Book 3: Sound And Fury

  Chapter 39 Unchained Melody

  The goblin king hustled his herd of youngsters across to their lodgings by the lake side, assisted by Daisybelle and Gandree, who was following Daisybelle wherever she cared to lead him.

  “Why’d you chase us out, uncle Ghnash?” Perry grumbled sourly. “We’re also…” He paused, contemplating the ridiculous nature of his life. “Whatever, we still need to know what’s going on!”

  “Nobody knows what’s going on, bro. They’ll be chewing on the philosophical and metaphysical complications for years.” Harry sighed, hoping to derail a speculation session that might go on all night. “We should just go to bed and see what morning brings… My best guess is chaos.”

  “It’s always chaos, Harry. Good-night, gang. I’m off to bed.” Larry said through a huge yawn.

  It wasn’t too long later that he jolted… not awake, but into that wacky dream place of wandering shadows and malleable reality. He woke alone, sprawled out under a very tall and robust cherry tree of some kind; flat on his back, gazing up at a sky of whirling, swirling ribbons and bubbles, not quite obscuring the endless, starry void beyond.

  “Aww, shit-balls.” He muttered crossly.

  “Hardly how I expected to be greeted by my first cultist, young mortal.” Ignis the volcano spirit muttered from nearby; seated in the lotus position atop a flat granite boulder, in the form of a man sculpted of driftwood, dressed in robes of lush moss and topped by a crown of living orchids. Glowing red runes smoldered on his skin and a red light burned in his deep set eye-sockets.

  “Be at ease, Larry Ward. We are alone here, you and I. This is your dream, only those you permit, may enter. Our Contract is the key that allows me in; a privilege I hope you will extend to a friend of mine.” The wooden idol slowly stood and stretched with a long, low groan.

  “Forgive me, I haven’t been mobile in some few dozen centuries… at least. I always have trouble keeping count of the passing seasons, when not Contracted to a mortal soul.”

  The lad sat down on a bench that appeared at his command and created a mandolin to amuse himself, while he chatted with his Contracted spirit. “You don’t need any forgiveness from me, pal. We’re solid; you and me… But just exactly who were you hoping to invite over?”

  “The divine lady Joy has asked me to ease the way…” He muttered in low stony rumbles. “I feel pretty awkward, approaching you this way.”

  Larry smiled at his rustic totem with a slow and gentle shake of his head. “Sorry, We’re still not accepting Contracts from the divine pantheon. Not until they get their house in order.”

  “Very well, I will convey your dissatisfaction to sister Cowl. No doubt, her joy at your family’s antics will continue undiminished. She will be amused by yet another rejection, no doubt. Your family is her current favorite diversion and she’s rooting for you; but she can be fickle and strange, my child.” The hoary, salt stained idol murmured, as he returned to his boulder and tranquilly reverted to a simple wooden totem, seated on a stone. “Sister Cowl will wait a while yet, before she discovers the joys of impatience, I think.”

  With a gentle lurch in his soul, Larry sat up in the crowded, moonlit room he and his three brothers were sharing in Wilf’s place; just as his three brothers all sat up at the same moment.

  “Are you guys having more god dreams too?” Barry asked sourly.

  “Yeah.” The remaining three muttered in harmony.

  “It’s nice to be asked, rather than invaded.” Harry offered with a shrug. “And Gemma’s super fun. She still can’t manage her form, so she usually appears as an adorable, naked, jewel bedazzled four year old girl… Then she invariably slips back into crab form and throws the cutest, most hilarious tantrums!”

  “Well, at least Harry is entertained.” Perry grumbled dryly. “Cernunnos wants me to talk to Ipet, goddess of Justice. I’m less than excited about that suggestion.”

  “You should be thrilled.” Their uncle Ward whispered, as he climbed out of a shadow cast by moonlight through a fig bough, outside their window. “Ipet is my patron goddess Amy, your dad’s too. She’s wise, keen eyed and calm in any circumstance.” He leaned close and whispered even more softly, but still too loud for any of them to avoid hearing.

  “She has the most amazing rack… Like, truly goddess tier ta-tas” He sighed happily. “I could happily wander in the valley of the queens for days on end!”

  “You’re gross… but Perry’s an ass man.” Larry suggested with a wicked grin.

  “Yeah, well you’re an ass, man!” Perry replied, followed by a flung pillow. Another cushion launched from the other side, crashing down on Harry, who responded in kind.

  Soft music rose from the darkest corners of the room, swelling from a band of shadow musicians who called their friends out to party down in the small, suddenly absurdly crowded room. The brief and inconclusive pillow fight finished, when Ward’s shadow band filled the chamber with so many fluttering, dancing ghosts that they couldn’t see each other at all through the crowd.

  “Damn! That’s super creepy, Ward!” Harry complained bitterly, from somewhere among the ghostly party. “I see what you’re doing, though! Each one is only playing a riff or simple part or two… You just invented a magical looper pedal!”

  “Not me, this is one of your dad’s old tricks.” Ward sighed as his shades slowly vanished away, leaving the room once more moonlit and un-haunted. “He hasn’t been able to do stuff like that for a while and I didn’t want to rub his nose in it by using his own gifts like that.” The preternaturally handsome death god shrugged and smiled, lighting up the room just a little more.

  “So, if I Contracted you; could I learn to do that?” Barry asked quietly.

  “It’s not worth the risk, kiddo.” Ward muttered, sitting on the foot of Harry’s bed. “Messing around with shadows is safe, as occult practices go; but interacting with ghosts is dangerous for most mortals. If you had the second sight, like Amy, Wilf and Rio that would be less risky.”

  “We aren’t children, Ward.” Barry grumbled at the divine doofus.

  “I know, guys. It sucks, but you all need to be careful about how and with whom you Contract; especially when it comes to any being with ties to certain portfolios… Death, Undeath and the Undying, in particular.” He held up a warning finger to the boys and continued.

  “Necromancy is like a drug, for most living mortals, seductive and addictive; even as it corrodes your Mind and contaminates your Animus with the energies of life’s endings. That’s why your dad still gets a lot of hostility and suspicion from the majority of the beastfolks and a lot of humanity.”

  “I always wondered about that! Only veteran beastkin Adventurers and Beast’s shamans and clerics come to the house, usually.” Harry mumbled eagerly. “I’ve asked, but he never could give me an answer.”

  “Your dad always feels unnatural and creepy, to those who are sensitive to the energies of the natural world. He emits a low level field of denial and repulsion that only some humans can detect, not unlike one of those awful soul jars.” Ward sighed, sounding very tired.

  “He spent so long as an undead revenant in a magically dead world, trying to manifest his powers, that parts of his essence went rotten and got nasty. He cut away most of those parts and fed them through the devourer years ago, now they are coming home to roost in his soul.”

  “That sounds problematic.” Four young voices grumbled in harmony. The boys fell silent, glancing at each other in a conversation that no outsider could understand. After a few seconds, Harry spoke up for the group. “Considering our… origins, that is not something we can take lightly, uncle.

  “Oh, yeah! Totally! All those tangled, divine curses kinda made it impossible for him to explain the problem, or control it any other way.” He shrugged and chuckled darkly. “One of his alter egos thought that he should be the one in charge and tried to take over, with the help of a nasty demon. What little remains of Vixoreath, the immortal shadow reaper of souls, is haunting Wilf, as his familiar.”

  “And the alternate personality?” Harry asked gently. “What happened there?”

  “Gray, the would-be necromancer and vampire lich got thrown off of the madman’s moon and into the Devourer of Souls, to be cleansed and returned to the universe. His remnant energies will come home in your dad’s soul eventually. How long that will take and how it will resolve itself is anybody’s guess, but I suspect that your dad is reincorporating that loser’s essence as we speak.” The divine said with a satisfied smile. “We should see more improvement in his condition, now that he’s mostly free of stupid curses and divine fuckery.”

  “Wait, you said ‘mostly free of curses’ or something… What does that mean?” Harry demanded, sounding more than a little suspicious.

  “It means just what I said, He’s almost entirely free of divine interference. Only the curses he earned for himself remain.” Ward answered, the shifty look on his face was obvious, even in the dim room, thanks to the beam of moonlight that always seemed to follow him around.

  “Go on…” Harry grumbled at the evasive godling.

  “Blessings and curses… they are not opposites, rather they operate in very similar ways. His curse from Eponna remains. No equine or ruminant can resist dropping a warm, fresh pile… right where he’ll step in it. In the same way, his blessings from both Eponna and Beast draw the affections and interest of most animals; while horses, llamas, sheep, goats, donkeys and such creatures can’t resist him.”

  “What about Ester?” Barry wondered aloud. “She hates every bit of dad with a fiery passion.”

  “Ester the unicorn is a special case… She hates him because he was responsible for the final ending of her previous rider. She’s a unicorn now, but before Rolf, Ester was a nightmare; bonded to a greater dullahan for untold centuries. She existed as a creature of darkness, riding at the command of Morrigan, dark lady of the winter court, one of the greatest and most wicked of the fae.” Ward smiled sadly at the boys. “Your father killed the lady Morrigan as well, so Ester’s attitude is unlikely to change.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “So why didn’t Eponna’s curse get cleansed with the others?” Harry mused. “Uncle Ghnash’s funeral rite should have removed that too.”

  “His own Animus protected that curse, because your dad is a total clown. He’s decided that it’s funny, so it’s become a part of him. He’s embraced the hilarity of it fully, the poor idiot. I doubt that even Eponna herself could remove that hex now.” He chuckled darkly and leaned back against his nephew. “Truly, he’s the Fool.”

  “Let’s get moving, the sun’s coming up soon. We’re sparring against uncle Ghnash this morning. We’d better be ready for it.”

  “The goblin king is no joke, guys.” Ward muttered softly. “He’ll mop the floor with you, if you don’t take him seriously… Well, really, he’ll whallop you either way; but if you don’t give it all you’ve got, he’ll make it embarrassing.”

  “Ugh… I hate taking things seriously before breakfast.” Larry complained as he pulled on a robe.

  “It can’t be helped, I suppose.”

  /

  “It can’t be helped, I suppose.” Ghnash muttered, sounding deeply amused by the four Ward boys, who were scattered around the sparring field in feebly groaning heaps. “Good game, boys. Now king Ghnash is all warmed up, who’s next?”

  “What was that finishing move you used on Barry?” Harry groaned from somewhere by the gardenia bushes, where he’d been thrown. “You said no magic or gifts, but I’m sure I saw you casting a spell!”

  “Oh? Saw that, did you? Is secret goblin ninja art, One Thousand Years Of Death!” The king agreed, smiling and nodding along with glee. “Is nub mojo, spell or gift! I just jabbed him in the stinkhole with my grody goblin grubbers, to humiliate and embarrass him! Is good good fun! Now Ghnash needs to wash dirty fingies! You guys decide who fights Ghnash next!”

  The Ward boys staggered off toward the baths, with Perry and Larry helping Barry along. “...Bloop! Right in my donut! I can’t even…” Barry tried in vain to steer his brothers away from Lindsey and Flash, who were headed their way.

  “Barry? Did you get injured in all your tomfoolery? Let me see!” She complained. “You’re walking funny, where did you get hurt?”

  Barry looked around desperately and discovered that he was all alone; completely abandoned by his brothers. Those dirtbags left him helplessly leaning on Flash, while they ducked off through the hedgerow. The poor boy found himself at the mercy of a very pretty girl, who was insisting on seeing where he’d been struck.

  “If you won’t tell me, I’l just ask his majesty…” She grumbled, when she spotted the king headed for the baths as well.

  Barry watched from a short distance away, lost in slowly dawning horror, as Ghnash explained and even demonstrated the attack; pantomiming the vile, invasive act with a huge smile on his face.

  “Good thing Ghnash nub has talons anymore!” He called out to Barry, accompanied by a cheery wave. “I would have untied your balloon knot! Nub wanna have to invent the colostomy bag, cause I pulled my nephew’s butthole out by accident!”

  While those two awful creatures amused themselves at his expense, Flash helped Barry finally make it to the baths. The boy and the horse showered, then sank into the big pool together, with simultaneous sighs of pleasure. They relaxed into the water, soothing sore parts before Lindsey could come in demanding a peek at his dusky blossom.

  “Poor Barry…” Harry sighed from the corner by the waterfall. “His flower has been plucked… He’ll not be able to wear white for the wedding.”

  “Show us on the doll, where creepy uncle Ghnash touched you.” Larry urged him gently, with doe eyed sincerity smeared all over his dumb face.

  “You guys suck!” Perry scolded them. “That was a tender moment of real connection they were sharing! Don’t be so narrow minded!”

  “I hate all you bitches… except Flash. Fuck each of you; fuck you very much.” Barry sighed, thankful that the baths were segregated by gender, with so many guests lodging in the house. He floated there, drifting in the shallow end and very much at peace.

  Slowly, family and friends trickled into the bath as they got clobbered, tired out, or managed to slip away without being challenged; like Amy.

  “I can’t believe you!” Becky barked at her young protege. “You weasled your way out like a coward!”

  “Stealth is also a combat art, auntie!” Amy said through a delighted smile. “I hear she mopped the floor with you… That’s what they are saying.”

  “Shut up, you vexatious whelp!” She grumbled. “How does Luna do that with no depth perception?”

  “Stealth is an important art, as is choosing one’s battles wisely!” Luna whispered, emerging from the steam of the private bath like a ghost. “Just as critical is finding your foes’ vulnerabilities and seeing their strengths… My eye is not blind; it sees too much, when uncovered. This patch is more of a filter, reducing the amount of information I see.”

  “Really? I never knew that!” Becky muttered.

  “Should I wear a sign, revealing this?” The warrior scoffed at her young pupil, the high priestess. “Your husband spotted it right away, he’s a clever one!”

  “Are those two still sparring?” Becky asked, sinking lower in the water with a sigh. “They behaved so reluctantly last night.”

  “They’re going to be a while, yet. They must be at ‘best four out of seven’ or something stupid by now… Men, so helpless.” The eye-patched spear-woman muttered fondly. “Our hostess wrapped me up like a fussy baby and put me down for a nap in four moves… at least I think it was four moves. She’s improved since we last sparred!”

  “She got some training in with Gabbie and Jocomo. Imperial sword schools are so different, it’s enough to be really confusing when she switches styles.” Amy agreed eagerly, since she was unbattered and not even slightly bruised.

  “Wait… has anybody seen my dad this morning?”

  \

  Alone in an isolated corridor, in the clean, well lit and nicely ventilated dungeons beneath the castle; two people were speaking softly between their cells. A young man and woman leaned against each other, embracing tenderly through the barrier as they whispered intently.

  Locked behind spell wrought bars and unseen sorceries that prevented either from touching the magic of the outside world, or their own internal resources, the two necromancers were simply mundane humans.

  Without any warning, a tall, brown haired, unremarkable man stepped out of a shadow in the hall that only existed for a moment, just to conceal his approach. He smiled at the two young people in the cells and spoke.

  “Well hello there, Heidi and Ambrose… the Light cult necromancers voted the cutest couple at the sacrificial altar.” He chuckled, sounding genuinely amused. “My daughter asked me to be merciful and treat you with kid gloves, because she’s a big softie.”

  “Are we to be interrogated, again? We have told your people all we know.” Ambrose growled at the stranger.

  “Interrogate you? No… I’m Gary Ward, the Fool. I’m the guy who holds your fates in his hands. Your flotilla of murder-yachts raided my family’s seaside getaway, injured several of my family members and even killed one of us… That’s a tough one to let go.” He took a slow, deep breath and tried to smile again. He failed, but the effort was there. “Give me a good reason to show mercy, I want to see what she found redeemable in you two…”

  A lingering silence fell, thick and chilling in the stone and plaster dungeon.

  “We don’t have a good reason to give you.” Ambrose finally muttered. “I hate the cult, I hate being a necromancer… I hate everything about my life. Except Heidi.”

  “That’s an answer, I suppose.” The Fool muttered as he turned to the silent young woman in the next cell.. “How about you? Anything to say?”

  “What can I say? We followed our orders and we lost. I get the sense you have already decided what you plan for us.” She demanded coldly.

  “She’s smart, buddy. Stick with her and you’ll go far.” He stage whispered to Ambrose, with a not too sly wink.

  “I guess you heard what I did with all your lords, nobles and clerics.” He shrugged.

  “I went way too easy on them; I feel cheated. Sugar wasp venom is… it’s a serious rush! Those assbags are going to be pretty damn high, like pretty much all the time.”

  “I could sting you just a little, if you want. You’re pretty resistant after all these years.” Kree offered, as she clambered out of his collar, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

  “So it’s true…” She whispered, going pale and shrinking back from her cell door. “You gave them to those… things!”

  “First, the sugar wasps are sentient beings! Bigotry is lame and stupid. Second, I already don’t like you; insulting my sweet Sugar-Bee is not helping you. She’s awesome!” He replied merrily. “But don't sting me, darling; I’m working right now.”

  He turned his mad, feral gaze back on the two people in the little side corridor where they’d been isolated for the last several days.

  “Tell me about your cult… have you met your pontiff?” The man demanded gently.

  “The pontiff himself? No, of course not! We are common clerics, not nobles.” Heidi scoffed. We were both raised in the temple schools, assigned to the necromancy track and trained from childhood. We were surrendered in lieu of payment, when our parents couldn’t meet their tithe obligations to the temple.

  “Oh, that’s nastily familiar. How about the cardinals and bishops? What’s your take on them?” He asked, peering at the two as if they were interesting bugs, trapped in a jar for his amusement. Heidi opened her mouth to speak and remained silent, gaping awkwardly for a while.

  “Interesting.” The Fool muttered, his voice a bit softer, as he stepped close to the bars for a better look.

  “Ambrose, what do you think of your church’s leadership?” He asked mildly, turning his gaze to the young man. “Be as frank as you can.”

  After a few, long seconds of some internal struggle, the man spoke, softly and without emotion. “The pontiff and his cardinals are not to be questioned or second guessed by common clerics…”

  “I thought so…” He grumbled sourly. “My brothers, the Tarots have been fighting your cult for so long, they’ve lost sight of the sad truth. Most of the ‘faithful’ are little more than slaves. You two are bound up in demon Contracts, contaminating your souls and enforcing their strictures irresistibly.” He turned to a shadowy corner, near the door and spoke softly. “What do you think, Ward?”

  “Perhaps, but only if they are truly willing. I’m not that kind of deity.” The newcomer muttered, in the same voice, from a far more handsome and less believably human version of the same man’s face.

  “This is Ward, god of Death, Vengeance, Dark Secrets and Golden Figs. He’s agreed to take you on and show you a different path, if you are willing to accept a Contract with a real divine being.” The Fool announced cheerfully, as if that were anything but pure insanity.

  The newcomer gave the prisoners a theatrical, sweeping bow, with a bold flourish of his bat-winged coat. “Nice to meet you! I hope we can work together to unscrew some of the messes your old cult has been making.” He smiled, which somehow made the cell block seem brighter and colder. “Your old cult is on the way out, this is your chance to make a clean break from it.”

  “Madness…” Ambrose muttered.

  “Yup! Complete madness.” The Fool mumbled, as he began fishing around in his backside. He produced a pair of stools, offered one to his not quite identical brother and sat down with a banjo on his knee.

  “This is the part of the program where I dissolve your Contracts. I’m gonna be leaving you completely unranked and super fucked up in your souls. In these cells, your outsider and demon masters can’t reach you.”

  “Soul Contracts are permanent, you fool!” Heidi scolded him, her frustration and anger taking control of her good sense.

  “They are almost permanent, young lady, they are nearly unassailable and practically impervious.” He smiled as he began picking, plucking and strumming his instrument. “That’s where your local mad witch comes in. Curses and Contracts are my stock in trade; I make them, break them and re-forge them to suit my client’s desires…” He smiled coldly at the pair.

  “Or, as in your case, I will remove them whether you wish it or not. I’m unwilling to leave you alive and in possession of those powers and abilities. Even if you were going to be enslaved to the wasp queens with your friends from LightGlen, I would certainly need to strip you of those Contracts.”

  As the lunatic jabbered on, speaking complete nonsense, his instrument continued chiming and ringing out, shaking the still and quiet prison block. The other man had a guitar out, strumming along and smiling at his companion and the prisoners with abstracted delight. “When our song ends, you will feel your contracts die. The curses, strictures and influence spells will collapse quickly, so prepare yourselves…” Ward said softly, his voice cut through the music with startling ease.

  “You two are cut off from the world and all magical energies, completely in my brother's power. This is going to feel super shitty and you’re going to be miserably sick, until you can find a full suite of new Contracts.” His smile became coldly satisfied. “Consider your next few miserable, puking and wretched months to be a penance for your misdeeds and crimes.”

  “I won’t force you to join Ward’s cult and serve him.” The far less handsome man grumbled over his instrument. “If you refuse Ward’s guidance, you will be indentured into the count’s service for a term of five years and will be bound to deities of his lordship’s choosing. It’s up to each of you.”

  “So we can choose to be bound to your mad new cult, or be bound to cults of your lord’s choosing?” Heidi demanded sharply. “Your friend looks like a man, not a god.”

  “Oh, sweetie… peek at your boyfriend's face. He met my eyes for just a moment, a few seconds ago and realized exactly who and what you two have been talking to.” Ward mumbled with a giggle.

  Ambrose dangled sagging against the bars, limply entangled in the metalwork or he would have landed in a heap on the floor. His face was waxen and pale, his eyes wide and staring off into the distance in a nearly catatonic state.

  “You shouldn’t try looking into my eyes until you’re Contracted with me… Or after you’ve died; it’s fine in that case too.” The supposed god of death vanished his guitar away and stood from his stool. He stepped over to Ambrose’s cell and slipped through the bars, collecting the unconscious man in his arms and laying him out gently on the cot. With the same effortless and impossible ease, he passed back through the cell door and smiled at her. “You should lie down, the music is coming to a close. You should feel a surge of weakness, followed by retching, dizziness and pain.”

  “Your boyfriend’s going to be out cold for the worst of the experience.” The less handsome man muttered, sounding conflicted. “I have a drug that will ease the effects if you wish… if you’ll trust me.”

  “I do wish, if it’s as bad as you say.” She shrugged. “If you wanted to poison me, you could have at any time.”

  “True enough. Ward, fish a ceramic jar out of my coat pocket, please. If the music stops, things will start right away.” The Fool mumbled to his creepy, unnatural brother.

  While the good looking but super unnerving one searched his brother’s coat, the Fool kept on jabbering and playing the sprightly and cheerful music.

  “Since you’re iron rank, if you Contract Ward today you should be able to function, at least until you can find five more deities willing to shelter you.” He almost chanted. “This tune is called ‘Blackberry Blossom’ it's one of my favorites. It really soothes the soul. That’s the key; relaxing the soul and letting it assume its most natural shape. That makes foreign and unwelcome contaminants start to erode naturally.”

  The good looking one handed her a small, glazed earthenware pot filled with a flaky white dust. “Duskmoon pollen, pop it in your mouth and let it dissolve away.” He murmured quietly. She nodded silently and shot the contents of the tiny crock into her mouth, before taking her place on the cot in her cell.

  “Here we go… this is the big finish.” The Fool sang out, as his instrument fell silent.

  “You really are mad…” Heidi whispered as the song ended, along with her body, mind and soul. Darkness crashed in on her like a tidal wave of heat, cold and smothering nausea.

  The last, faint sound she heard before passing into oblivion was the Fool’s voice. “We’ll let Tawny and her apprentices take care of them… I forgot about the whole ‘shit your pants’ factor.”

  /