The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (40 page)

I had no time to ponder NoOne’s radical
transformation into a demonic creature—Spud, even at six feet tall,
was no match for a seven-foot vicious insect. Ignoring my own pain,
I jumped onto John Galt’s vestigial wings and, planting both feet
around his thorax, grabbed and pulled back his head. The cockroach
released his grip on Spud and started bucking his body to try to
throw me off. Spud collapsed to the ground, clutching his lacerated
and oozing scalp, as I cried, “John Galt, we’re sentient creatures,
please have mercy!”

J.G.’s harsh voice snapped at me as he tried
to brush me off his back with his limbs. “Compassion is not in John
Galt’s vocabulary. One has to eat. And NoOne does too.”

Tightening my grip, I hammered at his
exoskeleton. “Why would an Elf want to hurt us?”

A cackle exuded from our tiny companion,
followed by a raspy growl, “I am a Goblin, you mythist! And that’s
what you get for picking up a stranger!”

“Mega!” The cry came from my feet, as a
crouching Spud rolled over towards Robert.

Mega? How could I get bigger without my
Ergal? J.G. bucked ferociously and I lost my balance, flying off
his back and landing supine onto the hard ground under his torso.
As the cockroach turned to face me, grinding his denticles as he
lowered his abdomen onto my trapped body, it clicked. Of course,
Spud was right,
Robert
could Mega. But our Frog guide was
writhing on the ground, trying to escape the onslaught of NoOne’s
teeth. Would Robert have the strength or the opportunity to come to
our aid?

John Galt’s cold breath chilled my face as
the predator opened his mouth wide for his first bite of Shiloh.
His jaw snapped shut—and clipped the toe of my shoe. I now stood a
hundred times his height. Thank you, Robert. Quickly, I lifted up
my foot and stamped on John Galt’s exoskeleton, ashamed that I
relished the crunch under the sole of my relatively giant shoe. Out
of the corner of my eye, I caught a red “ant” escaping from the
clearing into the flora, literally leaving NoOne.

Robert’s enlarged but immobile green body lay
prone on the ground, cushioned by trees shrunk so relatively small
they were now the size of weeds. The weeping wounds on his back
were flapping open with each gust of wind. A mega’d Spud lay next
to him, the scalp bleeding staunched by a piece of cloth torn from
his sleeve. “Robert, Robert, are you okay?” I cried, as I turned to
my surviving companions.

Spud rolled over the unconscious Frog and
felt in the neck area for a pulse. “His heart is beating, but I
cannot perceive respiration.” Before I could respond, Spud tilted
up Robert’s head, planted his lips on the Frog’s, and exhaled.

I gasped. The tortured olive dermis was began
to morph into tanned humanoid skin, and we spied an elegant face
with delicate features which was soon topped by a web of curly dark
hair. The transition took only moments, but appeared to heal the
dermal damage caused by NoOne in the process. Sitting up before us
now was a very handsome young man, clothed only in brilliant gold
vestments encircling his hips, who looked just a little older than
Spud’s eighteen years.

Possibly a prince. Definitely a hunk. “Thanks
for saving our lives,” I said as I reached out my hand and helped
Robert up, marveling at the smoothness of his bare sculpted chest
and back. “Your wounds?”

“The wheals, love heals,” he returned, still
rhyming.

Oh well, nobody’s perfect.

Robert leaned down and kissed Spud’s scalp as
my fellow catascope lay on the weeds, propped up on an elbow.
Spud’s forehead laceration disappeared, replaced by a rare look of
admiration directed at our guide. “Thank you, my friend, well
done,” Spud said, jumping up, and clapping Robert on the back. “I
am once again chipper.”

I was about to suggest that Robert tend to my
hip wound in the same way, when I observed that Spud’s arm remained
wrapped around Robert’s shoulders. Sighing, I stretched the hem of
my blouse to cover the wound and compressed the oozing bite with a
clenched fist. Guessing what would be coming up in the next act, I
decided that now might be a good time for me to excuse myself for
some beauty sleep.

A glance down at the path, now a thin,
winding yellow line, showed it extending from our feet far towards
the flat horizon. We would have a long journey again tomorrow. “Is
there a place I can safely snooze around here?” I, stifling a yawn,
hinted at Robert.

Robert nodded, and taking a small leaf from
his pocket, laid it on the weeds, and, somehow, mega’ed it into the
size of a pup tent. “No one will not bother you here, my dear. At
all.”

He took a second leaf and enlarged it to fit
two a few yards from mine. Putting his own muscular arm around
Spud’s waist, he eased Spud over to the edge of the leaf and folded
the remainder over their heads like a blanket, adding, “But if you
need anything, just call.”

Waving weakly, I walked onto my leaf and
folded part of it over my own head and weary body. I’d be on my own
for the rest of the night. Spud usually chose intellectual
pursuits, but once in awhile, he’d go “mad about the boy”. I’d long
ago learned to get out of the way when Spud stumbled into some
action. As his best friend, I was happy he’d hooked up. But how
long had it been, I wondered, trying to ignore my twinge of guilt
at my envy, since
I’d
gotten lucky? With anyone.

“One cannot reflect in streaming water. Only
those who know internal peace can love.” That ethereal voice could
only belong to Nephil Stratum. Startled, I peeked outside my leaf
tent for traces of a fluffy cloud, but there was nary a wisp in the
vicinity. Of course not. I must have imagined that’s what the
Syneph would say if she’d been here: that until I’d rescued John,
internal peace was beyond my grasp.

Airing out my wound, I laid down again in my
leaf tent and closed my eyes, covering my ears with my hands to
block out the ambient sounds, resolving to put aside my own
thoughts of romance until I’d succeeded in my quest.

Chapter 6

The Vizier of Az

On the Yellow Brick Line—present day

The night cycle on this planet was a good 14
hours, so I found myself waking up just as dawn’s light pierced my
leafy cocoon, feeling well rested, pain-free, and refreshed after
yesterday’s “skirmish” in the brambled forest. Clearly, Spud was
equally refreshed, I noted when he stuck his head in my makeshift
tent. I hadn’t often seen him grinning from ear to ear.

‘
Chacun a son gout’
, I teased as I
rolled up the leaf. “Of course, ‘
Je m’en fous’
?”

Spud raised an eyebrow. Blushing, I turned
away to avoid his gaze. Unlike Spud, I didn’t limit my attraction
to one gender—or species, for that matter. I would’ve been open to
exploring Robert’s assets myself. And Spud’s for that matter. But,
Nephil Stratum—or was it my conscience—was right. I—we—had a job to
do, and time was a-wasting. As Robert appeared, I pointed to the
leaf and asked, “Ready to hit the road. We going to need
these?’

Robert shook his head, and in a second, the
leaf had micro’d and wafted away in the breeze. “Speed with all our
might, in Azgaror before the night.”

I suggested we stay mega’d so we could cover
the distance to Azgaror more quickly. In fact, if Prince Robert
could mega us even more, we could grow big enough to theoretically
reach our destination in a few steps. Alas, he reported we’d mega’d
to the max, so it still took much of the day for us to arrive at
the village.

As we jogged, Robert explained, keeping
rhythm in in what Spud called dactylic hexameter, that he was the
seventh son of the seventh son of Odius, the king ruling
Valholler.

King Odius begat of Fyorgyn his son Thor

For Yule to cross the lake of Hargaror

And fly again to Freya’s hall of
Sessrumnir

Folkvanger’s gates were barred by word of
Syr
.

The recitation was an epic that recounted
generations of deities, kings, and soldiers, and I couldn’t catch
most of the names and places as Robert ‘sang’. I found my mind
drifting to how much my warrior friend Matshi would have enjoyed
the performance. Alas, since little of this history had been in the
Mingferplatoi Academy uploads, and none of it was “on the test”, I
had little real interest in learning the details of a world I
didn’t intend to visit for very long. Unlike Spud, who took in
every stanza with rapt attention. Ain’t “wuv” grand?

I did hear enough to learn that John Galt and
NoOne very likely were demons, sent from Niflheimr, the Land of
Ice, and Muspell, Flame Land, to capture warriors trekking to
Azgaror and deliver them to Hel. Even spelled with one ‘L’, it
sounded, like, well, Hell.

Robert reassured us—me—that at our current
size, we were unlikely to run into any more dangerous predators.
Except of course the Goliath Jotuns, who were still three times our
current dimensions. Good to know. Sure wish I had an Ergal—or even
a slingshot.

Thanks to our longer legs, we arrived at
Azgaror a few hours before sunset without a scratch and with very
few blisters. It felt like my sneakers didn’t grow as much as my
feet. I was also starting to get a bit hungry, seeing as it was
almost two days since my last meal and our swim in the nutrient
pond. Can’t explain it, but I had a weird desire to capture and eat
a cockroach. Or an elf. But, instead, we agreed to join Robert at
an Inn on the outskirts of Valholler for a dinner of mead and wild
boar. Yum.

The village of Azgaror consisted of
arc-shaped narrow streets framed by dark, brick-paved alleys. A
layer of gray clouds that reminded me of the overcast marine layer
typical of late spring Los Angeles--“June Gloom”--kept any
sunslight well hidden. The pavement on which we trudged was
drenched with a misty dampness that should have made Spud feel
nostalgic for his sceptered isle. On both sides of the road stood
domed four storey buildings, all painted in colors that I could
neither place nor name. “These chromatic frequencies do not exist
in our brane,” Spud theorized. “One could amuse oneself by
inventing new names such as glue and breen, I suppose.”

“This isn’t a sightseeing trip,” I reminded
Spud
sotto voce
. “The sooner we find Wart, the greater the
chance of finding John.” The yellow brick road was winding through
the center of the town, its path ahead hidden by the curves in each
block. Frigid drafts kept too many fur-clad pedestrians from
joining us on the street in the last leg of our voyage. And the
gusts from the galloping horseback riders that burst onto our path
every few yards upped the wind chill. Shivering, I pulled the
Somalderis off my hips and wrapped it around my shoulders. Much
better. Robert must be freezing in his state of relative
undress.

Robert had continued ahead of us, and I ran
up to catch his ear. “Is Agriarctos staying in the village?” I
asked. It would be easier—and more pleasant--to find our ally
without having to navigate Hades and its lost souls in
Valholler.

“I know it is a hassle, but he’s staying in
the castle,” was the Prince’s response.

Darn. On the other hand, if John himself was
in Hades, we’d have to go there, too, so we might as well head in
that direction straightaway. I suggested a quick refuel and then
storming Valholler’s gates, but it was not to be. Admission was
limited to heroic warriors fallen in battle, Robert poemed us, as
well a few invited special guests. “Being a deity, for example,
would be ample.”

Spud sometimes acts like he’s a cut above the
typical human, but, no, neither of us thought we could successfully
sell ourselves as gods. As a prince, couldn’t Robert finagle us an
“invitation”?

A dramatic sigh. “The end is nigh, it was a
lie.”

What? “What?!” I felt even more irate than I
sounded. Spud made an unintelligible gurgling sound.

“My words I mince, I’m not a prince. The
royal court I pester, but, simply, I’m a jester.”

Oh, great. Another Sarion, the comedian.
“Then get to the punch line,” I countered.

“If I brought you here, said the bald vizier,
they’d remove the curse, and I’d stop the verse.”

I frowned. Who’s the bald vizier?
What’s
a vizier?

“A vizier is a high ranking political advisor
or minister,” Spud said, his voice cracking. I could almost see
daggers in his eyes appearing when he glared at Robert. That’s why
I’ve never been a fan of one night stands. Or “wuv”.

“Are you implying we have to break into
Valholler?” I poked an index finger at Robert’s sternum. “Why?”

Robert glanced at the Somalderis warming my
shoulders. “I’d be wary of what you carry.”

I looked at Spud for some elaboration, but he
avoided my gaze. Shaking my head, I said to the amusement artist
formerly known as the “Prince”. “Okay, then, Robert the Ribald,
let’s get some chow and strategize how we can get past those
warrior guards. Now.”

* * *

Azgaror—present day

If only we had our Ergals. We could anamorph
into 350 pound samurais and bulldoze our way into the castle—heck,
we could even invisible-ize and not have to bother. Unfortunately,
even though I tried, I wasn’t able to get the Somalderis to shape
shift us at all.

Could Robert? After all, turning into a
non-Prince from a frog was a sweet trick.

“I know you’ll be blue, but I no can do,”
Robert admitted, explaining that the “frog thing” was part B of the
rhyming curse, and not an anamorphing talent. Apparently, the
Vizier was a big fan of fairy tales—and foolish curses.

I sighed. We needed a
plan
B then.
Perhaps some martial costumes? Chainmail? Shields?

Robert rested a platonic hand on my shoulder.
“No sad face, I know just the place.”