James Maxey - Greatshadow

The Whisper recoiled as the Deceiver knelt beside the boy, stepping back several feet, as if she didn’t want to risk breathing the same air.

“Can you help him?” asked Aurora, as she knelt down next to the Deceiver.

“I possess the power to heal any injury,” the Deceiver said, running his hand along the boy’s arm. “Though I believe we were all mistaken in thinking the boy was seriously harmed. Wipe the blood away, and he’s suffered little more than a few scratches and bruises.”

And, indeed, as the Deceiver wiped the blood and grit from the boy’s limbs, the flesh no longer looked so distorted. Perhaps it had only been a trick of the light that had made the wounds look so serious before.

“He’s just had the wind knocked out of him,” the Deceiver said, cradling the boy’s face, pushing back the eyelids to look at the dilated pupils. “He’ll come out of it any minute.”

Everyone had fallen silent as they watched the Deceiver tend to the fallen boy. The only sound was a faint rasping noise. The sound was coming from the Truthspeaker, grinding his teeth. His eyes were narrowed into slits as he watched the Deceiver restore the boy to health. Finally, he could stand no more.

“Get your unholy hands off him!” He jumped forward, his robes flying as he kicked the kneeling man in the head. “I would rather see the boy die than be tainted by your filthy lies!”

Numinous, still unconscious, gasped as his left arm twisted once more, obviously broken. Yet, the boy still looked better than he had before. The Deceiver lay beside the boy, glaring at Father Ver with naked hatred as he rubbed the sandal-print on the side of his jaw.

Tower grabbed Father Ver by the nape of his neck and hauled him back before he could kick the Deceiver again. “Control yourself,” he said. “Zetetic is using his power for good, as promised.”

“Promises mean nothing to his kind!” Father Ver shouted. His spittle flecked Tower’s faceplate. “He swore only to use his power to alter his own form, and already he has broken this vow by altering the boy’s body!”

Zetetic, the Deceiver, said, “Technically, I gave myself the power to heal. The boy’s body wasn’t altered, only restored, until you meddled.”

Father Ver went bug-eyed. He once more lunged toward his enemy, but Lord Tower held him back. “His presence is an abomination! The king is mad to include him on this quest!”

Tower sighed. “If the king is mad, so be it. He is still the king, and it’s our duty to obey him. I forbid you to strike Zetetic again.”

“There are greater authorities than the king,” Father Ver growled. “You cannot honestly expect me to simply stand and bear witness to such blasphemy!”

“You could always close your eyes,” Zetetic said.

Father Ver sputtered a string of meaningless syllables as his rage stripped him of coherent speech.

“Get back to work,” the knight said to Zetetic as he lifted the Truthspeaker from his feet and carried him back several yards.

The Deceiver looked at the boy and shrugged sadly. “I’ve done all I can. Father Ver has aborted the newborn reality we created where the boy was cured. Still, I think it persisted long enough to save the boy’s life.”

Aurora still knelt beside the unconscious child, probing his arm tenderly with her beefy fingers. She looked up and said, “I can set the arm in a splint. For a boy this age, the bone will heal in a matter of weeks.”

Father Ver turned away in disgust. He grumbled to Tower, “At the command of an earthly king we ally ourselves with liars, ogres, and rogues. What does it matter if our quest succeeds when we corrupt our very souls in the journey?”

“The primal dragons are the enemy of all mankind,” said the knight, resting the Gloryhammer on his shoulder. “If I must be damned in order that the world can be free of their tyranny, I shall pay the price. You, of all people, understand the importance of our mission.”

Father Ver’s shoulders sagged. His voice trembled as he whispered, “Very well. But the boy must remain behind. If he isn’t the Omega Reader, we have no business endangering a child.”

Tower nodded. “I concur.”

Father Ver gave Relic a rueful glance. “The hunchback doesn’t believe he’s lying, but I still don’t trust him or his whorish toy. Given all they know of our quest, I must advise you to destroy them.”

Blade stepped over to the conversation.

“I second that opinion,” he said. “I was impressed with the War Doll’s strength, but now that I’ve seen its savagery, I fear it’s a danger to us all.”

“Thank you for your counsel. However, since we can’t have pack animals on this mission, it seems wasteful to destroy the War Doll. It would make a good substitute for a mule.” Tower looked up the shaft. The sun was no longer directly overhead, and the shadows in the cave grew deeper. “Our emotions run high at the moment. We won’t be ready to leave until morning. I shall make my decision then.”

Despite the fact that he was the subject of the ongoing conversation, no one was paying attention to Relic. He walked to the wall where the Golden Child had hit. There was a spattering of blood dripping down the stone. Casually, he reached out and dabbed the gore with a rag-covered finger. Then, since he still carried Infidel’s weaponry, he drew the bone-handled knife from its scabbard, and ran his blood-damp finger along the steel.

My ghost lungs gasped for air as I materialized once more. I was fainter than my previous incarnations; I could see through my ghostly fingers to the bones of fog beneath.

He spoke to me in his soundless voice: It seems I have need of you after all, Blood-Ghost.

I looked down at my body, on the verge of tears from the joy of seeing myself again. As a thought-fog, my emotions are muted; now that I once more felt ephemeral blood pulsing in my veins, I was terrified at the thought of having the knife cleaned once more.

Obey me, and I will see that the knife is never bare of blood.

“What would you have me do?” I asked.

The king’s men are a dangerous lot. While the boy is no longer a threat, I cannot read the mind of Lord Tower while he wears his armor. Were he the only one immune to my powers, I would have few fears. But the Whisper’s thoughts are dim; the harder I concentrate on them, the fainter they become.

“Is she a ghost?”

Doubtful. Your thoughts are clear to me. Blade may know her true nature but I’ve yet to find her origins among his thoughts. What worries me even more is the Deceiver. His mind is unlike anything I’ve encountered. His true thoughts are buried beneath veils of hallucinations. I risk my very sanity probing him.

“What am I supposed to do about this?”

You will be my spy. In your phantom form, you aren’t tethered as tightly to the knife. You may wander, listening in on conversations I will not be privy to. Have a care, however. Should Father Ver suspect your presence, he has the power to banish you forever to the spirit world.

I furrowed my brow, confused. “Aren’t I already in the spirit world?”

Obviously not. You are a spirit in the material world.

Actually, that was kind of obvious. But, if there was a spirit world, what was it like? Why hadn’t I gone there?

I will help you reach the spirit world at the proper time should you assist me.

“Maybe I don’t want to go. I’d rather stay here. I’ll help you only if you promise to let me speak to Infidel.”

A fair bargain. I will grant this if you serve me well. Have a care, however. You may desire to speak to the woman, but the feeling may not be mutual. The living seldom wish to be confronted by the dead.

I clenched my jaw as I thought over his offer. If I refused to cooperate, he could just wipe the blood from the blade, and banish me once more. But, while he had the power, perhaps, to grant me what I wanted, I had to wonder what, exactly, he wanted, beyond my immediate services as a spy. Aside from a desire to kill Greatshadow, I knew nothing of his plans or purpose.