dochermes

"Speaker For the Green Empire"

4/2-4/5/1991

I.

"Is this the craziest sight you've ever seen?" asked Millicent Elmendorf. In the damp early Spring breeze, she thrust her hands into the pockets of her light windbreaker and shivered. "It really made me wonder if I'm starting to lose it. I made it to sixty-seven without any Senior Moments, but this...!"

Standing next to her, Cindy Brunner smiled reassuringly. The petite blonde was still wearing her insulated waist-length Winter jacket that would keep her comfortable in a chill much worse than this April dawn. "I wouldn't worry about it, ma'am," she said. "Jeremy and I are reaching the same conclusion. This is pretty weird but then the world is a much weirder place than most people realize."

Jeremy Bane made no comment. He walked along the forty foot length of the fallen oak and glared down at the exposed roots. At the best of times, the Dire Wolf was a grim unfriendly presence and now, faced with a mystery like this, the pale grey eyes grew more intense than ever. "This tree wasn't cut down, obviously. But I can't imagine any way it could have been pulled up out of the ground without using a giant crane that would have torn up your yard. The ground is undisturbed."

"Look at the bottom of that tree," the older woman said. "See how it's split vertically? Doesn't it look as if the damn thing had, well, LEGS...?"

"It didn't grow this way, either. You can see where the bark split as the trunk was forced apart to make the two parts. I guess you could drive wedges into the tree to force it to separate like that, but it would be a lot of work. And why would anyone do it anyway?" Bane was scowling more than his usual sullen expression showed. "And all this was done in one day? No footprints, no signs of heavy machinery? The ground is sure soft enough this time of year."

Cindy had walked back a hundred feet past the end of the property line and now she turned around to call, "Oh, it gets crazier! Check this out." She pointed down at where a wide hole ten feet deep was surrounded by upturned dirt and small stones and broken-off roots.

"This is impossible," Millicent mumbled as she followed Bane to the site. "That's where the oak stood, all right. It was already big when I was just a little girl. What power on Earth could have uprooted it like that? Not a tornado, surely. There weren't any storms this whole month and nothing else was damaged."

The Dire Wolf retraced the path from the hole in the ground to where the mighty oak lay. As he dreaded, distinct depressions sank in the damp lawn at intervals, alternating left and right on either side of the center line. "Mrs Elmendorf, there IS no rational explanation for this. I have to tell you that this was the supernatural touching your life. The Midnight War is here."

"What do you mean? I can't handle this uncertainty, tell me what's going on!"

Cindy Brunner stepped closer to the older woman and softened her tone. "It may seem impossible but look at the scene. Somehow, don't ask me how, that oak tree got up out of the ground and was walking on two legs toward your house."

"I never heard of such a thing," Millicent said, "It's insane. And yet... I don't know what else to think."

"There's something even scarier to consider," Bane told her. "Accepting for the moment that the tree somehow became animated, WHY was it heading straight for your house?"

( the rest of the story )

"Even a Crooked Stick Can Draw a Straight Line"

9/3/2022


I.

"This is weird," Bane said out loud. His surroundings made no sense at all. White mist swirled up to his shins, completely obscuring whatever surface he was standing on. Overhead was a wildly intense night sky with blazing stars crowding each other more closely than any sky he had ever seen. The effect was an eerie twilight. It was chilly but not unbearably so. The air felt brisk and refreshing

Looking down at himself, the Dire Wolf saw he was wearing what had been his trademark uniform all his adult life... black slacks, turtleneck and sports jacket. But the matched silver-bladed daggers were not sheathed to his forearms, which alarmed him. He never left his house without them. All the concealed pockets and slits built into his clothing were empty, too. Bane pulled up his shirt and felt bare skin beneath it. He didn't have the silk-thin Trom armor on, either. The situation made less and less sense the more he took it in.

Jeremy Bane turned slowly around, but there was nothing in sight other than the mist on the ground. No horizon as far as he could tell. Really strange. His prosaic, matter-of-fact mind immediately began ticking off possibilities. The last he remembered had been stretching out on the living room couch in his Forest Hills home. So, was he dreaming? Could be. There had been a few times where he had been aware of being in a dream just before it ended. Or was this one of the adjacent realms? Not one he had ever heard of, but then even Midnight War scholars admitted there were realms which had been forgotten over the ages and of which even the names were no longer remembered.

What other possibilities could there be? Maybe this was an illusion of some kind? Either a sorcerer using gralic magic or some spy group with advanced technology was putting this in his head while he was in a trance or coma or something. That had happened a few times to him and to members of his KDF team. Once, Karl Eldritch had put him into an artificial reality that had seemed completely real, one of the worst experiences of his life. He should resist the illusion and try to snap out of it.

Bane's survival training had included using constellations to determine his location and what time of the year it was. The sky was totally unfamiliar. He couldn't find any star groups he recognized, not even from the viewpoint of the Southern Hemisphere or the Arctic. Okay, then this had to be an illusion of some kind. He dismissed the vague thought that he had somehow been transported to another galaxy or something as so far-fetched it wasn't worth considering. His life in the Midnight War had taken him to bizarre realms but travel into outer space had never even been hinted at.

So far, he hadn't come up with anything useful to do about the situation. Instead of raw terror or panic, Bane felt annoyed.

Where had Nebel come from? Suddenly, the familiar form of the blind mystic was walking toward but Bane had no idea why he hadn't seen the man before. Maybe nothing would make sense wherever they were. Nebel was wearing the blue cotton pants and long-sleeved tunic of a Tel Shai student. Presumably he had on the soft black slippers as well, but the ground mist hid them. They hadn't seen each other in person for a few years. Nebel's hair was completely white now at seventy, his long solemn face more gaunt than ever. And the eyes with their opaque pupils still had the unsettling habit of moving as if he could see.

"Hi, Garrison!" Bane said. "You're exactly the one person I'd want to see turn up under these circumstances. Where are we anyway? Is this real?"

"It is more real than the mundane world you see around you every day," replied the Sorcerer of Truth. "You are getting a glimpse beyond the illusion of the world."

"If you say so. Honestly, you know I'm not a deep thinker. Whatever is going on is probably going to be beyond what I can figure out."

Nebel smiled and nodded, his voice reassuring. "You are what you are meant to be, Jeremy. I can not explain this test and must leave you again. All I can suggest is that you speak honestly and from the heart to the three visitations."

"You lost me already," the Dire Wolf admitted. "This is a test? Who's giving it? And what are the rules?"

The blind mystic reached over and rested a comforting hand on Bane's shoulder. "It is a classic rite of passage, old friend. You will experience three visitations who will reveal much you have forgotten or have not yet learned. I have faith you will do well and we will meet again one final time." Then, without a sound, Nebel was gone.

( the rest of the story )

CORONET II: Even Cold Comfort Is Better Than None"

6/23/2022

I.

Keeping well back, Galvan and Unicorn had endured watching Sable painstakingly investigate the grounds for the past six hours. They knew their captain's intense concentration and wanted to do nothing to interrupt it. Sable's gift was enhanced sensory perception. She used gralic force to increase her eyesight, sense of smell and tactile awareness to levels far beyond what flesh and blood were thought to be capable of achieving.

Through each room of that mansion, disturbing little beyond occasionally lifting an object and then replacing it exactly, Lauren Sable Reilly saw details at an electron microscope level as she chose. She could see in the infra-red or ultra-violet range, she sniffed traces of odors that no forensics equipment could detect, she heard the wooden fibers in the floor and the furniture still creak as they straightened out after being stepped on the day before. Information poured into her mind in a deluge that only decades of strict discipline could assimilate into any useful coherence.

In her early forties, Sable was a trim, athletic woman of average height and build in the black KDF field suit. Her jet black hair was brushed back from a high forehead. Large dark eyes, a snug nose and full lips gave her distinctive face that normally showed a warm friendly nature but right now her features were set in a taut mask.

The giant Melgar and the petite platinum blonde Unicorn followed, silently making their own observations and drawing their own conclusions. Galvan loomed up a full foot taller than his teammates. He had the massive muscular build of a lumberjack, and his rough outdoorsy clothes and work boots added to that impression. So did the curly light brown hair and short thick beard. Not demanding Sable tell him what she had learned was taking all his strength of will. Staying close to him to give emotional support, Ashley Whitaker also was aching to find out what their captain had learned and was biting her lip not to start rattling off questions. Keeping silent went against her basic personality.

Finally, after what seemed an interminable afternoon of prowling the mansion, Sable dropped down gracelessly onto the wooden bench in a gallery lined with original oils. Most of the paintings were of Hudson Valley landscapes and historical scenes. As she sat down, the team captain buried her face in her hands and exhaled sharply. "Oh. My head is killing me," she said and drooped forward in weariness. "That was a long stretch of using my powers."

"You want some water, captain?" asked Ashley, breaking the silence of the day. The little blonde dug in a pocket of her own field suit. "I've got some high-protein bars here."

"What? Oh. No, thank you, Ashley, I'm fine. So much to take in. First, let me say that our friends were alive and unharmed when they were taken from here. No traces of necrotic tissue smell anywhere where they had been. Jin, Timothy and Archie were captured by an Alchemical vapor that enervated them. I recognize its odor. 'Yellow Lotus' is what it's usually called, it makes you too weak to even raise a hand but there's no permanent damage. Our friends were carried away, helpless but unhurt."

"An Alchemist?" rumbled Galvan. He had begun pacing back and forth, even the plush carpeting not able to muffle his heavy footsteps. "They are always bad news."

"Especially in this case. Let me summarize what I've found. Nine people have been staying in this mansion for more than a month. One was a middle-aged white American man in only fair health, with nothing Midnight War about him. He did maintenance and upkeep. There was a Southeast Asian woman about forty who prepared meals, and a specifically Chinese woman in her early seventies who served as maid and personal assistant. A medical doctor in his sixties, no longer in professional practice. They were mere servants to the real threats. I've identified two men as familiar enemies. Jorge Vargas, called Repel, and Indigo the Illusionist. A young woman who stayed here is one of the Calveron. I'm certain she's the Amelia Mancuso that Jeremy met three years ago. She has Invocation skills. The fourth Midnight War denizen is an non-powered man with technical skill involving Trom tech and I am certain he is the criminal called the Flying Fool."

"Dang," interrupted Unicorn as she plopped down next to her captain. "I HATE it when someone organizes a team of bad guys to imitate us. It's always a disaster fighting them. As soon as we joined, Sable, we had to tangle with Avathor's League of Predators and then that bunch who called themselves Dark Cloud."

"I remember, Ashley. Repel and Indigo were in fact members of both of those squads. The others are all dead. Duffy the Sumo, the Fatal Wasp, Avathor himself and even Arem Kamende, all out of the way." Sable straightened up and turned her gaze toward her teammates. "So we're dealing with one of these squads who are assembled to act as a strike force. There was also a Human bodybuilder staying on these premises but I picked up no hints of any gralic powers in his traces. He acted as a driver, as far as I can tell."

Galvin bent forward, studying her face. "You know who the Alchemist is who is leading this team, don't you?"

"Yes. It's bad news," Sable admitted. "We're dealing with Olivia Wang, the Spinner of Webs, probably the most dangerous mastermind still active. There are rumors in the badlands that one of her lieutenants has staged a coup and driven her off her throne. That would be Samuel Policastro. Our sources hint that Olivia has been on the run for more than a year, spotted all over East Asia and Europe with Policastro's assassins right behind her. It seems she has been gathering a team like our own for protection."

"And now she's got our guys!" Unicorn blurted, "Jin and Tim and Archie are all prisoners. They came here to investigate the stolen yacht and instead they were captured. Sable, we need to get after them right this second! Where can we find them?"

Getting back up on her feet, tugging down the field jacket where it had risen up, Lauren Sable Reilly gave Ashley a sad look. "I know Olivia too well, honey. She will be contacting us soon, certainly today."

"Why are we waiting for that?" roared Galvan as his self-control finally broke. "She's had our people for twenty-hours! Who knows what tortures she's putting them through? Let's get after them right now."

Reaching up, the tiny Unicorn rubbed a small hand between Galvan's shoulder blades. The Melgar's muscles felt like warm granite, so dense that rifle bullets would glance off and so charged with gralic force that he could fling a car across a parking lot. But his heart was as loving and vulnerable as any Human child's.

"It's going to be okay," Ashley told him. "We are too valuable to mistreat. Look, both of us have been taken prisoner by enemies, right? We got out fine. They know we hold in our heads all the secrets of Tel Shai lore and Midnight War history, stuff worth huge fortunes. The Spinner of Webs won't chance damaging us if she can get at that knowledge."

Watching with a cool detached eye, Sable nodded once. "More than that, Galvan. Olivia is a schemer and a planner, not hotheaded in the least. She doesn't want you or Sulak or our Blind Archer coming after her in a murderous rage. Nor does she want the Dire Wolf of all people enraged at her. She will not harm Jin, or Timothy or Archie without urgent need."

The big Melgar deliberately unclenched those great hands and lowered his shoulders. "I suppose even cold comfort is better than none at all."


( the rest of the story )

"Game Recognizes Game"

11/13/1977

I.

"Ah, the English rose in early bloom," whined a nasal voice from right behind her.
Utterly surprised, Katherine Wheatley gave a start and whirled around. Was her telepathy failing her? How had this unimposing old man gotten up close enough to touch her without her detecting his mind? And why even now was she not picking up any thoughts at all from him? It was as alarming to her as suddenly going deaf would have been.

The man's apparent age and waistline were both about sixty, but at least he was reasonably well dressed in a lightweight white summer suit with a polka-dot bow tie that had been loosely knotted. He lifted an old-fashioned straw hat off thinning whitish blond hair and leered at her in a remarkably unsavory manner. Dominating his face was a bulbous nose as round and red as a tomato. "Forgive me if I startled you, my little crocus, but I seldom spy such a fair flower from the fair islands."

Even more perplexed, Katherine could not stop from asking, "How do you know I'm English? I didn't say anything."

"It is written on your piquant little face, sweetheart. Those cornflower blue eyes like gems catching the light, long straight hair as ebon as the raven wings of night, lips that curl up at the corners as if waiting for a chance to smile..."

"Oh, fuss and bother," she interrupted. Katherine was reassured that she was still picking up stray thoughts from the all the people going up and down the sidewalk outside Bryant Park, right behind the Public Library. Nothing was wrong with her gift, her telepathy was still functional but she could not pick up anything from this strange old man at all. This had never happened to her before. She was wearing a pleated skirt with her light maroon windbreaker and it wasn't reassuring how he was studying her slender legs with an interest not entirely avuncular. "Can I help you somehow or are you only remembering what it was like to flirt with teenage girls?"

"Zooks, you wound me to my very pith," he responded, twirling his hat and tossing it up behind him to catch it with his other hand. "I do believe I am the gentleman you are waiting here to meet. My name is Josiah Vandersanden. Mr Kenneth Dred has expressed interest in purchasing a rare item in my possession." Saying that, he held up a thin cylinder two feet long that had been neatly wrapped in brown paper.

Katherine raised one eyebrow, still worried about not being able to get a glimpse into this man's mind. Since early adolescence when her gift had first manifested, she had never had her telepathy fail her before. "Ah. Sorry to be so curt. My partner should be arriving directly, Mr Vandersanden, I was supposed to meet you here in case Jeremy was delayed..."

The old reprobate's response was cut short as they both spotted a thin young man in black striding across 42nd Street as if all the moving cars had paused for him. Jeremy Bane walked faster than most people could run. When he picked up speed as now, his movements seemed slightly unreal in their quickness. He was up on the sidewalk next to them before his arrival could quite register.

Barely twenty-one but already well-known in the Midnight War, the young Dire Wolf was wearing his trademark outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket which made him seem even more gaunt than he was. A narrow feral face and pale grey eyes under heavy black brows gave him a striking appearance. "Katherine. I got here as soon as I could. You must be the Vandersanden that we were supposed to meet?"

"Hullo, Jeremy. Yes. This is Jeremy Bane, he also works for Mr Dred and he is the one authorized to make the payment."

Vandersanden's extended palm was met with an unfriendly glare. "Let's see this blasting wand first, okay?"

"Of course, of course," the old man immediately replied. "Yet perhaps this trinket is best not glimpsed by the unwashed hordes of New Yorkers. Shall we find a table to seat ourselves?"

Along that wall of the park, two rows of booths faced each other across a paved promenade. Everything from tourist-oriented T-shirts and posters, scented candles and jewelry were available but the booths mostly hawked a wide variety of food. On this chilly dank November day, the area was not as packed as it normally was. The three of them found an unclaimed wrought iron table and dropped down into chairs designed to be uncomfortable so that people would not loiter but make way for more paying customers.

Bane was visibly reluctant to sit down. Katherine was used to the way he always tried to have a solid wall at his back, but in this case the best he could manage was to have to have the side of a booth behind him. She seated herself facing him so that she could keep an eye on anyone approaching from that direction and gave him a reassuring nod.

Watching Vandersanden place his bundle on the table, the Dire Wolf said nothing until the wrapping paper had been torn away. Revealed was a cylinder of dark coppery metal, shorter and thinner than a human forearm, with esoteric symbols etched into the surface. Capping one end was a faceted green gem.

"Crafted by those abominable Darthim on the island of Maroch itself," drawled Vandersanden. "In the hands of one who can wrest control of its magick, this wand can blow a hole through a brick wall you can poke your arm through. To be quite honest, it's rather like walking around with an unexploded bomb to carry this vile device."

Running his fingers along the rod, Bane made a satisfied sound. "Warm to the touch. What would you say the temperature is today, Katherine?"

"Forty at best, Fahrenheit that is," she said. "I do wish I had chosen a heavier jacket."

"And this talisman feels to be at body temperature. That's a sign it's genuine. All right. Mr Dred has authorized me to pay you this. Fifteen thousand dollars."

Accepting the thick business envelope, Vandersander riffled through the bills critically. "Crisp and fresh as autumn leaves underfoot. Well, young fellow, I believe we are both better off after this exchange."

"I can write a receipt if you want," Bane said, already tightening the wrapping paper up around the metal cylinder again.

"Sir! A gentleman's word is ironclad enough. A firm clasp of honest hands should suffice." Hauling himself up to his feet, Vandersanden extended his right hand, which Bane obligingly shook. Then, tipping his hat at Katherine, he waddled briskly away in the sparse crowd.

"There's a booth on the corner," Bane said. "We'll phone Mr Dred and report. But as long as we're here, we might as well grab some food."

Katherine gave a pleasant chuckle at his enthusiasm. "I swear, you have the metabolism of a hummingbird, Jeremy. If I ate as much each day as you, I believe I would weigh three hundred pounds, but certainly, I am a bit peckish. Bring me a smaller serving of whatever you are having."

"There's cheeseburgers on a grill right opposite us," Bane said as he rose. "Three for me, one for you. Keep an eye on this wand, though."

"Of course." Left for a second by herself, Katherine leaned forward curiously to stare at the end of the Darthan talisman protruding from the rewrapped package. That was curious. She picked it up, holding it closer and suddenly twisted the end counter-clockwise.

Holding a cardboard tray with their burgers, Jeremy Bane froze in mid-step. "What the hell?"

"Oh my goodness, it's a fake. Look at this. This is why it's warm!" The telepath held out her open hand and caught two D-sized batteries falling from inside the tube. "It's got wires inside that heat up."

Visibly shaken for the first time since she had met him half a year earlier, the Dire Wolf fell onto his chair. "He suckered me. And I fell for it."

Their dazed state only lasted for a second longer, because a heavyset man wearing a full-length winter coat approached them. He was holding a canvas bag the same general size at the phony talisman. "Jeremy Bane, I take it?" he asked cheerfully. "Vandersanden here, Josiah Vandersanden. I'm here to do business."

( the rest of the story )

"Dance Faster, the Stage Is Burning"

1/29-1/31/2014

I.

"You pussycats can compare bruises while you're being processed at the precinct house," gloated Fearless. He stepped back for a second to scrutinize the way he had tied three men together back to back in a circle. Not finding any convenient rope in the loading bay, he had been forced to use their own belts and shoelaces while they had been too dazed to resist.

"Uhh. My head. Hey!" mumbled one of the thugs, squirming but not being able to get free. All their thumbs had been bound together with each other, so that any movement hurt them all. Each had one foot lashed to the foot of the man next to him so they couldn't even get up.

"What are you, some kinda NUT? What's with the fairy suit?" demanded another.

In fact, Fearless was indeed dressed in a flamboyant way. His costume of golden silk had a dark sheen to it in the light from the naked bulb overhead. The bodyshirt and tights fit like a second skin; the tan hiking boots, belt and leather gloves added to the flamboyant effect. Fearless wore a full head mask of the same metallic yellow, but the area over his face was made from a lighter cheesecloth material that enabled him to breathe. A pair of goggles were strapped under the mask, but the round lenses protruded through eyes to add a final bizarre touch.

Strapped across his upper back were two leather sheaths into which he now slid his hardwood batons so that he could reach back with either hand to draw one. The big man placed his fists against the sides of his belt in his most dramatic pose and laughed. "Shucks, the truth is that I only beat up goons like you guys as an excuse to wear this get-up. It's my main fetish."

"You're laughin' now but you're gonna be crying," said one of the prisoners. "When the boss hears about what you done here...."

"I'll do a drum solo on his head and throw him to the cops, like a hundred other vile masterminds," scoffed Fearless. "Uh-oh, those flashing lights coming down the street are my cue to vanish. Guess I'll read about you three in the local papers."

Wheeling about, the man called Fearless sprinted off across the deserted parking lot of A&J IMPORTS and rounded the next corner. There was the most inconspicuous car he had been able to find, a black Toyota three years old with nothing to make it stand out. Reaching into his belt, Fearless thumbed his key fob and chirped open the car doors.

But he stumbled before he reached the car and had to stand bent over for a few seconds, pressing down with his hands on his thighs as he caught his breathe. "Goddam it, goddam it, why does Nature give us pain anyway? Why can't we turn it off?"

Behind him, he could hear excited voices and car doors slamming. Setting off the alarms before tackling those gunmen had seemed like a good idea at the time but right now they would be eagerly telling the police about which direction the man in gold had run off.
Fearless got in behind the wheel, started the car up and sped off without even looking for traffic. At three in the morning of this freezing Tuesday night, few people were out anyway.

Putting a few blocks behind him, the strange vigilante yanked off his hood and tucked it down inside his shirt. The sweaty face of a man hitting fifty was revealed in the backwash of the dashboard. Tangled greying hair and deep grooves down the cheeks made him look older. As he slowed down and began pausing for stop signs, he tugged off his gloves and tossed them under his seat. Ahead was a strip mall with the lights of a twenty-four hour laundromat showing. Fearless swung in to park off to one side from where he could seen from within the building.

Moving more stiffly, grunting in annoyance, he struggled out of the the harness and dropped it on the passenger seat. This was getting harder to do all the time. Fearless screwed the two batons together to make a single, seemingly solid cane with a crook at one end. No one was in sight. He got out and threw the mask, gloves and harness into a knapsack in the trunk, then pulled on a garish Hawaiian shirt over his costume. The reinforced Chylon vest under his costume would have to wait to be taken off.

Leaning on the car with one hand for support, Fearless bent and yanked off the rear license plate to reveal his car's legal plate beneath it, then repeated the process in the front. The dozen pairs of plates he had collected covertly over the years were rotated constantly. After stowing the camouflage plates away, he felt a bit safer. By now, not seeing a single cruiser go past was reassuring.

Back in the driver's seat again, he opened the center console and took out an orange prescription bottle that was almost empty. Already. Fearless broke two of the Oxycontin tablets into halves and swallowed them one by one without water. No wonder he was always broke. Between these and the Fentanyl patches and the cortisone shots he paid Dr Hyung in cash for, that was where all his money went.

Starting up the car again, the big man sighed with tangled emotions. Maybe Fearless had done good work tonight, but poor old Frank Gaddis was going to pay for it all the next day.

( the rest of the story )

"Back To the Graveyard You Go"

10/29/1988

I.

No one was looking. Jimmy checked both ways again, the country road was empty as far as he could see in either direction. Right in front of him was a deep puddle a foot across. He raised his right hand and tried to focus every bit of his will power on the ruby-red gem inset on his ring, visualizing what he wanted to happen. What was that feeling of resistance? Try harder. Suddenly a sort of barrier in his mind yielded and a surge of intense heat rushed down to evaporate the puddle with a gout of steam. Only a dry pothole remained.

At sixteen, Jimmy Lawson was still a bit under six feet tall and gawky, with the long arms and legs of a growing boy. He had the family's dark auburn hair, a bit shaggy and untidy, but he had missed out on the green eyes his mother and sister were so proud of. Jimmy's eyes were a mundane dark brown. On this brisk October afternoon, he was wearing his favorite bright red jacket over a black T-shirt, matching the black jeans and red sneakers. Lowering his hand, he fought not to laugh out loud. Using the Flame Gem was getting easier all the time. Wherever he was summoning superheated air or actual fire from, he could call it easier every day.

Delighted with life in general and his new powers in particular, Jimmy started striding quickly down the road again. He couldn't understand why his family was so reluctant to use the Buliwyf talismans. Dad with the Earth Gem and Mom with the Water Gem both acted as if nothing had changed since they had come back from that cavern. His older sister Lisa did experiment a little with the Air Gem. A few times late at night, he had caught her rising up into the dark sky on a roaring column of hurricane winds she had summoned, but she was awful timid about fooling around with her gift, too.

What were they waiting for? Why were they so hesitant? He was going to put this incredible ability to good use, no matter if they cautioned him to be secretive or not.

Only another mile along the King's Highway and he would be at the convenient mart in Walston for some soda and chips, maybe a magazine. He didn't mind walking, Saturday meant all day to do whatever he wanted. In all fairness, he had genuinely put in applications for jobs all over Walston but no one seemed to be hiring. It would be nice to have some cash but he went plenty of places with his friends and it didn't cost much to go swimming or hang out at the Central Valley Mall. Always an excellent time with Gil and Fred.

When he came within sight of the One-Stop convenient mart, he cheered up even more at spotting the familiar white VW bug at the gas pump. Sure enough, there was the stocky form of Gilbert Ostrander, oldest of the gang at eighteen, with the taller skinnier Fred Bessolo next to him. And Fred's sister Grace as well, with all that strawberry-blonde hair down her narrow back. The expected hormonal surges rushed through Jimmy at seeing her. The past year, Grace had been turning up in some warm steamy daydreams even though he had to admit she had shown nothing but contempt for him since grade school.

"Jimmy! Hey, hurry up!" Gil said as he replaced to the hose to the pump and screwed the gas cap back on. "We're motoring out there now."

"We are? And where's that?"

"The cemetery. The one by St Anne's. Hustle it dude, get in." Gil went around to the driver's side. Just once, Jimmy wished that Fred would sit up front. That would leave him huddled in the back seat next to Grace. But no such luck. The unwritten rule of teendom dictated that girls got the shotgun seat whenever possible. Jimmy resigned himself to climbing in the back alongside Fred. Not that there was anything wrong with Fred, who wore black horn-rimmed glasses and had a pageboy haircut and was a total heavy metal head but leaning up against Grace seemed like a better deal any way you looked at it.

"Am I crazy or did you say we were going to the cemetery?" Jimmy asked at the VW rolled out onto the road.

"That's yes to both questions," replied Grace promptly.

"At least YOU'RE not driving," he snapped back. "Because then we'd be going to the cemetery to stay."

"Mellow out, you two," Gil broke in. "You mean you haven't heard the news? Everybody's talking about it."

"I didn't have the radio on today. What's the big deal?"

Next to him in the back, Fred intoned with enormous drama. "Dude! It's grave robbers. Ghouls right here in Walston. This morning, Father Salvucci arrived at the church and spied a big open hole where that fireman was buried Sunday. Whatzisname, Mr Schupp? Pile of dirt by the gravestone. No coffin, no body."

"No way."

"Way," responded Fred. "It's wholly bogus, right? Why would anyone do such a thing?"

Jimmy exhaled sharply. "Ummm, was he buried with anything valuable? No, he was just a local volunteer, he worked at Sears. I dunno, I'm stumped."

"That's nothing new. If you ever had an idea, it'd be lonely," Grace volunteered.

Despite the way she talked to him, Jimmy enjoyed watching her breasts bouncing under the thin calico-streaked blouse too much to get mad. "Well, what do you think happened?"

"How would I know!? What kind of stupid question is that?"

Gil shook his head. "Tell you what, how about I pull over right now and both of you can walk to the cemetery? We'll meet you there."

"We're here already," Fred said. "Throw an eyeball at the cars."

St Anne's Church sat at the bottom of Donnegan's Hill Road, a white-boarded structure more than eighty years old. The graveyard circled halfway around the church, some of the stones being too eroded for the inscriptions to be legible. There were indeed eleven cars lined up along the road and a considerable crowd near them but the police weren't letting anyone on the grounds. Two town cruisers and a dark blue and yellow State Trooper car had their lightbars flashing.

Slowing down to a crawl, Gil spun the crank down on his window. "Dammit, I can't see anything. Stupid Fuzz in the way, ruining the view. Maybe we can come by later and see if everyone got bored and went home."

"I can't figure this out," Jimmy said as they zipped around a turn in the road. "That's an odious lot of work, digging up tons of dirt and then hauling a heavy coffin away. Mr Schupp was a big heavy guy even without a coffin. No one would do all that just for kicks."

From the front seat, Grace presented her pug-nosed profile with a sniff. "It's obviously a sick twisted prank. Only two days to your favorite holiday, Lawson boy. Saturday's Halloween."

( the rest of the story )

"Nope, No Spies Here"

6/21-6/22/2008

I.

For some reason, Unicorn had leaned up against Megan on the couch and fallen utterly asleep. Looking down at Ashley's shining silver-white hair pressed against her shoulder and hearing the peaceful nearly inaudible breathing of her friend, Megan Salenger was at a loss how to react. This puzzlement happened often to her with the Unicorn. Having been raised by the unemotional Trom, Megan was a certified genius in a dozen highly demanding technical fields but there were still gaps in her understanding of Human courtesy. They had both been getting by on inadequate sleep for the past week and she understood why Unicorn was tired.

The Trom Girl sat motionless and allowed herself a wry expression that no one saw. Only a little older than Ashley, Megan was a few inches taller and a little more solidly built than the waiflike Unicorn. Short unruly black hair and large dark eyes in an oval face added to the contrast between them. They were even dressed in opposite colors as usual, Megan in her black field suit with its waist-length jacket and Unicorn in all white.. tight jeans, a long-sleeved crewneck jersey and a lightweight white windbreaker with blue trim. More than once, someone had teased them for looking like a living Yin-Yin symbol.

After a few minutes dragged by, Megan got restless. She was duty motivated and disliked wasting time when there was so much work to be done. They were sitting on the long leather couch in Sable's office, where they had been told to wait for details on a new mission. The Trom Girl glanced over at the fish tank sitting on top of the waist-high bookcase opposite them. Those bizarre creatures from Ulgor, the luminous squid, the large sea horse with fangs, even that ominous starfish with its single red eye in its hub, all were moving about normally. But Megan had a strong urge to check on them, to measure the water quality and perhaps install a microphone to record and analyze any sounds those creatures made.

Megan braced herself and began to slowly rise so she could disentangle herself, but Unicorn mumbled in her sleep and threw one arm across Megan's lap. The faint sigh of contentment from the little blonde broke Megan's resolve. A few more minutes couldn't hurt. Humans did require sleep for both physical and psychological reasons. As she relaxed and leaned her head back, the Trom Girl was not aware of slipping off into slumber herself.

Ten minutes later, a tall gaunt man stuck his head silently through the doorway. For once, those infamous grey eyes softened. The thin-lipped mouth curled into an actual smile. It was rare to see Jeremy Bane openly amused but he was now. For a long moment, he watched the two sleeping young women holding each other. A faint poignant twinge stung in his chest, a bittersweet feeling he wasn't familiar with. The Dire Wolf stepped back out into the hallway and moved toward the front door.

He had parked his Mustang in the tiny underground garage and come up through the passage which exited in the rear of the walk-in closet. Now, he opened the massive mahogany door which opened to the foyer and beyond that to East 38th Street. Bane thumbed the button that sounded the overhead chimes and stepped back into the hall, closing the door more loudly than was really necessary. Stomping his feet as he strode the open office door would have been a bit too obvious, he thought.

When he entered the office, he found both Unicorn and Trom Girl sitting upright on the couch and sliding a bit away from each other. Ashley was tugging down her windbreaker where it had ridden up and Megan was visibly blushing as she rose to greet him. "Hello, captain."

"Hi, you two," he replied. Bane had felt no temptation to tease them by shouting suddenly to have awakened them. He had almost no sense of humor beyond an occasional use of irony, it wasn't part of his make-up. "Sable said the rest of the team is in Belgium chasing Avathor but that you guys were available."

Ashley Whitaker clapped her hands together. "Great! Super! All we do is study and train and then study more and train more. Whatcha got for us?"

"It may not be all that exciting," Bane said. "I spotted Eric Spiegel in town."

"Oh my God, no! It can't be," sassed Unicorn and then added, "Who's he?"

Megan broke in, "He is a prominent enforcement agent for the Mandate. Eric Chester Spiegel, born September 2 1977 in Endicott, Massachusetts, is credited with eleven confirmed kills of enemy agents from STIGMA, the White Web and one MI 6 rogue. Our files have him working out of Houston, Texas."

With a sniff, Unicorn asked, "How much does he weigh? What's his favorite color?"

"He weighed one hundred and eighty-one pounds and stood six feet one inch tall at his last physical. His favorite color is not listed."

"I wasn't being SERIOUS, science nerd."

Bane unclipped his Link from his belt, a flat electronic device no thicker than three playing cards on top of each other. "Here. I'm sending you each the last photo available of Spiegel and of Dandelion."

"Dandelion? Now HER I know about!" Unicorn chirped as she watched the screen on her own Link. "You've fought her a bunch of times, captain, is she really the best shootist ever?"

"Best I've ever seen in person, anyway." Bane let the natural gravitas return to his voice. "Take her seriously. Dandelion had some Tel Shai training before she was rejected by the Order. Her draw and her accuracy are way beyond what Human relexes can explain. She's supernatural in a real sense."

"But you're faster than her, right? I mean, come on, you're the freaking Dire Wolf!" Ashley went on.

"I have to be realistic about this," Bane said. "We're so closely matched that I don't think there's any way to measure the difference. In any given showdown, either Dandelion or I could draw and shoot first but the odds are very good that both of us would take a bullet or two in the process."

"Interesting," Megan added quietly. "One scholar of the Midnight War theorized that this woman has an unconscious telekinetic ability capable of accelerating bullets in flight and guiding their trajectory. I would like to test this."

"Watch out. She knows about the Trom armor we wear under our clothes," said the Dire Wolf. "Your head and neck are more than enough. Anyway, Dandelion was mentioned in a transmission I overheard Spiegel send. We don't know for a fact she's in the city. I would rather have you snoop around Spiegel and see what he's up to, it'd be better if you don't meet Dandelion at all."

"We're on the job, Jeremy," Ashley said, clipping her Link to her belt under the windbreaker. "You working with us on this?"

"I wish, but no. I've got a client at my agency and today I hope to find out what happened to his kids. It's very personal. But I did attach a Trom transmitter inside the wheel well of his car. Signal 177. You'll have no trouble finding him."

"And the two of us look so different we can switch off while trailing him to avoid being spotted," Unicorn smirked. "Okay, science nerd, you ready?"

"Yes." Megan Salenger seemed distracted. "To be honest, I am curious about determining how this Dandelion can perform her sharpshooting feats. It would be a useful ability to replicate."

In the doorway, Bane said, "I have to go now. Listen, I don't usually caution you two. You're both experienced Tel Shai knights and to be honest, you're as good as any other KDF members before you. But I strongly recommend staying away from Unicorn if you see her. Text me according to your own judgement, I should be down by the Battery."

The sound of the door closing out in the front hall was the prompt for Ashley and Megan to exchange amused smiles. "Well," laughed the little blonde, "Now I'm determined to chase down this Dandelion lassie no matter what!"

( the rest of the story )

"The Mournful Flame"

10/1213DR



I.

"Even for a dive like the TWO-HEADED EEL, the riff-raff are a most unsavory lot tonight," grumbled Varlay the Lynx. He had squeezed in behind a round table in one of the darker corners of that tavern, with a candle stub on a copper plate flickering uncertainly between his cupped hands. As always, he had his back to a wall where he could watch the open doorway beyond which midnight loomed. Not enough fresh air came in to displace the reek of spilled ale and old vomit, of unwashed clothing and unmopped floors.

Pulling out a stool to plop down unceremoniously facing the Lynx, Lankur grinned at his smaller companion. A Khebiran, Lankur had the smooth dark brown skin and sharp features of those natives of the desert realm. Even for his race, though, he was unusually large and stood closer to seven feet tall than six, with rounded muscles hard as boulders straining his linen tunic. That garment was the brightest crimson possible, and as if he did not already present enough of a flamboyant figure, the giant also wore a gold bicep band and a hoop earring on his right side. Lankur kept his head shaved, emphasizing the square jawline and deepset brown eyes. "And we are among the more disreputable of said dregs," he chuckled without trying to lower his deep baritone. "I see three of the Night Gorillas from Danarak. Sailors from distant Chujir in their silk blouses. That scar-faced glowering rascal at the bar itself must a slayer of the Assassins' League. Here we sit as their peers... the two best thieves in Mordain we may be, but wealthy we are not."

Lankur had unbuckled the leather baldric which held his sheathed two-handed greatsword and propped it up against the wall by his side. The small throwing hatchet remained in his belt. "Even so," he continued, "See here. I have two silver coins and five coppers left. Enough to drink till dawn, Lynx. Perhaps a barmaid or two will join us."

"Hah, then we will leave without even a single copper." Placing his own pouch on the table, Varlay nudged it unhappily. Not much more than five feet in height, reaching only to Lankur's chest when they stood side by side, the Lynx was a slightly built man with limp corn-yellow hair and light blue eyes in a pale oval face. He kept that face half-concealed in the shadows of his cowl. Varlay dressed like the monk he had once been, wrapped in a tightly-sashed robe of coarse brown burlap with loose sleeves in which his hands remained concealed. In contrast to his flamboyant companion, the Lynx was a creature of shadows and obscurity. His own sword was a narrower dueling weapon meant for precise thrusts rather than hacking, and he kept its scabbard against his leg.

"I think we should stay thirsty until we see what offer this Necromancer has for us," Varlay said at last. "I do not recognize the name Churustan at all, is it familiar to you, Lankur?"

"Not in the slightest. I am not even certain what land would produce such an ungainly appellation. No matter." Catching the eye of a tavern wench, he bellowed out "Two bottles of Sour-Stomach Wine, my dear!" in a tone that could have been heard clearly outside the tavern.

As the bottles were brought and he handed the robust peasant girl some appropriate coins, Lankur rubbed his wide jaw thoughtfully. "Suppose I were to let my beard grow, Lynx. Do you think it would make me even more handsome? Winsome lasses would follow me down the street."

"A beard? With your dome still shaven clean as a baby's rump?" retorted his partner. "From a distance, you would seem to have your head on upside down!"

Lankur gulped down half the wine, thumped himself in the chest and produced a prodigious belch. "Ah, thus confusing my opponent in a duel, eh?"

Both men gave a violent start, Varley dropping his barely-touched bottle to the filthy floor with a clatter and Lankur seized the dirk in his belt. A tall gaunt figure shrouded in a dark cloak had moved slightly, revealing he had been in fact standing right next to them without being seen.

"Draldros dig my grave, I'm on my way!" cursed Lankur with genuine heat. "Where did YOU come from?"

"Forgive me," came the answer in a low, silky tone. "I did not wish to be noticed. Allow me to offer my name, I am that same Churustan who asked to meet you here". Under the deep cowl which shadowed his head, the stranger further concealed his features with a gauzy scarf bounded over his lower face. Only a pair of deepset dark eyes regarded the two adventurers with sardonic amusement. "Lankur the Mighty, of Khebir? Varlay the Lynx, son of Skandor?"

"Admitted," said the smaller blonde thief. Varlay dug with the toe of one boot under the table in an unsuccessful attempt to locate his wine. "Forgive me for boldness, but your accent is not immediately familiar to my ears. Could it be that you grew up within the shadow of the Burning Pyramid?"

The stranger raised a gloved finger to his own lips in a hushing gesture. "Nay, I am no Dartha. My Race is not well-loved, for good reason. Best that the patrons of this deplorable hovel know not that a Necromancer walks among them, eh?"

"Deals with those of your Art seldom end happily, it is said." Lankur drew himself up straighter, scowling with no attempt at tact. "Too many tales are told of mortal Men who regret ever making an agreement with sorcerers. Sudden and unpleasant deaths after accepting your coins, a slow wasting away from taking your artifacts, lovely women who turn into serpents..."

"Silver is pure," came the answer. Opening the front of his tunic, the stranger held up a soft leather bag tied at its mouth with cords. "You may each examine this if you like. You must know that silver is the one substance that of my Art cannot ensorcell. None of our curses will take hold on the moon's own metal, and there is enough silver dust here to buy you each a mansion of your own."

"It would be only prudent to examine that pouch where we cannot be watched by nosy neighbors," Varlay said. "I assume that we would earn it by stealing something guarded by either a hundred armed Melgarin or by a winged Kushelan demon or perhaps a cave full of venomous spiders big as dogs?"

"Nothing so easily dismissed as that," the sorcerer smirked. "True, I do wish to retain your services to bring me a sample of the Mournful Flame, that rare violet fire which burns cold and cannot be extinguished. The real challenge you will face is that another mercenary is on his way to claim it first."

"What, only one man?" scoffed Lankur, waving a broad hand in dismissal. "Feh. I thought there would be real peril in store. He is as good as slain, the poor fool."

Churustan leaned in closer, lowering his mellow tones. "This warrior is an abomination like no other. Have you never heard of Romal the Mongrel?"

( the rest of the story )

"The Monster Maker"

2/13/1997

I.

As she stepped out of the black helicopter CORBY, freezing dawn wind blew Cindy back against the hull. She gasped and lowered the helmet quickly down over her dark blonde hair. In a second, she had closed the seal between helmet and the high collar of her field suit. As quickly as that, she felt snug and comfortable, breathing warm air that had passed through the mandible filters of the helmet. The telepath straightened up and turned back to close and fasten the hatch.

"Dayum, it's cold!" she yelled. "Maine in February, why can't we have a case in Hawaii today?"

Stepping around from the other side of the CORBY, Bane was in an identical field suit, with his helmet already sealed and visor down. He adjusted his left ear pod and suddenly was talking with her through the communications system. "We take them as they turn up," his voice came clearly into her headphones. "Want to give me a hand securing the bird?"

"Oh, sure," she answered, taking a bungee cable from him. For the next ten minutes, they fastened the CORBY down to pegs that Bane drove into the hard ground with a hammer. Then a waterproof camoflauge tarp was secured over the helicopter and finally the Dire Wolf seemed satisfied. He went around the CORBY one more time, checking everything, then wedged the hammer beneath the landing gear.

Cindy was looking around. "I don't see any monsters so far." ( the rest of the story )

The Corruption On Ulgor


[This is one of the most crucial events in my little invented mythology, referred to in dozens of stories; but I will never get around to actually depicting it on stage, so to speak. So, time for a Summary.]

For an indeterminate period, the Eldanarin were the dominant Race. This era was later remembered by most as an idyllic Golden Age, but of course there had been crime and disease and minor wars like always. It was just that the Eldanarin had such a benevolent and calming influence by their presence that people tended to be on their best behavior. Early cities were being built in Chujir and Signarm and elsewhere; it was during that the Melgarin first appeared.

All over the world, mystics and warriors began to experience compelling dreams which drew them to Ulgor. Only a small percentage responded and actually travelled to the island but these individuals would become more powerful and more influential than they could have predicted. The island of Ulgor in the Cold Sea was within easy sailing distance from the mainland. Rugged and unpromising for agriculture, Ulgor was sparsely inhabited by recent settlers who were beginning to clear the land.

It was revealed that Thirteen of the Sulla Chun had assembled 'near' the island for their own reasons, but they did not manifest directly on Ulgor. Their presence at close range would have promptly destroyed the strongest Human brains. Instead, the Sulla Chun took control of settlers and spoke through them as mouthpieces to deliver their knowledge. This experience of channeling such intense force withered and aged the spokesmen, burning them out so that they had to be replaced within a few days.

In defiance of the Higher Ones, the Halarin, the Sulla Chun revealed secrets of gralic use to those who had answered their summons. The forbidden Arts of Alchemy, necromancy and spirit-casting were imparted, as well as those Arts which would be later taught at Tel Shai, such as Kumundu fighting art and Kerwandu healing. The origins of vampirism, lycanthropy and Voodoo began here. These secrets were revealed at random and those who had come to learn had to digest the stunning information as best they could. Many of the seekers suffered psychotic breakdowns or heart attacks, only the most mentally resilient and determined could cope with the process.

There has never been a definitive list of those who attended the Corruption. But we know some who attended and who survived the destruction which followed:

-Tollinor Kje, Firstmade of the Darthim, soon to initiate the misery and horror of the Darthan Age.

-Wakimbe of Danarak. He learned shape-shifting and how to draw immense gralic force into the construct of a giant Black Lion which he assumed at will. Even ages after his death, the surviving claw of the Black Lion was handed down and enabled a Danarakan warrior to assume that form.

-Sinjir, later called Wu Lung, the Dragon of War. Among other Arts, he learned how to cast his spirit forward to possess by force an unwilling host even centuries later.

-Karina of Myrrwha. She learned how to reinforce the surface of her body by conscious effort so that her skin could not be pierced or her bones broken by mortal weapons. Karina also was able to survive physical death. Her spirit could only incarnate into a host that willingly accepted it. She was killed and reborn many times in the millennia which followed.

-Malberon of Androval. Legend has it that he departed the island after a single day. Appalled by the dire threats he knew were about to be unleashed, Malberon spent his remaining years crafting a series of ensorcelled weapons to help defend his people. He infused Melgarin with the Legacy, which would give superhuman strength to one male and one female in each generation. He created the spear Shai Tazam or Brightbolt; the Seven Swords; the Four Element talismans and many lesser items. Most of the sigils created by Malberon are still potent and in use today.

Alarmed and offended by what they saw, the three Halarin took up the regency of this world which they had been given. Usually prevented from acting by their rivalries, the trinity of Jordyn, Cirkoth and Eryasha warned everyone to flee by sending a barrage of lightning bolts from a clear sky, then rumbling earthquakes underfoot and finally boiling waves crashing high up onto the island. At the following dawn, after the more prudent of the wisdom seekers had left, the Halarin seized the Sulla Chun and imprisoned them deep beneath the earth, in Arctic wastes or in the Spaces Between Spaces, with the intention that these monsters never return. In modern times, the cult Those Who Remember was established to locate and try to free the Sulla Chun.

Then the Higher Ones broke Ulgor of its foundation and cast it down to settle at the bottom of the Cold Sea. The majority of those who attended the Corruption drowned. The Halarin considered their work done in one of their rare interventions and again withdrew into more rarified planes of existence but the damage was done. Twenty mystics had escaped and scattered across the world to start applying the dread knowledge they had been given. Tollinor Kje somehow brought to Maroch one of the lesser Sulla Chun who had been mortally wounded in the cataclysm. He imprisoned this Captive beneath the Burning Pyramid, so named because the prisoner within heated its stones to where it was painful to walk upon them.

Siphoning off gralic force from the Captive, the Darthim used it to give unprecedented potency to their spells. Warlocks and sorcerers of other Races could no longer stand up to them. Even the immortal Eldanarin were forced to retreat to Elvedal and seldom ventured forth again. The Darthan Age had begun. For more than a thousand years, all the peoples of this world were tormented and oppressed by the sadistic whims of the Darthim.

Then, after twelve hundred years had passed, Tollinor began a project to create a bodyguard and assassin to serve him. He cut from a Human woman the nearly ready embryo and infused it with traits of the other Races. The strength of a Troll, the quickness of a Snake man, gills like a Gelydra, resistance of gralic spells of an Eldanar.. and as a final touch, Tollinor gave the infant the pointed ears which marked all the Darthim. He could not know it, but he had created the one warrior who would doom him. Given unnatural birth, the child escaped Maroch and eventually led the uprising which overthrew the Darthan Rule. He himself slew Tollinor as Maroch burned around him. This was Romal the Mongrel.

8/20/2019