All posts tagged Ivan Volkov

Helkey 36 — Ambush at Wind-Sun Isle, Belonging to the Kingdom of the Dead

Beatrice pivots on the balls of her feet. Sun Shepherd swings beneath her. She adjusts her center of gravity against the violent motion. The Nightmare plows toward them. Its mechanical squid-form dwarfing swells as it leaps over churning, hill-sized waves. Each impact of its enormous body on the storm-swept water sending out a blast like thunder. Black, metallic skin roars with flames, tentacles flail the swells. It oozes oil, burns with fire, spills towers of smoke skyward. The sea around it — a burning, black and roiling froth.

Disaster. Heading straight for them. Finn grips the helm. His knuckles showing white. Sun Shepherd slams through another twenty foot wave, crashes down into the trough in a curtain of spray. Finn wrestles the helm, Beatrice pivots to keep balance. With remarkable agility for something so large, the vessel turns. Spray flies in a fan out from its direction of spin. The next wave rises up as Shepherd turns broadside to it, then races down the trough as Finn guns the electric engine. Rooster tails of spray shoot behind them. Sun Shepherd accelerates. The trough between waves is smoother. They race forward. Unobstructed by the towering wall of water that steadily rises to Sun Shepherd’s port side.

“Do it now Sadie!” Beatrice shouts.

Sadie slams a hand down onto the deck. “Praesidia!“ she incants, drawing deep from her stored curse energy. Light ripples out through the deck, takes in the ship. A hazy nimbus grows to envelop Sun Shepherd. It covers her from bow to stern. From the top of her bridge to her keel. A shield of magical force projecting about five feet out from Sun Shepherd and covering her completely. The shield dampens the force of any waves coming through it. Water within the shield grows placid. Sun Shepherd‘s hull plows through a narrow lens of water smooth as glass. All around, the angry sea churns.

The next wave approaches. Sun Shepherd tilts. The wall of water steepens. Praesidia can’t flatten the larger waves. But its becalmed area near Shepherd helps to keep her from rolling. The twenty foot wave tips them up. Finn angles the bow into the wave, cutting diagonally along its face. They pass the wave top. Shepherd corkscrews, flies off the wave top, lands with a smoosh! then takes a gut-wrenching sideways slide down the wave’s back. Shepherd skips. Spray flies high. The vessel reels back and forth even as Praesdia dampens the storm’s violence. Finn keeps the throttle wide open. At last, they are again shooting down a magically smoothed trough. Their respite only lasts a few seconds before the next wave starts to tip them sideways again.

“Whew!” Mori cheers, then glances back and left toward the pursuing Nightmare.

Beatrice gives him a tense grin. Sun Shepherd is crazy-quick and Finn’s got her gunned nearly to full throttle. Running between the swells and toward the lee of Wind Sun Isle, they’ve turned at a right angle away from the Nightmare. Like the waves, the monster’s rushing toward them broadside. It leaps through the air. Splashes down in an explosion of water, black oil, smoke and fire. Boom! Goes the sound of its great body slamming down. The Nightmare lets out a window-rattling shriek that drowns out the roaring ocean. Everyone except Beatrice, Finn, and Mori cover their ears against the shrill cry. The monster leaps again, rises tens of feet above the waves. Slams down. Boom! SSSHHHRRREEEE!!!

Its motion reminds Beatrice of a killer whale. The creature, however, is no whale. But an orca in the true sense. “Belonging to Orcus. Belonging to the Kingdom of the Dead.” A demon mash-up of giant squid and warped oil platform machinery. A Cthulhu-esque horror — belching smoke, oil, fire. As they race between the waves, it turns to pursue. Despite their speed, the demon gains. It grows in size. Soon, Beatrice can make out smaller shapes clinging to the creature. Too far away to see clearly. But Beatrice’s magically sensitive eyes instantly detect separate tell-tales of a Curse Rider and of Pride Eaters clinging to the Nightmare.

The storm seems to pause. The rain slackens, draws back like a curtain. Steadily, Beatrice can see further. The ragged waves grow more jagged without the rain. Their roiling white tops — like glacial mountain tips beneath the glooming sky. Out ahead, a shadow clustered in flickering lights begins to take shape. Wind Sun Isle. Rock breakwaters. Tall and majestic white towers with wind turbine blades locked against the storm wind’s force. Row after row of solar panels — their reflective surfaces dark now beneath cloud and deepening dusk. Spray flies from the breakwater to their front where Beatrice can see an opening. A channel cutting into the man-made isle forming a sheltering bay. Within that channel is another glistening, solar-panel covered shape. It looks just like Sun Shepherd. Beatrice points.

“There! What’s that?”

Finn squints through the storm. “Bright Spark or Ray Wind! One of Sun Shepherd’s sister ships! Impossible to tell which at this distance! They’re coming out to help us. Crazy bastards!”

Beatrice closes her eyes, shifts her sight through omnis scientia. The magical sensor projects her vision across the waves. The letters Bright Spark stand out on the approaching vessel’s bow as it pierces a roller, then runs out into the angry North Sea.

“Bright Spark!” Beatrice replies. “About five miles away!” Spinning the sensor, her enhanced sight returns to the Nightmare just in time to see it breach, fly through the air, then plunge beneath the ocean surface. Waters light up with a red glow as it passes below the waves. Running straight toward them, tentacles tucking together, a form the size of an undersea sky scraper and moving at terrifying velocity. The waves to either side of it hollow out like a canyon as it displaces an extraordinary volume of water. In front, a fifty foot high bow wave builds. Trailing behind — a mile long and hundred foot wide path of smoke and fire. “The Nightmare! It’s two miles off and coming in quick!”

Finn responds by giving Sun Shepherd full power. They speed up, running away from the Nightmare. Toward Bright Spark. Toward Wind-Sun Isle. The sickening cork-screw motion of the vessel only broken by brief periods of going airborne over the wave tops followed by pounding slams. After about a minute and a half of this frantic flight, even nimble Beatrice’s feet feel bruised from the constant pounding. Her legs and knees aching from the strain.

From The Destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum. John Martin. Commons.

The Nightmare grows in size. Its fires spread wide behind, casting flickering light and shadows across Sun Shepherd, tainting the waves red. Waves begin to look like mountains of blood. Bright Spark is coursing through a V of spray just two miles ahead.

“What are they thinking? How could they possibly help us?” Beatrice whispers as she watches Spark’s valiant progress.

Sadie seems to hear. Her only response — a half smile and a knowing nod.

Another surprise Sadie’s set up? How could she know? How could she plan for this?

Less than a mile away, the Nightmare breaches. Its massive form rises into the air. Its tentacles spread wide. For a moment, it hangs in the air. Tentacles point. Flames across it flicker out as they are sucked inside. The dark, metallic body pulses red. One-by-one, fires light up on tentacle tips. From these fires, ten beams shoot out — two for the longer arms, eight for the tentacles. They angle in toward a space in front of the Nightmare’s wedge-shaped head, fuse together. A ball of intense red light grows in front of the Nightmare. It expands. Then pulses. A single, lava-like beam bursts forth. WWWOOOOMMM!!! The beam blasts out, ten feet wide, toward Sun Shepherd. The entire storm afire in its Hellish glow.

“Clypeus!” Beatrice shouts, throwing up a shield in front of Sun Shepherd.

“Clypeus!” Mori incants as he adds his own protective energy.

The shields form overlapping white caps across Sadie’s hazy Praesidia barrier on Sun Shepherd’s port side.

Glenda and Sadie brace. Franz tucks into a protective ball. Ivan, seeming entranced, lifts a hand toward the black and red light. “Sssshhhiiiitttt!” Karl cries out as the molten flood of Nightmare energy opens like an evil sun on their left. It vaporizes a hundred feet of wave-section rising toward them, carving a deep furrow through the waters as it envelopes Sun Shepherd. The extreme burst of energy melts through Mori’s shield in an instant. Beatrice’s barrier sheds some of the beam’s force before weakening. Red holes open through its white substance — consuming it in moments. Sadie’s Praesidia takes the remainder, breaking the larger beam into a ten smaller ones. Shards of red light cleave in all directions. Some fragments of the blast shoot through. One, deflected aft, rips a long seam in Sun Shepherd’s port side along the waterline and near the engines. The vessel groans and leans far to the right, then slams down into the hole made by the blast. Walls of sea close around them as Shepherd is covered. Again, Beatrice sees blue water through the bridge windows. Completely submerged. With a loud roar, water begins to pour into Shepherd’s lower decks through the blast hole.

After releasing its great blast, the Nightmare slams back down onto the sea surface with an immense BBBOOOOMMMM!!! that vibrates Sun Shepherd from bow to stern. Its red light spills through the water as it resumes its predatory plunge.

Glenda opens her eyes. “We’re sinking!” She shouts.

“Not yet!” Finn replies as he flicks a series of switches on the helm console.

Beatrice shoots him a questioning glance.

“Electronic hatches! I just shut all the doors on the starboard side!” The vessel groans, comes to rights. Then, ponderously like a weighted cork, pushes up to the surface. Water runs away from the bridge windows, sheds from its beleaguered deck. “Franz! Karl! Down below! I want you to check on flooding and ensure the seals are holding!”

Franz and Karl unstrap, run to a hatch, then scramble down into the lower decks. Sun Shepherd sways, sitting low in the water, and yet makes headway against the raging seas. One electric drive still dutifully pushing the vessel onward. The other drive is silent — knocked out by the Nightmare’s devastating strike. To their left, the monster looms. Its massive, burning nose plowing through a wave four sets back. Its great tentacles, each nearly as wide as Sun Shepherd, flail like a swarm of burning tornadoes. Fires rage across it, in the water around it — casting flickering shadows throughout the bridge.

“Fuck!” Mori exclaims.

“It’s coming. Make ready.” Beatrice says. Her voice sounds far calmer than she feels. The vessel, moving slower now, sitting lower in the water, seems oddly quiet. With one smooth motion, she draws her rapier. The marks containing stored curses running down its blade flash in the growing red light. One is dim. Three remain. The vessel, now struggling in the water after the hit, wallows as a wave crashes over its deck. Less than a mile off, Bright Spark leaps over a wave top, slams down into a trough. Beatrice feels a ridiculous urge to laugh at its confident advance toward them. Compared to the Nightmare, it is puny. Toy-like. I hope they’ve got some kind of surprise ready. I’m about out.

Beatrice turns toward the Nightmare. From its skin, five forms leap into the air. They arise in flame. Spread clawed hands wide. Each hand — the shape of a spider. Storm winds and smoke swirl around them, bear them aloft. Their hollow gaze casts down upon Sun Shepherd as their lanky forms descend. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! They slam in staccato bursts onto the deck. Metal buckles, solar panels shatter from the impact. They rise up. Fire and black smoke licks from their bodies. They open their hands, each finger tipped in a two foot long claw like a knife. Five pairs of hollow eyes gaze upon the bridge. All stare straight at Ivan.

Ivan is standing. His harness unbuckled. His own beady eyes meet with their hollow ones. Beatrice can see the flare of diabolical magic burning beneath his clothes. His wound — the one the Pride Eater gave him at Furze Bank — is lighting up in the demons’ presence. His spirit, already selfish, cynical, corrupt gives little resistance. Beatrice watches the dark magic spring out of the wound to grasp him like a claw.

“Mori!” Beatrice shouts. He’s already in motion. He stands, presses the red button on his case. His magical firearm unfolds, seeming to leap into his hands.

Glenda reaches a hand out to her father. She sees the Pride Eaters. Everyone sees them. All but Franz and Karl who’re still below. Tears run down Glenda’s face. “Father! No. Don’t. You’re not for them. You’re a person. You should be!”

Ivan shrinks in a shudder of pain. But he does not turn. He does not acknowledge his daughter. He does not see her. He is a man wholly possessed by the Pride Eaters. He takes another step toward the monsters.

“Hells to the no!” Mori shouts. With one quick motion he chambers a Macto round, then leaps to stand between Ivan and the Pride Eaters.

Beatrice crouches, ready to spring.

********

(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.)

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by robertscribbler on April 6, 2022  •  Permalink
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Posted by robertscribbler on April 6, 2022

https://scribblersfantasticalworkshop.wordpress.com/2022/04/06/chapter-36-ambush-at-wind-sun-isle-belonging-to-the-kingdom-of-the-dead/

Helkey 35 — Ambush at Wind-Sun Isle, Hell’s Platform

Sun Shepherd plows through another towering wave as the storm howls its fury over them like some enormous beast. Dark clouds above fill with spider-webs of lightning. Water and spray, ripped into jagged fingers by the vessel’s powerful forward speed, lash out at them — pounding the bridge windows. The sturdy ship shrugs off the assault, cleaving implacably through the angry waters, the clean hum of its electric drives — a constant counter to the roaring wind and waves. Mori’s got his grip glued to his “oh shit!” handle. Without it, he’d be careening around the bridge compartment of the swaying vessel like a pin ball in one of those retro arcade games. The metal brief case containing his magical rifle — held firm against his chest. His stomach does a rollercoaster-style tumble as Sun Shepherd drops into another trough. Damn fortunate whoever designed this vessel didn’t cut any corners. He’d have ripped the fucking handle off by now.

Mori glances up toward Beatrice standing beside Finn at the helm. She’s perfectly balanced without holding onto anything. The swaying and jolts do nothing to throw her. A graceful surfer riding through this crazy climate-change-enhanced storm. Her sleek, angelic form seeming to know where the ship will move ahead of time. Mori grins, imagining his wife as some female version of the Silver Surfer. Yeah, his girl’s just about that badass. She’s even got her eyes closed — shifting her gaze out through omnis scientia — ready to warn Finn of the next big wave. The sensor’s a few hundred feet ahead. Mori’s magic-sensitive eyes pick it up as a floating ball of light amidst the spray, the waves, the rain.

Karl and Franz are both buckled in. Earlier, they’d distributed fancy life-vests from beneath the seats. Now everyone’s wearing one of the puffy orange things over their clothes — complete with whistle, strobe, and geo-locator. Mori doesn’t want to think about using the damn things. Being ejected into that sea state would be, well, Hellish. His gaze flickers over Karl and Franz. Though they’re ship’s hands and have probably made this passage scores of times, they’re holding on about as tight as Mori. Franz has his eyes glued to the bow. Karl’s staring at the bridge ceiling, refusing to look at the waves, as his jaw works — chewing on some gum he plopped into his mouth a few minutes before. The sight of the two, obviously suffering the same anxiety as the rest of them, isn’t reassuring.

From The Wrath of the Seas by Ivan Ayvazovsky.

Beside him, Ivan and Glenda are also strapped in tight, holding on against the storm’s assault. Glenda’s alert, her eyes bouncing between Beatrice, Sadie, and Ivan. Her mouth — a concerned frown. Her face displaying hurt, anger, outrage. Yet fearless. Mori finds himself comforted by her courage. That girl’s something else. Putting everything on the line to save her asshole father. I feel for her. But I’ve really got doubts. Mori grits his teeth as his gaze locks on Ivan. The Russian oligarch’s face is a slack glower. That same emotionless mask Mori’d grown to hate. Bastard’s at last in control of his sea-sickness. That or he’s puked himself out. The boat throws Mori’s stomach through a loop as it slams into another twenty-foot wave face. Maybe he’ll be next to lose his lunch.

Mori’s not sure how Glenda’s earlier outburst is affecting ol’ Ivan. But he’s pretty certain the jackass is going to do them a bad turn. Confronting him with both good-will and reason produces nada. Sadie’d only managed to rope him in on their wild expedition to Heaven by making him feel special. Like this trip to Heaven is some kind of goddamn birthday present. Sure, she’s using him to distract Asmodeus as Myra runs roughshod into Hell. But Sadie, like Glenda, genuinely wants to help the bastard. She’s right. His transformation atop Furze Bank, his wounding by Pride Eaters’ claws should’ve been a wake-up call. Ivan, at times, shows fear. Regret. But these moments of potential awakening inevitably fail. Ivan’s just too corrupt, too cynical to take a good turn. Mori gets the feeling the Russian’s circling back to his usual power-games. Shapechanger — Glenda’d called him.

That rat-bastard’s a ticking bomb. Glenda’s right. This is his intervention. But Ivan’s gotta want it to work and he’s addicted to something worse than any drug. Power.

Mori can sense that power-lust wafting off Ivan. Like the smell of alcohol off a drunk. Ivan’s expression gives Mori’s stomach a worse jolt than even the massive North Sea waves threatening to devour Sun Shepherd. His cop instincts — going off like gang-busters. The way he treats his own daughter… Like she’s supposed to grow up into corruption and become like him. It’s just sick. That shred of love for Glenda Mori sensed in him earlier — now seems little more than a counterfeit.

Asmodeus chose this fucker for a reason. Sadie’s assurances or no, if Ivan does anything to hurt Glenda, if he shows any sign of turning again, I swear I’m gonna knock his ass out.

Mori’s eyes cut back toward Sadie. Her onyx skin glistens with an angelic sheen, seeming to glow in each lightning flash. Her face — somehow continuing to radiate calm goodwill as she braces through the storm. She reaches out a hand, grasps Glenda’s arm. Glenda’s face lifts, shedding some of its hurt and anger. Sadie’s the best. Always trying to do a good turn.

Beep! Beep! Beep! The alarm on Mori’s watch goes off. It’s 7:00 Berlin time. Shit! Mirror Specter’s on its way! Mori glances about the cabin. Beatrice spins on him, her eyes wide. Well, I guess everyone’s gonna see it.

“No help for it now!” Mori growls to Beatrice, then thrusts himself upright. He turns to everyone. They’re all looking at him, temporarily distracted by his sudden agitation. “You’re all about to see something strange! A kind of magical ghost! We’re going to talk with it for about a minute! Pay us no mind!”

Glenda frowns speculatively, like she’s working out a puzzle. Franz’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Ivan’s head tilts forward. A small grin appears on his face. That’s a problem.

“You just said you’re going to talk to a ghost and to pay you no mind?! The one doesn’t go with the other!” Karl shouts.

Beatrice ignores him, turns to Finn. “You’re on your own for a few minutes!” She shouts against the roaring wind and waves.

“I really need you!”

“I know! No helping it!” She waves a hand over her form in explanation. Finn looks at her sidelong, doesn’t get it. Then, the magic of Mirror Specter begins to grow up from her. The sliver tattoos traced on Beatrice’s skin gleam with moon glow. Her hair swirls — lifted by magical force. Light fills the cabin. Everyone but Sadie stares at Beatrice in shock as sparks begin to spill out of her name curse. They hit the deck, smoke for a moment, and then from the smoke rises the ghostly form of his daughter — Myra Helkey. She’s wearing a D20 shirt, has a clean look like someone who just had a shower — shiny. Her name curse is also sparking. Sending out streamers to connect with Beatrice. Her hair, pulled back in a pony tail, seems to drift about weightlessly, as if she’s floating in water. It’s the only visible hint about where this Mirror Specter is coming from. Good.

“Hey Mom, Dad! Other people!” Myra as Mirror Specter says, glancing about the cabin. “I’m about to go…”

Beatrice lifts a hand. “We have an audience!”

Myra’s Mirror pauses, “Yep! Noticed!” She scans the group, takes in the raging storm outside for the first time. The Mirror Specter floats above the deck — untouched by the swaying Sea Shepherd. “Oh… That’s a really bad storm!” A strand of her hair drifts lazily in front of her face. Ivan’s beady eyes glint as he stares. Mori can practically see the clockwork turning over in his skull. Tic, ticking through details.

“Yeah, better make it quick for now!” He says. No use in keeping his voice down. It’s like they’re on stage.

Myra’s Mirror snaps back into action. “Right! Then I’ll just tell you the basics! My better half made it past the beach! She’s now with a group of… kindred spirits! Two blues! A Vila! She just defeated some Poachers!”

“Excellent!” Beatrice says. She’s lifting a hand out, stroking the light form of Mirror Specter. The gesture is heart-rending. Mori knows how much Beatrice misses Myra. How concerned she feels for her as she faces down Hell pretty much all alone. “A Vila! That’s a perfect complement!” Beatrice turns to Mori nods.

“Fanfriggingtastic!” Mori replies. “She’s near the Wisp Fields?!”

“Just at the southeast end. About fifteen miles from Overseer.”

“Fuckin-A!” Mori whoops. “Yeah! Tell her to start her rebellion against those slavers!”

“You think she’s ready?!” Beatrice casts her concern back toward him.

“Babe, you know each day brings new risks! Sooner is better! Plus, a Vila!”

Beatrice nods, glances back at their dumbfounded onlookers. Mori’s pretty sure they’re not cluing in at all. All except Sadie who’s watching on with a bemused expression. Excellent! “Then urge her to push on! I hope she remembers enough… of what we discussed before!”

Mirror-Myra lifts a hand, gives a mock-salute. “Got it! I’m off to H…” She glances again at her audience. “Then I’m off! See you tomorrow at the same time! Love you both!!”

Beatrice’s glow flickers, then goes out. Mirror-Myra disappears — swirling off down her connection with their daughter. Down, down into Hell where Myra’s probably reacting to her own magical set of alarm bells. Beatrice shares a final glance with Mori, lets out a long breath, brushes off a tear. With a stiff nod, she turns back and closes her eyes. All-in-all it went pretty darn well. Except that last bit at the end where Myra’s Mirror almost said “Hell.” He’s pretty sure no-one picked up on it. Based on Ivan’s puzzled expression, Finn’s curious side-long glances, and the befuddled expressions on the faces of Glenda, Karl and Franz, they pulled this little Mirror Specter briefing off with flying colors and no-one’s the wiser.

“I’m watching again!” Beatrice shouts to Finn.

He grunts acknowledgement, then glances at Beatrice. “I’m not going at ask!” He shouts against the storm.

Beatrice laughs. “Better not!”

“Oh what the ever-living-Hell was that??!” Franz shouts.

“You heard her! No questions!” Finn replies. “Now let’s get through this beast!”

Glenda clamps her mouth down on a question she was about to ask, looks enquiringly to Sadie, but doesn’t say anything. Karl keeps chomping on his gum, shrugs. Ivan raises his free hand to his chin and scans the cabin with his reptilian gaze.

Sun Shepherd clambers up another monstrous wave. It feels like climbing a rocky, moving hill. Outside, the sky darkens, the pace of lightning flashes intensifies. Mori shifts his sight to omnis scientia. Through it, Sun Shepherd looks small and vulnerable amidst the churning waves. The fast resupply vessel for Wind-Sun Isle straining at its design limits in the brutal storm. Overhead, a ghostly light appears. The storm hollows out ahead of it, forming a circular corridor through the clouds. A black shape like a dragon with a Nightmare-as-helicopter for its head flies through the tunnel above them. As it approaches, the wind briefly slackens, pulled into its great, demon-formed wings. The roar above them grows, the darkness outside deepens as the Nightmare casts its shadow.

“What the ever-loving-fuck!!?” Karl shouts as he sees it.

“That’s the Curse Rider!” Beatrice cries out. “His Nightmare uses the storm!”

“Fuck! I’m watching it now. What if it sees us?!” Mori instinctively clenches, anticipating the storm-enhanced-Nightmare’s descent. Body and wings of storm spread above them. He feels like a mouse tossed about on a bit of driftwood beneath a raptor. The shadow begins to pass. Mori feels a moment of sweet relief. It missed us! The wind picks up. The Nightmare’s lashing tail, a frigging waterspout, sweeps by about two hundred meters starboard. Winds, flung back out of the Nightmare roar across the waves. Seas build behind the Nightmare as waves stack together into a massive swell.

“Finn! It’s coming!” Beatrice shouts, then points.

Finn, who’d stared wide-eyed as the Nightmare passed overhead, snaps out of his fear-daze and tilts Sun Shepherd’s nose in the direction of Beatrice’s outstretched hand. Toward the enormous wave he can’t yet see. Through omnis scientia, Mori watches the wave build to forty, fifty, sixty feet. The collision alert goes off, sending its klaxon blare through the bridge. A roiling wall of white and blue engulfs the magical sensor running ahead of Sun Shepherd. Mori snaps his eyes open in time to see its daunting form emerge off the ship’s bow. It looms like a cliff, its face is shadowed, hollow.

“Brace! Brace! Brace!” Finn shouts. Everyone clenches tighter to their hand-holds. They’re all already strapped in. Except Beatrice. She reaches a hand out, grabs a handle on the console. The bow pitches down into the trough. Above them, the wave begins to break as its top explodes into a mass of foam. Shepherd’s bow lifts, rises to thirty, forty, fifty degrees. Mori’s pressed back into his seat. Finn looks like an astronaut strapped into his captain’s chair. Beatrice dangles by one hand from her handhold which is now above her head. All across the console, read warning lights are blinking. Powerful engines roar shooting twin rooster tails behind. Its hull groans. The bow pierces the breaking wave and again they are submerged. The churning motion of the wave causes Sun Shepherd to pitch. “Grrrrrrrhhhhh!!” Finn growls as he wrestles with the helm to turn Shepherd upright. Blue water is visible through both front and rear windows. Little rivulets leak down the rear doors leading to the well. Shepherd groans from the pressure, steadily tilts back toward vertical, then explodes through the giant wave’s back. Shepherd’s bow slamming onto the storm-tossed sea surface.

Everyone lets out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding.

“Fuck! Fuck! We’re fucked!!” Glenda curses as she breathes out, then opens her clenched eyes. Ivan, meanwhile, looks like he’s about to get sick again. Even Sadie’s tensed up.

“She’s a strong ship!” Finn shouts from his captain’s chair. Sweat beading on his brow betrays his intense focus. “Made to weather the North Sea and make the fast cargo or personnel runs to and from Wind-Sun! Never you worry! She’ll hold together!” His voice is cracking a bit from the strain. Mori’s not sure if it’s reassuring. He can tell Finn’s just about as scared shitless as Glenda. Whether from the storm, from the supernatural shit he just witnessed, or both, Mori can’t tell.

Beatrice drops back onto her feet as the ship settles. Out of everyone, she seems the most steady. She turns to Mori, lifts her free hand, then points toward the Nightmare boring on through the raging storm. “Where’s it going?!” She shouts to Mori above the waves and engine noise.

“I don’t know, babe! We’re following it!” Mori replies, then turns to Finn. “What’s out that way?!”

“Trekke Pa, Wind-Sun! That’s about it!”

“Trekke Pa?!” Sadie asks. Mori’s gut does another roller-coaster dip — and not from the pitching deck.

“It’s a huge oil platform!” Finn shouts.

“How far off?!” Mori asks. “Can we avoid it?!”

“We won’t crash into it! If that’s what you mean!”

“No! Can we go around!? Stay out of it’s way!?” Mori can feel the fear starting to rise again.

“Not by too much! Not in this mess! We’re already pretty close! Don’t want to get thrown off course!”

Mori’s eyes lock with Beatrice’s. “I think Glenda’s right!” Beatrice says, her face falling as she watches the Nightmare’s waterspout tail whipping back and forth like some oceanic version of the twister from The Wizard of Oz in front of them.

“What?!” Finn asks.

“Yeah,” Mori replies. “That Nightmare’s heading straight for the oil platform! We are fucked!”

“It’s an ambush!” Beatrice shouts back. “Get ready!”

********

Gibbons Crane whoops and laughs maniacally as his Nightmare leaps from the helicopter and into the oil platform. He cracks his electric whip. His worb grinds down on the captured wisps, feeding the demon still more energy. The demon flickers with dark lightning as it courses through the metal struts. Its energy whirls out and down. The oil platform crew looks on in horror. Floats, masses of machinery atop the platform, tentacle-like lines running down to the ocean floor — slurping up Hellish fuels from a wound driven into the sea bed, all shudder and begin to transform. The Nightmare drinks deep of crude and gas. It cries in triumph as it taps great tanks of the corruption juice stored in Trekke Pa’s structure. It yammers with glee as it slurps down the polluting substances travelling up through lines reaching the sea bottom.

The structure groans. Oil leeches out of joints and seams to cover its body. Turning from light-bedecked and red-painted steel to black. Hellish flesh bulges throughout. Terrified crew are engulfed, swallowed up, crushed into its new form in sprays of blood and entrails. Gibbons feasts upon it all. “Yes!!” He shouts in ecstasy, then kicks the helicopter off the fleshy deck and into the storm-riled North Sea. Sinking down beneath the waves. Forgotten. The platform grows scales. Spines rise out. Floats merge into a monstrous squid-like head. Lines rip from the sea floor bottom to become tentacles. A great, bulbus eye sprouts, casts out a baleful gaze. Metal and machinery form mad and mottled patterns along its two-hundred-foot long body. Lights shatter. Oil spills through its skin, belches from its mouth. The Nightmare, the ocean, everything is soon covered by the viscous fossil fuels.

From the Deepwater Horizon on Fire. Image source here.

Sparks fly from shattered lamps, fire takes hold, blazes across the oil. A great raging inferno leaps over it and onto the water. Gibbons stands astride the enormous monster, gripping a spine with one hand, lashing his electric whip into the air with the other. Oil platform no more. Now Hell’s Platform. A Nightmare fully transformed into a horror straight from the inner-most-bowels of a ruined world. The oil spewing from the creature, fountaining up through the waves out of ruptured fuel lines, spreads darkness and fire across the ocean surface. The disaster. The storm. The Nightmare monster. The environmental ruin. All combine to draw the eyes of demons. Five Pride Eaters lift their hands. Tear at the space between Hell and Earth with their enormous claws. Their spirits come to float alongside Gibbons and his Nightmare. The pollution and fires lick their forms into being. They latch on to the great Nightmare body, becoming riders of an Eldritch Horror.

Gibbons points out over the raging sea. He knows the location of his prey. He can sense them just miles off through the raging storm. “There!” He shouts to the beast. “There is our quarry! Go now! We will take them!” The Nightmare tips forward, plunges through water and fire. tentacles ripple behind. Gibbons, the demons, the Nightmare tear through the storm. A form of fire, gushing oil, writhing tentacles like towers. Behind them — a black and burning wake.

********

Maxwell Plann, famous climate scientist by day, moonlighting mage by night, and friend to Sadie and Glenda, stands in the Bill McKibben control room overlooking a churning North Sea. A stocky, unassuming figure, Maxwell lifts a hand to adjust his polarized aviator glasses against another bright flash of lightning as rain batters the window in front of him.

The control room, named after a prominent climate activist who envisioned a full transition to clean energy decades before it became a popular rallying cry of environmentalists, is part of a larger structure jutting out from a man-made island. The island — Wind-Sun Isle — is a platform for twenty massive wind turbines. It forms a hub in a constellation of a thousand more across the North Sea. Every inch of the one square mile island’s surface is covered with solar panels. Running through the island are tunnels filled with water turbines that tap the North Sea’s waves and currents. Together these turbines and panels collect enough electricity to power half of Germany each day. Pushing it out as clean current to mainland Europe. Transforming it into renewable hydrogen in the various electrolysis plants dotting the Island. Considered an impossibility just a decade ago, Wind-Sun Isle is an amazing feat of engineering science and act of faith combined. It represents the answer to a Hellish climate in the form of energy from Heaven. A place that will fall to the waves as glaciers continue to melt — unless the world answered in kind with enough energy from Heaven to replace the nightmarish fuels from Hell.

Hope facing off against tragedy.

Maxwell marvels at the place. Revels in its triumph of science and engineering combined. He’d seen pictures of Wind-Sun Isle on the web many times. His presence here came at the request of his associate Sadie. He’d arrived just one day ago. Now he worries about his friends — Sadie and Glenda. The storm has transformed the North Sea into a horror of gigantic waves, falling bolts of lighting, and torrential rain. He’s pushed his magical senses out along the path of Sun Shepherd to finally find it wallowing in the raging seas. Its progress — hampered by the constant pounding. Though just five miles off Wind-Sun, and nearing Trekke Pa, the waves and terrible current are holding them at bay.

“They’re running late,” he says, turning toward his companion — Freja Pedersen.

“Expected, they’ll be lucky to make it here by full dark through this mess.” Freja replies. She towers over the stocky Maxwell. Her long, blonde locks pulled back into a braid. Freja’s an administrator and chief engineer for Wind-Sun. She’s also one of Maxwell’s network of global contacts.

“Maybe it’s time to send out an escort?” Maxwell motions to his left. Outside is a bay housing two solar-electric ships. Bright Spark and Ray Wind. Sisters to Sun-Shepherd. They bob in the wind, waves, and rain even in the enclosure. Freja has them charged up and ready in the event that they’re needed to aid Sun Shepherd.

“Maybe…” Freja says, considering.

Then, out over Trekke Pa, the sky turns bright red. Lit up by a terrible explosion. The flames briefly silhouette a towering form in the darkness. Black as pitch. Flaming. Spewing smoke and shadow. Black tentacles leap up from the fire surrounding it. Then, the great monster, no longer just an oil platform, tips sideways into the North Sea. Burly waves splash and roil around it. Tentacles and burning expulsions of oil swarm behind. That monstrous flaming form — knifing directly toward Sun Sherpherd.

Maxwell doesn’t hesitate. He knows a Nightmare when he sees one. Knew Sadie, Mori, and Beatrice had probably attracted just such a terror. “I’m heading to Bright Spark! Tell Jans I’ll be aboard in less than five!”

********

Mori feels like he’s going to barf.

Sun Shepherd slams over another huge wave. Spray and rain fly. Out ahead, in the darkness, a red light gleams like a demon’s eye. Underbellies of cloud flicker with intermittent firelight. The flickering grows brighter, larger. Oily smoke rises up into the sky ahead. Darkness deepens as smoke joins cloud and gathering dusk. Something massive. A shadow in the belly of flame and smoke begins to take shape ahead. A shape like a knife of fire and darkness — pointing directly toward Sun Shepherd — emerges.

“What is that!?” Karl shouts, his eyes wide with naked fear.

“The Nightmare. Death… pouncing,” Beatrice replies. Mori can see her eyes shifting to a more determined cast. He knows she’s checking her energetic vessel. They’ve had hours to refresh since the train. I’m back to about a third full. She’s probably about the same. Sadie might have half. Not enough. No-where near enough.

“Nightmare?!! Death!? Pouncing!!??” Karl shouts again. Hysterical. He’s got his eyes glued to the rapidly growing form. Its firelight flickers across his face. His own face — a rictus of fear — appears demonic in the hellish glow. “We’re dead, dead… DEAD!!!“

“Everyone! Steady!” Finn shouts. “Someone give me an option!”

“Can you turn the vessel away from it?! Speed up?! Try to outrun it?!” Mori shouts.

“If I turn sidewise to a twenty foot plus swell, we’ll start rolling! I don’t know how many rolls she can take!”

Mori spins toward Sadie. “Can you protect Sun Shepherd from the waves, make it stronger against rolls?”

Sadie’s eyes glisten. She nods. “It’s a solar vessel. My magic will work more strongly with it. I can try.”

“Good!” Beatrice shouts as she plants her feet, then lowers a hand to grab the console. “Best do it now! We’ve got to find a way out of this Ambush! And that Nightmare — it’s coming fast!!”

Out ahead, the Nightmare leaps over a wave as it rushes toward them. Its two hundred foot long, squid-like body covered with metal protrusions, leaking flaming oils, becoming fully visible for the first time. Behind it, a mass of tentacles whip out, flinging smoke, fire, shadow. The shape rises about fifty feet into the air, seems to hang on the wind for a moment, then slams down. Spray, fire, oil splash out from it in a multi-colored explosion.

Karl sees it. Bends over. Covers his eyes. “Dead… dead… dead…,” he whimpers.

In the rising firelight, Ivan’s beady eyes flicker. Mori gets the impression of a predator, at bay for now, just waiting for the right time to pounce.

(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 March 28, 2022  •  Permalink
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Posted by robertscribbler on March 28, 2022

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Helkey 16 — Glenda Goodfuture and the Solar Train to Denmark

Mori suppresses the urge to cuff Ivan. The racist bastard snuck off, went on a binge, started bullying a black pro football player, then literally almost got transformed into a fucking demon-wolf when Hell dialed him in. The Hell dialing part is weird. Something he can’t quite figure out. The Ivan being a pure 100 percent dick part is as easy to get as it is infuriating.

They lead Ivan the jackass back toward Marienkirche. Beatrice is keeping to the shadows, feeding ignarus more curse energy, her luminous eyes scanning for hiding places, head on a swivel. The shadows won’t hide them from actual demons or devils. But demons can mostly only manifest as spirits on Earth and it is very rare for devils to take form here. The main concern will be humans who are taken in by Hellish and demonic influence. Unless… He doesn’t want to think too much about the worst possibility right now. He takes Beatrice’s hint and starts to mirror her actions. Stay alert, stay alive. Especially when you’re escorting Asmodeus’ prophet.

St Mary’s Church and Mio Bar

“Care to explain what happened with the phone call?” Beatrice asks Ivan as they cross a street, then enter a park to the east of St Mary’s Church. They’re cutting through the park and along a hedge row that leads toward the church. This gives them a screen from any possible prying eyes.

Ivan purses his lips. “Why should I tell?” He looks like he’s about to mutter an expletive at Beatrice, then glances back to Mori who’s glaring at him, and takes another tact. “You attack me again. No reason to talk.”

“Whatever called to you triggered your pride-wound,” Beatrice replies. “You experienced a partial transformation and were about to bite Jonas Herrington’s arm off. I defended both him and you.” She takes point, leading them in her silent way to the end of the hedge row. She gives him the side-eye, then continues on her way.

“You keep hitting me with sword.” Ivan is playing the victim again. He’s still got his hand on his head. It sports another bruise. Serves the bastard right. His other hand keeps reaching for his back. He pulls it away, but it keeps drifting toward the black scar. Mori bets the real pain is coming from the wound those Soul Eaters gave him. He’s not saying much about that. Reflects too much on his own guilt. He’s just whining and deflecting from their questions about the phone call.

“Hey jackass, Beatrice uses her sword for healing and protection as well as for fighting. As a last friggin’ resort. She’s never used its sharp bits on you. She could have. With justification. You owe Beatrice about a thousand apologies for going all murder hobo. Twice.” Mori climbs the stairs and they file into the church. “She kept you from turning into a monster at major risk to herself. Again. You should thank her. You don’t want to turn into a monster, do you?”

Ivan goes quiet again. The church is dark and silent. It’s about 4 AM. Mori’s tired, but Beatrice looks bright-eyed. His girl has never needed much sleep. Angel’s badass physiology and all that jazz. But he’s hoping to get at least another two hours of shut-eye. Whatever Sadie has planned for tomorrow is going to need him at 120 percent.

“Come-on Ivan. It’s back upstairs for you. Let’s sleep off the devil-spiked booze. Hopefully, it won’t give you too much of a hangover.”

Ivan grunts in reply. Beatrice closes and locks the door behind them. Then they’re climbing up the stairs, entering Sadie’s office. Beatrice settles herself down on a stool next to the window. Mori flops down onto his chair. Ivan rolls onto his cot. Bleeding curse energy into omnis scienta, Mori sets the magical sensor to keep watch over Ivan and the door again. Then, with a relieved sigh he lets his eyes shut. He’s reassured Beatrice is back to her good ol’ self. Not like he doubted once he got her into Sadie’s hands. She’s sitting over by the window. His little badass angel. Keeping watch.

As soon as his eyes close, he’s out. Sleep is precious. His work often makes it scarce. This particular job is bound to get more hectic. More dangerous.

After what seems like just a moment of sleep, the smell of coffee wafts into his nostrils and he’s greeted by the rich, sing-song voice of Sadie Dextera. “Wakie, wakie, eggs and bakie!” she says as she plops a plate on his lap. He groans and rubs his eyes. “Yes mom, what time is it?” he looks down at his food groggily. It’s in one of those nice, brown recyclable containers. Clearly ordered in. Some kind of tofu, potatoes, and veggie bacon scramble. Yum! He lifts his fork as Beatrice hands him a coffee, then digs in.

“What time is it?” he asks between mouthfuls.

“It’s 7:30 sleepy-head,” Beatrice replies with a smile. “You slept late. And the only thing going bump in the night was your snore.”

“Tell me about it, girl,” Sadie says when Beatrice mentions his snoring. Apparently, it’s one of his many famous traits. Not like he would know. They could be making it all up. Mori scans the room, finds Ivan sipping his coffee by the window. He’s dressed now. Jeans, a button down flannel, and a Godzilla T-shirt. The T-shirt looks familiar.

“Aw, no more Ivan the priest?” he says, between scarfing mouthfuls. “I was getting to like the vibe. But where’d he get the new duds?”

Ivan turns toward him, gives a poker-face, then returns to gazing out the window into early-morning Berlin.

“You should recognize the T-shirt,” Beatrice replies. “It’s from Myra’s luggage. Awful ugly thing. Don’t know why she ever liked it. The rest is from the church donations box. We found a few things that fit him. Though the jeans are a little baggy and he needed a belt.”

“You dressed him up in our daughter’s clothes?” Mori gives a crow-cackle laugh. “You know, she’d actually find that funny.”

He can feel Ivan’s gaze return. Threatening. Mori looks straight back at him. “Godzilla T? I change my mind. It fits. You should thank my daughter for her charity.” He’s not going to let Ivan the Wolf look at him like that without reply. Besides, the Russian doesn’t know shit about Myra. And that’s for the best.

Ivan seems to soften a bit at the word daughter, his face showing some actual emotion. “Godzilla? My daughter likes too. Never understood why she calls it cute. Ugly beast.”

“Well count me among the amazed,” Beatrice says. “Ivan and I can agree on one of the most important subjects of our time.”

“The ugliness level of Godzilla?” Mori quips.

“Indeed,” Beatrice replies.

“Well count me out. To my eye, the big, green kaiju strikes a handsome pose.”

Sadie has made her way over to Ivan through the banter. “You sure you don’t want any breakfast, hon?” She motions to the neglected food container beside Ivan.

“Don’t eat bird food,” Ivan replies.

Mori scoops it up. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says, then shovels a heaping forkful of Ivan’s grub into his mouth. “Man, I’m surprised you don’t want some of these delicious hashbrowns.”

Ivan snatches the food container from Mori’s hands, then looks accusingly at Sadie. “Wi.. didn’t mention hashbrowns.” He picks up the fried potatoes with his fingers, eating them daintily. But the jocular mood is broken. The word Ivan had almost uttered is witch. Among mages, particularly those like Sadie and Beatrice, this is a vulgar slur. Ivan must’ve keyed in on their reactions as the word almost escaped his mouth — biting it off at the last instant.

Everything gets quiet for a few minutes. Mori’s appetite is gone. He puts the container back down, then walks away. For a moment, Ivan seemed almost human.

At last Sadie puts her hands together. “So, I suppose I should tell you what we have planned for you Ivan. How we plan to ferry you off to Heaven. But first things first, Beatrice informs me we had a late-night relapse of your devil-wolf?”

Ivan coughs in reply.

Sadie just stares at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand you.”

“Yes,” Ivan says, actually having the grace to look ashamed.

“I see,” she glances at Beatrice, then Mori. Mori turns to Beatrice. She raises her eyebrow in a way that says yes, I filled Sadie in while you were snoring your brains out. Except Beatrice would use more refined words. “So I need to be very clear with you, Ivan,” Sadie continues. “No more wolf relapses. We simply cannot have you transforming into…” she motions at his Godzilla T-shirt. “It would defeat everything we are trying to do to help you.”

Beatrice is standing beside Mori now. As Sadie speaks she grabs his arm. “Sadie knows she’s playing with fire,” she whispers into his ear. “The dreams of Heaven haven’t known a true nightmare in ages.” Mori puts his hand over hers. Though not a native of Heaven, he recalls a bit about the nature of its worlds. Enough to know that strong dreams can be made real there — the same was once true for nightmares.

Ivan’s not watching them. He’s absorbed by Sadie. His poker face is back. But Mori is pretty sure he can see the racist dislike for Sadie glinting in Ivan’s beady little eyes. His nostrils flare a little. “Apologize,” his voice is quiet. His tongue rolls off it like the word is disgusting to him. “Won’t let happen again.”

Sadie’s eyes are dark pools — drawing him in. “Very well. But I must extract this pledge from you. No more phone calls until we get to Heaven.”

Ivan waves his hand dismissively. “Da. No more phone.”

Sadie catches his hand. “Then, to hold you to your word…” she jabs a finger into his palm and incants “confractus telefari.” Mori watches as a whirl of curse energy imbeds in Ivan’s palm. It’s a curse set to disrupt phone signals coming to Ivan. Sadie feeds the curse a bit more, then cuts it off. It’s got enough magical juice to last for days. Pretty darn clever.

Ivan might’ve caught a glimpse of the curse firing off. He’s staring at his hand in amazement.

“Now, let’s talk about how we’re bringing you to Heaven. There’s a magical gateway just off Denmark in the North Sea. Since you’re a bit of risk, I’m not telling you exactly where at the moment. But we will be meeting your daughter Glenda along the way. I believe she can help you in ways I cannot. She’s agreed.”

Mori turns to Beatrice in surprise. “Glenda?” he whispers. She shrugs her reply. Mori recalls his brief shared vision with Ivan — of his daughter holding his hand in Siberia.

Ivan appears stunned. “Glenda?” A hundred emotions ripple across his face. “Not real name. It’s Valeriya.”

“I know she changed her name when she left Russia in protest. When she came to Europe and took on the surname Goodfuture.”

“Holy shit! Glenda Goodfuture, the famous climate activist, is your daughter?” Mori exclaims to Ivan.

At the same time Beatrice shouts to Sadie — “You’re working with Glenda Goodfuture!?”

Ivan scowls and Sadie gives a cat-ate-the-canary grin.

“Valeriya. Valeriya Volkov,” he insists. “I… she agreed to see me?”

“Yes. Yes she has. Indeed. She asked me to see you when I told her I planned to bring you to Heaven. In fact, she offered to help.”

Clever, clever Sadie, Mori thinks as he leans back to digest this new bit of info. He’d heard of the world-renown Glenda Goodfuture. A teenage climate activist who’d left Russia in protest over its continued use of fossil fuels as a tool for economic warfare against its neighbors and in its reticence to shift away from their burning — so obviously fueling climate Hell on Earth. He just didn’t know Glenda was Ivan’s prodigal daughter. She was able to secure independence through a Go-Fund-Me at the age of 19 when she left Russia. The media was always vague about her family — calling them ‘wealthy oil and gas oligarchs.’ Odd discretion.

“So Glenda — she’s a mage?” Mori asks Sadie.

“Not exactly,” Sadie replies. “Let’s just say Glenda-Valeriya made some good friends. One of them being myself.”

Beatrice is standing with her arms crossed, an impressed look on her face. Ivan’s expression is a mash-up of hope, surprise, and a little anger. He looks accusingly at Sadie. Takes a breath. Seems to struggle with his words for a moment.

“You interfere with Valeriya. Take her away,” Ivan says, finally spitting out his accusation.

“I merely helped Glenda when she asked. Her decisions are her own,” Sadie replies. “You should be proud. She is a fine person. A passionate advocate for all our futures. I think, perhaps, you could learn something from her example.”

Ivan purses his lips. The mask falls back into place. Mori is pretty sure he can still see sparks of rage in his eyes.

After giving Ivan a moment to reply, Sadie steeples her hands, takes a breath and continues. “Well, now that you know your daughter wants to meet you in Denmark, I suppose we should get going. No time to waste!”

Mori looks down at his rumpled clothes. Good thing he and Beatrice left some bags here with Sadie. “If we’re getting ready to head out, you mind if I take a quick shower?”

“Please do.” This quick quip from Sadie earns a little laugh from Beatrice. Funny-ha-ha. Yeah, Mori knew he needed a bath. He glances around. Everyone else looks pretty shiny. He supposes they grabbed a shower while he was still snoozing. He snatches his bag, then bee-lines it for the shower. After a quick wash, Mori emerges feeling mostly human again. They’ve gathered in the hall, waiting for him.

“Snap to!” Sadie commands. “Train’s at 9:15.”

Mori follows them as they shuffle off toward the stairs. “Train?” he asks.

“Yes,” Beatrice says, her eyes sparking with excitement. “Sadie filled us in while you were making yourself presentable. We’re taking the Solar Train to Denmark!”

“Cool.”

They emerge from the church. Their Uber — already waiting. Telsa Model X making its almost sub-audial space-ship noise with its X-wing doors open to admit them. Mori swings around the front, his special briefcase and go bag in hand, opens the passenger door, then plops down shotgun next to Stefan. Beatrice, Ivan, and Sadie each grab a comfortable seat in the back. Beatrice sits behind Mori, reaching an arm over his chair to grab his shoulder.

“I checked up on Mirror-Spectre,” she whispers to him as the Tesla’s X-Wing doors lower. “Myra made it safely to Infernia. No other word.”

Mori pats her hand. “We’ll know more by evening,” he whispers back. He glances at Ivan in the rear view mirror. They’ll have to find a private place away from him if they want to talk openly about Myra or receive the magical reports coming from Mirror-Specter. The Tesla’s doors finish closing and they blast off through Berlin’s early morning streets. Already, haze, heat, and the smell of smoke from wildfires dominate the weather picture. Hot and lung-wrecking stinky with a 30 percent chance of pyrocumulus thunderstorms, Mori thinks to himself. Yet another nasty day on climate-wracked Earth. Though nothing like what Myra’s experiencing now. Mori stares out the window, tries to imagine, then figures it’s better to just leave that thread of thought. Beatrice is scared sick for their girl. If he’s honest with himself, he’s scared too. Dwelling on Myra’s plight ain’t gonna make things any better for her.

Stefan has turned on the Tesla’s streaming local news. Someone — Sadie or Beatrice — set up an interpretor curse. So he’s hearing it in English. They’re still talking about the Furze Bank incident. Though investigators seem to be stumped. Berlin’s chief of police is giving tight-lipped news updates. So nothing new there. The news switches to coverage of a horrific plane crash at Berlin-Brandenburg Airport early that morning. Scores of souls lost as the plane slammed into the runway. Survivor accounts are mad and delirious — some claim the plane was taken over by ghosts. Authorities suspect hijacking. But no known terrorist groups are claiming responsibility. News commentators speculate that the Furze Bank incident and plane crash are somehow linked. Mori taps his ear and glances back to Beatrice. Her face is tensed with concern, her eyebrows raised as they share a knowing look. Yeah, babe, I’m with you. This plane crash smacks of something nasty this way comes. Over her shoulder, Mori can see a smoke plume rising up in the direction of Brandenburg where wreckage still burns. Whew, things are starting to get real.

Berlin Hauptbahnhof or Central Station isn’t far from St Mary’s. Maybe a 15 minute hop. It’s not long before Mori can see its glass palace structure glittering in the hazy morning sunlight. Train lines snake into the hub — each accompanied by its own gleaming racks of solar panels. The racks give off a reflective glow to the lines as they wind off into the distance. Panels feeding energy to electric train engines and battery cars directly through the platform. They’d made the conversion only recently. To Mori, it all looks pretty darn badass. A palace of light sending out its glowing vehicular emissaries. Its brilliant clean energy glory lifts his mood, turning his attention away from last night’s weirdness.

The Tesla whooshes to a halt. X-Wing doors open. Mori gives a thumbs-up to Stephan before gathering his rifle-briefcase and go-bag, then hopping out into the steaming-smoking morning. They make their way through the entry gates. Sadie scans their tickets. Ivan stands, hands in pockets, looking non-plussed. The long, white train is a beautiful conveyance. Marked on its side is the word Sleipnir stenciled in silver. Sleipnir as in Odin’s mythical steed from Norse mythology. Somehow, Mori’s not sure the old Asgardians were quite so forward-looking. Although the Marvel Comics version would probably approve. Mori glances over to another track to see a second Sleipnir train. He guesses this is what they’re calling the brand. They’re hulking white beasts covered in solar panels along their roofs. The windows also feature new transparent thin-film solar pads — visible as slightly darker cut-out shading. Near the train’s middle, the transparent solar film makes a lightning bolt emblem. It’s a pretty badass touch. Mori’s liking this solar train to Denmark.

They board. Mori instinctively extends his hand to Beatrice. As if she needs my help. I’ve seen her do a 12 foot vertical leap. She takes it, returning a warm smile. The interior is just as fancy as the exterior. Comfy cushion seats. Nice spacing that doesn’t cram everyone together. Even sets of facing seats bordering small tables. They sit down around one of these tables. Sadie beside Ivan. Beatrice and Mori right next to each other. The conductor is checking to make sure everyone has tickets, masks, and a vaccine card. Pretty standard for today’s travel.

There’s a refreshment car. Mori hops over, grabs some snacks and drinks. Returns to distribute them just in time to sit down before the engine engages. There’s a ‘ding’ and the ‘remain seated’ sign lights up. Beatrice puts her hand out and Mori takes it. They share a grin. The train glides forward in smooth acceleration that pushes them back into their seats or makes them want to put hands on the table to steady themselves.

“Whoosh!” Beatrice whispers to Mori as the train shoots out from the glass palace structure with hardly any noise. Mori grins back at her. He’s still crazy about that girl. Her easy sense of wonder and simple joy — even during a tough time — make life so damn fun. Mori can feel the serious force of propulsion beneath him. The trains are huge — weighing about 5,000 tons. But the electric-driven motors make the Sleipner’s motion seem effortless. They’re slurping down all that sweet sun-juice to put out some serious motive force. The train swiftly accelerates, reaching its cruising speed of 200 kilometers per hour. Buildings and foliage blur by giving Mori a sense of Star Trek-like warp speed.

Mori looks at their tickets. Next stop is Hamburg in a little less than two hours. Then on to their destination of Esberj, Denmark in another two hour hop. If all goes well, they’ll arrive by 2:15 PM — giving them time to meet up with Glenda Goodfuture for an early dinner. The notion of a tasty sit-down meal makes him smile. Mori glances at Ivan. He’s playing a crossword he nabbed from the refreshments car. Now that’s going to be an interesting reunion.

(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.)

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by robertscribbler on December 2, 2021  •  Permalink
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Posted by robertscribbler on December 2, 2021

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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.)

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by robertscribbler on March 18, 2021  •  Permalink
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Posted by robertscribbler on March 18, 2021

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