The Record of the Saints Caliber Page 28

  “In, boy.” ordered Karver, pushing Rook on the shoulder.

  Rook stepped into the room and Karver followed him, shutting the door and locking it behind them. Rook looked about in awe. Every wall was lined with large, heavy shelves and cases, many with glass windows. They were full of artifacts and objects too numerous to take in. Rook saw swords and pieces of armor, clay pots and scrolls, scary looking masks, and books of every size and shape. There were skulls and bones, animals that had been stuffed and mounted, and upon the far wall was a tall, wooden sculpture of some kind. This room was cavernous, the ceiling high and vaulted, and that wooden sculpture reached all the way to the top. It was tall and straight and narrow with gruesome, bestial faces carved all up its length, each one looking a different direction. Rook’s eyes shifted again, and he noticed that before one of the walls was a short, ivory pillar bathed in gaslight from the lamp above it. Atop the pillar sat a piece of gleaming black metal; a metal blacker than midnight and it sparkled eerily in the yellow-green light of the lamp.

  “These are my treasures, boy.” said Karver. “Me and my brother Garrot, we don’t just run slaves for my cousin Kraken. We collect things too. Some of this stuff we took from our slaves. Other things we’ve found along our journeys. But all of this, all of what you see here, came to me after I obtained one particular object.”

  There was a long stretch of silence where Rook was looking around the room in awe before he realized Karver was glaring down at him.

  “This thing, boy.” said Karver, producing a small object from his pants pocket. “This is what brought me my fortunes and wealth. And there’s something about you that it wants.”

  In Karver’s pudgy hand was a small artifact, slightly larger than an egg. It appeared to be made of some sort of sandy, red stone and it carried a strangely molten smell, like scorched earth. It was a hand, but not quite human. The fingers were too long, the palm too wide. It was ugly, like a mockery of a human hand, and its slender fingers were all slightly bent. All of its surface was scrawled with strange symbols; a writing that held a beauty and terror about it.

  Rook stared at it, his mouth opening. He almost dropped Ursula, so great was his desire to reach out and grab it. He wanted to touch it, to feel that strange, sandy texture it had. He wanted to feel its warmth—somehow he knew it would be warm to the touch. His eyes went wide, and he swore he almost saw the fingers bend a little more. Rook licked his lips. He started to set Ursula down when Karver’s hand abruptly closed around the thing.

  Rook shook his head and felt as if he had just been shaken from a daze. He grabbed Ursula back to his chest, wondering what in Apollyon’s Hell he was thinking when he went to set her down on the cold floor.

  “Nobody knows about this thing, boy. Just me…and now you.” said Karver, his voice almost a growl. “But it seems it knew you already.”

  Rook looked up at Karver and the man seemed not so much angry, but upset. Rook was hesitant, but he had to know. Even now his eyes were drawn to the hand in which Karver grasped it. “Wh…what is that?” asked Rook.

  “A Golothic.” said Karver, keeping the thing concealed in his fist. He glared down at Rook. “Very rare. Very powerful. Dangerous…once it fulfills its promise.”

  “What…what does it do?”

  “A Golothic is a demon’s promise.” said Karver. “A promise bound by a great sacrifice. There are some people in this world who have something of great value to a demon, and some demons who can offer great rewards for it. If the person sacrifices it to the demon, the demon binds them to its Golothic. Once the demon’s promise is fulfilled, the demon takes what was sacrificed. They say that’s how a demon unbinds itself from Hell. They take something from a mortal, and give something in return. The Golothic is the promise, and once it’s fulfilled, the demon becomes more powerful.”

  Karver regarded Rook steadily for a moment and then opened his hand, revealing the strange thing again. Rook again was held in awe of it. He swore he could almost see the fingers reaching out for him. “When I first came by this thing, the hand was completely opened. All the fingers straight. That night I came by you, I noticed the fingers had bent.”

  Rook peered at the Golothic, not speaking. He could almost hear the thing, like it was whispering to him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Rook thought he saw something. A small, shadowy figure. His eyes darted toward the row of cabinets, but the thing slunk between them and was gone. Rook looked back at Karver, but the fat man was only looking at the Golothic. “Who…who is that?”

  Karver looked in the direction Rook was pointing. Near the cabinets was a full suit of black armor set upon a mannequin. Karver frowned. “It’s nothing. Armor from Duroton, the forbidden lands of the north. Now pay attention, boy.”

  Rook wanted to correct him, to tell him he wasn’t referring to the armor, but thought better of it now. Perhaps it had been nothing but a trick of shadow from the armor.

  Karver closed his hands around the Golothic and dropped it into his pocket. He looked at Rook. “The hand of the Golothic closes as the time approaches for the demon to collect his ransom. Me coming into possession of you made its fingers bend.” Karver cast his dark eyes directly into Rook’s. “Boy, you tell me what you have to do with this thing, and you tell me now.”

  Rook stood there aghast, unable to speak. He made the Golothic close? What did he have to do at all with a demon’s promise or a sacrifice? He had never seen a demon before in his life; never even heard about a Golothic. “I…I…I don’t know. Honest.”

  Karver scowled. He grumbled something under his breath and then said, “I suppose you wouldn’t.” He stood there silently for a moment, his eyes wandering as if in calculating thought.

  “Did…did you get that from a demon?” asked Rook, his curiosity getting the better of him, and a part deep within his mind hoped that Karver might produce it from his pocket again. There was something alluring about it. Something that made him want to look upon it, and perhaps even hold it.

  Karver looked down at Rook and frowned. “No.” he grumbled. “I found it long ago. It was in the bottom of a crate of old swords and armor I came by from my cousin. Gatima had given it to him, and he didn’t want the old stuff so he gave it to me.”

  Karver paused and looked at Rook steadily. “My cousin Kraken and his family are all favored by Gatima, but not me or mine. Me and my brother were down on our luck. I was thankful that Kraken had given me the old weapons, but I only intended to sell them. I found it in the bottom of the crate. I had no idea what it was, but something about it told me not to get rid of it. I kept it a secret. It was my secret, and I carried it with me everywhere, and I started getting lucky. Finding wealth. Meeting the right people. The thing blessed me. Blessed me good. And then my cousin let me in on his slave trade, and after that I was a made man.

  “I tried to find out what it was for many years, but nobody ever knew. Eventually when I had money enough I found a Jinn and took it to him. He knew what it was right away, and charged me a pretty penny to tell me about it. He’s the one who told me it was a Golothic, and what they are. And he told me to beware if it ever starts to close. He said the Golothic brings fortune first, and then tragedy when it closes into a fist.”

  Karver stared down at Rook. “You made it close.” he grumbled. “You might mark the beginning of the end to my fortune. Somehow, someway, you, and maybe that sister of yours, are connected to this Golothic.”

  “Is…is that why you’re keeping us up here instead of with the others?” asked Rook.

  “Aye.” said Karver. He looked away from Rook. “I don’t know if I need to kill you or keep you. If I kill you I might hasten its closing. Maybe that’s what it wants. Maybe its fingers bent when I had Garrot take you. Maybe it thought I was going to have you killed.” Karver shook his head in thought. “But if I keep you I might hasten its closing too. Maybe it started to close just because you came around. Maybe it wants me to keep you, in which case, I’d have to kill you.” Karver
looked back at Rook and grumbled. “But killing you and your sister’s a thing I can’t take back, so for now I figure I’ll keep you. See what you mean to this thing. See if it closes any more.”

  Rook looked down and shivered. Ursula stirred in his arms and let out a contented sigh, made a sucking sound, and dove right back into sleep.

  “All this you see,” said Karver, waving his hands about the room. “The Golothic brought me. It’s blessed me with all this.” Karver paused and then huffed a laugh. “All this but that right there.” he said, pointing to the small pedestal that held the gleaming, black, metallic object. “That was a gift from Kraken. A warning to me should I ever betray him.”

  “What is it?” asked Rook.

  Karver looked down at him, smiling wickedly. “A piece of Star-Armor from a Saint.”

  Rook gasped. “R…really?” Rook had always wanted to meet a Saint. He had heard rumors that their armor was strange and heavy. That it was actually forged of the heavens and stars. Father Tarask at the church had once said that its weight was symbolic of the burden they must carry to protect the kingdoms from Apollyon’s evil.

  Karver’s grin stretched his fat, bearded face in a monstrous sort of way. “Come see boy.” he said and led Rook across the room to it.

  Atop the pedestal it sat, bathed in the yellow-green gaslight of the lamp above it. It was a bracer. A piece of armor that covered the forearm. It was black like the night sky, and Rook thought it seemed to have a depth to it; almost as if he were looking into the very heavens of night and could reach in and touch its darkness. Or maybe he thought it was like the creek at night. A darkness that sparkled in the light, but whose surface could be broken by the touch of a finger.

  “Touch it if you want.” said Karver. “You can’t do nothing to it. Can’t break it. Can’t even move it.”

  Rook looked up at Karver, trying to gauge if the man would really let him touch it.

  “Go on, boy. Touch it. Try to move it.” Karver reached down and grabbed Ursula. At first Rook began to protest but Karver just snatched her into his arms. She stirred but did not fuss. “Go on. Try it, boy.”

  Hesitantly, Rook turned away from his sister. He looked at that glassy-black piece of armor. Is this really a piece of Star-Armor? he thought. Rook stood on his tiptoes and reached out a finger. Slowly he pressed it upon the metal. His first thought was of how cold it was. It was like touching ice, he thought. He stroked it and felt how smooth it was. It felt a lot like glass. Then he caught the smell of it. It was very faint, almost undetectable even. It was at once acrid but pleasing; like rusty metal and fire. Scorched metal, maybe? His mind instantly drew a parallel between that and the Golothic. The Golothic, however, did not have such a pleasing scent. The Golothic smelled more like death, of earth and rock that had been smoldered into destruction. The Star-Armor smelled more like living metal…like forged metal. Rook finally could place the scent. It was similar to a blacksmith’s forge, but something more, something grander.

  “Push it,” said Karver from behind him. “I’ll let you and your sister go free and take whatever you want with you if you can move that thing, even a hair.”

  Rook’s heart leapt. Really? He turned to face Karver, who was smiling wryly.

  “Go on, boy. Try it.”

  Rook turned back around and reached both hands up. He grabbed it and yanked as if he were just going to casually pick it up. His arms strained. He released it, utter surprise filling his mind. His brow furled and he tried again, this time pulling as hard as he could. The thing did not budge. He tried again, and this time he grunted and strained until Karver started laughing and Ursula woke in his arms and began bawling. Karver handed Rook back his sister and he began cooing to her and she settled down.

  “Took me and my brother and my cousin Kraken to put that thing there.” said Karver, looking at it. “That pedestal it’s on is solid marble and rooted into the ground.”

  “Is that really Star-Armor?” asked Rook, rocking Ursula in his arms.

  “It is.” said Karver. “You like Saints, boy?”

  Rook nodded and turned back to the bracer. He reached his hand up and stroked it, feeling its cold, absolute smoothness upon his fingertips.

  “You like those tales they tell you in church?” asked Karver.

  Without looking away from the piece of Star-Armor Rook said, “My favorite is Saint Bryant of the Horn. I like the tale of how he slew the Cerberus and the stories of how he’d bring candy and gifts to the people of the towns he’d visit.”

  Karver laughed mockingly. “You’re still young, boy. You still believe in all that nonsense. Those are fairytales from long ago.”

  Rook frowned, thinking to himself how lucky Karver might consider himself that no Saints were around to see what he and his brother have been up to. “One of these days, a Saint will come here, to help us all.”

  Karver huffed. “If this little uprising going on out there don’t end real soon, you might get a first hand look at one.” said Karver, grinning. “Might get a first hand look at my cousin. Once Gatima finds out there is a revolt, he’ll stomp it out quick. Stomp all you people out real quick.”

  Rook shrugged.

  “Look at me, boy.” said Karver and Rook turned around, now thinking better of having shrugged. “Remember how I told you my cousin Behemoth Kraken is not a man you want to have cross your path?” said Karver. “That bracer right there is from his own Saint. Saint Rathaniel. Kraken cut off his left arm the first day Gatima gave him to him.”

  “Why’d he do that?” asked Rook, furling his brow. Rook knew that Kings and Exalted nobles were often given their own personal Saints as bodyguards, but the remark came to him as slightly insulting. First, because this Behemoth Kraken looked evil and sounded evil, and the fact that such a man should have his own Saint seemed appalling. Secondly, because as far as Rook was concerned, Saints were the good guys, and the good guys never lost to the bad guys. And thirdly, because Saints were, as far as all the stories he had heard, completely indestructible.

  Karver chuckled. “The story goes that Kraken was partaking of his little boys and told Rathaniel to help himself to one. Rathaniel politely declined and Kraken cut his arm off as a warning. Then he killed a child and made Rathaniel take the corpse in front of the entire court while his arm was still bleeding.”

  Rook suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He looked down and away from Karver. He tried telling himself that Karver was just messing with him; just telling stories to scare him. But a small part of his mind warned him to take heed.

  Karver grabbed Rook’s chin and forced his head up, making him look at him. Karver was smiling. “My cousin likes his little boys. You’re what, ten-years old? That’s about the age he prefers.” Karver looked down at Ursula and stroked her cheek with one finger. “I’ve seen him take babes too. Says they like to suck and ain’t got no teeth to worry about.”

  Rook shivered as Karver held him in place by the chin. He felt his stomach twist in fear and disgust and his mind flooded with the memories of Garrot on that first night. Nausea assaulted him and he thought he might lose his lunch, when he saw it again. It was a shadowy child, and it peeked out from around that tall, terrifying statue.

  Karver’s grin widened. “Trust me, you don’t know fear until you cross paths with my cousin.”

  Rook shook his head and pointed.

  Karver turned around and looked over to the towering wood statue. “What boy?”

  “There,” said Rook, but the figure was gone.

  Karver huffed a little laugh. “That’s what they call a demon pole, boy.” Karver gestured for Rook to follow as he began to walk across the room to the thing. “Long time ago villages used to put them up to keep demons and dark creatures away. All the beasts carved into it are supposed to scare them off, and each beast looks out in a different direction to keep watch.”

  The shadowy child Rook had seen was nowhere in sight, and once again he was left wondering if it had been his imagination
or a trick of the shadows. Or, he thought with a shiver, perhaps it was the ghost of some poor child who had crossed paths with Karver and his brother. Whatever it was, Rook decided against mentioning it.

  He held Ursula to his chest and rocked her gently in his arms as he walked over and stopped next to the giant wooden pole where Karver stood. It was like the massive trunk of some towering tree carved into a dozen beasts all sitting upon one another. The surface was gray and dull, cracked and pocked with age, but Rook surmised that at one point it must have been smooth and polished and probably painted. Here and there small patches of faded color still clung to it. The creatures that made up the thing looked like forest animals, but somehow twisted and monstrous and made more terrible and ferocious than any rabid beast. The largest creature at the bottom looked like a bear, another like some sort of hawk, and a third like a wolf. Upon the very top was perched some type of eagle with its wings spread, but its face bore a dozen large eyes that looked out from every angle. Rook’s eyes scanned up the entire length of the thing and he shivered.

  “This thing’s a thousand years old.” said Karver. He kicked the base of the thing. “I figure it can maybe protect me. Look over my treasures. Look out for whatever demon belongs to my Golothic.”

  Rook didn’t really care for the spooky statue and turned his head to where the sparkle of metal caught his eye. There was a cabinet with glass doors. Inside Rook could see a number of various objects, most of them daggers and knives. Some were ancient and rusty, but others gleamed with polished silver and gold. There was one dagger, however, that particularly caught Rook’s attention. It wasn’t the fanciest by far, but it was perfect and polished and gleaming the way only the finest steel could. Rook walked over to the cabinet.