All posts tagged Angel

Helkey 25 — Mobile Holy Ground

“The Nightmare’s in the frigging train!” Mori shouts.

Beatrice spins, facing front. There’s a lurch, a shriek of wheels. The train contorts, jumping on its tracks, throwing passengers back and forth. Ghostly light strobes along the walls. People crouch and cower near her. Terrified murmurs surround her. What do I do? My energetic vessel’s almost empty. The Curse Rider’s arrival in terrible glory has left her stunned. Breathless. Fear threads through her — trying to freeze her to the floor. She spins, leaps up beside Mori.

“What now?” He says, his jaw line clenching in tension.

“We figure out some way to fight him,” She replies. To her ears, she sounds far more confident than she feels. “To exorcise the Nightmare.”

Sadie stands up. Puts a hand on Beatrice’s arm. “Wait. We’ve chosen our ground well. Look carefully.”

Beatrice lifts her eyes to the wall, watches the Nightmare’s ghostly spirit rushing back and forth through the train. Metal shudders. Plastic smolders. Wheels squeal and grind. But the train’s form does not change. There is no diabolical transformation.

“You see now? We picked a solar train for good reason. They don’t call it fueled by Heaven for nothing.” Then, Sadie lifts her hand, touches the train’s wall and incants “Ligamen Malum!” Blue-white light pulses out. A series of white rings expands from her point of contact. The rings ripple through the train — creating an interlocking chain of binding circles. The Nightmare spirit shrieks, fades, then melts back in silence. Smooth forward motion resumes. Beatrice’s eyes swirl with magical detection. The Nightmare thrashes. But it cannot escape from Sadie’s binding. Stuck in a substance anathema to its nature. Bound by a chain of celestial magic drawing strength from the solar train’s innate benevolence. For now, the demon is locked down, unable to move.

“You trapped it!” Beatrice exclaims in surprise and relief. “You chose the train for this reason didn’t you? You knew.”

Sadie taps the train’s deck with her foot, a sheepish grin spreading over her face. “What does Myra call this sort of conveyance? I heard her say it once?”

“Mobile holy ground, Highlander!” Mori says. “Damn, what a move! I saw you touch the wall and concentrate earlier. Didn’t know it was to work a heavy-weight curse!”

Beatrice wipes away a tear that forms, unbidden, at mention of her daughter. “The idea to set this trap came from something Myra said?”

“That’s as crazy as it is cool,” Mori actually laughs.

“No time to celebrate,” Sadie says. “We’ve knocked out one of his main weapons. But we still have a Curse Rider to deal with.”

“What’s the plan?” Beatrice asks.

“I’m drawing a blank too,” Mori says. He shares a glance with Beatrice, worry plain in his expression. “We’re both about tapped out.”

Ivan groans, clutches his belly, then barfs on the floor. Sadie grabs his collar, hoists him up. “We know what the Curse Rider wants.” She motions to Ivan. “Don’t we? For certainty, he hunts you to take your wisps. But he’s also here for Ivan. And as complicated as our Russian friend here makes things for us, he’s also splitting the Curse Rider’s focus.” Sadie pats Ivan on the back, then starts guiding him to the rear of the car.

“It’s a delay tactic,” Mori says.

Beatrice nods. “We move the quarries. Keep him guessing.” Flicking her sense through omnis scientia, she can see the Curse Rider raging on the train’s roof. His Nightmare trapped, his once-cool demeanor is now melting into a rictus of ugly rage. His eyes follow the magical lines running from the sensor back to Beatrice and Mori. With great leaps that seem impossible for such a whip-thin body, he begins bounding toward them. Where his feet touch the sanctified train, angry sparks lash out at him, burning him. He pays no mind as boots and cloths are blasted away. As human flesh sears to black and red scales, his feet taking on the shape of talons. “He’s coming! Let’s move!”

As they stand, Officer Winkler finally recovers from her shock at the madness caused by what she thinks is a mass phone hacking. She’s close, overhearing their conversation. Though some of it’s not processing for her, the magical parts mostly, she grasps the gist of their plan. Then, her police radio blares with a confusing report of a helicopter landing on the roof and depositing a likely hijacker. She stands, pulls her firearm. “Good idea! Get to the train’s rear! We’ll do what we can to protect your dignitary!” Winkler rushes into the next car, joins two other officers, then uses the emergency access to get to the roof.

Beatrice lifts a hand, then incants praesidia! The blue light of her protection curse shoots toward the officers, enveloping them in a momentary flare. She ties off the energy, watching sparks trail them as they climb onto the roof. It’ll last about ten minutes. Hopefully enough. Probing her energetic vessel she finds she’s got maybe one strong curse left. She doesn’t regret it. Those officers are good people going into a situation they don’t understand. One where they’re completely outclassed.

The Curse Rider is ten cars back and coming on fast. They turn and rush headlong toward the train’s rear. Running itself isn’t a strategy. It buys them time. And not much. Cunning Sadie must have another trick card in her deck.

Sadie grabs her by the shirt. “I know you’re almost out! Save your last magic until I tell you to use it! Going to need your special talent!”

Beatrice nods back, mouth forming a grim line. “Aye, my captain!” she replies, then rushes onward, checking her speed to make sure her companions can keep up. Most mages have specializations. Sadie’s are healing, binding, protection and traps. Mori’s involve information gathering, detection, stealth, obfuscation, and weapon-enhanced ranged combat. She has a few areas of magical specialization, but she bets Sadie will draw something from her wide-ranging, mobility-enabling quiver.

They pass through one train car. Another. Passengers stare in obvious shock from the phone disturbance, the jolting train, the diabolical light show. Warnings about a possible unauthorized boarder blare through the speakers. Ivan stumbles. Mori hit him pretty hard. Can’t say I blame him. Asmodeus’s Prophet is also cradling a burned hand, suffers from many bruises. The wound in his back and wisp from the Pride-Eater’s talon clearly troubles him as he lurches back and forth in a daze of pain. Beatrice hooks a hand under his arm, helping Sadie propel him onward.

Through omnis scientia, Beatrice watches as the officers climb onto the train’s roof. They shout, pointing at the Curse Rider who’s now become a horrific mash of devil and cowboy — running on taloned feet as divine energy sparks angrily around him. White light flares, rising from Sadie’s chain of binding circles. A Macto effect Sadie layered into her spell’s structure. The sparks are ripping holes in his human flesh. A superficial garment, some of it sags off in tatters — revealing more of the mottled black and red scales. A baleful black eye with a white pin-prick for its pupil scans them as the devil cowboy rushes forward, holding its black hat to its head with one hand.

“Halt!” the officers shout, weapons drawn. The interpretation from German ringing in her ears through the shared sensor.

Quicker than a cobra-strike, the devil cowboy draws his firearm. A massive six-shooter leaps into his hand. He fires. A black round erupts. It seems to expand, devouring light as it races toward its targets. The officers, pistols already out, return fire. A few bullets strike the Curse Rider. May as well be stinging gnats for all the damage they inflict. The black round shoots between the officers, contracts with a ‘wump!’ then explodes in a dark shockwave. Darkness tinged with fire bursts out, engulfing the officers and tearing a hole in the train roof. Blue light ripples, protecting them from the impact. Still, the officers are flung off like toys in warped bubbles. Two tumble away to the left. One to the right. Beatrice sees Winkler fall into bushes along the train tracks, blue light still shielding her. Safe if shook-up. The other two officers hurtle out of sight. The Curse Rider takes one leap, jumps through the hole opened by his black bullet, lands in a flare of sparks among screaming passengers, then continues his onrush from within the train.

Beatrice looks over her shoulder. She can’t see him yet. But she does see passengers cowering, diving under seats, or pressing themselves against walls. In the distance, through a series of doors, she can see material swirling around like confetti. “He’s in the train!” she shouts.

Sadie looks back at her, catches her eye. “Good,” she says.

Beatrice turns, facing the train’s rear. They sprint — slamming through doors and jumping over passengers, Ivan in tow. From behind them, the sounds of screams and crashes grows louder. Beatrice feels panic rise into her throat. Pricks run up her spine. She feels she’ll be snatched away and rent to pieces at any instant. They’re moving too fast now to look back. But the noise behind grows louder and louder.

Finally, they come to the caboose car’s entrance. Sadie lifts a hand. Beatrice spins to a halt. Mori stops, takes a knee. Ivan collapses. Toward the engine, not three cars away, the Curse Rider strides through a shower of sparks carrying Macto curses that blast into him in gory staccato. Bits of his human shell fly off — spraying over cowering and screaming passengers. He ignores them. Clawed feet hammer as he rushes toward them. Legs pistoning with terrible force that evokes both the machine and the reptilian. Eyes — twin white lights in orbs of darkness — fix on them like gun sights. His flesh and clothes are now tatters. Most of what made him look human is ripped away. His diabolical features — mottled black and bood-red scales, twin horns sprouting from his skull, long claws replacing toes and finger nails — take on most of his form now. Beatrice draws breath, in awe of what Sadie’s done with her magic. She turned the train into a gauntlet of destruction for the Curse Rider. It’s still no-where near enough. The thing she sees stands strong, barely phased by the terrible punishment coming in from all sides. The devil cowboy — it still wears its ridiculous hat — explodes into a dividing doorway. The door is thrown off its hinges with a shriek of steel. The Curse Rider bursts through. Now just two cars away.

“I hope you know what you’re doing!” Mori shouts to Sadie.

“He sees us! Good!” She shouts. “Now run! To the end of the train!”

They rush headlong. It’s a real race now and they’re losing fast. Beatrice has no idea what Sadie has in mind. But it better be good. They’re at the train’s end. All that stands between them and rushing tracks — a door of steel and glass. About a hundred feet away and opposite the door, the Curse Rider hurtles toward them. They’re trapped. Out of options.

“Mori! Shoot out the door!” Sadie shouts.

Mori, who was busy sighting down the Curse Rider, swings his weapon around, ejects the Macto magazine into his hand, switches it swiftly with a black magazine from his pocket, then aims at the door. Beatrice’s eyes widen as she recognizes the ammo. These are tungsten anti-material rounds! Mori shoots four times in succession, blasting away the hinges. The door flies off into space behind the train — tumbling like a leaf.

Sadie waves to the few passengers clustering near the caboose’s rear. “Too dangerous here! Run to the front now!” The passengers stand, scamper toward the car’s front. “Now hide! Something bad’s coming!” Sadie’s voice is laden with suggero spurring them to move despite their terror.

Not missing a beat, Sadie turns to Beatrice. “We’re going up top. Draw your sword. Use your defenses. Get its attention. Then follow my lead.” Sadie grabs Mori and Ivan. “Salire!” she incants. Together, they leap up — propelled in a swooping arc by Sadie’s curse magic. Then they’re on the roof, scampering toward the car’s front. Beatrice is now alone. She draws her curse-patterned rapier. Sparks fall from its tip. The tattoos on her feet and hands flare with magic as she prepares what remains in her energetic vessel. With her thumb, she taps the blue-white gem in her rapier’s pommel. A patterned praesidia curse triggers — enveloping her blade in a bubble of protective light. She’s deliberately bleeding a heavy amount of patterned lux into her name curse. Showing off both her nature as an angel and as a mage. A combination any devil worth its worb would lust for. In front of her, the door rips off — pinning two passengers as the Curse Rider tears it like a sheet of paper from a notebook, then casually casts it aside. She crouches. The Curse Rider’s white laser eyes in swirling darkness fall on her. She aims her sword at them. The Curse Rider hesitates for a moment, seems surprised she’s alone, glances about for her companions. The pause is only momentary. Her angelic, magical form, its vital wisp-energy fluttering within, is too spectacular a pull for a devil to resist. It tips its hat in seeming salute, lowers a hand toward the pistol on its belt, then leaps toward her.

“Sadie!!!” Beatrice shouts.

“Una!” Sadie replies. “Una!” she hears Mori speak in turn as he bridges the link between Sadie, Beatrice, himself, and Ivan. Una forms a bridge that flows like a river of magic between them. It then extends in a blue-green arc over the train, connecting them to their magical sensor — omnis scientia — hundreds of feet ahead. Beatrice’s senses are transported along the bridge to the sensor’s far-off focus. Its view is just above the hole created by the Curse Rider’s first black bullet when it exploded among the police officers minutes before.

In her real sight, she can see the Curse Rider tearing through the train’s floor with its clawed feet. “When I cast my curse use lanuae on the sensor!” Sadie shouts. The Curse Rider’s six shooter whips up. Beatrice’s sense of time dilates. The barrel seems to slowly rise. “QAUE MALA!” Sadie incants, using the binding circle curse to seal the caboose with a ward against evil.

Beatrice spins her rapier. The gun’s barrel lines up. Sparks swirl in the air. She can see the barrel through her circle of sparks like a gaping maw. The five black bullets still housed in its cylinder — each a bulge of devil’s magic waiting for launch. She grabs one spark. The gun’s hammer falls. She hurls the spark. It disappears as it passes into the magical link made by una and flares swiftly through the blue-green bridge above the train. The black bullet hurtles toward her, shadow tendrils swarm out from it. Her rapier blazes. The light of a star briefly blossoms in the caboose as praesidia forms its bubble around her. Shadow tendrils coil and swell from the black bullet. Around Beatrice, seats are ripped off their mountings and thrown from the train, windows shatter, metal bulges and cracks.

Beatrice is ejected out behind the train in this clash of forces. Tendrils blooming around the swelling black bullet core through her protective light. If they touch her, they will tear her wisp away. The black bullet will then capture it for the Curse Rider to enslave. Hundreds of feet ahead, in the train that is now leaving her behind, her spark finally crosses una’s bridge and shoots out of the magical sensor. It lands in the train roof’s hole. The black bullet begins to engulf her. Tendrils just inches away as she dips toward impact on the tracks. Tucking into a ball, she shouts “LANUAE!” The explosive magic of teleportation enfolds her — lighting up three more times to engulf her companions on the train car roof ahead and above. The black bullet cores through the explosion where she hung in mid-air a moment before.

Beatrice emerges along with Sadie, Mori, and Ivan. Each leaping up out of their own explosive spark-shower. They fall about 8 feet, then land in a chorus of thumps in the ruined train car. A few hundred feet away, within the caboose, the Curse Rider howls in rage. Sadie’s magic has formed an iridescent field around the damaged car. Reinforced by the train’s holy ground, it contains the Curse Rider even as he vents his fury. Pounding and shooting the magical containment in furious effort to find release. The remaining passengers, not similarly bound by Sadie’s magic and gathered near the exit forward, flee to safety in the next train car. For the moment, the Curse Rider is too distracted by his capture to pay them mind. He aims his might at breaking the bottle, he deforms the magical containment — causing the caboose to jump. Its walls are quickly tattered with dents and cracks. But, for now, the mighty Curse Rider is held even as Macto curses continue to rain down on it.

Beatrice slumps to the floor, still shaking from the intensity of a few moments before. “Whew!” she says. “Well, Sadie, you did it. Trapped a Curse Rider. But I don’t know for how long. I’ll take my miracles.”

“It’s bought us time. Hopefully enough to get where we need to go,” Sadie replies.

“Tonder?” Mori asks.

“Brons,” Sadie replies. “I’ve arranged a boat. We jump train there. If all goes as planned. Glenda will be on board.”

Beatrice looks at them, puts her shaking hand on her head. “Are you both going to let me know what you’ve cooked up? Do I have to guess at your charades? I did just… What would Myra call it? I think the term is tank. Yes. I did just tank that Curse Rider for you guys. A little explanation as gratitude would be appreciated.”

“Sweetheart,” Mori replies, catching her up in a reassuring embrace. “You tanked beautifully! And yes, I suppose we both missed a lot of Sadie’s subtlety here. So to fill you in, we’re going to jump off the train at Brons, then take a boat down the Brons River and out to our Heaven’s gate in the North Sea. Providence willing, the cage Sadie made for our Curse Rider will hold until then and for some time after.”

“Glorious!” Beatrice says in an outburst, trying to blow her shakes off into the word. “How much longer ’til Brons?”

“About fifty minutes,” Mori says.

“Seems like a long time given present circumstances.”

“It seems like forever.”

Ivan whimpers.

Beatrice stands, assesses her blessings. She’s still breathing — thanks in no small part to Sadie. This whole affair is too desperate. But she didn’t know what else to do. With Myra in Hell, they’re committed to this crazy path. And that was that.

(New to the Helkey multiverse? 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.)

(Enjoying the story? Want to help support the continuance of this tale? Please like, share and subscribe.)

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by robertscribbler on January 10, 2022  •  Permalink
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Posted by robertscribbler on January 10, 2022

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Helkey 10 — Appeals to a Wolf’s Heart and Baiting the Devil

Mori gives Beatrice a last look. She’s at ease on her cot – platinum hair spilling out behind her, dancing lights all around. Blood on her clothes tells a tale of past violence with no trace of wound remaining. Sadie puts a hand on his arm. “Let her rest,” she says, as she arranges some of Beatrice’s hair. The gesture strikes Mori as motherly. “She’s safe.”

Mori trusts Sadie. There’s no better people. But it’s tough to let go. He tenses at the thought of leaving Beatrice alone after the battle at Furze Bank. At the memory of their only daughter stepping into the great inferno. It makes him want to take Beatrice in his arms and gently rock her. Mori wonders what Myra must be going through down in that poisonous heat-well of a literal climate hell-hole teaming with all the worst monsters in all the worlds. Everything will be touch-and-go for her. We knew it when we signed up for this mad-ass caper. Mori tries to steel himself for what he knows is coming and for a thousand likely surprises. Most of their work will now aim at spoiling any response by Asmodeus – giving Myra enough time to liberate the wisps she’ll need. Meaning Mori and Beatrice will be doing their honest best to get in the frigging face of the actual Devil. To distract him with as much light and noise as possible. An insane enough project by itself. Mori looks to Sadie. The specific details of this dangerous Devil-baiting are mostly her domain. He just knows he and Beatrice will be on board to help her the whole way through. With the added wrinkle of the endeavor hinging on Ivan’s ‘cooperation.’

Sadie is heading for the door. Mori and Ivan follow. They exit. Sadie shuts the door behind them. It closes with a quiet ‘whup.’ Mori can see the ignarus curse activate the moment the latch fastens. There is a nearly imperceptible splash of light. Door and wall suggest to him politely that they blend seamlessly, thank you very much. But Mori’s mind is trained to recognize such tricks, so he’s not fooled. Ivan is staring with bewilderment at what he must imagine is a wall that just ate the door. “Where did it go?” He asks to no-one in particular.

Rendering of the chapel where Sadie healed Beatrice

“Never mind that,” Sadie says coyly. “Let’s get you some decent clothes.”

Ivan looks self-consciously at his bare legs and feet — the rest of his body covered by Mori’s leather jacket. He’d do great as one of The Village People. “Da. Please.”

“Really, Mori, you could have had some extras on hand for Ivan,” she says, mock-scolding Mori as she walks them down the hall to a closet. She opens the door. Inside are a number of black robes for the clergy. She pulls one off the rack and sizes it up. “This should do for now. Shoe size?”

Ivan is looking at the robe with pursed lips. “Nine,” he replies.

Sadie produces some black slippers to match the robe. She motions for him to enter the closet as she leaves, then closes the door behind her. “Just knock on the door when you’re done,” she calls back to him. They here a muffled “Da” from inside. Sadie’s looking directly at Mori now. “So, you got Myra into Hell without a hitch?” she asks in a whisper.

“Well, wouldn’t say without a hitch,” Mori whispers back as he scratches the side of his head self-consciously. “Ivan…” He trails off. Sadie already knows about the possession so no need to go into it now. “She got through. Her name curse worked as planned. But Ivan sent out what sure as hell sounded like a summons when he went all wolf on us. It was pretty scary.”

“You think Asmodeus heard it?” Sadie asks, eyes glittering with speculation.

“Probably. Don’t know for sure. But as you know Ivan’s been watched by him for a long time. All of us from the Council knew something was up with him. The rumors big A was grooming him for his Earthly herald seem to be true. If so, that means…” Mori pauses ominously.

“Ivan likely bird-dogged you and Beatrice for a hunt,” Sadie says what he doesn’t want to. Mori knows Terror Hounds can do it. And the call Ivan put out sounded a lot like one of them. “Well, that’s good news.”

Mori can only laugh nervously and raise his eyebrows at her poser. He sure as hell didn’t want to be the target of one of Asmodeus’s lethal and soul-stealing hunts. But that was the object of the whole distract the Devil mission after all. On the other side of the door, he can hear Ivan cursing and rustling.

“Don’t forget to put buttons-side front,” Sadie says more loudly through the door. They only hear Ivan’s exasperated exhalation as reply. Sadie drops her voice again. “No one saw Myra?” Sadie asks in a bare breath with intensity.

Mori can understand it. That part was pretty important. “A Pride-Eater saw her sparks. That was the first one I took out with Macto,” Mori whispers back.

There’s a rap on the door from Ivan. “It’s all as good as can be expected. We’ll talk more after,” she says as she opens the door to reveal an Ivan bedecked in priestly robes. Sadie looks him over. “It oddly suits you,” she says.

“Yeah, if you’re looking for a vampire priest,” Mori can’t help himself. Sadie cuffs him.

“Jacket,” Ivan says, handing Mori his coat. Out of habit, Mori makes sure Ivan didn’t drop anything untoward into one of his pockets or attach something to it. It’s clean. Why wouldn’t it be? The guy was frigging naked.

“Now, if you would please follow me, gentlemen.” Sadie glides down the hallway, returns to the stairs, and ascends. They pass up through the cathedral area, rising past a balcony with choir benches facing an organ. The organist is still playing. He gives them no notice. They continue to wind upward, ascending to a fourth floor – at last entering a long hall with office doors in rows on both sides. Sadie comes to one with her name on it. She produces keys, opens the door, waves them in. Inside is a cosey office with bookshelves covering one side, a half-moon stained-glass window for its back wall, some comfortable chairs scattered about, a green throw rug over hard wood flooring, and an old, ornate desk facing the door. On the opposite wall is a painting of a lioness padding through sun-dappled forest, reminding Mori of a female Aslan. A stack of papers on the desk is entitled Laudato Si. Beside it is a binder labeled – Interfaith Coalition for Earth Justice. Sadie flops down behind her desk and motions to the chairs. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

They sit down while she rummages behind the desk. In a moment, she produces a thermos, cups, and some paper-wrapped peanut butter and banana sandwiches. “I know it’s not gourmet dinner. But the PB&B and coffee will have to do.” She hands them to Mori and Ivan. Mori’s stomach rumbles gratefully. He didn’t realize he’d worked up such an appetite. He checks his watch. It’s 8:11 P.M. Beside him, Ivan is pouring himself a cup of coffee. Mori tucks into his sandwich. Ivan sips from his coffee.

“So, you have…” Ivan looks at Mori’s watch, “I give you until 8:30 to explain all the…” he seems at a loss for words for a moment “…phenomena. To convince why I don’t call police to have you both arrested.”

“For your first request – gladly,” Sadie replies. “Although, it might take more than the 20 odd minutes you’ve asked for. As for your second, no need, the police are already here.” She motions to Mori.

“Thanks for blowing my cover Sadie,” Mori grunts. He figures he’d have told Ivan soon enough anyway. Mori flips his badge out of his pocket. “Robert Hansen, Special Investigator, Climate Crimes Division, DOJ, Interpol, at your frigging service.” Ivan looks at the badge with raised eyebrows, scrutinizing its veracity. Again, the poker face settles in. He’s seen crazier stuff tonight for sure. But Mori is a little disappointed by his non-reaction.

Ivan spreads his hands out before him in a fanning gesture that is both dismissive and accepting. “Explain.”

“First, tell us what you remember of the evening’s events,” Sadie says. Her eyes glitter as she watches Ivan. Mori figures he could see the two squaring off over a high stakes game of poker.

“Da. I was in bathroom when Mr. Hansen broke in…”

“Investigator…” Mori interrupts.

“Investigator Hansen broke in on me in the bathroom,” Ivan continues. “His wife, Beatrice Hansen ran up behind him. She was shouting insanely and assaulted me with sword. Thankfully, she missed.”

“She hit you exactly how she intended,” Mori corrects him. Sadie doesn’t bat an eye. She’s watching Ivan like that lioness in the painting might watch a creature of the savanna. Ivan rubs the mark on his forehead.

“Go on, what happened next?” Sadie says.

“It is inexplicable. I saw dark ghosts. Terrible. There were three of them. They had… giant claws. One of them is cutting me with claws. There is something coming off me. The ghost is eating it.” Ivan’s face contorts with involuntary fear as he recalls the event. He points an accusing finger at Mori. “Beatrice… she drugged me.”

“With a strike from the flat of her sword? Try again,” Mori replies.

“She is witch. She cursed me.”

Mori balls his hand into a fist. “Never say that word!” he growls. Ivan lifts his hands defensively.

“She did curse you with the sword-touch, Ivan. I’ve seen her do it before. It was a helpful curse,” Sadie says calmly as she waves Mori down. “That’s what let you see them. The ghosts, as you call them, are actually Pride Eater demons. They were attracted to you because you were full of the pride they crave.”

Ivan’s heard some of this before. He seems to accept it a tiny bit more the second time. “She cursed me?”

“It’s a kind of magical spell,” Mori says. “Beatrice cast a curse upon you so you could see the demons that had gathered around you. They’ve been coming there every night you sit on that damn golden toilet.”

Ivan sits forward. “No. I can’t believe.”

“Of course you can’t. You’re a frigging moron.”

Sadie turns her eyes to Mori. “Give him time,” she says evenly.

“Sure,” But Mori’s thinking time probably won’t do squat for Ivan. Garbage brain equals garbage out.

“Now, what else did you see?” Sadie prods.

“There were the ghosts … tall demons, above me. Below me there was a circle. A glowing circle of light on the black. It pulsed with red light.” Ivan looks to Sadie and then to Mori. “What was it?”

“That, Ivan, was a Hell Gate,” Mori says turning to face Ivan, meeting his stone-faced gaze. “When the demons saw you dripping with pride from their perch in Hell, they ripped open that gate with their claws so they could come to feed on you. Since you did your little crap on the world thing pretty regularly and in the same place each day, they knew you were a sure thing. An easy hunt. But that’s not all. You didn’t just attract the eyes of the demons. Someone else caught wind of you. You see, Pride Eaters are a kind of demon that the Devil keeps on a short leash. He uses them to hunt the most prideful of mortals as they are often his best servants. When he asked them what they were doing with you, they happily told him. And that’s how the Devil became very intimate with the name of Ivan friggin Volkov.”

“Devil?” Ivan is whiter than usual which is saying something.

“Yes. The frigging Devil. Not a devil. The Devil. And his name is Asmodeus.”

“Your claim is kakashka. Preposterous.”

“It is written in your flesh now. I saw the mark on your back.”

“You shot me.”

“I shot the Pride Eater possessing you. If that was an earthly bullet, we wouldn’t be having this enlightening little chat.”

Ivan sits back, going silent. Sadie steeples her hands. “Now Ivan, tell us what you remember of the thing that happened next.” Ivan looks away. He rubs a hand over his head. His eyes glint.

“It stabbed me with long talon. Girl, Beatrice told me it was demon. I should have been protected. Was baptized.”

“Baptism doesn’t do squat for what you invite willingly,” Mori says under his breath. Ivan continues talking as if Mori hadn’t spoken.

“I felt terror, pain, rage. Power came into me like the rush of fire. I grew and changed — becoming wolf. My eyes could see far, my ears could ear heartbeats, the sound of far away voices like echoes, my tongue could taste feelings, emotions, fear, my nose could smell city, the stink of sulfur rising up through red circle. With my senses I knew your…” Ivan struggles for a moment, not wanting to say the word, “… magic. I saw and smelt your names. Mori, Lushael.” He laughs. “Not Hansens. That is alias. I felt mighty above all things – glorious and terrible. What was in me gave me strong voice. I knew I could call to others for help against you. To track you down and make you pay for your crimes against me.” A wicked glint has bloomed in Ivan’s eyes as he recounts his experience. Mori can see that the demon possession was so complete Ivan still mistakes its thoughts and desires for his own. Again, he almost feels pity for the guy as he wonders at whatever broken or crooked thing within Ivan made him so vulnerable to willing possession by evil.  “So I used my great voice to shout your names,” Ivan continues. “To mark you. My voice went out through the mighty kingdom. I am certain it found ears.”

Ivan is sweating now. He has raised his hands into the shape of claws. He is reaching for Mori’s neck. Mori’s arm shoots out and he smacks Ivan on the forehead, hitting near the mark Beatrice left there. The force causes Ivan to fall back. “Get a hold of yourself, man!” Mori shouts.

Ivan self-consciously drops his hands. “Then you shot me! Stabbed me! Pain! Death! I was dead. Dead.” He is blithering as he recalls the moment of trauma. He omits the part where he almost bit Beatrice’s leg clean off.

“We didn’t kill you, moron. We shot and stabbed the demon that possessed you. Our strikes were an exorcism. Yet you sympathize with the demon that took you in mind, body and spirit.” Mori turns to Sadie. “Please tell me you know how we can work with this guy. I am drawing a blank. He looks like wasted effort to me. The moment Asmodeus gets a demon to touch him again, he’s a complete goner.”

“Dead… How am I not dead?” Ivan says accusingly toward Mori who waves his hand at Ivan dismissively.

Sadie stands up, walks forward from behind the desk and puts a hand on Ivan’s shoulder. Her eyes glow with faetor oculorum. Mori figures she’s seeing the scar the demon left on him. She runs her hand down to his back. “You are not dead because Beatrice and Mori, in their grace, decided to save you. To give you this last chance, Ivan, not to be damned as a destroyer. Beatrice nearly died to save you. Yet you are still marked in body, mind and spirit. Asmodeus has claimed you for his own with that, still-burning, brand upon you. We will intercede. We will try to save you from him. But you have to help us. We need you to agree.”

Mori laughs harshly at this. “Sadie, the guy is a total lost cause, can’t you see it? He doesn’t even realize what he does for his vile life’s-work is the dead-wrong thing that summoned the demon he now chooses over us.”

“Then we will teach him.”

This must be a part of the ‘plan’ that Mori’s not yet fully cluing in on. He and Beatrice were mainly focused on the Myra side. Sadie had identified Ivan and his Hell Gate. Had instructed them to use the Gate and to bring Ivan to her. For Sadie, Ivan is as important as Myra. She saw him as Asmodeus’s earthly implement and wanted to, as she called it, “take Asmodeus’s rod from his hand.” But Sadie was cagey about the modus operandi part. Typical mage with her secrets. Mori can’t talk, he’s got about a hundred up his sleeve too.

“How do you intend to teach this guy? What makes you think he’ll learn a damned thing after all he’s already done?”

“We will take him to the celestial realm. Its ocean heart – Merrin.” Sadie probes at Ivan’s scar and faces him. “Does this hurt you Ivan?”

“Yes. Pain in my back. Burns… Exactly in place I can’t scratch. It maddens.”

“What if I said I could heal it fully? What if I told you – I could take you to a place where this death in your flesh could not touch you any longer? Would you come with me to Heaven? Would you open your heart?”

Ivan looks over Sadie. Mori can see the condescension and disbelief on his face. Mori can tell Ivan’s even less able to take it in because of the black-skinned, female face before him. Can tell he sees her as a lesser being. Oh man, you can’t even begin to comprehend how far beyond you she really is.

“How could someone like you show me, Heaven?” Ivan says. Mori grinds his teeth to hold back his anger. On top of everything else, this guy’s a bigot too. Mori isn’t surprised. But it still pisses him off.

“Oh, you just live in that doubt, don’t you?” Sadie says evenly, taking his insult right in the teeth then biting down hard enough to break it. “I dare you to let me show you. What you will witness, through me, will be far more spectacular and wonderful than the healing I did for Beatrice. Consider it a gift I offer you. One you do not at all deserve. But a great gift none-the-less.”

Mori is silent as Sadie plays magical Santa Claus. He shrugs his shoulders and thinks to himself Friggin special treatment. It’s the only thing that seems get through to guys like Ivan. Because they always want more.

“You can fix back? You can take to Heaven?” Ivan says as he reaches toward the scar. These words seem meek, as if from another person entirely. Mori’s magically sensitive eyes flare and he picks up Ivan’s thoughts. He has a brief vision of a snow-speckled wind blowing over Siberian forests. Of a tiny mitten in Ivan’s larger hand. A sense of love and belonging. Associations from a more wholesome past. Maybe. Mori wonders if this is the real Ivan. This frail as butterfly wings flicker of nostalgic love beneath a lifetime so dark it caught the eye of Asmodeus. He reminds himself – which one is real is up to Ivan. Mori, for his part, doesn’t hold much hope. He’s seen too many like Ivan. Too many unable to turn back.

“We can bring you there bodily at great cost. To remove you from Asmodeus’s grasp, if only for a brief while, will be worth it. The rest is up to you,” Sadie says. Mori can see a perplexing kind of joy light in her eyes.

“Da. OK. We go to Heaven.” Ivan’s face is still half-disbelieving his own words. All Mori can think is – Great, I just sent my own daughter to Hell and now this jack-ass gets to go to on a free all-expenses-paid trip to Heaven. Oh, the humanity!

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

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

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by robertscribbler on April 3, 2021  •  Permalink
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Posted by robertscribbler on April 3, 2021

https://scribblersfantasticalworkshop.wordpress.com/2021/04/03/appeals-to-a-wolfs-heart-and-baiting-the-devil/

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.)

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by robertscribbler on March 30, 2021  •  Permalink
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Posted by robertscribbler on March 30, 2021

https://scribblersfantasticalworkshop.wordpress.com/2021/03/30/helkey-9-st-marys-healing-angel/

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