Deomans of Faerel_Contemporary Fantasy Page 6

  She was much taller, at least six feet from her estimation. Her skin was a bold red and shimmered when she moved as if her body had been showered in a uniform dusting of glitter. Her short. jet-black hair, slicked back in a very fashionable manner, was unusually thick. Oddly enough, she could actually feel with it, could actually sense her own hand stroking each strand.

  Her arched brows, lips and the crests of her eyelids were also black—as were the tips of her arrowhead ears, her nails and other select parts of her anatomy. But the most shocking oddity was the long, whip-like tail that jutted from just above her buttocks. Thin and ropelike, it ended in a small nub. With a little effort, she found it to be fully prehensile, an extra limb that was quite easy to snap about.

  “Amazing,” she kept saying over and over again.

  She stared back at herself with eyes that were deep pools of black suspended in sparkling amber disks. What little white did show through around the edges was a brilliant white that reflected the dim light of the office, which is where she must have been. She turned and found herself surrounded by stacks and stacks of old books.

  She had come to consciousness on the carpet in this very spot, nearest the wall where the mirror hung. No one was here, not the old man from the white room or any of the others. She was sure someone would locate her soon enough. She was hungry now. Certainly the angel would have planned for that, would have arranged all the details for a splendid welcoming feast.

  Despite a comforting fire she shivered and hugged herself. For such a warm looking space the place was incredibly cold. Perhaps it was just the fact that she was completely nude. She suddenly felt substantially self-conscious and looked about for something to cover up with. To her delight she spied a long string of furs draped over one of the armchairs. She snatched it up and draped it around her shoulders.

  The room’s only door suddenly opened. In walked a nearly seven-foot orange frog covered in black spots. It was dressed in butler’s garb. It walked stoically into the room pushing a handcart laden with fruits, pastries, and a single steaming cup. Its bulbous eyes rolled in her direction.

  “Your tea, madam,” it said in a droll monotone.

  “Just place it on the desk,” a familiar voice called from behind her.

  Hanna whirled around and gave a start when she spotted Maltheus Falfax suddenly standing in the middle of the office. The pinstriped suit he now wore gave off wisps of smoke, as if he’d just stepped from a sauna or from someplace very cold.

  He gave a wide grin and stretched out his arms. “Welcome to Arythria.”

  The angel seemed pleased by what he saw. “Ah, the furs suit you well,” he said, taking her by the tips of her fingers. He stepped back to drink her in from head to toe. “You look quite lovely in them. Keep them until we can find something more appropriate for you to wear, although you needn’t be concerned with your nakedness. Running around in the nude is perfectly acceptable for nearly all the secondary races of Faerel, although most men tend to… cinch things up, if you get what I—”

  She yanked her hands away. “Secondary races?” She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  The old angel had the nerve to appear confused. “Well, there are many, many races throughout the lands, some of them more human in appearance than others.” He gestured to her. “And then some others, like yourself, are more… unique.”

  She didn’t want to be unique. She just wanted to be normal. She tore off the stole and whipped it to the floor. With one hand on her hip, she swiped the other down the front of her tomato-red body.

  “And what, pray tell, am I supposed to be?”

  Falfax held his composure. “You, my dear, are a Badian, a common incarnation of one of the darker and more mystical races of Faerel. Glorious creatures in their own right.”

  “A… a creature?” She nearly burst into tears. “What kind of justice is this? You brought me to you, called me to you, begging for my help, promising a fresh new start.” She stuck her arms out. “And this is what you have to offer?” Her thick fingernails suddenly protruded like the claws of a prehistoric cat. Despite her outrage she found herself marveling at them. “Wha… what’s this?”

  Maltheus chuckled. “My dear,” he offered, reaching out to caress her hands until her nails receded. “I’m sure you will soon be very comfortable in your new body and…” He held up a finger, urging her to step once again before the long mirror. “I’m sure you will grow to love your new body even more so than your tired old one.”

  She sniffed, fluttering her hand at the ridiculous image. “Yes, but this is so… different.” She glowered at her reflection, her slender arms hanging limp at her sides.

  Maltheus took her by her drooping shoulders and gently turned her around. “My dear, dear woman, you are alive, the healthiest you’ve ever been, and you are most, most beautiful.” He held her gaze for just a moment longer and then blinked and looked away as if he had just thought of something critically important. He let loose of her hands and took a step back to straighten his lapels. “Now, I’m afraid I must apologize. There are some things which require my immediate attention. I must leave.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Leave! But… but I just got here!” A sudden and distressing thought came to mind. “The others? Where are all the others? Is everyone safe?” She clasped her hands at her stomach, sick with the thought that she might have been the only one to survive the ordeal, that she was all alone.

  Somehow, Maltheus Falfax had switched jackets. In fact, he’d switched outfits entirely. He now sported a puffy down jacket and wore a pair of dark goggles that gave the impression he was about to head off on some polar expedition.

  “They are all very much alive,” he assured her. “But we’ve had some complications. I’m afraid the others are far from where they should be.”

  He reached into a zipper pocket of the jacket and pulled out a familiar sparkling rectangular shape, quickly examining and poking at it before tucking it away. He gave a look of great concern. “It appears that you, my dear, are the only one who actually made it to Arythria.”

  Arythria. She marveled at the possibilities. I can’t believe this is actually happening. But the others?She stitched up her brows. “Where are they?”

  But Falfax was moving about the room now, snatching up things: a ring of keys, some papers, other quasi-important objects. She wished to high heaven he would just slow down.

  “Scattered, I’m afraid, each one of them in a different part of the realm.”

  “B… but I thought you said you had this all worked out?” She put the back of her hand to her forehead. “My god, you said you knew what you were doing?”

  “Please,” Falfax consoled. “I owe you a much more detailed explanation, I’m very aware of that. For now, please go with Arnsworth.” He motioned to the frogman, who had been standing quietly to the side the entire time. “Arnsworth is a proud member of the Anuran race, a group of fine creatures without whom I would not be able to properly function. He will attend to all your needs and see that you are made comfortable until I return.”

  Maltheus Falfax stepped to the center of the room and stood with his feet together. He then looked down at the patterned carpet and shifted the toe of his left boot over a few inches. He looked back up.

  “I shall return, shortly.” And with that he made a series of gestures and promptly vanished in a puff of blue smoke.

  It just seemed so unfair. Her transition had been strange enough. To be going through it all alone felt very wrong and out of place. And from what Arnsworth was now saying, things were about to get a lot stranger.

  “I assumed he would have told you, madam,” the bulb-headed frogman said stuffily. “I can’t really see the harm in you knowing.” He shrugged. “But he’s a strange fellow. I’m sure he has his reasons.”

  Arnsworth had taken her to a much more luxurious chamber, a place high up in a tower of what she learned was just a small part of a vast c
omplex of buildings that encircled an enormous central library. The place was marvelously appointed, a sprawling cathedral lined in gilded panels with shimmering crimson-and-gold carpeting on every floor.

  Stacks of glowing glass globes clung to every corner. Each was unique, shining brilliantly in clusters of fuchsia, cobalt, violet and deep jade. More of the functional sculptures were fixed to the ceilings in vibrant and ebbing arrangements. The design in this particular room was a bold grouping of persimmons, burgundies, and saffron that cast the entire space in a strangely comforting glow.

  Two tufted couches covered in a rich velveteen fabric faced each other. Hanna sat on one and the frogman on the other. Off to one side, a windowless balcony overlooked the stained-glass rooftop of the central library.

  She adjusted the wide belt Arnsworth had given her. Although not quite the fashion statement she was going for, it contained a half-dozen buttoned pouches the frogman assured her would come in handy. The only true article of clothing she wore was a tight but comfortable pair of knit shorts that felt more like undergarments.

  Of course, she’d kept the long stole, which now lay on the couch beside her. Sitting bare-breasted across from the frogman didn’t seem so strange. The cool breeze from the balcony felt good on her crimson skin. It was an exhilarating experiment of sorts, a good way to prepare for partial public nudity when more human-looking folks were around.

  “So, we are not the first people to come to this place,” she said somewhat disapprovingly. “I’m not sure I like the implications of that.”

  Arnsworth pursed his speckled lips to draw in a sip of tea, the suckered pinky of his hand jutting up like the aerial of a transistor radio. “I don’t think it’s anything you need be concerned with, madam,” he said. “I’m sure it fits into the plan somehow. Master Maltheus would have said otherwise.”

  She threw up her arms. “None of this makes any sense. Exactly how does Maltheus Falfax fit into this weird place anyway?”

  With practiced patience, the frogman set the cup down onto the onyx table and folded his long, orange legs.

  “The Falfax are not of any world.” he said blandly. “The laws which bind them are much more complex and require a greater working knowledge to ascertain and abide by.”

  Hanna gave a look as if she had just smelled something foul. “The Falfax? I thought Falfax was his surname.”

  Arnsworth blinked, his eyelids clicking. “It is an order or angel. A very special order. Think of Maltheus Falfax as an all-knowing seer, a soothsayer of divine fact, a kind of… actuary statistician for the Great Creator. In the beginning, the Falfax used their powers to determine the most logical order for existence. For all existence. This they have chronicled in the pages of the Zenavestra.”

  Hanna leaned forward. “I’m sorry, the Zena… what?”

  “The Zenavestra,” Falfax answered.

  Hanna whirled and saw him standing in the center of the room, tugging down the lapels of yet another oddly tailored suit, this one of a melon-green hue.

  “That’s very annoying,” she said.

  He just grinned and motioned for her to come over to the balcony. There he pointed down at the stained-glass structure below. It was very beautiful. And very big.

  “The Zenavestra, sometimes referred to as the Akashic Records, millions of catalogues that contain divine statistical data. They are housed in that very library below.”

  She stared down at the glittering structure. All around it was black as night.

  “So, how do you get down there?”

  “Oh, no one but myself goes down there. The Halls of the Zenevestra are sacred. It’s where I go when I… disappear. Well, where I return to at least, after I have… collected various snippets of information I need.”

  That would explain the different suits, she supposed. He crossed back into the room. He looked worn. She watched him walk.

  “But… what exactly do the books in that library contain?”

  Maltheus dropped down into an overstuffed armchair. With a snap of his fingers he produced a lit cigar. “Oh, practically anything and everything from the pico structure of soniferous ether to the way the color red smells to a Euclidean strangeling.”

  She stared blankly.

  “Snippets of unanswerable questions, unseen events and incomplete destinies. Through deep analysis of the data, along with intense meditation, many of the formulas for calculating, predicting, and sometimes even influencing future events are revealed.”

  She thought about that for a moment. “You mean like… all the secrets of the universe?”

  The angel nodded. “Something quite similar, actually.” He drew on the rather fragrant cigar.

  It was more than she could handle. It made sense, at least on a base level, which in its own way was even more shocking than what it all implied. She almost wished she had never asked.

  “Are you telling me you can… predict the future?”

  Maltheus grinned. “To a certain extent.”

  It seemed so obvious. “So why not use your powers to find the Destiny Scrolls?”

  He chuckled softly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work that way. The information contained in the Zenavestra only allows for an educated guess based on conditional assumptions. In layman’s terms, sometimes I am correct. Many other times I am not.”

  “Yes, but that’s got to be better than nothing.”

  “Indeed it is. It gives us all a decided advantage, which has enabled me to formulate a game plan for finding the scrolls.” He stood and tossed the cigar into the air. It disappeared. He reached out his hand. “Come with me, there is something I wish to show you.”

  He crossed back to the center of the room, to the very spot where he had appeared. Hanna looked down and noticed for the first time that there were patterns in the carpet, swirling motifs and intertwined symbols that seemed to be moving. The angel stood within one such pattern and took her hand.

  “Now don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m going to take us to another portion of the complex, one where we can expedite your physical training.” He grinned triumphantly and tapped at some of the patterns with his toes.

  Nothing happened.

  “Well now,” he said, sounding a bit embarrassed. “That’s odd.”

  6

  A Voice in the Dark

  Claire felt ill. But it was a different kind of sickness, a painful hum that resonated within the tenement structure of her new body. And she immediately lamented at the thought of having put her faith in a supernatural being.

  She moaned within the mushy prison, her mind crackling with fear. The dank pudding that now held her suspended contained no floor and no walls within reach. Each attempt to move resulted only in awkward slips, her limbs sliding through the muck like a hot knife through butter only to have the space previously occupied collapse and fill in with an endless supply of gurgling dankness.

  Something tugged at her belly. The tenacious grip of the muck intensified, struggling to hold her down as she continued to be yanked up toward a dim light. The brightness swelled, gleaming patches filling in like molten puzzle pieces, until she finally slipped all the way through and spilled out into a warm space.

  She lay on her back, gasping for air as the light took on color and distinct shapes formed before her eyes. And then the swaying limbs of an almost terrestrial forest came into focus.

  “Hello, and welcome,” a timid voice said.

  A middle-aged man with apple cheeks smiled down upon her, more with his pale blue eyes, hitched up at the corners in crow’s feet, than with his mouth. The hair atop his head was a flaming shock of orange, his face a shotgun blast of freckles covered in ruddy clumps of stubble. A tiny pack of brightly colored butterflies swam circles around his skull.

  “What the—”

  He put his finger to his nose. “Shhh. Please, be still.”

  He was dressed like a woodsman. In his outstretched arm he held an axe. He lifted it high above his head and placed his free ha
nd on her hip. He gave a broad, disturbing smile.

  “This won’t take but a moment.”

  And with that, he brought the axe swiftly down.

  It cleanly and expertly severed the thing jutting from her belly, leaving only a small stub behind. Miraculously, Claire felt no pain, only a slight pressure followed by a bizarre moment of disorientation. In the leaves beside her the snaking remains of what looked like a collection of vines or corded tree roots flopped about, a gurgling of blood and pus fizzing from the cut ends. The wriggling mass slinked away, drawn back down into the sucking earth like noodles.

  “What the Funk and Wagnalls…”

  A terrific bellowing sound like the moo of a cow and the bray of a donkey combined brought her to her senses. She found herself lying in the back of a wooden cart piled high with stinking animal pelts and what looked like turnips. A brown sack with a hole cut in the bottom and two more holes in the sides had been pulled over her as some kind of makeshift garment. Still weak and disoriented, she struggled to pull herself upright.

  The cart rested in an intersection of cobblestoned roadbeds that wandered off across rolling fields speckled with purplish-white objects that could have been more turnips. The alien vegetables grew in lumps on the ground, sprouting from disorganized coils of springy vines that snaked out across the surface. Two suns looked down upon the scene, one slightly smaller and less dim than the other. Their radiance added a warming glow to an otherwise cloudless sky of cerulean blue. Off in the distance stood the mist-laden beginnings of deep woods.

  A blue, ox-like creature with long, curving horns and dull tusks was harnessed to the front of the cart. It stood lazily, chewing on something, its jaws grinding around and around in a slow and redundant orbit. Something that looked like a big silver cricket landed on the animal’s neck and fiddled its antennas a few times before buzzing off. The cow-thing didn’t seem to have noticed. It craned its neck to get a better look at her, the bell around its neck clanging hollowly. Upon seeing her it gave another weird bellow.