Relic tilted his head quizzically. “Are you challenging the War Doll?”
“Yes,” said the child. Despite the fact that he was well-muscled for his age, the boy didn’t look like a fighter. Most boys of a combative nature were covered with scabs and scars, but this kid didn’t look like he’d ever even been scratched. Despite his modest attire, his gray eyes hinted at a royal lineage. Perhaps, if he’d been in fights before, it had been against opponents who understood the political advantages of not landing a punch.
“I mean no disrespect, but you don’t understand the danger,” said Relic. “The War Doll is a finely tuned killing machine. Her bones are solid steel; her artificial skin is impervious to the sharpest blade. Her mesh-cable muscles can crush a man’s skull like an eggshell.”
The boy responded with a serene smile. “You’re lying. Your companion is a woman with painted skin, not a machine. Your dire warnings are nothing but a bluff. Isn’t that right, Father Ver?”
The Truthspeaker frowned. “The hunchback believes he is telling the truth.”
The boy furrowed his brow. “There is an aura of magic around you, creature. Somehow, you are fooling Father Ver.”
“No magic could conceal the truth from a servant of the Divine Author, could it?” Relic replied.
The boy frowned as he continued to study Relic and Infidel. Finally, he said, “If your ‘War Doll’ can simply knock me from my feet, we shall consider that a victory. I’ll acknowledge that she’s not a painted woman, despite the plain evidence of my senses.”
“And if you knock her from her feet?” asked Relic.
“She is welcome to continue the fight,” said the boy. “My intention is to prove that she’s a fraud. I shall do so by breaking the woman’s bones until she confesses, proving that there’s no steel within her.”
“Fierce little bastard, ain’t he?” Reeker said with a chuckle.
“You will hold your blasphemous tongue!” shouted the Truthspeaker.
Reeker opened his jaw so wide I worried his cheeks would tear. He thrust both hands toward his mouth and grabbed his tongue in a death grip.
“This is the Golden Child,” said Ivory Blade, glaring at the skunk-man. “He is the culmination of generations of pious men and women who have faithfully adhered to the teachings of the One True Book. He is the perfect blend of body, spirit, and truth, untainted by falsehood.”
Father Ver placed his hand upon Blade’s shoulders. “Be careful with your words,” he counseled. “While there is evidence that Numinous Pilgrim is the Golden Child, we do not have the final proof. Perhaps one day he shall be the Omega Reader; first he must conclude the seventeen sacred tests.”
Numinous? I felt sympathy for the boy. His name was even worse than the one I’d been stuck with as a baby. Menagerie apparently found the name amusing as well, since he looked as if he was fighting back a laugh.
The Truthspeaker glowered as he saw the look on Menagerie’s face. “Do you have something to say, mercenary?”
The tattooed man gave Reeker a sideways glance. His fellow Goon was still wrestling with his tongue. “I’m good,” said Menagerie.
“Now that you know who I am,” said Numinous, “you know it is futile to attempt to deceive me.”
“Of course,” said Relic. “I wouldn’t want a person of your sacred esteem to doubt my claim. I accept your challenge.”
Infidel, standing beside Relic, casually placed a hand upon his shoulder. There was a faint crunching sound.
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Relic, speaking through clenched teeth, “I will require only a moment to fine tune the War Doll before battle.”
He hobbled toward the shadows, with Infidel clamped to his shoulder. Once they were out of earshot, she leaned close and whispered, “Are you out of your mind? I can’t fight a little boy!”
Relic nodded. His voice was barely audible as he said, “From the mind of Ivory Blade, I’ve learned that Numinous has already completed twelve of the seventeen sacred tests. If the boy truly is the Omega Reader, all our planning may be for naught. Your fear may be justified.”
“Fear? I’m not… look, I just won’t beat up a kid. I only fight people bigger than me.”
“You’ve fought pygmies,” said Relic. “You’ve slaughtered them and stacked their bodies like firewood.”
Infidel frowned.
Relic continued, “I know you don’t wish to be a bully. But if you fail to beat Numinous, we shall be exposed.”
Infidel glanced back toward the circle of light. The Golden Child stared into the shadows as if he could see them clearly. “He’s so skinny. I’m worried I’ll break him.”
“Break him if you can,” said Relic. “The Golden Child’s senses are uncluttered by falsehood. He can hear your heart beating. He can smell your sweat. He alone can expose you.”
“What about Lord Tower?” asked Infidel. “Have we fooled him? I thought I saw something in his eyes. I don’t know if it was recognition, or… or something else.”
Relic shook his head. “While he wears his armor, I cannot read his thoughts, let alone manipulate them.”
Infidel cocked her head. “You manipulate thoughts?”
“To a degree,” said Relic. “I’m no puppet-master, controlling the actions of others. But, I have the power to subtly guide the focus of men. Our ruse would crumble if Father Ver thought to ask you the truth of your identity. Fortunately, I’ve managed to keep his attention fixed upon me. Even though he can see you, he’s too distracted to focus on you. The same is true of Blade. Alas, Numinous and Tower are beyond the reach of my powers.”
“I wondered why I was being ignored in this outfit,” said Infidel.
“Back to the matter at hand: you need only knock Numinous from his feet to silence him. He’s given his word and dare not go back on it. If he is the true Omega Reader, he must never make a false promise.”
“I don’t think knocking him down is a real problem,” she said, clenching her fists. “This is going to be my shortest fight ever.”
Relic shook his head. “Don’t be overly confident.”
“C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”
They headed back toward the sunlit circle.
“The War Doll is ready,” Relic announced as they returned.
Lord Tower’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Infidel. She had a sword on one hip, a mace on the other, and still had my knife in her boot. The knight held up his gleaming gauntlet and said, “There’s no need to shed blood. Your gladiator must relinquish her weapons.”
“As you wish,” said Relic.
“This is an unnecessary precaution,” said Numinous. “Even if she was armed with the Gloryhammer, she could not harm me.”
Infidel’s face was passive as she handed Relic her weapons. I felt a shiver pass down my non-existent spine as he grasped the hilt of the knife.
The king’s men and the Goons retreated to the edge of the sunlit circle, forming an impromptu arena. I noticed that Reeker had finally let go of his tongue; apparently the Truthspeaker’s command wasn’t permanent. The boy stood in the center of the circle, his stance loose, his arms dangling. His eyes were fixed on Infidel’s face. She stopped about six feet away and raised her fists, planting her feet in a boxer’s stance.
Seconds passed into moments as the two studied each other. Infidel bobbed back and forth as she waited for the boy to make his move. I could tell she still worried about hurting the kid. With his placid face, Numinous looked more like a bored observer of the fight than a participant.
Infidel was the first to lose patience. She jumped toward the boy, kicking out, her foot aimed at his gut. Numinous stepped aside fluidly, placing one hand on her ankle, another behind her knee as she flew into the space where he’d just stood. With an ear-splitting cry of “Yiaiiah!” he spun her in the air, slamming her face-down into the gravel. Before she could pick herself up, he leapt into the air, shouted, “Hiaaayah!” and landed with his full weight on the back of her neck, burying her head deeper into the small stones. He bounced off, landing gracefully. He looked down at Infidel with a smug expression. Infidel didn’t move a muscle.
“That didn’t take long,” Ivory Blade said from the edge of the circle.
“It’s not over,” said Numinous. “She’s still conscious.”
As he said this, Infidel’s fists closed around big handfuls of gravel. In a flash, she sat up and whipped her arms toward the Golden Child, letting the gravel fly in a dangerous hail of stone shrapnel. Yet before the gravel had even left her fingers, Numinous dove toward her. His body twisted as he spun through the stony cloud, avoiding every last piece. The gravel sparked as it struck the boulders beyond.
Infidel was still sitting with her arms out when the boy reached her. His leg blurred as he kicked her three times in the throat with cries of “Hyia! Hyia! Hyia!” She went down, flat on her back, her arms limp. The boy landed, hopping on a single foot. His placid expression was replaced by an unmistakable frown. He winced as he placed weight on his kicking-foot.
Infidel sat back up, rubbing her wind-pipe. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered.
Among the king’s men, there was a simultaneous furrowing of brows.
Relic cleared his throat. “The War Doll has been programmed to utter simple phrases to simulate pain or frustration. The old kings demanded this verisimilitude.”
The boy wasn’t distracted by the conversation at the edge of the arena. His eyes were locked on Infidel as she rose. The kicks to the throat might have decapitated an ordinary woman. Right about now, the Golden Child was probably starting to wonder about the possibility of steel bones after all.
Infidel made it back to her feet. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She leaned forward slightly and the boy danced back. Even with a sore foot, he was still as nimble as a cat. Maybe he was going to have a hard time breaking Infidel, but she faced an equally tough challenge in knocking him down.
Infidel lunged toward the boy. Instead of aiming a blow at the child, she raised both fists above her head, then dropped to her knees, delivering a powerful two-fisted strike to the ground. Gravel flew into the air in a wave. I gave the cave roof a worried glance as the shock toppled boulders and popped tent pegs. Numinous merely lifted his feet into the air as the destructive energy passed beneath him. When he landed, he somersaulted toward Infidel. She rose, punching out, and he used her outstretched arm as a springboard. He landed behind her and shouted, “Hyuh!” as he kicked into the bend of her knees. Infidel’s legs folded beneath her, but before she hit the ground, the boy unleashed a whirlwind of blows — “Hyi! Hyun! Haih! Yah! Huu!” — as he aimed precise strikes at nerves in her spine, elbows, and shoulders.
Infidel sucked in air as her face twisted in pain. She rolled to her back as the Golden Child dropped toward her, sinking both knees into her gut just beneath her ribs, then rolling forward and cuffing both ears simultaneously as he shouted, “Kiii!” His momentum carried him out of Infidel’s reach as she flailed her arms uselessly in the air.
“I’ve seen enough,” said Lord Tower, raising his hand. “The War Doll has failed the test.”
Relic sighed. “Centuries of wear have cost the War Doll some of its former prowess. Still, you must admit, it has withstood the best the boy can throw at it without breaking.”
I prayed that he was right, that Infidel wasn’t broken, but I wasn’t sure. Her eyes were unfocused as her legs uselessly pushed at the gravel. Her arms were splayed to her side, fingers twitching.
The Golden Child paced in a circle around his victim.
“The fight continues!” he cried, his voice a fierce growl. “She has not yet cried out for mercy! I will not rest until she confesses her ruse!”
“Your holy urchin is a sadist,” Aurora said, from across the sunlit arena.
“He has an unwavering passion for truth,” said Father Ver.
“Nonetheless,” said Lord Tower, “The fight is over. We should-”
He never got to complete his sentence. The Golden Child leapt into the air above Infidel, spinning like a top, as he unleashed an ear-piercing battle cry. Gone was the placidity that had gripped his features earlier. Blood-lust blazed in his eyes.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Infidel moved, grabbing a fist-sized rock in her right hand, a slightly larger one in her left. She swung her arms together as the boy dropped toward her, his feet aimed at her belly. Numinous tucked up his legs, and the rocks passed beneath his toes. The stones collided with a BANG that raised everyone’s hands to their ears. The rocks were pulverized, concealing Infidel and the boy inside a cloud of smoky gray dust.
From inside the haze there was a sharp high-pitched shout of “Aiigh!” It took a fraction of a second to realize that this wasn’t another war-cry. Numinous trailed dust as he shot skyward, a good fifty feet up the shaft, both hands grasping his crotch. Infidel sprang up as the boy reached his apex. The Golden Child’s eyes went wide as he spun his body, trying to avoid landing in Infidel’s grasp, but, as I knew all too well, no amount of arm-flapping and desperate kicking can change the trajectory of a falling body.
Infidel lifted an arm and grabbed the boy by the ankle, then swung him in an overhead arc to plant his face in the gravel.
“The fight is over!” shouted Lord Tower, jumping toward the combatants.
“The hell it is,” growled Infidel, whipping the boy up again, painting the gravel before her with a line of bright blood.
“The War Doll is programmed to taunt its enemies,” Relic said, though I don’t know if anyone was listening. Everyone’s eyes were wide with horror as Infidel spun the boy’s limp body around overhead and flung him. The child smashed into the stone wall above the Truthspeaker. The boy bounced off, completely limp, as the Whisper dove to catch him. She lowered his battered body gently to the ground. He was bleeding from both ears. His arms were bent at odd angles, as if they had too many joints.
Everyone was paralyzed as they stared, slack-jawed, at the bloodied child. Ivory Blade was the first to recover his senses. He whirled around, drawing his sword, as he shouted, “You’ve broken our Golden Child!” He leapt toward Relic, the tip of his sword aimed for the hunchback’s eyes.
Lord Tower reached out his gauntleted hand and caught the albino swordsman in mid-strike. The sword sliced the air six inches away from Relic’s hood.
“Let me go!” Blade cried out.
Father Ver turned from Numinous and shouted, “You will calm yourself!”
Instantly, the look of rage vanished from Blade’s features. He straightened his clothes as Tower set him back on the ground.
“The boy is not the Omega Reader,” said Father Ver, coolly. “He failed the thirteenth test; he faced an ancient monster, and could not defeat it.”
“But-” said Blade.
“The truth is before your very eyes. The boy misjudged his opponent; the true Omega Reader would never deceive himself so. This boy was just the latest in a long string of false hopes.” Father Ver glanced at the fallen boy with a look that was half pity, half contempt. “Numinous was poisoned by arrogance. This is one of the most insidious forms of self-deception.”
Infidel wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation. Instead, she moved slowly toward the boy, her eyes full of guilt. Relic intercepted her, taking her by the arm as he said to Tower, “Aurora has some skill as a healer. Let her look at the boy; perhaps his life can be saved.”
I doubted that Aurora was up to the task. Barely a minute had passed and both the boy’s arms were swelling up, turning purple from where bone had punched through muscle. His body trembled as he sank deeper into shock. A cold compress on the forehead wasn’t going to fix this.
However, the question of what Aurora could do was rendered moot as the man in red robes stepped toward Lord Tower. “You threatened to cut off my hands if I touched your precious Golden Child,” he said. “Now that he’s failed you, do you mind if I save his life?”
The knight nodded. “Do what you can, Deceiver.”
I suddenly had an explanation for why this man had a big ‘D’ tattooed on his forehead. I had thought that Deceivers were only bogey-monsters that monks used to frighten orphans. A fundamental tenant of the Church of the Book was that truth was truth; there was nothing subjective under the sun. The reality recorded in the One True Book was the only reality, inviolate, inflexible.
Deceivers, on the other hand, believed that nothing at all is true, not even the experience of our own senses. Everything we assume about reality — that the sky is blue, that grass is green, that snow is cold and fire is hot — is merely a shared delusion, constantly reinforced by people desperately clinging to the illusion of stability in a world where nothing is absolute. The One True Book was merely a work of fiction in the Deceiver’s world view. The Deceivers thought of themselves as shared authors of this fiction, and, as such, were free to edit reality to their liking. They were the greatest enemies of the church. What was one doing here, alive? I couldn’t believe Father Ver hadn’t slit his throat the second they met.
The Whisper recoiled as the Deceiver knelt beside the boy, stepping back several feet, as if she didn’t want to risk breathing the same air.
“Can you help him?” asked Aurora, as she knelt down next to the Deceiver.
“I possess the power to heal any injury,” the Deceiver said, running his hand along the boy’s arm. “Though I believe we were all mistaken in thinking the boy was seriously harmed. Wipe the blood away, and he’s suffered little more than a few scratches and bruises.”
And, indeed, as the Deceiver wiped the blood and grit from the boy’s limbs, the flesh no longer looked so distorted. Perhaps it had only been a trick of the light that had made the wounds look so serious before.
“He’s just had the wind knocked out of him,” the Deceiver said, cradling the boy’s face, pushing back the eyelids to look at the dilated pupils. “He’ll come out of it any minute.”
Everyone had fallen silent as they watched the Deceiver tend to the fallen boy. The only sound was a faint rasping noise. The sound was coming from the Truthspeaker, grinding his teeth. His eyes were narrowed into slits as he watched the Deceiver restore the boy to health. Finally, he could stand no more.
“Get your unholy hands off him!” He jumped forward, his robes flying as he kicked the kneeling man in the head. “I would rather see the boy die than be tainted by your filthy lies!”
Numinous, still unconscious, gasped as his left arm twisted once more, obviously broken. Yet, the boy still looked better than he had before. The Deceiver lay beside the boy, glaring at Father Ver with naked hatred as he rubbed the sandal-print on the side of his jaw.
Tower grabbed Father Ver by the nape of his neck and hauled him back before he could kick the Deceiver again. “Control yourself,” he said. “Zetetic is using his power for good, as promised.”
“Promises mean nothing to his kind!” Father Ver shouted. His spittle flecked Tower’s faceplate. “He swore only to use his power to alter his own form, and already he has broken this vow by altering the boy’s body!”
Zetetic, the Deceiver, said, “Technically, I gave myself the power to heal. The boy’s body wasn’t altered, only restored, until you meddled.”
Father Ver went bug-eyed. He once more lunged toward his enemy, but Lord Tower held him back. “His presence is an abomination! The king is mad to include him on this quest!”
Tower sighed. “If the king is mad, so be it. He is still the king, and it’s our duty to obey him. I forbid you to strike Zetetic again.”
“There are greater authorities than the king,” Father Ver growled. “You cannot honestly expect me to simply stand and bear witness to such blasphemy!”
“You could always close your eyes,” Zetetic said.
Father Ver sputtered a string of meaningless syllables as his rage stripped him of coherent speech.
“Get back to work,” the knight said to Zetetic as he lifted the Truthspeaker from his feet and carried him back several yards.
The Deceiver looked at the boy and shrugged sadly. “I’ve done all I can. Father Ver has aborted the newborn reality we created where the boy was cured. Still, I think it persisted long enough to save the boy’s life.”
Aurora still knelt beside the unconscious child, probing his arm tenderly with her beefy fingers. She looked up and said, “I can set the arm in a splint. For a boy this age, the bone will heal in a matter of weeks.”
Father Ver turned away in disgust. He grumbled to Tower, “At the command of an earthly king we ally ourselves with liars, ogres, and rogues. What does it matter if our quest succeeds when we corrupt our very souls in the journey?”
“The primal dragons are the enemy of all mankind,” said the knight, resting the Gloryhammer on his shoulder. “If I must be damned in order that the world can be free of their tyranny, I shall pay the price. You, of all people, understand the importance of our mission.”
Father Ver’s shoulders sagged. His voice trembled as he whispered, “Very well. But the boy must remain behind. If he isn’t the Omega Reader, we have no business endangering a child.”
Tower nodded. “I concur.”
Father Ver gave Relic a rueful glance. “The hunchback doesn’t believe he’s lying, but I still don’t trust him or his whorish toy. Given all they know of our quest, I must advise you to destroy them.”
Blade stepped over to the conversation.
“I second that opinion,” he said. “I was impressed with the War Doll’s strength, but now that I’ve seen its savagery, I fear it’s a danger to us all.”
“Thank you for your counsel. However, since we can’t have pack animals on this mission, it seems wasteful to destroy the War Doll. It would make a good substitute for a mule.” Tower looked up the shaft. The sun was no longer directly overhead, and the shadows in the cave grew deeper. “Our emotions run high at the moment. We won’t be ready to leave until morning. I shall make my decision then.”
Despite the fact that he was the subject of the ongoing conversation, no one was paying attention to Relic. He walked to the wall where the Golden Child had hit. There was a spattering of blood dripping down the stone. Casually, he reached out and dabbed the gore with a rag-covered finger. Then, since he still carried Infidel’s weaponry, he drew the bone-handled knife from its scabbard, and ran his blood-damp finger along the steel.
My ghost lungs gasped for air as I materialized once more. I was fainter than my previous incarnations; I could see through my ghostly fingers to the bones of fog beneath.
He spoke to me in his soundless voice: It seems I have need of you after all, Blood-Ghost.
I looked down at my body, on the verge of tears from the joy of seeing myself again. As a thought-fog, my emotions are muted; now that I once more felt ephemeral blood pulsing in my veins, I was terrified at the thought of having the knife cleaned once more.
Obey me, and I will see that the knife is never bare of blood.
“What would you have me do?” I asked.
The king’s men are a dangerous lot. While the boy is no longer a threat, I cannot read the mind of Lord Tower while he wears his armor. Were he the only one immune to my powers, I would have few fears. But the Whisper’s thoughts are dim; the harder I concentrate on them, the fainter they become.
“Is she a ghost?”
Doubtful. Your thoughts are clear to me. Blade may know her true nature but I’ve yet to find her origins among his thoughts. What worries me even more is the Deceiver. His mind is unlike anything I’ve encountered. His true thoughts are buried beneath veils of hallucinations. I risk my very sanity probing him.
“What am I supposed to do about this?”
You will be my spy. In your phantom form, you aren’t tethered as tightly to the knife. You may wander, listening in on conversations I will not be privy to. Have a care, however. Should Father Ver suspect your presence, he has the power to banish you forever to the spirit world.
I furrowed my brow, confused. “Aren’t I already in the spirit world?”
Obviously not. You are a spirit in the material world.
Actually, that was kind of obvious. But, if there was a spirit world, what was it like? Why hadn’t I gone there?
I will help you reach the spirit world at the proper time should you assist me.
“Maybe I don’t want to go. I’d rather stay here. I’ll help you only if you promise to let me speak to Infidel.”
A fair bargain. I will grant this if you serve me well. Have a care, however. You may desire to speak to the woman, but the feeling may not be mutual. The living seldom wish to be confronted by the dead.
I clenched my jaw as I thought over his offer. If I refused to cooperate, he could just wipe the blood from the blade, and banish me once more. But, while he had the power, perhaps, to grant me what I wanted, I had to wonder what, exactly, he wanted, beyond my immediate services as a spy. Aside from a desire to kill Greatshadow, I knew nothing of his plans or purpose.
Relic’s eyes glimmered. You are wise to be suspicious of me, Blood-Ghost. Yet, my motives are simple. I hate Greatshadow with every fiber of my being. The world can hold no joy for me as long as he lives. Tower would sacrifice his soul. I would sacrifice this, and more, for the pleasure of watching Greatshadow die.
“And then what?” I asked. “You take his treasure?”
Relic gave a low, soft chuckle that chilled my vaporous guts. Then, my dear Blood-Ghost, I take the world.