Curse of Sekhmet, page 18
part #3 of Casters of Syndrial Series
“No; he only goes to Kradga if the gods deem him unworthy. Just because he killed people and stole the Book of Names, it doesn’t mean they’ll consider him ‘bad.’ However, even if they allow him into their realm, I can then pull him out and into Kradga. I don’t know how to, but I know I can. Find the Book of Names and I’ll find my paint. With Witness dead, we don’t need Storyteller’s help, so I can keep my paint.”
“That’s a bit of a bitch move, isn’t it?” I asked. “He’s trapped there unless you return it.”
“He’s trapped there by his own doing, and he’s an asshole, so who cares?”
* * *
Painter found his paint in Witness’s pocket. We spent two hours searching for the Book of Names and finally found it hidden with other books. We also found tons of personal effects from the people he killed, but nothing useful in stopping the volcano.
“This is the spell he used to create a fake sword,” Painter said, holding up a scroll.
A flash of light filled the room and the last person I expected to see appeared. “Keira! They let you go!”
She hugged me. “No,” she said when she pulled away. “I got away while they were distracted.” She hesitated and frowned at my clothes. “Why are you dressed like Painter?”
“To confuse Witness. Distracted by what?”
“Witness appeared in the god realm with the Sword of Draskara. I was fortunate enough not to be there, but I don’t want them to die. We need to save them.”
Painter was shaking with rage. When he saw me looking at him, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and forced himself to relax. One little spark was liable to send him into a murderous rampage. “You good?” I asked.
After a moment, he laughed maniacally, which he cut off sharply and nodded. My brother was insane. After he finally gained his composure, he said, “This was his plan.”
“I think it was his backup plan,” I said. “He did go to Storyteller first.”
“He knew he would face them when he died, and he couldn’t get to them here. He wanted us to kill him.”
“How could he know the sword would go with him?”
“There are rituals that can be done on artifacts to make them stay with you, even after death,” Painter said.
Keira nodded. “Such spells are useful in helping people complete their trials after death.”
“Does Witness have to retake them?”
“No; he has already done them,” Keira said. “His fate rests in the judgment of my brethren now. The trials for casters are pretty much the same whether you complete them when you die or you complete them to get a god’s power. The trials for non-casters are different.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said, “but it doesn’t really help us right now. How do we defeat him if the gods can’t? For that matter, why haven’t the gods creamed his ass already?”
“Remember when you first met me as the Painter and I had all of the priests detained?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why. You get a bunch of casters together and they don’t rise up; they put their heads down and they wait for someone else to break form. They get that nature from their gods.”
“I don’t see Set backing down from a caster.”
“Not from a caster, no, but from the Sword of Draskara, he would.”
“Set isn’t as brave as you believe him to be,” Keira said. “He is ruthless, but he prefers to have other people do his dirty work. I’m sure he’s coming up with a plan as we speak, but he was the first one to disappear when Witness showed up with the sword.”
“The more I learn about gods, the less impressed I am,” Painter said.
Keira cleared her throat.
“Present kitty excluded, of course. I don’t trust you, but you make my brother happy and you haven’t betrayed him yet. I’ll be watching you, though, and the first sign of trouble, I’ll tear your—-”
“Enough,” I interrupted. “I don’t like the gods much, either, except for my awesome girlfriend. I don’t feel the need to help them when they’re so unwilling to help us.”
“Now don’t be difficult here,” Painter said. “The gods don’t deserve our help... wait... what?”
“I’m agreeing with you.”
“About the gods?”
“It appears so.”
“You can’t let Witness kill any of them,” Keira said. “It would create war between people and gods, and I promise you; people won’t win. If a caster kills one of them, they’ll band together.”
“You keep talking as if you aren’t one of them,” Painter said.
“I hardly consider myself a goddess. I chose a different path than them. I’ve spent so long among mortals that I feel like a powerful caster myself.”
“Or a mother to casters,” Painter said.
“No. Motherhood is precious.”
He scoffed. “I’m sure that’s what Maki-tai Seri said when she found a newborn baby in her field.”
“That woman was no mother. Julia Jones was a mother. Motherhood is not the act of having a baby; it is the love a woman feels for her child and her willingness to sacrifice everything for the wellbeing of her child. Sometimes, that means giving up the child, as your biological mother did for you.”
Painter narrowed his eyes, trying hard not to lose it. There were two people he loved— our mother and me. I would do anything to help Talot, but the two people I trusted the most were Painter and Keira.
“Keira’s right,” I said. Painter growled. “So are you,” I added, “but we have to help them anyway. Without them, Ahz can’t save Syndrial. I don’t know what good we can do, though. Witness has been three steps ahead of us since we started this.”
“He’s not as powerful as either of you,” she said.
“That’s true, but he has a lot more experience.”
“He’s just a caster, though,” Painter said. “We have Langril.”
“How would that help?”
“I wouldn’t call casters a one-trick-pony, but Langril is a master of dirty magic.”
“I don’t want to know about his fetishes.”
“Talk to your mother,” Keira suggested. “She knows Witness better than anyone.”
“And Chris can fix my shoulder.”
Keira couldn’t see how bad my shoulder was through my shirt. “Are you hurt?” she asked.
“Not that badly,” I lied. “Can you send us there?”
“Sure.” With a flash of light, Painter and I were standing in the living room of our mother’s house. We went into the kitchen, were Talot was cooking and Chris was going over bills at the table. Once again, I felt almost put off by how normal they looked.
“Welcome back,” Talot said.
Chris opened his mouth to offer more pleasantries, but Painter didn’t give him a chance. “Nathan got hurt again.”
“That makes it sound like you’re tattling on me.”
Chris got a healing potion out of the freezer and said, “Did you get shot again? Take off your shirt.”
“No, I didn’t get shot again.” I removed my shirt as best as I could with only one working hand. “Luca got stabbed in the stomach.”
When Chris glanced at him, Painter shrugged. “Already healed.”
Chris winced at my shoulder. “That’s bad.” He handed me the potion and I drank it.
“I can’t...” Talot started. Then she walked out of the room.
“She doesn’t like to see or hear about her boys getting hurt,” Chris explained.
“That’s okay; we don’t like getting hurt,” Painter said.
“We need to know what Witness’s weaknesses are.”
“Talk to her about it after your shoulder is healed.”
Before I could push the subject, the soporific effects kicked in.
* * *
I woke on the couch, next to Painter, who was drawing in his book.
“I talked to our mother during your nap,” Painter said, not looking up from his work. Before he could continue, Talot entered the living room with a cup of tea.
“Witness is allergic to iron,” she said. “He used to complain a lot because iron is used for many things in the city. If he has contact with it, he can’t cast any magic for a while. He wouldn’t go near a blacksmith for that reason.”
Witness had attacked us in Roman’s shop, but that could have been out of desperation. “That could help us.”
“I bet we can get some iron dust and blow it in his face,” Painter agreed.
“That will only hold him for so long, though,” I said. “He doesn’t need magic to use the sword after he draws it. The only thing that can truly stop him is his true name.”
“Fuck,” Painter cursed. “I really wanted to keep my paint.”
“If he kills a god and takes his power, it’s game over.”
* * *
Since we didn’t know where to get iron filings in a store on Earth, Painter conjured some. We really hoped it would have the same effect on Witness. Afterward, Painter filled his paintbrush to the brim with the endless paint using a syringe. I knew this sucked for Painter and vowed to find another magic paint after we saved Syndrial.
When I tried to take us to the Storyteller, it didn’t work. I groaned. “Must we go through this again?”
“No,” Painter said. “Witness was able to find the town using my paint, so there’s nothing to stop us from finding it.”
Except for lack of experience. Also, Witness had Traveler’s power.
I summoned my staff, and then we both described ourselves in the town. Again, I had to describe every detail in writing while my brother painted the scene. Since the town was black and white, he used ordinary black paints with a regular paintbrush.
This was time-consuming work, but I could feel our magic working together. We were the perfect team in escape rooms, temples, and magic.
* * *
We appeared in the saloon again.
Storyteller groaned.
“I’ve been greeted with worse,” Painter said. “I’ve brought your paint back.” He held it out. “But I only agree to return it if you promise to help us defeat Witness.”
Painter would soon learn that returning what he stole would be worth it.
“It’s hard to believe you when you won’t talk to us directly,” I said. “How do we return it?”
No answer.
“We could dump it out on the ground.”
That would work.
It sounded to me like he wanted to be more direct, but couldn’t.
We went outside. There were cramped, wooden shops, dirt everywhere, bright sunlight, cactus, and desert scrub. It was right out of a damned old western. “I wonder if Storyteller made it like this, or if it was already this way,” Painter said. He held out the bottle, then hesitated.
“We’ll come up with some new paint for you.”
“It’s not that easy. This isn’t a videogame, where magical artifacts appear to you when you level up or complete a quest.”
“We’ll find something, make something, or get someone to make it for you.”
He nodded. “I detest being the good guy. Too many boring rules.” He dumped it out. As the white paint touched the dirt, the gray dirt instantly colored. The color spread in all directions. I patted Painter’s back as the last of his paint spilled. He dropped the bottle. “At least this place isn’t so shitty now.”
Mr. Charcoal emerged from the saloon. He was in full color, but his eyes were pure white.
Painter stepped between us and whipped out his book and brush. “Possession.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I said.
“He appreciates you returning what you stole,” Mr. Charcoal said. His voice was stiff.
“It looks like he’s gone and changed the rules on us. Now tell us how to defeat Witness.”
“You need only his true name. Pull out your book, Writer.”
I did as he ordered and it opened on its own. The name appeared in Sacred Syndrial, and below that, it appeared in Common. With his true name, I could make Witness hand over the sword. I showed it to my brother in case anything happened to me. He nodded.
“I can’t say it was nice doing business with you,” Painter said.
“You stole his paint and trapped him here,” Mr. Charcoal said, still possessed.
“You made your own mess.” Painter turned to me. “We can’t get to the god realm with a portal, so we’ll have to call...” he trailed off as the world around us disappeared with a flash of blinding light.
When it cleared, we were in a field of flowers, surrounded by snow-capped mountains. To the right was a gold palace with red and silver accents. It was the garden we were in that was really spectacular, though. There were numerous flowers, bushes, and trees, all full of colors. They were divided into sections with walking paths, so none of the colors clashed. There were also stone benches to sit on and a water fountain large enough to swim in.
Storyteller had transported us to the God Lands. “Wow. No wonder people of Syndrial are so eager to get here. Keira is missing out.”
Painter smacked my arm with excitement. “This is my garden! I created it.”
“Then that would be...”
His excitement faded. “Yes. That is our father’s palace.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s cold. There’s no color, no flavor, no passion.”
“Well, your garden is beautiful.”
He smiled. “Yes, it is. When we’re done with Witness, I can show you my favorite spot to paint. It’s been so long. Too long. I should own all of this. When our father banished me, I vowed to kill him, but what I really wanted was to have something of my own to share with you. I suppose that doesn’t make much sense.”
“It does, actually. You are always thinking of me.”
“You’re my brother. We have the book and we’ll soon have the sword. Then we can kill Set.”
“Syndrial would fall.”
“They don’t need Set.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Nathan, you don’t understand. I will kill him. This could be my only opportunity.”
“I know you’ll kill him. I’m not going to stop you. He’s not a person and since he hurt our mother and betrayed you, I’ll cheer you on. I’m on your side, always, even if I don’t agree with you. I won’t let you hurt people or Keira, though. Unfortunately, if Keira’s right, then killing our father could set the gods against people of Syndrial.”
He laughed. “That’s the best part, Brother. We’re not considered people. We’re gods, so killing our father wouldn’t cause them to go after anyone.”
I pulled out my book and wrote that Witness appeared before us with his mouth gagged and his hands tied behind his back. He appeared a moment later, just as I had written. I emptied our bottle of iron dust over Witness’s head so that he would breathe it in. He struggled, but he wasn’t able to do any magic without speaking.
Then Painter and I got to work on traps to hold him long enough to get the sword from him. It would have been safer for us to come up with the safety nets beforehand, but that would have given him more time to kill one of the gods. Painter also used a trap to hold Witness in place and summoned one of his dogs to stand over Witness.
We let him stew in confusion until we were done. He didn’t know how we were controlling him. I had fun coming up with ways to make Witness suffer, including that if he even thought of drawing the Sword of Draskara, his throat would close up. For every way he could attack us, there was a punishment. Eventually, it got old, though.
Witness put up no fight, and I wanted to fight him. With his true name, it was just too easy. I could make him think he was a dog. I could break him with a simple sentence. Soon, I realized Painter wasn’t painting, either.
“The thrill is in the chase, never the capture,” I said.
He nodded. “I wanted to torture him, not beat a dead whore.”
“Horse.”
“Tomato, potato.”
“Your Luca is showing.”
Painter magically freed Witness’s hands and said, “Write that he pulls out the dagger and ring, separately, and drops them at our feet.”
Witness didn’t even give me a chance to force him; he slowly did it. There was no fight in him; he realized we had his name. We could make him cut himself up into little pieces.
“We have to destroy the Book of Names,” I said. “If someone like our father got their hands on it, they could turn Syndrial and its gods into a world of mindless slaves. They wouldn’t even need Storyteller if they used the book to control everyone.”
Painter nodded. “Storyteller has our names, too. He could tell them to anyone.”
“Are you going to destroy Witness’s soul or send him to Kradga?”
He studied Witness for a few minutes, and then studied me. Finally, he said, “All I ever wanted as a child was a family who cared for me. After Autrey betrayed me, I decided revenge was what I really needed. I hate Seri and Mekeko. I hate Merlin. I hate Roana. I hate our father. I hate Witness. I hate Autrey. I hate your ado... I hate your parents for keeping you from me.”
“Oh, and Keeper is our grandfather.”
“I hate him!” When I laughed, he took a deep breath and regained his composure. “That hate is starting to be more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t have time to play Dungeons and Dragons with you or solve escape rooms. I miss being Luca because I could forget about my hate and just be your brother.”
“You can never go back to being Luca, but you are my brother, and that can be better than it was. The more of your anger you let go of, the more happiness you can let in.”
He nodded. “I know. I’m not going to become a hero or stop killing whoever I want to kill, but I can cross one person off my hate list for good.” He picked up the dagger and ring, placed the ring on the hilt of the dagger, and opened his mouth to recite the incantation.
