Once he reached it, he advanced into the attic’s darkness no further than his head and shoulders to let his eyes adjust. The darkness was not as deep as it had appeared, tempered by thin streaks of sunlight coming through cracks in the walls. Still, with all the stacks of crates and boxes and old furnishings, the attic was filled with eerie shadows. Scattered dust and cobwebs added to the eeriness and gave the damp air a smothering mustiness.
His examination was interrupted by a shove from behind, propelling him up and stumbling into the attic. In quick succession, the Party made their way into the attic to stand behind him. All sought out the whereabouts of Ty the Parson.
He was not hard to find. At the end of the crooked avenue between stacks before them, he stood in a circle of dim brilliance. The source of the brilliance was a long, narrow item covered by a tan quilt—that floated a foot off the ground! His eyes held a glimmer of the brilliance as he looked from the covered item to Orlon and back again and back again…
While Ty the Parson’s back-and-forth look unnerved Orlon, the hands urging him forward put him into a panic. Right up to the very edge of the brilliance they pushed him before halting… Orlon found being up close to the Parson’s back-and-forth look even more troubling, but he also found his curiosity over whatever was beneath that quit enhanced to the breaking point.
"Is—is that what we’re here for?" Orlon asked.
In answer, Ty the Parson’s eyes bobbed up and down, and with a dramatic step back, he ripped the quilt away. The circle of brilliance intensified so much they were forced to raise a hand to shade their eyes. And the Holy Pike was revealed to be a shaft of light wood upon which were carved lines of some ancient language, with a long, silver blade, a halo encircling its point. Tiny cherubs fluttered about frantically before escaping through a slit in the wall.
"Ooh," the Campfire Girl said, approaching the weapon. "How beautiful it is."
She reached out and touched the pike.
Upon contact, she writhed, screaming in agony.
Flames burst from her eyes, ears, nose and mouth.
Swiftly, she was reduced to a skeleton outlined in flames.
The skeleton disintegrated, the fire went out and Mishto Sharpaine was gone.
A pleasant odor lingered on the air.
"The content of the rich man’s safe! The newborn takes mother’s nipple! You, Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, must step up to take this valuable weapon so that you may confront the evil that threatened the world," Ty the Parson said, arms and legs flailing. He spun to a wide-legged stance, staff pointing at the Midget, long finger at the floating marvel. "You, Orlon, the Pure, you must take the Holy Pike."
"Oh, no I don’t," Orlon said, Mishto’s horrific demise after touching it replaying in his mind, and hands raised, he stepped back, saying, ""If you think I’m going to touch that thing, you’re crazy."
"The gladiator chooses weapon before entering battle in the arena! You, Orlon, the Pure, have no choice but to take up the pike, if you wish to successfully combat Tibtarnitallimardarian before it is too late."
Hands still raised, he tried to step back further. "Hey," he gasped as hands shoved him forward to trip over an extended foot.
One hand clasped over his eyes, the other outstretched before him, Orlon stumbled forward. Fate stepped in. His outstretched hand closed around the Holy Pike’s shaft, just before he slammed into the wall, bounced back a step and dropped onto his rump. He sat there, hand still over eyes, the other hand still about the pike’s shaft, and he wondered why he had not burst into flames…. He slid an index finger along the carved lettering—and felt power surge through his finger to consume his entire body. And he did not understand what just happened.
Despite his dread of a longwinded answer, he knew the only explanation he could get was from Ty the Parson. But when he dropped his hand from his eyes and looked to where Ty the Parson had been, he was gone. He spun his head around to find the Party gone, too, which meant he was…alone. The man who had talked him into this quest, the warriors he brought with him, who to a man, and woman, vowed to protect the One with their very lives, had left him here, alone.
His eyes darted about the dimly lit attic, catching sight of every mysteriously shifting shadow, swaying cobweb, every drifting dust particle. It came to mind the attic was not as well lighted as it had been, which drew his eyes to the Holy Pike. He blinked. The weapon’s brilliance was gone, as was its halo. Why, it appeared to be nothing more than an every day, run of the mill pike now.
That was when he felt eyes watching him.
Slowly, he turned back to the wall, his attention drawn straight to the slit the cherubs had escaped through. Along it he saw tiny eyes staring at him. Within those eyes he read fright, despair, uncertainty and anger. He looked from them to the Holy Pike and back again, and gulped. Their mix of emotions was understandable. He had taken away their pike. He gulped again. There was no telling what an angry cherub might do, and he did not want to find out.
Careful with the Holy Pike, he heeled himself away from the wall—those eyes—and when he deemed it far enough, he flipped over, got to his feet and hoofed it to the attic entrance. Again, careful with the Holy Pike, he descended the ladder without giving the attic a glance. With four rungs to go, he hopped to the ground, careful with the Holy Pike, and spun to find himself alone in the room but for the brightly dressed man standing behind the counter.
The man looked at the Midget, saw what he held and his eyes went wide, briefly. A smile touched his lips.
Orlon did not notice his reaction, however, his mind swirling with the thought they had left him, they had actually left him. He started across the room toward the entrance, hoping beyond hope he would find his traveling companions, Sharna awaiting him outside.
"So you did get it, eh," the man said, watching him pass.
"Yes," Orlon answered mechanically.
"Good for you," he said and taking one last look at the Holy Pike, breathed, "And good riddance to that thing."
When Orlon came out of the hotel he was relieved to find the Party there and startled at their reaction to his arrival. They milled about, all but one, not even sparing him a glance. Their attention was on Ty the Parson who stood at the edge of the sea of armor. He spared the Parson and his antics no more than a glance, his only desire being to locate Sharna. She stood not ten feet away.
As he sought to span the distance between them, the one who looked his way sought to join him. Shibtarr had given the Midget a thoughtless glance when he came out of the hotel—and his eyes were drawn to the Holy Pike. Plain though the pike appeared to be, the boy sensed something special about it, and he was drawn to it by that sense of specialty…. The boy caught up to him just as he reached Sharna.
"Nice pike," he said, eyes on the weapon.
Before Orlon could reply, Sharna said, "Sh."
Shibtarr dropped back a step, spear held at the ready, eyes on the warrior woman. The fact she returned her attention to Ty the Parson barely eased his defensiveness.
Orlon looked from Shibtarr to Sharna, and he could not help but wonder why her call for silence, which led him to look at Ty the Parson in hopes of finding an answer.
Standing straight backed, sap dripping staff held at side, Ty the Parson studied the situation in the most curious of ways. With quick snaps of his hooded head he looked first to the sun, now midway across the afternoon sky, to the field across the armor filled road, to a mountain looming over a forest on the horizon, to the Party, to the hotel and back to the sun to repeat the process over and over and over again…