In the Company of Ogres

Eighteen

Ned’s tutors decided that it would be better to leave Ned in the garden. He’d wanted his training to be secret, and trying to sneak his corpse back to his quarters seemed like more trouble than it was worth. If they were caught (which they probably wouldn’t be) and if someone cared enough to ask for the details (even more unlikely) a story would have to be invented as to how Ned had perished once again, and no one wanted to bother. Neither did they wish to wait for Ned to rise from the dead. So he was thrown into an overgrown flower bed and left for his latest resurrection. And there he stayed, quietly enjoying the agreeable state of death.

Birds descended on Copper Citadel at early evening. Flamingos and ibises, robins and red bishops, peacocks and finches, seagulls and drongos, figbirds and buntings, shrikes and woodpeckers, and a single bony ostrich. They covered the citadel like a fog. Not one soldier could remember seeing them arrive, but there they were. And every bird, regardless of species, was as bright red as fresh-spilled blood and deathly silent.

The soldiers whispered about dark powers at play, and gravedigger Ward had to stop up his nostrils to hold back the overpowering stench of magic. Aside from this, none gave it much thought. In Copper Citadel, everything was always someone else’s problem, and everyone left it for someone else to handle. “Let Ned deal with it,” was heard more than once, to which others nearby would nod their heads and get on with their business. Only Gabel paid special notice to the birds, and that was only long enough to fill out a Suspected Thaumaturgical Incident Report, which he dropped in his stack of outgoing mail before heading off to the pub.

The Red Woman’s magic was generally a subtle art. She had little use for fearsome explosions or howling winds. Such effects were merely pandering to an audience, the realm of courtly wizards and sideshow conjurers. Spectacle was contrary to her nature and her duties. Magic both preceded and followed her, and there were always signs of her passing. Little things that only the keenest eye might spot, or the most superstitious soul might fret over. But today she was annoyed, and today her magic showed itself. Though it was her power, albeit unconsciously, that summoned the monstrous brood, she found it more bothersome than anyone else. She was grateful to find the garden mostly empty of birds except for a pudgy scarlet penguin entangled in withering grapevines.

The Red Woman circled Ned’s body three times, casting only casual glances at it. He was dying far too often these days for her taste, but this wasn’t the sole cause of her annoyance. More troublesome dilemmas plagued her. She prodded him in the chest with her staff.

“Get up, get up.”

Groaning, he stirred to life. She walked to a bench and waited.

He rose. He glanced at the sorceress with mild interest, but said nothing as he dragged his stiff limbs to the bench and had a seat. He and the Red Woman were quiet for some time, neither having much to say. He was every bit as annoyed with these constant deaths as she was, but neither deigned to comment on it just yet.

After a few minutes, he stretched the last bit of stiffness from his bad left arm and said, “Thank you.”

This surprised the Red Woman, but she hid it well. “Have you decided then that it would be better to be alive than dead?”

He thought about it, and there was no easy answer. “Not really. But for now, I think I’d rather be alive.”

“And why is that?”

Ned thought about this and found the answer a little easier. “I don’t know.” It was unclear but honest.

The Red Woman reached out with her gnarled hand and ran her fingers along the scars on Ned’s neck. There was tenderness in the caress beneath the scratchy, pointed nails. He was taken aback. She’d touched him before, but only briefly and never with any hint of affection.

“I don’t like you, Ned,” she said quietly as her hand fell to her side. She stood. “I don’t like who you were, and I don’t care much for who you are. But I believe it is possible that one day I might like who you will become.”

Having no idea what she meant, he just nodded.

The Red Woman simultaneously hobbled and glided her way across the garden, where she patted the scarlet penguin on its head. “I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a story about you. Let me just say that right out. But though you won’t understand much of it, I advise you to listen closely. And perhaps you’ll be able to explain it to me, since even I don’t understand it all.

“Long ago, in another age of another universe, there was a singularly powerful force of ultimate madness and boundless destructive might. This creature was unique in all the universes, but it’s easiest to just consider him a demon. But there had never been such a demon before, and fates help us, there shall never be another. Such was his awesome power that every other lord of every other hell bowed before him.

There was no match for him in heavens, earth, or hells. So powerful was he that even the endless bickering of devils and demons fell away, and this supreme demon, having assembled the greatest unholy army in the memory of eternity, set his sights on casting his universe into chaos, of scorching his world to ash from the pits of the damned to the palaces of the gods.”

“This is about me?” asked Ned.

“Let me finish. This demon, this Mad Void, succeeded in all these things. He did so without any trouble at all. There was some token resistance, a few minor battles here and there, a handful of heroic and futile last stands. But in the end there was never any question. The Mad Void laid low the gods, brought misery and pain to everything and everyone around him. He twisted his universe into an appalling mockery of agony and discontent. But though this had always been his goal, he found no satisfaction in the accomplishment. So in ultimate disgust he razed his universe into oblivion. Alone in the boundless darkness of his own creation, he sulked for untold millennia.”

“Can’t you just skip to the end?” asked the raven.

She could see he had a point. Ned’s gaze wandered around the garden with a hint of boredom, but the Red Woman refused to be rushed. The story was far too important. Her staff floated across the garden and rapped him soundly on the knuckles.

“Pay attention,” she commanded. “How long the Void brooded is difficult to say for time meant nothing to him, but eventually he discovered, either by design or luck, a whole other plane of existence awaiting his blessed touch. He wasted no time in invading this new universe. With even less difficulty than the last, he corrupted it, and finding himself again displeased, he destroyed it as well.”

Ned rubbed his bruised fingers. “I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“You still haven’t figured it out?” said the raven.

“I guess not,” Ned admitted.

“Idiot, you’re the Mad Void.”

The Red Woman sighed. “I was saving that for the end of the story.”

“Oh, a dramatic presentation is wasted on Ned,” said the raven. “He’s too simple for that.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed.

They gave Ned a moment to absorb this idea, but he utterly failed. “I’m an all-powerful demon?”

“Not exactly,” she replied. “That’s why I was saving that bit for the end. It’s less complicated that way.”

“I think there’s been a mistake somewhere,” said Ned.

“Obviously,” agreed the raven.

“But I can’t be the Mad Void. I’ve never even heard of it.”

The Red Woman laughed. “There are many things which go unheard of. But that doesn’t make them any less real.”

“I think I’d remember destroying universes.”

She laughed again. “You would, Ned, but you’re a man. Or a reasonable facsimile of a man. But the Void existed only to destroy. For him, remembering all the realities he obliterated would be as reasonable as you recalling every ant you’ve ever stepped upon.”

He felt sick. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“You don’t,” she confirmed, “but you must. Don’t judge what you once were too harshly. The Mad Void devoured universes because it was his nature. One can’t blame a wolf for springing upon a helpless doe or flames for consuming a forest. These are the trials of fang and blood that all things must endure in some form or another. The death of a universe is no less tragic, yet no less necessary in a grander understanding.”

“Less metaphysical,” said the raven. “You’re going to lose him again.”

But Ned heard every word, and he didn’t like any of it. The Red Woman continued.

“In due course, the Void stumbled upon our realm of existence. By then he’d grown weary of his role in the great scheme. All his destruction, his slaughter and madness, had brought him no comfort. So he did the only thing he could.”

She hobbled her way to Ned’s side, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“He decided to change his nature. Understand, Ned, that this was unprecedented. In the history of our universe, and I assume nearly every other as well, no demon has sought redemption. I believe they all crave it in some form, though they’d never admit it. Just one of the reasons they’re so unpleasant. But the Void wasn’t just a demon; he was something more. And perhaps all his success and its related weariness allowed him a glimpse of his flawed character. Perhaps all demons might benefit from scorching a universe or two.”

The Red Woman’s voice trailed off, and she stared off into the distance. To Ned it seemed as if she wasn’t looking through the garden’s walls, but piercing the veil separating universes. Probably just his imagination, but he couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. She turned her dull cerise eyes on him, and she seemed to look at him and through him at the same time.

“Once the decision was made, the Mad Void realized that, powerful as he was, he would need help. He sought out a cabal of gods who’d taken on guardianship of this realm, and though their combined magic was nothing compared to his, he asked for their help. This is where the story gets rather vague, I’m afraid. Forbidden magics were invoked. Many immortals perished in these experiments. Many more sacrificed their sanity. For it was acknowledged that if the Void couldn’t be changed, then inevitably his malevolent essence would be turned upon our reality, just as thousands of doomed others before.”

“Thousands?” interrupted Ned.

“No one truly knows. Possibly it was only a few dozen.” Her voice trembled. “Possibly tens of thousands. Or millions.”

Ned wasn’t very imaginative, but the notion of even one destroyed universe filled him with dread. He couldn’t handle the idea of millions. How many billions upon billions had the Mad Void — had he — cast into oblivion?

“They should’ve destroyed me,” he said.

“They tried. They transformed the Void. Don’t ask me how. I don’t think anyone truly understood the process. It was mostly blind luck, overpowering magic, and a happy accident. The Void’s memory was suppressed. They separated him from his dreadful might, laid aside in some secret place even they couldn’t find, and he was made into a man. Of sorts.

“This was when they hoped to kill him. And so they did. Unfortunately the demon’s immortality was beyond godhood. To kill him was only to slay his mortal transformation. Death only returned him to his all-powerful form. Once more, great gods perished until the accident was, through sheer temerity, re-created.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ned. “I’ve been killed dozens of times. I keep coming back as me, not some raging demon.”

“A technicality was discovered.” she explained. “If the Void was resurrected from a source other than his own, then he remained a man. A guardian was appointed to watch over the Void. Her sole purpose in this task was to restore the demon to life with her own magic whenever necessary. It was her job to keep the cage door shut by insuring he never found the motive to open it. In this way the Void was repressed, if not truly tamed.”

As Ned considered this, he studied his hands. He balled them into fists and imagined crushing worlds, then solar systems, then whole universes as if they were old parchments full of scribbles he no longer had use for.

“I suppose you’re wondering why they didn’t lock you up?” asked the Red Woman. “Cast you in some pit where you could be kept safe from harm, properly tended until the end of time?”

He wasn’t inclined to wonder, and he still hadn’t adjusted to what he’d just learned.

“They tried that too. The Void grew irritated, and when displeased, you can do appalling things.”

“Like what?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No,” he replied instantly.

She smiled with some hint of affection. “If it’s any consolation it was a very small continent, and no one misses it anymore.”

Ned sank. He slouched, defeated, burdened suddenly by a guilt so heavy it nearly crushed him into the earth.

“I’m not happy,” he said, realizing the situation. “How come I’m not destroying things now?”

She sat beside him. “You have lived a thousand lifetimes, Ned, and only in these last few have you been you. In all the others, which you do not remember, you were someone else. You’ve been kings and peasants, warriors and milkmaids, assassins and priests. I’ve been beside you the entire time. I’ve been at the beginning and end of each incarnation. And each was unique except for one constant. Even when surrounded by wealth and power, or peace and quiet, or any and all things a man might desire in between, they were all quietly miserable.”

Ned rose. “You think I want to feel bad? I know I deserve to suffer.”

“I never said that.”

“But you’re thinking it.” He pointed at her accusingly, as if this were all her fault somehow. “I’m punishing myself for all the damage I’ve done. It’s like some sort of penance. Endless, pointless, aching penance.”

“If that’s the case,” she said, “then it’s more a matter of what you think than I, isn’t it?”

“Why did you have to tell me this?”

“You wanted to know.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Too late for that. Besides, you already knew it. You’ve always known, deep down inside yourself. I’ve merely forced you to finally admit it.”

“I thought you said you were joking when you said the fate of the world depended on me.”

“I was. It doesn’t depend on you. It depends on something inside of you.”

“Can’t you just erase my memory? That shouldn’t be too hard.”

She stood, leaning heavily on her staff as if her legs could barely support her, and put her fingers to his forehead. “It could be done, but it must be known. You must know.”

Her face went blank. She hobbled away and spoke with her back to him.

“Because they’re coming.”

As one, the flock of crimson birds took to the air, darkening the skies over Copper Citadel. The fort became nothing but blackened shadows in the consuming gloom.

“Who?” he asked.

In the blackness the Red Woman spoke softly. “Your enemies, Ned.”

“I have enemies?”

She chuckled. She waved her staff in a small circle, and the thousands of birds dispersed to the four winds, gone as if they’d never been there. Except for the penguin, who remained earthbound and had no choice but to waddle its way from the garden toward the citadel gates.

“You have had many, accumulated over a thousand lifetimes. But there are only two you need concern yourself with now. The first, most important one is a demon emperor. He comes for your power, hoping to take it for his own. Whether he has any hope of success, I couldn’t say. But he is still a potent force of destruction. I shudder to think what would happen should he find a way.

“The second is a trifling matter in the greater view. His name is Belok, an old wizard of some small talent. In a previous incarnation you were a wizard too, and the pair of you got into some sort of ridiculous affair of honor. The matter ended with your death and a curse upon Belok that he struggles in vain to break. He understands something of what you are, but not enough. It could make him troublesome.”

A cold wind swept across the fort. The Red Woman pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“And I do believe he has finally arrived. A touch later than I expected.”

The wind died down, but the air grew frigid. Ned’s breath crystallized as he spoke. “Now? He’s coming now?”

The Red Woman didn’t bother replying. She pointed her staff skyward, and a contingency of ghostly maidens poured from the clouds. They screeched and howled, chanting the name of their master.

“Belok! Belok! Belok!”

The Red Woman groaned. It was always such a production.

The phantoms formed a column of writhing bodies and tangled hair. Their spectral forms turned to dragons, then tigers, then serpents. They sparkled brilliantly, and Ned covered his eyes. When he could finally look, he saw a fur-faced, duck-billed wizard standing before him. His ghostly paramours caressed him tenderly as others broke away and floated absently around the garden. The plants withered and died at their touch.

Ned stood frozen. He pretended to believe it was some ghastly enchantment that held him in place, but it was nothing of the sort. Neither was it fear nor awe. It was shock, not for the wizard, but for the way everything in his life had suddenly become infinitely more incomprehensible.

“Hello, Belok,” said the Red Woman.

Belok snapped his bill. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting.”

He snapped his bill again for good measure. “What tricks are you devising, witch?”

“No tricks. Just a test.”

“Come then. Test my might and die.”

“I didn’t say I was testing you,” she replied, seating herself at the bench.

Belok turned his beady eyes on Ned. The wizard raised his hands, and boiling lava dripped from his fingertips. “Break my curse. Break it, or suffer eternally.”

Ned swallowed a gulp. “I don’t know anything about curses.”

“Don’t lie to me.” The phantoms seized Ned by his collar and sleeves and carried him to their master.

“I’m not.” Ned shuddered in the cold embrace of the ghosts. “I’m not a wizard. Or a demon. I’m just a man.”

The Red Woman smiled.

“Your body may have changed,” said Belok, “but you can’t change your true nature.” The phantoms carried Ned to the Red Woman and deposited him harshly at her feet. “Change him back,” commanded Belok of the sorceress. “Find the wizard inside him, and change him back.”

“I can’t.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re his keeper.”

“Just because I keep him alive doesn’t mean I can force him to do anything. The magic at work is beyond my ken. And yours. You’d do best to leave it alone.”

Belok ignored the advice, as she knew he must. Just as the Mad Void couldn’t change his nature, neither could the wizard.

“If you’re not going to help me, step aside,” he ordered.

The Red Woman waved her hand at Ned. “As long as you do not kill him, I don’t care what you do to him.”

Belok’s phantoms snatched Ned into the air again. He struggled vainly. His hand grabbed hold of the Red Woman’s staff.

“You’re supposed to watch over me,” he said. “It’s your job.”

“For heaven’s sake,” said the raven, “have some dignity, man.” The bird pecked at the straining fingers, and Ned was tossed through the air by the malignant spirits.

“Do try and take care of yourself, Ned,” said the Red Woman.

The phantoms held Ned by his ankles. Upside down, his head filling with blood, his ears thundering, and his vision blurred, he watched the Red Woman hobble from the garden, leaving him to his fate.

“I can’t do anything,” he said. “I don’t know any magic.”

Belok gestured and his phantoms raised Ned high enough to peer into the wizard’s golden eyes. “It’s inside you. Somewhere it’s all inside of you. Everything you’ve ever been. If I dig deep enough, if I strip away every other false skin, I think I can find what I’m looking for.” He raised a hand with blackened skin and webbed fingers and ran his sharpened nails across Ned’s flesh. “I do hope this hurts.”

Ned should’ve screamed then. He didn’t. Something held him back. He still wasn’t afraid.

He wasn’t a man, he mused. He was the Mad Void. He was the most powerful destructive force in this or any other universe. He should be able to destroy Belok without even trying. So why didn’t he? Why was he just floating there helplessly as the wizard prepared to skin him alive both physically and metaphysically?

Because he deserved it. He deserved every bit of it and more.

He could’ve called for help. He could’ve pleaded for mercy. He didn’t do these things either. He just waited for his punishment. No matter how bad it was, it would never make up for what he’d done.

Belok raked his claws across Ned’s forehead. Blood trickled down his scalp to drip from his hair. He winced. He cried. But he didn’t cry out.

Then came the next thought. What if there had been a mistake somewhere? What if he wasn’t the Void, but just Ned? What if he was paying for someone else’s sins? Either way it all seemed so pointless.

“Hurting me won’t solve anything,” he said, surprised by his calmness.

“On the contrary,” replied the wizard, “it will at least make me feel better.”

The phantoms rotated Ned and planted his feet on the cobblestones but still held him tight. Belok licked the blood on his claws with a tiny purple tongue. “I may not be able to kill you, but I can do many distasteful things. Perhaps I’ll start by removing your other eye. Perhaps knowing you’re spending eternity in perpetual darkness would cheer me up.” He moved a claw toward Ned’s eye.

Ned cringed. He bit his lip in preparation for pain. Over and over the thought ran through his mind: he deserved this. At least he hoped he did. It was the only comfort he could find, and it’d be a terrible shame if a mistake had been made and the Mad Void was currently a thousand miles away enjoying a nice cup of tea.

A bolt of lightning knocked Belok away and sent his phantom entourage howling with rage.

“Who dares strike Belok?” moaned the phantoms in a musical shriek. “What fool dares clash magic against Belok?”

The Red Woman lowered her staff. “Really, Belok. Always so melodramatic.” She swung the smoking staff in a few wide circles. Rumbling clouds swirled overhead. “You’d do well to get behind me, Ned.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” the raven asked the Red Woman. “It’s been a while since you’ve faced a wizard in battle.”

She stamped her staff twice, and the earth rumbled. “It’s like riding a horse. One never forgets.”

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” said the raven.

“I don’t recall.”

The raven flew from her shoulder and perched on the wall. “Think I’ll sit this one out over here.”

Belok’s golden aura darkened to a bloody copper. A small sphere of fire appeared between his outstretched hands.

“Fireballs?” The Red Woman held up her own wrinkled palm, and materialized a red and white fury. “Not very original, Belok.”

“I don’t waste my A material on piddling witches.” Belok’s flames grew larger and larger. He pitched one of his phantoms into it, and the blaze blackened, feeding on the ghost’s agony as her screams darkened the air itself. The power struggled in his grasp, yet it grew larger still. As large as the wizard who’d created it. The Red Woman’s fireball remained conveniently palm-sized.

“Is that all you’ve got to show me?” mocked Belok.

Chuckling, she balanced her magic sphere on one withered finger. Funny how most wizards, even one of Belok’s experience and power, made the same mistake. They always thought it came down to who had the biggest balls.