhel agreed.
“There’s nothing more you can glean from it, Master Norman?” said Brother Luke.
“Given time?” Norm shrugged. “Maybe. But as is—” He shook his head.
“One second.” Rosalie hopped down and rummaged through her overstuffed backpack. “Would this help? I found it underneath his shop.”
She presented a tiny, leather bound book like Healer had never seen before. Taking it from her, he flipped it open and scanned the page, but what he read made no sense. They were words, but words whose mere existence was blaspheme upon existence itself. Words he couldn’t begin to comprehend in a language as foul as that thing rotting next to the windmill. Not that he had long to read them.
Gritting his teeth, he couldn’t stop himself. Reflex cast the hideous book from him. It felt like the flesh seared around his eyes. Pressing his hands to them, he fell from his seat, howling in pain.
“Healer!” Mira and Echo shrieked as they chased him to the floor.
“Friend!” Brother Luke gasped close behind.
Words of benediction flowed from the human priest. Coolness flowed over the demigiant’s face. Gradually, the pain lessened, though the damage was done. When at last he could raise his head, he found Norm picking up the vile tome.
“Careful,” Healer grumbled. “That writing don’t play fair.”
Norm nodded before passing a hand over his eyes. Next to Healer, Mira swayed, hand fluttering to her mouth as green spread across her face. When he looked back to the human, he found his eyes a blazing red as he read the pages.
“Cursed script?” said Zhel.
“No,” Norm remarked darkly. “It’s Crkl’ath, Dark Speech. It can drive an ordinary man insane, but for those touched by the gods, they might as well wash their eyes out with acid.”
Zhel nodded. “What is it? What does it say?”
“It’s a prayer book.” Norm snapped the book closed. “Pretty crazy one at that.”
“Don’t reckon it says who the Ebon Maw is, does it?” said Armand.
He shook his head. “Anybody got a clue?”
“I’m of no aid here, friend,” said Brother Luke. “Lord Korik forbids us from trouping with demons.”
“It’s not one I’ve heard of either,” said Zhel.
“Could that just be its name?” Mira suggested.
“Doubtful, my knight. More likely, it’s a title. Something the Ebon Maw.” Echo sighed heavily. “This is quite troubling, if I’m to be honest. Most demons with designs for our realm are known to us. A new player in the game, as it were, would be most problematic.”
“Then I fear we’ve no choice, Lady Echo,” said Brother Luke. “We must investigate these matters before they bring about ruin.”
A peel of nervous laughter shook Mira. “Investigate unknown demons? Don’t you think this is a bit above our pay grade?”
“Ain’t no such thing as coincidence,” Healer grumbled. “If Korik, Myria, and my Lady brought us all here together, there’s gotta be a reason why.”
“Crescent Bow territory,” Mira barely whispered.
“Just might be,” he agreed. “Then again, could be them putting us together so it don’t get that far in the first place. I’m with the friar, though. We need to do our homework. Figure out just who this Ebon Maw is. Is he a new one? An old one going under a new name? Before we can do much more, we gotta figure that out. Just wish we had a clue to go off.”
***
A vast field of golden wheat spanned out of sight around Healer. The sun was high and the heat of the last dwindling days of summer blanketed the harvest field.
He blinked, mind spinning in search of answers. Not a moment prior, he was in Armand’s tavern in the swamp, and now, he was here?
“The hell?” he muttered.
“Language, please,” came a warm, matronly voice.
Turning, he found a beautiful woman of human dimensions before him. Her hair was as golden as the wheat surrounding them. Eyes the color of red, ripe apples pierced him to the core. She was dressed in the light gown common of the southern lands when out to work the fields, and in her hand, she held a bronze sickle.
Healer recognized her at once.
“My Lady!” he gasped, falling prostrate before her.
Estoria laid a hand upon his bald head. “Thaygon, my child,” she said with warm familiarity. “How fares my Healer?”
“I am troubled, my Lady,” he admitted.
“Indeed,” she said. “As are we.”
Raising his head, he found her jaw tensing and releasing. “We?” he repeated.
She nodded. “Korik and I have been working closely together, watching over you and the other priests as you battled the curse. And that is what troubles us. That we could not see it for what it was, or, for that matter who this Ebon Maw may be.”
“Then perhaps it’s just a wee one,” Healer suggested. “Some upstart wannabe in the endless war between demons for control over the Abyss.”
Her head fell. “I’m afraid that isn’t the troubling matter, my son. Rather, it is that we feel that we should know its identity. That this fiend is known to us, but for whatever reason, we cannot remember it.”
Healer’s chest tightened. “How? How could both you and Korik… forget?”
“If but we knew,” she scarcely whispered. “It’s more even than that, Thaygon. Since the moment that name was mentioned, we’ve sent our archons to search through our records in search of it. Do you know what they’ve found?”
“I fear to speak the word, my Lady.”
“Your fears are well found. It is precisely as you think.”
“Nothing.”
She nodded. “More than that, it is clear that all knowledge of it has been removed by some other force. Something that blinds even our direct attention.”
Eyes widening, Healer’s legs went numb. “What sort of power does this thing have?”
“It’s worse than that, Thaygon. It isn’t it at work.”
Turning from him, she raised a hand to darken the sky. The plague ward over the past several weeks appeared before them, but each victim was enveloped in a horrible light.
“What you see is the magical signature of this Ebon Maw. It is quite distinct. We see it on the cursed villagers.” She snapped her fingers, and the Romiér’s shrine appeared, flooded with the same vile anti-light. “In the cultist’s shrine.” She snapped again, and they were at Mama’s tree. “In the signet you unearthed. All the same. But whatever force obfuscates it is entirely different.”
A chill passed through Healer. “A third player?”
“So it would seem.” Estoria shrugged. “Perhaps more.”
The numbing cold filled the go’thial priest to the center of his being. “My Lady.” His voice felt foreign to him. “I don’t… We can’t leave something like this be! What would you have me do?”
“I truly do not know,” she admitted. “Korik and I intend to convene with our brothers and sisters, but I’m afraid such a convention will take time. More time than I am comfortable to leave these troubles un-assailed. For now, though, I wish you to stay close to that hawk-winged zephyra. It seems Myria has a vested interest in that one. What that is,” she scoffed with agitation, “is something known only to her.”
Nodding firmly, Estoria turned back to him. “Regardless of the Wind Mother’s machinations, I feel that wherever she guides that bird of hers, we will be needed.”
Healer bowed. “Yes, my Lady. Your will be done.”
“My boy,” she beamed with motherly pride. “So far you’ve come since I found you lost in those mountains.” Wrapping her arms around him, she laid a gentle kiss upon his head. “I wish there was more I could offer you, but all I can give is this suggestion. Just because we cannot remember, doesn’t necessarily mean that none can. Seek out the forgotten ancients of your world. Perhaps one of them might remember what we cannot.”
***
Mira shot Brother Luke an incredulous look. “You’re sure this is normal!?”
It was so sudden. Healer had barely finished his thought before, poof, he was gone, or at least, not there. Not in the mental sense anyway.
His face was lax. Unblinking eyes stared into nothing. The rise and fall of his chest, barely perceptible. He was at complete peace, yet gods was it unnerving to see.
“Quite so, dame knight,” the priest confirmed. “He has been called into the presence of Lady Estoria. Admittedly, however, it is unusual she would summon him in the midst of our conversation like this.”
The knight leaned closer. Waving a hand in front of his face, she reached out and brushed his nose with the tips of her feathers.
A gasp filled him. His head snapped to her. She yelped and fell over backwards.
“What I miss?” he said simply.
Brother Luke couldn’t help but snicker. Concealing his amused smirk from the shocked knight, he shook his head.
“Nothing, friend,” he said. “At least, nothing of importance. Not as, I suspect, anywhere near as such as you’ve learned.”
With a grunt, Healer nodded. “Settle in lads and lasses.” He turned to the tavern keeper. “Might need to break out the strong stuff, Armand.”
About the Author
A. S. Raithe is a fantasy author living near Pittsburgh with his wife and children. Always the creative type, it wasn’t until high school and being introduced to a local bestselling author that he found his passion for writing. He took time away from writing to attend college before being convinced by his wife to pick it up again shortly after their wedding. Outside of writing he enjoys exercise, baking, gardening, folklore, music, and hiking.
