Malevolenci Read online

  Trent was beginning to feel his age, but he still ran with impressive speed as he split up from the cavali to flank the monster and reach the open rift.

  Close the rift first, thought Trent. Then deal with the demon!

  His heart racing, Trent ran to the corner of the theater building and used it as cover. He stretched out his hand and started drawing the termino over the smoking rift.

  A bentaforx! The malevolenci aren’t messing around anymore.

  “You won’t kill me!” he shouted up at the rift. “You hear me? I’ve survived this long, and you’re not going to kill me now! Not even with your biggest freakin’ pet!”

  He drew the termino as fast as he could. His heart was in his throat, and he expected something new and terrible to jump out and make him pay for his defiance.

  But he finished the symbol and spun his hand, blurring the rift into nothing a minute later.

  Trent jumped as Daniel ran around the corner. The king’s eyes were wide, and he was panting from combat. But he looked exhilarated, as he always did in the midst of battle.

  This king’s made for war.

  Trent had to smile at his friend, but he heard a roar from the bentaforx still fighting the men.

  “Nice work,” said Daniel. “Were you screaming at the demons?”

  Trent shrugged with a small smile.

  No, not the demons. I was screaming at their masters.

  He slapped a hand against the back of Daniel’s cavali uniform. “Come on. That bentaforx doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I have a plan.”

  King Daniel Lord’s fresh cavali team stood in the grassy park of a small town somewhere in western Missouri. Trent had lost track of where they were, but he saw that conjuri had placed illuso spells around the park so no civilians would be disturbed. A rift hung open near a shallow stream connecting the park’s ponds, and already cavali had spread out to hunt for the scouts’ reported swarm of spindlox.

  Hunting malevolenci in the moonlight, thought Trent with a smirk. Sounds romantic. Too bad Daniel had to bring me and not Mirth.

  He looked to see Daniel approaching from where he’d given orders to a group of men. This king was over thirty, but he looked young, even dressed in his cavali uniform. So far Trent liked the man, and he’d heard many stories of what Daniel had done for the paranormals while his aged father continued to rule. Now that King Byron was dead and buried, the Order was able to move on with full confidence in their new king. From what Trent had seen already, the Order conducted its business without turbulence amongst the paranormal races, and everyone seemed to respect Daniel.

  Many of these cavali are younger than the king. A few served under his father, though, and even those surly old buggers respect Daniel. That’s a good sign.

  An armor-wearing troll walked by, and Trent noticed the man’s eyes linger on the new king’s new origini as he passed.

  They’re less sure of me. It’s probably weird to see a new face after King Byron’s twenty-two versions of Rueben.

  Trent frowned to himself as he adjusted the castorca on his hand.

  So many have died. Poor Vulcan…I mean, Rueben. He would’ve been horrified to learn his king went through so many of his alterni.

  King Daniel walked up and checked his gun, eager to get into their first battle. “Ready, Trent?”

  “Ready.”

  Trent walked to a position in front of the smoky rift by the stream. He felt his heart race as he looked into the opening, and he realized his throat was bone dry.

  This is it. As soon as I close this rift, this generation’s shift in the war will begin. The malevolenci will know a new origini has come. Their assassins in the alt-worlds will hunt my alterni – I can’t believe they got the Triangles working again! But I plan to stay alive. I won’t let my alterni fight our war – I can protect them that much, by staying here and fighting myself. There were twenty-two Ruebens before me, but there will only be one of me.

  He lifted his castorca and felt a swell of magic pulled into his hand.

  I have to stay alive. The Order needs time to recoup from King Bryon’s losses. If we’re as few in number as the historical records indicate, we’re running out of chances to win the war. I have to give these fighters time to get stronger. And I need to come up with a way to do serious damage to the malevolenci numbers.

  Trent felt cavali eyes on him as he narrowed his fingers to draw the termino symbol.

  Just leave me to it and keep the spindlox off me, he thought with a shudder. I forgot how disgusting those creatures are.

  Trent had been summoned. Once the bubble of light had faded around him, he’d realized he was in a different world. Naked and alone, he’d been greeted by an overweight, balding man dressed in white robes.

  Now, Trent sat for the first time in a library with this white-robed man, Roman, who called himself the Master Conjuri, and another wise scholar, Ada Pound. What Trent had seen so far of this base was militaristic and stiff, but its library was everything he’d hoped to find in the sanctuary world. Rows and rows of bookshelves held texts which contained this world’s history, civilian and otherwise. More books detailed the histories of every paranormal race who’d been brought here.

  There’s so much to catch up on!

  He tried to contain his excitement and not squirm in his seat. It was hard to say how much these people knew about him. So far Roman seemed aware of what Trent truly was, but Trent hadn’t sensed the same level of awareness from the others he’d encountered. The last thing he wanted was to screw up whatever systems had been in place for centuries. Until he learned how the Order worked, he’d have to play dumb about everything.

  How many of us have been here? If I’m here, that means those before me failed to win the war. I’m only here because we still need to continue the fight… The days ahead could be rough, but I can’t help being excited. Being here’s like finding a toy you lost as a child.

  Ada was pleasant, though she didn’t seem as knowledgeable as Roman. A middle-aged, dark-skinned woman with glasses that were clearly new to her, Ada smiled at him from across the table. “Welcome, Mr. Simons. Our Master Conjuri tells me he’s already filled you in on the reason we brought you to our world. I’m thrilled that you’ve agreed to fight for us. I believe you’ll find our new king to be an exceptional partner in your work ahead.”

  Trent glanced at the pudgy man sitting beside Ada. “Yes, Roman told me about the…demons and the purpose of your Order.”

  Demons, he thought. That’s what they call the beasts. Fitting.

  He couldn’t help himself from looking around at the bookshelves. “I’m very eager to learn more, Ms. Pound. Where should we start?”

  “Here.” Ada reached for a stack of books on the tabletop and spun one to face him. “This is the first volume of the Chronicle of Kings. Reading about the alterni before you will help you understand how to fight the malevolenci. We’ve found that these records are most helpful to prepare you for the battle ahead. You’ll start from the beginning of the Order’s history and learn how others have fought malevolenci. Only after your studies have passed my satisfaction will we train you how to use our world’s magic.”

  Trent hid a grin.

  It’ll be hard to pretend I’m not an expert already.

  He looked down at his casting hand.

  I can feel the magic of this world. It’s as strong as ever, maybe stronger. That must mean the plan worked – those before me gave their creator magic to this world by becoming mortal. I do feel different. I’m mortal?

  “Is that acceptable to you?” said Ada, regaining his attention.

  He bowed his head to the woman, and he reached for the book she shoved across to him. He took the large tome by its binding and noted how delightfully old the paper was. Then he opened the cover, flipped to the first page, and saw a generational list of the kings who had fought in this war. Also listed were names of those who’d been summoned to join the fight. He didn’t know the names – his fellow
rebels had chosen different identities over their many lifetimes just as he had – but he saw the numbers.

  His smile faded.

  No. No, no, no. Seventy-eight generations? Seventy-eight! That means of the eighty of us, there’s only two left. Oh, no…

  With a swallow, he tried to hide his horror from the natives across the table. Looking at Ada, he again perceived that she knew nothing of the true nature of origini. When his eyes swung to Roman, Trent noted the man’s deep scowl.

  He knows. The rebels before me must’ve entrusted their Master Conjuri with the truth about us. Good. That’s what I’ve been hoping – we need all the knowledgeable allies we can get.

  Trent took a breath and began reading the history of this war.

  Owen lost track of time. Sitting blindly on the cold stone, he thought he might lose his mind. His heart hadn’t stopped racing. With every sucking sound from Esme, he hoped she was coming back, but after the ninth or tenth time, he stopped getting his hopes up.

  I could try a fire spell of my own, but I don’t have the control Esme does. My hand spells are only good enough to use as weapons. I don’t want to shoot flames and accidentally catch one of these ancients on fire…or Esme.

  His hearing was sharper than ever, though every little sound also was driving him crazy. The stillness of the pitch-black den was broken only by the distant rippling of water outside the cavern, and this directional landmark was at least helpful. But the occasional sounds of vampires turning over in their nests was unsettling.

  Are they still telepathically linked to our ancient friend? Are they seeing the memories he’s sharing with Esme? I almost wish they’d start chanting again. Well, no, that’d freak me out even more.

  Finally, a concern grew strong enough for him to speak. He cleared his throat, nervous to break the silence, and called, “Can one of you help me?”

  He heard movement from a high ledge behind him.

  “What does the King of the Order require of us?”

  “I promised Esme I’d stay here, but I need to send word back to my team. They need to hear we’re safe, or else they might come to rescue us.”

  This brought more shuffling on more ledges.

  “Only the king and alterni endi are permitted in this den.”

  “Forbidden!”

  “Forbidden!”

  He swallowed, detecting the threat. “I get it. That’s why I’m hoping one of you can go back and talk to my men. They need to know we’re okay.”

  Light footsteps padded down the stairs.

  “We understand. But we smell the mixed blood of werewolves on your clothes. Your half-men–” this was said with clear scorn “–will not trust the word of a vampire.”

  Cat balls, even these guys are racist?

  Owen let out a huff and spoke into the darkness. “I need one of you to go tell them Esme and I are safe. Tell them I sent you and that I want Max to go topside and report to Tank and Piper that we might be a while. If they give you trouble, tell them…” He thought a second.

  Dax will assume the vampires are lying. I have to come up with something only I would tell them.

  “Tell them the password is ‘Esme fights with spoons.’”

  The vampires shuffled in their nests, and Owen guessed they were confused.

  The ancient who’d descended the stairs said, “Very well, King of the Order. I will go at once.”

  Owen thought of something else. “And tell them to send back a light stick. I can’t sit here in the dark like this forever.”

  “Very well,” the ancient said again.

  Owen heard footsteps retreating from the cavern, headed toward the water.

  I hope this works.

  Owen sat in the darkness and faced where he heard Esme drinking from the sacrificial ancient.

  We should be okay for a few more hours. It was morning when we entered the caverns. The malevolenci have never opened a rift during the day, so hopefully that won’t change. Hmm. The ghost fish… These ancients… The malevolenci…

  He blinked into the darkness as he realized something.

  They all hate the light. The fish and these ancients have lived so long in darkness that they’ve adapted to it. They’ve evolved to prefer the dark. Are the malevolenci the same?

  Owen wiped his face and tried to keep his thoughts straight.

  It’s not hard to imagine how these ancients have gone insane. Hiding away in the dark for centuries with your head full of thoughts and memories that aren’t even your own. What memories is Esme seeing? What the hell did Uncle Trent want her to know? Gods, how long will this take?

  Alone with his thoughts in the vampire den, Owen sat and waited. And waited.

  The first of Trent Simons’ shared memorizes was dazzling. But he was no longer Trent Simons in this time. Here, in his home world, he was known at Janus, God of Beginnings.

  A towering crystal Pyramid sparkled in the brilliant sun overhead. At the peak rested a massive stone inscribed with symbols, one for each world they’d used the Pyramid to create.

  It’s high noon, thought Janus. Always a good time to create.

  He smiled as he looked at the scene around the Pyramid. A wide pool ran around its base and rippled in a faint breeze. Around this pool lay a ring of hundreds of dazzling white stones. On each stone stood a creator.

  Today they were building a world for Aphrodite, a golden-haired goddess whose blue gown fluttered in the breeze where she stood on a stone beside Janus. On her other side was Vulcan, a burly god with a red beard who wore a coat of white furs. Janus couldn’t help smiling at his own simple brown pants and tunic.

  I’m not a very flashy god.

  Vulcan smiled with love at Aphrodite, then they all looked back at the Pyramid.

  “Let us begin,” said Aphrodite in a voice loud enough to carry around the courtyard.

  Long-tailed, rainbow-colored birds flew off the roof of the pavilion behind them. On the hills beyond the courtyard’s walls, unicorns grazed and young foals frolicked on the grassy slopes. This world was home to a thousand creators, and they’d used its magic to create a perfect, magical paradise.

  It’s a beautiful day to create, thought Janus with a smile. Aphrodite wants to populate her world with merpeople and fantastical sea creatures. A world entirely covered by the sea. That’s something we haven’t tried before. Not even Poseidon made an entire world of water.

  Aphrodite lifted her casting hand in the air and swung her arm like an orchestra conductor. Waves of swirling magical light drifted from her hands to the side of the Pyramid facing her, and the crystal rippled. This ripple spread to every side of the Pyramid, and finally the great stone at the peak flashed. Beams of light shone from the peak’s stone down onto each creator’s stone around the pool.

  Janus lifted his casting hand and copied Aphrodite’s movements. The others around the Pyramid did the same, and in perfect synchronization they strengthened the flow of magic into the Pyramid’s sparkling, rippling sides.

  They lived for this. For eons, they’d used the Pyramid to create echoes of their world. Each copy they then altered according to their desires. They’d created alt-worlds for each creator. They’d partnered up and designed worlds as teams. They’d created copies of copies of copies and watched as the people within their worlds chose different paths, leading to worlds that were unpredictably unique.

  Worlds of elves as wise as Athena. Worlds of nymphs, tied to the land like Ceres and sensual in every way like Cupid. A world of trolls, strong and solid as Vulcan. Luna’s world of vampires with eternal, beautiful darkness. Fukurokuju’s world of spirited, incorporeal jinn who bring fortune to everything they touch. Goblins, living in Khrysos’s subterranean world of gold. Fairies in Aurora’s magical world of color, music, flight, and potions. Lycaon’s world of werewolves, where the pack life means strength and beauty.

  Janus felt magic vibrate through his entire body, and he swung his arm to send another burst of magic into the Pyramid. On the inside
, the newly created world began to take shape.

  Could anything ever be more wonderful than this?

  “How could we have known?” Isis, Goddess of Magical Healing, leaned against Janus and held his hand. Her dark curls blew in the smoky wind, and soot stained her white gown.

  In front of them, across the once golden street, their home and their neighbors’ homes were crumbling before their eyes. Dust swirled up from the destruction. The previously beautiful hillsides beyond the city were on fire, and lava rolled into the sea behind them. The air itself was thick with decay. The sky above was black with lightning storms.

  Janus kissed the top of Isis’s head, but he grimaced when he tasted soot on his lips. He tried to stay calm. “Ceres said weeks ago that he’d noticed trees dying in the forests. The snow on the mountains had turned to a festering, toxic–”

  “But there was no way to know we were causing all that.” Isis looked up at him, her brown eyes showing a willful ignorance that disturbed Janus. “We’ve created thousands of worlds. We’ve used our magic for eons. Why did everything fall apart so quickly?”

  He scowled as he watched a roof collapse. “Hades shouldn’t have made so many copies of his worlds. That’s when signs of trouble started. This earthquake was just a stronger reaction than the dying plants.”

  Isis lifted her casting hand and tried to repair their damaged house, but the magic that wafted from her hand faded into nothing before it crossed the broken street.

  He sighed. “We’ve known for some time that we were running out of magic. When Vishnu made his last world, we agreed the magic flowing into the Pyramid was thinner than it should’ve been. Many of us agreed to stop creating until we discovered what was going on. Hades ignored that idea. So did Anubis. So did…you.”

  “I’d dreamed of creating that world for millennia. You know that. I finally figured out the last thing I wanted to include, so I was too excited to wait.”

  A loud bang caused them to jump, and Janus turned with Isis to look up the street. The engraved giant pillars that stood at the grand pavilion’s entrance had fallen over. A long crack split the dirt in front of the building, and one of the pillars was completely shattered across the entryway.