Carnival of the Soul Page 6

  Some low chuckling made the rounds as Terry continued. "That milk is from my wife, Laina Lowe! And I am the Boss. That milk gets me through the day, every day. I want you all to know that I went easy on Shitstack here. The next person with the balls to say one wrong word to or about my wife had best be ready to eat those balls ... in front of an audience. Any questions?"

  An uneasy silence followed, broken only by the shuffling of hooves and the more distant sounds of camp life. After letting the silence stretch, Terry said, "No one? Well, I do have a question. Who owns this table?"

  A squat minotress wearing an apron and looking more than a little upset shouldered her way forward and said, "Me."

  Terry reached into Prada's sash and she gave him the golden quarter he'd gotten from Laina earlier. He flipped it toward her and she caught it deftly as he asked, "Will that cover the damage?"

  Blinking in disbelief, the minotress bit the coin, examined it, then said, "Yeah. It will. And drinks for the night if you want 'em."

  "Nah. I don't drink. Whatever doesn't cover the table can buy a round for these attentive students of mine, including these chucklefucks and Shitstack."

  There was a raucous cheer at that, and Terry grinned as he clapped his hands one last time and looked around as he said, "Class dismissed!"

  As the crowd turned to go, Shitstack bellowed and launched himself from the ground at Terry, his head slamming squarely into Terry's middle.

  Given Prada's additional mass and the fact that she was still holding him to the ground, he barely moved.

  An expression of exaggerated annoyance on his face, Terry sent a thought to Prada to let the ground go as he caught the minotaur by both his horns and shoved sharply downward as he took a step back, putting the man's face in the dirt.

  Terry dropped his knee to the back of the minotaur's neck and caught one of his hands, wrenching it back and straight up the line of his spine until he bellowed in pain.

  Leaning down but speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear, he said, "I may have gotten you with a cheap shot, but don't make the mistake of thinking you could take me in any kind of straight up fight, Shitstack. If I let you go and you attack me a third time, I'll hand you off to my wife and let her beat you to a pulp in front of an audience. And after that, there won't be any more milk. Your choice, think fast."

  Terry let him go and leaned back up to his hooves, stepping rapidly away.

  Shitstack got back to his feet and glowered, but when Terry glanced over toward Laina, she loudly cracked her knuckles as she glared menacingly at the offender.

  She might not like to fight, but she sure does have the face-off down pat, Terry thought, struggling to keep the smile off his face. Now that the point was made, he wanted to avoid another scuffle.

  Shitstack was taller than Laina was, but she was broader, more muscular, and her horns were easily twice as big. The comparison wasn't even close.

  Proving once again that he was a true friend, the one who'd given him the milk wrapped an arm around Shitstack's middle and murmured urgently in his ear as he hauled backward.

  "I'll see you again," Shitstack vowed, turning his attention back to Terry. "I'll find out what herd you're in and there will be hell to pay."

  'Ooooh, I do SO look forward to that,' Prada thought. 'Given what he'll wind up owing me though, I'll have to take it in installments.'

  Terry sputtered and started laughing. It was the worst possible reaction if he wanted to avoid a fight, but with Prada sounding so girlishly eager in his mind he just couldn't help it.

  Shitstack lunged, but his friend was still holding him, and the others around the table piled on to keep him from getting to Terry, who just turned away as he thought, You got me in trouble. I've told you before not to make me laugh when I'm trying to show a serious face.

  'That idiot cannot possibly cause us real trouble. I would say 'I'm sorry' but you would know-'

  That you're lying. Yes, I would.

  'I love you, Husband.'

  As he rolled his eyes he murmured, "I love you too, Prada."

  The next moment his hooves left the ground as Halla bear-hugged him, squealing like a little girl as she said, "That was so awesome! So! NOW do we get to go drinking?"

  "Ack! Uncle, UNCLE!" Terry wheezed as Halla squeezed the air right out of him. "Leggo!"

  "So, what exactly, do you think we accomplished there, Boss?" Laina said as Halla dropped him. "Aside from wasting my milk and having to pay for a broken table?"

  "As social as tauren seem to be, by this time tomorrow your milk will be the talk of the carnival," Terry said, looking up at her with a grin. "Or did you not notice when Law jumped up that his face was pretty much healed? Still missing a few teeth, but everything else was back where it was supposed to be."

  Laina actually stopped, her head tilting a bit as she put all the pieces together. She didn't smile, but when she started walking again she did give him some credit.

  "You're way sneakier than I'd have thought, Boss. You sure this wasn't more about you laying a beatdown on someone?"

  "I am mmm-moderately sure, yes. Wasn't it you who said I was smart?"

  Laina snorted and said, "Yeah, but I was just trying to talk you down from killing Ariadne. I didn't actually mean it."

  Terry's jaw dropped as Prada said aloud, "Ooooh, Laina. That was a good one!"

  Laina grinned as she reached out and caught Terry by the horns, hauling him in and burying his head between her breasts as she said, "Thanks, Boss. I gotta admit it felt really good to have you stand up for me."

  "Mmph!"

  She let him go and he grinned bemusedly, then glanced around and said, "Well, I don't actually drink, but if you two would like, I'll be your escort for the evening."

  "You don't drink?" Halla asked incredulously. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

  "Yeah, but I'll hang out with you guys if you want to."

  Halla exchanged a hurt look with Laina and asked, "He doesn't drink? Everybody drinks."

  Laina shrugged and said, "I've never seen him drink, no. I'll drink with you though. At this point, I could do with a beer or three."

  Halla's smile flickered up, then wavered as she looked at Terry and said, "But ... it wouldn't be right if he's not going to drink with us."

  Within his mind, Prada said, 'I can strip the alcohol out, Husband. If you don't drink, you will hurt Halla's feelings.'

  You can? ALL of it? Your word?

  'I am confident you would never become like your father regardless, but not every experience has to be a life lesson. Go have a good time with your women. I will keep you stone cold sober. You have my word.'

  "Okay, fine," he said aloud, smiling as he looked up at Halla. "I'll make an exception and go drinking with you."

  "Yay! This is gonna be fuckin' great! I talked to Yuri and he says oni LOVE to drink! I can't wait to try it!"

  Terry blinked, then exchanged a wide-eyed look with Laina.

  As Halla set off for one of the drinking pavilions, practically skipping, Laina summarized for the both of them.

  "Uh ... oops?"

  5

  Until It Sleeps

  Terry walked deserted streets, and the sense of dread hung heavy in the still air. Black clouds raced in a sky lit by occasional bolts of lightning, which served as the only illumination. It wasn't enough, so instead he used tremor sense, and that showed him more than he wanted to see.

  He stayed in the middle of the road, because in every alleyway there were bodies. More than he could count, stacked like cordwood. The walls themselves were cracked and broken, and the buildings were all open to the racing clouds, their roofs collapsed, interiors smoldering from fires only recently extinguished.

  "Murderer."

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned and ran. He ran from the word. He ran from the accusation.

  He ran from the guilt.

  Thunder rumbled. Lightning split the night sky, struck the ground in front of him, and behind him was the horde. An amor
phous mass of shattered lives, broken families. Orphaned children.

  Fear, despair, and simmering under it all, rage.

  "Murderer!"

  The word rumbled with the thunder. He tipped his head back and screamed at the skies, at the cage of a dead city that wouldn't let him leave.

  Lightning played in those lowering clouds, and with nowhere to go he whirled to face the nightmare. It rose up in a wall behind him, a wall of faces. Some he recognized, others not. Twisted, rotting, burning, hate-filled eyes, he faced it and screamed. There were no words left in this nightmare. He had long ago used them all up. Now there was only emotion. He was lost in it, and wanted to escape. Always, that was his desire. To escape, to be free.

  "I would nae have expected this. You've a lively dreamscape, Terry Mack."

  Lucidity.

  Most of the time it escaped him, but with the unknown voice it crystalized, and the rage-filled self-loathing slipped away from him. It left him feeling empty ... and relieved.

  He spun a slow circle, ignoring the wall of faces. They no longer held any terror for him. With his waking mind, he knew it for what it was. Instead, he sought the intruder, and she did not make herself hard to find.

  Lightning flashed down behind her, and she stood proudly in the middle of the ruined street, black on black on black, with silver hair that floated as though underwater, and glimmering silver eyes.

  "Thank you," he said.

  The centaur woman laughed softly and shook her head in bemusement, her hair wafting eerily around behind her as she strode toward him. "Of all the things I've heard a man say t' me in his dreams ... I've never heard that. My name's Isthil. I've been lookin' for you. Certainly know how to get around, aye?"

  His eyes narrowed as his memory sparked, and he said, "You. Thomas was riding you. You're one of his."

  Her chin lifted slightly and her face twisted in consternation, then she said, "Aye. I am one of his, but hopin' you can change that. That you'd be willin'. I brought ye a gift."

  He glanced around, then back at her with a raised eyebrow. She continued to walk toward him, and as she did so she shimmered. Her body flowed, changing shape until by the time she stood in front of him she matched him in height, and her form was entirely human.

  Her flesh was jet black, and she still had silver eyes and floating hair. She smiled, and her teeth showed up a stark white against her lips.

  There was an implicit menace in Isthil, but Terry got the impression somehow that she was hiding something from him.

  "What gift?" he asked, taking a wary step back as he brought his fists up. She belonged to Thomas. That meant that whatever she was here for probably wouldn't do him any good, no matter what she said.

  "Many gifts, potentially," she said as she stopped and spread her hands. "I swear I'm nae here to do any harm. I've broken the back of yer nightmare for one, and that's a first for me. Ye see, that's what I am. A Nightmare. I've the power to cause this, to feed on it ... to kill with it. But I also understand nightmares ... and just as I cause 'em, I can make 'em go away."

  She waved her hand, and the scene shifted. Terry stood in a gym, one of many where he'd spent countless hours training. The smell of old sweat and hard work put him immediately at ease even as he saw Isthil wrinkle her nose.

  "I'da not expected this to be where a man finds comfort. Quite frankly I'm shocked we aren't buried in all your bound women. A little disappointed as well, I must admit. Thomas is always alone in his dreams too ... I was hopin' you'd be different."

  "I always know what to do here," Terry murmured, tossing a few idle punches at a nearby heavy-bag. "Do the work, get the reward. No mysteries, no bullshit. Simple."

  His face twisted and he stifled a bit of homesickness. He'd thought he was past all that. This place, so vivid in his memories, managed to trigger it again. "Simple is good."

  "Aye, your life's anything but simple now I wager. Fair enough, we kin stay here fer a while if ye like. Now that I've found ye there's no rush."

  "Was there a rush?" he asked, turning back to her as he took a seat on a flat bench.

  "A bit," Isthil conceded. She came to kneel at his feet, folding human legs under human thighs and resting her hands in her lap as she looked up at him with inhuman silver eyes. "I'd like to tell ye about it, but if I do it'll ruin the surprise, an' if I do that, I'll be in for it."

  Before he could speak she held up a hand and added, "Dinnae worry, it's a nice surprise. You'll like it, I promise."

  "So why is one of Thomas' servants here giving me a 'nice' surprise in my dreams?" he asked.

  "It's a weird story, Terry Mack, and not mine to tell. We dinnae have to stay here, ye know. Your dream is entirely under my control now, and I can wake ye anytime I like. I will say that for meself, I've come to beg ye for me freedom. Only a man such as you can break me bond to the Dust Lord."

  "Did he rape you?" Terry asked. "Is that how he gets his bonds?"

  "Ha! No. I yoked meself to him of mah own free will. In fact, I fought a tournament for the privilege. I wanted a template's bond more than anythin' in life, and I got what I wanted."

  Her smile was sad as she looked at him, and after a moment she shrugged. "Sometimes," she sighed wistfully and glanced away. "Sometimes life gives ye exactly what ye want, and ye still lose."

  "Can't say I know what that's like," Terry said dryly.

  She gave him a pained smile. "No, I don't suppose many do. I'm nae here to put you to a decision, but I kin say that if ye'll accept me, I'll see to it yer sleep is peaceful for as long as I remain with ye."

  Terry's cynicism spoke before he'd even had time to consciously ponder the possibility. "Oh yeah? Right now it looks to me like you've been causing me nightmares for weeks, just to make this a tempting offer."

  She blinked, and her lips drew into a thoughtful frown as she nodded and said, "That'd be devious for sure."

  She met his gaze evenly and asked, "Would it have worked?"

  "No."

  She nodded and smiled then as she said, "Well then, I'm glad that's not what I did. I cannae prove it, but then again, you've not seen my surprise. After ye have, we can speak again. If you're minded to."

  "How do I beat a Nightmare that's taken over my dreams?" he asked.

  Her head jerked back just a bit, and when their eyes met, he saw uncertainty there for the first time. After a lengthy pause she said, "Ye can't. Ye have t' have friends. When I'm here, I'm also out there, and my body is vulnerable. A true friend — and only one such — kin see me, and harm me. Most of my prey have no true friends, Terry Mack."

  She shook her head sadly. "Nightmares do not often enter the dreams of good men. That you have them ... bothers me a bit, though I'm thankful. They led me straight to you."

  Terry thought about that, and wondered at the implications. Prada didn't sleep. She should be watching him. While he had insisted on sleeping alone as usual, he had no argument against a guard. Why wasn't Prada doing something about Isthil? Was she not a true friend ... or was Isthil just lying?

  "Does Thomas know you're here?"

  "Why ask? Ye've no way to know if what I say is the truth, and ye don't seem a trustin' sort."

  "I suppose not. Wake me up then. Show me your surprise."

  She smiled, her silver eyes gleaming as she said again, "Ye'll love it. I promise."

  Terry opened his eyes, and before he could really process what he was seeing, he was being assailed by snake kisses.

  The face hovering over him was a hideous snarling thing of wood so dark it was almost black. Firelight gleamed off it, but the black snakes pecking at his face were unmistakable, and Euryale's voice was ecstatic.

  "Master!"

  She leapt upon him, wrapped him up and kissed him, hard. His eyes were wide as he stared up at the black wood of the wooden mask that was clearly not the one Shy had made, but at least it kept him from turning into a rock. He'd ask about the details later. For now, his tongue was busy tangling with hers, and she was win
ning.

  It's official. A forked tongue is cheating.

  The thought came and went as he closed his eyes and just reveled in her. He wrapped her up, one arm sliding over the joints of her wings, the other underneath, and he held her close.

  "Euryale ... oh thank God."

  "Nope!" Euryale said, lifting away from him a bit as her wings trembled with excitement. "Thank Isthil! She found you for me and brought me to you, just like she promised she would!"

  As Euryale leaned away, Terry realized his head was a bit elevated, and he tipped it back to look up past a long, black armored torso to a pair of glowing silver eyes and white teeth framed in a black grin.

  Isthil tipped her head a bit, and her floating silver hair drifted with the move as she murmured, "Surprise."

  "Found a friend, huh?" Terry asked as he looked back at Euryale, then winced as he said, "Go find Shy and get your mask back on. That thing is hideous."

  "You can't see past it?" Euryale asked, her voice surprised.

  He shook his head, and Euryale bounced off him and cried out, "Shy!"

  Glancing around, he saw that the curtain that sectioned off his portion of the space was open, and everyone else was peeking, but apparently Shy had gone outside to take root for the night. Mila said, "Come with me, Euryale. I will bring you to her."

  The tigress smiled warmly as she added, "It is good to have you back."

  Euryale skipped over to and hugged Mila, who surprised Terry by returning the gorgon's embrace, though she grimaced in pain as she did so. Before he could ask about that the two left together.

  Terry sat up in his blankets and twisted into a seated position with his legs crossed, facing Isthil.

  In the waking world, she had the body of a centaur again. She wore the same black armor he remembered, and there was a huge black shield leaning against her hindquarters.

  "Anything you want."

  He said the words point blank, and Isthil blinked.

  "If it's in my power, you can have anything you want. I won't break promises for you, but I owe you, and I pay my debts," he said.