7

How Many Crickets Does It Take…

"I believe that last bolt destroyed the giant," Oydd said to the mouseling. "I sensed an incredible and violent release of dark energy. It's partly what stirred up all this dust. "

"I know," Patches sighed. "I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about Pip."

"Pip? Was he down there?" the rudra asked in alarm.

The mouseling nodded. "I sent him to get some blood, so I could kill Indech."

"By making a totem?"

Patches nodded again.

"That wouldn't work on the undead. Not... on the soulless dead. He was possessed by an entirely different force than in life."

Patches looked up. "Would it make the totem try to get me?"

"Try to get you? No. What do you mean?"

"If the totem tried to get me, what would make it do that? I thought it was because I didn't have any of his blood. But maybe it's because he was haunted."

"Haunted?"

The mouseling pressed her lips together in thought. "Possessed. You said possessed. That means haunted, right?"

"Oh. It sounds like you're overthinking it. I am not an expert on your magic, but only a malevolent force would seem like it was trying to get you. The power holding Indech was indeed malevolent, but you lack the power to even attempt to bind it."

"But it happened."

"I'm... not questioning what happened," Oydd said diplomatically. "I'm trying to help you—"

"It tried to get me, I'm not lying," Patches cried out.

The rudra patted her gently on the head. "I'm trying to help you figure out what happened."

"I told you what happened. I brought part of him into my hole, and he tried to get me, and I ran, and now I can't go back."

"You can't go back to your hole? Let me come with you, and we'll investigate."

"I want to wait here for Pip."

"All right, little one." As Oydd spoke, a silhouette appeared out in the dust, hovering over the expanse, as if walking on the air. It drew closer, and the rudra felt a magical fear similar to that radiating from Indech. It was not nearly so pervasive, and yet somehow more potent due to the proximity.

Oydd felt his arm shaking. A violet light penetrated the dust, and gradually Oydd made out the decaying form of the elder rudra. Though they now dripped below its bare feet, only three tentacles remained on its face, which made its chipped beak more prominent. It held an adamantine staff, similar to Oydd's, with a stylized claw at the top clutching an egg-shaped, polished, green stone.

It landed at the brink of the ledge, and walked forward slowly amidst the silent and motionless defenders of the tower. Not even the seasoned azaeri commander moved, and Oydd could not discern if their apprehension were magical in nature, or sheer intimidation.

The decrepit rudra stalked directly up to Oydd, towering over him. Oydd had not seen the older rudra so close, and did not expect to feel so small. But toe to toe, he stood nearly two feet shorter, though the older rudra appeared more gaunt and skeletal, somewhat like a scarecrow in proportions.

Oydd stared in awe at the source of the violet light. It glowed from within the bulbous sac that hung from the back of his head. Without even opening a mental link, Oydd could feel the rudra's cloying, clawing intellect. Its mind reached out, even at rest, digging into his thoughts and memories, pricking like electric needles through his skull.

He assumed the others felt a similar, invasive feeling, which might explain the stillness. They were not spellbound, nor frozen from fear, but transfixed as the rudra unconsciously groped their thoughts—as still as a tome opened on a lectern, waiting for its reader to turn the page.

The pale rudra hovered so close to Oydd that he could feel the heat from its fetid breath. One of the rudra's arms had begun to decay, and smelled of maggots.

And then the mouseling, from several yards away—perhaps unnoticed by the elder rudra—gripped her tiny knife, and swung through the nether with all her might, as her master, Licephus, had taught.

A gash appeared on the older rudra's long tentacle, but the two rudra stood so closely that the slash also severed one of Oydd's tentacles, and even clipped his beak.

Oydd tried to reach to cover the wound, but could not move. Blue blood dripped from the cut, and the tip of his severed tentacle flopped about in a thin pool at his feet like a suffocating fish.

He stared at the white, bloated stump where the other rudra's missing tentacle had once been, but the wound had long healed over. Now it appeared dry and leathery.

The elder rudra turned toward the mouseling, and made a slight sound, almost like a laugh of amusement.

Patches drew back her knife again, like a club, but the invader held up a hand and it flew instantly to his palm.

The mouseling, however, gripped onto the knife so tightly that she flew along with it. She dangled from the handle, her tail several feet from the ground, while the violet light emanating from the back of the rudra's head grew to such intensity that Oydd's head began to buzz. He fell to the ground.

Oydd attempted to release a pulse of energy, but—with no more than a thought—the elder rudra returned the pulse toward him. Oydd lifted Bale's claw before his face defensively, and it vibrated so powerfully that he saw four violet hands as he skidded backward.

The invader stared after him with such contempt that Oydd let out a stifled, horrified cry.

The elder rudra walked toward Baba Kesu's laboratory, leaving Patches grasping onto her tiny knife, floating in the air behind him.

Oydd, crumpled on the ground, made no further attempt to stop him.

*****

As the dust began to settle, Jeshu managed to stumble upon Cricket and his shadow, laughing and sharing stories, sitting amidst a macabre mess of corpses.

"You know, there are still a few stragglers?" the druid shouted out.

Cricket's shadow gave him a meaningful look, along the lines of "get a load of this guy..." and Cricket tried to stop from laughing as he shushed the clone.

"Don't pick on Jesh. He doesn't know any better."

Jesh raised an eyebrow as he neared. "What, exactly does that mean?"

"I just meant you didn't intend to be judgmental," Cricket clarified.

"Well, that's not what you said."

"It sort of is. You don't know how much we've already done. I'm exhausted!" At this, the shadow agreed by nodding enthusiastically. "I'll actually be more helpful," Cricket argued, "if I get a little break."

"Ah, I see," the druid responded. "You're missing an arm, already?"

"No, it's right over there."

"You held onto it? That's probably good."

"Well, it's my favorite arm, so I wasn't just going to leave it out there for someone else. Why is that good? You think Oydd can reattach it?"

"Couldn't be harder than attaching Bale's arm. And it will be months before you shed again."

The shadow nodded in agreement, still holding in a laugh from some earlier joke the druid had missed.

"Hey, I've got a lot of minor injuries too. Is it a good time?"

"Yes," the druid answered. "I've been improving. I actually healed Oydd over a distance of a few yards—without touching him, I mean."

"Really?"

"It's the product of a lot of meditation. I have to reach out and feel my surroundings. That's the best way I can describe it. If I'm doing it right, I start to feel everything... resonate.

"I love that word. Do that to me!" the insect requested excitedly.

"Oh, I... your shell is more complicated. But it's an improvement that I can do it at all."

"Oh," Cricket sulked as the druid began to mend the tear from the caltrop on the bottom of his foot.

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"Did this affect your walking?"

"Not really."

The shadow, feeling left out, held up his foot, which also had a crack in the bottom, evidently expecting equal treatment. But Jeshu didn't notice.

"That does feel better though," Cricket replied, then changed the subject. "Is it hard to heal things from far away?"

"Hard, yes. But it doesn't really take more energy. Just more concentration."

A shrill, sputtering roar pierced the cloud of dust, and Jeshu tensed, reaching for the handle of his hammer.

"Don't worry, that's just Bax."

"You sure?"

Cricket nodded excitedly. "And me. On a snail."

However, as the echoing roar dimmed, Cricket saw a much smaller silhouette approaching—a child, it seemed. It paused, as a wisp of thick dust blew in front of it, obscuring it. Then, when the insect could see clearly again, he noticed a second, larger form behind it—some sort of beast that the smaller silhouette held by a chain.

At the sight of the larger animal, Cricket jumped to his feet, and the druid readied his hammer.

The chained silhouette growled and lunged, and yet somehow the child held it back without an evident strain. A single, prick of violet light emanated from one of the child's eyes, illuminating the two with a soft light. The piercing light held Cricket's attention so unnaturally, that he did not at first notice the more substantive limbs attached to the beast—Bale's gleaming right arm, and his hypnotic, swaying tail.

Cricket crouched, in a defensive stance. He saw the child's long, sandy hair, flowing past her shoulders, laying against a white silken dress—a thin piece of fabric, no more than a night gown. She delicately gripped the flat, adamantine chain. The beast, yanking against the chain hungrily on all fours, wore a suit of blackened armor, and an eyeless mask of adamantite, as a sort of muzzle.

It was not an animal, at all, the insect realized, but a feral vampire.

The child moved deliberately toward Cricket, holding back the vampire with curious ease, while he gnashed and growled, clawing at the ground, a grey foam dripping from behind the mask.

Though he had only seen her riding a spiderlike mount, and eyeless, in the past, Cricket recognized Shisu. He ignored her one, gaping, eyeless socket, momentarily transfixed, rather, by her strangely rounded ears. He remembered that Licephus had once described this peculiarity of the human race.

Licephus. Slowly—so slowly it gripped his chest—Cricket noticed the vampire's distinctive ridged armor. Armor forged of tainted silver. He saw the vampire lord's fine, long white hair, now only slightly disheveled, despite the feral lord's rage.

Cricket's antennae drooped. He felt so suddenly, painfully sad as he watched the frenzied Licephus yank against his chain.

"What do you want?" he asked dispassionately.

"I know you," the child answered—her voice quiet and measured. "The lesser prophet."

"Where did you even come from?" Cricket asked, looking about the cloudy battlefield. Despite the dust cover, it still felt odd for such a small child to appear before him.

"From another time," Shisu answered.

"But... from where?" Cricket repeated.

"From another place," she said.

Cricket grunted in frustration, and the child gave him a quizzical look, genuinely perplexed.

"How did you get here?" Jeshu asked, attempting to help the insect.

"Ah..." A look of understanding crossed her face. "Temporal magic."

The druid considered this. "You can control time?"

"Yes." She replied. "But time is space, and space is mana. All three are one. So all mana is temporal. But the best answer is yes."

"I didn't know that was possible..." Jeshu replied.

"It is not. Not yet. And even in the future, there are only two who can control time. Only my brother and I. And when we learned, we agreed to seal that knowledge. So there remain only two."

"What do you—"

Shisu cut off the druid, "I wish only to speak to the little prophet."

"Me?" Cricket said. "I'm bigger than your prophet!"

Shisu looked puzzled again. "Your common tongue is not all familiar to me. Perhaps I spoke poorly. You are... young. You are... inexperienced. Still learning the things that the Prophet already knows."

"And you'll only speak to me?" Cricket asked.

"I mean no disrespect," she said to the druid. "But you are dead in the future, so there is no point."

"Everyone's dead in the future," the dryad replied.

"I might not be," Cricket argued.

"Cricket, everybody dies."

"Now, hold on. I might not. Everybody that's dead has died, but I haven't yet. I might not."

"Cricket, you're joking right? You know you're going to die some day."

"Maybe," the insect conceded, then thought for a second. "Probably. But—"

"The druid is dead in my future. The young prophet is not in my future at all," Shisu explained.

"I.. well..." Cricket groaned. "That's... cryptic."

Shisu spoke again, but the angry garbles of Bax's illusory snail, fighting an unseen battle far away, drowned out most of her words.

"---and I have no animosity toward you. But you have left no other path to Sheol."

"I thought you were already there!" Cricket shouted, exasperated. But even as he spoke, Shisu released the chain, and Licephus charged.

Cricket squealed, but quickly collected himself. As the vampire picked up speed, its image blurred, and it looked as though two vampires ran toward him. Not knowing which image to trust, Cricket calmly removed his pouch, and held it off to his side. The feral vampire loped on all fours, snarling—evidently navigating by sound alone.

At the last moment, as he pounced, Cricket quickly hopped to the side, substituting himself with his pouch. The feral Licephus slashed the pouch open with Bale's claw and the insect used the split second of confusion to attempt to kick him off-balance.

But his foot went straight through Licephus. The vampire dodged backward, regardless, somehow sensing the attack, and when he slowed, the two images began to coalesce again, until there was only one Licephus.

He leapt instantly, tackling Cricket to the ground. Fortunately, the vampire, unable to curb its instincts, attempted to sink its fangs into the insect, which only managed to press the smooth, cool adamantine mask up against his throat.

Cricket squealed and screamed, but Jeshu's hammer swiped Licephus from the side and sent him rolling three times over. Large shards of ice spread along the vampire's blackened armor.

While Cricket scrambled to his feet, Jeshu stepped in with a severe blow to the side of Licephus' head, only moving it a few inches. However, large chunks of ice formed from the solid strike, cementing Licephus in place, giving the dryad enough time to prepare an overhead slam.

"Stop!" Cricket cried. "Don't do it! I'm... fond of him."

"What!" Jeshu stammered, his weapon held high.

"Like... in a brotherly way. I'm not like... confessing my feelings for him."

"Yeah, I get that, Cricket, but he's trying to kill us."

When Jeshu turned to look at the insect, he had already begun to run for the tower gates.

Licephus violently fought to break the shell of ice, but with only the intellect of a wild beast, he toppled to the side.

Jeshu looked at him, then at Cricket's backside, before lumbering after the insect as fast as his legs could take him.

"Where's Shisu?" the druid yelled as they ran.

Without even looking about, Cricket yelled, "I don't know!"

The corpse of a large, skeletal ettin lay beneath the gate, blocking it from closing. The iron bars wedged into the seated ettin's shoulder, holding the gate about five feet from the ground.

Cricket stooped as he entered to avoid scraping his antennae, then turned to cheer on the dryad.

Jeshu only had a few yards to go when the vampire broke free from the ice and began pursuit, hampered slightly by the chunks still clinging to it. As Licephus picked up speed, he again appeared to separate into two forms.

"Come on, you can do it!" Cricket shouted, a clearly doubtful tone to his voice. "Aim for the..." he threw a dagger at the left image, which went straight through. "Aim for the other one."

Jeshu did, however, make it inside with a few seconds to spare.

"Knock out the ettin!" Cricket screamed and pointed.

"You could help!" Jeshu cried, as he swung with his hammer, shattering the skeleton.

Licephus skidded to a stop. The gate crashed down, but stopped a few inches from the ground, held up by the ettin's crushed pelvis. The two images of Licephus merged again.

The feral vampire laid his head sideways on the ground, attempting to press it through the gap. Finding the opening too small, he lifted Bale's right arm and slashed at the iron gate, digging a few inches into the blackened metal on the first swipe.

Cricket screamed again. "You should have killed him when you had the chance!"

"Why'd you stop me?" the druid roared.

"We didn't have time to think it out! It was a split second decision!"

Jeshu took a deep calming breath.

"We were both making bad decisions. For example," Cricket continued, trying to justify himself, "I left my arm out there..."

Licephus swiped again, and a large chunk of iron dropped to the cavern floor.

As he prepared a third strike, Jeshu let out a spine-tingling yell. His hammer began to glow with mana, and the druid brought it to the ground with an earth-shattering blast that sent huge shards of ice angling out around the gate and through the bars. As Cricket watched, the shards grew, creating a defensive wall.

"I didn't know you could make ice grow. What else can you make grow?"

Jeshu thought it over. "Fire?"

Cricket's eyes went wide with wonder, reflecting light from the gleaming ice.

Licephus hopped back to avoid getting caught in the crackling crystals, but began to furiously cut through them. Now and then he attempted to bite at the wall with enough force that his adamantine mask sent cracks through the entire structure.

"This won't last long," Jeshu said.

"Smash him again," Cricket suggested.

"Cricket," Jeshu began gravely. "I'm almost out of mana. I can't use the ice hammer without it eating away at me."

"Hammers are pretty good even without ice. You should have used the mana you had on him though. Not the gate."

"You—" Jeshu started, with an accusing tone, but steadied himself again with a deep breath. "Regardless, it's not looking good. I'll try, but we should stay close, so he doesn't pick up speed. That illusion is too unpredictable." He looked back at Cricket with a concerned look. "Let me take the front, when he breaks through. I doubt you'll be much use against Licephus with only three arms."

"Well..." Cricket thought. "How many arms do you think it would take?"

"What?" Jeshu asked, though he knew what the insect was thinking. "That's not what I meant."

"I know, but... I mean, it wouldn't take a hundred arms, right? Maybe... sixty, tops?"

"How... how many clones can you make?"

Cricket scratched his chin. "My khopeshes got a lot of mana from Indech. They're practically on fire. If I don't make some shadows, they'll burn through my hands." Cricket held one khopesh in his remaining upper arm, and the other in his lower left. "Even my breastplate feels warm. That hasn't happened before."

"But can you actually make..." Jeshu looked down at Cricket's missing limb. "What would that be? Twenty clones."

"Nope," Cricket said, readying to strike the jade breastplate. "Only nineteen. You have to count me..."