But there was nothing for her here. Still swimming, she clenched her hands into fists. It was time to leave.
She called on the stone, but her only reward was a feeling of lifeless, empty void. She felt deeper within herself, sinking further, but the threads that had once guided her down refused to lead her back up. As she dived into the freezing blackness, the murmurs grew louder, until she touched bottom.
I am a prisoner.
She floated through the dark water, stuck, for what felt like ages. At times, she lost consciousness, and the ocean claimed her body, enveloping it with hunger. Over and over, she awoke and paddled to the top, reaching for the thread to Alsvior and his quiet comfort, but he didn’t seem to notice her trouble. She slipped away again, a sleeping form that somehow did not drown, until she awoke in front of the iceberg.
Massive, it sparkled with an internal light.
Was this what she had come for?
She paused, suddenly unsure of herself, but she knew the water held no answers. She struck out with bold, resolute strokes, ripping through to the floating giant. When she came to it, she paused again, tentative. Finally, she reached out, her hand shaking.
Under her fingers, the ice was solid and reassuring—and warm. Desperate to shake the chill that had saturated her body, she clamped her hands on its surface and pulled.
As soon as she had cleared the water, the murmur of the thoughts grew louder. Encouraged, she hauled herself to her feet.
Multiple voices suddenly assaulted her in a blistering cacophony, but only one of them was clear enough to decipher.
You have to—
The ocean bucked wildly, and she fell. A swell of water splashed into her and the thoughts quieted, only to return as the wetness dripped off of her. She stumbled again to her feet and tried to listen, the iceberg shook with another wave, and then another, the voices disappearing with each splash.
Go, she heard. It was the stranger's voice.
She tried again to listen to his thoughts.
GO!
And suddenly, the iceberg, the ocean, all of it fell away as she tunneled up toward the surface.
* * *
"You're not a demon," said De la Roca, snapping out of her trance. It was one of the only pieces of information she had been able to gather from her journey, and she pounced on it fiercely.
"Not exactly." The newcomer grinned. "But close enough."
From the brief flash of his consciousness she experienced, she had teased out two names—Laufeyson, and the "wolf-man". She imagined that Laufeyson was the one he would use in current conditions; the wolf-man felt like something ancient, almost forgotten—even by himself. Either way, she was not appeased. "What are you?"
He rubbed his chin and looked past her, as if considering the matter. "What am I not? I'm not human, if that's what you're asking."
She gave him a pointed stare, and he laughed. "Fine. I am a mercenary like yourself. Is that an acceptable answer?"
His answer rang with truth, but considering it merely reminded her of his lie.
"You have not been honest with me." The barrels of her guns rose to punctuate her statement. "You know what the Phoenix Well is, if not its location." She had gleaned that much from the flash on the iceberg.
"True." The newcomer nodded, and then shrugged, the motion easy and casual. "But I need your help. It seems that we have been assigned to the same prey, only I doubt I'd be able to handle it."
"And why, pray tell, would I help you?"
"Actually, I'd be helping you. The terms of my contract—" He paused, taking another drag of his cigarette, "merely state the creature has to be dead. It says nothing of who must kill it. But he, well, it is very powerful, and very crafty besides, and I bet you could use the backup."
She bristled at his words. "I can handle it."
He laughed and his hazel eyes glinted. "Big words, when you don’t even know what it is that you'd be fighting."
"I need no help." She stroked Bluot once before backing up toward the door. "I should check on the Mademoiselle. She should be awake by now."
"I doubt it," said Laufeyson. The corners of his lips twitched as he suppressed a smile.
"And why is that?" Her dark eyes flashed once with challenge.
He waved airily, dissipating the light cloud of smoke. "You were not in my head for more than a few seconds." How did he know—he waved a wand in the Mademoiselle's direction.
"I have been to her Archives, once. They span miles and require at least a half day to walk from one end to the other. If she didn't have such complete knowledge of the volumes contained within, it would take her a lifetime to find anything."
She sucked on her top teeth. "I don't think I quite understand." What is he getting at, here?
"How long were you in there, floating in the ocean of my mind? Hours? Days?"
As if I'm going to tell you.
"For me and our four-legged friend—" Alsvior snorted at the trite reference. "The time barely paused. Given how long the Mademoiselle's search will be, I doubt she is finished. There are many references to the Phoenix Well throughout lore, but few provide any specific information regarding its location. She will have to pull countless volumes and eliminate those that are dead ends or mere fabrications in an effort to find the only tome with the right information."
He pulled a small book out from inside of his jacket. It was dusty, battered, with a yellowing to the pages that indicated its age. "And even then, she will not find it. This is the only one. Now, will you assist me?"
De la Roca felt like she was being torn in half. If Laufeyson spoke the truth—a big if, although he struck her as a confident man—then there was no other way to access the Phoenix Well but to go with him. "I will listen to what you have to say, but we cannot leave until the Mademoiselle returns. I have already agreed to protect her."
"An honorable demon. How quaint." His words dripped scorn, but De la Roca could detect something else underneath the barbs. What is it?
"Fine, then. Follow me in, there is much to discuss." Without waiting for a response, he forced his way into the small house. "By the way, my name is—"
"Laufeyson." The flash of surprise in his eyes gave her a hint of pleasure.
Ten
"The Phoenix Well is not too far from here." Laufeyson stretched his arms upward, his shirt bunching and shifting with the motion.
De la Roca snorted. "If that was true, we would know its location already. The Mademoiselle has a veritable army of contacts in the area and has resided here for longer than you have been alive." I think.
He guffawed heartily, but at which point, she didn't know. "It is fairly inaccessible, my friend. I doubt a human has ever seen that place or where it leads. They might sense it in passing, a weird vibration that raises the hackles, or an odd note to the noise of the wind that cannot quite be placed. And even if one was to know of it and to find it, it would still be impossible to pass through. You see, you need to conjure a waypoint for that."
"A waypoint … into Hell?" Her nightmare sprang into her mind, the chilling screams and maniacal laugh roaring through her ears. For a moment, she was caught there again, pinned to the earth, entrenched in the knowledge that everything was lost. The plaintive wail of a child pierced through her mind. She felt her once-dead heart start to race, and she begged it to be calm.
"No, De la Roca, not into Hell. There are other planes than Earth, Hell, and Heaven, although I doubt you remember your brief journey through the last. There are entire worlds of strangeness, worlds of wonder, worlds of glass and worlds of light. There are countless worlds deserted, and just as many populated by creatures very much unlike any you have ever known."
She burned to ask how he knew so much—of other worlds, of her—yet even as she formed the question, it died on her lips. It was clear from the way he spoke that he would not help her, not unless she helped him first.
Already, she knew she would. "So where would we need to go?"
"Th
is demon is a very intelligent one. It holds the stone of memory, a kevra stone more powerful than you could imagine." As he spoke, his eyes glittered and he tensed his hand into a fist. "He has created himself a world, a terrifying dream-space that is more void than matter, a pocket that should not be. This world, it vibrates over the Phoenix Well."
"Over?" She cocked her head.
"I mean that it is the easiest point of access."
"There are others, then? Other access points?"
"Perhaps. Theoretically, there could be as many as there are stars in the sky, or grains of sand on the beach. Most are weak and unstable, and will turn on you when you crossed over. Honestly, there are no guarantees, when traveling between worlds, but picking the wrong point of entry will probably kill you."
De la Roca reflected on that, remembering her journey into his mental ocean. He had sent her back, she was sure of that, because she could not have returned of her own volition. What if she was caught again? She doubted her prey would be so kind as to assist her, especially after she killed it. She shivered.
Without warning, the Mademoiselle turned and stretched and a contraction of muscles rolled through her spine. She blinked rapidly while yawning, and pivoted to face De la Roca and the newcomer. She squints at him with some considerable interest. "Well hello, Laufeyson."
"Hello, Mademoiselle." He touched the brim of his hat.
One of her eyebrows darted up. "I trust you come to me to ask a favor."
"I come to trade, a piece of information for a deed."
"I see." She held out her hand with a sigh. "I don't know how you manage to steal these things, but our contracts still hold, you old trickster."
He passed her the volume from within his coat, and she flipped through it almost absently. A few minutes passed as she stopped at individual pages, studying them and absorbing their contents.
She looked up at De la Roca with an almost sad expression. "I suppose we should get ready for our departure."
* * *
De la Roca checked Alsvior over by laying her hands on his skin. "Does it hurt anywhere?" The horse shook his head. Healing up well, my dear, and you'll be ready for action by morning.
Laufeyson had taken the Mademoiselle aside to discuss the details of their journey. Uneasy at being excluded, De la Roca almost called the whole thing off. Then again, she had Bluot, and Alsvior, and over three centuries of experience killing some of the wickedest creatures ever manifested into existence.
They set off, mounted, in the predawn, the first tendrils of pink gently worming across the sky. By the time they reached the base of a series of rolling hills, it was midmorning. They had ridden the horses hard, and the mounts were sweating from the exertion—except, of course, for Alsvior.
"We should go on foot from here. The ground is treacherous and riddled with holes. It would be too easy for a horse to break a leg." Laufeyson dismounted and waited while the others did the same. He motioned at a peak that stood taller than the rest.
They threaded, Indian-file, up the mountain. It was beautiful, a vertical tapestry of painted bands that shone in the sun, and De la Roca wondered how anything as evil as a demon could make such a place its home.
During the trip, Laufeyson and the Mademoiselle continued to speak in whispers. Their amicable camaraderie irritated De la Roca to no end. She was grateful when they reached the top, more for the chance to get away from them than anything else, but when she finally arrived, her breath caught in her throat.
"What is it?" She felt the Mademoiselle's gentle hand on her shoulder.
"It's just—I've roamed this earth for three centuries. I've hacked through jungles, climbed mountains, crossed deserts . . . I've ridden over every bridge and valley and coastline . . ." She trailed off, unable to complete the thought.
The Mademoiselle gave her a nod. "Yes, this is special."
De la Roca had never seen anything as beautiful as the mesa that stretched out before her, the painted bands of rock burning pink and orange in the setting sun. A lake rested in the middle, its crystalline waters reflecting the figures of the three travelers against a backdrop of rose and purple sky.
"Sometimes," said Laufeyson, "Earth surprises me even still. I have traveled through the depths of Hell and the heights of Heaven, and through many other worlds that do not even have names in this language. And yet, this kind of beauty is so rare that it makes me almost believe that this world was a gift to its inhabitants, a place of refuge from some other terrible land." He paused, flicking his fingers just enough to manifest and light a cigarette. "But even here, it is ethereal. The sun will set and the night will be cloudy, and then this place shall be indistinguishable from everything around it." He opened his arms wide, as if in invitation. "Welcome," he said, "to the Phoenix Well."
Eleven
"We should start in the morning." De la Roca brushed Alsvior by the fire. He didn't truly need it, for his coat would come clean again as soon as he transformed, but the touch somehow bonded them together. They always fought better on days after she groomed him.
Laufeyson and the Mademoiselle had just finished debriefing her. Neither claimed to know much about the nature of the demon they hunted.
"It does not matter," said Laufeyson. As he spoke, he walked toward De la Roca, until he eventually stood next to her under the overhang. He had cautioned her of the need for protection from the elements, even though the sky was as clear as glass. And I obliged you, didn't I? So why won't you shut up?
"To create a realm takes immense power. I doubt that any demon would be strong enough to make one much larger than a shopping mall. As such, there will be no sun, no daylight, no cycle of time and warmth. In fact, you may not want to bring Alsvior; it could be pretty crowded in there."
Alsvior chuffed once and immediately transformed into a horse no larger than a German Shepherd.
"A trick pony!" exclaimed Laufeyson.
Alsvior kicked with his back legs, and the blow threw the man to the ground.
"Alsvior hates ponies." De la Roca smiled sweetly. "We saw a small family of Falabella miniature horses once in Argentina and he was quite enamored with the form for a while. He considers ponies too short and fat, too awkward and ungainly."
Laufeyson sat and rubbed his arm. He turned his upper body to address Alsvior directly. "My apologies, sir. I was merely impressed by your powers of transformation."
The horse pointedly ignored him.
"Even if day and night do not exist, I would rather us depart in the morning. I would give both Alsvior and myself an extra night to rest and heal."
"Fair enough," said Laufeyson, and he lay down by the fire. Within minutes, he was snoring soundly.
"Do not judge him too harshly, De la Roca." The Mademoiselle's voice was barely a whisper.
De la Roca had been thinking about the possible nature of the demon she would be facing soon, and the Mademoiselle's kind words surprised her. She got the feeling that there was something else, something painful—
But then the Mademoiselle laughed lightly. "He is a fool, true, but there is wisdom in a fool."
"He is a mercenary," said De la Roca, as if it settled the matter, and she lay down to sleep.
* * *
It was time to open the waypoint.
Laufeyson sighed. "I wish I could tell you more about this world, but each one has its own rules. The only advice I can give is to keep your eyes open and your wits about you."
"As if I had planned to do anything else."
Ignoring their exchange, the Mademoiselle sat cross-legged and mumbled to herself. Somehow, De la Roca knew that the words were ancient ones, of a language so old that it was still instinctive, not burdened with the artifice of years of arbitrary growth and change. They were words that, without knowing the meaning, still evoked pictures and emotions, colors and sensations.
She looked up to find Laufeyson staring at her. "It is the old language, of the land before this one."
De la Roca did not reply.
Alsvior raised his head and sniffed the air. It was then that De la Roca noticed it, a faint odor on the wind that was growing stronger by the second. Soon, it was a jumble of familiar notes, sand and earth, smoke and rain. Clouds drifted in, more rapidly than she had ever seen them move, and formed a towering anvil that stretched far into the heavens above.
They waited for the rain, but still, it did not come. The air grew heavier and hotter, a thick, misty blanket that settled over the mesa and obscured their view. A bolt of lightening streaked across the sky, followed by a bold thunderclap.
Just when the air grew so stifling that she thought she would no longer be able to stand it, she felt the first raindrop fall, a warm drip onto her face. The drops increased in number until they fell with an unbroken rhythm, giant warm conglomerations of water that splashed so hard they cut hollows into the earth and threw up halos of dirt and mud.
"Keep your eyes open for it!" yelled Laufeyson. He pointed out at the lake.
The water swirled slowly, the directional pattern evident through the confusion caused by the raindrops. A funnel appeared, a minor dimple in the surface that grew deeper with each passing second, until she was sure it would touch the bottom. They could hear the roar of the water and the howling of the wind over the rain.
"Go. Quickly!"
De la Roca ran, springing into the air with the coiled leap that had so often proved a lethal surprise to her enemies.
As she dove into the center, she made out details in the sides of the whirlpool's eye. The water ceased swirling, and solidified into a trembling wall. She landed at the bottom and turned her head at a slight thump—there was Alsvior. The walls quivered, and De la Roca, suddenly uneasy, turned to look back at the other two.
The Mademoiselle glowed with a deathly pallor. Her hair and clothes clung to her body with a slick coating of sweat. As if sensing De la Roca's concern, Laufeyson nodded. "I will take care of her."
Hunting in Hell Page 6
