While all celestial and numerological indicators said that this would grant fabulous power, in fact every one of the sorcerer’s progenitors would be instantly and retroactively destroyed going back a thousand years. That would snuff out the sorcerer in a handy fashion. It would also wipe out a colossal swath of human beings descended from any of those who had been eliminated.
A sorcerer first committed this error in the distant past. It remained a cautionary tale until another ambitious sorcerer attempted it again just six hundred years ago. She achieved the same result, which says a lot about mankind’s ability to pay attention.
Fingit grabbed Sakaj’s jaw and whispered, “The Nub knows your name? Really? You couldn’t have said something?”
“Of course he doesn’t know it!” she whispered.
The Freak didn’t answer. She stood motionless.
“But you, my dear daughter,” Sakaj murmured, “you can prevent all of this carnage. Only you can forestall it. Don’t you feel the tiniest bit of responsibility?”
Again, the Freak kept silent.
“You can stop it. I offer you power. Destroy your enemies, save your family, and seal off this horrible, world-rending knowledge. All you have to do is make an offer.”
After a long pause, the Freak said, “I will make you this offer. I wish for you to have vengeful termites infest every opening in your body—yes, including that one. I wish for you to hear the screams of your dying children. I wish for you to weep for ten thousand years. That is my only offer to you.”
“What? You will condemn your own kin?” Flecks of spit flew as Sakaj shouted. “You’ll risk thousands of deaths, or hundreds of thousands? When you could save them?”
“Let them die. I have nothing left that I will trade.” The Freak faded out of the arena.
“What the hell’s going on?” Fingit beckoned as if that might bring the woman back.
Back on the plains in the human world, Fingit heard the fat man say, “What the hell’s going on?”
The Freak said, “My mother just visited me. The boys have been killed. My mother meant for me to think there’s time to save them so that I would trade with her. But they are dead. When I denied her, she made up some ridiculous story about a boy revealing her name.”
Fingit glared at Sakaj and shouted, “Wow, you really foretold the hell out of that, didn’t you?”
Sakaj’s head dropped forward and flopped around. She howled, “That shouldn’t have happened! She should have made the deal! Her entire life points to her making that deal!”
“Well, she didn’t! Who’s going to save the Nub now? Maybe I should bring Harik into this. He can get the Murderer to save the Nub.”
“Do not dare go to Harik!” Sakaj said. “If you get anyone else involved, I will find ways for you to suffer that the universe has never seen.”
“Well… the Murderer doesn’t have hands, anyway.” Fingit thought about that for a moment. He realized he was pouting and reset his lips into a hard line. “What do you suggest we do now?”
“Let’s keep watching. I’ll think of something.” Sakaj cleared her throat and panted for a while.
Fingit plopped onto the grass near Sakaj’s head. I deserve this. I did what I’ve seen so many humans do. I let my penis lead me down the path of destruction. What an idiot.
Twelve
(Fingit)
Fingit stood over the flattened Sakaj in Unicorn Town. “I’m telling Krak about every willful, disobedient, ridiculous thing you’ve done since… ever since you were born!”
“You will be right in the tale with me, brother. Everything will work out. Just watch.”
The Nub had been kidnapped fewer than twenty minutes before. The young sorcerer’s head still flopped around as the Farmer’s men carried him through the sad, human buildings. They took him into one side of a squalid, rotting wooden structure and through to a yard on the other side.
The Farmer, a short, ice-pale, black-haired man, frowned at the Nub. “Louze, attend to the leg.”
One of the men, squatty and long-armed, removed the Nub’s false leg and tossed it onto a disintegrating woodpile thirty feet away. Then the Farmer directed that the Nub be tied to some kind of brightly painted wooden scaffold. Wildflowers and children’s playthings dotted the nearby grass, including a yellow ball and a gaily painted wooden porpoise the size of a stout raccoon.
“Seems awfully cheery for torture,” Fingit said.
“Perhaps he’s a poor torturer. An amateur.”
The Farmer grunted and waved. Louze ripped off the Nub’s shirt. An old man brought two buckets of water, and Louze tossed both into the young man’s face one after the other. The Nub’s head rolled a bit.
“You’re awake. How delightful.” The Farmer gave a little smile and rubbed the stubble on his jaw with the back of his hand. “I thought I might have to send for a third bucket of water. We’ve not been formally introduced. I am Vintan Reth. What is your name, sir?”
“Desh Younger,” the Nub croaked.
“Lovely! And did that miserable chunk of flesh you once called a leg have any other names before we destroyed it?” The Farmer stepped close to examine the Nub’s squinting eyes.
Louze snickered. The Nub didn’t answer.
“Before we say anything else, I must extend my deepest apologies. I couldn’t find a proper dungeon, and I had to make do.”
The Nub glanced around at the gentle scene.
“I know, it’s terribly improper. Not even any mold.” The Farmer hmphed. “Apparently, no one tortures anymore…”
Fingit whined, “If this torturing is just a slap-dash affair, he may kill the Nub prematurely. I don’t like this.”
“Stop!” Sakaj put as much power into the word as her smashed-flat lungs could manage. “By the sucking sounds of the Void, shut up! It will be fine. I promise. Look how abashed and contrite the torturer is about these circumstances. I’m certain he will
