A Hunter And His Prey- Chapter 9

Laws

Chapter Nine

Laws

“You don’t find it strange that we just sort of popped out of nowhere?” Nareena asked the city guard.

The Elf man chuckled heartily and shook his head. “That sort of thing is standard practice around here, ma’am.”

“You didn’t spend much time here, did you,” Jonah asked with a grin to complement the one that the guard wore.

“No, to tell the truth I didn’t,” she said curtly. “It was too strange for my liking, and I think I remember why,” she said as a nearby toad turned suddenly into a green dog. “Too much magic, too much experimentation. I could turn into a three-eyed cat if I step in the wrong building.”

Jonah was delighted. Palen was a city of magic users and scientists of all sorts, a city that relied entirely on wits and intellect, rather than brute force and combative skill. It was a city that did not just bend the rules and laws of reality: it literally shattered them, picked up the broken pieces, and said, ‘well now, what shall we do with this mess today?’

A barrier made of various magics around the city allowed for all forms of life and energy to be plainly visible, or at least discernable by one sense or another. Spirit creatures stalked through the broad light of day, conversing with mortal men and women as though they had been neighbors for a very long time without realizing it. Whereas the rest of Tamalaria experienced itself on a single plane of existence, Palen did so on multiple levels within its own reality.

“Is that a specter.” Nareena’s voice quavered as a light yellow aura, with the head of an old man, approached the trio.

“Yes, it is,” the guard said, and turned to greet the being. “Morning, Mr. Tones. How are you this fine day?”

“Bugger all and toffee for all,” the disembodied head howled as it floated in front of the guard.

The Elven Aquamancer threw up his hands and waved them around in a sporadic and random fashion. Portenda screwed his eyes up, and saw that the specter had grabbed hold of the guard’s wrists with its yellowish spirit, and was throwing the man’s hands around. “Coffee beans and garden Gnomes fer ketchup dunking whizzakaloos,” the specter grumbled.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Nareena stammered, watching this obscene display unfold. “I thought specters inhabited another plane of existence? How can we see anything more than its head?”

“Because specters still exist in our reality,” Jonah explained, trying to take a step closer to the spirit creature. “You see, theoretically, every dimension of being sits one atop another, and a whole collection of these is referred to as a single reality,” Jonah said, slowly pulling an instrument out of his rucksack. “Also referred to by mages as a ‘Realm’, or by Alchemy as an ‘Axis’. The barrier around the city of Palen allows all levels of being in a single reality, our reality, to be discernable by some sensory input or other.”

“Okay,” Nareena said slowly, still confused as all Hells. “So, can you shorten that up?”

Jonah took a small bit of floating ectoplasm and placed in one of his plastic tubes, using a stopper to close the vial before the spectral essence escaped. “Simply put, everything in our reality can be seen in this city, in some way.” Jonah’s smile filled with excitement. The possibilities for research in Palen were almost limitless, and he felt like a child in a candy shop.

Portenda, meanwhile, was being assailed by his combined, heightened senses. He could see, smell, hear, feel, and taste things that he never had in any other place. He might have to start speaking to bring down the sensory havoc. His head pounded, and the information he took in threatened to overload his body. But he set his teeth, and calmed himself. Still, his hands shook as he centered himself.

“Pickles and peanut butter,” the specter said as it released the guard and floated away down the street.

“What’ve you got there?” the guard asked as Jonah held up the plastic tube with a bit of the specter’s body in it.

“Ectoplasm,” he whispered in a voice hushed with awe. “No telling what sort of uses I can put this stuff to.” He looked at the Bounty Hunter as he regained his composure. “Are you all right, Portenda?”

The Bounty Hunter nodded gruffly, and moved slowly away. Jonah and Nareena followed immediately after.

“Enjoy your stay,” the guard called after them.

Portenda followed his instincts to a low, long building made entirely of oak and pine.

Jonah glanced at the sign, and identified it as a tavern. He ducked his head under Portenda’s arm, and helped the Bounty Hunter inside, then helped Portenda to a seat at a round table in the far back corner, directly opposite the door.

He and Nareena looked around them as Portenda slapped himself hard in the left cheek. There were dozens of other patrons in the tavern.

A Human dressed in a dragon-scale vest and pants tended bar, and Jonah walked up to the counter, keeping a few feet away from the creature to his right. It was a strange humanoid monster, with gunmetal gray flesh, sharp, jagged spikes protruding from all over its body. Its eyes, Jonah saw as it turned toward him, were the color of seaweed: a mixture of yellow and green.

“The fuck are you staring at, meatbag,” it growled at him.

He looked hastily away, not knowing what to make of the strange being. He had heard of them only once in his travels. Rendermen, they were called, monsters that usually contained little intelligence beyond an animal level. Relentless murderers, such creatures were often used as guard beasts by wicked sorcerers and demon-lords. This one, however, sat in a tavern, in a city brimming with magic, sipping a beer and being generally hostile and belligerent.

Still, Jonah thought in the quiet, panicked recesses of his mind, it’s smart enough not to attack anyone in broad daylight.

“What can I get you?” The bartender leaned with one arm on the counter.

The Human Alchemist looked up at the gruff tavern proprietor, and asked him for a simple glass of water—make that three of them.

The bartender huffed and handed him three glasses of dark, murky water.

Jonah thanked him, and returned to the table where Portenda sat next to Nareena, staring at nothing.

“What’s with him?”

The Elven woman just shrugged her shoulders.

Unbeknownst to them, Portenda was staring at the faint, ghostly outline of a humanoid woman, who appeared to him to be floating around the tavern unnoticed. He heard her humming a child’s song, the sort used to put young children to sleep at night. His mind was lulled now, as he sat and smiled gently at the apparition, who turned now to face him.

“You can see me, and hear me, can’t you,” the ghost asked.

Portenda nodded. Nobody else in the tavern had any clue what was going on between man and spirit, he thought.

“Your heart is heavy, and you are very tired. You’ve been straining yourself a great deal,” the spirit said, like an echo on the wind.

Portenda felt his whole body relax, and he jumped when the bartender shouted in his direction.

“Leave him alone, ma,” the barkeep yelled at the apparition.

Portenda’s eyes narrowed, and he snapped out of his trance.

The barkeep glared at the spirit with hate in his eyes. “No good can come of it, and you know it.”

Jonah and Nareena turned their heads to look at the Human, and then back at the blank space where the ghost fluttered.

They looked to Portenda, who said nothing, but had set his jaw in a hard line. He had failed to realize that the spirit creature was trying to lull him to sleep, so that it could feed off of his subconscious thoughts. He had known that such spirits could use psychological attacks like this, but had never before encountered one. He was lucky that the spirit was apparently related to the bartender.

“Stay out of this, Henry,” the spirit rasped at the Human, her white, flowing locks whipping around in the air.

Portenda stood and growled deep in his throat.

The spirit turned to face him, and Portenda saw the rotted, maggot-covered face of its true form.

“Ah, so you realize now,” it said.

To Jonah and Nareena’s eyes, the creature came into focus.

Several customers took their drinks and exited the tavern: apparently this was an everyday event.

Jonah looked at the wall behind him. ‘Warning’, a notice there read. ‘The proprietor of this tavern is not liable for any accidents, including injury or death, that occur on these premises. Thank you.’

“Um, Nareena,” he stammered, and the Elf girl looked at the sheet as Jonah pulled it down and handed it to her.

“Sorry sirs, ma’am,” the bartender said as he put up a magical barrier around himself. “But ma needs to feed every now and then, and this was her bar. I hope you don’t hold a grudge.”

“Oh, of course not, none whatsoever.” Jonah’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

The spirit let out an unearthly cry of malice, and the entire building shook.

Jonah tried to move, as did Nareena, but both found themselves rooted in place.

Portenda slid his hand to his spear, pulling it off of his back with one hand. He waved his other hand towards himself, as if to say to the spirit, come on.

The spirit lunged at him, and Portenda rolled forward, just skirting the bottom of its ghostly dress. His body went numb for a moment, having made direct contact with a spirit creature from a far removed plane of being. He spun around, but only in time to be thrown across the building by a blast of semi-transparent, blue force hurled from the spirit’s mouth.

With another air-ripping shriek, the creature flew at him, as Portenda tried to pry his jumbled limbs and body from the wreckage of the table he had landed on.

A ghastly claw raked his chest, tearing easily through the leather armor, ripping fresh wounds in his chest.

Portenda used the momentum of the blow to roll backward, and stand upright. Screw it, he thought. He decided to use the one weapon he had against such a spirit. Planting his feet in a wide stance, he loosed a roar of primal, animal rage.

The noise from the core of his being rang out through the air with the mixed sound of a lion’s roar, and a tiger’s howl. His mixed blood boiled through his body, and he launched his spear at the stunned spirit’s heart.

Jonah saw the astral energy released from Portenda’s jaws as he had unleashed his howl of rage, and observed that it made the spirit momentarily solid. As the spear landed on its mark, blue fluid sprayed from the hole that it tore in the spirit creature’s semi-corporeal body.

The creature flailed and gibbered as it sank to the floor, the spear landing several yards away. A moment later, it ceased to move, and vanished in a cloud of smoke.

The bartender, Nareena, and Jonah all stood motionless as Portenda grasped his spear and put it back in its sheath.

He decided that he could remain silent no longer, or his stay in this city would eventually result in more of these confrontations. “What,” he said aloud, breaking the spell on the three other occupants of the tavern. “You’ve never seen a mortal slay a ghost?”

* * * *

An untold number of miles away from the scene playing out in Palen, Eileen Staples shuddered in horror. She had been carried back to her sleeping chamber, presumably by Genma who, as she had discovered, was actually Allen Staples. Her own flesh and blood was her abductor, her captor, her villain.

Uncle Allen was an Alchemist renowned throughout the realm as the brightest scientific mind to appear in years. Eileen’s family had lost touch with Allen, and hadn’t been told why by any of the authorities in the region of their home. All they knew was that their family home had burned to the ground, but that nobody had been inside.

Eileen had assumed that they had simply moved to another remote location, even further out east than the Allenian Hills. Perhaps near Ja-Wen, she had thought. After all, that was where Jonah had gone. She had assumed that he was heading out to do more training with Allen in the arts of Alchemy, but now, she realized, Jonah had probably never seen Allen.

Perhaps, she thought, Allen’s family had been killed. Allen, as Genma, had told her that his family had been slain by a pack of Khan in the Allenians, on their way to the free trade town that the tiger men and were-lions had allowed the other Races to settle. Anyone not traveling on the trade route were open game to the vicious Khan warriors that roamed the lands. Those fortunate to encounter a Simpa patrol were usually escorted, bound and gagged but alive, back to the trade route. They would be guarded by the Simpa who escorted them until someone else came down the road, at which point, the were-lions would simply lumber away.

Eileen tried to sit up, but found that she was dizzy and light-headed, and could hardly do more than wobble around on her feet. Something welled up in the back of her head, and when she brushed her hand against the back of her head, she felt the lump that had formed when she passed out back in the lab.

Blink rubbed against her legs as she regained some of her balance, and she bent down and scooped up the little creature from the floor.

“Hey there, little guy,” she cooed, stroking his furry head. In a way, he looked a lot like the manticore guarding the floor below.

“I think I may know a way to get us out of here,” she whispered to him.

The creature’s head snapped to look her in the eyes. Its face was wide with hope, and she knew for certain that while Blink could not communicate back with her, he understood every word she said. “But we’re going to have to move quickly, so I’ll be carrying you, all right?” Blink nodded and scrambled up her arm to her shoulder, carefully planting his claws into her clothes, and not her skin.

Eileen, while shocked and afraid beyond compare, still clung to the hope that she could get out of this damned tower. If Genma had spoken the truth, there was still close to a week before he would transform her body into a duplicate of his late wife, Eileen’s aunt. The mental image of her aunt came into her mind’s eye, and Eileen considered just how much alike they looked, though they had only been related through marriage to Allen. There wouldn’t have to be a whole lot of alteration involved when the process was started, and Eileen suddenly feared that perhaps a week wouldn’t be required for whatever calculations Allen needed.

Genma, she thought vehemently, reminding herself that Allen Staples would never become such a creature. “Uncle Allen is dead,” she whispered aloud. “He’s dead, and in his place is a madman.”

She had regained her equilibrium, and a measure of her courage as well. Somewhere in her sleep, she had discovered the way in which she could escape the clutches of the Alchemist who was master of the tower.

Sprinting to the stairwell, she raced upward, her sandals pounding down hard on the concrete steps as she passed.

Seven stories she climbed, noting that she had not looked in on any floor above the eighteenth. If this plan of hers didn’t work, she wouldn’t have another chance to see, or to do much of anything for that matter. If she failed, she’d be dead. After climbing all of those stairs, she found herself standing in a narrow, short passage that ended in a solid steel door. She turned the long handle and pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Keeping the handle turned, she hauled back with all of her meager strength and weight, but still the door didn’t move.

Sweat ran down her forehead as she began to sob. “No,” she moaned. “No, no, no! I’ve got to get out of here.”

When she stopped, her hand still on the handle, Blink hopped down from her shoulder, and pushed the door easily open. Eileen felt her face flush as she put her hands on her hips and smiled with her eyes closed. “Idiot,” she murmured to herself.

Seconds later she found herself at the top of the tower, outside. Overhead, thick, gray smog blocked out the natural sunlight. Yet, as she approached one of the battlements atop the tower, she saw that, perhaps a mile away in every direction, the sun beamed down gloriously on the lands of Tamalaria.

Risking a glance down to the ground, she saw that she was just over two hundred feet above the ground. She hoped in her heart of hearts that this would work.

Eileen scrambled to the lip of the tower, and concentrated all of her thoughts on a single spell at her disposal, a spell that she had thought was useless—until now. The spell was called Soft Descent, and allowed an object or person to fall from any height slowly and safely, as though they had gliding wings.

She pulled from herself the courage and reserves of manna that the spell required, and cast it on herself, scooping up Blink as soon as the swirls of blue energy wrapped around her. She cradled the creature in her arms, and threw herself forward.

She praised the gods as she slowly descended through the air, her hair flowing up over her head. “I did it, I did it! We’re going to be okay, little guy.”

Blink emitted a lilting, frog-like croak as he bobbed his head back and forth. Freedom was a concept that Eileen knew and loved, and she knew that Blink would be simply ecstatic.

For a long time, she floated down through the air. After a full ten minutes, she saw that she was maybe twenty feet above the ground. At this point, she could safely land and take off.

Her heart full of hope, and her mind racing as she tried to decide which direction to head off in, Eileen never saw the guard beasts or the Kobold easily stalking up to where her feet would touch the ground.

As she landed, stumbling slightly, Eileen felt a rush of magical force slam into her back and toss her to the ground a dozen yards away. Screaming more from fright than pain, she landed in a heap, glaring at Kobuchi and a pair of slavering beasts that stood to either side of the Kobold.

“Impudent fool,” Kobuchi growled as he held a single hand out toward her. “Did you really think you could escape? Did you not think the Master was prepared for you to try such a stunt? This tower allows us to see your every move, to record your every action! We knew you were a Q Mage before you even arrived here with the Master! Now, stand up.” He kept his hand leveled at her chest.

Eileen had her left palm flat and open, facing Kobuchi. She prepared another spell and launched it at the Kobold with a howl of fury.

Kobuchi flicked his wrist skyward, and the manna of the spell was deflected over his shoulder towards the tower.

Eileen passed out as the first guard beast slammed into her from her right hand side, and did not see the dripping jaws of the monstrosity.

“Hold, hold.” Kobuchi patted the beast on its square-shaped head. He hauled Eileen up and tossed her over the beast’s shoulder, and looked around for the tiny creature that Eileen had been carrying.

It was nowhere to be seen, but Kobuchi shrugged his shoulders, not surprised in the least. It was free now to be slaughtered by some other monster or wanderer, so the Kobold servant cared little about what happened to it.

As Eileen Staples hung over the back of the beast, barely clinging to consciousness, she thought to herself, good boy. Find him, Blink.

She had realized that she might fail to escape, and had given Blink very specific instructions, whispered rapidly as they had descended.

The Alchemical creature, already nearly a mile away, looked back over its shoulder and whimpered like a lost puppy. Still, this was what his owner had wanted. Blink set off into the distance, hoping to find the boy who looked like his new friend, but had the powers of his creator.

* * * *

“Are you sure you’re all right now,” Jonah asked Portenda as the trio sat around a small table in a diner in Palen’s famous dining district.

“I assure you, I’m fine,” the Bounty Hunter replied, relieved that his heightened senses were returning to a normal Simpa’s level.

The spirit creatures that had haunted his vision had faded from his sight, and now he could only sense their presence instead of knowing where they were. “It’s just been a bad day. There’s somebody we should speak with here. He’s an old business contact of mine, back from my early years as a Bounty Hunter. Maybe he can give us some insight.”

The Alchemists nodded, and followed behind Portenda.

“But not before we get something to eat,” he concluded.

“Good, because I’m starving,” Jonah said. Perhaps things were returning to normal.

As the trio stepped up onto the outdoor patio of a restaurant dubbed ‘The Shining Knight,’ Portenda stood stiffly before the saloon-style doors.

“Jonah, could Nareena and I have a word out here? Get us a table for three, I’m paying.”

Jonah eyeballed his Simpa friend with suspicion, but shrugged his shoulders and entered.

If Portenda didn’t want him to hear something, there were very few ways for the Human Alchemist to force it out of him. He walked inside, and Nareena shifted uneasily on her feet as she crossed her arms defiantly.

“What do you want with me,” she asked rather nervously.

Portenda took one step toward her, and shadows concentrated around his golden-furred countenance, his eyes like storm clouds that threatened to streak lightning into her body.

“You will tell me the truth,” Portenda whispered as he put one heavy hand on her right shoulder.

The Elven girl felt as though her body could be crushed by that single touch, like Portenda had powers and strength she couldn’t possibly grasp. And she felt compelled to give him whatever information he wanted. This was not some sort of magical or psychic attack on the part of the Bounty Hunter: he simply radiated an aura of ‘lie to me and die’.

“You have seen Jonah transform before, like he did back in the mountains, haven’t you?”

Nareena tried to lick her lips, but no moisture would come. Instead, she just nodded.

“Genma gave him a command through the mirror, and he obeyed so fast that even I couldn’t react in time. Do you know if he ever underwent any sort of military experiments?”

“No,” Nareena said, and she hung her head in despair. “But I know who brainwashed him.”

Portenda glanced at the restaurant and mentally timed their conversation. Two and a half minutes thus far, he thought. She’ll have to make this quick or Jonah’s going to get suspicious.

“Who, and when?”

“Well,” Nareena stammered, seemingly unwilling or unable to bring herself to betray Jonah’s trust. “It was about four years back, when he had just left home. He and I traveled together out of Desanadron, but we separated along the road because we were rivals. We were constantly trying to one-up each other, so instead of staying away, I followed him for about a week. He would hitch rides from caravans and passers-by, so I would use speed-enhancement potions to keep up.”

Three minutes, Portenda thought, checking the doorway once more. Hurry it up, girl, get to the point.

“After about a week and a half, this guy showed up along the side of the main trade road, and he knocked Jonah out. He had a little Kobold guy with him, and they just took him away. Before they left, I heard the big one say something to the Kobold that made my blood run cold.”

“What was it?” Portenda narrowed his eyes at the Elf girl.

Though she was flushed and feeling duress, from her physical signs, she was also telling the truth. He could tell that much from what he could see in her brilliant, green eyes.

“He said, ‘It’s okay, friend. This one is family. He’ll make a great test subject for my later needs.’ Oh gods, Portenda, I’ve wanted to tell him, but he lost two weeks of his memory after it all happened, and I didn’t see him again until I got here, and I only stayed a couple of days then. I couldn’t be near him, because, well…”

“Because you abandoned him to his fate, when you could have acted on his behalf,” Portenda growled, turning and stalking away from the Elven Alchemist and into the restaurant.

He never saw the tears of remorse that she shed before calming herself and joining the two men in their trio.

* * * *

Genma sat in front of another mirror in the lower levels of his tower, trying to contact another one of his agents. He had lost track of Jonah and his friends after they had left Traithrock, because they had left a note with the librarian woman asking her to erase the Focus Site upon the disappearance of the white door. Without a way to contact the boy, he couldn’t issue any commands to him.

During Eileen’s escape attempt, one of the guard beasts had caused some internal damage to the girl. She would have to heal naturally in order to preserve the readings he had already stored in the machine in the sub-basement level. He couldn’t afford to give her any potions in his stock, and this all meant yet more delays. Not that it mattered, he thought with a grin. The boy, the Elf and the Bounty Hunter would never reach him. They would never find him, for that matter.

There was a sharp report on the chamber door, and, being that this room was lit with several torches, he put his mask back on before calling for Kobuchi to enter.

The Kobold looked like he hadn’t slept in a while, his eyes puffy and his body frame wobbling slightly.

“Report,” Genma said as he spun to face his assistant.

“I found very little on the girl Nareena, other than that her family name is Finch, and she has no known relatives. Her mother died in an Orc raid on the village of Festingwood seventeen years ago, and her father died back in the War of Vandross, in the field of battle. She’s been alone ever since, looking for any blood relatives she may have. But according to the records, her bloodline dies out with her, sir.”

“Very good work, Kobuchi,” Genma said, taking a couple of lazy steps forward. “And the Bounty Hunter?”

“Well, Master,” Kobuchi said, flopping down in one of the comfortable recliners in the room, into which he sank like a rock in the ocean. “There isn’t much information available on him, either. I learned of one living relative, but according to our contact in the Allenians, the two of them would rather see each other dead than help one another.”

“Damnation,” Genma grumbled, having lost the chance for an advantage over the trio. If they had family that he could hold captive, in order to buy more time, he could complete the necessary arrangements without pause. Given enough time, despite his earlier mental boasts, the Simpa would find his way to the tower. In all probability, the guard beasts would be little more than a joke for him. Getting in touch with Jonah was now the only forward defense or offense he had against the Bounty Hunter. “So much for brotherly love,” Genma groaned.

“They’re not brothers, sire,” Kobuchi said, catching Genma’s attention once more. “It’s his father.”

Genma’s mind reeled; he had been told that the relationship between a Simpa youth and his father was unbreakable, that they were loyal to one another in ways that the other Races could only hope to be. Yet, this Bounty Hunter, about whom he had so little information, was at odds with his own flesh and blood? How could that be?

Genma smiled gleefully. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage after all.

“Did you get the man’s name? The father, I mean.”

“Telroke, sire,” Kobuchi said. “He is the under-leader of a clan in the Allenians. Shall I contact him?”

“Yes, immediately. Tell him I’d like to hire him for certain, ah, services.” Malice dripped from Genma’s voice. “I have someone else to speak to right now. You have a Teleportation spell handy?”

Kobuchi nodded, though he didn’t look like he was in any shape to carry out the order right away.

“Belay that, Kobuchi. Do it after you’ve had some rest.”

Kobuchi actually smiled for the first time in a long time.

“Oh, and before you pass out in my chair?”

“Yes, sire?”

“Did you find any trace of the animal? What did she call it again?”

“Blink, sire,” Kobuchi said, his voice already trailing away. “We found nothing. It made it out of the barrier without injury.”

Genma tried to think of a proper course of action, but realized that the little scamp was helpless now, alone and unaided in the wide realm of Tamalaria. He needn’t concern himself with it any longer.

“Never mind it,” he said to the now unconscious Kobuchi. Genma turned to the mirror, and tried once again to contact one of his associates. The mirror shimmered for a moment, and then a thin, almost equine face filled the mirror’s surface.

Genma now looked at a Sidalis, one of the mutants of the lands.

Though Genma had kept him on the payroll for a rather long time now, he rarely called on his services. Now, however, they would be most useful. “Good afternoon, Felix. Do you have a few minutes to chat?”

* * * *

Portenda ate his meal in studied silence, trying to think of a way of telling the two of them what he intended to do without scaring the Hells out of them. It was an ancient ritual, one he had learned of from the various ruins he had explored in his travels, and it would summon a being that few people ever wanted to see.

Everyone eventually did, but only select handfuls were ever happy about it.

Still, Portenda mused as he sucked on a crab leg, it was the best way to get the information he needed, and it was well within the laws of the cosmos.

As creatures of law, most Simpa would find what he was about to propose doing was a violation of the natural order of the universe. Yet, Portenda would reason, if it weren’t within the realm of order, the ritual would not have existed, or be written down.

Nobody had ever suffered unduly after the ritual was performed, and so, he thought, that could be seen as evidence that the ritual itself was not a breach of law, natural or man-made.

Still, broaching the subject with a pair of Alchemists, whose entire field of research and abilities revolved around scientific theory, data, and mathematical laws, might prove difficult. He knit his brow as he concentrated on figuring out how to ease them into the idea.

Jonah was presently stuffing his face with more pasta than the Simpa knew he could eat, and Nareena was not exactly eating in a lady-like fashion either. She was tearing into her chicken meat and potatoes with a ravenous hunger suited to jackals, vultures, and other such carrion-feeders.

“Something’s on your mind,” Jonah finally said between mouthfuls.

The entire restaurant was packed now, with the typical dinner hour having arrived. Most of the customers were guards either coming off of duty, or about to go on, but there was also a healthy body of mage students and scientists taking a break from their labs and workshops.

“You’ve been careful to keep food in your mouth since you sat down,” Jonah said, taking a sip of his ale. The stuff they served in Palen was powerful, and the Human Alchemist found that if he tried to swig it, he’d most likely ralph up his meal.

“You’re right.” Portenda swallowed his crabmeat. “There’s a very old ritual I would like to perform. It summons someone very, well, knowledgeable, to say the least.”

“So what’s the problem?” Nareena asked politely. “Elves and Dwarves use ancestor-summoning rites to speak with their ancestors, so what’s the big deal? We can handle that.” She also sipped at her drink, a finely aged Elven wine.

Portenda took a whiff of it, and thought darkly, I shouldn’t have offered to pay the tab. This isn’t going to be cheap.

“Well, this isn’t exactly an ancestor I will be summoning, and I’m going to need both of your help. The ritual requires at least three people, so it’s a good thing you’re along for the ride, Nareena.” He had to play this one cool.

“So, what’s the name of this ritual,” Jonah asked after finishing yet another plate of pasta.

Portenda took a deep, calming breath.

“The Rite of the Honorable Guest.”

Both Alchemists dropped their drinks to the floor, the glasses shattering.

“Hey, you’re gonna pay for those, roit?” the Dwarven barkeep shouted.

Portenda wondered if every town had a Dwarven barkeep who kept tabs on such things as customers’ glasses. He waved and nodded to the barkeep, who had a waitress bring the pair two more drinks.

“You’ve heard of it, I take it.”

“Heard of it? We’ve heard of it, read of it, and I can tell you plainly, I won’t have any part of it,” Nareena almost screamed.

“So you’ll be paying for your meal, your drinks, and your glass on your own, then,” Portenda asked her coldly.

A frost giant could have frozen to death from his tone.

Nareena was about to protest that she would, when the bill was slipped onto their table. She snatched it up, and her eyes bulged out.

She passed it on to Jonah, who had a similar reaction, and Portenda smiled broadly, exposing his gleaming teeth.

“This is blackmail.” Nareena shuddered at the Bounty Hunter, who shrugged his shoulders.

“I prefer to think of it as staying one move ahead of the game. When we’re done here, we’ll be hitting up a hotel, where we’ll perform the ritual. I’ve always wanted to meet him, you know.” Portenda’s voice slowly regained its calm, neutral level. “I’ve sent a lot of business his way.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope he doesn’t put us next on his list,” Jonah said hurriedly. “I don’t think it would be polite, after all, to interrupt the Grim Reaper in the middle of his day.”

* * * *

Death sat in silence in his study, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. He’d had the little Gnome Pickpocket in his sights on so many occasions, and every time a new life timer would appear in his hands, the sand slowly draining once again into the bottom bulb. Lee Toren had escaped his end on far too many occasions, and the Honorable Guest, as the Gods and Goddesses called him, was certain that he was making some sort of snafu.

HOW DOES HE DO IT, he asked the study at large. There was nobody to keep him company, of course. There never had been, nor would he ever allow himself such a privilege. It would interfere with his duties, and he wouldn’t have that. He was Death over many different realities, but not all, and he was limited to this one world at the moment. Still, the amount of time he had spent on one particular Lee Toren was starting to give him a headache. He pondered the idea of getting help from one of his alternate selves. THERE’S THAT ONE THAT RESIDES OVER SOME SORT OF FLAT WORLD, he mused. FLOATS AROUND ON THE BACK OF A TURTLE OR SOMETHING. BUT NO, HE GETS TOO INVOLVED, he said aloud.

Death was still trying to solve the riddle of Lee Toren when, much to his amazement, someone in that particular reality began using the ancient ritual that could force him into a meeting.

GOOD. He closed his books and stood, moving effortlessly through his desk to the doorway to retrieve his scythe. SOMEONE CLEARLY HAS SOME TALENT. IT’LL BE A NICE CHANGE OF PACE.

With a plume of smoke, Death was gone, taken from his humble cottage between Time and Space.

* * * *

The circle that Portenda had drawn crudely on the floor of the meeting hall they had rented glowed a strange orange hue, and the moans of otherworldly beings escaped into the air around him and the Alchemists.

Jonah had completed the final step of the ritual, spraying sea salt around the outside of the circle, when the light began to glow, and he now scurried back on all fours, he and Nareena clinging to one another in horror like small children. “What have we done?” he quavered aloud.

Portenda said nothing and didn’t move an inch from where he stood, a mere two or three feet away from the circle’s edge

As the last of the moans escaped, a tall, angular form began to take shape, dressed in a simple, tattered black cloak and hood. The figure’s left hand held a scythe that came up a good foot above its own head.

The Simpa smiled from ear to ear as he bowed deeply.

“Welcome, Honorable Guest,” the Bounty Hunter said, signaling back to Jonah and Nareena to stand up and do the same.

They did, but only hesitantly, not saying a word between them.

GREETINGS, Death said as he tried to take a step out of the circle.

The barrier held, though, and he chuckled quietly to himself. GOOD TO SEE YOU GOT EVERY DETAIL RIGHT. YOU KNOW THE CONSEQUENCES IF I AM TO MAKE MY OWN WAY OUT OF THIS CIRCLE, YES?

“Yes, we are subject to your judgment.” Jonah was excited. He had an honest to gods chance to ask the questions he’d always wanted to ask, here and now. “But if we permit you to leave the circle, you can do nothing.”

“Please, you may leave the circle freely,” Portenda said hurriedly.

Death snapped his bony fingers. DAMNATION. YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT, DIDN’T YOU?

Portenda nodded slowly, and Death took a single step out of the circle. His scythe, however, remained stuck in the circle.

SO, YOU’VE GOT ME PRETTY MUCH WHERE YOU WANT ME. VERY WELL, Death said, thoroughly impressed by this trio’s skill and knowledge. I SHALL ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS, BUT ONLY ONE PER PERSON. AND I HEREBY INVOKE MY RIGHT TO ANSWER YOU INDIRECTLY, OR IN RIDDLE.

All three seemed to agree to his terms. Not that they had a choice in the matter, as the conditions only stipulated that the Honorable Guest need only answer a minimum of two questions. He was apparently feeling generous.

Portenda was about to ask his question, when Nareena ruined it for all three of them.

“Would you like a seat?”

All three felt the smile on Death’s face.

YES, I WOULD, YOUNG LADY. YOU HAVE USED YOUR QUESTION.

Nareena blinked rapidly as she reached for a chair, suddenly realizing what Death had just done.

“Hey wait a minute, that’s not fair,” she exclaimed, and Death shrugged his shoulders.

LIFE ISN’T FAIR, GIRLY. GET OVER IT. He lowered himself towards the seat she offered.

At the last instant, Nareena, furious at her mistake and Death’s unyielding attitude, pulled the chair out of the way, and Death tumbled back to the floor.

Nareena laughed for a moment—until two beams of crimson light burned inside of the abysmal hood of Death’s cloak.

NO ONE DOES THAT TO ME, Death growled as he floated himself erect, spinning on Nareena. NOBODY!

But Nareena stood her ground, knowing there was nothing that the embodiment of all mortal endings could do about her transgression. “Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything, huh.”

“You’re all right,” Jonah said, stating it as fact instead of questioning the Honorable Guest, who rubbed his spine.

OF COURSE I AM. BUT THAT DID SMART. NOW, HURRY THIS ALONG. I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO TODAY, JONAH STAPLES.

Jonah flushed, unable to compose himself. He pointed to Portenda, who looked deep into the shadows of that immortal hood. He could just make out the skull that served as Death’s face, the eyes that looked out at him from that hood.

Despite popular belief, he realized, Death could make eyeballs appear in his empty sockets, as there were two, purple irises looking out at him. He’d never before seen such a hue in a person’s eyes. Then again, this wasn’t exactly a person, as far as the strictest definitions went.

YOU ARE AN IMPRESSIVE PIECE OF WORK, MISTER PORTENDA, Death said, rolling his eyes out of existence. YOU CAN SEE INTO THE DARKNESS OF MY ROBE, CAN’T YOU?

Portenda said nothing, but simply nodded.

I SUPPOSE ANYTHING’S POSSIBLE WITH UNEXPECTED BEINGS SUCH AS YOURSELF.

“Unexpected,” Nareena asked aloud. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re out of questions, Nareena, remember,” Jonah snapped at her curtly, frustrated that she had been tricked so easily.

NO, IT’S ALL RIGHT. I’LL ANSWER THAT ONE FOR FREE. Death turned around and looking at Jonah and Nareena in turn. He picked up the folding chair that Nareena had dumped on him and sat down slowly. YOU SEE, NAREENA, THERE ARE CERTAIN LAWS IN THE UNIVERSE, AND LAWS IN THE WORLD OF MORTALS, WHICH AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE BROKEN. WHEN ONE OF THOSE LAWS IS BROKEN, PART OF MY JOB IS TO HELP FIX IT.

“I thought your whole purpose was to usher souls to their destined ends,” Portenda said quietly.

Death shook his head and laughed mirthlessly.

OH, WERE IT THAT SIMPLE. YOU SEE, A BREACH OF UNIVERSAL LAW MUST IMMEDIATELY BE DEALT WITH, BECAUSE IF THE PROBLEM ISN’T FIXED, REALITY IS TORN. THE BORDERS BETWEEN YOUR OWN REALITY AND, SAY, A NEIGHBORING REALITY, WOULD BE TORN ASSUNDER. I MUST NOT ALLOW SUCH A THING TO HAPPEN.

THE LAWS OF MORTALS, HOWEVER, DO NOT REQUIRE SUCH IMMEDIATE ACTION, THOUGH I AM OFTEN ASKED TO DO SO, Death said, looking purposefully at the Simpa Bounty Hunter. PORTENDA THE QUIET IS THE SON OF A SIMPA FATHER, OBVIOUS BY HIS GENERAL SHAPE AND PHYSIOLOGY, AND A KHAN MOTHER, AS EVIDENCED BY HIS STRIPES AND SLOWER REGENERATIVE CAPABILITIES.

This was the first that Nareena had heard on the subject, though she had suspected something was strange about the Bounty Hunter, due mainly to those stripes on his arms.

ACCORDING TO THE LAWS OF BOTH RACES, SUCH A MATING MUST NEVER HAPPEN, THOUGH IT DOES, ALL THE TIME.

THE WAY I USUALLY DEAL WITH IT IS TO ENSURE THAT NO OFFSPRING RESULTS FROM THE MATING. IN HIS CASE, HOWEVER, SOMEONE INTERVENED, Death said slowly, methodically.

He was trying to coax a question out of Portenda, so that only Jonah would be left, but the proud Bounty Hunter stood there silently.

“And so Portenda was born,” Jonah said aloud. Again, he was careful to make this a statement of fact, and not an inquiry.

YES. THE BOOKS OF HISTORY HAD NO PLACE FOR HIM PREVIOUSLY, BUT UPON HIS BIRTH, THE BOOKS REWROTE THEMSELVES.

I HAVE TAKEN QUITE AN INTEREST IN YOU, PORTENDA THE QUIET, Death rumbled enigmatically. YOU BEWILDER ME AT TIMES. NOW, DO YOU OR JONAH STAPLES HAVE A QUESTION FOR ME?

“Yes, I do,” Jonah said hurriedly, feeling that time was of the essence. “How can we find my sister?” Death sat silently, unmoving, for a long pause, before he turned toward the Human Alchemist and replied.

THERE SHALL COME, IN TWO DAYS’ TIME, A MESSENGER. FOLLOW HIM, AND YOU SHALL FIND WHERE YOUR SISTER IS KEPT, YOUNG JONAH. NOTHING MORE SHALL I SAY.

Jonah, disappointed a little by the cryptic response, realized that he would have to settle on it.

Death then turned to Portenda the Quiet, who was going to ask that exact same question. Now, however, he would have to think of another. As those deep purple eyes turned on him, Portenda gazed into Death’s face, trying to delve into his immortal soul as he had so many people. But as he felt his mind and heart brush the surface, he immediately recoiled, turning away from the Honorable Guest. He had felt, for a brief moment, the tragedy of mortality, the loneliness of Death’s eternal post. And he had also felt something else there, something bordering on resentment.

DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION, PORTENDA? I’M A VERY BUSY MAN, AS YOU WELL KNOW.

Portenda looked to Nareena, and Jonah, and finally realized that he could put an end to one nagging question.

“Very well, Honorable Guest. My question is one that has pulled at me, and Jonah as well. Why is it that Jonah sometimes goes into these trance-like states, and turns on us, able to use mecha weapons and Alchemy in combination?”

Death threw his head back and laughed.

THE ANSWER TO THAT, YOU HAVE ALREADY SUSPECTED, PORTENDA THE QUIET, SON OF TELROKE! HE WAS TAKEN SEVERAL YEARS AGO, AND BRAINWASHED, SUBCONCIOUSLY TRAINED TO USE THE ANCIENT WAYS OF SCIENCE TO KILL. BUT THE TRAINING DID NOT HOLD COMPLETELY. JONAH STAPLES POSSESSES A WILL TOO POWERFUL TO BE COMPLETELY OVERTAKEN, SO HE COULD NOT BE USED AS A PUPPET, AS HIS ABDUCTOR HAD WANTED. THUS, HE WAS PRESSED BACK INTO THE REALM, WITH NO MEMORY OF WHAT HAD OCCURED. NOTHING MORE SHALL I SAY ON THE MATTER.

Death stood abruptly and moving over to the circle, taking hold of his scythe.

AND NOW, YOU SHALL ANSWER A QUESTION FOR ME, BOUNTY HUNTER. He pronounced the words as a command to a lesser being.

Portenda stood straight and eyeballed that darkness beneath the hood once more.

Such lonely eyes, he thought.

“Ask your question, Honorable Guest,” he said, looking over at the shocked and speechless Jonah.

AFTER SO MANY YEARS OF SOLITUDE AND SILENCE, SO MUCH TIME AS A LONER, HOW DOES IT FEEL TO HAVE COMPANY?

The question was asked quietly, without malice or contempt. Portenda tried to search his heart for the right words, but felt that the answer should be simple. After all, the exact words would never be found for how he felt about the Alchemist pair.

“It feels, warm.”

Death lowered his head and thought long and hard. WARM, EH, he thought to himself. WHAT THE HELLS DOES THAT MEAN, WARM?

Portenda smiled at him, and shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s no proper words for it, Honorable Guest. You’d know it when you felt it, I’m sure. If you can feel anything at all,” he added as a jab at the immortal being.

Death nodded, and heaved a heavy sigh.

VERY WELL, he said to the room at large. I MUST RETURN, NOW. REMEMBER, TWO DAYS, JONAH STAPLES. TWO DAYS, AND THE MESSENGER SHALL COME.

Jonah nodded and waved good-bye as Death stood in the center of the flashing circle, and disappeared from the mortal plane.

Evening had come fully upon them, and the last vestiges of sunlight filtered through the windows of the meeting hall.

Nareena was the first to speak.

“He needs a hobby,” she said sarcastically, still angry that Death had tricked her out of her question.

“What he needs,” Portenda said, leaving the meeting hall. “Is a friend.”