52. The Riddle Tree

Maxim pulled the last infernal spike from his back with a gout of searing, acute pain.

He’d thought he was past that kind of pain.

Perhaps this is what judgment feels like.

He had halted his retreat in order to put up a few blocks for the Heroes, just in case they decided to interfere with the ritual. If he could keep them caged in their little fort, he could keep them from interfering long enough that the whole situation would resolve in his favor by default.

His spawnlings were gathered around him, packed into streets too narrow for their numbers as they disappeared out of view far in the distance.

Maxim raised his staff and chanted in their horrid tongue. Khruj joined in the chant, adding to his power.

A web of static energy extended from the eye of the staff. A handful of the Beasts that stood the closest were drawn together, kicking and screaming. Their bodies, half human, half other, began to merge. The flesh of several creatures lashed together, and soon they stood as one shambling horror.

Dark power sparked from its flesh. Its many fists clenched and unclenched, thirsting for battle. Its many mouths screamed in silent, untold agony.

As far as humanoids went, a sloppy attempt, but he didn’t have time to be thorough. Upon granting it a fraction of his immense power, it would be strong enough to prove a threat.

The newly created humanoid brought its hands together, and Beast magic danced between its numerous fingers. Its main face, consisting of two heads combined down the middle, split in a tortured grin.

Evangel took the time to create a handful more. Six in total. They would serve as his vanguard until the ritual was complete.

His humanoids rose, and they marveled at their new power. No doubt, their minds were already straining with deception against him.

“Tell me your names, all of you,” Maxim demanded.

“Whurd,” said one.

“Gruaj,” a second.

“Memat,” a third.

“Shlii,” a fourth.

“Draspet,” a fifth.

“Karok,” the last.

Maxim nodded. “Good. By your true-names, pledge yourselves to me, or be undone.”

“We pledge our ceaseless hunger to you,” the humanoids spoke with mouths untested.

Evangel raised his left hand and unleashed a wave of black energy that reduced one of the creatures —Gruaj— to a fine ash.

“This one lied about its true-name,” Maxim said. “Consider its fate. This is the cost of treachery.”

Maxim assigned a sizeable part of his force, more than half, to the humanoids that remained. With the horde he had left, he set off for the ritual site.

His mind writhed with voices, but he was resolved.

He was going to bring them back, and nothing, no one, would stop him.

*****

Heroes called to Lace from the wall when she jumped, but none dared come after her to haul her back.

Lace halted her fall with a cushion of air and took off running towards the fleeting Sprite. Faith flew ahead of her as quick as she could keep pace.

“C’mon, keep up!” Faith called.

Lace held her still-aching ribs as she ran.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” she asked.

“Things are starting to become clear now,” Faith explained. “I’m putting stuff together. I was your dad’s companion for a long time. He left something for you to find.”

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A pair of shutters flew open in a building to her left, and a dog-like spawnling burst out at her. Lace ducked under the leaping Beast and kept going. She glanced back and saw the canine slowly catching up, so she blew a focused pillar of wind behind her that knocked the creature on its back.

“What did he leave me?” Lace asked.

“I guess you could call it an inheritance. It’s better if you see it in person.”

Spawnlings were starting to take note of her presence, and a few decided to pursue her. Lace and Faith took onto narrow, winding alleys to throw them off.

Lace kept a sharp ear out for the sounds of Beasts raggedly panting somewhere behind her. “Is it far?”

“Nope. It’s right up here, actually.”

Faith came to an abrupt stop in front of an abandoned tailor shop.

Lace spun to face the Beasts that were on her and drew her gale-staff.

Four of them burst out of the alley she had just gone through. They were hunched over on all fours, skin slick and pink, but their faces were nearly human.

Wanting to conserve her stamina, Lace went for a low-hum wind blade. The Beasts leapt for her.

Lace put a fist to the ground and conjured a blast of wind underneath the creatures that sent them flying upward. Once they were airborne, she sliced two of them in half before they hit the ground. The last two were done for before they could pick themselves back up.

While Lace wiped the blood off of her staff, Faith was busy circling around a young tree in the thin yard of the old shop.

“What’re you looking for?” Lace asked.

“This is it,” Faith said. “Except there wasn’t a tree here before.”

Lace frowned as she walked up. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it—just a spindly birch whose leaves were in full bloom.

“The thing is, what, under the tree?”

“Mmhmm.” Faith kicked at the trunk with a tiny leg.

“Well, I’ll just cut it away, then.”

Lace powered up a wind blade and sliced at the birch.

It didn’t budge. It was as if the rushing air bent around the wood and left it completely unharmed.

Lace tried a few more times, to the same baffling result.

“It’s no use,” Faith muttered. “He’s one of those guys.”

“What guys?” Lace asked.

“Riddle…” the tree groaned.

A pair of growths along the trunk opened into eyes, lopsided and mismatched. The black orbs swiveled to regard Lace.

“A riddle tree,” Faith said with a sigh. “Their specialty is annoying people to death."

“Riddle!” the tree insisted.

“Do I answer its riddle or give it a riddle?”

“It gives you a riddle.”

“And if I answer correctly, it’ll let us pass.”

“Pretty much.”

Lace rubbed her forehead and sighed. “Alright, okay, fine. Just give me your riddle, tree.”

“When… was I born?” the tree asked in its slow, plodding voice. It blinked, first one eye, then the other.

“You weren’t kidding about the ‘annoying’ part,” Lace said to Faith. “We really don’t have time for this. What do I do?”

“Answer the riddle,” Faith said. “That’s the only way. Otherwise, it won’t budge.”

Lace gave the birch a close look. It wasn’t particularly tall or wide. Besides, Faith had said that the tree hadn’t been there before. Helmer had been dead ten years, so it was likely inside that time.

“You were born ten years ago,” Lace said.

The tree chuckled, setting its branches shivering. “Wrong. Fail. Try again.”

Beasts’ howls echoed in the distance.

“Damn it!”

If anything above a small group of spawnlings tracked her down, she would be in real trouble. She needed to get out of this place as quickly as possible.

“You were born eight years ago,” Lace said.

“Wrong.”

“Seven.”

“Wrong.”

“Six.”

Wrong.”

Lace kicked the tree and got only an aching foot in return.

The howls, snarls, and snorts drew nearer. They were honing in on her.

Okay, think, Lace told herself. If I was a tree, how would I think about my dumb riddles?

In an infuriating, metaphorical way.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” Lace said. “You were never born. You’re nature—you’ll always exist, and you’ve always existed.”

The birch chewed its bark as it regarded her lazily. “Hmm.”

Lace waited patiently.

“You are… correct. Enter your reward.”

The birch tree groaned and heaved from side to side. Its roots dislodged from the ground and crawled like stranded fish as the tree moved about a meter to the left before setting back down.

Where the tree had stood, a wooden hatch lay half-hidden in the soil.

“Didn’t know trees could move,” Lace muttered as she knelt and brushed the dirt off the hatch.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about,” Faith said. “Your dad kept it that way for a reason.”

“Because look how well that turned out.”

“Got me there.”

Lace lifted open the hatch by an iron ring set into the top. A cloud of fine dust fell away from it, into the gluttonous darkness below.

She descended a steep staircase into the darkness. Faith’s faint light illuminated the narrow walls, and she let the hatch fall shut behind her.

Finally, I might get some answers.