Helkey — Curses

During the 13th through 17th Centuries in Europe, the Church declared all magic blasphemy — calling it cursed — in an effort to permanently confine demons to the outer realm and devils to hell, to reduce their influence, and to remove their ability to harvest wisps. This declaration and the genocidal war against mages that followed had the opposite effect, however, generating numerous temporary hell gates through which demons and devils feasted upon earthly humans. It also created unnecessary confusion and fear regarding the use of magic. Eventually, the word curse was used to describe any socially taboo or offensive language – i.e. curse words, or to describe any solemn utterance aimed at invoking supernatural power to inflict harm.

To mages, curses are quite different. Whether they inflict harm or are used for benevolent purposes is determined by the intentions and acts of the mage who uses them. Curses are thus the means to unlock a mages’ magical abilities and span healing, invocation, summoning, divination, transmutation, exorcism, along with other more rarified or specialized magic. They are both a mage’s art and the bridge by which a mage accesses universal wisp energy — called many things including multiversal spirit, mana, wyrd and more — channeled through their unique being. These channels are set through intention and often come in the form of chants, written words, or symbols. Mages choose words and languages that have power and meaning both to them as individuals and to larger society. Older words and languages often bear greater force in association and are therefore typically ideal choices to serve as vessels for intention in magical curses. The most common form is Latin. But any language can be used so long as it creates enough significant weight of intention to cause the curse to form an effective bridge with wisp energy.

List of Curses in Helkey

Amplio — An alteration curse used to enlarge or intensify another curse’s effect.

Bene Sevetur — A personal transmutation curse, that cleans and mends cloths while sanitizing the body and bushing the hair.

Confractus — A breaking curse that attempts to interrupt or destroy the operation of magical constructs. Confractus is often used to break diabolical magic. However, it can be used to target long-functioning magical curses. More permanent and powerful magical constructs are less likely to be affected by Confractus. Confractus can also be used to break non-magical, technology related constructs. For example, Sadie uses confractus telefari to disrupt phone signals.

Clypeus — An invocation curse that briefly conjures a field of protective energy.

Duplici exemplari An alteration curse that duplicates a simple substance, such as food or water, over time. Often used to expand a basic resource. Not useful for complex materials like manufactured materials or volatile chemicals.

Exorcizamus – An exorcism curse that involves a long incantation to develop the curse energy needed to expel a demon from a human body.

Faetor oculorum – A divination curse used to detect other curses, see the otherwise invisible presence of demons and hell gates, sense heat as visible light, and otherwise visualize various forms of radiation.

Horologium — A chronomancy curse that allows for the telling of time through a multi-functional magical time-piece. Often-semi-permanent.

Ignarus – A long lasting, easy to maintain, and sometimes permanent suggestion to ignore the presence of specific people, objects, sounds or activities. Most mages operate under some form of contingent ignarus curse which is often used to mask their implements and activities.

Indespectus – A light-bending curse that renders the subject temporarily invisible.

Infernum clavis – A Helkey curse to send the recipient through a temporary Hell Gate. Also one form of Myra Helkey’s name curse.

Interpretor — An alteration curse used to translate spoken or written language.

Lanuae — A transmutation curse that vanishes a mage in blinding flash of light and smoke, casts out a spark to a point within sight, then causes the mage to appear in an equally blinding flash where the spark lands. Essentially a short-range teleport.

Ligamen Malum — A binding curse made to trap and contain demons and other evil spirits. Often works best when the vessel used for containment contains a powerful aura of good.

Lunen Svert Umbra – Moonshadow blade which is a summoning curse. This is a unique curse crafted by Myra Helkey. It produces a blade formed of light and shadow and is linked to her name curse.

Lux — An evocation curse that conjures light to illuminate an object or to infuse another curse with light.

Name Curse – A curse that becomes a channel to universal wisp energy which is a kind of oversoul (multiversal spirit). It is a signature curse that determines the nature of a mage’s curse expertise and her level of overall power. Each mage possesses a unique name curse that expresses its magical curse energy in its own particular way.

Macto – An invocation curse used to smite demons, devils, and undead.

Mobilis — A curse that adds motive force to a physical or magical object.

Omnis scienta – A divination curse that allows a mage to project an invisible magical sensor through which she can visualize a subject – usually a person or an object. This sensor will then track the subject.

Praesidia — A protective curse that shields allies or objects from physical and magical harm for a brief period of time. Praesidia can also be patterned into clothes or implements to trigger a protective magical field when damage occurs. Mages like Mori and Beatrice, who often encounter physical and magical danger wear clothes and other objects to generate overlapping protections. Praesidia is ablative. So its effect degrades as more damage accrues.

Pluma – A transmutation curse that slows the rate of fall of the subject. Often used when jumping off tall buildings.

Qaue Mala — A binding curse that sets up a sphere of divine energy focusing inward. Typically used in association with holy ground to imprison devils or demons.

Revelare — An incantation that removes the effects of Ignarus to show the workings of permanent or semi-permanent magics.

Salire — A transmutation curse that enables the subject to make extraordinarily long jumps.

Sana Carnes – Healing curse that repairs damaged flesh.

Scriptum fictus – An alteration curse used to insert forged script into physical or electronic writing.

Somnos – A curse that causes induced sleep in a subject. It’s one that can be resisted, but becomes more difficult to if the subject of the curse has a higher level of physical exhaustion.

Suggero – A suggestion curse used to erode the will of anyone through the use of language. Beatrice is an expert practitioner of suggero.

Teneo – An alteration curse used to hold barriers open.

Una – A channeling curse that allows numerous people to share the effects of a linked curse.

Venenum sa – A healing curse that removes poison from an afflicted creature or person.

Vexare Verberare — An invocation curse that hurls a barrage of destructive magical energy typically focused into three or more explosive projectiles.

Visus capitis – A curse that changes a sensor’s perspective to that of the subject’s head or eyes.

(Want to read the first Chapter of Helkey? You can find it here.)

(Looking for something else? Check out Helkey Contents.)

Helkey 9 — St Mary’s Healing Angel

Mori clenches his jaw in worry as Beatrice leans against him. Together they hobble away from Furze Bank even as police cars rush in – lights flashing, sirens wailing.

She’s putting on a brave face. But God only knows what kind of poison Ivan as demon wolf injected into her with that bite. Ivan, meanwhile, is still following them like a lost puppy. Thankfully, the ignarus curse on Mori’s leather jacket – now draped over Ivan – is obscuring him as well. They’re not drawing much more than the odd confused glance. Cops rushing to the scene give them little notice. Mori focuses for a moment on Ivan. He seems surer of himself. The shock is wearing off and Mori imagines infernal pistons starting to fire up again behind the Russian’s eyes. Fucking great! Beatrice’s left legging, meanwhile, is now red and black with blood and poison. Three tooth-shape serrations have ripped through the fabric – making a mess of the flesh beneath. It continuously wells blood. At least it’s not spurting.

“Wait a minute,” He says to Beatrice after they’ve moved about a half block on and edged into a side-street. Already, ingarus has handled most on-lookers. They’ve forgotten the odd little trio and are staring instead at the light show still going on at the top of Furze Bank HQ. Beat cops run past them on foot with barely a second glance. A helicopter flies over them, but trains its spotlight on the damaged sky scraper. The broken glass glitters with all the various lights. Its jagged edge looks a lot like an open maw to Mori. “Give me your pouch.”

Beatrice fumbles at her belt and unhooks a pouch made of some soft-yet-durable material from her home world. She pushes it toward Mori. He quickly rummages through it – pushing aside an intricate silver pen, a small living bulb filled with flickering lights, and a miniaturized book of curses, to produce a Maxi Pad and a handful of green moss. In a few swift motions, he unwraps the pad, presses the moss onto Beatrice’s wound and seals the Maxi Pad over top. She makes a little noise of pain, but nods in appreciation. The kindre moss has already started to take the edge off. The stuff is heaven-sent. Literally. It’ll help dull the pain while slowing the bleeding and drawing away some of the poison. Not that it’s a cure. But it will buy them some time.

“Good idea,” she says, cracking a waifish half-smile as she adds her own pressure to the make-shift bandage. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” She nods at his weapon. He’s still getting odd looks from people on the street. Ignarus is dealing with it. Kinda. But better not attract too much damn attention. He pushes a button on the rifle’s hand-guard. There is a whirring as the rifle does its dance back to briefcase mode.

They start walking again. Mori has his phone out. He is calling his special Uber driver Stefan even as he watches Ivan out of the corner of his eye. The guy is obviously starting to get spun up. His eyes growing big at first and then narrowing to slits as his pupils roam around. Mori helps Beatrice sit down on a nearby bench. Stefan is 3 minutes away. Ivan suddenly springs up and lunges to make a run for it. Geez oh crap! But Mori expected something like this. His hand shoots out and grabs Ivan by the collar. The Russian does a little spin and lands on his butt.

“Let me go! I am kidnapped!” Ivan shouts as he kicks and grabs at Mori’s hand. This is enough to attract the unwanted stares of a few puzzled onlookers. They quickly lose interest as ignarus throws them off the scent.

“Like Hell you are! We just saved your ass up there! Without us you’d still be 100 percent wolfie. Hell, you’d probably be nom nomming on those guards right now.” Mori points to the lights still searching the wreckage of the Furze Bank HQ executive water closet. He thinks about showing Ivan his undercover badge and reading him his rights. But it’s not time to play that card yet. Hell, he isn’t even sure the electronic surveillance suite running in his briefcase collected enough to book ol’ Ivan. Almost certainly. Almost. But there was such a thing as standard of proof, after all. Furze Bank is a hive for shady and probably illegal deals. Ivan was high up in that corrupt pecking order. Mori forces himself to take the diplomatic route. “But you’re safe now. More important, they’re safe from you. So shut the fuck up!”

“That was real?” Ivan says, still kicking a bit, but clearly giving up for now. Dazed disbelief shows plainly on what must be one of the best natural poker faces in all the worlds. Ivan looks up at the broken glass atop the tower where he lorded over everyone in a most disgusting manner. Mori can barely imagine what the guy is thinking. He’s a real piece of work. Definitely sociopathic. So he’ll be more trouble later. Lots of damn trouble. But Mori figures he can at least put an effort in to delay the inevitable.

“Look – you can come with us and I’ll explain everything after I get help for my wife here. You know, the one you just fucking took a bite out of?”

“Da, OK. So where are you taking me?” Ivan asks – somewhat mollified if still suspicious. Damn, the guy still has some of Beatrice’s blood on his teeth. He coldly considers Mori through those narrowed eyes. Mori stifles the urge to punch him.

“We’re off to St Mary’s Church. We have a friend there – Sadie – who has the skills it takes to treat the kind of unnatural wound you inflicted on Beatrice.”

Ivan grunts but seems satisfied for now. A normal person would have apologized for what happened to Beatrice. Sure, the demon took control when it possessed him. Dominated him and drove him to bite her. But Mori is willing to bet serious money Ivan didn’t fight too hard against it. Sick fucker probably enjoyed it on some level. Ivan nods in his calculating and still somehow feral manner. The quid-pro-quo game is working, if only temporarily. Time in exchange for information. A transactional arrangement. Back to the kind of bullshit game this blood-sucker understands. Mori gets a momentary sense that Ivan’s still a demon-wolf who’s staring at him over slavering jaws, contemplating.

Beatrice waves a hand. “Yeah. About that treatment. I’m starting to chill. My sight darkens. Soon I think I won’t be able to see a thing.”

“Ten minutes Bea,” Mori replies. “You’re tough as nails. I know you can make it.” She’d better make it or I’ll kill that fucking Ivan — Asmodeus baiting or no.

The black Tesla model X arrives with a futuristic whirr. Its left x-wing door pops open. Mori gives Ivan a nudge. “You first,” he says. Ivan shrugs, stands up, and slides into the Tesla. Mori helps Beatrice up, takes the middle seat and lets her flop down beside him. Stefan watches them through the rear-view mirror. Once they’re all in, he guns it. The smooth and soundless acceleration pushes them back into their seats with pure g-force. Stefan already knows where to go. Mori gave him the info by text. He’s also a master driver. Buildings blur by. The chaos surrounding Furze Bank shrinks from view.

“You got water?” Mori asks. Stefan pops the center consol and tosses back a cold bottle of Voss. Mori cracks it open and hands it to Beatrice. She grabs it with her dexterous hands and takes measured sips. She’s keeping it together. But just barely.

“What were those… those things?” Ivan’s cool look is puzzled. Mori can tell he’s torn up about asking the question. Like admitting he doesn’t know something somehow takes life points away from him. Mori allows himself a moment to enjoy the Russian’s confusion.

“You mean the Pride Eaters? Yeah, those guys are real pieces of work. Demons. And, Ivan, here’s the kicker – you summoned them.”

Ivan purses his lips at this new information. “Pride Eater?” Mori can tell he’s struggling to believe it. “But… how did I summon?”

“Well, those guys absolutely love to slurp up some pride. And you, when you do your thing every day at the golden throne on top of the world… Well, that is like a gourmet meal to them,” Mori stifles a laugh. It shouldn’t be that funny. He looks down at Beatrice’s leg. The bleeding has slowed. Good. He turns back to Ivan. “Look, I told you I’d fill you in on everything after I get Beatrice some help. So just shut up for now. Got it?”

Ivan’s hearing what I’m saying but it’s pretty clear it’s not completely registering yet. He’s getting a glimpse of the world as is and it’s not at all adding up to what he though it was. For someone like Ivan, that’s a really tough thing to process. Of course, he wasn’t much good at processing ‘normal’ reality either. So no surprise there.

St Mary’s Church in Berlin as seen from above and at first floor level. Note that this is not an exact replica of the real church. It is a re-rendering for the Helkey series.

The Tesla rumbles to a halt in front of St Mary’s Church as it passes over cobbles. Mori is greeted with red brick-work, gothic architecture, and lights twinkling through stained glass windows. A stern statue of Martin Luther glares at him from atop a marble pedestal.

“I’m calling Sadie now,” Stefan says, picking up his cell.

Mori reaches out to give his shoulder a pat. “Good man,”

The Tesla’s x-wing door is already open. Mori is helping Beatrice stumble out of the Tesla and across the stones. Ivan reluctantly stands to follow. They make their way to the red-oak doors. It’s dark. But the church is well lit and its striking red appearance seems somewhat ominous to Mori. Stephan gives a thumbs up from the Tesla, then drives off. A couple seconds later, there is a rustling at the door. It squeaks open.

Behind the door is a diminutive black-skinned woman wearing a multi-colored dress and shawl. Her face beams as she ushers them into an enormous cathedral area walled in white with flying buttresses swooping up overhead. There is a warm and comforting energy surrounding her. She’s from Beatrice’s home. And like Beatrice she’s got the whole angel mojo going on. Mori imagines her as some ancient and noble Libyan queen strait out of antiquity. “Come in! Come in! Allow me!” she says as she scoops up Beatrice’s other arm – helping the wounded angel-girl limp across the flag stones. “Stephan got word to me just a little while ago. I’ve made ready for you in the basement. Now, let’s keep off that leg, dear.”

Beatrice grunts in reply. “Thanks… Sadie…”

Mori has Beatrice’s other arm. Between him and Sadie, they’re practically carrying Beatrice. They make their way to a spiral stone stairway and descend. Ivan follows, glancing around like he’s on tour. They go down a floor, cut through a hallway covered in flag stones. They pass a crypt of some old dead German general, turn right, and enter a doorway.

Inside is a whole other world. Bulbs of dancing lights like the small one in Beatrice’s purse are in the corners, providing gentle light. Their living green fronds have sweetened the air, made it clean, more wholesome. A stronger blue-white light shines from a crystal mounted on top of a candle holder beside a cot. To Mori, this light feels kinder than Earthly illumination. His skin drinks it up as if its touch provides sustenance. Somewhere above, someone’s playing organ music — adding to the whole celestial vibe of the place. Beside the cot is a table with more kindre moss, a basin of water, some surgical implements, and various sterile bandages. They rest Beatrice upon the bed. She’s gone white. Her lips and finger tips are starting to turn blue. But her green eyes are still moving. She lets out a sigh of relief as that heavenly glow touches her and takes a deep breath of the good air. Ivan glances about with a bemused look on his face. Mori notes Ivan’s confused expression. You ain’t seen nothing yet, bud.

“I’m sorry for the informalities, Mori. But I’ve got no time to waste,” Sadie says as she lifts a set of surgical scissors and cuts away a chunk of Beatrice’s legging. She pulls off their make-shift bandage and observes the wound. “Tsk. Tsk. Someone has been a very bad boy.” She glances at Ivan. “Demon possession, I take it?”

“Yes, Sadie,” Mori does his best not to sound too reverential. But this is that most famous among mages Sadie Dextera after all.  He glances at Ivan reminding himself he can’t talk too freely in front of Asmodeus’s chosen, even if he didn’t know shit for now. “There were Pride Eaters at the Hell Gate. One of them had already tethered Ivan. Forced him to take the form of the Wolf of Wrath. He bit Beatrice.”

Sadie’s kind-but-sharp eyes focus intensely upon him. “Good thing it wasn’t you he bit. Wouldn’t have made it back here.”

“That’s why Beatrice does the close work. I’m too fragile for it.” Mori’s not shy to admit it. Angels like Beatrice are much tougher than humans like him. Though Mori knows a few magical tricks for staying alive if poisoned, he sure as hell doesn’t want to test Sadie’s theory.

Sadie picks up the crystal atop the candle holder. She holds it over Beatrice’s wound. Waving a hand above the crystal she blows at it. The light beaming from the crystal seems to swirl with Sadie’s exhalation. Its beams flow more brightly even as they extend and undulate – forming fingers that reach down to Beatrice’s wound. They touch her flesh gently, probing with slow care into her torn and wounded tissue. Sadie’s eyes are closed now. But Mori knows she can keenly sense what she’s doing through her light-fingers. She is far defter than any earthly surgeon. Arching her back she raises one hand and curls her fingers into a crescent. The fingers of light mimic the gesture.

Venenum sa!” she incants. The light-fingers probe into Beatrice’s body. Mori can see them moving beneath her skin. They travel up her leg, into her torso, around her hearts, through her shoulders, up her neck and beneath her eyes. All of it is glowing through her skin and clothes. Her eyes shine with the healing radiance. Darkness pulses down the light fingers. It’s the venom – drawn out drop-by-drop. Sadie holds out a silver basin to catch it. The black stuff hisses as it pools in the container. After about twenty seconds, the venom is all removed. Sadie carefully places the basin on her table. Then, she starts to move her fingers in a kneading gesture. The light fingers again mirror her motions.

 “Sana carnes!” she chants as her second curse begins to knit Beatrice’s flesh back together. The light fingers have moved back to her leg now. They gather into a tangle of flowing blue and white light. Sadie molds the light into various shapes. It steadily shrinks layer by layer. And as it withdraws it leaves behind pink, perfect flesh. Unbroken skin. Pulling back slowly into three silver round marks where Ivan’s teeth struck. But even these scars are faded and hard to see now. With Beatrice’s regenerative capacity, such slight marks will be gone in a month or so. Mori lets out a sigh of relief. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath.

Sadie drops her hand, inspects Beatrice’s leg with a critical eye, then turns to her table. She picks up a syringe, pops the cap, and injects some serum into Beatrice. “For the tetanus and other crud that was probably in his wolf-mouth,” she says with a glance toward Ivan. She then picks up a second syringe and makes a gesture for Mori to roll up his sleeve.

“What the hell?” he says. But he’s already rolling his shirt up. He sure as hell knows better than to cross Sadie.

“It’s your SARS COVID 5 vaccination. You were due and it just arrived. I thought — what better time than now?” Sadie injects the vaccine into Mori’s arm. He’s used to it. Doesn’t even flinch.

Beatrice starts to sit up. But Sadie stops her. “No. No. Time for you to take a little nap. You need to rest to recover from your trauma. I know. You’re a tough girl. Now let’s make sure it stays that way.” Beatrice is starting to open her mouth to protest. But Sadie just lifts her hand and chants “somnos.” Beatrice’s head falls back onto the pillow with a flumph! sound. She’s out like a light.

“That was… I don’t … It was spectacular.” Ivan is having trouble finding words to describe the second supernatural event he’s witnessed in a single night.

“Yeah. That’s our Sadie. Pretty damn amazing. Good thing too.” Mori says as he lowers his brows at Ivan. The Russian gets the look and holds his hands up in a calming gesture. Mori just plows on by. “So I told you I’d explain. Now that Beatrice is safe you, Sadie and I are going to have a talk. It’ll probably be the most important talk you’ve ever had in your slime and sludge filled life. So, listen up good. It’s a literal come to Jesus moment.”

Ivan shrugs in a noncommittal way. “Yes. You owe me explanation.”  

Mori is damn sure he doesn’t owe Ivan squat. He lets it slide and turns to Sadie. “My good lady, is Beatrice safe resting here?”

“Yes, dear. You can be assured that all the necessary protections have been placed. There are watchful friends here to help protect.” She looks at Beatrice. “She is stable now and quite strong.” She turns her sharp eyes to Ivan. “I am eager to talk to you – Ivan the Wolf. We have much to discuss.”

Mori almost feels sorry for the bastard. Almost…

(Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

The Mysteries of Myra’s Magical Tattoo as Name Curse

Having journeyed well more than a mile in Myra Helkey’s shoes, it’s probably helpful to pull back the curtain a bit to explore her particular and somewhat unique brand of magic. As our main heroine, Myra is a mage. She possesses the ability to use magic through specific curses. What’s more, she is marked with a very personal permanent magic in the form of her unique tattoo as name curse. What kind of magic user is Myra? And what makes her magical tattoo special?

The Kinds of Magic

To better grasp Myra’s magic, we need to first understand the general ways in which magic may manifest in her universe. In Helkey’s Arisen Worlds setting, the source of all magic is wisps — which are the house of an individual’s spirit or soul. Wisps as soul-houses possess both power and the signature nature or personality of a being. Devil magic, demonic magic, and angelic magic rely on wisps directly, though each form of magic manifests in its own way. Demonic magic devours wisps to inflict transformations, harm and horror. Devil magic dominates wisps — forcing them to serve as slaves, food and energy, and as a power source. Angelic magic sacrifices a person’s own wisp energy to form magics that vitalize, enable, commune and protect.

Separate from these is the magic of mages. Mages are unique in that their wisps connect to the universal spirit of the multiverse. A kind of wisp as oversoul. This worlds-given magic is more mutable and versatile than other forms. It also comes from a deeper wellspring and so is only limited by an individual mage’s ability to store it. Mages set intentional channels for their magic through curses. And curses can come in the form of chanted or written words and symbols. Mages are typically human. Although angelic and diabolical mages are not unheard of, even if they are rare. Demons are anathema to the multiverse — so its magic forsakes them.

Myra Helkey is a mage. Her origin is a bit of a spoiler, so we won’t reveal it now. Though you may have guessed some of it based on what you now know about her parents — Beatrice and Mori. Suffice it to say that she basically operates by the same rules as other mages in the use of her magics. Though, unlike other mages, she also possesses a specifically crafted magical tattoo linked to her own unique wisp.

Magical Tattoo as Name Curse

Myra’s name curse is Infernum Clavis or Helkey. It is a whirl of ancient letters inscribed into her left arm in the form of magical channels and written with a special ink. Both the language of the curse and how it was crafted is yet to be revealed. However, what I will say is that Infernum Clavis is just part of the lettering. The rest is of dancing characters that are presently without form.

Infernum Clavis is linked to Myra’s wisp. It serves as a store-house for magical energy from the worlds-wisp. This gives Myra an extra well from which to draw to form magical spells. So she packs a bit more ooomph and endurace than is typical for a mage despite her young age. But that’s not all. This magical tattoo possesses two more special powers that have proven very useful thus far. The first is the Helkey’s ability to easily open Hell Gates. We saw this property in action during Chapter 5. The second is its signature ability to steal benevolent wisps from devils and then to protectively draw them within the bounds of its form inscribed in her flesh. For these innocent and good souls, Infernum Clavis is a refuge. Malign souls can also be taken by Infernum Clavis from Hell. These ill-intending wisps are banished to the house of Myra’s shadow. There they reside as tiny shades flowing through her larger one — also kept safe but separated.

As you have probably already guessed, this soul-stealing from devils who have built their fortunes on taking mortal souls for themselves makes Myra quite the threat to the denizens of Hell…

(Want to read the first Chapter of Helkey? You can find it here.)

(Looking for something else? Check out Helkey Contents.)

Helkey 8 — Saving Mottle

What starts out as an odd sleep — where I feel like I’m in two places at the same time — proceeds swiftly to dead-tired, I don’t dream of anything. I can vaguely sense the storm roaring outside, the water lashing in on me, the sulfur scent of Hell’s air, the cooler and cleaner air coming up from the cracks. A part of my mind is still alert. I’m in fracking Hell after all. A place full of dangerous devils along with various lurking demons. All hungry in their own ways for the wisps of earthly mortals.

I don’t know what wakes me, hours later. Perhaps it is the sudden quiet outside. Perhaps it is the sound of scuffling and muttering. Probably both. But all I know is there is a whip-sharp crack of a single spark from my name curse as warning and then I am wide awake.

“I am hangry! Bob is hangry!” something hisses pitifully and angrily from a three-foot wide crack about five feet off to my right. A big green scaley lizard head emerges. A long tongue flickers out between hooked teeth the size of my forefinger — tasting the air. Bulbous yellow glowing eyes shoot beams like spot lights into the cleft where I am resting. The eye-lights flick over me and then continue on toward the raging storm outside. “Smell something. Ssssooofffttt. Smells, soft. Smells of wisp. Strong wisp. Tasty wisp.” It clacks its jaws and sound echoes out. It then bobs its head up and down as the rest of its body slither-flops through the hole.

I freeze as the twelve-foot-long lizard emerges. It possesses a sinuous body with a spiney ridge along its back. Four legs, the forelimbs of which look dexterous enough to manipulate objects, propel it in a chameleon waddle-hop. On its right shoulder is a glowing blue orb. I know what this object is somehow. One of my memories from before the potion has re-surfaced. That orb holds captured wisps. Kind of like a devil’s lunch box, power crystal, and money purse all wrapped up in one. Worb for wisp orb. So this is a devil? Perhaps it was once human but since it is keeping wisps it has now transferred fully over as a native of Hell. Probably did so to survive. Humans in Hell learn quick that it’s either be prey or predator. There’s really very few other options in the zero sum world of Hell.

“Could it be… the Mottle??” Bob the devil lizard hisses to himself. Hot spittle from its mouth splatters toward me. Where it falls into the water, it causes a boiling reaction. “No. This smells…” the long tongue flicks the air, I shift away from it as it licks the space where I was sitting a moment before. “This smells hoomannn. Sssstrong. Closssee.” It pauses to ponder for a moment. “Besidesss, Bob ate other Mottles. The last grew cunning. No longer staysss on ground.” It clacks its jaws again, making quite a racket.

Thank the freaking gods I set up a full body ignarus curse. Saved my ever-loving life. But it won’t last long. The thing can clearly smell me and it keeps licking the space I was in only a moment before as I dance away. It can actually see me — but it doesn’t realize it yet. Won’t take long, though. It’s already engaged its other senses. I should use the element of surprise while I still have it. I lift my left hand. As I do, I can hear the wind starting to pick up outside again. The calm eye of that monster storm is about to pass bringing with it the second half of its destructive force. I can’t think about that too much now. I have the devil lizard Bob leaping around and waving his tongue in my face.

My magical tattoo begins to spark as my intention to fight fills it. I’m cornered. I have little doubt that Bob here would eat me and devour my wisp in an instant given even half a chance. Not gonna let that happen. This situation calls for one of my original curses. No half measures will do. I shift to the side and position myself to strike at Bob’s shoulder and through its wisp orb. Such a strike will take away his devil magic, free the wisps, and hopefully put Bob immediately out of commission all in one go. That’s the theory at least. But to do it I need the right weapon.

Lunen svert umbra!” A beam of moonlight shoots up from my magical tattoo into my hand as I chant the invocation. The light casts a deep shadow that magically forms into a razor-sharp blade. I hold its light and shadow as a rough sword-like form in my hand — leaping forward to strike. Its point catches the worb, punches through its hard outer shell and then starts to slice into Bob’s shoulder. But Bob is quick. He’s survived Hell so his instincts and reflexes are honed to a T. Bob leaps back. My blow is not lethal.

Bob wails as his broken worb falls to the ground and wisps begin to shoot out from it. Willowy ghosts that remind me of flying jellyfish dart into the air. Just more spikey and less globular. They dance up along my moon-shadow blade and flow swiftly into my name curse. It grows bright and energy fills me. I hear the wisps’ voices in my head. They are thanking me for freeing them. For giving them shelter. I get a brief image of the inside of my name curse as these wisps see it. Some geodesic dome structure filled with light and music. Five wisps now float there. Once humans who were trapped — by their own bad actions, by Asmodeus’s subterfuge or capture, or by pure bad luck — in Hell. Now, they’re somehow sheltered and temporarily liberated.

I am completely fracking surprised by this turn of events. Bob meanwhile is wailing even as the returning storm wind is starting to roar. A few bits of sand and grit are making their way into my cleft. The wind has shifted. The cleft has become less protective.

“Ssstoled them!!” He roars at me, oblivious to the environmental shift. “Ssssee you now! Hoomaan! Dead!” He turns the spines on his tail toward me and then launches them like freaking spears through the air at me point-blank. I have only one option. Dodge like hell. Throwing caution to the wind, I dive head first into one of the crevices. I fall ten feet down into some kind of pit-cave that has about three feet of water at the bottom. Splash! In a second I’m up. The water broke my fall and I’m unhurt. I stand – propelled upward mostly by panic. Just above me, a row of spines is embedded in the wall. The moon-shadow blade re-fires in my hand. It’s a strong enchantment and should last for an hour. One of its utilities is I can’t drop it. It keeps coming back.

“Dead now hoommaann wissssppp thief!” Bob shouts from above as he prepares to lunge down on me. I start to scramble back. But the ground is uneven and underwater, so I stumble. The roaring outside has now grown extreme. There is a great inrush of air as Bob springs. He never makes it to the bottom. The wind has returned but this time from the opposite direction. It is exactly lined up with the opening of the cleft. Razor sand and missiles propelled at what must be about 200 miles per hour invade the cleft – riddling Bob full of holes even as the devil lizard is thrown bodily against the back wall. Luckily for me the hole I dove into gives me cover from this death-wind.

There is a sparkling of blue-white light as Bob’s wisp emerges from his dead corpus. It flickers and bounces around in the wind, then drifts down toward me. My name curse sparks in rejection. One of these sparks imbeds in the wisp. As this exchange occurs, Bob’s wisp darkens, becoming inky-black. It flows down into the water like a snake, then shoots toward me. It leaps into the air, twisting behind me. Slowly it fades into my shadow. I hear one last final echo of Bob’s voice in my head.

“Hhhhaaannnggggrrryyyy,” it hisses. And somehow it is there. Behind me. A devil’s wisp locked up in my shadow. My name curse as magical tattoo sparkles a few more times mysteriously. In the core of my being, I can feel Bob behind me as a dark wisp. He is somehow locked up in my shadow by the magic of my name curse just as the other five wisps, ones it accepted, are sheltering directly within its magical architecture. What the hell?

I’d lifted my moon-shadow blade into a guard position to defend myself. I drop it a little and let out a long sigh of relief. That was way too fracking close. I pat myself to make sure everything is whole and unbroken. My first thought is of the glass Perrier bottle. Holy crap! But my hand lands on it and finds it somehow still in one piece. Will need to figure out some way to protect the glass. But what to do now?

I stand for about a minute in the dark, somewhat smelly, water and consider my options. There’s no way I’m going back up into that cleft. Already, little bits of debris are raining down on me. Even worse, water is starting to flow in. It’s rising. So pretty soon I’ll be swimming and then pushed back up toward that wind of death. I turn the light of my moon-shadow blade down the crevice to see how deep it goes. It narrows, but continues on. Looks like my only option.

I struggle forward through the water even as more pours down through the cleft above. The ground is uneven. I stumble. Occasionally I fall into a pit and have to swim. I’m crazy super careful about keeping my Perrier bottle safe. The water that gets up my nose and flows into my mouth makes me sick with its stink. And this is mostly rain water. Not the disgusting putrescence that was the Hell ocean. But it’s still definitely not fit for drinking. Where in this damned place is the water safe?

My progress is hampered as the crevice narrows. At least it’s starting to head upward. I’m slowly gaining ground, but the flood is gaining faster. Pretty soon, the water is up to my chest. At this point, I’m having to squeeze to move forward – pushing the pocket with the Perrier bottle in it ahead to keep it safe. I count my blessings that it’s not plastic. The chemicals in the water feel pretty reactive and I don’t think a thin film of petrochemical-goop would last long in such a toxic bath. Lord only knows what it’s doing to my skin. I try not to think about all that.

I’ve come to a narrow spot just before a larger open area. I can see a pool of water widening ahead. There a chamber opens above. The moon-shadow blade’s light flickers on dark rock formations and irregularities on the ceiling. Up there, I can hear storm winds roaring. Little bits of grit and water rain down in a gentle drizzle. An opening is nearby if not close enough to let the storm’s full fury inside. Some thirty feet away is a rough subterranean beach strewn with boulders.

I struggle to wedge myself through the narrow opening and into the pool. I kick, push and squiggle. I feel stone scraping my skin and clothes. The water starts to flow over my head. I breath out and hold my breath trying to make my body as thin as possible. My lungs burn. My eyes and nose are filled with sulfur crud. One last kick and finally, I’m in. My head breaks the surface. I choke and splutter. Water is pouring behind me, thrusting me forward. I swim to the shore and clamber onto a large boulder. The water is rising, but it’s also starting to flow out of other cracks in the chamber. Its rate of rise appears to slow. Lifting my moon-shadow blade, I inspect the ceiling. It’s uneven enough that I can’t see into all the shady cracks. For a second, I glimpse something reflective in the darkness. But it’s gone as quick as it appeared. Probably some water that splashed onto the ceiling.

I sit down, still somewhat hot as water drips off me. I break out my precious Perrier bottle and take another drink. My stomach grumbles. The last food I had was at Starbucks. So no real dinner. Pretty soon now, I’m the one that’s going to start getting hangry. No use for it now. But man am I going to have some questions for my Mirror Specter when 7 o’clock Berlin time rolls around again. I lift my name curse to scrutinize it. The wisps have voluntarily energized its structure, giving some of their natural force to aid my magic. It has somehow made a safe place for them from Hell. Their energy no longer bleeds out into the fallen world’s deadly environment. They’re no longer subject to the predations of Hell’s malicious populace. I turn to look at my shadow. It dances in the light of my sparks and moon-shadow blade. I can see the dark wisp undulating within it like some kind of Cthulhu tentacle. It is also somehow removed from Hell’s environment, no longer able to prey or to be preyed upon. I feel a bit of wisp energy coming from it as well. This give is more reluctant. Yet somehow it seems to sense that I protect it now.

“Well, this is all damn fucking strange,” I say out loud as I wonder if the memory draught was meant to cover up the knowledge of my curse in my own mind. But that doesn’t really make much sense. I just discovered it again. More likely – my lack of memory about my curse’s ability to shelter wisps in Hell was due to collateral damage from the magical draught.

As I’m sitting, pondering these mysteries, there is movement up on the ceiling. A bat-like shape unfolds its membranous wings, then leaps into the air. It’s about human-sized, but the wings are rather large. In merely two flaps it has alighted on my boulder.

Oh shit! I scramble for my moon-shadow blade and put the sharp as light and shadow form between me and it as I settle into a defensive stance. My sword is bright-dark and the sparks to maintain it are eating away most of the effect of even my heightened ignarus curse. Crap. I got careless. The thing shifts a little closer and makes an inquisitive “wrrrrryyyyccchhhuukkkukkkk?” sound through a vertically open mouth. It has two big eyes sprouting from its head. Its body is long and mostly flat. I said it was a bat before but the creature looks more like a large blanket with backbone, a long tail, and a fuzzy head with enormous eyes and ears. Its landing was more like a belly-flop than the way a bird typically lands since its limbs are mere protrusions from the corners of its blanket-like body.

It makes no move to attack as it repeats its inquisitive “Wwwwrrrrryyyycccchhhhuuukkkkuuukkk?” sound. This reassures me a little. At least it doesn’t seem aggressive. The wisps in my name curse chime, giving me a sense that this creature is somehow familiar to them. They do not feel threatened by it. The Bob wisp is silent. But it wriggles a bit in recognition. I look over at the creature again. This one doesn’t have a devil’s worb. It’s not a wisp devourer. Curious. I wonder how it survives here in Hell?

“What are you?” I ask. “Can you talk?”

At this question, it spins around, lifts its tail, and tentatively extends the end in my direction. The tail is long and tipped with what I would best describe as leaf-like fronds at its end. The creature waves the tail in front of me. I recoil. The tail waving pauses, then resumes. Inviting. I get no sense of aggression.

“You want me to take this?” I point to the strange-looking tail.

The tail waving pauses again and then starts back up. Oh what the Hell. I lift my right hand and slowly extend it toward the tail. In my left, I’m still holding my moon-shadow blade in case there’s any funny business. The tail immediately thrusts forward and wraps its leaf-fronds around my hand and forearm. There is some kind of slime exuding from it. When it contacts my skin, my vision blurs and I am swimming in a flood of thoughts coming from the creature.

I am Mottle. It thinks this to me and I suddenly remember the Bob lizard-devil’s talk of Mottles. As I think this a flood of memory follows. Mottle, or whatever it was called before it became a Mottle, is in a crowd at a concert on Earth. He is hanging out with friends, partying, dancing, jumping up and down to loud music. I’m confused for a moment. Then I realize Mottle is showing me a scene from his former life. There is a screeching sound as the music suddenly stops. Loud cracks of gunfire erupt. I see people falling under hails of bullets. There are muzzle flashes coming from the balcony of a far-off hotel. Mottle as human is down. He is bleeding. He reaches out to hold hands with a young lady I think must be his girlfriend or fiancé or wife. They are bleeding out together. She is passing out. His vision starts to darken. It turns black and then returns as an ethereal blur. I realize the Mottle person is dead now. I am seeing with his wisp sight. Through his eyes I see the Terror Hounds. Hellhound demons attracted to mortal fear. They are leaping through the dead, tearing out their wisps. One is upon the girl. It rips her wisp out. Suddenly, Mottle’s wisp is grabbed in one of the Hound’s jaws.

The Hounds holding the two wisps run through a temporary Hell gate. They emerge in flashes upon the plains of Infernia. They are bounding along a knife-shaped lake toward a tower backed by a broken black-and-red land that billows endless smoke. There is a crack of lightning from the sky. The Terror Hounds are stunned. The two wisps flee together, flying as they spread to take the form of the Mottle-type creature before me. Hell has granted them their new shapes. A chance at life of a sort — clothing them in a form suitable to their terrible new environment as often happens with wisps taken in so unnatural a fashion. They alight on the rocky formation around me, finding shelter. I get a sense that this is their new home. Visions rapidly blur forward. There are other Mottles, years of life, and then the green devil lizard Bob arrives to hunt them down one-by-one. Mottle is the only one left. His sadness and loneliness consume me.

I feel Mottle searching my thoughts. I feel the wisps in my name curse chime in recognition. They exchange thoughts with Mottle. The story of my encounter with devil lizard Bob is relayed. I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. And then, a simple thought. You’ve saved Mottle and those dear to Mottle. I can help you back.

I marvel as the tail withdraws. How could such a creature exist in Hell? But before the thought is finished, Mottle has flown forward and covered me with his blanket-like body. There is a shifting as he changes color. The contact brings further thought. Myra rests. Safe now. Mottle will protect. Keep safe.

The membranous body of Mottle is somehow cooler. And I can see that he’s camouflaged me. Formed himself into a kind of mini tent the shape and texture of the rock I’m on. It’s much better than the ignarus curse alone. I can’t immediately sleep. I’m too charged up. Never would I have imagined I’d make an ally in Hell much less be able to steal wisps away from devils themselves. Maybe my parents actually knew what the hell they were doing when they sent me. Maybe I knew what I was doing when I volunteered to go. Feeling a bit more confident, I let myself drift off. Above, and outside, the storm starts to slake its fury.

(Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

Helkey 7 – A Mirror Specter on the Beach of Infernia

I’m lying on the ground staring up at a putrid green sky. Trying to fracking breathe. The rotten eggs stench is overwhelming. A hot wind blows over some nearby sand dunes. It’s pretty damn strong – blasting hot sand over my skin which is quickly making it raw. This wind is carrying the stench I’m smelling. No relief from the heat either. Like air blowing out of a furnace.

I lever myself up onto wobbly legs. I look over my shoulder. The Hell Gate I came from is gone. I stare around. Nothing but sand dunes and gnarly scrub plants that look like twisted fingers sprouting serrated blade-shaped yellow leaves nearby. Some of the lower areas are damp and filled with green and purplish mud. To my west, the land rises into a rocky up-thrust among dunes. North and west, the dunes continue, backed by a distant wicked finger of some dark metal structure looming over dead lands. It oozes black smoke. The wind churning over the dunes makes a hollow wailing sound. It’s so crazy-hot I’m already dripping sweat. Thank gods I’m wearing my combat boots. Otherwise, my feet would be scorched five times over.

There is a sound of a bell ringing. It’s weird, out of place. I look around. There is no fracking bell tower – just dunes, those mean ass plants and… my searching eyes alight on a fricking skeleton on the back side of one of the dunes. It’s of some long reptilian creature with wicked looking jaws. Sooo fracking great! The bell rings again. Now I realize it’s familiar, reminding me of Beatrice. Then I remember – I heard the same sound when mom touched my forehead back at Starbucks. The displaced bell rings three more times, telling me that the time is 7-o-frigging clock. Like I need a timepiece in Hell. Well, scratch that, maybe I do.

When the bell stops ringing an apparition appears in the air in front of me. No. It is not Princess Leia. It’s me. I mean, the spitting image of me in the mirror in the damn morning in a nice safe bathroom in not Hell but on normal good ol’ Earth. Well, not literally in the bathroom mirror. A floating image of only me with no background. Just what I look like right after I’ve had a shower – all nicely dressed and clean. Except this me is the one before my current haircut. The hair is longer and tied back in a pony tail. It doesn’t yet have the red streaks. So, spitting image of me from like two weeks ago. 

“Hey Myra,” The apparition says. “I’m the Mirror Specter you made before you took up this crazy ass quest.”

So it’s a quest now, is it? Sand blows around the image as clouds begin to cross the merciless sun. I hardly feel any cooler. Like that mean sun knows where I am and can shoot beams at me even through the clouds. My left hand is dropping sparks like, well, a hand-held sparkler. So I figure the Mirror Specter was set up through my name curse. Probably activated when Beatrice sent me through the Hell Gate. Pretty nifty really. I didn’t know those Specters were used for anything other than magical librarians. And I gotta say, my Mirror Specter is way cooler than those stuffy things. The Specter me is still talking.

“… Since I am here, it means you are fracking there.” The Mirror Specter looks around. “I mean we are there. I mean here. Gods I can’t imagine what you’re thinking now.”

“Hey, don’t rub it in.” I cough the words more than talk them. The air here is vicious. Some kind of poison in it. Too much sulfur. I need to get away from it somehow.

My Mirror Specter looks at me in sympathy. She reaches out to grab my shoulder and then seems to realize she’s insubstantial. Just a ghost. Yeah, not a hologram but a ghost me with a little bit of me in it. A little piece of my soul sent to ride shotgun with me for brief periods down here in Hell. Brief because the magic that keeps it going costs. And my wisp can only recharge so much each day. But still, a little is better than nada. It makes me feel a tiny bit less desolated. Just a tiny bit.  

“I’m here to help and you should listen because I have like maybe a minute left today.” The Specter looks around. “You’re on a Hell’s beach – that’s bad. And it looks like a storm is coming – that’s worse. You need to get off this freaking beach. The air near the water is usually poisonous here, clue? Water in Hell usually equals poison air. So, you need to avoid most surface water.” She looks at my pocket. “We have water?”

I nod in reply to myself and pull the Perrier bottle out halfway to show it to my Specter. This is really fracking weird. How did I suddenly become a fricking drill sergeant?

“Good. Now pay attention. You will need to extend that water as far as you can with the duplici exemplari curse. You know, the Jesus curse?” It was an old joke. I always called duplici the fricking Jesus curse ‘cause you could literally break bread almost endlessly with it. It gave you like x500 the original material. I guess I’ll be drinking Perrier mineral water the whole time. The Mirror me has read my mind. “It might last you a fricking month, but don’t spare. You need to drink constantly here. It is too fricking hot. Drink while I’m talking for gods sake.”

I pick up my Perrier, choke out duplici exemplari, and chug down some of the still-slightly-cool sparkling water. It makes me feel better. A little.

“Now, for part 2, you’re going to need to get off this beach and find some shelter quick. Storms here are gods awful beasties.” She looks around. I can see where she’s looking. There is a sand cliff leading to rocky high ground about a half mile away. The rocks contain crevices and outcroppings. Mirror me points at the rocks. “Go to that and find shelter. It should be high enough. But get to the lee side and go as deep into a rock crevice as you can. Watch out for original owners. Gotta go.” And with that she is blown away in the sandy wind. I feel really weird – like I just lost my best friend.

The wind is picking up now and that sand hurts. But despite my Specter’s warning, I’m curious about what she said. Hell’s beach? That means there’s an ocean nearby? Probably on the other side of those dunes not far from here? Duplici has refilled my Perrier. I take another swig. I really am damn curious to see a Hell’s beach. Screw it, I’m going.

I trudge up toward the dunes. As I get closer, the air grows ever more putrid. I decide to hold by breath. It’s not easy – what air I keep in burns my lungs. I scramble over a rise and look out. Before me is a raging ocean filled with massive waves thrashing in green and purple slime. I can see pink gas rising off wave crests atop the churning toxic soup posing as actual water. Bacteria or algae material that looks like rotting flesh is piling up on shore. The foam over top of it looks like vomit. Skeletons and decaying corpses litter the beach as far as the eye can see. They probably succumbed in the poison air. Most are close to the water line. I realize the risk I’m taking is stupid. Yet I somehow feel so alive in this deadly place as I stand on my bone-cluttered dune. Out over that death sea is an advancing green-black shelf cloud. Beneath it, the ocean looks like an explosion of water and foam rising above the regular water level. I’m reminded of a film I’ve seen about the Indonesian tsunami even though this far off tidal wave like thing is being driven by a storm. The cloud is maybe 20 miles off and moving fast. Well, I saw it. I’m a goddamn Hell tourist. Now time to get the fuck out before that storm rolls in.

I run down behind the dune, still holding my breath. I take about 20 paces before I choke in some more air. It’s terrible, nasty, makes my nose run and eyes water in all kinds of bad ways. The wind is carrying the ocean toxin inland. My next breath is ever so slightly better, but it’s still bad. I’m running on toward the rocks my Mirror pointed toward. Pretty smart really, without me I’d probably be a goner. I may still be a goner. My feet pound the ground as my lungs scream at me. I have to breathe and it hurts to breathe. It’s a frigging Hell version of Catch 22. The exertion is insane as I’m choking on air and running. Behind me, the ocean is starting to growl. It’s the growl of the storm sucking water over rocks, sand, and bodies. Over it all, I hear a strange and wicked howl coming from the direction of the Hell Gate. Now what is that? Maybe the Gate is still partly open? But what could’ve made that noise?

I can’t stop to think too much as I race toward the rocks. But I’m wondering if something happened to Beatrice and Mori back there. I did leave them with three freaking Pride-Eater Demons and Ivan fucking Volkov. Not your run-of-the-mill polite evening company. Not my problem, I think to myself. But I’m worried. The howl carries on for a few more seconds, it seems to travel onward into the wasteland around me. It’s loud, even over the storm. At last, it grows quiet.

I’m still running full tilt. I can breathe a bit better now, which is a godsend, because I was really starting to run out of air. Good thing I don’t have asthma. I’d be done-in for sure. The little weirdo plants are like razor mines. One leaf slashes a small hole in my jeans. Now I’m swerving to avoid them. If I trip and face plant onto one, I’m probably dead. Who knows if they’re poisonous? Why not? The air and water are. Great!

Behind me, the storm is rapidly growing larger. It is big and green and black and mean. A towering wall stretching out over all the ocean as far as I can see. The rotten tsunami wave below it has gotten close enough that I can guess its height. Probably about 30 feet. It’s terrifying, but I’m gaining altitude as rising land has given me a much safer view of the beach. I should have thought of that before I almost killed myself on that poison shore. Hell’s sun is now completely gone — swallowed up in a big white, gray and green cloud top like fifteen miles up. The wind is pelting hard. It beats at me in gusts. Grit riding on it hits me like a power sander. If the wind gets too much stronger it will start to rip through my clothes and flesh. Seriously. No fricking joke. Fat-ass raindrops are starting to fall around me. At least these are cooler. Maybe just a little. Luke cool. They pelt me intermittently bringing with them slight relief. My hair and back are a plaster of wet sand.

Legs are starting to burn now. Running in Hell over sand uphill while breathing sulfurous air is no joke even for someone who prides herself on staying in decent shape. The strong wind pushing from behind is a help to speed me along, though. At last, my feet touch rocky ground. Before me, the outcrop rises up. It’s like lots of fingers of some kind of hard rock clawing out of the sand to poke at sky. They make crevices and canyons between them. They’re also part of a land rise perhaps 100 feet above the shoreline. I don’t even turn around to look back. The wind and sand are now too brutal. I dive into one of those pathways in the rock, make as many little turns as I can to get some shelter from the wind and grit whipping through. I cross behind three separate walls of rock and make my way to shelter in a hollow beneath an overhang before I feel safe. It’s not really a cave. But a cleft that cuts about 10 feet into one of the bigger rocks. There are cracks and crevices that run deeper. But my Mirror’s warning about ‘original owners’ makes me wary of trying to go too far in.

Cooler air wafts out from the holes. It also smells cleaner. I put my back to stone, slide myself down to a semi-comfortable sitting position, pull out my almost endless decanter of Perrier water, take a big gulp and watch the storm rage just outside. I can’t see too much because I picked a pretty protected spot. Relatively high up and wrapped in by a crescent of large stone formations. What I can see is terrifying enough. It gets dark as night outside. Sand and water are hurled around by what must be tornado strength winds. The material is all blowing away from me and I’m sheltered by many walls. So, I’m basically safe. I don’t feel safe. I know if I step outside, I’m going to be picked up like a rag doll and ripped apart by sand-razor-wind in moments. Water coming down in that roaring mess is more than torrential. I’m quickly drenched as it pours and pools in my cleft. Thank goodness I picked a higher place. Otherwise, I’d probably be swimming. This rain water seems kinder than the ocean water. I tentatively taste it. It’s still sulfurous and probably not safe to drink. I stick to my Perrier bottle.

Despite the storm’s outrageous jet-plane roar of noise, I’m getting tired. The water falling in is cool enough to be comforting, the air coming up from the cave is kind. It lulls me. Hell, I’m pretty damned tired. It’s been a long-ass day – all with drinking the memory draught, sneaking into Furze Bank, falling through a Hell-Gate, landing on a Hell beach, breathing poison air while having to run a race through razor plants against the mother of all storms. I look at my name curse. It’s still got a decent amount of magic left in it. My wisp is pretty strong and my parents did their best to use their own magic to get me into Furze Bank. All I’ve done so far is open the Hell-Gate, summon my Mirror Specter and turn my Perrier bottle into an endless refills fountain beverage. All? Hah! That’s actually a lot. But I’ve got a handful of minor curses or a couple more major ones left to me.

A permanent Ignarus curse is already running on my name curse as magical tattoo. It doesn’t always work. But it prevents most mundanes and non-magically-sensitive types from seeing the color changes in it when I use it. It also makes the sparks less obvious to them. Although, as you remember from the Pride-Eaters, it’s not fool-proof. I decide to feed a bit more curse energy into my tattoo’s Ignarus and extend it to my body. I need to rest. But I need to do it with some assurance of safety. I haven’t yet met any of Hell’s live inhabitants. But I don’t want to press my luck. The dead things on the beach didn’t look friendly at all. What should I expect? I’m literally in fracking Hell.

Ignarus amplio, I chant quietly, focusing my energy on the already active curse magic. A couple of stray sparks fall from my tattoo. I feel the curse widen like an electric field. There is a kind of snap and crackle like electricity as Ignarus envelops me.

It’s not perfect. But a girl who just spent the day breaking into Hell and surviving her first frigging encounter with it has gotta sleep. As satisfied as I’m going to be, I close my eyes and allow myself drift off. Sleep comes quick – bringing with it more of those damn ringing bells. As I drift off, I again feel a sense of duplicity. Of occupying two places at once. In one there is hard rock, roaring wind, and lashing water. In the other, there is a sense of floating and sensory deprivation. The combination makes it oddly easier to drift off into deeper sleep.

(Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

Arisen Worlds in Discordant Entanglement — Hell, Earth, Heaven

Myra and co.’s journey of the past two weeks has been quite the wild ride!

(Spoiler alerts follow). We started with Myra losing a good portion of her memory by drinking a magical potion — The Memory Draught — for a cause she now knows little about. Her only information regarding her mission is that it involves breaking her into Hell for some greater purpose through the Hell Gate as golden toilet bathroom used daily by the sinfully prideful Ivan Volkov. Her capable mage parents then whisk her off — slipping her into Furze Bank HQ. It’s a corrupt financial institution heavily involved in funding Hell-on-Earth fossil fuels and one crawling with demonic influence. They’re aiming to get Myra through the Hell Gate that Ivan Volkov unwittingly opened. After Myra slips through the Gate and arrives in Hell, her mage parents — Beatrice Lushael and Robert Mori — are left to deal with three nasty Pride Eater demons and Ivan himself. Ivan is possessed by a Pride Eater and forced to transform into a demon hybrid wolf. But Beatrice and Mori manage to exorcise the demon and escape from Furze Bank with the hapless and semi-rescued Ivan in tow. (End of spoiler alerts).

Modern Climate Fantasy

Myra’s journey takes place in what I’m calling a modern climate fantasy. Modern, because the action occurs at a place and in a time very similar to that of the real world. Climate, because the larger series uses the issue of climate crisis as a fulcrum for both world definition and the nature of how conflict, crisis, and resolution occurs through the story’s arc. It could well be said that the Arisen Worlds exist in the climate of climate crisis. With that particular world-destroying and crisis enhancing force acting as a moral theme upon which the story pivots. This is not at all foreign to fantasy — which often grapples with forces that threaten existence in various ways. Though this particular revelation of climate crisis as a malign force fueled by villainous acts may well be rather unique.

The Earth of Myra Helkey suffers from the early stages of climate crisis, much like our own. It suffers from the corruption of businesses and some political structures by bad actors, much like our own. It has experienced the disruption of emerging infectious illness, some driven and others enhanced by climate crisis, much like our own world. Of course, there are key differences. One is that the situations — climate and geopolitical — are somewhat advanced on Myra’s Earth. It’s a world perhaps 5 years further on than ours and probably in a worse way than we will hopefully be by that time. It’s also a place that includes magic in the form of curses used by mages. And it is here that we encounter a pretty clear distinction between the Arisen Worlds Earth and the real Earth of the present day.

Mages Who Form Connections Between Worlds

Mages are a rather small subset of the population on Arisen Worlds Earth. But they are of extraordinary importance to the story. Myra’s immediate family members are all mages. Moreover, these mages operate in an underground network throughout the Arisen Worlds setting. This becomes more of a theme as the story progresses. But you can already get a sense of associations and connections with mages in the story’s early phase. As a connective element, the most important aspect of a mage’s original magic is a special kind of wisp or soul that is able to channel spiritual energy from the multiverse itself. This is their special ability. One they can be born with or one they can awaken to through a lifetime. There is much thought and philosophy among mages about the universality vs the specificity of magical talent. Some believe it is in-born. Others believe that it arises from learning and experience and that all wisps are capable of making the magical connections that a mage wisp forms. But most pivotal to the Arisen Worlds is the fact that mage wisps can connect to spiritual energy from other worlds. And the two other worlds in close enough alignment to Earth in the multiverse to lend such energy consistently are Heaven and Hell. So mages serve as the main element in human society linking Heaven and Hell to Earth and are active in deciding the future path of each world.

Hell — A Ruined World Cynically Reliant on Exploitation for Survival

So, in the context of Myra’s story, what is Heaven and what is Hell? To be clear, though Judeo-Christian themes play a role in the fantastical conception of Heaven and Hell in the Helkey setting, these worlds are actual living (or dying) planets with host life and civilizations. As very basic concepts, each is a world that has endured its own existential crisis and dealt with it in an entirely different way.

Hell, for example, chose the path of authoritarianism, greed, murder, hate, and exploitation. It not only ignored its own climate crisis, it nihilistically reveled in it. As a result, Hell is a ruined world shades worse than Permian extinction period Earth filled with the corrupt, the murderous, the foul, and the vile. It’s hot, toxic, and you mostly can’t trust anyone. Hell has its own original life and inhabitants. These are the devils. But they are life native to the world of Hell as well. Individually, not every devil is morally terrible. But the circumstances of the world of Hell make it difficult if not impossible to achieve high moral standards. This involves the inherent nature of Hell — one of shared crimes and depravity which are cynically seen as the only way to survive. The dire nature of Hell’s world lends itself to these cynical assumptions — which are fed by its autocratic tyrant Asmodeus.

Hell as depicted in the Arisen Worlds multiverse and its super-continent Minos. This basic rendering of Hell is the larger setting for Myra’s future adventures. Notice that this — many shades darker than Earth — world features a convergence of multiple continents into a supercontinent and has a toxic green-purple world ocean locked in a Canfield type state (some of its waters burn). This world map is my original rendering using artistic design software. As Myra continues her adventures in Hell, I’ll provide regional maps for her travels that include more detail. Her first series of adventures occurs in Infernia which is located near the center-east portion of the land mass. Mori and Beatrice’s parallel adventures occur on Earth and, possibly, in Heaven. New maps will be made as they’re needed.

Hell could not exist as a world unless it had some outside resource to prey upon. This outside resource is the soul or wisp. Since before its fall into ruin, Hell was a magnet for the more vicious and harmful spirits of dead human beings. And in ancient times these wisps were governed in Hell by fairer rules. Rules that allowed the wisps to become a part of Hell’s more difficult life but, after ages of learning and reform, were permitted to return to Earth. This system was corrupted by Asmodeus into a form of wanton exploitation and enslavement of wisps for the power they contained. For Asmodeus was the first to learn how to enslave and harness wisps to gain personal power. This original hellish ‘innovation’ allowed Asmodeus to conquer Hell and to place himself as its ruler. Asmodeus’s exploitative ‘advancements’ extended to the world’s resources. And Hell was rich in fossil fuels. Combining wisps with Blood of Earth fuels gave more power to Asmodeus’s fearsome engines and war machines. Millions of souls burned in Hell’s combustion engines which drove Hell’s environment to its present vicious state. Now, Hell is reliant on wisps from Earth for life support machines, environmental control, and enhancements to physical resilience. And it needs more wisps every year. So the design of Hell is to ensnare more wisps by encouraging harmful activities on Earth, which would make Earth more like Hell in the end.

Heaven — A World that Survived Catastrophe to Form a Great Society

In direct opposition to Hell is the realized world of Heaven which contains multiple living worlds orbiting an Orange Dwarf Star. Like Hell, Heaven, which was called by another name at the time, experienced its own terrible existential crisis. This occurred as a series of gamma ray burst events coming from the center of Heaven’s galaxy. At the culmination of this thousands years long series of events, one of the world’s more powerful and far less benevolent beings ignited a mountain of oil that formed a kind of fossil fuel caldera on Heaven’s home world. The combination of periodic blotting out of Heaven’s sun due to cosmic dust excited by the gamma ray burst and increased greenhouse gasses from the burning caldera resulted in terrible swings between hot and cold.

The opposite to Hell in cosmic polarity, Heaven attracted the wisps of the benevolent deceased of Earth. These became reincarnated as various living creatures in Heaven. Many arose from the life-giving and creative magic of dreams — that connects all of Heaven’s creatures — as selfless heroes who directly confronted the crises faced by Heaven. They joined with Heaven’s natives, who were already more closely and powerfully tied to the natural world and held life as sacred, in various great works and adventures to shore up the life supports of Heaven. To strengthen life and to create technologies and magics that worked to make life more vital and beneficially cooperative. In this way, Heaven overcame its difficulties to become a much stronger multi-planet worlds system capable of resisting even the worst forms of catastrophe.

Like Hell, Heaven is not without its internal oppositional forces. Some of these come from heaven’s populace who’ve grown jaded, cynical, greedy, or selfish. These rise as villains but are quickly countered by the many responsible folk — the angels — living in Heaven. Others come from the Outer Darkness — demons attracted to Heaven’s bounty and seeming innocence. Unlike Hell, human wisps are given form and place in heaven naturally and without prejudice. They are not distinguished from native angels. The society of Heaven is democratic and one in which power is shared and gained by merit. There are great beings who earn respect and renown, but there is no centralized ruling force. Heaven instead is the source of a variety of vital ideas and benevolent innovations. Heaven’s religion is one in which Love resulted in the formation of the multiverse and they have a myth of a creation deity that is three in one — mother creation that is all things, the father creative force that inspires new life, growth, change and progress, and the invisible spirit or ghost that connects all things. Lethal disease has been defeated in Heaven. The lives of its inhabitants are immortal, only passing their wisps into the multiverse if they choose to. The world of Heaven is itself a vital riot of life and living things. A beautiful bounty in harmonious, yet still growing, balance with itself.

The Earth in Discordant Entanglement with two Arisen Worlds

As Hell seeks to prey on Earth and draw it into its destructive influence, Heaven seeks to enlighten, enable, liberate and advance it. Heaven is grateful to the wisps that came to its world from Earth and gave aid. Heaven wishes to return the favor. It sends angels to Earth to try to help it find a way out of trouble and conflict. It forms alliances with mages to fight against demonic and diabolical influence. As a result, the forces of Heaven and Hell come into conflict on the battleground of Earth. As there can be no compromise with the zero-sum attempts at conquest and exploitation coming from Hell, this results in discordant entanglement. Discordant — because there can be no harmony with the zero-compromise forces of Hell. Entanglement — because the future destination of Earth is tied up in the destination of the cosmic polar opposites of Heaven and Hell. Arisen Worlds — because Heaven and Hell have both passed their crisis points to reach their future pathways. Hell toward ruin and Heaven toward the celestial civilization.

(For more information on the Arisen Worlds of the Helkey series check out Helkey Lore.)

Helkey 6 – Exorcising the Demon-Wolf

Beatrice watches as Myra does an acrobatic handplant, suspends for a second, turns to look at her one last time, and then is snatched into the Hell-Gate’s opening maw. A part of me goes with you, Beatrice thinks. But she knows it’s more. She’s sending her only daughter into Hell — with zero knowledge of the secret plan they have to break her out. Only trust and Myra’s self-made Mirror Specter guide set to awaken when she enters Hell. It seems a thin assurance to her now, but the guide, a little ghost of a hitch-hiker riding down into Hell on Myra’s wisp, is packed with helpful intel. Preset to give Myra just the amount of information she needs. To help keep Myra alive and on plan as she ventures through the most vicious of worlds. It’s all part of their bold strategy. Maybe too bold. A seriously risky plan Beatrice dares not even think of now lest the stray memory be caught up by a sensitive listener.

In front of her, the ridiculous Ivan Volkov still sits on his golden toilet. His face in blank shock at her shout to the Pride-Eaters. They’re invisible to him, for now. But given how much sin they’d already slurped from Volkov, his blissful ignorance wouldn’t last long. Better now for him to know early so he has a chance to understand. Not that it’s likely to do much good. Volkov is probably a lost cause. Probably. But she’d been surprised before.

Una!” she shouts, gathering the power of her curses. She rushes forward, making the bound across the marble in two leaps. She spins in mid-air between two demons lifting their claws to attack. They have semi-form here. A hit from any one of those wicked claws could be lethal. Hunger ignites in their eyes as she channels the curse energy to the tip of her blade. It gleams – starlike – then she slams the rapier tip flatwise onto Volkov’s forehead. The curse energy transfers into him with a white-hot flare.

Video blog for Helkey 6

Ivan can see the demons now. His shock turns to frenzy. He stands up, tries to run, but is tripped up by his pants. He falls face first in front of the bidet, cracking his elbow on its golden rim. He howls in pain. The place where she channeled Una into his forehead is an angry red. That’s going to bruise. She’s holding the curse in place for him. He has no mage talent as such. But his demon energy is strong and it grasps the curse hard in its jaws. He’s muttering now as one of the demons bends its head down – ethereal spittle dropping on Volkov. “Red… red…” he stammers as he notices the wisp energy wafting off him. He looks at Beatrice. “What did you do to me!!” He shouts as he crawls away, whimpering, from the Pride Eaters. He has apparently forgotten his pants. They are down around his ankles.

Mori springs into motion. Racking the slide on his over-grown rifle, he sights in on the first Pride Eater. The weapon erupts in a hail of blue-white bullets. Its ammunition is heaven-blessed curse energy. Macto curses. The bullets rip through one of the Pride Eaters. Great holes appear in its form. These grow larger as it looks down at itself in shock. It charges toward Mori. But the rapidly growing holes consume its form in a bright flash of falling sparks after just three steps.

The second Pride Eater leaps for Beatrice. She sees its enormous claws tearing toward her as she rises from her lunging curse delivery to Ivan’s forehead. She’s over-extended, so her best move is to spin away. She does a barrel-roll in mid-air as she avoids a series of vicious slashes – then nimbly lands on one grey-booted foot as the other points back behind her. The rapier tip shoots forward like a comet.

“Ivan!” she shouts. “You’ve endangered your soul! These demons hunger for your hubris!” Ivan’s face melts into panicked disbelief. Yes, Ivan, the monsters in your closet really do exist. Her riposte strikes one of the Pride-Eater’s clawed hands. It ripples with white light. Sparks flow from it. Then the hand – claws and everything – bursts into red mist. The Pride Eater pauses in surprise. Serious error. Mori sights in on the thing’s head. A brief trigger-squeeze and another blue-white bullet erupts from the rifle’s barrel, its flash casting shadows across Mori’s angular face. The bullet makes a perfect, purple-rimmed circle in the hollow near the demon’s cavernous nose. The hole spools outward in a widening spiral of sparks like one of those Fourth of July spinners. Now headless and handless, the demon falls. It twitches once, then explodes in a red-spark outburst. The sparks arc through the air like a flower of flares.

“Shit!” Mori shouts.

Beatrice turns her head. The third Pride-Eater has caught up to Ivan. He is raving in Russian, then switches to English as the demon sinks an ethereal claw into him.

“Not this soul. Protected! Was baptized! Was baptized!!” His tone has turned to pleading. His eyes imploring to Beatrice – as if she were somehow both cause of his current trouble and source of possible mercy.

Unfortunately for Ivan, he is not protected. Not in the least. To the contrary, he summoned these demons. His Earth-wrecking work at Furze Bank culminating in self-deifying daily dumps from the golden toilet on top of Berlin drew them the way road kill draws carrion birds. Pride Eaters. Some of Asmodeus’s favorite nasty errand boys. These were the things that came to Ivan. Day after day after day. Over time, one of these nasties had managed to spin a spirit tether between it and Ivan. A demon’s dog chain for his hubris hound. Beatrice can see it as a trailing lead of red mist rising from Ivan. The wound he now suffers would typically be lethal in a variety of ways. But for the spirit tether, instant heart attack, aneurism, hemorrhage… any number of things all resulting in death untraceable to its demonic source would have befallen him. But for poor, tethered Ivan, the effects of such a wound can be at once less final and more horrific. A Pride Eater’s long claws are very useful for gouging away a wisp’s protective coating, for developing its tether, and for using that tether to invade the wisp — possessing body, mind, and spirit. Of course, the natural protection over Ivan’s wisp was already greatly weakened by his own harmful thoughts and acts long before the demons arrived. The Pride Eater just came in, like a vulture swooping down on a dying creature, to finish the job.

“Baptized…” he wheezes pitifully as the impossibly long claw sinks deeper, questing beneath Ivan’s flesh. Then the demon possession takes hold. The Pride-Eater shimmers. Beatrice is bounding toward it, lashing out with her rapier. Mori is swinging his rifle around, drawing a bead. Sword and bullet strike toward the demon in unison. The Pride-Eater flickers, wriggling as if suddenly consumed by thousands of worms, then shoots into Ivan’s body. The mages’ weapons meet only the air where it once stood over Ivan.

“Oh, holy Hell!” Mori curses again. His weapon’s magazine is empty. With practiced motion, he ejects, pulls another blue magazine from his pocket, inserts it into the chamber, and pulls back the charging handle.

Ivan is writhing on the ground. His body is now flickering, bulging, growing larger. There is a sickening crackle as muscles and bones rearrange. A fur like thousands of black metal hair-pins shoot out of his flesh. His jaws elongate. Great teeth sprout and grow pointed. His eyes yellow. Four limbs become four legs. A row of larger, wicked and barbed spines emerges from his back. A tail sprouts from his rear. The tail’s end is tipped in barbs. At the shoulder he is now easily five feet tall. From tip of nose to tip of tail – 15 feet. He’s transformed into some horrific mash-up of wolf, demon, porcupine and stegosaurus all rolled up together.

He lifts his maw and lets forth a great howl. The sound echoes through worlds. It spirals down into the Hell Gate. It crosses the darkness and enters the Arch of Time. Into the wastes of Infernia where Myra is now just beginning to get her bearings it roars, out beyond the terrifying metal madness that is Mechanum it clangors, through the battles now raging in Avernum it explodes, past the terrible slave prisons of Carcerus it keens, and echoing at last across the great spires of Asmodeus’s impenetrable fortress Invicti on the shores of the burning purple ocean of Hell it wails. Somewhere, in that great black fortress, a Curse Rider hears the call of Ivan the Wolf, puts on his wide-brimmed black hat, and begins to make his way down to Asmodeus’s stables in search of his Nightmare. For at Ivan’s possessed summons a new Curse Hunt is begun. The Curse Hunt for Beatrice and Mori.

Beatrice feels shivers over her body at the sound. She knows the howl entered the Gate. She knows in her gut – this is a summons. She knows half of Furze Bank HQ must have heard it as well. For Ivan was now a hybrid demon-human. Not just a mere possession. But a full-on transformation only the likes of the Pride Eaters could bring out. He exists both as ethereal – which is that shadow realm the demons typically inhabit on Earth – and as corpus. Live and in the flesh.

“He just rang one hell of an alarm bell,” Mori says, sighting in on Ivan the Wolf. “You handle the exorcism curse!”

Beatrice points her blade at the massive demon-wolf. It is lowering its head, still getting its bearings, still becoming accustomed to its new form. They have time yet. Mere moments. But it should be enough. The transformation hasn’t fully taken hold.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica protestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii!” She incants as she points her sword blade at the wolf demon. A kind of bow shock of light has formed in front of her sword.

“Una!” Mori shouts and the bow shock extends to his rifle.

Ivan the wolf lowers his head and growls. It is not like a normal wolf growl. This comes out more like a grating growl-cough. 

“Omnis legio, omnis congregation et secta diabolica!” Beatrice continues as the bow shock grows brighter.

Outside the chamber of the golden toilet there is shouting and the pounding of feet. Guards are at the outer door. Ivan takes an awkward step forward. There is terrible power in those muscles. He doesn’t know how to use them just yet. He crouches to pounce, but his legs splay too wide on the slick marble flooring.

“Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica ADJURAMUS TE!” Beatrice finishes. Together, her weapon and Mori’s phase fully into the ethereal realm. They will target the demonic part of Ivan with this abjuration’s full force. Its bow shock is now extreme. A bright light that briefly turns the Furze Bank HQ executive water closet into a light house tower. Beatrice lunges forward, Mori shoots, the still awkward demon wolf as Ivan lashes out with iron-fanged jaws. Sword and bullet strike the beast carrying with them their bow shocks of light. Ivan’s fangs clamp down on Beatrice’s leg. The exorcism rocks through Ivan’s body. It evaporates all demonic flesh it touches – leaving only human flesh behind. The Pride Eater is excised. Nothing of it remains. Ivan shrinks back to his original shape and stature. He is completely naked. All his clothes are in shreds on the floor. Beatrice cries out in pain – looking down at her leg-wound oozing blood and poison.

“Einfach! Halt!” The guards have kicked the frosted doors open and are drawing their pistols.

“Time to go!” Mori shouts. He grabs Ivan with one arm. Beatrice follows, but has to limp as searing pain shoots up her leg. Mori levels his gun at the globular glass window, waits one more second for the exorcism curse to fully fall away, and fires. The far larger than normal bullets riddle it with enormous holes. It swiftly loses integrity and showers down, filling the room with shards. Permanent curses, woven into their clothing, protect them from the sharp, though mundane rain. The guards, however, are not quite so lucky. They flinch, cover their heads, and slip back down the stair for protection.

Ivan is shaking, incoherent, covered in little nicks from the glass. An ugly black scar has formed where the Pride Eater entered him. He is yammering Russian, English, and occasionally tries to howl. Beatrice takes his other arm as she and Mori run to the edge of the tower. Dropping all other curses, they jump off while yelling the “Pluma!” curse together and then “Una” as Ivan starts to fall faster. The shared curse energy causes them to descend at a gradual if still gut-wrenching pace. It’s like a fast lift down.

“Well, you wanted to get Asmodeus’s attention. To draw it away from Myra. I think we did that in spades.” Mori says with a cynical half-smile as they glide toward the street with Ivan between them.

“Grand spades,” Beatrice replies. “That howl rang all through Hell and into half of Berlin. Who would’ve expected Ivan here was so far gone? I thought if we convinced him to come with us after seeing the demons, he might take us up.”

Mori gives his crow-cackle laugh. “You think he’d be scared into doing what’s right? Hah! No plan survives contact with the enemy.” He shifts his gaze to her leg. “That looks bad.”

Beatrice nods. “It is. Some of his venom got me. We need a healer.” She can feel it burning in her veins. Her head is already starting to grow heavy. The outer borders of her vision blurring.

They land on the pavement. Beatrice stumbles. A few onlookers watch them in stunned surprise. One points at Ivan. In the distance, sirens begin to blare. Far above, flashlights are gleaming through the wreckage that was once the Furze Bank HQ executive water closet. Ivan suddenly seems to realize his surroundings and covers his private parts while making a scrunched-up expression of embarrassment. Mori throws his leather jacket over the Russian after transferring his ammo to his jeans pockets. He’s light on it anyway. The jacket is rather long and Ivan is rather short. The combination results in a modicum of modesty – even if Ivan does look like he’s wearing a high-cut onesie.

“I’d call this a serious wardrobe improvement,” Mori says, cuffing the still confused Ivan on the shoulder. “Man, pink is definitely not your color.”

Beatrice swoons a little as her vision darkens for a second. She’s not in the laughing mood. That look on Myra’s face is still stuck in her head. A piece of her is still with Myra down in that hell. She looks to her leg. “Left a piece of Hell in me too,” she says, imagining it’s pretty incoherent, but not caring. “Let’s get moving before you have two invalids to deal with,” she says lifting her head to Mori. It takes far too much effort.

“Well, it’s a good thing we know a healer, isn’t it?” Mori replies. “Come on. It’s off to Marienkirche to see our old friend Sadie. Glad we had a back-up plan.”

(Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

Helkey 5 – Hell Gate in the Arch of Time

Tick frigging tok.

We move swiftly down the halls toward Ivan Volkov – pausing at corners to make sure we’re unobserved. Mori is handy with his brief case. It has a switch that shoots out a signal interruption for any cameras in the halls. Mundanes and their tech are our most likely trouble up until the point when Ivan starts the big sploosh. I’m not too concerned about actual live demons rampaging right now. But our contacts with Felix and Gannon have me more than a little freaked out. Their wisp-hungry paw-prints, claw and tooth marks are all over the damned place. Part of me is wary of stumbling on mangled corpus, blood, viscera. Less likely this side of Hell. But man were those guys freaky with their combined curse resistance and pigs in shit wallowing happiness with just plain wrong. I slip my sweaty hand into my pocket. I produce my cell phone. I breathe out. I turn it on. The time is now frigging 6:23. I have 7 minutes left to live.

Omnis scienta shows Volkov again alone. He’s shaken off the red-head fem exec. He licks the last of the crumbs off his fingers, then thrusts a hand in a pocket. He pulls out an ear piece. Plunks it into his right ear. Flipping out his phone, he produces what looks like a play list. But he doesn’t turn it on yet.

“Really?” I whisper to my parents.

Beatrice shushes me. “He’s right down the hall,” she mouths more than speaks.

“But, musical dumps? Really?” I mouth back, pointing to the scene floating before us.

Mori smirks. I know he’s trying not to nervously laugh. He clasps me on the shoulder instead. Trying to reassure. But the effect is opposite. He does this every time he’s worried around me. Doesn’t calm me down for squat.

Ivan approaches a door. He produces a key card. We rush up to the corridor corner about 50 feet behind him. I peak around. The facing hall is bordered on one side by clear glass. I have an unobstructed view of the Berlin skyscape unfolding for miles and miles. The lights of evening are flickering on in the gloaming. Those distant storms have mostly departed leaving behind feathery cirrus that shade the sky in hews of pink and blue. At the end of this picturesque hall Ivan comes to a stop. The omnis scienta fades out as I see him in the flesh for the first time. My weirdo thought is – I’m taller than this man.

Ivan swipes his card over the reader. There is a little ‘beep’ as his access confirms. He turns the latch and I get a glimpse of marble floor ending in a platform edged with golden stairs beyond. He passes through the threshold. The door begins to swing shut behind him.

Mori lifts a hand. “Teneo,” he incants, casting a holding curse on the door. It swings shut and seems to close. But I know better.

Omnis scienta returns as we walk down the hall to the door. Ivan is moving across a marble floor with metal eagles ringed by circles embossed into it. There are three eagles. The eagle to the right appears poised to prey on the center eagle while the eagle to the left looks away. What they stand for, I’ve got no clue. But they seem way too fascist for comfort. Ivan comes to a set of ascending stairs as we reach the outer door. The stairs are golden and rise along the side of a black wall of glossy marble in juxtaposition to the white floor. The stairs terminate at a golden platform facing a frosted glass pair of double doors, each with another eagle emblem upon it.

We stop at the outer door as Ivan approaches his inner sanctum. He pauses for a moment, flips out his phone, then pushes play. Omnis scienta pulses with the sound of a revving engine and squealing wheels followed by heavy metal music.

“Gimmie fuel, gimmie fire, gimmie that which I desire!” rocks our eardrums through the sensor. Ivan Volkov is playing Metallica.

He lifts his arms wide to finger tap a rhythm. With that goblin grin, his face looks kinda like a bat. Rocking out to Metallica in a pink polo shirt. OK, then, a pink bat. He breathes deep, then opens the double doors. Inside is a globe-like chamber that seems to jut out into the sky. Most of the wall and ceiling is glass. The floor is a semi-circle of black marble. Toward the center is a raised section of golden metal. It’s probably actual fracking gold. Upon it is perched a single golden toilet with a golden bidet beside it. Ivan makes his way toward the toilet.

We’re still at the outer door. Mori gives it a little push. The latch never caught. Mori’s Teneo curse held it. It slides open without a sound. We enter, pouring in over the white marble and three eagles. The door shuts behind us, releasing a spark as Mori lets go of his curse. Holding two curses at the same time takes serious concentration. Mori’s had omnis scienta going for more than a half hour now. That’s true grit. Mori doesn’t show it. Hasn’t even broken a sweat.

We move halfway up the stairs, careful to stay out of sight through the doors. They’re frosted glass. So semi-opaque. If we bob our heads forward a little, we can see Ivan’s form as a pink and khaki blur through them. Omnis scienta shows quite a bit more. I’m kinda thinking I don’t want to watch what happens next.

Ivan is on the pedestal. He turns toward the glass and looks out over Berlin. The sound of Metallica is raging through our sensor. Mori lifts his hand and whispers – visus capitis – adding a modification to his sensor. Our perspective of Ivan blurs and shifts once more. We are now seeing through his eyes. Thank goodness. Looks like we’ll get the PG-13 version.

The view from where he’s standing is spectacular. At his perch he appears to be flying over the city. The glass walls bend in, giving the illusion that his platform toilet floats on a golden pedestal in a circle of black marble in midair. Above are the fading colors of twilight sky. In front, to the right and left, the German countryside rolls ever outward. Dim, but still visible in shades, mists, and little twinkling lights. Below on every side is all of Berlin bustling with evening activity. Cars and trains move like little toys. People seem insect size. Ivan’s fiddling with his trousers. He begins to unbuckle his belt. There is a zipping sound. A rustling of clothes. My phone says 6:29. The shit is literally about to go down on those poor people heading out to dinner or slogging through the still scorching evening outside air.

Ivan lowers himself onto the golden toilet with a happy sigh. He makes little motions with his hands to the music. “I am king,” he says in English at a break in the song and then sings along, badly and off-key – “Oooo wanna burn, fuel is pumping engines…”

There is a loud farting sound. I flinch. It sounds like a trumpet – continuing on for a good five seconds. No-one ever said anything about temporary Hell gates being aromatic. Well, maybe not entirely PG-13 either.

Faetor oculorum,” Mori encants, now weaving in a fourth spell to our shared sensor. At first there is no distinction other than some red strands that look like fire rising up around Ivan. Yeah. That’s demonic influence all right. Like the guy has been rolling around in it. But other than Ivan the environment starts out pretty clear.

Ivan is still singing in narcissistic fugue — “Gimmie fuel…” and then a wet ‘plop!’

Below him, the glistening black marble pools. It seems to swirl hungrily. The little golden pedestal appears to float upon it like an autumn leaf skimming the surface of a dark, bottomless sea. I startle as a ripple of purple-red light flashes in its depths. Tiny, at first. But growing in size. I have a vision of a shark beginning to rise toward an unsuspecting sea otter floating on the surface. Another light appears. Then another. The edges of the marble begin to flicker, steadily bleeding into a circle of spectral red flame.

“This is it, Myra,” Beatrice says. “When I say go, I need you to run to that circle. Mori and I will make a distraction. Hopefully one that will last a year.”

I don’t fully get what she’s saying. But I guess that’s the whole point. I’m committed now. Hell I’m pretty much defiled. I will never be able to scrub this whole event from my memory. Ever. I nod, “I’m ready mom,” I reply. I can’t say ‘I love you’ because that would feel like a too-permanent goodbye. But I grab her arm and squeeze. She is suddenly holding me. So is Mori. He is just there as this big crow-like presence.

“Now Beatrice,” Mori says softly.

Beatrice strokes my hair, looks into my eyes and chants the curse — “Indespectus.” My body suddenly fades into invisibility. I hold my right hand up. I don’t see anything. I have gone completely blank. I turn to see if I have a shadow. Not even that. It’s a little disconcerting. Frack. Mom’s never used this one in my presence before. She’s still holding onto my left arm. I’m still getting my new invisible bearings when she taps it and invokes the second curse – Infernum Clavis!”

Oh shit! That’s my name curse! Sparks immediately begin to fall from my arm. These are not entirely invisible.

Beatrice is pushing me forward. “Go!” she says, throwing away all caution. I spring up, driven by some kind of inner surge of bravery I didn’t know I had. There’s a niddling in my mind that I actually trained for this action. My muscles sure as hell remember what to do for some reason. I’m at the glass frosted doors. Mori has already rushed forward to kick one open. With his right hand he has pushed a third button on his briefcase.

Not the third button!

I spring forward through the door. My curse-enhanced sight shows the magic circle – now clearly formed. It is fully red and double ringed. Angry words in alien tongues fill out the gap. From the black marble, three spectral shapes have arisen. They appear to be formed of flesh and sinew without skin. Humanoid. But at least 7 feet tall. Their heads are skull-like but taper in the back toward points. Their hands distend into wicked claws the size of hedge shears. Before now, I’d only heard tales of the Pride-Eater demons. Yet here were three towering directly in front of me. Clutching hungrily at the glistening red tethers streaming off of Ivan’s inner wisp. They’ve gathered over Ivan – who is now playing the air drums on his golden toilet. One reaches out to stroke at Ivan’s head with a massive talon. It flicks some of Ivan’s thoughts from his mind. They appear as more red mist. The demon’s long tongue flickers out and laps at the bad-thought-mist like a cat lapping milk.

Swallow future, spit out hope…” I hear it hiss along to the song. Hey, demons can enjoy Metallica too, I suppose. Information I really didn’t want to know.

My boots squeak as I race across the marble floor toward the circle. I’ve got more than a little fear driving me on now. Pride-Eaters are serious bad mojo. The three demons don’t notice me. Ivan is too wrapped up in his Metallica and hubris-high to hear the sounds of my footfalls. I definitely notice the serious stench of his farts and offal. Whew! I don’t give a flying fuck at the godsdamn moment as I make my way for a portion of the Hell gate not presently occupied by demons.

Mori is in the doorway. He pressed the third button, remember? There’s a whirring sound as his briefcase begins to transform. Yeah. Cool, right? A frigging transforming briefcase. The front section pops upward, extends and narrows, the bottom section splits, the back section elongates and widens, the handle stiffens and produces an optical scope. A few seconds later, Mori is no longer holding a black briefcase. It’s now a dreadful-looking magical, long-barreled assault rifle. He spins the optical on his scope and lifts his weapon into the ready position. From a pocket in his leather jacket, he produces a blue magazine that, to my curse-sight, crackles with divine energy. What’s he gonna do with that? Protect Ivan?

Not my problem. I am now at the edge of the circle. Sparks are flying from my arm. One of the demons tilts its head curiously at the falling light. It lifts a clawed hand. Its tongue flickers out – tasting the air. It doesn’t see me. But it senses something.

“Hey! Over here!” Beatrice has moved up beside Mori in the double doors. Her rapier is out and is glowing like a golden-silver beam of sunlight through a window on a winter’s day. The demon turns its eyes toward Beatrice.

“Blyat!” Ivan curses as he now sees my parents standing in the door, one holding a full-on overgrown assault rifle, the other a freaking sword. Another loud fart escapes his ass.

Beatrice’s shout has bought me the second I need. I jump into the air, cross the magical circle’s threshold, flip forward, and do a hand plant like a skater on my left arm. My hand hits the marble and for a moment I am suspended upside-down — staring into that black, flickering with red, marble. My active name-curse dumps sparks into the gateway which lights up brighter. It flashes once. Like a camera shudder opening. I fall face-first through it.

Darkness surrounds me. The sparks from my arm drift about me like lazy stars as I fall. My stomach is now in my throat. I shout “fuuuuccckkkk!” I can’t help it. I’m plummeting to my death or worse. Above, Ivan and the demons are rapidly receding, they don’t even notice me. No Earthly sound seems to cross the threshold I just breached. Though the harsh ethereal scrapes of Pride-Eater claws is quite loud. I shift to face the direction of my fall. Ahead is blackness and a little rainbow dot. The dot rapidly grows as I approach it. It bends into a rainbow arch that seems to stand on a rainbow floor. As I drift still closer, the colored archway moves in three dimensions – becoming a circle. It is the frigging Arch of Time. To pass from one world to the next, you have to go through it. Time seems to slow. The darkness in the center of the Arch bends toward me. I feel that I bend toward it. There is a ‘pop!’ and a feeling like I’ve been turned inside out. I am through! The darkness blurs away into a greenish glow as I tumble onto hot sand and take a gulp of noxious air.

I somersault three or four times before I come to a sprawling stop. Spread eagle on the ground, I look up at the green as goo colored sky. To my left, oily clouds of black smoke rise from an array of jagged dark-metal towers. Above, a merciless sun beats down. Beside the sun is what looks like a floating black web. It casts shade below it – providing pitiful relief to the scorching lands.

“We did it!” I choke in the rotten-eggs air. “We fucking did it. Holy Hell! Oh my gods! I’m in fucking Hell. What do I do now!?”

(Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

Helkey — Lore

Arisen World – The threefold multiverse containing the universe of the Earth, its dark possibility which is Hell, and its bright potential which is Heaven. These three worlds overlap – each sharing a future interdependent with the others. The Arisen World is the gestalt or combination of all three acting in bonded discord. A kind of entangled conflict. Each world’s course and future is determined by Actus – or the action of dependent matter and independent forms. Forms are made up of life (corpus) and spirit (wisp or psyche). Forms possess Agency – which is the ability to alter, however subtly, the destination of the Arisen World through willful acts.

Asmodeus– The present lord of hell. Asmodeus overthrew the old lord whose name is now forgotten. In doing so, he secured the vast collection of wisps in hell from mortals who, in life, were afflicted with greed, rage, cruelty, lust, fear, jealousy and other emotional weaknesses to the point that they inflicted terrible harm upon those around them. The old lord of hell had sought to reform these souls – teaching them over long ages how to act without harming others. Asmodeus instead declared these souls irredeemable – deciding to use them as a kind of currency and fuel combined. He employed powerful demonic and diabolical engines to sunder their essence and produce energy to power mighty magics. In doing so, Asmodeus generated a greater cycle of exploitation and harm. One in which all forms of such abuse fed his power even as he enslaved the abusers – tapping their power and very being to fuel his own growing might. Over time, Asmodeus learned how to trap other poor hapless souls by exploiting any harmful activity in life to draw their wisps into hell. He did this by convincing individuals that a person’s character was forever marred by the worst thing they’ve ever done. This concept, called sin, became a self-fulfilling prophecy for many who would otherwise have developed the will to escape the influence of hell but were instead inexorably drawn in to its deepening spiritual gravity.

Ammit-Heh – The chimeric dragon displaying features of a crocodile, lion and hippopotamus who lairs upon the Burned Isle in the Lake of Fire. Ammit-Heh serves the purpose of devouring hearts. This enables Asmodeus to use whisps as both currency and power store.

Avernum — The battle land of Hell, Avernum is a blasted land crawling with armies fighting for supremacy. This terrible place of endless bloody conflict was set aside long ago by Asmodeus’s dictate of Bellum Aeternus or Eternal War. As an absolute dictator, Asmodeus rules with an iron fist. One would think this might lead to a kind of fearful peace. Not so in Hell. The Lords of Hell continuously plot to overthrow each other, to take power, and to even topple Asmodeus. The place is rife with internecine conflict, plots, rebellion, ambushes and assassination attempts that always threaten to boil over into war. To prevent continuous open warfare throughout Hell and to better organize Minos into ‘productive districts,’ Asmodeus set aside the land of Avernum as a battlefield where the lords of Hell, including himself, might settle their differences. Once war is declared, each opposing Hell-Lord moves their forces into Avernum with the aim to obliterate or subjugate the forces of his rival there. Any open major war conducted outside of Avernum invokes Asmodeus’s wrath and almost always results in the destruction or enslavement of the offending Hell Lord. To be clear, other conflict still occurs in Hell. But the ritualized, sanctioned conflict of Avernum is one structure that separates the Hell Lords from the roiling diabolical and demonic masses of Hell. And Asmodeus rewards those who take part in his structed conflict while punishing those who do not.

Beatrice Lushael – Mother of Myra. White mage. Angel. Mage name means – Rain of Stars.

Blue Skinned Devils — The most numerous humanoid devil. Blue skinned devils are also cast into an impoverished and mostly powerless rank in devil society. They mostly serve as slaves and low level servants for the less populous red skinned devils and other devils of high rank.

Blood of Earth – The mage name for fossil fuels – as they are gouged out of the body of mother Earth. Also the name of any industry or activity that results in the ruination of life giving lands, airs, and waters. Blood of Earth attracts the interest of demons and devils in much the same way as other harmful acts. However, it has a special attraction as destruction of the Earth, particularly for profit, often is the result of a combination of greed, lack of remorse, pride, and joy in doing harm.

Burning Lands — An expansive region of coal fields in the northern section of Infernia lit afire by volcanoes. Devils mine and capture the fluids and gasses produced by these lands for use in hellish infernal combustion engines.

Brian Gannon — an extraordinarily greedy Furze Bank executive.

Carcerus — The slave-labor prison of Hell, Carcerus is a land filled with fortresses that serve as combined forced labor and concentration camps. Wisps formed into bodies are often sent to Carcerus where they typically work until they perish in body — at which point their wisps are harvested for worbs or to fuel diabolical magic. The prison masters of Carcerus also send out Chain Bands to various regions of Hell to do heavy labor or dangerous work of various kinds. Slaves that survive 101 years of this deadly work are freed. However, time of incarceration under the slave masters of Carcerus can be extended even for minor infractions. So terms of slavery can often extend decades to centuries beyond the first 101 years. Nonetheless, devils do occasionally survive the slave masters’ whips to matriculate to ‘freedom.’ These freed devils are often among the most ruthless denizens of Hell — having learned the lessons of brutality, torture, and relentless unforgiving labor beneath the most terrible task-masters in all the Arisen Worlds.

Century — A battle group of one hundred devils.

Charon — Hell’s moon which was destroyed in a great cataclysm about 2,500 years ago. All that remains is an orange cloud of debris surrounded by an accretion disk.

Corpus – Physical form which is the unity of wisp and body.

Curse – Channeled or crafted magic that alters an aspect of reality. Called a curse because the ancient church long ago declared all magic blasphemy in an effort to permanently confine demons to the outer realm and devils to hell and to reduce their influence and remove their ability to harvest wisps. This declaration and the genocidal war against mages that followed had the opposite effect, however, generating numerous temporary hell gates while creating unnecessary confusion and fear regarding the use of magic. Eventually, the word curse was used to describe any socially taboo or offensive language – i.e. curse words, or to describe any solemn utterance aimed at invoking supernatural power to inflict harm.

Curse Riders – Asmodeus’s elite hunters who are specifically tasked with hunting down mages. Curse riders specialize in dragging mages into Hell and butchering them for their wisps. Mage wisps are especially coveted by Asmodeus. For this reason, most mages are hunted and do their best to keep their craft secret. It is typically considered suicidal to attract the attention of a Curse Rider. Though a few powerful, cunning, or lucky mages have managed to face one down or give one the slip on occasion.

Curse Hunt — When a Curse Rider hunts down a mage. Such hunts are often expansive — taking in numerous persons, demons, and devils held in thrall by the Curse Rider. Curse Hunts are often also called witch hunts.

Dark Psychic — A cleric of a diabolical religious order — Invicti Asmodei — wholly devoted to the service of Asmodeus. Dark Psychics possess the ability to project their senses long distances both individually and through a world-spanning Minosian Web (see below) in which every Dark Psychics’ worb acts as a node. The Minosian Web enables these devout servants of Asmodeus to possess a semi-omniscience. Accessing the Web allows them to see and sometimes hear past and present events occurring on Minos (Hell) so long as the Dark Psychic knows where and when to work. These Dark Psychics then feed sensitive information to the heads of their order who in turn inform Asmodeus. In this way, Asmodeus and his Hell Lords are able to observe practically any event on Hell that draws their attention.

Demon – A powerful and unruly wisp composed of pure, unbridled negative emotion. Demons are primal, often ancient, and inhabit the outer darkness but can also cross into hell or possess the bodies of mortals or mages. They feed on the negative and malicious emotions of mortals. It is for this reason that they congregate at hell gates or tear open small and temporary ones. Mortals afflicted by addiction, mental illness born of malice, or lack of compassion can create a channel through which a demon from the outer darkness may come to possess them. Demons in the hells can possess the body of a devil or a mortal – twisting it into draconic, chaotic, or other wild and monstrous shapes. Demonic possession can impart both great power and terrible madness.

Devil – A creature that inhabits hell. Often, they are wisps trapped in hell who are given a second body by one of the Lords of Hell or through forcibly taking over the body of a being stranded in hell. Devils are often twisted forms of mortals in life, can come in the imagined shapes of dark guardians like black knights and gargoyles, or, in the case of the lords of hell, are the dark reflections of angels.

Drivers — Devils who corral and enslave wisps. They are typically red-skinned with horns sprouting from the front of their foreheads. However, other devils can also act as Drivers.

Doppleganger – Fake body double used by some mages to house a wisp while the real body sleeps.

Energetic Vessel — A mage’s store of curse energy coming from the multiversal spirit.

Felix Azriel — Furze Bank executive. One of many at Furze Bank who’ve attracted the attention of demons.

Fortress Invicti — The seat of Asmodeus’s power in Hell, Fortress Invicti is the mightiest stronghold of this terrible realm. Sitting on the shores of the Lake of Fire, Invicti commands the main trade route funneling wisps, newly fashioned worbs, and newly made devils northward to Mechanum, Avernum, and Carcerus. Its high towers can be seen for many miles in every direction. And its terrible inhabitants are among Hell’s most powerful and vicious.

Form Makers — Devils who forcibly shape wisps into devil forms. They appear as balls of floating darkness that shoot black lightning.

Furze Bank HQ — A large banking conglomerate with ties to various nefarious actors on the world stage, both earthly and otherwise.

Gibbens Crane — A Curse Rider summoned by Ivan Volkov to hunt Mori and Beatrice.

Holocaust Scourge — A powerful diabolical whip and channel for devilish magics that uses fire hot enough to cut steel for its lash. A holder of a Holocaust Scourge can also tap the energy of enslaved wisps to fling bits of this flame to inflict agony, grievous injury or both.

Helkey – An event or emotion that can serve to open a minor or temporary hell gate. These are often torn open by demons in areas where terrible things are happening. Helkey gates are usually temporary – only lasting for minutes to hours at most. Sometimes a permanent Helkey exists – attracting demons frequently who often form these temporary rifts over and over again.

Hell Gate – Semi-permanent structures that link Hell to Earth. Hell Gates form in places in which the most terrible events of the age have occurred. Present hell gates are located in places like Auschwitz or Hiroshima or in the warming Arctic or at the dying Great Barrier Reef.

Infernia — The equatorial region of Hell’s supercontinent Minos. Infernia features a great wasted defile of vast deserts, burning lands, and terrible silt bogs. It is also the region of Hell where wisps come to reside after death following their capture by the influence of Hell and its demons and devils in life. Infernia is so hot that it is only practical, even for the creatures of hell, to move about for extended periods during winter. Night-time travel is preferred. But the difference between night and day temperatures on Hell is less than on Earth.

Ivan Volkov – Otherwise known as Ivan the Wolf. Ivan is the unwitting dupe of Asmodeus on Earth – serving as his herald without realizing it.

Kindre Moss — A moss from Beatrice’s home-world of Heaven (called Heaven by those on Earth) known for its medicinal properties.

Knife Lake — A large lake on the eastern edge of Infernia whose shores are known for their abundant wisp-fields.

Lake of Fire — A burning region of Hell’s Ocean. While many areas of Hell’s Ocean burn, the Lake of Fire region is wracked by characteristically intense firestorms.

Lance — A fighting group of ten devils.

Mage Name – A partial true name that identifies the source of a mage’s power.

Magical Tattoo – A permanent channel for curses formed into the flesh of a mage just below the skin. Often taking weeks, months, or even years to complete, such tattoos often tap into the power of the mage’s true name. In this way, Magical Tattoos can serve as a direct link to the source of a mage’s power. Mage families will sometimes have these tattoos crafted for their children as a means of enhancing their ability to tap inherited magic and/or as a way to activate a specific kind of curse.  In the case of Myra, her name curse Helkey has been crafted into a magical tattoo.

Masters of Infernal Device — Asmodeus’s forge masters. Expert crafters of various devices and machines able to harness diabolical magic.

Mechanum — The ‘civilized’ region of Hell is a vast field of over-developed, smoking industry interspersed with hellish city-scapes. Here are Hell’s forges that craft everything from weapons, to transports, to dwellings, to Hell’s fearsome engines. Powering it all are the enslaved wisps — formed by various Hell-forces or creatures into devils, or housed in the traps used to power diabolical magic called worbs. Mechanum is located in the pole-ward portion of Minos just to the north of Infernia. Its climate is one racked by dust storms rising out of Infernia, drenched by vicious thunder leviathans, and poisoned by the smokes of Mechanum’s industry. Running through it all are toxic, burning black rivers.

Memory Draught – A powerful and illegal potion that is designed to selectively wipe parts of the drinker’s memory. Memory draughts can be dangerous, harmful and unpredictable. Memories from these draughts can take between days and years to return.

Minosian — The primary tongue of Hell spoken by most devils. Though the super-continent of Minos is vast beyond the imagining of most Earth-dwellers, a common culture and tongue unite the devils in their misery.

Minosian Web — A network of interconnected Dark Psychic worbs that allows these psychically sensitive devils to project their senses and the senses of those who touch them practically anywhere and to any time on Minos (Hell). Each Dark Psychic forms a nexus in this Web. Their worbs continuously send energy bled from their captured souls out to other Dark Psychics. This outward flow of rendered spiritual energy captures sights and sounds as it travels. Dark Psychics can project their senses and the senses of others down these web strands to observe past or present events near a Web segment. The Minosian Web is a primary tool of Asmodeus in maintaining his stranglehold on power in Hell. Its Dark Psychic constituents are fanatical devotees who consider it a religious duty to report what they find to Asmodeus to ensure the sanctity of his unrelenting tyrannical reign. The fanatical Dark Psychics and their Minosian Web thus form an information and religious hegemony. A sect that through their Hell Web holds a stranglehold on both information flows and the interpretation of reality in Hell.

Mirror Specter — A magical mental construct that appears as a ghost or hologram and has a modicum of intelligence. These constructs usually act as archivists, librarians or lore-keepers. Myra’s Mirror Specter is an image of herself sent to give her advice in Hell. The curses used to activate her personal Mirror Specter are locked up in her magical tattoo as name curse.

Mottle — A form made out of wisp by a Vila in Hell. One of Asmodeus’s forbidden forms. Mottles are flat, wide bat-like creatures. Their muscular, cloak-like bodies are capable of flight, constriction, and partnering to assist humanoid creatures. When draped across a humaniod, they can grant short flight, help to reduce the impacts of Hell’s terrible environment, and even provide nourishment through IV-bites. Mottles also possess the ability to send thoughts by touch. These creatures are vegetarian and subsist on various Hell plants.

Multiversal Spirit — The energy of the multiverse which is composed of the interaction of all material and life that exists. How mages describe an all-encompassing spirit similar to a transcendental oversoul. One that connects all things, all life, all spirits and all realities. Mages draw in some of the energy of this multiversal spirit to power their curse-magic.

Myra Helkey – 17-year-old daughter of Beatrice Lushael and Robert Mori. Mage name has a double meaning. Actual name informed by a curse that has yet to be unlocked.

Nightmare — A specialized wisp-powered machine made to serve a Curse Rider for his steed. Typically made to resemble a horse, the Nightmare infernal construct is both capable of transforming into a variety of conveyances and of taking on the shape of a vague fearful shadow.

Overseer Tower — A wisp slave trade outpost overlooking Knife Lake.

Plumacats — A form shaped from a wisp by a Vila in Hell. One of Asmodeus’s forbidden forms marked by the Lord of Hell for genocide. Plumacats appear to be a hybrid of a velociraptor and a tiger. Two raptor eyes peer out from a feline face. Opened mouths reveal long fangs. Hands padded for running and pouncing feature both fingers and claws. Covered in large and lustrous black feathers, the bodies of Plumacats are capable of both bipedal and quadrupedal movement. Swift and graceful, these predators hunger to devour the flesh of devils.

Poachers — Devils who hunt various creatures to use for food, material, and wisps. Poachers and Drivers often overlap — trading, sharing information and resources. At times Poachers also act as slavers — selling captured creatures and wisps to Drivers and their clients. Poacher work is typically transactional and for profit. However, some Poachers also host hunt tours for sport.

Pride Eater – A form of demon that feeds on overweening pride and lust for power blind to consequence. Pride eaters inhabit Hell and the outer darkness. They often appear as tall, skinless demons composed of flesh and sinew on bone with hollow eyes, tapered skulls and giant claws protruding from their hands. Pride Eaters can form tethers with those they feed upon. They can use these tethers to possess or control their victims. Occasionally, Asmodeus will direct a Pride Eater to unlock a person’s diabolical potential through forced transformation. This is one way that the monstrosities of Hell are brought into being on Earth. When this happens, these monsters are called prophets of Asmodeus. It is a rare and terrible event for such an instance to occur.

Red Skinned Devils — Devils stratify their society into ranks based on race, form, power and skin color. The red skinned devils are a higher level class of humanoid devils. They are characterized by their brutal sense of entitlement, reliance on bullying and violence to advance, and plotting nature. They viciously exploit others through various means. This includes the blue skinned devils whom they have mostly enslaved or forced into dangerous, less desirable work.

Robert Mori – Father of Myra. Death mage. Human. Mage name means – to kill or to die.

Sadie Medela Dextera — Pastor at St Mary’s Church in Berlin. Life Mage. Angel. Mage name means — princess of the healing hand.

Spirit Tether — A bond formed between a demon and a mortal. This bond is the first step toward demonic possession. Pride-Eaters are particularly adept at spinning spirit tethers and placing them on their victims.

Stelo-mal — Bad lizard. A large species of devil lizard native to hell. Shares some chameleon and comodo dragon-like features in addition to retractable projectile tail spines and vicious razor-sharp teeth. Like many devils, stelo mal are capable of speech and can practice diabolical magic.

Terror Hounds — Demons that prey upon the souls of those who have recently died in great terror. These hounds usually appear that scenes of terrible massacres or other traumatic events in which ultimate fear grips large numbers of creatures at their last moments all at the same time. Some Terror Hounds have been trained by devils to draw wisps taken by fear into Hell. These Terror Hounds are also sometimes called Hell Hounds.

The Great Arch of Time – The passage of time throughout the multiverse of the Arisen World. Time by mages is seen as an illusion that describes the consequences of action which generates a dimension. Time is, therefore, not seen as linear – per se – but as a pathway of consequences containing many branches that extend both forward and backward. As a result, different decisions generate different consequences – represented as bows in the Arch of Time. Eventually, the Arch of Time, like a rainbow, bends inward, forming a vast, expanding circle.

Urdrake — A form shaped from a wisp by a Vila in Hell. One of Asmodeus’s forbidden forms marked by the Lord of Hell for genocide. Urdrake are massive reptiles covered in large, spiked shells. Standing 6-7 feet tall and weighing 300-500 pounds, Urdrake are the most physically imposing of all the Vila-made forms. Their reptilian faces feature keen, binocular eyes and long boney snouts with fang-like ridges. From their foreheads and down their spines sprouts a ridge of white crystals. These are capable of emitting powerful beams of light like lasers. Urdrake’s voices are sonorous and strangely melodic. Like Plumacats, Urdrake hunger for the flesh of devils.

Vila — A faerie tree spirit native to Hell before its fall into tyranny and environmental destruction. While many consider the Vila to be an extinct race, a few survive in isolation.

Vortex — A single wheeled conveyance much like a motorcycle used for rapid movement. An engine powered by a wisp and by mined fuel propels these loud and dangerous machines. Vortex wheels are made of knobby metal and coated with glass. This glass continuously grows one to four inch long spikes — turning the machines into lethal weapons.

Wisp – The spiritual body of a soul. Wisps house a person’s unique being. A wisp remaining on Earth or passing into heaven or Hell retains consciousness and experience of a sort. On Earth, wisps are commonly called ghosts. There they are rare, mostly imagined or come in the form of a deep memory — often fleeting. Wisps passing into the great void disperse – losing form and consciousness. But, occasionally, these wisps coalesce in another material body at some point along the Great Arch of Time.

Wolf of Wrath — A demonic transformation into one of Asmodeus’s prophets on Earth. The Wolf of Wrath embodies the sin it is named for in the form of a terrible and twisted demon-wolf that incorporates the lethal traits of numerous creatures. The existence of The Wolf of Wrath on Earth sets off a string of killings and disasters as the demon-wolf’s instinct is to gorge itself in a killing rampage so long as it maintains its form.

Worb — A special device used by devils to hold wisps. They appear as orbs that devils often wear on their shoulder. The most powerful of devils have multiple worbs. Worbs can liquidate wisps in a number of ways — usually using them for power, food, or a kind of diabolical currency. To devils, wisps are the most fungible of all resources.

(Want to read or listen to Myra Helkey’s story? Here is where you can find the Helkey Table of Contents and chapter links.)

Helkey 4 — Greenwash Interns

The elevator door squeaks open. Great. They have a squeaky elevator to a Hell gate toilet opened by demonic interest in a dude who’s also attracted the attention of the worst big bad there ever was EVER. Things just went from terrible to unimaginably catastrophic. The novelty never ceases to amaze. Are my parents really the geniuses I know and love, or am I growing up now to the point that I realize they are complete imbeciles who are going to get me killed in nigh on 50 minutes give or take a few seconds. Jesus holy fuck!

Mori notices my hang-dog expression. “Cheer up baby girl. This will be just like pulling teeth with a door-slam. Bam! Over before you know it!”

Jesus holy fuck doesn’t even begin to cover it. I know Mori’s shit-talking to make me feel better. It’s his way. But sometimes the effect is just the opposite. Beatrice leans closer.

“You got this, Myra. Don’t look like that. We both know you can do this.”

The elevator starts ascending. For me, it’s like one of those SpaceX rocket tests where you know it’s all good for the knowledge of flying metal tubes filled with explosive liquid into space safely and such but the poor rocket is likely a goner. The lobby and surrounding offices shoot by. In a few seconds we plunge into a tube in the ceiling and the experience is more like a normal elevator except for the path of fancy lights ascending to a vanishing point above and seen through the glass elevator walls.

“I got this. Sure, fracking-sure. Because all the stuff I forgot had better be frickin damn good to make this worthwhile.”

“Oh it is,” Beatrice replies.

We’re about half-way to the top floor when Mori begins to cast a spell. He reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder, then does the same with Beatrice.

Una,” He incants. In that moment we are joined in magic – as one company. In this case a trio. Then, lifting his hand, he draws a circle in the air. “Omnis scienta,” he says. I dizzy a bit as my perspective shifts to an invisible point within the elevator. Mori lifts a strand of hair from some stash on his person. “Ivan Volkov,” he states to complete the curse. The hair, which must be one of Volkov’s, burns up in a flash. Immediately, the invisible sensor goes into motion. Our perspective lurches as it floats up through the elevator. Moving more swiftly than our ascent, it blurs through floor after floor, whisking by the dwindling remaining workers, through empty halls, past dark rooms. At last, it comes to an office door with a gold-plated name label upon it. The sensor phases through.

A brief darkness and then the sensor is suddenly in the not-at-all divine presence of Ivan Volkov. His is a large corner office with two walls made of glass window overlooking the picturesque Berlin skyline – now fading into red dusk edged with flashes of lightning. A large and mostly clean desk faces the door, beside which is a burgundy couch. On the left interior wall cattycorner the door is a big-ass picture of a sprawling tar sands mining operation. The Mordor-esque photo is enlarged to the point that feels like it’s smacking me in the face. In it, plumes of toxic smoke billowing from coils of metal tubes stretch for hundreds of meters in every direction. Here and there, flares of yellow or blue flame top the bitumen-to-oil refining towers. Little eyes of Sauron winking through the smog. Squat dump trucks — dwarfing any 18-wheeler I’ve seen — crawl through a ripped expanse. Black rivers pump poison like the veins of an anti-heart. Giving death rather than life. It’s eye-sore, horror scene, and action of gory violence against Mother Earth all wrapped up together. Literal Hell on Earth. And it covers most of one of his walls.

Near it is a table arrayed with a glass case containing some snacks and supporting a pod-style coffee machine. Ivan Volkov is standing in front of this table. He’s a small man of stocky build. Once a Brazilian jujitsu amateur competitor, he still keeps his muscular physique. His hair is shaved close to the skull. His face is blank, pale. A hooked if somewhat squashed nose. Semi-pointy ears, reminding me of a Tolkien goblin, sprout from the sides. Thin lips that seem to easily snarl cover overly white teeth. Eyes of faded blue like those of a wolf peer out. He’s fiddling with the coffee machine, cursing in Russian.

“Proklyatyy sekretar’ nikogda ne gotovit kofe,” He mutters.

“Classy,” Mori narrates. “He’s complaining about how his secretary never makes coffee.”

“I wouldn’t make him coffee either. He’s clearly capable of doing it himself,” I scoff.

“Is he, now?” Says Beatrice.

At that point Ivan exclaims loudly as the machine shoots coffee grounds into his cup and all over his shirt.

“Nyet! Nyet! Nyet!” He shouts, which needs no translation from Mori. I laugh despite myself as the red-faced Volkov opens a small closet door, still cursing, produces a new polo shirt, this one garishly pink, strips his now ruined yellow polo and puts this hideous thing on. He glares one last time at the pod machine, shifts to the glass snack case instead, pulls out a half-eaten bran muffin and takes a surprisingly dainty bite from it as he turns toward the door.

I blink my eyes and my perspective shifts as the elevator door woosh-squeaks open. We’ve arrived at the top floor hallway. I can still see the omnis scienta granted vision of Volkov as semi-transparent in mid-air. He’s walking down some long hall, nom, noming at his bran muffin. The vision is quickly interrupted by a tall and lanky, bespectacled, old man wearing a white button-down shirt and khaki pants. He lunges toward us from the hallway as the elevator door opens. He’s holding up his cell phone which he has on speaker. Behind him is another security guard. This one in a black uniform and carrying a holstered firearm. Looks like possible federal police assigned to the building. Oh fricking great. The voice of that pesky guard from downstairs is blaring from the tall man’s phone.

“Lord, my head hurts!” shouts the voice in English.

“Never mind that,” says the tall man in front of us. “They’re here now. I need the names.”

“They said they were the Jansens. No! Nansens! They said they had an appointment. I thought I saw it on the list but I …”

Mori subtly turns a nob on his black brief-case and the cell signal splutters out. Sometimes technology is the best counter to tech. Curses are for the living and for the dead – as the case may be. While Mori deals with the cell signal, Beatrice steps forward and puts on her best shy expression. Dear gods she’s even blushing!

“F.. F… Felix?” she stammers, looking seeming-nervously at the guard. “I suggero … I mean we are your new interns. The downstairs guard was really confused! I’m afraid he looked at the wrong list. You do remember our scheduled tour for this evening, don’t you? I’m so very sorry…”

The guard behind the guy I assume is Felix Azriel visibly relaxes under Beatrice’s curse. But Felix seems to struggle with it. I find the situation to be beautifully ironic. Anyone paying attention knows Furze Bank is source for a thousand vulture investments the world over. Yet they always wrap their cruddy projects up in sicko-sweet market copy. They’re pros at cutting deals and funneling funds from various dark groups into manifold harmful works. All while tossing up enough mind-fog to keep the public unaware. Now top Furze exec Felix is struggling with our own brand of mind-fog. Looks a lot like poetic justice from where I’m standing.

“I’m…” he looks at his phone with a baffled expression, grasping for help from the now-silenced front desk guard. But the phone is dead. Zero bars. I can see it from where I’m standing, trying not to laugh. He sways on his feet, pivoting his eyes away from Beatrice and toward Mori. Beatrice the elf-girl mom could probably still pass as intern-aged. But Mori, though fit, wears his 44 years plain as day. Felix cranes his head around – it makes me imagine an awkward ostrich – getting a good eyeful of Mori from a total of at least 120 degrees. “Intern?” is all he manages as the curse struggles to grab hold of his perception.

I’m tempted to use my faetor oculorum on him to see what’s up. He’s giving Beatrice’s curse a run for its money. But I can still also see good ol’ Ivan through Mori’s omnis scienta sensor noming his bran muffin and trailing crumbs as he makes his way to a door on the tower’s northern side. Adding another layer would further confuse my loaded senses. So I pass. But man, this place must be crawling with demonic influence. I guess I’m the only person that’s actually close to intern age. So I figure I’ll help my folks out just a little. Not like I’m raring to go to Hell or anything. But there is the supposed good of the mission and all that jazz. Not like I would know a damn thing about it.

I step forward and thrust my hand out toward Felix. “Ira Jansen from across the pond states-side. You must be Mr Azriel. Been back home recently? Gotta say it’s a real pleasure to meet ya-dude. Can’t say how awesome it’s gonna be working here this summer.”

Felix, seems even more startled by me in my not-at-all formal dress complete with spiked wrist band. He springs back – as if suddenly surprised by a nasty trick-or-treater. “Halloo,” he says as he lifts his arms comically. Still seeming at a loss, he turns his wrist and looks at his diamond-studded Rolex. “Now would you look at that? 5:47. I guess it is time for an intern tour of the top floor executive suites after all.” The curse has finally broken through.

And with that Felix begins his tour. He leads us on a swift circuit – briefly explaining titles and job functions of the senior executive staff. He opens a few offices, makes a few uninformative statements about the purpose and resident of each. Most are empty. After about 15 minutes, we enter an office occupied by a raccoon-faced man whom Felix introduces as Mr. Brian Gannon. Gannon has his nose in a tablet computer. In his hand is a glass of what must be whiskey from his personal office mini bar. He raises a hand and waves at us with two fingers without even looking up. Muttering to himself, he thumbs through a couple of pages, making us wait.

Felix clears his throat. His eyes look more focused now and there is an air of excited energy. “Mr Gannon, could you please briefly explain to our interns what their summer project will be?”

Gannon seems to wake up. He lifts his eyes, noticing our motley assemblage for the first time. “I suppose eccentricity is indeed the gateway to genius,” he says as much to himself as to anyone present. Then, more directly addressing us — “Well, you see, Felix and I are very excited to get you involved in our new project.”

Felix nods and his eyes seem to glisten. If he lost his poker-face, you can’t really blame him too much. Suggero often has a side effect of making emotional states more visibly obvious. “Yes, the project. Very high profit potential.”

Judging by the look in Felix’s eyes, ‘profit potential’ is a pretty magical term. I have a flash memory of reading The Hobbit as a child and coming to the part where the dwarves first encounter Smaug’s towering heaps of treasure. A great spell of lust falls over them – inspiring all kinds of bad behavior. I imagine they had the same beady-eyed expression Felix does now. I’m pretty sure I don’t need any curse-enhanced senses to see what kind of demonic influence has wrapped its oily tendrils around Felix. Mori may be an expert with his rifle, but I’m a dead-eye for greed.

Gannon, who was practically undead a moment before, is now quite animated. “So you see, we’ll have you helping the planet.” He twirls his fingers in the air as if he’s flicking off an after-thought. “We’re joining with lots of banks to sponsor it for North-Central U.S. The company is Pont de Boue, a pipeline builder. They’re laying out a line from Canada to the U.S. But what’s great that you’re going to do is talk publicly about the solar panels that will be funded through pipeline construction.” He grins ghoulishly.

Beatrice looks at me and simply says – “don’t.”

I can’t help myself. It’s like a sneeze. “Interesting. So how many glittery solar panels?”

“A big offset. Maybe even twenty sparkling megawatts. You should be super-excited to take part.”

He reminds me of a mean uncle dangling a lollipop in front of a baby and watching her struggle to grab it. What would I taste if I did but the thin candy shell of greenwash over a nasty gobbet of toxic crud? No wonder there’s an Asmodeus interest here. Devils certainly do covet our wisps as a kind of power currency. But they’re also keenly interested in what they call ‘blood of Earth.’ Sacrificing life-giving lands to the looting interests of short-term gain is a quick path to attracting diabolical influence. Slashing and burning forests and tilling salt into fields was the old blood of Earth. Gouging holes into the land. Breaking it. Stripping it. All to unleash liquids, rocks, and gases made up of the millions-years dead, for burning in Satanic Mills. That’s the diabolical ‘modern advancement’ on the old blood of Earth concept. The story of Faust, one of our mage progenitors who was ensnared by Hell, foretells a hint of it. What does the Devil want in return for giving you what you desire, after all? Your ultimate ruin — body and soul. “So you’re funding the tar sands pipe? The one running over unspoiled lands and through clean waters? Lands where people live?”

Gannon points at me with the finger holding his whiskey glass and gives me a wicked grin. His yellowing eyes leer. He has no shame. He seems to take pride in it. “Oil sands. We don’t say tar sands here. Besides, your own work will help.” He waves his empty hand dismissively, then glances over at Mori with raised eyebrows. “Youth these days are very interested in green. We believe the venture has a great future.”

I suppose he thinks interns are easy fools. Maybe most who seek a summer job at Furze Bank are. Or maybe Brian Gannon just doesn’t give a flip. That tar sands pipe he’s funding is a fuse rammed into literal buried mountains of combustible Earth blood. For the Earth’s gown of life-giving air, it’s titanic heat bomb. One of the biggest on the planet. And blowing the whole thing up would pack the temperature-raising punch of lighting off two thermonuclear Hiroshima bombs every second. Continuously. For thousands of years. Mordor candles indeed. Considering how hot and wicked the climate has gotten lately, we sure as hell don’t need any more of those. What he wants us ‘interns’ to do is put a young face on some token solar to turn public eyes away from their Hell-to-pay ruined lands, wicked weather, and burning tar goop.  

“Why not just build a crap-ton more solar instead?” I say. Can’t let it go just yet. Though I know the real answer. It’s all in the grab hold of as much of that dragon’s hoard as you can mindset. Devils love it. It’s their literal stock and trade.

“Well, you’ll learn over the summer, then won’t you?” The misdirection comes naturally to Gannon. Like a hat trick. Man, is this guy a real piece of work.

Beatrice is trying to keep smiling. I decide to relent. No reason to troll a troll further. Gannon blithers on for a few more minutes – spewing out mangled facts and massaged figures. I look away, wondering what our Ivan’s up to now.

Omnis scienta continues to run in the background like a hologram. On the other side of the tower, I can see that Volkov has stopped to talk with a female executive. She appears to have him cornered and is asking him question-after-question about something having to do with eastern finances. Ivan keeps a straight face, finishes his muffin, and nimbly sprinkles the remnant crumbs behind him as he answers – “Da… Da? Da.” to her queries.

Felix breaks away from Gannon, who drifts back to his touchpad as we leave his office, settling back into flabbergasted after his brief moment of greed-induced-clarity. The suggero curse keeps having to adjust as his eyes shift around wildly. He leads us down a final hallway. He stops in a break room through a side door, opens up a fridge, and jerkily pulls out a glass bottle of Perrier sparkling water for each of us. I pocket mine. Could be useful later. Then as he starts to steer us back toward the elevator, Beatrice steps in once more.

“Thank you so much for your generous hospitality, Mr Azriel. I suppose we should be going now? No need to worry about escorting us. We know the way and I’m sure you’re very busy,” Beatrice says as she nods toward the door. She’s dismissing him. I’m eating it up.

Felix pauses, shrugs his shoulders in a strange gesture that looks like both rebellion and acquiescence, then, without another word, he abruptly lurches off. The guard who met us at the elevator is also long-gone. We are at last alone and left to our own devices. No more posing as greenwash interns. I am the opposite of relieved.

(Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

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