“This is just weird,” said Persephone.
Nyx reached out with her mind and found the other Descended, still winging toward them. “We need to go. Now.”
The four launched into the air and flew. Arcana kept going straight up into the sky. Nyx led the others on a zigzag course that took them across the Pacific and over the North Pole to Europe.
How does the south of France sound? She sent to Persephone.
Very, very good, sent Persephone. Think Epiphenia can get Arcana into Heaven?
I hope so, sent Nyx. Or we are in big trouble.
Chapter 10
Ishtar walked across the spiked plains of Hell, reveling in the screams and cries of the damned. The heads of Moloch, Beelzebub, Azazel, and Astaroth dragged behind her, secured by a long, hooked wire of Hellstone that ran in through each one’s mouth and out through the hole where each head had once been attached to its neck. Behind her, dozens of small demons fought over the remains of the Descended captains’ bodies.
Ishtar reached the shore of the Lake of Fire and stopped. Demons and Descended Angels were fishing fresh-fallen souls out of the Lake and subjecting them to brutal torments. Ishtar smiled. The screams of the newly arrived were always the most satisfying. In Hell, the torment never ended, but the surprise of it did wear off. Hearing the freshly dead realize they were in Hell was always amusing.
She looked down at the line of heads trailing behind her. All four of them glared back at her. “To be fair,” she said, “I did give you all a chance to fight for it.”
The four heads mouthed soundless curses that made Ishtar smile. She remembered how they’d sneered at her when she was Lucifer’s captive. She pulled the end of the wire, making the heads roll and crack against one another. Then she began spinning it, raising it over her head and making it swing faster and faster until the heads became a blur above her. “Now,” she called to them. “In about fifty years, I’ll be pulling you out, and I’ll expect each one of you to show me how obedient you’re willing to be. If you do that, I might even let you have your bodies back.”
Ishtar released the wire and the four heads spun out into the middle of the Lake of Fire, landing with a splash and sinking immediately. Ishtar watched the flames ripple from the impact before she turned away. That was always pretty to see.
Now, I have some work to do, she thought. The Descended are going to have trouble accepting me as their leader unless I show them who is boss. So, which one do I behead first?
Something stirred in the Lake behind her. Ishtar turned, wondering what would cause the Lake to shift. The surface bubbled, and freezing flames of Hellfire spat out of the Lake to scald the demons, souls and Descended on the lakeshore. The souls screamed, the Angels cursed, and the demons squealed. Ishtar did none of those things. She simply watched.
The surface of the Lake of Fire exploded outward in a huge wave, and from the midst of it, shedding Hellfire like water, Lucifer rose, wings wide and chest heaving, his naked flesh huge and strong and powerful, glowing like polished silver in the dim light of Hell. His rage flowed from him like the Hellfire, washing over anyone who could see him. The other Angels quailed.
Ishtar remained where she was, and thought: Well, shit.
Lucifer landed hard on the ground in front of her. Ishtar dropped onto one knee. “My Dread Lord,” she said. “I had not expected to see you free. Ever.”
“And would that be why you’ve decided to take over Hell?” Lucifer growled as he advanced on her.
“Yes,” said Ishtar. “Why not? I learned a lot from you. But now that you’re back…” She shrugged. “I kneel to you, my Dread Lord. I am your servant and vassal and shall serve you however I may.” Her head tilted to one side. “How did you get out of there, anyway?”
“When Tribunal left, his attention to the chains left with him,” growled Lucifer. “Once that happened it was only a matter of time.”
“Impressive,” said Ishtar, rising and laying a hand on his chest. “Very impressive.” She looked up at him through her lashes and let her hand slip down. “So, would you like to fuck me while we wait to go to Earth? Or shall I fetch you some souls to fuck as well?”
“You first,” said Lucifer. “Then order my captains to me.”
“I’m your captain,” said Ishtar. “The others are in the Lake. Well, their heads are in the Lake.”
Lucifer growled and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back to a point that would have snapped a mortal’s neck. “Then you will fuck me and then carry out my orders,” he said. “I want every loyal legion prepared to fight. The rest will stay here and not share in the glory.” He pulled her back farther, knowing it hurt. Ishtar grinned and kept stroking him. She was really tired of not being in charge, but she wasn’t stupid. “When the time comes, the 666th will go out first and establish our lines in case the Heavenly Host decides to fight us. And since my captains are now gone, you will be in charge of the 666th.”
“I obey,” breathed Ishtar, reveling in the pain in her neck and back. He threw her to the ground, hard. Ishtar spread her legs and, as he mounted her, plotted his death.
Where the fuck did they go? Berith sent.
He and his squad of Descended flew high above the ice fields of Antarctica, circling and sending their senses out in all directions. Nyx and Persephone had both been there a moment before, along with Arcana—fucking holy bitch—then they all vanished as if they were not on the Earth at all.
Anyone see them?
From the other parts of the world, Pesado, Verrine, Gressil, and Sonneillon, the other leaders of the squads, answered back with the same result. Nyx, Persephone, and Arcana were gone.
They didn’t open a gate, sent Berith. We all would have felt that. So they’re here somewhere.
It’s a big planet, returned Sonneillon. We don’t have the numbers to search it all.
Everyone shut up, Gressil said. Listen for their names. If they’re here, they will speak, and we will find them.
Good idea, sent Verrine. Who thought of it for you?
Gressil snarled but didn’t reply. They all fell silent and listened.
The first voice to call Nyx’s name belonged to a mortal. So did the second, and the third, and the hundred that came after. Berith listened in shock as thousands of mortals sent prayers to Nyx.
I don’t believe it! Pesado sent. That bitch built a religion!
Berith’s eyes narrowed and a smile went over his face. Think she’ll save her followers?
He could sense the eagerness in the other Descended, even the ones thousands of miles away.
Follow me! Berith sent to his troops. Let’s see if we can flush the bitch out!
Epiphenia hovered in the air in front of the Gates of Heaven. She could see the Gates and the souls passing through them. She could sense Heaven on the other side. She reached out with her hand and felt something solid, though she could see no barrier. She closed her eyes and let her mind go forward. To her surprise, it slipped easily through the barrier.
Which makes sense, thought Epiphenia. Tribunal thinks I’m dead, and I’m not of Heaven or Hell, so why would the barrier be designed to keep me from reaching God? For all his power, he probably doesn’t have any to spare.
She reached forward with her hand. It stopped at the edge of the Gate. Epiphenia smiled. Her mind might be allowed forward, but not her person. God had not designed Heaven for her—or maybe I am not designed for Heaven—so she could not go in physically. Still, she could and did reach past the barrier with her mind.
God was everywhere. His presence rumbled through Heaven like the continuous beat of a timpani; a deep vibration that echoed through all things. It was a vibration of warmth and love and power, a sense of the eternal and infinite all in one. The sweetness of mortal flesh, of the Earth’s green growing things, was raised to a pitch where it became something else, where death was shucked off like an old skin. It was fascinating to Epiphenia, and it took all her will not to lose herself in the exploration of it.
There was another, lighter vibration below the first, equally as pervasive though not as strong. Tribunal. Epiphenia recoiled from it at first, sure that her presence would be detected. When nothing happened, she ventured forth again and opened her mind.
Tribunal had cast a glamor over all of Heaven, making those inside forget any desire to think about or look at Earth. It was exquisitely crafted and using up a great deal of power. So was the block on the Gate. Epiphenia immersed herself in the vibration that was Tribunal’s presence. She felt it go through her, felt it going through the entirety of Heaven.
When she slipped out of it, she was trembling with fear.
He has so much power.
So much anger.
Epiphenia extended her mind out again, exploring the barrier, searching for a weakness. There wasn’t one. No Angel would be able to pass through that barrier as long as it was up. She began applying gentle pressure to the barrier, to see if it would respond. It didn’t react at all.
Epiphenia’s lips pushed tight against one another. This is very irritating. She applied more power; the result was the same. The barrier reacted as if she were not really there.
She stopped and sent her mind out again. She slipped it into the streams of thought in Heaven, and looked for the great power that was God. If she could reach him, she could speak to him, and since she could feel him, maybe there was a way…
Will he love me too? I am neither good nor evil. Yet I am better than Tribunal. I do not want the world to die.
Tribunal’s power was wrapped around God’s presence like the peel on an orange. It was part of God’s presence, but definitely different from it. She felt a stab of disappointment that she couldn’t reach God, for herself as well as her mission. She had questions.
I wonder if anyone else in Heaven can feel what Tribunal is doing?
I wonder if I can reach anyone else in Heaven?
Epiphenia reached out again with her mind to find out.
The city of Gnyozdovo was quieter at night, though not fully quiet. It was a major trading town and a fortress, and so there were comings and goings at all hours, especially near the river where ships came in to dock and men and women waited to serve the sailors food and drink and sex, and whatever else they desired. Men stood watch along the walls of the fortress, and others stood ready at the docks to keep the peace, should any quarrels grow out of hand.
Vladimir Royok stepped out of one of the buildings dedicated to pleasure. It had been a good trip for him, this time. The furs he had brought had traded well, the food and beer had been excellent, and the woman who had serviced him had been more than skillful. He had coin in his pocket, a full, happy stomach, and a satiated lust. Life could not be better. He would sleep the night on his boat, with the cargo of iron pots and grain, and leave in the morning.
He had just stepped on the dock when the demon landed in front of him, its eyes glowing red and its black wings flapping. Vladimir opened his mouth to shout in horror and the creature’s sword, a vile, hook-ended thing with a serrated blade, shoved into his stomach and tore down. His shout turned to a scream of pain as the stench of his ruptured bowels filled his nostrils.
The creature twisted its blade and pulled him close. It had a tusked mouth, and its teeth were razor sharp. “Pray, little man,” it said. “Scream to your goddess, Nyx, and maybe she will come to your rescue.” When Vladimir, falling into shock, only gasped, the creature shook its arm, ripping the blade deeper through Vladimir’s body. “Pray!”
Vladimir screamed out Nyx’s name as the town around him erupted in flames and cries of agony. As his eyes dimmed, Vladimir saw more of the black-winged demons falling from the sky.
Berith changed the shape of his blade, making it smooth so the human’s corpse could slide off it. Around him, mortals tried to run or fight, or simply died. Some were rounded up and made to pray, others were brutally abused in front of their children. Some children were pulled slowly in half while their parents screamed to Nyx for help.
Berith’s lips curved into a grin. If that doesn’t make the bitch come running, nothing will.
The table was crowded with platters of roasted meat and fowl; baskets of warm bread, fragrant with herbs; and bowls of salad glistening with fresh green oil. Nyx was savoring her first glass of wine in far too long when the screams of her followers began reverberating in her head. Usually, their voices were like the murmur of a quiet brook in her mind, always there but easily ignored. This time, they rose up in a cacophony of pain and despair.
“Nyx?” said Persephone. “What’s going on?”
“They’re killing them,” said Nyx through gritted teeth.
“Who is killing whom?” asked Arcana.
Nyx let her mind flow out to her followers and saw with their eyes. “Berith, Pesado, Verrine, Gressil and Sonneillon are leading them,” said Nyx. “They’ve each taken a city: Gnyozdovo, Helmgard, Beloozero, Muron and Timerovo. They’re slaughtering everyone,”
Arcana’s eyes unfocused as she let her mind move over the earth. Men and women and children died in agony, screaming Nyx’s name.
“They really want to lure you out,” said Persephone. “What are you going to do?”
Nyx growled, and her shoulders drew in.
Arcana rose up from the table. “I cannot allow innocents to be slaughtered.”
“They’ll kill you,” said Nyx. “Once they know you’re here, they’ll all come at you at once.”
“I know,” said Arcana. “Which is when you and Persephone will ambush the others.”
Persephone smiled. “I like the way you think.”
“I don’t,” said Nyx. “We can’t stop Tribunal if we get killed helping the humans.”
“They are your followers,” said Arcana. “Your responsibility.”
“They’re humans, and they’re being killed,” snapped Nyx. The other people in the tavern were looking their way, curious. “It happens. And we can’t save them all if we die saving a few!”
Arcana reached inside her armor and cast the pendant she had found onto the table in front of Nyx. The three interconnected moons gleamed in the light of the fireplace. The little copper flames on its sides seemed to dance in the flickering light.
“You are their Goddess,” said Arcana. “They are your responsibility.”
“I know that!”
Even as the words left Nyx’s mouth, she felt the desperate babbling prayers of her followers rising up in her mind. One of the prayers came from a girl of eleven years, who was being subjected to hideous abuses by three of Berith’s Descended. A dozen other prayers came from her family, who were being forced to watch.
“Fuck.” These people didn’t do anything to deserve this! “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Nyx pushed herself to her feet and grabbed the pendant off the table.
Persephone rose as well. “Are we going, my Queen?”
Nyx kicked the table they were at hard enough that it flew across the room and shattered into splinters against the wall. The others in the small tavern yelped in surprise and shock and ran out the door. “Yes, we’re going. Arcana, start at Gnyozdovo. It’s the farthest from the others and will give us the best chance.”
Berith stood on the top of the highest tower in Gnyozdovo, grinning. He held a bleeding, screaming child in each hand. Their father was on his knees before Berith, begging and pleading and praying to Nyx to preserve his children. All around, the city burned. The last of the warriors had been killed, and now the frightened townsfolk did what the weak did best: scrabbled desperately to survive.
“You’re not praying hard enough!” shouted Berith. He pulled back his left arm and threw the little girl. The man screamed and rushed to the edge of the tower just in time to see his child’s brains dashed out on the ground below. With a howl of rage, he threw himself at Berith, unarmed, clawing and punching and biting at the Descended.
Berith dropped the other child out of sheer surprise. Then he punched the man in the head hard enough that
his skull cracked open. The man slumped to the ground, dead.
“Too bad,” said Berith. “I wanted to see what you’d do when I dismembered your son in front of you.” He looked down at the screaming, crying child. “And now you’re useless.”
He was raising his foot to stomp on the child’s head when an exquisite pain ripped across his body. He had only a moment to realize that he had been cut in half when a thrust drove a shining blade into his heart, exploding it, and him, into silver dust.
Arcana picked up the child as Berith disintegrated and flew it down to the ground. Then she took to the air again.
“HEAR ME!” Her voice echoed the length of the city. “I am Arcana! Servant of God and soldier in his army! And I COMMAND you to cease and return to Hell or be destroyed!”
The screams from around the city diminished slightly as nine more Descended rose up from the city. Several, Arcana saw, were in varying states of sexual excitement. Arcana let her armor glow brilliant white. Its light pierced through the dark of the night and spread over the city. The people below, for the first time since the Descended started their attack, felt hope resurging inside them.
“Get the bitch!” screamed one of the Descended, his red armor flowing over his body as he charged forward. Arcana smiled, the grim joy of battle—true battle—rising up inside her, and charged forward to meet him.
Sonneillon and her squad of Descended raced through the cloudy sky toward Gnyozdovo. Berith’s squad had not found Nyx, it was true, but finding a Heavenly Angel was nearly as good. Sonneillon practically drooled. It had been so long since she had faced one of the Heavenly Host, those Angels of shining flesh and superior attitude. If they could capture Arcana, they could visit tortures upon her that not even one of God’s soldiers could hope to stay sane through.
There was a whistle of wings cutting through the air, then a scream. Sonneillon spun in the air just in time to see one of her squad explode into a cloud of silver dust that sparkled briefly before being scattered by the wind.
Scorn of Angels Page 17
