Nilem stalked away from the camp, laid her eyes fully on Jago, then climbed the rise of stones to her private tent.
When the tribes first entered the winding passes, the Reavers had stayed close to the slave-brides. She knew that several Reavers had left to explore the underground waterway by boat, and planned on making their way to the far side of the mountains if they could manage to not drown themselves. Her Khan spent a lot of his time alone in the mountains, far from the tribes, but she knew that a few Reavers hung about him, wary of assassination attempts. Still more Reavers had found laborers’ clothes and blended into the traveling horde. She said nothing to anyone, and had diminished in importance to the point that, when she did not sleep with Freyja, her own private tent sat completely without guard. This was just as she wanted it.
Jago watched the slave-bride stretch her back and arms seductively, then she went inside her tent. He crept along the ravine and drew nearer to her tent, sat on a pile of stones and studied his nails, bit one, then climbed a little higher and studied the two knives sheathed at his belt. He studied one, found some flaw in it, then climbed a little higher and ran it along a stone to sharpen it. How wonderful it would be to touch a woman of the great Khan... he found an interesting stone farther up and climbed to take a look at it. He found a target far above, threw the stone at it, then climbed and stooped down to examine the result.
Nilem waited in the little tent for what seemed hours and decided that the world itself was incapable of creating even one real man. She set about combing her curly black hair until it felt like her scalp was on fire. Then, embarrassed and angry at herself, she realized that her hair was sticking out like a wild, thorny bush. She could not bring herself to throw the brush, so she gripped it until her hand hurt, dropped it into a bag, then flopped onto her cot. The thought of finding Freyja and listening to her ramble on like a wind-up idiot nearly brought tears to her eyes. No, she was stuck here, alone and…
Jago popped his mangy head into the tent, all eyeballs and slack-jaw, then pressed his body in and stuck his head outside to see whether or not he had been caught.
“What are you doing in here?!” Nilem hissed, impressed by her own show of alarm. “Get out!”
Jago turned about, then cast himself down onto his knees. “Wait!” he wailed, then worked his mouth up and down, unable to speak.
“Get out! I’m the bride of the Khan! I can have you killed!”
“My… lady!” he gasped. He looked down at her breasts, then at her face, then down at her feet.
She stood over him and slapped his face. “If you don’t leave immediately, I’m going to have you killed. I’ll scream. I’ll scream!”
The young dogman whined, horribly long and drawn-out, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he only bowed down onto the cold stone floor.
“Get up here and let me have a look at you,” she said, “before I have you killed.”
Jago rose obediently and plopped down onto the cot beside her, eyes downcast with shame. She noted his muscular build, his grey-black hair, his wiry neck. She put a hand to his jaw and whipped his face toward her.
“Are you a good warrior?” she said absentmindedly, still peering into him.
“Hn!” he said, nodding quickly. She could see his eagerness to prove himself. Her eyes bore into him as if stripping the flesh from his face to find something.
Nilem sat down on the cot in such a way that her breasts, then her belly, pushed outward in an obscenely curving line. With one leg on the floor she swiveled her hips, then faced Jago. “Do you understand that I can have you killed?” she said. “Do you understand that I have that power over you?”
He narrowed his eyes at her and growled, and she realized that she was using too much force. She knew she had a tendency to do that, so she pulled back quickly. There were certain things she needed and certain things she wanted, and it would not do to manhandle the situation and ruin everything. She changed tactics by running a hand along her leg, then pulled her skirt up.
Jago watched with his mouth hanging open, hypnotized by the sight of her fingers playing in soft, dark hair. Her face was an expressionless mask as she studied him. Finally the dogman sprang to life and she instinctively laid back. He jerked free the rope that held his pants up, then fell into her with a high-pitched yelp.
Nilem gritted her teeth in agony as Jago lurched about on her at full speed. He stared ahead stupidly, seemingly unmindful of her. “That the best you can do?” she said, but he only continued at the same fevered pace.
The pain was terrible. She gritted her teeth in agony, counted the little hairs on his neck, watched him staring ahead in awe and wonder, never slowing, unmindful of any sort of need for change, and the pain became even greater and she hissed, “Surely you can do better?” but he only whined, without moving his face at all, and kept pounding.
To escape the pain, she studied the line of his furry jaw and thought back to a nursery rhyme she always kept tucked away in a dark corner for just such an occasion. She went through the gentle rhyme three times, realized that it was the last thing she had from Hargis, then Jago vented out a terrible yelp and shook as if his spine was being torn out.
The dogman pulled away from her, looked down in terror, and said, “Oh, no! Oh… no!”
“It’s okay!” she said, lifting up to touch his arm with one hand.
“Oh... no!”
“It’s okay! It’s okay.”
She rolled up onto her knees and crouched near him. His mouth and eyes hung wide open. “It’s natural, see?” she said. “See? Nothing’s the matter.” He looked away, full of shame. “Your first time?”
“Hah!” he said, lying.
“I’m impressed,” she said, forcing a smile. “But I’d heard from others that you were… well, incapable...”
He turned his wide eyes on her and said, “Who! Who said such a thing!”
“Oh, it’s just talk. Just idle talk. But it seems to me that you have greater potential than anyone knows.”
He turned away, jaw set grim, pained by the terrible accusation but also heartened by the confirmation of his hidden potential.
“If you feel brave enough, come to me again. We’ll talk about what we can do to make the others respect your hidden greatness. But, for now, we keep it hidden... yes?”
Jago hid his head in his hands, then muttered, “No, I… I can never come to you again... never!” He suddenly ran out of the tent.
Nilem laid back and felt something close to happiness. It wouldn’t be easy to revenge herself upon the world, but in her heart she knew that he was very nearly perfect for what she would need against her Khan.
* * *
One night, a group of Reavers escorted the slave-bride Freyja through a path in the mountains. Whenever they came close to a perilous ledge, one of the Reavers, a killer with a wide mustache, extended his arm with a warm, “Ma’am,” and helped her along. She smiled at them often, and they liked her greatly. One Reaver trailing behind the others carried an open-topped box.
They saw the Khan ahead of them, sitting and watching the full moon. Zach and Yarek crouched over a windswept fire and took turns biting into a chicken while Nilem stirred a pot of soup. For some reason Nilem still wore her thin slave-bride’s dress. She glared at Freyja and turned away dramatically.
“Khan!” shouted a Reaver. “Here’s Freyja.”
Wodan turned and nodded to them and Freyja smiled and approached. She sat on the stone beside him.
“Where’s the cat?” said Wodan.
“It’s coming up,” said a Reaver. “We thought it best to keep it away from the lady.”
“Not anymore,” said Wodan. “It’s time for her to see it.”
Freyja wondered why Wodan would stay gone for so long only to summon her out of the blue, then she was distracted by a Reaver handing Wodan the open box. She smiled, excited to see the cat – then she recoiled in horror at the thing he pulled out of the box. The creature was a monster of misshapen limbs, ribs poking o
ut on one side, and quivering head with features stretched and squashed and misplaced. It meowed fiercely but the mouth only opened sideways, and Freyja shrieked.
“Don’t be scared!” said Wodan, holding the thing close. “He’s been mad at me for several days, and I don’t want to upset him right after he’s forgiven me.”
“Sorry,” she forced out, looking away quickly. She felt nauseous, terrified at the thought that he would throw the thing in her lap. “Gods, what’s, uh… wrong with it?”
Freyja summoned her will and watched as Wodan stroked the misshapen cat. It wiggled about in his lap, and an arm or leg jiggled strangely. She saw the cat look up at its master with a very fierce love, eyes agog and mouth working awkwardly. It craned upward, unable to get to his face, and Wodan bent to rub his nose on its belly. It swatted at his greasy hair and he laughed.
“Well, I’m not going to tell you that despite his body, he’s a normal cat. He’s not. He’ll never live a normal cat’s life. That’s been taken away from him.” Wodan paused and looked at her, then said, “Someone enslaved him when he was very young. They controlled his development unnaturally, and he grew into this shape. I had to leave him for a while, and he’s been mad at me because he thinks I abandoned him. I never abandoned him, though, and I guess he finally figured that out, so we’re friends again.”
Freyja touched the cat, more to be friendly with Wodan than anything else, but was surprised that the cat’s fur was still smooth. The cat jerked away slightly and laid one eye on her, unsure of her motives.
“You see?” said Wodan. “This is what the demons have done to us. This is their world. We’ve had to develop unnaturally in order to cater to their needs. They could have killed us already, just as this cat’s former owner could have killed him. But they haven’t. They’ve always accepted sacrifices from us, and the people who rule our nations behave like demons because they think that’s the best way to get by. The demons are moving against us now because they’re afraid of us. Afraid that we’ll slip out of their control.”
“Moving against us?” she said. “You mean when they destroyed Hargis?”
“Exactly. They mean to do the same thing, I’m sure, to every city or nation. They want to scatter us and put us in a state where we will be at their complete mercy.”
Freyja looked down at her rough clothes and small hands. “Until that night,” she said, “I’d never even seen a flesh demon. I’d only heard about them. I don’t really know how to put it into words, Wodan, but I’ve always felt like I was at the mercy of… something. Other people, mostly, I guess.”
Wodan looked at her again, then said, “Everyone who’s come here of their own free will feels exactly the same, Freyja. When the world is ruled by monsters, you have to be rotten to thrive. Rotten to the core. That’s why we’re not just coming here to get rich off lumber. Anyone with guns and capital could do that. For a while, at least. No, we’re going to the Black Valley so we can become what we were always meant to become. We’re going to become the very thing that the demons fear most.”
Wodan petted the cat, who nibbled on his wrist. “The demons are mice,” said Wodan. “Maybe a few of them are rats, but I’ve killed enough of them to know that they’re not gods.”
Freyja smiled, then said, “And you think that if we go into the Black Valley, and settle there… and the people forget what it’s like to live as they do now… then it’ll be like if this cat was allowed to grow up naturally?”
“Exactly. Him, and others like him. We’ll scatter the demons, and then our destiny will be our own.”
Freyja looked at Wodan’s face as he settled into silence. It was strange to her that Wodan was able to take advantage of the tribal laws of the dogmen just so he could rule over them and deal with the stress that came from that, but not use those same tribal laws to force himself on either her or Nilem. She had never met anyone like him before. She wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about him. There had been boys in Hargis that she was sure, at the time, that she loved. Boys she had been willing to die for, but unable to form complete sentences in their presence. She knew that she did not feel the same for Wodan. Still, there was something about him that she trusted, something that she…
“It took a lot of guts,” he said, “to stick around, and not escape with the other slave brides. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that, Freyja. That’s why I need you around here. It’s nice having a few thousand dogmen willing to fight demons to the death in between arguments among themselves, but really, when it comes down to it… I just need a half dozen people with the guts to challenge the unknown.”
Something like a bolt of lightning shot through Freyja, and she glanced at Nilem. Nilem had ceased busying herself with the soup and was glaring at Wodan with open, unconcealed hatred.
I have to warn him about her, thought Freyja. I have to do it when she’s not around. He has no idea about her!
Chapter Six
A Light in the Valley
The Khan and his horde entered the Black Valley.
The humans from Pontius had already seen trees. Many farmers raised stunted, skeletal little things that wilted during the season of heat and sprouted a few growths just before the dry season. Most farmers did not own their own trees, but sold them when they were still sprouts and hoped that the gamble wouldn’t become a debt if the tree didn’t survive. And within city walls, anyone who spent time near wealthier neighborhoods could see slender and delicate trees that threatened to fall over during a storm. But the valley was altogether different. No one could have prepared them for the sight, the smell, of a dank labyrinth full of fat trunks, thick canopies overhead that filtered harsh sunlight and allowed only tender slivers of brilliance. The ground was soft and held together by wet little growths and, if they dug into the earth with their hands, they could feel moist, rich, black earth full of quivering worms. Gone was the lonely whisper of the wasteland, windswept and very nearly sterile. Now strange cries came from all around, furry things dashed into secret holes, and colorful birds tore through the branches overhead. The people who came through the mountain passes often stopped and stood silent, overcome by the feeling that they walked on the holy ground of another world.
Khan Wodan stood on a tower of black rock among others like it, little islands in a sea of mist. Down below, a wide pool churned as it was fed by the river, which rushed into a cavern at the base of the mountains. Droplets beaded on the wolfskin cloak, and soon his hair hung in lank, dark ringlets about his face. He remembered, in what seemed like another lifetime, how he had rested among these very stones after saving an old man’s life. It was hard to believe that he had finally returned… and of his own free will.
A team of laborers gathered on the stones below, laughing and shaking hands and passing around cigars. One of them saw the Khan standing above. He saluted with two fingers, and Wodan smiled and nodded back.
“Sir!” cried another laborer. “This place is amazing! That storyteller with us, he’s saying this place is the Garden of Den! These trees, I don’t see how there can be so many of them!”
“It’s a sight, isn’t it?” said Wodan. “Once you boys are rested, let’s get to chopping them down. Don’t be shy about it. These trees go on for miles and miles!”
As the laborers whooped loudly, Wodan heard a commotion near the cavern. He leaped from the stone, down several giant steps, then fell through mist and splashed into the cold, rushing shallows. Halos of light bobbed within the dark cavern, then small boats emerged bearing men in lean black armor. Each boat was a two-man team, with one paddling madly while the second held a torch and rifle. They wore no helms, and their hair was drenched.
“Reavers!” said Wodan, waving.
“Khan!” cried one.
“Any devils?”
“Sir, the cavern is clear!” The boats drifted idly around the Khan in the slowly swirling pool. “Looks like the way to Pontius is open. Any lumber we throw in will find its way there.” The lead Reaver paused, then ad
ded, “Sir, it’s exceedingly creepy in there. We won’t have to worry about any gangsters from the city paddling upstream to attack us.”
“No one in Pontius is strong enough to do that,” said Wodan. “Besides, when they see all that lumber coming toward them, they’ll be so blinded by dollar signs that they’ll go to war against anyone who gets in our way.”
* * *
Forty Years Ago
“You see?” said Didi.
Childriss glossed over the document, then sat back and laid his eyes on the row of dead rabbits, each in its own plastic bag, mouths open in dark slits, front feet jutting forward as if suspended in mid-leap.
“We knew it was a long shot,” said Childriss, his voice dull. “Brute optimism, nothing more.”
“The gene editing tool that your team made can only work on one cell at a time. When the cells are reintroduced into the host body, the body tries to correct the changed cells. They are attacked like a cancer.”
“We’re working to improve the method. As it is now, mistakes can be made even during the editing process. You’re not even reintroducing uniformly-modified cells. Can you believe that, Didi? That a machine can make mistakes?”
Didi laughed strangely.
Childriss glared at the other scientists in the room and wondered if they were listening. He knew that this had become a habit; an atmosphere of apprehension had crept into the DoS. Childriss no longer felt comfortable discussing theories with Didi without first making sure that they were alone. He rubbed his temples, then his eyes. He knew what it was that the others feared.
To think that the tangled web of life’s blueprint can actually be changed, thought Childriss. The implications are too great for most to handle.
“Let’s take an hour off,” said Childriss. “Come to my place with me.”
Didi nodded quickly. No one objected to his leave-taking. Didi was now a junior scientist, admired by his peers for the quality of his work, for the long hours that he spent at the lab, for the elite company that he kept, and also for his strange ability to control Childriss’s violent temper. The map of the human genome was complete and sat in its catalogue beside the blueprints of other animals. Childriss had found a team docile enough for him to be able to work with, and he had spearheaded the development of the gene editing machine. Technically, the machine was a masterpiece of micromachinery, a seemingly impossible development after a long road of failures. It was not received with applause. Even the very scientists who had devoted their utmost to the machine’s creation seemed to take a step back from the thing.
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 6
