by M.C. O'Neill
***
Nearby in a temple to She’vashh, Cadreth and Sammian hid in a dark vestibule. Both were wearing the garb of the locals and their wings discorporated. For a month, the pair had not only been on the lam from the enraged elves who hated any and all of their kind, but also from the wrath of Lucifer.
Both were well aware that the boss was after them. Sammian knew that his mortal possession roamed somewhere in Atlantis, but Cadreth was none the wiser as he fled from that kingdom without a coherent plan. By the force of pure fate, the two had managed to meet in the air high above the southern Thuless’in kingdom of Bol’gaa.
“Their cheers are too much!” Sammian moaned. “I think we’re the only ones of our kind left here! Cadreth! What do we do?”
The incubus thought for a moment. The gears in his head assessed the situation and he wondered how long their charade could last. “Look, if the infernals are gone from these lands, then we might be able to make a go of it here. All we need to do is continue to ‘go native’ and forget we even have wings. Nobody would be able to out us since the elves can’t detect our true nature. They only know what they see with their eyes.”
“How do you suppose that’s going to work?” Sammian challenged.
“We could say we’re foreigners!” he exclaimed in the darkness. “I look kind of Atlantean and you could pass for… maybe Xochian. Maybe even high elf. Just fake an appropriate accent and that should satisfy the locals.”
The peri winced at that. “Eww…seems kind of a thin plan, Cadreth. Maybe I should turn myself in to Michael and face judgment.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s an option, but your crime is, well, very terrible. He’s going to damn you for sure. Once that happens, you’re a full-fledged demon and Lucifer is going to have fun with you, I can tell you that much.”
“No need to blaspheme, Cadreth,” she chided. “We are not to know the intentions of our Creator until the gavel has fallen.”
Cadreth formed a cocky grin. “Hey, blasphemy is one of my specialties! You really are new at this, huh?”
Sammian stared off into the gloom around them with heavy despondence and regret. With his low-light vision, Cadreth could see the glints of tears on her face. “Yes, I unfortunately am.”
For weeks, the pair had flown over areas of the earth that were thin of demons and elves alike. Anywhere that raged a battle was forbidden as they were sure to be cut down from the skies by limmer or flak. Before the elves had made their counterattacks, Lucifer’s forces were still on the lookout for them, even though the capturing of the mortals was their prime directive.
As far as Cadreth saw it, his situation was only temporary, but he could not get the mother of his child out of his mind. Even before the news of her pregnancy, he, at last, found the love he had been searching for through eons of flesh. Under normal circumstances, there would be no way he could control his desires while sequestered in exile with Sammian, but Venn’lith’s face overrode such impulses. He was a demon in love and that mortal maiden would be his final decision.
Sammian too felt the pang of love in her heart for Lucifer. Unlike Cadreth, the object of her affection hated her and she couldn’t cope with such knowledge. The glow of her Father’s love was now dark, so she suspected. What horrible things she had done for that fiend, Lucifer. Mutilating those elves on Mars, stealing the arks and cursing the angels with amnesia were all her doings. Perhaps the Creator could forgive, but she could not forgive herself.
The pair jumped at the sound of a smashed pot. It cut through the silence of the deserted temple and they both clutched each other by fear and reflex.
“Okay, what was that?” Cadreth chirped.
“Shh!” Sammian hushed. “It might be the elves! They probably want to celebrate their revenge at this temple! Why in the Nine did we choose a revenge god’s house to hole up in during a victory? We’re so stupid.”
Cadreth listened with intent for what seemed like minutes. The silence continued as did the darkness. “No, there is no rush of people. If it were elves, the place would be a bright madhouse by now.”
“I can’t take it anymore,” the peri clutched at her curls. “I’m going to snoop around and see what’s up.”
The incubus shook his head. “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll be right here. You know; lookout and stuff.”
Groaning, the fallen angel thrust out her tongue behind his back and crossed her eyes in annoyance. “Whatever, Cadreth.”
Darkness enveloped the main chamber. It looked as though the behemoth in the area had not bothered with this particular temple as everything seemed well in place and unmolested. Her low vision washed the shadows and corners of the room, but no life was detected. Perhaps their minds and guilt were playing tricks on them, but that crash was pretty much unmistakable.
Seconds later, the peri noticed a small form rush across the limestone floor from out of the corner of her eyes. Whatever it was had waddled away with wobbly haste from her.
With amazing agility, she jumped atop an immense statue of the anger god and scanned the area. Once again, she found the thing. It was small with four legs. As it looked up at her, it greeted her presence with a mewling “meow.” Within seconds, it vanished back into the shadows of the temple.
Sammian slapped her face in embarrassment. “It’s just a stupid cat,” she lamented aloud. “I can’t believe I got spooked from a cat.”
“Aw, Sammian,” an unfamiliar voice answered her self-talk from a place unknown. “Cats aren’t stupid! They’re my friends!”
So it appeared, thought the peri as the cat began to purr ever louder at that statement from the darkness. The voice was female and it wasn’t Cadreth imitating one for some stupid joke. Neither did the voice carry a Kamdenite accent. Whoever was hidden within those shadows was not an elf.
“Who’s there!” Sammian called out while trying to whisper. The hiss echoed throughout the empty temple.
“Me, Sammian,” it responded back. The fallen erelim still could not detect the direction of its source.
“Stop playing around,” she cried like a young maiden. “Who’s me! Show yourself!”
“I’m an agent here to collect on a debt you owe,” the darkness answered. “Oh, and you have piled that debt on heavily, yes?”
She connected dots in her head with speed and haste. Debt plus cats plus collection equaled…
Bastet. Lucifer sicced his pet erinyes on her, and somehow, she tracked them both to this far-off corner of the world. It had to be her.
“I know you, Bastet!” Sammian hollered from the statue with as much bravery as she could cull. “Show yourself now!”
A maiden’s chuckle pierced the dark temple. “Oh, Sammian, why would I want to do that? All good kitties play with their food!”
Jumping off her perch, the peri spun around to divulge the erinyes’ position. Such undertaking proved fruitless as the initiative was not hers. Giving the room another spin, she turned about-face to see the beautiful assassin dead-set in front of her.
Sammian jumped back as far as her reflexes would allow. The cat-fiend was renowned for her lightning-quick moves and Sammian didn’t want to be within their range. “Get away from me, demon!”
Bastet sauntered with a slow gait, like the cats that loved her, in formal challenge. She refused to take a step back. The fallen peri noted how wonderful she looked as her hair and makeup was geometrically flawless and how she smelled of fresh catnip.
“Don’t take it personally, maiden,” she cooed. “I am just performing my sworn duty. It is time for your demise, peri.”
There would be no more running, she thought. It was time to stand her ground and take on the assassin. As an erelim, Sammian could have licked her in seconds back Home. “Bring it on, fiend! I can take it!”
Raising up her right hand to strike down on the cat-demon, Sammian unfurled her wings by reflex. Her defensive display did nothing to deter Bastet as the creep continued closer with unbroken swagger.
<
br /> “This is your last chance!” she warned the feline demoness.
Sammian failed to notice the tiny needles that were Bastet’s fingernails. Long and golden, they were dripping with an alchemy from hell. With an almost effortless swipe, the demon scratched the fallen erelim’s sternum with the sharps. Their connection was so light that Bastet’s target thought she had missed.
Not knowing if they had hit her in that gloom, Sammian let out a confused grunt. Still in her attack position, the peri tried to bring down her claw to her assailant with a mighty counter. To her surprise, her amazing muscles would not respond to her impulses. The look of horror etched across her face would not relax either and, within seconds, she felt the strains of pain running through her body. It felt like rigor mortis.
“Now you stay put, sweetie,” Bastet giggled. Her countenance of fear creaked to pure terror as Sammian realized that the erinyes had indeed paralyzed her into that solid contortion. “I’ll come back for you in a few…eons.”
Bastet’s plan wasn’t quite accurate as Sammian was awoken by complete accident only a mere two hundred thousand years later by an Iraqi oil-drilling company. Being extremely bewildered and grouchy due to her suspended state for that horrid amount of time, her behavior was atrocious and many people were killed in her wake before she was banished by a pair of Catholic priests and brought before the grand Archangel. That, however, was an altogether different story.
It was a befitting fate, mused Bastet, as the erelim couldn’t really die, but perpetuating her state of Limbo would make the boss as happy as possible. As an erinyes, she just couldn’t be bothered with the formal rigmarole of judgment and forums and all of that, nor would Lucifer care for the lengthy process in this case. The dark master would be pleased to know that Paradise had to contend with the mystery of losing one of its most wanted offenders, and that would have to suit him just fine.
Stock-still in huddled fright, Cadreth continued to peer from the shadows at the assassin’s grotesque operation. Sammian’s toasty flesh was dulling into a rocky tope in mere seconds. Bastet had turned her to stone. There would be absolutely no way he would allow the cat-fiend to do that to him, and he vowed to himself that he would die in proper battle if she found him.
Bastet was gloating at the husk like the cats she lorded over after a good kill. She stood tall with her demonic wings proud and displayed with evil glory; if such a beast had any glory. Her admiration of her work would prove to be her earthly downfall.
After minutes of the incubus holding his breath and thinking of good thoughts (Venn’lith), a ray of light broke the tenebrae of the temple. A boom of gaiety announced the arrival of the elven celebration as a righteous revenge had been made that day. Like a cat caught in the proverbial cookie jar, Bastet jumped up to an unearthly height. She was trapped red- handed as worshippers flooded the round temple from all sides.
Elder Kharsis’s deep, dark eyes lit white with shock upon seeing the moth-winged demon in the holy place of She’vashh. “A straggler! Surround it! Don’t let it get away!”
Cadreth felt a bit sick for his would-be killer as the elves seemed to be enjoying the standoff. It was sure to be an unfair fight, he figured, but then again, Bastet never fought fair. Blue, black, shimmering white and tan robes closed in on the infernal.
“Destroy the infidel!” the throng shouted with great happiness. Whoops and laughter at her plight were predicting their easy victory as angry iron spears poked at her airspace. They toyed with her just as she had toyed with her prey numerous times throughout the ages.
The look on her face was pathetic and a bit heartbreaking to anyone who could show a drop of mercy. None of the people of Ninn’wey could, however.
Darting her head in every possible direction for an escape, Bastet began to mewl like a stranded kitten that was floating down a stream in a bucket. The glare of terror set within her eyes was unmistakable. Although she would only be banished to the Hells once the iron points had pierced her flesh, a stabbing was a stabbing and it would hurt with mortal agony.
No less than twenty jabs of ferrous fury breached her golden skin on the first strike. Another volley of pointed pain tore through her melting form a mere second afterward. The screams, wails, and guffaws of the attacking elves blotted out her death-rattling moan as she discorporated into a puddle of muck.
This was a foul place to hide, Cadreth lamented. Not only in a temple of revenge, but this particular province showed no quarter when it came to battle. The incubus supposed that even brother and sister elves trembled in fear throughout history when they had learned that their kingdom was up against Kamden. Two concepts dominated his demonic brain: escape Kamden and find the warmth of Venn’lith Mitlan.
Their feast of praise lasted hours, perhaps an entire day. The demon placed himself into a trance to blot out the clamor of the revelry as he hid up in the roof of the vestibule like a sleeping bat. When the noises of their roiling, droning music had ceased, Cadreth peeked out into the temple to find the floor still full, but populated with the slumbering souls of those who had consumed too much wine.
Some comedic reveler had adorned Sammian’s stony form with a mockery of laurels around her head and a wreath of figs and garlic around her neck. Scrawled in a drunken hand, a crude sign affixed to her forehead read the epitaph: “Capital New Statue.” Cadreth felt ill seeing her in such a sad state, but he had more pressing matters to attend to and charity had never been one of his virtues anyway.
As the incubus flew over the fertile lands of that Middle-Eastern kingdom, he was grateful that Ramiel did not partake in Elder Kharsis’ celebration or he would have been discovered and slain for sure. Praising his luck in relieved silence, he set forth upon his next mission to find his love and their child. Any and all of the dark clouds of the battle from that day had drifted away eastward overnight leaving thick, blue sky around him and peace under his evil wings.
Destroy Us or Make Us Slaves
All over the world, the battle for elfdom raged. It was a nonstop campaign, and the elves never slept. Night and day, sorties were launched and missions set against the infernals had pushed the demonic forces up against a strategic wall.
It was almost as if the demons were, as Quay’liss Dalian had accused, stupid. There was an old elven saying: “If at first you don’t succeed; try it again.” The infernals took this far too much to heart, so it seemed, as they had failed to ever change their tactics. No ruses, no feints, not even a change in strategy did they employ. It was apparent the demons could not learn from their engagements and the elven commanders couldn’t believe how easy the fights were. After a time, it was decided, they would lose their evil commanders to battle and be left to their own chaotic devices, but even without their repetitive orders, the demons had never tried anything different against their mortal attackers.
Two weeks after the first counterattack, the kingdoms of Mu and Avalon were demon-free. Atlantis was enjoying her final battle with the infernals in Caidhul, while the freed nations of Kamden and Kumari had been pushing into Tel’lemuria to link up with Commander Blue Tara. Xo’chi and Gonduanna would have almost another week of war in their theaters, but as they were provinces of dense population, that would prove to take some time.
A mere three weeks after the first assault against the infernals, Commander Gabriel’s forces had liberated almost the entirety of Thuless’in. The final hurdle to leap lay on the edge of the Vrillian Wastes in the frigid city of Dim’borgir.
Under normal circumstances, the wasteland’s burg was nothing much to see or, as the more cosmopolitan elf was concerned, to care for. It was a cold, harsh place that was home to a proud and tightly-knit people. If someone had come by from “out there,” such a stranger was met with a warm welcome as very few elves had ever bothered to venture to that borderland. All foreigners were met with a pleasant surprise from the locals of hospitality and the red-carpet treatment.
Dim’borgir was, for the most part, a mammoth- and reindeer-
herding community. The nearby volcanic fields supplied the populace with an exotic thermal salt that was a prized ingredient in beauty products for elves the world over. As a result, it was usual for a Dim’borgirin to have a complexion that was so healthy and clear that some elves had sworn those people almost glowed (How would YOU like Dim’borgir-smooth skin?). It was no wonder that this unique trade good had rendered many citizens of that city rather wealthy.
Jussi Ter’dienne subcommanded that leg of the campaign and kept close under Commander Gabriel’s wing. He was a young general from the boggy lowlands of the province of Nieder’borg to the south. Most of the Thuless’in brasses were battle hardened and almost bloodthirsty, especially Defense Elder Diggi Tor’digg. Gabriel was not fond of working with that particular frost elf hardcase, but he was a competent strategist nonetheless. Jussi was much different in that he was a genteel, almost timid sort, but the angel attributed his attitude to his youth. During peacetime, Jussi ran a tulip farm and oil painted in his spare time. The only thing that bothered Gabriel was the general’s obsession with the blood maiden May’digg Vin’senys. Young love was young love, but Jussi was praying for her safety and ogling at her from his laandbaarg’s command deck to the point of compulsion, and his cavalier attention to the tasks at hand could prove to be problematic.
Aboard Jussi’s massive battlesled, the mortar artillerists were celebrating the defeat of Dim’borgir’s lone behemoth. Immense iron orbs pounded into the rainbow hide of the beast without effort and left nothing but inky sludge on the ice.
“General! We got the big one! Whoo-hoo!” the master caster bellowed from the lower deck of the iceboat.
Jussi just let out a small smile. “Uh, great. Keep it up, lads.”
His enthusiasm was drawn only from a third of his heart while the greater fraction was focused on his love who was leading the victory cheer with her flock of blood maidens atop the forecastle of their ‘baarg. Despite the freezing temperatures, the maidens seemed not bothered by the fact that they were only wearing a wreath of wildflowers and a gown of wolf’s blood. Frost elves were renowned for their tolerance to the cold, even the extreme Vrillian variety.
The general’s fugue of infatuation was broken as Gabriel landed on the roof of his covered conning tower. The thud of the angel’s feet was gentle and firm at the same time. What an annoying interruption, he thought, as drinking in May’digg’s dance for justice was a sight that could always make his heart bleed while he watched her bloodied hair sway like rusted platinum.
Time to play soldier, Jussi lamented as Gabriel entered his hutch. “Good day, Commander.”
“An excellent victory, General,” the angel complimented. “Now we push forth to free the city and take back the ark.”
“Certainly, Commander,” the young elf tried to forefend the desire to roll his eyes. All he wanted at that moment was the warmth of his May’digg and maybe some wine.
Grabbing the comm, the general called to the wheelhouse with a lazy groan. “Plot a course for the city. Have the master caster analyze a target profile and build up a firing solution. Ready the coordinates against their ground forces and do not hit the ark. I repeat - do not hit the ark.”
A train of ivory-armored mammoths steered the laandbaarg; their tusks dripping with iron casings as per the general’s orders. The pilot’s paddle team mushed the frightened beasts toward the hive of the infernals with brutal growls. The massive vehicle slid on its keen foils across the icy terrain while the slicing hiss from below was relentless. Ivory skids slashed Vrillian ice at a terrifying speed.
Ahead of the Thuless’in formation, the Thelemic Ark Royal Duck stood like a valiant mountain of hate behind the small northern city. Unlike Corosa City, this ark dwarfed the tiny community’s skyline (save the obelisk-spire of their gigantic central manaspring) and its pyramidal shape was quite forbidding in comparison.
Royal Duck: what a stupid name for a vessel, thought Jussi. During his campaign, he had been pitted against demonically-possessed arks with all varieties of odd names, but “Royal Duck” took the cake. “Blue Rainbow,” back home in Nieder’borg, was another strange one. How could a rainbow just have one color, he wondered? It was quite obvious the infernals had a warped marketing department and he wondered if they were in the habit of indulging in some sort of alien narcotics.
