Calling On Fire (Book 1) (46 page)

“Good. Let’s move out,” Guard Harn said. He immediately took the lead, although Esset would have to direct them as soon as the tunnel branched. Guard Harn assigned positions while they moved, guarding their rear and keeping the two Essets in the protected center of the group.

Everyone was tense as they navigated the sewers. Their sloshing steps filled the quiet, interspersed with the squeaks of rats and splashing of new waste. Esset counted off the branches in his memory, although there were still swimming rats to lead them if he forgot.

“We’re getting close,” Esset finally murmured. Another turn and they were in the tunnel that held the pile of bodies. A guard held his lantern higher to cast the light further, and the mound’s large shadow was just visible. So was the shadow moving just beside it.

“No, you can’t have it,” a garbled voice rasped from ahead. The group stopped dead, and Esset and his father exchanged looks. Guard Harn made a small motion with one hand and the group edged forward again; all of the guards held their swords at the ready. The shadowed form moved closer. First, the lantern-light caught on animalistic eyes, reflecting red. Then it started to illuminate the rest of the creature.

It had been human once, but now it was a twisted mixture of human and rat. It had patches of fur interspersed on its human skin. Its figure was lopsided; one arm was mostly human, but at the wrist it twisted into a rat’s paw, except the thumb was still opposable. The other arm was overdeveloped at the shoulder and longer than it should have been, its forearm and fingers over-extended. Vicious claws extended from those fingers, too long to be useful as anything other than weapons.

The rest of the body was modeled similarly, so twisted that it was miracle the creature moved as efficiently as it did. And the face was a horror. One ear was placed higher on the head than the other, and the face had been obscured in part by the patches of fur.

“You can’t have it. I won’t let you take my research.” Bristly whiskers sprouted around the lopsided nose, half muzzle, half human mouth. The speech was garbled because the jaw now housed too many oversized murine teeth, sharp and yellow.

“Forris,” Mr. Esset whispered, pale and wide-eyed.

Esset did a double-take, but he could barely fathom how his father had made the connection. Forris’s research into augmenting humans with animal traits, the rats he’d kept for his research, his being the first disappearance, and the whispers about his research being taken away, as the church had always threatened to do: it made sense. Still, this creature didn’t look anything like the Forris Esset had known.

“Forris?!” Esset exclaimed incredulously.

“The reeking one knows me, the one who smells of ash and fire and
evil,
how does he know me? How?” the creature hissed, drawing closer. The group shrank back, except for Mr. Esset, who stepped forward.

“Because he’s my son,” Mr. Esset said. “Tobias, is that really you?”

“Ah, Edric, it’s you.” All of Forris’s attention fixated on Mr. Esset. “Yes, it’s me. I came here to continue my work before they could take it, they were going to take it, like they’ve come to take it now. But you won’t let them. You were my friend. Why are you with them?” The creature—Forris—drew forward, then back, then forward again, clearly agitated and indecisive.

“I came to find you,” Mr. Esset said in his best soothing tone. “I was worried about you. All the scholars are. When you went missing, we feared you dead, like the other bodies we’d found.”

“Dead?” The creature’s eyes darted back and forth nervously, looking for the killer.

“Yes, someone killed them,” Mr. Esset said.

“That’s terrible. I hope the city guard catches the killer. Thank you for warning me. I will keep an eye out, but few people venture down here. I mostly stay here, to research.” Forris was almost starting to sound lucid.

“Tobias, what happened?” Mr. Esset asked, trying to get answers while keeping Forris calm.

“I was warned, warned that they were coming to take away my research. So I did what I always should have, what everyone was too scared to let me do. I carried out my experiment and it was a success! Just look! I improved my frail human body with traits from my rats.” Forris reared up on his hind legs and spread his arms as if his twisted form were proof of a great victory. The soldiers twitched in response, but they held their ground, and Forris didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, I…see,” Mr. Esset replied, a crease between his eyebrows. “They kept it from the rest of us scholars, that your research was going to be taken away. Who warned you?” Mr. Esset asked. His concern was genuine, if not for the reason Forris assumed.

“Ah, that would be my new patron. He’s a brilliant man, and rich, but secretive. He only ever spoke to me as a shadow, but with his help, I made such advances! He encouraged me when everyone else quibbled and argued about controversy. Pah!” Forris spat into the sewage.

“I’m jealous,” Mr. Esset said, speaking words every scholar secretly wanted to hear about his work. Forris preened. At the same time, Esset glanced at the soldiers; they were starting to get antsy, but this approach had so far proven effective.

“It’s too bad all are not as clear-sighed as you, Edric,” Forris said. “But people ever fear change. That’s why I’ve been staying down here. It’s not so bad, and I can research in peace.”

“No,” Mr. Esset agreed reluctantly. “So what kind of research have you been doing? What advancements have you made?” That seemed to be the right question, for Forris’s jaw gaped open in a grin before he bounded towards the pile of bodies.

“I have been working on making an assistant. I have yet to create a living specimen, but I’ve been progressing in leaps and bounds.” Forris’s voice came amidst splashes and squelches in the sewage, and he returned shortly with a misshapen form dangling from one mutated hand. It was twisted in a fashion similar to Forris himself, only in reverse; it appeared to be a rat that Forris had tried to mutate into a human. It was the size of a child, but its form was bent at unnatural angles, stiffened in death in a position of agony.

Mr. Esset swallowed hard and barely managed to speak. “Impressive. How did you do it?” Mr. Esset asked faintly. He didn’t really want to know, but he had to ask.

“I borrowed from some of the city-folk. All you need is a piece, and when you meld it—miracle!” Forris crowed.

Esset felt sick.

“This has been excellent practice for future volunteers who want to be improved,” Forris continued, oblivious to the angered and sickened expressions on the soldiers’ faces.

“What did you borrow?” Mr. Esset asked.

“Their organs,” Forris replied, as if that were perfectly reasonable. “I tried the heart first, then the liver, then other organs, but none seem to be doing the trick.”

“Tobias, you’re killing people,” Mr. Esset whispered. Forris’s misshapen face twisted further in confusion.

“No, I’m doing research,” he said.

“There are eight people dead, and you killed them,” Mr. Esset persisted. Forris shook his head.

“No, I haven’t killed anybody. I’m just doing research, down here where no one will bother me.”

“Forris, you cut people open and took their hearts and livers. People can’t live without their parts!” Mr. Esset said, his voice growing stronger.

Now Forris seemed to be detecting the distress in his voice. Esset glanced between them, fearful that Forris would grow violent towards his father if this dialogue continued.

“No,” Forris said, shaking his head again, but his eyes were unfocused. “No.”

“Tobias, look behind you. Those are bodies there. Dead bodies. People you
borrowed
from,” Mr. Esset said. Forris’s head whipped around, and he stared at the corpses. Then he started backing up towards the group, forcing the soldiers to give ground.

“No. No, no, no. This can’t be,” Forris said. He turned to look at Mr. Esset again, then finally seemed to see the rest of the group. “No,” Forris whispered at their expressions of anger, horror, and revulsion.

“What have I done? The shadow said, he said…” His voice trailed off. “I can’t, I didn’t—I didn’t mean… What have I done?” Forris shook his head, then nipped his own arm with sharp teeth, as if it would wake him up from a terrible nightmare.

“I can’t—no! This is, is, NO!” Forris began to thrash around and the group backed up further yet. Then he went quiet and stilled, his head bowed.

“Kill me,” he whispered, but the group kept their distance. Mr. Esset opened his mouth to speak, but Forris cut him off. “Kill me. Please, kill me!” He advanced on the group and the men steeled themselves.

“KILL ME!” Forris roared, and he leapt. Esset shouted an incantation, and a flaming wolf materialized and intercepted him mid-leap. The pair were propelled away from the group, the wolf’s jaws locked around Forris’s throat.

They splashed down onto the far side of the sewer tunnel, and the wolf was banished by the quantity of liquid that washed over it. But the damage was done. The group approached cautiously, but Forris was already finished, his eyes unblinking in death. Mr. Esset looked away, and Esset rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Esset murmured. Mr. Esset just shook his head and rested his hand atop his son’s, giving it a squeeze.

“Well, I’ll survive, but I think I’ll leave adventuring to you boys,” Mr. Esset said as they started home. They’d finished their reports to the captain and used the guard house facilities to clean up a bit.

“I’m sorry about Forris,” Esset blurted.

“You did what had to be done. Forris was clearly mad. Whether it was his own experimentation or something else that did it, when he realized what he’d done and what he’d become, he didn’t want to live anymore. You saw that as clearly as I.”

“I know, I just...hate taking lives,” Esset said.

“That’s a good thing,” Mr. Esset said.

“I know,” Esset replied. They walked in silence for two blocks before Esset broke it again.

“Am I bad person for… Well, I was thinking of trying to convince Toman to not go after Moloch anymore, but after this…? I’m not so sure anymore. This made me want to go after him more.”

“I don’t see how any of that would make you a bad person,” Mr. Esset replied reasonably. “But how so?”

“When Forris was talking about the “shadow,” his new patron, I just… Well, it occurred to me that that sounds an awful lot like something Moloch would do. It’s probably just paranoia, but after Ateala, I just don’t know. And even if it wasn’t him, it’s still the kind of thing he has done and will keep doing, and he needs to be stopped.”

As he was wont to do, Mr. Esset took the time to mull over Esset’s words before replying, and they walked in pensive silence for a block. “‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t trying to kill you,’” Mr. Esset quoted. “I don’t know if it was Moloch either, but I think you have reason to be paranoid.”

Mr. Esset sighed.

“I’m an old man, and I just want to see my children safe. So part of me does wish that the two of you would give up on Moloch. However, I also know that would go against both your natures, and you know I would never advocate that. If you boys need to do this, do it.”

They walked in silence for a while longer.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Mr. Esset just nodded.

When Toman woke up in the early afternoon, still laid up in his castle, his thoughts immediately turned to Esset’s words from that morning.

“We don’t have to go after Moloch. We can still do good in this world—perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, even more other good things—if we don’t go after him.”

Toman exhaled heavily. Esset wasn’t always right about everything, but he was right about a lot of things, often enough that his words deserved weight.

Jonathan doesn’t want to die, he realized. He’s afraid of death. Immediately following those thoughts came the obvious, fortunately. Well, yeah. I don’t want to die either. I certainly fear death. But there are things I fear more, and just because we’re afraid to die doesn’t mean we’re not willing to die for the right things. He reflected on that for a minute, uncomfortable with it, yet somehow sure.

Is pursuing Moloch worth it, then?
That was the question, and that question was linked deeply to a firm belief that he held:
If anyone can beat him, we can
. Unfortunately, that belief didn’t mean that they
would
beat him. Toman knew quite personally how much suffering Moloch could inflict, and thus how much suffering the world would be spared if Moloch were removed from it.