The Heart of Hell

by Wayne Barlowe

  Boudica spotted an entrance that seemed promising. Surmounting an archway and carved beautifully from native stone were what she took to be scrolls. She was completely unsure of what the Books of Gamigin looked like or what books of any kind looked like. For the thousandth time she regretted not asking Eligor. She had asked K’ah, but he was equally ignorant. Were they the rolled scrolls or the things she had seen scholars carrying—flattened leaves caught between covering boards? Were those books? What exactly would demons have written upon? All of these thoughts made her task all the more difficult. She was searching for something that she could not even describe.

  She entered the gloomy antechamber and saw cases that held objects in rows. From her lowly position as a brick she had seen demons writing or tabulating things on scrolls, using objects like the ones on the shelves. They were writing implements. Next to them were wells that contained dark red liquid. Blood? Perhaps.

  She went farther inside, the screams of the scholars diminishing, and saw row after row of seats at small desks and beyond that, disappearing into what was essentially a beautifully wrought cave, were larger shelves holding scrolls beyond count. She stopped and sighed, her mouth slightly agape. This was just one of the dozens of buildings that lined the funnel of Dolcha Branapa.

  The black candles were still lit on the small desks and she took one and wandered back into the silent stacks. A small tear quivered on her lower lid. It was an impossible task. And she had been a fool to think that she could find them amidst the souls who had gathered for millennia in Hell.

  She threw the candle down and then remembered her admonishment to K’ah. No torching. But oh, did she yearn to rid Hell of its history.

  Back out on the wide spiral stairs she caught up to K’ah. Bodies of souls and demons alike littered the featureless rock steps, some still clutching their scrolls.

  “Did you find anything?” he asked with genuine concern.

  “Frustration and anger.”

  “The warriors are feeling the same. They are eyeing the candles with intent.”

  “I’m not sure there is much point to searching here anymore, K’ah. I feel drained.”

  “Shall we set the place ablaze, then?” His eagerness was unmistakable.

  “Not yet. I want to descend to the very bottom of the well.”

  “So be it.”

  The pair negotiated the ever-tightening spiral steps until the buildings gave way to a smooth cylinder at the base of the funnel. The floor of the circular space was thirty paces across and completely without decoration. It was flagstoned in natural rock.

  Boudica looked around the drum-shaped space and then back up at the sky. She felt a heaviness born of despair. All these many risings and settings of Algol, all of the raiding parties crisscrossing the Wastes without even a trace of information as to the Books’ whereabouts. And this, the most promising of locations yet—another deadening disappointment.

  She stamped her foot, angry with herself for her failure. Almost immediately she and the Salamandrine heard a faint whispering. The round space, barren of doors and windows, gave no clue as the source of the sound. They separated, putting their ears to the cold stone of the wall.

  “Could it be coming from above?” she asked K’ah.

  “You know how thorough our warriors are. They heard nothing like this.”

  “It sounds like a crowd.”

  But after a few moments of fruitless searching the whisperings died away.

  K’ah shook his head slowly. Boudica frowned and stamped her foot again and, as before, the whisperings began anew.

  Still frowning, she bent down and rapped on a flagstone with her sword hilt.

  “It sounds hollow. There is something or someone beneath us. In a room, perhaps. Hiding.”

  K’ah whistled and a dozen Salamandrines appeared overhead. They ran down and surrounded Boudica, looking inquisitively, where she pointed at the ground.

  “The floor. Pull up one of the stones.”

  The Salamandrines set to work, jamming their grapple-hooks into the spaces between the flagstones to pry up one of the heavy stones. Boudica dropped to a knee and peered into the darkness below. As she did, the whispers grew in intensity.

  “I can’t understand a thing they are saying! And, I can’t see a thing. Dr’a’ak, get some candles from above. Let’s see what we are getting into before we release them.”

  The young warrior nodded and raced away, climbing the steps four at a time in her haste to accommodate her leader. Boudica and K’ah exchanged looks. They both looked down at the floor.

  “More scholars for us to skewer, I’d wager.”

  K’ah clacked his tongue softly in affirmation.

  Dr’a’ak reappeared, bounding down the steps with an armload of thick, still-lit candles.

  Boudica took a candle and held it down toward the opening.

  “It looks as if the floor is not too far down! You might even be able to touch it, K’ah.”

  K’ah moved into position and reached down.

  The whispers were loud now, loud enough to be understood were it not for the confused number of whisperers.

  “I can feel something, but I can’t actually grab on to it.”

  Boudica took a deep breath. “Pull up the floor!”

  The Salamandrines set to work, and with the fifth flagstone yanked up Boudica’s eyes widened. Arranged in the recess were at least a hundred large bound volumes set side by side so that their spines were facing up. Though she could not read it, she easily recognized the demonic script. She could see that the Books of Gamigin—for surely these were the treasured Books—had been well hidden and had she not woken them no one would have been the wiser. It was a stroke of fantastic luck!

  “The face that you are making with your lips? What does it mean?” K’ah asked, genuinely concerned.

  “It means that I am pleased.”

  She reached down and pulled a huge, oversized volume from the collection. As she opened it and ran her fingers down the names inscribed on the first soul-vellum page a hundred different voices rang out, each one coaxed forth when her fingertip brushed the ink. Again, she smiled. These were her people. And, while she did not love them and knew full well why they were memorialized in the Books, she felt a kinship to all of them. So odd, she thought, and unexpected. For an odd moment, she realized her own name was in one of the Books and wondered what it would say if she touched it.

  “Did you leave anyone alive up there?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “We … I … need someone to help me read these.”

  K’ah looked up and, without asking, the warriors headed back up the steps.

  “And, K’ah, I am sorry, but there will be no burnings. We need to remain here for a bit.”

  The Salamandrine clacked his tongue.

  * * *

  They had arrived at Dolcha Branapa when Algol was low on the horizon. Now it was climbing into the fiery sky once again and the Salamandrines were uncomfortably ensconced in their stony encampment. Their surroundings could not have been further from their accustomed outdoor camps. As one, they found the confinement and odors of the demons and souls to be unappealing, and rumor had it that they were restlessly contemplating leaving the sanctuary and camping up on the walls or, better yet, the open plain. But K’ah kept them patient and they had gotten used to the routine into which Boudica fell. She would retire alone to one of the lower buildings and sleep deeply—something they could not entirely understand, as parts of their brains were always awake—and then upon rising she would call the five surviving demons to her side and they would descend to the Books.

  With the promise that none of them would be harmed, the demons sullenly set about going page by page through the many Books. It was exhausting work and Boudica drove them to stay with it for far longer than they were comfortable. For her part she sat, sword across her lap, watching and waiting. But after many sessions even she grew bored. Eventually, she asked K’ah to watch them an
d then climbed the long steps and ventured onto the surrounding wall. It became a habit, her way of distracting herself from the anxiety of the search. Whether it was on K’ah’s orders or simply their own common sense, the Salamandrines knew to leave her to herself.

  Time dragged on. And perused volumes were put aside as new ones were taken up.

  When Algol was directly overhead she once again left the demons to their murmuring Books and ascended to the open air. She stepped out onto the wall’s platform and was shocked to find eight female demons staring at her. Their weapons were drawn and the light in their eyes was anything but friendly.

  Boudica thought to call for the Salamandrines below, but even their fearsome speed would not be enough to save her. Instead, she chose to look the apparent leader squarely in the eyes. She was a fierce-looking pure-white demon with bird feet, clad in white skins and carrying an enormous sword. She exuded an unmistakable air of lethality.

  “What are you doing here alone, soul? Dressed and armed as a Salamandrine?” the white demon demanded. Her eyes were piercing red and unblinking and she towered nearly twice her own height. Boudica, remembering well her trembling confrontation with another demon so long ago, fought to conceal her fear.

  Those feet! Her hand unconsciously reached for the necklace she wore. She could feel its comforting shape under her skins.

  “I am not alone. Below is a war party of Salamandrines who can be by my side before you could climb the wall to escape.”

  “There is no need for that, soul. We are simply passing through. And we have no grievance with the Men of Wrath.”

  Boudica nodded. The white demon’s tone was neutral.

  “The same cannot be said for them.”

  “Not all demons feel that the Salamandrines are inferior, to be destroyed for sport. Some actually believe this place is theirs.”

  “My Salamandrines are less equivocal.”

  “Yours?”

  “In spirit only. They are no one’s pawns. I lead them where they would go without me. And you, what are you doing out here?”

  The white demon glanced from side to side at her compatriots.

  “We are ridding Hell of its … undesirables.”

  Boudica almost laughed.

  “Souls, in particular,” the white demon added dryly.

  “Not all souls are undesirables. Some would simply like to be left alone.”

  “And those we leave in peace. But after we get what we came here for. I seek someone and the demons here know where she is.”

  Boudica considered this. These female demons did not seem a threat. Despite her bold statement, they could have easily dispatched her. What was the harm in letting them wander the empty buildings?

  “I, too, came here looking for people … my two daughters.” She hesitated. K’ah would not be happy sharing this space with demons, no matter how benign they seemed. “I will have to discuss this with them,” she said, nodding down toward the Salamandrines.

  “Of course. We do not seek anything but information.”

  “That will not impress them. They were eager to rid this place of its undesirables. Also, I have enlisted the demons that we allowed to live. You will have to search the scrolls for yourselves.”

  The white demon’s eyes remained unblinking.

  “Tell them we will stay out of your way.”

  * * *

  It took much convincing on Boudica’s part to dissuade the restless Salamandrines from breaking up the monotony with the shed blood of the female demons. But she managed it and K’ah respected her wishes enough to threaten his own harsh punishments if any warrior was disobedient.

  Despite her near certainty of the white demon’s identity, Boudica was not sure why she was so easily swayed to grant permission to the demons. What difference was it to her if they found the information they sought or not? Perhaps her own frustration, her own seemingly endless search, was what made her more agreeable. And, perhaps, too, it was the undeniable charisma of the white demon that had worked upon her. She raised an eyebrow at that thought.

  As they continued to wait while the demon scholars turned ancient page after page, she and the Salamandrines saw little of the eight demons. If she did pass them on her frequent climb to the wall, Boudica only saw fleeting glimpses of the female demons methodically moving from one gloomy chamber to another, searching for the elusive scroll that they sought. Seeing their determination, she wished, deep inside, that she could enlist their aid in her own quest but knew that was a fantasy.

  Time passed slowly. Algol began to sink toward the horizon when, as the soul peered out into the Wastes, the demon and her succubi joined her on the roof. A faint smile played upon the white demon’s lips and Boudica, envious, knew what that meant.

  “We are finished here.”

  “You are. I am not.”

  “There was a time I might have offered to help you … a time when I felt pity for souls. That time has passed. I have seen too much of the changes wrought in souls since the war and it sickens me. Despite that, there is one that I have to help. He suffers because of me.”

  Again, Boudica was surprised. What kind of demon was this?

  “What is your name?”

  “Lilith.”

  She tried to conceal her admiration and thought to reveal the necklace but decided against it. It might convey the wrong idea. She worshipped no being. Not anymore. But, still, the power of this female demon’s message had gotten her through many trials.

  “Boudica.”

  “Well, Boudica, I wish you good fortune in your search.”

  Boudica nodded. Memories of what she had heard about this demon came flooding back. Lilith! The First Consort to Beelzebub. The White Mistress! The legend standing before her! She shook her head. The war had, indeed, changed everything.

  The band of demons turned and walked to the wall where their grapple still held firm. Boudica watched as, one by one and without a look back at her, they grasped the rope, swung over the wall, and disappeared. Lilith turned and regarded Boudica. She bowed her horned head, clambered over the parapet, and dropped out of sight.

  As their pale forms vanished into the gloomy landscape Boudica knew one thing. Lilith was not someone she could soon forget.

  18

  THE WASTES

  The familiar sat looking at its mistress, its head rotated quizzically so that its hollow eye sockets were one atop another, and Lilith smirked wryly. It seemed none the worse for wear, having been stuffed into her satchel. Her carving tools had made soft indentations into its wrinkled skin and wings and she spent a few moments smoothing the thin, pale flesh.

  The Dolcha Branapa demons’ record keeping had been, predictably, meticulous. It seemed, Lilith thought, that when demons were tasked with bureaucratic efficiency they could be nearly flawless in their attention to detail. She fondly remembered the wonderfully organized Library in Adamantinarx and its fastidious and fussy lord of detail, the head Librarian, Eintsaras. For millennia she had frequented the Library to learn more about the Fall, the souls and their role in the Fall, and demons whom she met up with in Sargatanas’ capital. Eintsaras had been a brilliant guide through his dusty kingdom. Now he was gone. Like her lord, he had perished in the last days of the Rebellion. And while the loss was nowhere near as significant, it was great.

  That female soul, Boudica, had caught her attention. She was clearly an exceptional being, driven and fierce, and self-possessed. She reminded her in many ways of Hannibal before his fall. She wondered if the demons of Dolcha Branapa would find her daughters. It had been easy to corner one of them, when Boudica was not watching, and ask him the nature of her quest. The demon had been all too eager to talk to her, hoping, she was sure, that she could free him from the forced labor of winnowing through the thousands upon thousands of pages of the Books. That was not to be. Lilith truly did not care about this former functionary in the Fly’s bureaucracy. When that became clear, he had grown less communicative and Lilith had had to resort
to other, more persuasive means. And so, eventually, he had told her what he knew and she had walked away leaving him angry, sputtering. What the Salamadrines did to him once they were done with him, she thought without remorse, was their business.

  She wrinkled her brow, thinking hard about Boudica’s quest and her devotion to her daughters. This imperative was something she had seen before her fall, something she had witnessed in nearly every mother she had riven of daughter or son. It was a fierce thing, a thing as powerful as her own drive had been for revenge. She had not fathomed it then and only now, finding it in Hell, did she truly grasp what it meant. She had taken away those mothers’ hearts and left them gutted and hollow. And she had shattered women by the thousands. It shamed her. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the grief, the heartache, she had created. Now, here in Hell, it had all come back to haunt her. Justification for her presence in this place. Boudica’s love, almost animal powerful, transcended time and place and not even the horrors of Hell could erase it. That was something to respect, to be in awe of.

  She understood the power of devotion. It touched her. She had felt a surge of love and meaningfulness with Sargatanas and had treasured every moment with him. Now, when her guard was down and she remembered, his loss still sent a pang stabbing into her heart. She could only imagine the pull of the maternal yearning to be there for one’s daughters that drove Boudica relentlessly across the infernal Wasteland.

  Lilith sighed heavily. She had lost touch with those things that had once made her the champion of Hell’s souls. Certainly guilt had been a factor, but human resilience and the better human emotions had been attractive to her. This soul on her virtually hopeless quest reminded her of those qualities. How she could move forward in this new world of chaos and conflicted feelings she could not say. Lilith guessed she would simply take the souls as they came and try hard not to judge them all by their vilest representatives.

  And, in time, perhaps she could become their advocate and champion again. But not yet.