[Demonworld #4] Shepherd of Wolves

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “No demons?” said Wodan.

  “And the majority of the tracks, they all head southeast like.”

  Wodan nodded, then said, “They must be joining up with the demon army. The one that destroyed Hargis.”

  “That’s what we figured,” said Chris. “And a lot of other things make sense now. Stories I’ve heard about the demons being a lot more common in the past. A lot of times, I thought the old-timers were just goin’ on. Saying that the demon was everywhere, you know, to explain why they were scared of life in general. Instead, it looks like the demons have just been… comin’ together.”

  “To destroy human civilization,” said Wodan. “I think humans have been making small advances over the years. Since the fall of the Ancients, I mean. Even if the demons aren’t out to destroy every one of us, I think they definitely want to destroy our cities and set us back. I wonder, though... why they didn’t do it sooner than now.”

  “The end of the world,” said Sylas, shaking his head. “And now they’ve set loose the wolves in Hargis.”

  “Good thing Pontius has some wolves of its own,” said Wodan, laughing as he slapped Jake on the back.

  * * *

  The very next night they rode up from the foglands and climbed up dry stone and they whooped loudly and Justinas leaned on his horn. They had to slow down to a crawl as they made their way through twisting, climbing paths, and around narrow valleys that suddenly crept up on them. They slid into one another and Jon nearly drove off some concealed precipice.

  They had already stopped making fires ever since they first entered the fogland, but the rocky passes were cold, and torn by a constant, shuddering, biting wind, and on their first night Cedrik had to argue loudly with Chris, who wanted a fire. After a long time, Cedrik only shook his head, adamant but tired, and then Chris berated them all for cowardice for nearly half an hour until Cedrik threw up his hands and told him to roast himself in a giant bonfire, if that’s what he wanted. When Chris rode back dramatically with a bundle of dry bushes, he could not start a fire for the fierceness of the wind and eventually settled near the others, shivering and cursing and even later rolling about in the tent such that Jake had to leave him and sleep in another tent.

  At sunset, Wodan rose with Cedrik and Sylas and they clung to a sheer drop of red stone and looked at the wide valleys all around, and picked out a winding path that the truck might be able to handle. Their food supplies were holding up very well, and they’d been able to fill their large containers of water in the fogland. They measured their supply of fuel, and Sylas conferred with Justinas for a long time, made calculations, and decided that they would have enough to reach the great gorge south of the range of mountains and back again. “But not enough to get lost,” said Justinas. “So, no getting lost on purpose, my friends.” Tucked away behind the rest of their supplies was the great mound of explosives, seeds of death waiting, biding their time.

  “These valleys here,” said Chris, walking about with Wodan one night. “They’re perfect for placing mines.”

  “We don’t really know which passes an advancing army will take, is the thing,” said Wodan.

  “But if we divide up and mine this bitch like crazy, we’re bound to do some damage.”

  “The fear, at least, would slow them down,” said Wodan, nodding.

  Justinas wandered up to them, and said, “Well then, we may mine this bitch up with mines and go home, yes?”

  “But if we hurry,” said Wodan, “then we can make that gorge in the south before the invaders, and blow up several of those natural land bridges.”

  “We will lose much fuel in the finding of the bridges. But... we can put bikes in truck after, and haul ass to home. And yes, I very much would like to blow hell out of land bridges made by nature over thousands of years!”

  “Justy!” said Chris. “My man!”

  * * *

  They broke camp shortly after sunset and the spires of the sharp cliffs were already black on either side of them. Wodan ate cold beans and bread between Jon and Jake on a narrow ledge. Sharp cries rang out below them, scurrying, a struggle. Wodan raced to the edge, then saw Cedrik and Chris wrestling in the wide valley below. Clouds of dust kicked off around their feet, and their smiles glinted in the moonlight. Chris’s reach was long, longer than any of them, and he seemed an expert at feinting and tripping up Cedrik’s bull-charges. But Cedrik’s strength was great, and when he finally caught an arm around Chris’s waist, he jerked and threw him aside and to the ground, hopped on top of him, and they rolled about exchanging headlocks.

  “LOOK AT THIS SHIT MY FRIENDS,” cried Justinas, voice ringing against the pass. Jake ignored him and stuck his face deeper into his bowl. Wodan rose painfully and joined Jon, and together they climbed a steep rise. On a high precipice they saw Sylas staring through a set of binoculars with Justinas nearby. Sylas handed the binoculars to Wodan, pointed, and after a search he saw an irregular tower of stone, white and sparkling like salt. His heart pounded. The thing seemed so out of place on the dark field that he thought it was the unapproachable tower of legend, one of the four so-called gods of the wasteland. He soon realized they were not far south enough to encounter that thing; it was only a strange formation made by or taken over by nature, long ago.

  Wodan handed the binoculars to Jon. “We were looking for the ancient city,” said Sylas. “And we found that thing.”

  “You think we’re close enough to see the dead city?” said Wodan.

  “No,” said Sylas, “but I still wanted to look for it.”

  “I hear you.” Wodan thought of the dead city, empty for hundreds of years, perhaps over a thousand years. A ravaged, fossilized leftover of the Ancients.

  “The fuck is this thing?” said Jon.

  “Is a natural salt or maybe limestone formation,” said Justinas. “And amazing, because I should think that wind would have knocked it over, or dust storm, but instead, my friend, nature has over time whittled it into shape of-”

  “Alright,” said Jon, handing over the binoculars. “It’s cool, I guess.”

  They descended once again, and Cedrik and Chris joined them, panting. “You little boys done wrestling?” said Jon.

  “Anytime you want some of this,” said Chris, holding his shirt to his nose. “Anytime, boy, just bring it.”

  “I’d bring it if I thought you could handle it.”

  “Shit.”

  “What’s all that wrestling for, anyway? Shooting is what wins fights.”

  “Well,” said Chris, “let’s blast somethin’ then, see who’s got the biggest pecker between us.”

  “You’re on,” said Jon, reaching down to uncover his rifle.

  “Naw, naw, naw,” said Cedrik. “If you guys are gonna go shootin’ this far south, man, we might as well be lighting fires every night.”

  “Well we’re not really concealin’ the sound of our engines, are we?” said Jon. “I’m gonna whip Skinny and be done with it. Won’t take five minutes.”

  “Why don’t you guys just wait and shoot at dogmen? Let them be the judge who’s better.”

  Jon and Chris glared at one another. Jake ambled up and, voice full of cynicism, said, “Hey Jon, can you shoot a flea off a dog at five-hundred yards?”

  Immediately Jon said, “I can blow a dog’s head off at point-blank. Wanna see?”

  Jake had Jon all set up for the perfect comeback, but the words were drowned in the roar of Wodan’s engine. Jake waved angrily at Wodan to stop; Wodan roared the engine ever louder, then hopped the bike up and down. The others suited up, mounted, and rode out. Wodan rode ahead for a while because he had the distinct urge to eat Jake’s face off of his skull. He tried to ignore the urge for that sort of behavior.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fantasy vs. Terror

  Tanks and lines of Guardians held the crowd back from Debate Focus, the rounded open-air depression where public discussions were held long ago but, in its latter days, where Wodan was doomed to die first
by Guardian execution and second by Didi’s pronouncement that he had cancer. Unwilling to allow anyone from the wasteland near the location of their usual senatorial gatherings, the Prime Minister decided to meet the wastelanders in the middle of Debate Focus.

  King Zach stood before his entourage, with Judge Rosebudd and Miss Oliver on either side of him. Edwar Bruner stood off to the side with his woman, Fortunata. Virgil stood with the soldiers of Hargis, who shifted uneasily.

  Prime Minister Tomasino faced the outlanders. His blond hair was trimmed neatly and his fitted suit was finer than any the outlanders had ever seen. But his youthful face, which had been a great asset during his election, had aged prematurely. Sevrik Clash stood next to the Minister, and wore a fine white suit with medals stretching down his breast. A line of armored Guardians with massive rifles stood behind them, as still as statues and with faces unreadable behind black visors.

  There was a disturbance far outside the Focus, then Yarek strode through the crowd and descended the steps toward the meeting. Prime Minister Tomasino flinched, then whispered in Sevrik’s ear. Zach heard him say, “I cannot allow him… this meeting… can’t even think with him around…” Sevrik only smiled and leaned away from the Minister, and when the massive Reaver took up position near the Head of Guard, Zach wondered who truly ran Haven. Tomasino stared at the ground, then resumed glaring at the outlanders.

  “So,” said Tomasino, “the people of Haven greet you. Now, why have you come here?”

  “If I may officially introduce myself: I am Zachariah Hargis, king of a land that has been destroyed by flesh demons. The soldiers with me now are loyal soldiers of Hargis. I’ve come with an envoy from Pontius to request help in our time of need. I have heard that your land is an exceptional place, and I see now that, in all likelihood, we have nothing to offer you. I know that you have long secluded yourselves in order to escape the devils of the wasteland; as long veterans of dealing with their kind, perhaps my men or I could give some advice on how they think and move. I admit that this advice would be worth little, seeing as how we only barely survived now that the demons have changed their stance toward humanity. The truth is, we come as beggars. You see, Hargis has always had troubles against rebels and dogmen. When Hargis fell, these rebels and dogmen came together into one great army. That army is now marching against the city of Pontius, and I have made it my task to gather what reinforcements I can in order to face them at Pontius. The rebels were spared the fate of most of the people of Hargis, I think, because they are doing the devils’ work… that is, the work of destroying human civilization and driving our species into extinction.”

  Virgil stared at the young man in wonder. His ability to express himself was increasing exponentially. He did not even need a nation to grant him a sense of nobility; he may have been a drunk in the past, but he was truly noble now. Virgil wondered why the rulers of Pontius were so unlike him. Had seeing the flesh demons in full force woken something up inside of him?

  “I... see,” said Tomasino. “But if memory serves me, that name Pontius... is it not the home of the barbarians who attacked us a little over a year ago?”

  “It is,” said Zach.

  Tomasino cocked his head, then gave a slight laugh.

  “The group who invaded you were a clan of savages called the Ugly,” said Zach. He did not mention the Smiths who accompanied them, for there were several Smiths on the zeppelins in the airfield. “They have since been destroyed. In fact, one of your own people, a young man named Wodan, had no small part in their destruction.”

  “Do not say that name,” Tomasino spat through clenched teeth, dropping all pretext of civility. “He sold us out to savages! He gave our location away to flesh demons! He put us in the terrible position we’re in now, fending off attack after attack-”

  Just then Yarek laughed loudly, white teeth flashing like fangs, and Tomasino flinched again. Sevrik smiled, his face strangely radiant.

  “Please, excuse me,” said Zach. “I did not mean to offend. However, in the land of Pontius, he is known as a hero.”

  “Young lord,” Sevrik said loudly. “Tell me - he’s alive? And well?”

  “Yes! Wod – er, he... is a close friend of mine. He came to Pontius to destroy the Ugly and he did just that. Even now, he’s gone out with a small team of scouts to slow down the invading army.”

  “Amazing!” said Sevrik, shouldering past Tomasino. “Tell me, young lord - what does he look like?”

  “What does he... look like?”

  “Yes.”

  Understanding dawned on Zach; the man must be testing him to see if he really knew Wodan. “He’s about this tall, slight features, green eyes, wavy brown hair... rather slight build...” Sevrik nodded, but he seemed disappointed, though Zach did not know why he should be. “Sir, did I hear the Prime Minister correctly, in that you’ve been attacked by demons?”

  “Yes,” said Tomasino. “You heard right. Not just those terrible dragons that attacked us with the barbarians. Others. From all sides, without mercy, day and night...”

  “With all due respect,” said Yarek, “the Prime Minister exaggerates. The demons have sent scouts. They attack us in small groups to test our response. Land-based attacks; nothing aerial since the first invasion. It’s nothing that the Guardians and the Reavers cannot handle.”

  “I am sorry,” said Zach. “I liked the idea of a land free from devils.”

  “It was a dream, a fantasy world,” said Yarek. “Nothing more.”

  “Reality has a way of creeping into everything,” said Zach. The two Clashes smiled in appreciation, but Tomasino glared at him with unconcealed rage.

  There was a long pause while they regarded one another. The hum of the crowd was a dull roar, far away. Zach cleared his throat, then said, “If I may ask... sirs, I do not quite understand the attitude this land has toward... toward Wodan.”

  “He is cursed by God,” said Tomasino. “But he was a tool of God as well, and as such, has no place among mankind any longer.”

  “How is that?”

  “The former corrupt regime who ruled Haven used him in their conspiracies. Against his will, most will say. But evil has a tendency to destroy evil; that is a law of God. So the old regime was destroyed, but their corruption and the sin of their tool was such that now God has sent his devils against us. As such, we are still dealing with... his... curse.”

  Zach thought for a long time, but could make little sense out of the comment.

  “It’s like this,” said Yarek. “People want an easy explanation for their problems. Call it God’s will, the devil, a curse - whatever, so long as you have a ready scapegoat. And Wodan is our sacrificial goat.” Yarek said the name with relish. “But there are others among us who take hope from Wodan’s example. He faced the wasteland that we have feared all our lives. Haven has feared the wasteland for as long as Haven has existed. But Wodan faced our worst fear, and he came back alive. Then he faced our corrupt leaders when none of us had the balls to look at their evil and know it for what it was. He was sentenced to death, but he came out the other side of that alive, too. To some of us, that little man is a hero because he is what we are afraid to be. Most of us would sell our souls a little bit every day, rather than risk our comfort and our fantasy in a gamble against the devil, as he did. And, apparently, as he still does.”

  “Yes,” said Zach. “That he does.”

  “This meeting has gotten off track,” said Tomasino, drawing himself up. “You say that you need Haven’s forces for your own defense?”

  Zach nodded.

  “Then Haven must refuse. She has problems of her own.”

  Darkness washed over Zach and the strength drained out of him. Virgil saw his shoulders drop and felt greater sorrow for the boy king than for all of doomed Pontius.

  “I... understand,” said Zach, summoning up his will. “If you believe that the problems of the wasteland are not the problems of Haven, then your decision would seem wise.”

 
; “It is wise. This gathering is at an end.”

  As Tomasino turned to go, Zach said, “Sir! If I may make one last request.”

  Tomasino jerked his head about.

  “I have a man with me. Edwar Bruner, inventor of the zeppelin airship. I myself am a philosopher. My friend Wodan has told me of the University system of his homeland. Sir, I... I most humbly request that you allow Bruner and me to visit your University and to hear of the things that are taught there.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Tomasino.

  “Of course, son,” Sevrik said warmly, ignoring the Prime Minister. “Of course you may.” He attached no honorific or title to the statement, but Zach felt great respect from the old man.

  Tomasino turned to Sevrik. “The inventor of the zeppelin? Clash, that man gave those barbarians the means to attack us!”

  “The zeppelin was meant to establish efficient trade routes between cities,” said Zach. “It was stolen by the Ugly.”

  Sevrik nodded. “Prime Minister, we will show them our University system. For the first time today, they will see the small, rare, and dying thing that separates Haven from the wasteland.”

  “By the end of the day,” said Tomasino, stalking off, “I want them gone.”

  * * *

  That night they floated over the sea, back toward the wasteland. Zach leaned over the edge with Virgil and stared down into the emptiness.

  Virgil turned to Zach, and said quietly, “How was it? The place you went to.”

  “It was a wonder,” said Zach, nodding.

  “Did you want to stay?”

  Zach thought of their schools, the students happily going about their lives. They had no idea that only the most wealthy noblemen in Hargis could afford tutors. He thought of their buildings, the grand architecture. The soldiers who seemed largely unphased by the idea that the most malicious force in existence was slowly turning its attention to them. He thought of the homes of the people, cut out of stone but brightly decorated behind windows.