Book 3: Sound And Fury

  Chapter 28 Blinded By The Light

  Amy followed Ward into the inn compound, headed across the noisy, busy yard to Wilf’s house, a scaled down and simplified duplicate of the big house. Formed of real stone, lumber and metal; Wilf’s place was the most unshakably real structure on the whole family compound. That made it the most secure and private, if not the most comfortable house on the grounds.

  When they arrived, Wilf’s common room held all the Ragamuffins, summoned to the meeting by Amy’s voice, carried on the shadows and wind.

  Situated by the waterside and farthest away from the main house, things were less chaotic, but a steady stream of their new uncles flowed in and out of his basement workshop, but the house remained private.

  “So what’s up, Amy?” Rio asked quietly. “You said we had a secret job.”

  “More secret than job… some of the prisoners want to receive whatever rites the cult does. We’re gonna find one of their clerics who isn’t too awful, then we supervise the ritual, or whatever.” Amy announced firmly.

  “The secret part is, we can’t let him find out. He gets super weird about stuff like that.”

  “Don’t be too hard on my brother…” Ward muttered. “He has trouble accepting that gods are real, even after so long. He handles fake cults pretty poorly.”

  “So we have to sit through whatever mumbo jumbo rituals these clowns do?” Rio complained weakly. “That sounds lame.”

  “It will be. Probably the most boring, painful and pointless thing you’ll experience, until your first tax audit. But if we deny them their ritual, they will become unpredictable.” The kid’s divine uncle muttered.

  “The threat of that huge horde of slaves is all that’s keeping them quiet right now. If they figure out just how unwilling your dad is to use those poor people, things will get super sticky.”

  After a little general grumbling, the six kids rode off, with Ward pedaling along in the group, being aggressively inconspicuous among the other bike mounted Adventurers. They zipped almost silently up the Wheatford road, before taking a mining track into the foothills.

  It took just over a half hour to reach the former warcamp, where the light clerics and high nobles were staked out individually, hiding from the warm summer sun under humble shelters of cut boughs.

  A team of the count’s veteran warriors stood guard from an encampment near the ‘godstone’ the cultists were so interested in. They had a neat cabin, a fine camp kitchen and many of the little comforts that experienced Adventurers prized, like warm bedding and a scattering of camp chairs, mostly looted from the light cultists, or built from the remnants of their camp.

  The Sparrowhawks, arrayed in their tribe’s brightly beaded and intricately practical tribal garb watched the kids ride up with interest. Larksong greeted them first, singing out with pleasure when she recognized the team.

  “Ragamuffins! Welcome, I think… We aren’t due to be relieved for three hours… and you kids shouldn’t draw duty here.”

  “Special instructions. We’re only taking one of them away.” Amy replied, passing her sealed scroll to the slim, smiling woman in hunter’s leather, reinforced with bone and shell ornaments over her vitals.

  “Listen up!” Amy barked at the several dozen men and women in once fine garments, who were chained around the clearing.

  “We need a volunteer to perform whatever religious rites you guys do…” Many of the richly dressed figures stirred and sat up, displaying interest.

  “The conscripts and common soldiers wish to receive your… blessing, or whatever, so we need one of you to come with us. Your safety will be guaranteed, no harm will come to the volunteer…” When she mentioned who would be receiving the rites, most of that interest dissipated like a fart in a windstorm. She turned to the tall, black clad man in the center of the group.

  “Uncle Ward, why were you so specific that the volunteer would be unharmed?” The admiral in blue asked very sweetly.

  “Cause some of these others might just be dying, right now.” He answered glibly.

  “Uncle Ward, Mama said to be good…” She warned, as he passed by, to stand at the front, hands on hips and smiling super wide.

  “Hey there, cultists… I’m Ward, one of the local demigods on this plane.” He declared, addressing the chained people with a cheery lilt in his voice. Like Amy said, we need one human cleric to perform your sacraments or whatever, the rest of you human clerics will sit here in the sun.” He smiled even more widely, displaying way too many, very sharp teeth, to be anything human.

  “The others… Well, you have no idea what I’m sayin, you can’t see or hear me, can you?”

  It was true, most of the clerics recoiled in dread at the visage of a ravenous, devouring predator, dressed in a well tailored suit and tall black hat. Most of them, several looked about in alarm and confusion at the reactions of their fellows, distressed and wondering what they had not seen.

  “I’m the god of death and vengeance… I can’t interact with outsiders or the undead in my home domain… rules, you see.” He chuckled darkly. “For the same reason, they cannot perceive me; even when I manifest in the magical aura presence of my brother’s kids.”

  “You’re super weird, uncle.” Rio complained. “So what, those guys are not human?” He asked, indicating the scant dozen scattered people who were now desperately trying to act like they belong and doing a bad job of it.

  “Oh, yeah. Possesed, most likely, or under some similar invasive control. Brain worms, interdimensional slug larvae, sentient fungal infections; there’s all kinds of mind and body controlling creeps out there.” He said with a grin. “Nothing undead can cross the veil between worlds, except jarred losers like lich boy. But there are plenty of vermin that keep their hosts just alive and aware enough to pass muster.” The dark clad man shook his head in mocking sorrow.

  “Outside this world’s veil, they would be able to see me, and would be shitting their robes in terror. Inside this world’s barrier, I’m not allowed to, or able to interact with them at all. Here, someone else has that duty… Right, Wilf?”

  The wide, quiet lad in red wooden plate-mail stepped out of the crowd, giving the impression that he was deeply embarrassed, even behind his face-concealing, armored demon mask.

  “Are you sure, Ward?” He asked, sounding both absolutely certain of his task and furiously boiling with rage.

  The silent and confused clerics reacted when the young warrior stepped into view, they responded with horror, fear and panic.

  “Oh yeah… Look at your shadow, Wilf. None of them are really alive. The host’s soul… it lingers, trapped in its remains, haunting their body. That provides the Animus that makes them seem alive, but the person who was born in that body is long dead.” Ward sighed sadly.

  Long, thin threads of blackness were slowly reaching out from Wilf’s shadow, stretching to find the scattered dead men and women, hiding among the living.

  “That means those idiots willingly chose their diabolical half-life, son.” He smiled sadly at the burly young man. “Veronica will come for them… When she’s hungry again.”

  Ward looked back to the silent, chained and collared clerics, smiling again, displaying a human grin. “We still need that volunteer… The dead are not eligible, sorry.”

  He scanned the prisoners, his smile fading rapidly.

  “Come on, your flock requests that you do your duty… as ‘clerics’. At least one of you must have the stones to stand up.”

  From the far edge, a young woman in soiled and stained robes stood and bowed, ever so slightly. She waited there, while Rio and Benny went over and unchained her from her neck shackle.

  “Don’t try anything stupid. We won’t hurt you.” Benny Olan rumbled, his low, calm voice and solid confidence ringing out from his helmet of brown lacquered wood and leather.

  She followed placidly, led by the chain between her wrists. As they passed, the other clerics sneered or avoided looking her way, disgust clear on their silent faces.

  Ward waved to the nervous looking guardians, who waved back weakly, as the kids marched their prisoner over to the bikes.

  “Warn whoever is taking over for you… Some of these people are not people...” He murmured to Runningtree.

  “They can’t do anything eldritch here, but watch them.”

  Her hard eyes scanned the silent prisoners, quickly noting which had tendrils of Wilf’s creeping shadow reaching hungrily for their unsuspecting forms. She whispered a short stream of orders to her team, who sprang into action.

  Most spread out to watch the field of shackled, miserable lords and clerics, while Rootedbear, the largest member of the Sparrowhawks, took a bundle of long stakes with red pennants affixed to the top.

  With casual might, he drove the stout flagpoles down into the earth beside each indicated figure, marking them for additional observation.

  “Perfect.” Ward remarked, as the kids swiftly assembled a two wheeled chariot, to be towed behind one of their bikes.

  “You kids got that F.A.R.T. ready?” He asked, hitting the silly name of the thing hard, just because he was a huge jerk, just like papa.

  “We call it the Chariot… though we have an uncle chariot now…” Amy mused, while seating the left wheel on its spindle and spinning on a reverse threaded bronze bolt.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She and Maya both glared at the boys, fiercely determined to win this one. “We’re still not calling it that!”

  The Folding Artisanal Reconfigurable Trundlebug came together quickly; bronze fittings and clever mechanical catches turned a pile of loose boards, planks and parts into a compact, one seat, reclining vehicle suitable for transporting those unable or unwilling to straddle a bike. In this case, it made for a fine and secure prisoner transporter.

  “Wilf tows our guest… But Rio sets the pace. No passing, stay in formation.” Amy instructed the boys, who groaned weakly, just for show; they knew when to focus up.

  “We should mutiny…” Rio whispered way too loudly to Benny, who grinned when the admiral snapped to attention.

  She rounded on Rio, her lazer gaze blasting holes in her giggling, much taller brother.

  “What was that, sailor?” She demanded haughtily, tapping the toe of her boot in obvious and comical impatience. “I’ll have you keel hauled and strung up from the yard-arm for the gulls, boy!”

  After a brief fit of giggles, the mad kids and their weird-ass uncle-spirit-whatever pedaled away with their prize, leaving a group of very confused, concerned and deeply nervous prisoners behind.

  The savage barbarian guards just shrugged, smiled at the departing kids and went back to their boring non-task of guarding a gaggle of chained idiots.

  “Wards, always weird.” Runningtree muttered.

  /

  As the daughter of Cardinal Sourbridge’s favored pleasure slave, Molly had grown up between two worlds… Pinned inextricably between her social status and the cardinal’s, like a bug under glass.

  It amused the cardinal to have her educated as a child, just as he entertained himself by granting her citizenship and sending her to the seminary. All the while manipulating her with threats to sell her mother to the common brothels of the low town. It pleased him to watch her become a priestess to a god she knew to be false and had known, since her earliest days.

  Her mother’s slave collar was a shackle, as tight and restrictive as any, though unseen. Everyone knew she was the child of a pleasure slave, performing her clever tricks like a trained dog, pretending to be a real person for the enjoyment of her cruel master… and father.

  Her delight in seeing how far the cardinal had fallen was a poor balm for her own worries and misery… Her mother had vanished, taken away by that buzzing nightmare insect girl… with no word as to her fate. The only rumors circulating were that all the pleasure slaves had been given to a pack of goblins… A fate too cruel and wicked for even the cult of Light to devise.

  Under the silence collar, she couldn’t even ask… This was her one slim chance, her only hope to find her mother in this chaotic, madman’s dance of destruction and shame.

  Fear clenched her guts in an iron fist and twisted them mercilessly, when the infidels forced her into their mad, wheeled coffin and strapped her down securely. Things only got worse from there…

  “Good to go.” Her enormous red armored captor muttered, shortly before the madness intensified.

  Swifter than a speeding horse, they rolled out in near silence, only the sound of the tires on the smooth, clay roads, the wind and the soft, short bits of quiet conversation she heard from the wide, armored man pedaling the machine she was being dragged behind.

  Trees flashed by at terrible speed, as the strange troop of mounted riders went flying over the smooth, though narrow road, headed downhill.

  “Heard.”

  “All good.”

  “Swinging right…”

  He spoke in single words and clipped phrases, despite the others being too far away and moving too swiftly to possibly hear.

  ‘Communication magic?’ She wondered idly, as her terror subsided over the journey down to the city by the lake. The bone shattering crash she expected to occur never arrived, instead they swept down the mountain road like a summer breeze, stirring leaves and startling wildlife with their silent, swift passage.

  She stared in wonder as the convoy slowed at the edge of town. Humble farm houses held smiling, waving families that greeted the warriors with unconcealed joy as they passed. Children and pets sprinted along, trying to match the slower but still awfully quick pace of the mounted troop, they giggled and laughed, as the riders rang sweet, chiming bells mounted to their bizarre machines.

  What startled her most was the people themselves. Humans, rabbitfolk, catkin and dogmen all mingling with others… and all clean, well fed and smiling… They celebrated together, as their nearly silent warriors rode by, swifter than a cavalry troop at full charge.

  A cluster of teenaged girls… and a few boys waited at the edge of the town proper, hurling flower petals at the riders from baskets of the colorful, perfumed, natural confetti.

  The town itself was just as welcoming of her silent escorts, goodwives cheered them from their front gardens, as more teenaged girls called from upper story windows, hoping to draw the eyes of the young warriors, in the age-old tradition… but these were not pleasure slaves or painted whores. Their smiles and joyous cries were bereft of the hidden fear and desperation that such calls held in the city of LightGlen.

  The common people of the town were just as eclectic and varied as the farm folk, beastkin of all sorts stood beside humans and some stranger things… She even glimpsed a tall, terribly skinny blue creature in a long brown coat, wandering the market with a dwarf, of all creatures.

  ‘This place is mad…’ She murmured silently, as she stared out the small windows of her little coach. The clean, well paved and pleasant city flew by, amid happy cries and cheers for her guards… While she remained blessedly unseen, in her rolling coffin.

  They took a short ride through a charming and colorful lakeside community of low, round otter, badger and beaver dens, each home covered with cultivated flowers and vines, with smiling beastkin and humans working or playing in the yards.

  Shortly, the troop rattled across a humble, stone and timber bridge and into a realm of pure insanity that made the rest of her long, terrible week of chaos, battles, capture and imprisonment seem like a pleasant daydream.

  Dozens, if not hundreds of large, muscular men roamed the compound between the lake and two rivers, training, sparring, working out, performing music and gardening in the wide, beautiful, park-like setting. The wide, low spit of land held several structures… and an absolute army of men all wearing the same face and form.

  Her blood ran cold, as she spotted a few of the notorious Tarots moving among the men… The Hermit, that dreadful giant spider being was not in evidence, but she spotted Strength, nine feet tall and bearing that same man’s face, carved in rough hewn slabs of muscle and bone, rather than any truly human flesh.

  The Wheel of Fortune spun by, battling the Star with padded staves and laughing with delight. The colorful patchwork and shining red leather of the two combatants identified them, since they seemed to both be the same man, battling himself in fancy dress.

  With chilling dread, she realized just what she’d gotten herself tangled up in, as the notorious Greela Ward danced by. The tigerkin murderess smiled and swayed with a handsome young man who was very much shorter, but wore the same face as the rest; just as the tigress did, if one looked beyond the fur and ears.

  Her escorts rode through that mad carnival of nightmares without pause, ending at a stone-built home beside the water, noticeably farther from the other structures.

  “We’re here.” Her massive, armored guard rumbled in a voice that was neither kind, nor harsh. Aggressively neutral was the vibe the young warrior in red gave off.

  “Follow Maya and Amy… don’t try anything stupid.” He growled, sounding less than pleased.

  While the men fell to working on their strange mechanical mounts and her rolling coffin, the two female warriors took her through a gate and into a beautiful and private outdoor bathing facility. There was a changing room, with empty cubbies for the bather’s things, racks of slippers and robes awaiting any who might need them and piles of fluffy towels.

  Nearby, a bank of showers stood beside a natural hotspring, separated by a wall of verdant bamboo and flowering ginger.

  “Strip. Bathe yourself. Maya and I will supervise, so don’t try anything clever.” The girl in fanciful naval finery ordered calmly, with a tip of her cobalt blue tricorn hat. “You are safe here, so long as you obey our instructions.”

  /

  “I don’t like leaving the girls alone with her…” Wilf grumbled softly, as he began to head for the baths.

  “Relax. Don’t do it…” Frankie said, soothing his angry comrade.

  “Chill, Wilf. She’s a normal rank human girl, unContracted and probably about the same age as you kids.” Ward grumbled at the angry young lad. “Not every cultist is the same… Not every person gets to choose their path. You should understand better than most.”

  A few minutes later, Maya appeared briefly, to pass a pile of folded, soiled white cloth to Benny, who vanished up the path to the main house without a word.

  /

  Gary sighed long and slow in the steamy confines of his basement laundry facility. This was private time, Gary time.

  He stirred the huge vats of green, not exactly water, steeped with his secret herbs and perfumes, as enormous mesh bags floated and bobbed on the surface. With a long, bronze tipped pole, he flipped, turned and stirred his huge pool of giant tea-bags, smiling with pure, relaxed pleasure.

  He whistled a merry tune as he worked, heedless of the illusory butterflies, songbirds and singing insects that appeared in the forest of ephemeral trees and bushes, formed of shadows that lingered around the edge of his workroom.

  In a shadowy forest domain of illusions and glamor, he sat down on a giant toadstool that appeared just for him, with his trusty old acoustic guitar, the first one he’d made since dying and coming to this world.

  He strummed those long silent strings and sighed… even years after he’d last touched it, the timeless and mysterious nature of his gift kept it in tune and ready to play.

  “I’m the only one who’s rusty…” He sighed, as his hands found those old familiar shapes and he started his long practiced warm-up routine.

  He didn’t pause when he felt two people enter his private domain. He just smiled and made two more seats appear for the young couple who were shyly peering from the stairs at his chamber of wonders.

  “Daze, Gandree, welcome…” He murmured softly. “I don’t usually let anyone but my wife and kids down here… usually not even them.”

  “If we are intruding…” The short, burly lad said quickly, blushing a bright red.

  “No, no… You are more than welcome. It’s just, you might see or hear things down here.” He shrugged. “When others can’t see me, I am more… free? Less constrained?” He shrugged again and laughed a short, merry burst of deranged giggles.

  “I can let my freak flag fly down here without breaking anything.”

  “I see…” Daisybelle muttered crossly. “King Papa is half mad too… This is a known thing. Most witches and warlocks are crazy.”

  “Daisybelle!” The outraged and scandalized dwarf sputtered.

  “Relax, son… She’s family.” He sighed fondly at the little green terror who was poking at his laundry bags and ignoring the boys.

  They smiled and sat down on their toadstool seats, when Daisybelle stripped bare and plunged into the pool with the laundry bags, splashing and giggling with childish glee.

  Gandree’s lovely flute of copper, brass and bronze appeared and joined Gary’s guitar as they wandered the realms of jazz rock for a while, letting Daisybelle stir the laundry.

  /

  “My mother was a session musician and singer… She worked from home most of the time, but when I was little, laundry time, was our time.” Gary murmured to the two young people, as he and Gandree played on and on.

  “We’d practice our instruments, write songs together…” He sighed fondly, as Daisybelle danced by, dressed in Amy’s clothes and giggling.

  “Thank you for sharing your special place with us…” The dwarf lad murmured softly, while his lover was busy playing dress-up with the laundry. He shook his head with dismay, when a miniature Wilf pranced by, the huge boy’s clothing tucked, knotted, pleated and clenched to stay on the tiny, giggling goblin lass.

  “Even though my lady love is a foolish clown.”

  “Wahts that?” A tiny, green skinned Shai demanded, lost somewhere in the folds of the giant smith’s current favorite skirts and bodice.

  “I’ll keel haule ye! Fer I’m a pirate lass!” She hooted in a hilariously bad Shai impression… though she had the finger waggle down just right.

  “Oh, yeah…!” Gary cheered from behind his guitar “Do Becky next!” Gandree watched in horror, as his manic girlfriend and his mentor began behaving like idiotic children.

  “Dear goddess Spiderboobs, what’s next? A pillow fight?” The dwarf muttered, just a little too loudly.

  “Someone doesn’t respect our childlike whimsy and sense of fun…” Gary complained to Daisybelle, who nodded soberly, her cold, hard glare resting firmly on her man.

  “Doctor Daisybelle prescribes Dress-up-dolly treatment. Is best best way to extract sticks from asses!” The little green monster purred.

  /

  “I dunno how I wound up as nurse Gary…” The big man muttered, dressed in a strange outfit of clinging white silk that was oddly brief and definitely not designed for a man.

  The huge musician tugged at his startlingly small miniskirt and fiddled with his empty corset cups, trying to get it to fit, despite the presence and absence of things at several important anatomical reference points.

  “Shush! Doctor Daisybelle is working!” She scolded him, while she put the finishing touches on her beau’s makeup.

  “Very pretty indeed… maybe Gandree-boy should join stupid light cult… Looks good in white and gold!” She cheered, once he was fully dressed in the regalia of a low level light priestess.

  “Why do you even have this?” The dwarf demanded angrily, despite how pretty he looked at the moment

  “Oh? This is Shai’s. She wears it for me on full moon nights… That’s cosplay night!” He chortled happily, with a goofy smile on his face as he tried to keep his ‘Shai the Haughty, Naughty Nurse’ costume in place.

  “I meant the light priestess robes…” Gandree grumbled at the Fool.

  “I dunno.” The mouthy nurse complained. “This stuff was all bagged, tagged and sorted… Somebody dumped it all out…”

  “Blahh, blahh, blahh…” The goblin girl sneered at her huge host. “You has some weird kinks!”

  “Why the hell DO I have a light priestess’ robe in my laundry?” He asked, with slow, creeping suspicion in his voice. “Why was Shai so quick to suggest I do laundry, when we got back from… fishing?”

  “Cause you are double dumb and super stupid about cult and priest stuff…” The goblin girl declared firmly. “Queen Shai said to keep you busy busy as long as I could… maybe dress-up was bad bad call on my part.” She smiled and shrugged, which allowed Gary’s ‘Sleazy Doctor Feel-Up’ costume to fall to the floor, leaving her naked and giggling with mirth.

  “Oops!” She chuckled, making delightful things bounce in distracting ways.

  “Gary… Are we… Idiots?” Gandree asked softly, while watching the bouncy, jiggly show from behind a slowly spreading, stupid smile.

  “Yup. Afraid so, son.” Gary answered, his own stupid grin taking over more of his face by the moment.

  /