Illustration by Nick Logan

Christopher Stires has an impressive record of small press publications and one novel out (with another on the way): The Inheritance, from Zumaya Publications. If this short, haunting little tale is anything to go by, I'm sure we'll all be seeing much more of his work...

It arrived.

It rose out of the whirlwinds in the west and followed the barren riverbed trail through the valley. Without pause it came toward the sanctuary where I had been told to wait. It moved untouched past the fire geysers and shredding bramble thorns and with each step crushed to powder the skulls and weed-cloaked bones that littered the ground beneath its feet

It looked just as I had imagined it would and nothing at all like I had. It was beautiful and radiated with a seductive, consuming power. Then it was so terrifying that it edged my mind toward the pit. In its eyes were the genesis of time and the exodus of the future. Formless and enticing creatures hovered in its mammoth shadow. Fear and Madness. Horror and Sin.

As it advanced, circling and appraising me, the heavy air shifted from freezing hot to burning cold and back again. On my face and hands, blisters erupted and turned to ice as they burst.

The Siamese twins who had guided me to this far valley withered from its angry glance. Writhing on the ground among the stones and ash, the sister sorceresses clung to one another as they choked their final breaths and I was impotent to help them.

I kneeled, unarmed, before it. I resisted the calling pleas from the hills to run, to change my determined course. My heart pounded with desperate fervor. I was committed to this endeavor. There was no turning back.

It smiled with a gentle, malevolent force. An owl, with a single unblinking and blood-red eye, danced, mocking me, at its feet.

The air became crisp and sweet. My blisters faded as if they had never been.

“You hate me,” it said.

“Yes,” I replied, the word sounding naive and insane. I clutched the medallion at my throat to give me strength. The goddess, Igeia, who was carved on the simple oak cameo, had been long forgotten. My bride had once told me that it was the patron guardian of true love. I chuckled, amused with her fable, and asked if she knew any tales of ghosts or fairies. She kissed my brow and left me with my papers and notes. The subject was never broached again.

“You hate me,” it repeated. “Then why have you summoned me here?”

“To barter a covenant.”

It laughed, delight and terror intermingled. The creatures in its shadow huddled and cringed together. “I will concede to you your rightful due, Crusader,” it said. “You have been a curse to me. Passionate and driven, one warrior can cast a difference. At Shankur, you played havoc with my intended results. At Herron, too. In Camd’n Rin, you destroyed one of my most dedicated servants.” It pointed at the dead sisters. “You convinced two who have been mine since first breath to betray me and to bring you to the one place where you cannot be harmed. But now, that is all prologue. What is the offering?”

“The usual I believe.”

“Excellent. No hesitation, no quibbling. We will do well together.”

“Do you keep your part of the covenant?”

“Always.”

"Liar.”

It smiled again. “I am bound by my pacts and most are clear in their intent for all involved. Once sealed in blood they are also without appeal. Even the pallid angels who watch us now from the hills cannot reverse a covenant once made.”

I braced myself. I was at the abyss and there was no retreating. Beseeching voices cried for me to stop. I could not.

“What do you desire?” it asked.

“You do not know?”

“No life is certain or absolute. All have a choice. It is a rule I cannot break and would not. I am enriched by the challenge. Tell me what you desire so deeply that you have come this valley to bow before me.”

“Lenore.”

Lenore. Delicate and enchanting. Rare and radiant. My passion, my world. The loving and loved Lenore with the quick, pleasing laugh and devious insight. Lenore. Only Lenore.

It dismissed me with a wave of its hand. “A mere companion? I anticipated a more complex request from such a noble adversary. There is a woman from the North Sea who would be perfect for you. She is a vicious pleasure. Or, perhaps, the one from the Cimera Plains. A chilling, magnificent talent. She would---”

“Lenore,” I said without misgiving. “There is no other.”

It frowned. The sky tinged with fiery gray. The owl rose to its shoulder and it brushed the fowl away instantly, unconsciously. “How long has she been dead?”

“Two years. Two years tonight.”

“Seems ... longer.”

“I want to relive the time my bride and I had. Then you can take me and let her live. Let her exist without your interference or that of your minions.”

“I cannot.”

“It is well known that you can make today yesterday and yesterday tomorrow. You can turn an ocean into desert and a mountain into dust. If an individual is willing to consign their soul to your kingdom, then all is possible.”

“I cannot grant what you desire. Believe me, Crusader, if I could I would not hesitate. You would be a trophy in my realm.”

The owl screeched, cowering behind it. The creatures in its shadow vanished into the thick, rushing darkness.

“We will meet again,” it said, turning.

“Tell me why,” I demanded.

It moved away. Fire and ice merged as one. The winds exploded and howled. The veiled sky buckled and vibrated.

“Damn you!” I yelled. “Tell me why!”

It pivoted. Its expression was suffocating although I knew it could not harm me in this valley. I reeled from the force nonetheless, clutching the medallion. My heart felt as if it was being crushed. My skull rumbled and wailed. A black mist swirled about me.

“Think back,” it answered. “Where were you that night two years ago? What route did you usually take? Where should Lenore have been? Think. Remember. I command it.”

“Lenore!” I cried. Blood-hued tears tarnished my face. “No!”

“Yes. You were the one who originally perished that night. You--an insignificant and meaningless scholar--were murdered for the fistful of coins in your meager purse. She came to this valley and kneeled where you kneel now. She made a covenant with me. Her immortal soul for your life and for you to live without harm from me or mine. You have defeated my servants because you are protected by my own oath.”

This could not be. No, Lenore, this could not be.

It pointed a finger-claw at my heart. “I am the Nightmare. I am the Beast. All tremble in the presence of my throne. All. All except Lenore. She knew what you were capable of. She knew the warrior you would become. She tricked me. She laughs at me.”

“Lenore!” I called.

“You and I are not done, Crusader,” it promised. “We will meet again and it will be on my terms. I will not be denied your blood by my covenant with her. I will find a way to break it.” It cursed then was gone. Scarlet-tipped feathers were tossed about by receding winds.

Quiet cries echoed down from the angels on the hills as I stood up slowly, weakly. I had work to finish. I had battles to win. She would be honored for all time by my victories.

Somewhere in the distance, beyond this far valley, I heard the echo of Lenore’s quick, pleasing laugh.