Mid-Arc Read online

  “Well, my new friend, Arthur, I am Maldgorath. Set yourself at ease, you’re much larger than I. There are gifts for you. I think you’ll like them.”

  “No deals, remember?”

  “Pfft, please. This is not a deal. It’s me being thankful. Please come close so I might share my thanks with you.”

  “I don’t need no devil gifts, it’s all right.”

  “But I have to repay your kindness. It’s kind of like law, young man.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Oh, please. If you don’t take the gifts, then you are insulting me. You don’t want to insult a devil, do you? That would lead to very bad things. And not the kind of bad like letting your uncle’s whores pleasure you only days after your … what do they call it? Yes, shotgun wedding.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “It’s a devil thing.”

  He’s pretty good with those devil things. I’m not thinking insulting him is a smart move. Besides a devil gift could be kind of neat. Maybe I’d get a flaming dagger or a ring of invisibility or something.

  “Yeah, devil thing. Well, I don’t want to insult you, so gift away. You wouldn’t happen to have any fine corn whiskey?”

  “None finer than your uncle’s, Arthur, but I may be able to send something your way. Yes. Roll up your sleeve friend and give me your arm.

  I’m confused. But I do it anyway.

  He takes my arm. His touch is warm. With his other hand, he reaches to his forearm and pulls off a writhing, squiggly black mass. He holds it up in front of me, and it unfolds into some kind of pattern.

  “This is your first gift – a temptress. You think your uncle’s whores are fun? This one will do anything for you. And I mean anything. Once you have sampled of her talents, all others will pale in comparison. Beautiful, strong and oh, so willing. We call her kind succubus.”

  He lays the pattern on my arm, and it sinks in. My head rushes. My entire body tingles as if some unseen energy courses through me. I get dizzy. Maldgorath’s hand on my arm steadies me.

  “The gifting of a soul is quite an experience, isn’t it? I have more for you,” my new friend, Maldgorath says.

  I look at my arm and plainly realize that the pattern is actually a script. It says “Silithes.” The word absently rolls off my tongue.

  “Yes. That is her name. To call her, merely run your finger along her sigil and call her to come by name. But wait … there’s more.”

  He reaches to his skin and pulls another wriggly-squirmy from himself.

  “This one is a sorcerer of great might. His might is yours to wield. But more so, he will guide you in the ways of arcane power.”

  “What?”

  “Magic. Magic, Arthur. He’ll teach how to use powerful magic so no man might stand against you.”

  “Wow, magic. Hey, umm, you might not want to use all those big-city words.”

  “Apparently so, Arthur.”

  He lays the sigil on my arm and the overwhelming sensation returns. He keeps me falling backward. I look at the sigil knowing clearly it says “Arixtumin.”

  “Steady, Arthur. Now everyone needs some muscle to protect them. This one is strong and fast and willing to give its life without hesitation.”

  He lays the sigil upon my arm and again holds me from falling. I look down and see it reads, “Vetisghar.” The taste of alcohol in my mouth grows stronger. My vision blurs.

  A gentle slap on the cheek brings me back.

  “Come now, Arthur, we’re not done yet. Every boy needs a dog. I grant you this Hjuul, this hell-hound: strong, vicious, smart and loyal. It will set fear into the heart of your enemies.”

  He takes my other arm and lays the sigil on it. Next thing I know, he’s helping me up from the ground.

  “So much power, Arthur, can you feel it?”

  “Yeah, I think so, but I don’t know how I think I’m feeling drunker.”

  “Your body is just reacting to the new energy. Here’s another – a spy and a thief. He also has this never-ending flask, it refills itself. You’ll want that after your corn whiskey burns off. Wonderful magic. The trick is to separate it from him.”

  “Huh?”

  “Hold tight, Arthur, here he comes.”

  The feeling washes over me again, and I concentrate, trying not to pass out like last time. The feeling is a good one. It’s just intense. I look at the sigil on my arm, and it reads “Pffiferil.”

  “He’s a leprechaun, Arthur. And for your last gift, I present you with a scout, huntress, and warrior. Not to mention she’s a treat between the sheets if you know what I mean? You should use her often and sell her services.”

  “She’s a whore?”

  “She’s whatever you want her to be, Arthur. She’s a fairy and a rather pretty one. Pretty willful and disobedient also, but that’s another thing.”

  I’m confused.

  He pulls the writhing mark from himself and places it on my arm. Dizziness overtakes me; I think he’s laughing.

  ***

  I hear the sounds of birds chirping and the sunlight tears at my eyes. I sit up, expecting my head to be pounding from the inside. But it’s not. Actually, I feel pretty darned good.

  I see I’m in the woods and remember my strange encounter last night. It must have been a dream or the corn whiskey. I figure I have a long walk home given that the truck stalled out.

  Uncle Ardan’s going to kill me. He said not to mess the truck up or to be late. Oh, yeah, he said to have myself together. I feel pretty together. In fact, I feel very together. Taking a deep breath to collect myself, I stand up.

  That’s when I see the tattoos. Sigils, Maldgorath called them.

  Damn, it happened. I freed a devil. It gave me these things. I remember what he said about how to call them. I start to reach for the temptress’ sigil and stop.

  Dorothy is probably wondering where I am. Dad’s medicine needs a refill. I have to go home. Hopefully, it’s not too late in the morning.

  Dorothy. Boy have I messed her life up. I knocked her up and got her kicked out of her own family – and married into mine at the end of a shotgun. I remember when days were better. Before mom passed in childbirth. Before my paw tried to hang himself and failed. He’s been wrong ever since. Not that hanging yourself is right any way you look at it.

  So many thoughts. I make my way to the truck, still at the side of the road, hoping the walk will take my mind away from them. Everything seems so clear.

  I am a terrible person – an apprentice moonshiner, debt collector, murderer, and I don’t think I’ve had a sober day in more than two years. But with an endless supply of the best hooch in all of the Carolina’s why would I?

  The sight of the truck clears those thoughts away. On a lark, I put the key in the starter. The truck turns over. Well, if that ain’t something. Maybe I will make in time for deliveries and uncle’s “talk.” I close the door and in the confines of the truck realize I still smell faintly of the girls.

  How’s that going to make Dorothy feel? Funny, I didn’t seem to care last night.

  ***

  I pull up to our house. I see Paw on the porch. He probably hasn’t moved all day. It’s sad. He used to be such an active, happy man. Now he just sits there, mumbles, cries or throws a fit. Uncle Ardan’s medicine has helped with the crying and fits.

  I have no idea what’s in that crap, other than hooch.

  I pull the truck to a stop and take the mason jar with the dark fluid. I make my way to the front porch where he’s sitting.

  “Hey, Paw,” I say.

  He looks at me with blank eyes. He smells. Damn, he’s crapped himself again. This is where I’d normally yell at him and make a scene. That’s not going to change anything.

  “Got you some more medicine,” I say, opening the jar and pouring some liquid into his mug.

  He takes it and drinks it down. It brings a smile to his face. He deserves a smile.

  “Your maw is making biscuits, son. You know I
like her biscuits.”

  He means Dorothy. I’m not going to correct him.

  “Yeah, Paw. I’ll be back to clean you up in a bit.”

  I step in through the door and set his jar of medicine on the table next to the door. I smell the biscuits. Dorothy is cooking. I walk across the living room and into the kitchen.

  There she is, doing something, chopping vegetables. She doesn’t look at me.

  “Do I want to know,” she says.

  I take a moment to consider her tone and my response.

  “Probably not.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me, then away. I see the mouse under her eye has receded. I did that. What kind of a man does that?

  “Your paw crapped himself. I’m not cleaning him again.”

  Well, that’s history repeating itself all over again. That’s why I hit her. I made her do it. She doesn’t have to look at me for me to know she’s afraid; afraid of me.

  “I’ll get him.”

  She looks back at me trying to mask her surprise and then goes back to chopping her vegetables.

  I walk across to one of the cabinets, open it and pull out the mason jar of moonshine. I unscrew the lid.

  “Kind of early to be starting on that.”

  “Yeah … it is,” I say stepping over to the sink and pouring the jar into to the drain.

  “What are you doing, Arthur?”

  “It feels like I’m starting over,” I say, turning around to sit down at one of the chairs at our small dining table.

  “You’re not making sense. Did you kill someone? Are the police coming for you?”

  “No. I didn’t kill anyone … well, almost. But that’s not it.”

  “What did you do to your arms, Arthur MacInerny?”

  She had to notice. I hold my arms out for her to see. I want to see them too.

  “Gifts from a devil, Dorothy. A real devil.”

  “How much did you drink last night? If you keep this up, you’re going to end up dead or worse. This is crazy talk you …” She silences herself. I see the fear creep back.

  “I know how it sounds. And yeah, I was drinking – a lot. But it happened. And now, it’s hard to explain, but I feel like I’m seeing things clearly for the first time, in a long time. I know it’s clear because I really don’t like what I see. I’ve done wrong by you, Dorothy. More than just hitting you, all of it. You deserve better.”

  She’s not sure what to say to that. Given my past performances, I understand.

  Finally, she says, “Yes. I do deserve better.”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Tell me what happened,” she says. “Tell me about this devil that gave you tattoos. Maybe we can make some sense of this.”

  “I ran into this thing in the woods. It said some witches trapped in this strange looking circle of light. It asked me to let it go and said it would give me a gift if I did. I did. I let it go.”

  “You released a devil into our world?”

  “I was drunk. Yeah, I did. It gave me these tattoos, each one is supposed to be a thing I can summon to do what I want with.”

  She takes a few steps toward me.

  “Let me see.”

  I hold out my arm. Dorothy takes it and examines the sigils.

  “They don’t look like fresh tattoos.”

  “This one is for a Silithes. She’s supposed to be some kind of loose woman that will do anything. I think he called her kind, succubus.”

  “I don’t like the sound of her.”

  “Yeah. This one is for Arixtumin. He’s supposed to be some kind of sorcerer thing that will teach me magic.”

  “Magic?”

  “Yeah, I think he said something like the ways of arcade power.”

  “I think he said arcane and it sounds evil.”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah. This one is a warrior, named Vetisghar. On my other arm, I have this Hjuul, which supposed to be like a hell-hound.”

  “That sounds dreadful and scary.”

  “This one’s a Leprechaun. He’s like a thief or something and has a never-ending flask of hooch.”

  “That’s just what you need.”

  I chuckle, and it seems to set Dorothy at ease.

  “The last one is supposed to be a fairy. I’m not sure what to think about her. He said she was pretty and warrior and … a whore? This all sounds so crazy. Do you think I’ve snapped?”

  “Honestly, Arthur, yes I do. Which is funny because this is the first time I’ve heard you … sounding of right mind in so long. If this all wasn’t so crazy.”

  I turn around and sit back down on the chair.

  “We need to summon one,” I say to her. “That way we’ll know for sure.”

  “I suppose. That makes sense, sort of.”

  “Which one, Dory?”

  “You haven’t called me that since we were kids.”

  “Sorry,” I say, not sure why that name slipped out. “So who you do you think?”

  “Not the succubus thing,” she says quickly. “And a hell-hound sounds dangerous.” She takes a moment to consider. “The sorcerer could be evil too. And I hear Leprechauns can be tricksters.”

  “That leaves the fairy or the warrior.”

  “The fairy,” she says. “Call it a feeling. They’re supposed to be nice. And if she is a whore, maybe it’s because someone forced her into it. Like your uncle does.”

  I’m not going to argue the point. Uncle Ardan never forced anyone into service that I know of. Now, leaving his employ, that could be a thing …

  “Okay, the fairy. Here we go.”

  Remembering what Maldgorath told me, I run my finger along the fairy’s sigil while saying “Sheyliene come out.”

  The air ripples before us and a golden-haired fairy with butterfly-like wings appears.

  Dorothy gasps. I try not to pee my pants. The fairy looks around in seeming panic. She clutches herself.

  “It’s a cruel joke,” she says. “He just wants to make me think I’m free, then he’ll swoop down and reap you to get me back.” She looks around in panic. “Where is he? You’re in danger. So much danger.”

  “He’s not here. He gave you to me last night because I broke him free from a witches circle. We’re all right.”

  “No! A witches circle could never hold him. You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”

  “The little guy is gone. You’re safe here with us.”

  “He’s not little,” she says back to me. “You’re humans… Are you good humans?”

  “We think so,” Dorothy says. “Some of us maybe more than others.”

  Sheyliene falls to her knees, trembling and crying. Dorothy rushes to her, wrapping her in a gentle hug.

  “It’s going to be okay little one,” she says comforting her, running her fingers through the fairy’s hair. Dorothy looks at me, her gaze full of questions and worry.

  “Hey Sheyliene,” I say quietly. “He gave me some others, do you know them?”

  Sheyliene looks at me with welled-up golden eyes.

  “I’d have to look,” she says.

  Dorothy helps her up.

  “You’re nice,” Sheyliene says to Dorothy, takes a few steps over to me. I hold my arms out.

  “Mr. Pffiferil is all right, I think. I don’t really know the others. Except her.” She points to Silithes’ sigil. “That one is bad news.” Sheyliene turns to Dorothy, “She’ll steal him away from you.”

  I give a little laugh. All eyes are on me.

  “I’m not sure she’d mind. I haven’t been that great to her up to now.”

  Chapter 1

  Nothing is redeeming about this day. Yes, it’s sunny and beautiful. Yes, I am surrounded by loving family. The grass is so very green.

  But today, I bury my wife.

  My love. My lover. My confidant. My voice of reason. My reason for being. The mother of my child. My partner for the last seventy-six years. Now I stand by while we lay her here to rest eternally. I stand here
with little hope of joining her soon because of a “gift” given to me. A gift that assures me agelessness. A gift that grants me the privilege of watching those that I love age, decay, and die.

  I look at my aging son, his wife, his sons and daughter, their children, their children’s children. It washes over me that I will outlive them all. Unless I decide to eat a bullet, or some other unfortunate event occurs.

  That might not be so bad.

  Dorothy was the better part of me. Even in these last hard years her grace and her beauty never diminished in my eyes. She was sharp to the end, though her body could not keep up with her spirit. What I would give to be making her morning tea and toast right now. To hear her voice telling me… anything. Telling me, I should spend more time out. Telling me rabbits were eating the garden. Telling me, she needed help to the restroom. Telling me, she loved me.

  My eyes well up with tears. I want another seventy-six years with her. Ninety-four years is too young for a woman like her to pass.

  There’s this distracting sound – a buzzing almost. I come to the realization that it is Pastor Robert Williams. The pastor is saying his words to give us all peace and reassurance that in the end, it’s really the beginning. I look up from the green grass and try to pay attention. She would want me to – for everyone else.

  God, I can hear her… “Be strong for Jerry, Marge, and the babies.”

  “I will, Dorothy,” I whisper to myself, and before I can turn my attention back to the ceremony, I feel a strong, reassuring hand on my shoulder, and look over to see that it’s our son Jerry. He must sense something.

  I need to get it together for them.

  Pastor Williams is in the midst of John 5:24-29; “For just as the Father has life in himself, so also he gave his Son the possession of life in himself. And he gave him power to exercise judgment because he is the Son of Man. Do not be amazed at this because the hour is coming, in which all who are in the tombs will hear his voice and will come out, those who have done good deeds to the resurrection of life.”

  I won’t be in those tombs anytime soon. This “gift” I’ve been given... six entities that respond to my command also leach into me their endless power, so aging is not an issue. Or disease. Or hope that those I cherish most can walk the whiles with me. Nobody told me agelessness was part of the gift; I had to find that out later.