GUILLAUME V

  Guillaume did not have time to put on his boots before he took off racing down the tortuous walkway that led through the witch’s bog. His toes squished uncomfortably in the sticky morass as he ran towards the two strangers. Lady Galdr’s warning to stay on the path had not been unwarranted: harrowing creatures were taking shape everywhere, with the exception of the twisted walkway. These demons regarded him with predatory eyes and were formed out of mist. The mostly naked man with tattooed symbols had taken several steps into the muck, but Guillaume was relieved to see that the woman in the nun’s habit had pulled him out of the bog. The walkway rambled frustratingly, turning in chaotic directions, which made it far longer than it appeared. Guillaume put his head down and focused on staying on the path, which helped him ignore the terrifying demons that shambled about ethereally.

  By the time he reached the massive tree, he was out of breath. The Gaídel maiden was brushing some of the filth off of her pure white sleeves, while her companion seemed unperturbed by the mud and dirt that clung to his immodest body. The alarming amount of blood coating his hands was mostly dried, more brown than red. The strangers were speaking to each other in the language of the Gaídel as Guillaume approached, so he only caught a few words. The wild looking man laughed and the woman stifled a giggle. Guillaume could feel his face burning in embarrassment and assumed they were talking about him. Between gasps for air he said, “Do. Not. Stray. From. The. Path.” He tried to translate that into Gaídel, but could only manage, “Path good.” The nun smiled at him sweetly and he felt his heart flutter.

  “Thank you for the warning,” the woman replied fluently in Gaulish, the Jotman language. “My name is Liadan and this is Eógan.” She gestured to herself first and then to the man at her side. The savage had disfigured himself with elaborate symbols etched into his skin, Guillaume took a closer look at the owl on his chest and stumbled backwards in fear after it snapped its beak at his face. The wild man laughed heartily, but Liadan did not seem pleased by his antics. She slapped his shoulder as a chastisement, before continuing, “We are seeking…” she paused and conferred with Eógan. “Lady Galdr. Is this her… abode?”

  “It is!” Guillaume answered, standing up as straight as possible and trying to compose himself, he was pleased to notice that he towered over Eógan. “She left several days ago and has yet to return. She told me to expect company. I assume she was referring to both of you?” Liadan conveyed this to Eógan and they had a brief exchange. The man’s tone became more insistent, Liadan did not look pleased.

  “He asks why we should trust a Jotman?” she translated reluctantly.

  Guillaume thought for a moment. “I could ask the same about both of you, yet I assure you that I mean no harm.” Liadan once again spoke to Eógan and after making a sarcastic sounding response, he appeared mollified. “Should I lead the way?” Liadan nodded and he began walking barefoot along the path through the bog. The ghostly figures of mist stood motionless, no longer paying attention to any of them. Guillaume shuddered.After they had walked for a bit, he built up the courage to ask, “Where did you learn to speak Gaulish so fluently Liadan?”

  She smiled sadly. “There was a preacher in my town who sought to convert the Gaídel families who lived in Gallowye. He took it upon himself to teach the children of my village the Broken Man’s tongue. After I met the Abbess, I came to form a deep connection with the Broken Man and pledged myself to his faith.” She gestured to her habit, “Until… last night, I was a postulant in the abbey that is under construction to the east.”

  “That is where my companion and I were headed,” Guillaume replied. “I was hoping to ask the Abbess and her sisters for advice.” Liadan’s expression changed abruptly and he stopped. “Were you mistreated?” He noticed streaks of blood on her white sleeves and the left side her dark habit was stained with considerably more.

  “They are not as pious as I had hoped,” Liadan answered enigmatically.

  “W-whose blood is that?” he asked as he pointed towards her soiled clothing.

  “Mine,” she responded flatly. Guillaume was dumbstruck, based on the volume of the blood, Liadan had been grievously injured. How was she still standing, let alone walking unaided? Liadan paused a beat before continuing, “What were you seeking to ask the Abbess?”

  Guillaume toed at the muck he was standing in, reluctant to answer. “I suppose I would need to warn you anyways. My… friend, is different. Jotman, Gaídel, and Pecht, we all have distinct features. Esker… Esker is something else entirely.” He felt Liadan’s attention intensify as she translated this for Eógan. He in turn grew wary and studied the witch’s house.

  “What is your friend then, Guillaume?” Liadan asked.

  He fidgeted some more. “We… well we thought it a devil, sister. I hoped the abbey would have answers.” Liadan’s eyes widened and he continued, “It, I mean she, came from underground… and seems more comfortable there. Esker also has red skin.” He worked his mouth a bit in frustration, “I know how this sounds, but Esker is not a monster.” When this was translated, Eógan reached for his hip, as if for a weapon, and seemed surprised that his hand found nothing. He tried to cover up the action by scratchingidly at his bare thigh. Liadan’s concern was palpable. “Please… Esker has been kind to me andhasprotected me on multiple occasions. I think she needs help,” Guillaume continued. Liadan’s expression softened a bit, so Guillaume ran ahead, back towards the hut. They were close now and even though the path wandered, it would not be long before they arrived. “ESKER!” Guillaume called out, his voice carried across the open expanse of the blanket bog. The creatures formed of mist had largely wandered off or dissipated, yet after he yelled, they began to congregate and become agitated. The trio quickened their pace as more and more of the mist demons arose from the mire, extending spindly limbs and grasping with their gnarledclaws. “Esker!” Guillaume called out once more, a bit more muted, as they reached the very center of the bog.

  The witch’s home was situated on a slightly elevated rise and the path they were on circled it,Foxfire dotted this interior circumference as well. Guillaume darted to the doorway, which looked far simpler from the exterior, and yanked on the handle. It did not budge. Behind him Eógan growled and he heard Liadan gasp. Guillaume turned and watched with horrified curiosity as one of the larger specters daintily extended a misshapen limb towards the pathway, like a child afraid to plunge into a cold pool. Eógan, Liadan, and Guillaume paid rapt attention, while all of the other ghostly spirits appeared to be equally riveted. As the foot composed of mist settled on the walkway, it felt like everyone held their breath. When nothing dramatic happened, all of the wraiths surged forward.

  Guillaume pounded on the door, “ESKER, ESKER! OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!” The three of them pressed against the door and tumbled to the floor as it opened inwardly. Esker peered at them curiously over her long red nose and slammed the door shut as a clawed hand reached through the threshold,raking wildly. The door severed a demon’s arm near the shoulder, it hung there for a moment still grasping, before dissolving into wisps of mist.

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  LADY GALDR II

  The Jotman numbered a few dozen and were not eager to engage her after they saw the carnage that the mist demons had wrought on their fallen companions. They kept their distance, the eyes of their horses were wide. One warrior dared taunt her with empty words, but soon ceased his squawking. As the demons finished consuming the last soul, their ethereal bellies were slightly distended. Lady Galdr made sure that the Jotman did not pursue her and took care to further conceal Eógan’s tracks. She was impressed by how little he had disturbed the underbrush, the deer spirits that had bonded with him moved nimbly in the woods.

  With the Jotman boy, the Tengu woman, the True Folk lad, and the Gaídel maiden all convening at her home, Lady Galdr had tightened the threads of the wyrd into a weave. Lady Galdr was a haruspex, her portents only gave her glimpses of what the spirits were willing to share, but she knew that these four were meant to be united. She had sliced open the belly of a sheep, a deer, and a hen, yet the entrails all fell identically within her divinity circle. At first she was convinced that the Jotman were solely to blame for the imminent calamity that theblackenedanimal livers foretold, but as time passed she realized how interwoven the conflict had become. Her land had seen invaders before: cycles past, the Giantkin had ridden ashore in their longships and quickly pacified the Gaídel population, threatening to disrupt the balance of the land. The True Folk had fought back viciously and at great cost, yet managed to be enough of a nuisance that the Giantkin kept largely to the eastern and northern parts of the land. Despite their size and brutish appearance, the Giantkin sought only to enrich their lives; they had no interest in upending the harmony of the world. The Jotman, however, were a blight. They were dedicated to expansion and threatened to reshape the land into their misbegotten views of civilization. They sought to turn the earth into a graveyard of towering stone structures, to strip the land of its very soul.

  Lady Galdr hated the Jotman with all of her being and relished decimating their forces, however, the haruspicy was insistent: even the Jotman had a role to play in the crisis to come, namely the boy named Guillaume. She did not know what part they would play, but was not foolish enough to challenge the wyrd. It perplexed her that the Tengu, True Folk, and Gaídel were woven tightly together into this tapestry of fate. The land had resisted unification, the checks and balances created by different factions generated an equilibrium. It was not peace, but a close approximation. The Tengu in particular had largely been forgotten by those upon the surface. When Lady Galdr dreamt of vividly red, long limbed creatures emerging from the earth, she had to commune with many spirits before she was reminded of a people who dwelt below. The Tengu had not been seen for hundreds of cycles, the only mention of themin lore was in relation to the Sealing: the last time that the Gaídel, Tengu, and Truefolk had united as one. The Tengu geomancers were critical allies when the world was on the brink of ending. The ability to sculpt stone in the way Lady Galdr could speak to the spirits of the mist was a formidable power.

  The night was calm, Lady Galdr did not sense that she was being tracked as she traveled through the woods. Out of diligence she took precautions to obfuscate her trail and create meandering false ones. It was near dawn by the time she arrived home and she was not pleased by what she saw. Within the perimeter of Foxfire, the mist demonsraged. They twisted and gyred, clawing against the protective wards barring them from her house. These creatures were not her slaves, they were sentient beings that cooperated because of the covenant she had made with them: she would feed them souls in exchange for their cooperation. Were they to grow too hungry, they would claim her own. She had been reluctant to unleash such dark and destructive energy upon the land, yet the Jotman had left her with little recourse. They knew nothing of balance or boundaries: they consumed everything they came across and left the earth barren, like locusts. The bulk of the mist demons she had summoned were trapped within the perimeter of Foxfire and they were starving. She had brought only a handful along for her excursion, since they were less recalcitrant in smaller numbers and easier to manage. For a moment she wished that she had led some of the Jotman back with her as a sacrifice, but the risk was too great. She called out to the demons and requested that they cease their tantrums. They did not acknowledge her and continued to scrape their claws against the warded door and windows of her home, searching for a weak point.

  Lady Galdr was exhausted from her travels andhad no patience for the demons’ insubordination. She whispered her true name and the blue-green light of the Foxfire linked from torch to torch, forming a solid circumference around the bog. The intensity grew at each focal point, before they flared and beams wove geometric patterns across the bog. The demons within were paralyzed from the neck down as they levitated into the air, their jaws snapping in protest. She took her time walking the crooked path to her front door, locking eyes with each demon she passed. At first they challenged her hold, eventually even the most stubborn ones looked abashed, like chastened children. She spoke to them softly, “Will you behave? I promise to feed each of you before the sun next sets.” Voices whispered in her head in unison, begrudgingly offering their word. She cocked her head and gave the biggest mass of demons a hard look. “Need I demonstrate what will happen if you fail to heed my instructions again?” She stood tall and raised her gnarled hand. The weave of Foxlight tightened, mist hissed and dissipated into the air as the demons shrunk from the pressure. The mist demons were far more convincing in their assurances when she asked once more. She had no doubt that they would betray her given the chance and made a mental note to further strengthen the magic wardsprotecting her home.

  As she reached the entrance of her house, Lady Galdr cricked her neck back and forth, rolled her shoulders and hunched back over into a stooped posture. She grasped the door handle and threw it open. Near the threshold, Eógan stood next to the Tengu in a defensive stance. Esker had the Harvestman’s barbed limb held menacingly. The pair may have appeared intimidating were the Pecht brandishing a more threatening weapon than a cast iron pan. “Planning to cook me some eggs Pechtling?” she cackled, her wizened eyes disappearing behind wrinkled folds of skin. Eógan beamed back at her and the Tengu was impassive. Behind the two of them, the Jotling tried not to show his apprehension, while the young woman in the vestments of the Jotman’s idiotic faith seemed to be in turmoil. Lady Galdr closed the door behind her.

  “Mistress of the Crooked Limb, welcome home! I would love the opportunity to prepare a meal for one as beautiful as you,” Eógan said as he politely bowed. Liadan looked aghast, as if expecting Lady Galdr to lash out at his words. The others apparently could not understand the tongue of the Pecht. Eógan winked at her cheekily and she rolled her eyes. She had no time for cocksure boys. The Pecht asked the Gaídel in her tongue why she looked uneasy, but his grammar was atrocious. Lady Galder shook her head in frustration. The Jotling and the Tengu seemed to be communicating simply to each other withpantomimed gestures, clearly unable to understand each other’s language. This simply would not do. She needed to rest, so she moved towards her sleeping mat with the small tortured steps of a person hobbled by arthritis. Eógan smiled at her, he could see through her glamor and saw her with eyes unclouded. He played along, feigning concern and helping her walk across the room. “Thank you dearie,” she croaked before kissing him on the cheek. He blushed, while the others looked visibly disgusted. Curiously, the Jotling was also scrutinizing her exaggerated performance. With a loud sigh she sat down heavily on her sleeping mat, the wooden frame creaked in protest. She closed her eyes in concentration and spoke directly into each of their minds, “Now sleep.” She heard the four of them fall to the floor and smiled as she entered the realm of dreams.

  Six "normal" teenagers. One impossible mission. Infinite evolution under red skies...

  NEMESIS, Chase, Stella, Theo, Emily, Oscar, and Andre are exposed to an extraterrestrial element called Primonium—unlocking abilities only the rarest humans, known as Primes, can possess. NEMESIS plans to unleash Primonium into the atmosphere, creating thousands of superhumans and using them to reshape society on their own twisted terms.

  Atlas Corp., a private military organization dedicated to stopping NEMESIS, the teens are thrust into a world of danger, espionage, and powers beyond their imagination. As new Primes, they must master their abilities, trust each other, and confront a rising threat that could kill millions.

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