Chapter Seven

Shalyer had taken both his parents deep into the bowels of the caverns. He had believed his father to be dead until he’d detected a faint trace of his life force; Bagrath lay as still as a corpse except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

But with no life force to sustain it, Ana’s body was decaying fast, much faster than that of a normal mortal in the space of fifteen days. And yet Shalyer could not bear to be rid of it. He knew... in his head, he knew her death wasn’t his fault, but he could not rid himself of the guilt that lay around him like a cloak.

Consumed with grief, weeping seemingly unending tears, it took him a while to realise that he was no longer alone. Sensing more than seeing, he raised his face to the ghostly apparitions whose forms wavered before him. Too distressed to be afraid, he gazed at them. Ana had thought them to be ghosts. Even though he’d felt their presence before, this was the first time he was able to see them clearly.

As he watched, their forms solidified. They stood around him with raised hands, talon-like fingers steepled before their faces. Their features similarly androgynous, he could not tell if they were male or female. A part of him found them repulsive, with their maggot-white skin, hairless misshapen heads, and large, lidless, oily black eyes. Their long, shapeless gowns trailed on the floor.

“Who are you?” he whispered. “Why do you show yourselves... now?”

[We serve the lord who lies here before us.]

The clear voice in his head made him jump. “How–?”

[We were driven away. We are here now to serve you as we served he who sired you.]

He stared at them, slowly assimilating the words that echoed in his mind. “You will... help me?”

[Whatever you desire, we will endeavour to assist you in making it so.]

Shalyer got to his feet and went to his father’s side. “I will find a way to avenge you, Father. I swear Belosh will pay for what he’s done. But first...” He turned to his mother. “First, I will avenge you, Mama.” He knelt by her side and carefully took her crumbling hand in his. “I vow that that... Edmon will pay for the way he treated you. I will take his title from him, and rule in his stead. I will make him watch as I take his family as my slaves. And I will make him witness as I use his people in my fight against you, Belosh. Do you hear me, Belosh?” He knew the demon lord was unable to ‘touch’ him. “I will be coming for you!” 

*          *          *          *

Elsewhere and yet nowhere, Belosh’s roar echoed around his great hall. Nostrils flaring, he bared his teeth, muscles and veins straining against his skin, the colour of raw meat. His shadow creatures had long since vanished, cowering in terror in hidden corners of his shadowy abode.

“Ungrateful whelp!” bellowed the Cardinal Demon Lord. The earth shuddered in response. “Arrogant son of a thin-blooded bitch. I grant you, with your weak blood, I grant you magic, and you turn it against me.”

He spun around and thrust his fist into the darkly glowing wall. It groaned. His eyes burned red; the six-sided medallion hanging from his neck answered with a fiery glow.

“You will pay.” He slowly drove his fist further into the wall as if it were Shalyer himself. The wall emitted an agonising moan. “Threaten me? Use the power I gave you against me? I swear you will suffer. I will toy with you, play out the rope a little at a time until you have enough to hang yourself with.”

But how? He couldn’t strike at the upstart himself because it had been he who had personally granted Shalyer his boon. Belosh’s long, elegant nails stroked his pointed chin as he pondered his dilemma. He prowled around the cavernous chamber, unperturbed by the absence of light. A multitude of immense pillars, engraved with hordes of serpents writhing and turning, supported the low roof. Shadows moved around him, ducking, hiding behind the pillars. Eerie sibilant hisses... guttural growls echoed around him. Yet none strayed too close.

“Bestow magic on a mortal to battle the half-immortal,” hissed the corpulent six-headed familiar, which lay coiled by his throne.

His fiery gaze fell on the familiar, and it shuddered with pleasure. His eyes narrowed as the idea took shape. “The bastard believes he is the only one amongst mortals who wields magic. He believes nothing... no one can stand in his way. But he must not be stopped too soon. It must seem like his plan is nearing fruition. Then will be the time to destroy him.”

The demon lord strolled languidly towards his familiar. He gathered the six heads to his broad, naked torso and blew sensually over them. It trembled and gasped with pleasure. “Yet again you say the right things to please me, my love,” he sighed before letting it fall to writhe on the floor.

Stepping back, he fell heavily onto his throne. Gleaming with a moist blackness, it sighed as it felt his weight, shifted itself to support him comfortably. “But who shall be the lucky mortal? I mean to get some amusement from this. Somebody young, yet to fulfil life’s promise...” He paused, sensing an intrusion.

The scrying pool bubbled to life. Belosh glared before making his slow way to it to stare at the vision floating therein. A mass of curly, white hair framed a noble face with a broad brow and strong chin; golden eyes that held no pupils studied the demon lord before narrowing.

“What game are you playing, Belosh?” The voice was as deep as thunder.

“Game? You think I am playing some foolish game? This is revenge, brother. No mortal plays me for a fool.”

“Be mindful of the balance,” said Patriarchus, father of the gods.

“Tch! I am always mindful of the balance. Shalyer has shifted it somewhat, and I am now trying to correct it.”

“If you had not bestowed magic on him in the first place–”

“He did penance and craved a boon. I had no choice but to grant it. You know what my refusal would have done to your precious balance.”

Patriarchus sighed and nodded. “But magic, Belosh, to grant magic to yet another mortal?”

A beguiling smile spread across Belosh’s features. “This time, there is a difference. This time, I will be giving it freely. And that which is given freely can be withdrawn at any time. The minute my chosen one begins to display signs of trouble...” He clicked his fingers loudly.

Patriarchus remained frowning, not quite convinced.

“Come, brother, I will dispose of Shalyer. Grant me a little time. You should be pleased that I am willing to take responsibility for my so-called mistake. That I am correcting it on my own.”

“On the condition that you will remove the magic from your chosen?”

“Agreed.”

Still Patriarchus hesitated.

With an exaggerated sigh, Belosh slashed his palm open with a fingernail then let the thick, almost black blood drip into the pool. “On my blood, brother.” I promise to remove as much magic as I see fit.

“Done,” came the rumbling reply, and once again Belosh was alone.

Belosh’s smile widened. How he missed the days of old when the immortals had played an overt part in the life of the mortals. Taking on mortal form to walk amongst them, to shape their fortunes. Then the Disaster... and an entirely different set of rules that had to be adhered to, to protect themselves from those insignificant worms. But now... now he had been given leave to meddle in the life of at least one worm. To set the balance right again and to partake of some amusement along the way. His low, rumbling laugh echoed around the chamber, and the walls pulsated in reply.