Nowowon stopped laughing as he paced back over to No-Face. He stared down at the impaled mercenary and growled, “Lived as a dog, reviled? Deliver god as a devil!”
He placed his thick fingers beneath No-Face’s chin flap and gave a sudden yank. With a sickening slurp the tumorous mask tore away, revealing… nothing. A completely blank, unblemished mass of skin, unmarred by scars, devoid of mouth, nostrils, or even eyes, despite the fact he’d always had one showing.
“I know how the god’s power works!” I shouted at Relic, hoping that my insight might be of some help. “No-Face was afraid there was nothing under his skin flap! Menagerie was afraid that there was nothing human left in him, that he was nothing but a mass of animals!”
Relic nodded. “And Tower feared that his only legacy to the world would be a statue. Nowowon destroys men with their greatest fears.”
“I really hope your greatest fear is of something harmless, like squirrels,” I said, as Nowowon stalked toward Relic.
Relic looked around the island; the Goons certainly looked dead, even if I hadn’t seen their spirits. Zetetic was curled into a fetal ball, sucking on his fist, his face awash with tears and snot. Father Ver was unconscious, Tower was stoned, and Infidel was still leaping around like a drunken jackrabbit. Finally, Relic looked back at me. Stall him while I mentally guide Infidel back across the shifting terrain.
I felt his mental hands grab me and hold me in place as he beat a retreat for the edge of the island. I struggled to break free of his invisible grasp, and did so just as Nowowon reached me. The old god grabbed me by the throat and lifted me from my feet. He brought my face to his. I could see right through him; the whiskey fumes of his breath left me dizzy as his lips brushed my ears and whispered, “Murder for a jar of red rum?”
Though he asked it as a question, I was apparently not intended to answer. From nowhere he’d produced a glass pitcher full of what smelled like rum, but looked like blood. He pushed me to the ground, pinning my arms. He pinched my cheeks to force my lips open, and poured the alcoholic blood between my teeth.
The taste… the taste was heavenly. The booze played upon my tongue like a symphony, sweet and bitter, cool and burning, and with each precious drop I swallowed my heart beat stronger. I grew increasingly aware of the stone beneath me. I moved my legs, feeling my naked foot scrape along the cold stone, chilled as it was by the Jagged Heart embedded not twenty feet away. Goosebumps covered my skin as he freed my arms. I used both hands to grab the glass and sat up, still guzzling the precious fluid, fire burning in my veins. This bloody broth had brought me back to life!
Murder for a jar of red rum? The Black Swan had been right. I’d kill my own mother for more of this. I emptied the glass and ran my tongue around the inner rim, searching for the final molecules of goodness.
I rose, woozy, and held the glass out toward the old god.
“Thank you, sir, may I have another?”
Giggling, Nowowon pointed toward the Jagged Heart and said, “Red rum, sir, is murder.”
I nodded, and stumbled toward No-Face’s still body and the long harpoon that jutted from his chest. The sound of my feet slapping the stone was a wondrous thing. I nearly wept as my solid fingers closed around the cold shaft of the harpoon. Needles of ice ran up my bare arm, but even this sensation took my breath away. My breath! My breath! I heaved out great clouds of smoke as I strained to free the Jagged Heart from its sheath in No-Face’s massive rib cage, and the solid stone beneath.
The ground creaked as I withdrew the frozen weapon. No-Face’s body slid down the narwhale tusk slowly. I placed my foot on his neck to pull the harpoon free. There was no question he was dead now. Maybe I had missed his departing spirit in all the excitement.
Or perhaps he’d lingered on until I’d removed the harpoon and, alive once more, I could no longer see ghosts. It wasn’t a power I would miss. Of course, who knew how long Nowowon’s brew would restore me? I needed to guarantee a second glass. Who to kill? Who to kill to prolong this feeling? Zetetic, who was getting on my nerves with his rabbit-like shrieking? Father Ver, who I didn’t like much, and who was an easy target in his slumber?
Relic?
Oh, definitely Relic.
I turned to face the man who’d been jerking me around like a puppet and discovered that he’d fallen into Nowowon’s clutches. Nowowon was tearing away the hunchback’s robes to reveal… a dragon?
I blinked. The blood rum was blurring my vision ever so slightly, but there was no mistaking what I was looking at. It was a baby dragon only a little larger than the dead one I’d seen in the hands of the lava-pygmy shamans. Unlike the earlier specimen, which had looked healthy save for, you know, being dead, this dragon was badly lamed. Its wings were tiny, twisted knots perched upon its back. Its legs were spindly and bent at odd angles, as if they’d been broken then mended without being set properly. The little dragon hung limp in Nowowon’s grasp; the old god had the disfigured dragon’s long spindly fingers splayed out in his palm, and was bending them backwards until they snapped, one by one. Had Relic possessed a fear of dragons and been transformed into one by Nowowon? Or had he been a dragon all along, with a fear of being crippled?
“Maim? I? Him I am!” said Nowowon, giggling.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Infidel fly back onto the platform with one final lucky leap, landing near the fallen statue of Tower. She picked up the stone knight by the ankles and charged at the old god. She didn’t even glance in my direction. Was I still invisible? Or, was she just locked into combat tunnel vision?
With a savage growl she leapt, swinging the statue like a hammer. She struck Nowowon squarely on the top of his head, driving his skull down into his shoulders, forcing him to drop Relic, assuming that’s who the dragon was. The blow also had the effect of sending a spiderweb of cracks across the surface of the statue. Bits of gravel flaked away, revealing gleaming armor beneath.
She raised her knight-club again and hammered the old god once more. Now shards of stone the size of saucers were flaking away from the statue; suddenly, Tower shrugged, and broke completely free of his stony prison. The old god had been driven into the ground up to his knees, and his head was completely flat against his shoulders. Apparently, this wasn’t fatal to a god; his arms were still flailing about, trying to grab his assailant. Infidel, still in her battle rage, danced around his groping hands, and either didn’t notice or didn’t care that her weapon was alive once more. She again swung Tower overhead, and chopped him down to smash the old god even flatter.
“Stop!” Tower cried out, as she raised him once more overhead.
Infidel looked up, confused.
Nowowon’s hands found Infidel’s ankles and jerked her from her feet. She hit the ground hard, as Tower fell on top of her with a loud crash.
I didn’t know what horrors Nowowon might be ready to inflict upon Infidel, and I didn’t want to find out. I charged with the Jagged Heart, driving it into his body, which still appeared to be liquid despite the mangling Infidel had inflicted. I sank the weapon in until my fingers reached his fluid skin, and twisted.
In response, two fresh arms emerged from Nowowon’s armpits and pulled aside his liquid breastbone, revealing his bashed-in face beneath. He still had his original arms clamped on Infidel’s ankles. She was kicking, to no avail. Her fingers left small trenches in the stone as she tried to drag herself away. I’d never seen such fear and confusion in her eyes as she looked back over her shoulder and saw me.
“Stagger?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Having seen the fate of No-Face, Menagerie, and Relic, I didn’t dare give Nowowon time to get creative with Infidel’s weaknesses, whatever those might be. I yelled out, “Tower! Use the Gloryhammer on this thing!”