Deomans of Faerel Page 3

  The old man placed a hand on Som’s shoulder. “They are referred to as deo-mans on this world.” He turned and inked the word on the board. “The opposite of man. Dark creatures from the Abyss. And to answer your question, you are more powerful than you know. This you will discover in time. And what you can do, my dear boy, what all of you can do is to go to Faerel and find and bring to me the Destiny Scrolls. There is every indication they are located in the membrane of existence in which Faerel resides.”

  “Now just hold on a second,” Jack interjected. Why wasn’t everyone else thinking this was just as bat-shit crazy as he did? They all looked at him.

  Hanna intercepted his train of thought. “Almost a week, Jack. Did you hear that part? We’ve eaten nothing and none of us are hungry. We’re all from different points in time and different locations on the globe.” She raised her brows.

  “Oh, okay,” Jack said. “Fine. Okay, so then what, mister angel man?”

  The man blinked. “Once the scrolls are in my possession I can cross reference the information against the data I already have. And with any luck I may just be able to decipher a means for returning freewill and order to the land.”

  Jack was getting frustrated. “This is crazy! And just how are we supposed to accomplish all this anyway?”

  “I’ve made all the arrangements. Rest assured, your essences, both physical and metaphysical, will be safely transported. You will be more than adequately equipped and I am able to offer you a vast amount of support.”

  Maybe he’d been right the first time. Maybe they were all dead.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen this movie before,” Jack said glumly. “When do we get to the part where you ask us to sign in blood on the dotted line?”

  The man looked genuinely hurt. “Jack Rowan, always the consummate doubter.” He gave a broad smile. “What have you got to lose?” He leaned in. “You don’t believe in any of this anyway.”

  “Well I do,” Claire chimed. “I mean, the part about the devil and all that.” There was a distinct quiver to her voice, but she forged ahead. “I’m not sure who you are or what you’re up to, but I do know that I’m not about to forfeit my soul, no matter how bloody banged up it might be.”

  “And I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do so,” the man smoothly replied. It seemed he had an answer for everything. “If you agree to help me, your souls will never once be in jeopardy. I will keep your souls here with me where they will be safe. This I solemnly promise.”

  “Of course you will,” Hanna said coldly. “Even if we say we believe you how can we agree? Your words say nothing. Why are you doing this? Exactly who are you?”

  The man regarded her patiently. “As I said, my name is Maltheus Falfax. I entered this place, this endless maze of hallways, to escape the persecution of my brothers in Hell. You see, I was also a member of that fateful committee, one of the original chairs. Upon our dismissal I elected to distance myself from my ambitious brethren. For that crime I am now hunted but am safe so long as I remain in the confines of this place.”

  Jack crossed his arms. The explanation answered nothing. But whatever this Falfax truly was, he was certainly a pretty good bullshitter, a master of changing the subject.

  A distinct ping sounded in the air. Falfax reached into his lapel and retrieved the crystal. He studied the surface and then appeared to actually move some of the facets around with his thumbs. Satisfied, he tucked it back into his lapel and looked up.

  “What I’m offering you is an opportunity to start again, to start fresh, with no regrets and no history—and with rejuvenated bodies as well. All you have to do is answer one simple question. Are you willing to put your lives on the line for a chance to help your fellow man?”

  “So what is this place, anyway,” Som cut in.

  “This room, you mean? Well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t truly know. As I alluded to before, I happened upon this maze of hallways while on the lam. I was fortunate enough to be able to decipher many of its secrets. There are many rooms, although they are very far apart, and the hallways go on practically forever. Still, I have much to learn.”

  He turned his attention to the whiteboard. “Let’s pretend this circle is your world.” He pointed to the one he had drawn next to it. “And let’s say this one is Faerel.” There was a little bit of space in between the two circles. Just above the gap, he drew a much smaller circle. “And this represents the maze of hallways.”

  Incredibly, the first circle began to slowly rotate, just as a miniature planet should. It took on features that began to look something like Earth.

  Its neighbor reacted in a similar fashion, only this circle began to move across the board. It came to rest a thumb’s width of the first circle. The small circle took on a golden hue. It slid down and in between the two bigger circles, nearly touching both but never actually making contact. There it remained.

  Falfax looked pleased. He pointed to the little golden circle. “You see, most of the maze exists out of sequence with both Earth and Faerel, while some parts exist in both worlds. Some of my colleagues would argue that it doesn’t actually exist at all. Every now and again, the two worlds are nearly connected by the space in which certain portions of the maze reside. A temporary pathway of sorts is created allowing access into Faerel.”

  Som scoffed. “What about the other direction?”

  Falfax looked away and the animated scene dissolved altogether. “Impossible, I’m afraid.”

  “Impossible?” Jack spouted. “And when were you going to tell us that?”

  “I will not lie to you. The pathway is fixed,” Falfax said. “It allows only for a passageway into Faerel and none back.”

  Hanna wore a wicked smile. “Yes, but let me guess, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Would it?”

  Falfax solemnly shook his head. “Not really, no. The transfer that will take place is permanent and completely irreversible. Your old bodies will cease to exist, causing the astral strand to be drawn toward the new ones. But would you really want your old bodies back? When I can offer you brand new ones?”

  He leaned in and made a fist. “Younger, stronger ones?”

  “Wait a minute,” Hanna said. “If our old bodies die, and we have new bodies, way over there…. She looked trapped in deep thought. “And you’re keeping our souls locked up over here…”

  “You are entering a soulless world,” Falfax said unapologetically. “Your souls will act as beacons drawing the forces of Hell straight to you.”

  Hanna forged on. “But they are our souls. When and how do we get them back?”

  “You will get them back when it is safe to reunite them with their hosts, when all the madness has been swept away.”

  “In other words, we’ll get them back when our work is done,” Jack clarified. “Isn’t that what you really mean?” Falfax had no response. “No,” Jack said flatly. “I won’t do it. Dead, insane, drugged—whatever—this is a shitty deal. It just doesn’t feel right.”

  Falfax remained cool. “That’s your choice, Jack. Your choice entirely. But what would you say if you could be convinced that all of this were truly happening, that you weren’t just dreaming or imagining it all, that you weren’t being tricked in any way? What would you say then?”

  Jack scowled. “Okay, so let’s say we buy all this bullshit. We go over. Somehow. We show up and we track down these… scrolls. Then what?”

  “You bring them to me,” Falfax plainly stated. “The portion of the maze which exists in Faerel is connected to the complex of Arythria, a place hidden in a very special and very private wilderness preserve located just west of the great city of Overgaard. No harm can come to anyone who is welcomed there.”

  He placed his hands behind his back. “Bring me the Destiny Scrolls and I promise you will all be free to live out the remainder of your lives just as naturally as you can in a new world, one full of hope.”

  Jack scratched his chin. “And this is a one-way ticket?”

  Falfax shrugged.
“I suppose that’s the only catch.”

  Jack had nothing more to say. Did it really matter? Did any of it really matter? Live out his life as a crippled drunk. Or take a chance.

  Falfax led them down the long stone corridor. The lanterns flickered as they moved. The corridor eventually ended abruptly in a curtain of shimmering white energy. The angel paused before this and turned.

  “The soul of a human being is a mysterious thing composed of matter familiar only to the Great Creator. Yet one does not need to comprehend the composition of the soul to locate it, extract it and store it indefinitely in a remote location.”

  He somehow produced a cigar box and opened the lid. “When you pass through this veil of energy your souls will remain here in this box.” With the lid open, he placed the box on the ground. “With the soul safely distanced from the essence you will be able to travel and operate without suspicion.”

  Claire pointed at the box. “You have got to be kidding. In there? You are going to keep our souls in there?”

  Falfax nodded. “It’s more symbolic, really. A gesture. A commitment of sorts. You will remain connected to your souls via an astral strand. Think of an infinitely long string that cannot be broken. The connection is completely undetectable and will remain intact unless some unfortunate event takes place to end your life, in which case the strand will break and your souls will be properly pulled into the afterlife, just as they would under Earth’s protocol.”

  He nodded toward the curtain of light. “This will transport you into Faerel, into the complex of Arythria. Please wait for me there. I will join you shortly.”

  They all looked to each other. What else was there to do?

  Jack shook his head. “Well, here goes nothing.”

  He jammed the stick on the wheelchair and rolled forward into the curtain of light.

  2

  Away from the Things of Man

  The rolling fog of his mind ignited like a pond of kerosene touched by a match…

  Memories spread outward from a central core that at first had essential been only a mushy nothing but exponentially propagated into a synchronized sphere of raw thought that was the genesis for a much more palatable sense of total awareness. He became instantly aware of himself, of his own grappling existence. And he nearly vomited.

  He was no longer in the maze of hallways. He was sure of it. Gathering every last ounce of courage he could muster, Jack slowly creaked open his eyes.

  I don’t freakin’ believe it. I’m alive.

  Indeed he was, but he could see very little and could make neither heads nor tails of his surroundings. It felt like he was lying on his back, engulfed in a claustrophobic wetness. He struggled to blink away the sheen of a milky haze that clouded his vision. But clear sight was the least of his worries. Each breath drawn was like siphoning water through cheesecloth.

  What the…

  A mild panic set in. He tried to right himself but his muscles would not respond. Try as he might, he could not move. Jack could feel his body, had the realization that he was on his back, head at a slight incline, some coarse surface beneath swaying and shifting, almost pulsing. But despite his efforts he was completely at the mercy of an alien environment. He only hoped that the old man had not tricked them after all.

  A tingling wave passed over from head to toe. As it did, he was able to sense every particle of his being, to catalogue every speck of his physical form in one rapid swipe.

  Legs. I have legs.

  The wave restored some movement, however limited, and he took full advantage, squeezing and flexing, demanding that his body respond. It felt good, felt whole and promising. His breathing became easier and he pushed earnestly down against the slush and sat up.

  The haze began to fade, chased away now by a twinkling cloud of bright green light that spread away from him toward infinity. Another wave washed over him. Then another.

  Waves, he suddenly realized. He peered out into a vast expanse of soupy green. Ocean waves.

  Weird slits beneath both ears sucked at the water, pulling it down into his neck. He jerked forward at the sensation, dislodging himself from a bed of ruddy sand. His abrupt movements generated a rusty puff cloud in the water.

  There could be no denying it. He was underwater. He was completely submerged and breathing underwater.

  Angular shafts of light filtered down, turning the space above him into a shimmering blanket of jade. Sunlight. He swelled at the thought. Well, at least there’s a damn sun here.

  He could have just as easily been in a pool, he realized, or in some kind of tank. But the rolling red underbelly that stretched all around him gave every impression it was something much larger and more natural.

  The thought occurred to simply stand up, to get out of the water. From the looks of things he was only in the shallows. The promise of actually having two normal legs again was a thoroughly compelling concept. And to use them! Yet, at the same time, the notion seemed so outrageous he was sure that if he actually did stand—and if he were indeed dreaming—he would wake instantly. He wasn’t quite ready to do that just yet.

  He opened his mouth and tried to inhale. Some sort of new reflex immediately kicked in and he gagged, expelling two small clouds of mucus back out the slits. He wouldn’t be trying that again. It was like trying to swallow and breathe at the same time. His new body simply wouldn’t allow it.

  At last, he rose from the water and stood gasping in the surf, looking down at a new set of strong and lean legs. Despite what waited in his peripheral vision he could not take his eyes off them, caressing and massaging them in disbelief. The nerves they contained transmitted very real feelings and sensations to his brain.

  He gave a snort. There were operations, weren’t there? Ones where new limbs could be reattached? But there were no suture marks, no stitches or bandages. He wiped his hands down the fronts and backs of both of them. Nothing but smooth skin and firm muscle.

  He took some comfort in lingering on the shoreline, a gentle breeze evaporating the briny water from skin which looked strangely tinted, pale but almost green. He chalked it up to the glare of the sun and his time in the water.

  His new body felt amazing, young and whole again. He brushed away a long lock of greenish-blonde hair and felt the butter-smooth features of a young face. He felt healthy, almost vibrant.

  A clump of rock offered a respectable enough spot to reconnoiter and take in his surroundings. He had to be dreaming. Or maybe they all had been drugged. That was certainly still a possibility. And that would certainly explain the things he was now seeing. All around stretched miles of scalloped red shoreline lapped by an endless sea of pale green, all of it capped by a crisp blue sky and bright orange sun.

  No. Two suns.

  The second sun was smaller than the first. It hung just below and slightly to the right of the bigger one. He shielded his eyes and looked up. It was difficult to see, his vision still a bit blurry, but there were clouds in the sky.

  This was ridiculous. He hadn’t really expected it to work.

  He rubbed his eyes, cursing when he realized his vision was not very good. In fact, it was worse than it had ever been. Refusing to let this get him down, he flopped his hands at his sides and concentrated instead on what he could feel.

  The slits…

  Tenderly, he probed the spots beneath his ears. They were there but had contracted to the point of becoming almost undetectable. They felt like a row of thin lines beneath each ear. He was breathing air now, and with a set of what felt like very powerful and healthy lungs.

  “Can this all be… real?” His own voice surprised him. He sounded the same, only younger and stronger.

  This place definitely felt real. And if his brain couldn’t be trusted to decipher the real from the unreal then it was just as well he take his current situation very seriously. After all, what happened in dreams didn’t matter. When it was over you just woke up. But if all this turned out to be real… Well then, that was another story en
tirely. Drugged or not, he was somewhere. He could feel the sand beneath his feet, the wind in his hair, the sun on his skin.

  He laughed out loud. Who cared? He had a brand new body, one that sure felt like it was going to be around for a good long time. His mind reeled. No bills. No hospital. No therapy. And no one to remember what a complete mess he had made out of his entire life.

  He was starting over. He was really starting over! So, what do you do when you’re given a second chance?

  How about figure out where you are? he thought. That would be a good start.

  But that was precisely the problem. The transference hadn’t come with any instructions. He suddenly found a whole truckload of questions coming to mind.

  Goddamn Falfax. He’d give him a piece of his mind whenever he saw him again. Or found him again. Or found anyone again, for that matter.

  The breeze rolling out toward the emerald ocean stiffened, whistling past his ears in desperate streaks. The rusted beach looked relatively free of debris, barely a seashell to consult. He looked about. Fifty yards of so from where the water lapped at the sand stood the edge of a lush tropical jungle.

  He steadied himself. Sitting on his ass wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

  No more than a few yards into the jungle the sunlight diminished, distilled into fractal ribbons by a dense canopy of leafy green trees that appeared to actually share branches. He carefully pushed his way through blue and green growth that sprouted from soil covered in a crumbly crust of orange. Groans, buzzing sounds and the distant echoes of other living things were all around.

  The astounding newness of his body started to fade and reality set in. This place could be dangerous. He had to find shelter. Somewhere up ahead there had to be a road, or at least a trail that led to a road. One road would lead to another, which would eventually take him to the place called Arythria.

  He passed into a strange area. Immediately he could sense that something was very wrong, something other than the fact that no one seemed to be anywhere in sight. All around him stood clusters of withered trees where no insects buzzed. It was as if some parasitical force had taken root, deadening everything. He passed quickly through the blighted section and then took a moment to rest on a mossy log.