[Demonworld #1] Demonworld

by Kyle B. Stiff

  The dwarf lowered his face and stared at Wodan. He twiddled his thumbs slowly, almost cruelly. “Not! Interested!” he said.

  “I didn’t think you would be,” said Wodan. “That was a feint.”

  “What!” said the dwarf.

  “I can see that people do not understand you because they see only the material evidence of your power. But you, Filius, are interested in the more obscure manifestations of power. I see now why you speak of gods and money in the same breath.”

  The dwarf’s eyes spun around as if he had been caught cheating at a game the rules of which were known only by himself.

  “I have something to offer you which no one else has ever offered before,” said Wodan, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Filius, for this ship, I offer you my soul.”

  “You wouldn’t!” said the dwarf. His armed men opened their eyes wide. One slave girl covered her mouth while another shielded the child in her belly.

  “We’ll write up a contract,” said Wodan, “and I’ll sign it in blood and seal it with my own seed.”

  “Demon’s perineum,” the dwarf said, chewing his tongue. “Now that’s something no other merchant in this town ever got before.”

  Wodan stood. “I’ll let you iron out the details with my associate,” he said, smiling. “I’m going to get a drink.”

  Wodan rose from his seat and a heavily armed man twice his size nearly tripped as he rushed to give Wodan space to move. Wodan walked away with all the poise and nobility of a fearless master of the dark arts; as soon as he was out of view of the others, he leaned against a chair and regained his breath.

  Finally! he thought. I beat them at their own sick game!

  He looked about to find his friends, then Jarl the Entertainer walked into him. His eyes were glazed and oblivious. He began to bend his legs as if preparing to sit in a chair, then Wodan realized the man was completely drunk and was in the process of falling down. Wodan grabbed his arm and steadied him.

  After a long time Jarl finally noticed Wodan beside him, then said, “There you are! I’ve been meaning to tell you something, Wigmo. Did you know?”

  “Know what?” said Wodan.

  “Did you know that the history of the world is the history of the war between secret societies?”

  “Is that a fact?” said Wodan. He looked about to see if there was a place where Jarl could be laid down so that he wouldn’t hurt himself or puke on any dangerous mercenaries.

  “Oh yes,” said Jarl. “Oh yes. The people of Pontius hate the Ugly youth who roam the streets, fighting and robbing and running from the Law, but then those same people go to churches funded and staffed by high-ranking Ugly who worship demons and hide hideous mutilations under their clean white robes. The people of Pontius thank the Smiths for guarding technology and making sure that people don’t destroy themselves as the Ancients once did, but it’s obvious to anyone with their eyes open that every gun wielded by the Ugly and the Coil and even the Law bears the mark of the golden gear of the Smiths. People beg the Law to pass more strict laws year after year even though the legal system is already so labyrinthine and complicated that no single human could ever possibly understand it, much less find an ounce of freedom in that sea of restriction, and yet it’s a fact that the Lawmen really only serve the wealthy.” Jarl waited a moment, swaying back and forth, then shouted, “Did you know that, boy!”

  “I didn’t,” said Wodan. “It sounds-”

  “And my own secret order,” said Jarl, interrupting him, “has in its possession numerous historical documents which date back, we believe, to the time of the Ancients. They were obsessed with war and control. Did you know that, boy? I think a lot of people believe that flesh demons were on earth before mankind. A few believe that man came first, and that we should try to recreate the utopian paradise that the Ancients once lived in. But do you know, boy, that the historical records we have from those times contradict one another continually? Wars were fought and were won and lost by both sides, simultaneously. Leaders were murdered in cold blood in one account, and those same leaders were alive and well and quite popular with their people in other accounts. Truth was putty in their hands. We’ve even had members of our own order, respected researchers mind you, who were convinced that the Ancients were time travelers who fought wars against one another by constantly changing events in order to gain an upper hand. Sounds mad, I know, but that’s just how muddled and slippery their historical account is.”

  Jarl’s head began to dip and Wodan knew the man was about to go down. Wodan propped him up, laughing as they danced about awkwardly. Someone bumped into him roughly. Wodan steadied Jarl, then turned to apologize to the other.

  His heart clenched on a block of ice.

  An Ugly was right beside him, covered in scars and seething with an aura of hatred. Jagged pink flesh stretched out around his eyes, and smoke poured from holes that were punched in his cheeks. He glared down at Wodan and gripped the handle of a knife that was strapped to his chest.

  Chapter Twenty

  Soul Bartering

  The sun burned directly overhead so that hardly any shadow was cast by the red rocks of the wasteland. Eighteen killers in black clung to a sloping ravine that sat at the base of a wide plateau. Barkus crept to the top of the rise, then waved impatiently to an Ugly crouched beside him. The man handed him a set of binoculars. Barkus took them, exhaled harshly with his eyes closed, then peeked over the top with his binoculars barely clearing the edge.

  Wallach crouched on a shelf further down. “Almost rode right on top of ’em,” he muttered, shaking his head. The Ugly around him gripped the face of the ravine with white knuckles, as if they feared they would fall at any moment despite the ravine’s forgiving and gradual incline. Wallach turned to one and said, “Check the horses again and keep ’em quiet. Don’t let them get nervous.”

  “They good horses,” he said.

  “Just make sure,” said Wallach.

  They waited. Barkus did not move.

  Wallach saw one Ugly breathing as if running a marathon. This one had killed scores of men and women and never lost a minute of dreamless sleep. He was currently blinking uncontrollably, scratching his nose, tugging on an ear, and probably developing other nervous ticks.

  “Hey,” said Wallach. “Hey, they’re probably okay by us. They probably already heard us, since we nearly ran over them following that trail. Just be still and we’ll be fine.”

  “Demon sometimes draws out a kill,” said the man.

  “Our kind have been okay by them for a long time,” said Wallach. “Be still, we’re fine.”

  Wallach saw fear spreading to the others. Finally he shook his head and made his way further up the rise. He nudged Barkus. Barkus handed over the binoculars, then nodded toward the plain ahead of them.

  Wallach looked, said, “God’s finger.”

  “They’re a sight, aren’t they?” said Barkus. “I counted fifteen, maybe more. It’s hard to tell. When they group together like that, it’s hard to tell where one demon ends and another begins.”

  “They’re gathered around that one,” said Wallach under his breath.

  “It’s dead,” said Barkus. “Feels strange to see one dead like that, doesn’t it? Like catching a priest naked.”

  “The trail the slaves left runs right through here,” said Wallach. “Left of the slope and right through that spot where the demons are gathering. What do you think, Barkus?”

  “If they don’t see us moving slaves, or if they can tell there aren’t that many of us, they might attack. We can’t trust ’em. They’re smart, you have to respect that in the wild. But they’re viciously stupid, and you have to respect that, too.”

  “They had to have heard the horses earlier. They must know we’re here.”

  Barkus suddenly grabbed the side of his own head and scratched roughly.

  After a pause, Wallach said, “There might be some that’s okay by our kind. Still, I think we should get out of
here, go around them, and pick up the trail... you okay?”

  Barkus scratched at his head faster now, and hissed through his teeth. “What are you saying?” he said roughly.

  “I said we should ride by them,” said Wallach, “but first let’s-”

  “Not you,” said Barkus. “Shut up!”

  Wallach looked at him angrily. Barkus’s hand stopped, but he gripped at his hair and ear. “How do you know my name?” he said, and his voice was low, gravelly.

  Wallach moved his jaw, stared his master up and down.

  “Why... me?” said Barkus.

  Wallach looked through the binoculars, then back to Barkus.

  “How can I trust you?” said Barkus.

  “The hell, man?” said Wallach. “Who are you talking at?”

  Barkus’s jaw tightened suddenly, and he said, “I’ll come, but I want to bring my men with me.” He waited, then nodded.

  “What was that about?” said Wallach.

  Barkus laughed nervously, said, “Told you I’d show you the world, didn’t I, Wally?”

  “Shit!” said Wallach.

  “Pack your bags,” said Barkus, “cause we’re about to meet the devil his self.”

  * * *

  The killers bound their faces with shirts and bandannas, then held hands like children. Barkus led them. His men were willing to follow him into Hell. He alone could hear the small voice, and he alone would carry the burden of seeing the place of mystery where they would go.

  They stumbled over a field of stones. The heat inside their masks was unbearable. Many thought on their death-vows in order to keep up their courage. My hands belong to the Ugly. I am the weapon of the Living Scar. I am a slave, I am the master of my pain. The sheep will do anything to avoid pain. My master who feeds me is the master of pain. My hands belong to the Ugly…

  Wallach trusted his lord, but he knew that he was more sensible than Barkus. Wallach’s heart was full of turmoil. They passed into a shadow and the air cooled; they could feel moisture on their skin. Wallach felt something like wings beating, stirring the air.

  “Oh, gods,” said Barkus. His footsteps faltered and the line shuddered. One man removed his blind. His companions heard him spit a string of nonsensical gibberish and the line grinded to a halt.

  “Put it back!” said Barkus. “None of you take your blinds off! Shut your eyes, shut your eyes!”

  The line waited while Barkus rushed back, slapped the man and gave his hand back to his companion.

  “Do what I tell you,” said Barkus, roughly. “We’re welcome here. We are... protected. For now.”

  “Barkus,” said Wallach, “what are you seeing? Are they-”

  “Nevermind,” said Barkus. “Just do as I say.” Barkus spoke again, his voice lowered, and they knew that it was not to any of them that he was speaking.

  Now cold air gripped them, and their sweat sharpened and stung them. They stumbled down into the dark hole, one after another.

  They entered a cold, black hole in the earth. They felt things stirring around them. They heard something wet dripping, dripping, and they trudged through puddles like syrup. A long time passed and the path twisted ever downwards. They lost all sense of direction as they descended into absolute darkness. They heard the whispering of inhuman tongues from strange lips.

  Time was lost in that place. There was only endless cold and the growing sense that if they let go of one another’s hands, then they would be lost forever in the earth, lost among a race of beings utterly alien and wholly without mercy. They clung to one another because they knew the gods of this place were the universe itself, the darkness beyond the fantasy world of the everyday, the cold at the end of the fire, the emptiness between the stars, the stillness at the end of life.

  They heard a clack-clack-clacking sound in the distance, a senseless repetition of something hollow or metallic knocking against something else. The thing grew louder as they approached, then dimmed as they passed it by. More than a few of the men were horrified by the idea that the passages they walked stretched in all directions, an infinite black world lying just beneath the surface of everything they once thought was real, and it was nauseating to know that that world was filled with strange and inscrutable actions repeated endlessly by beings beyond their comprehension. The sound stopped for a moment, then they heard a sliding and senseless bellow, then the sound repeated once more, clack-clack-clack-clack, until they lost it in the distance.

  “Oh, no, no,” said Barkus, stopping suddenly. “Oh, please, guh-give me a blind, too.”

  There was silence as they stood about awkwardly, their heads hunched into their shoulders.

  “Sit here,” said Barkus. “Sit, everyone. Keep your hands pressed to your bodies, don’t touch anything.”

  Something enormous moved nearby, then something wet cracked open, casting droplets of water onto them. They heard deep, labored breathing. Patterns of light flashed against their masks, a sort of visual transmission, but its definition was obscured. The men in front felt Barkus jerk and fall against them, shaking uncontrollably. He spoke but his voice was immediately drowned out by a cacophony of notes blown from organic tubes. They heard a deep, rumbling, barking sound, over and over, and when the sound caught on mucus clogged in the tubes, it was violently cleared by a force that shook floor and produced a terrible smell of musk and rot. The men fought to keep from throwing up into their masks. The sounds came to resemble human speech, but the voice was deep and came from many sources all working just short of harmony. This went on for a long time before they realized that the sound was the name “Barkus” repeated until it became both a threat and a mantra.

  “Barkus! Barkus! Barkus!” the voice made out of many said. “Barkus! You come in three sets of six. You kneel and make a show of obeisance. But even now you hide thoughts from us! You revile the God you worship!”

  “N-n-no, Lord!” said Barkus. “We love and fear you! Now and forever, I swear it!” Barkus’s voice was full of fear. It was common among the Ugly to always look for weakness in their leaders so that they could be replaced. Now, in that dark place where they could hear strange things slithering about nearby, none envied Barkus’s position.

  “Forever?” said the voice. “You come to Soul Taker and speak of forever? Your kind live for a moment, alone and lost, then disappear and are forgotten. Only we are forever!”

  “Forgive us, Lord,” said Barkus, and the others could tell by his voice that his face was near the ground.

  “Know you why you come to me?” said the one called Soul Taker.

  “We lost some slaves. There was… a revolt. There was a boy. He made the others fight against us. We were taken by surprise.”

  “You come six, by six, by six, to silence a voice of blasphemy. You come to kill a boy so that the world will be as it once was in your mind. To make all as it should be.”

  The lights in the room shifted, further disorienting the men blinded by their masks.

  “Ah, that’s him!” said Barkus. “That’s him! This is his fault, he’s the one who tricked the slaves into escaping!”

  “So we thought.”

  “We’ve had slaves sneak away before. Some would end their own life… but they never disobeyed like this! The world doesn’t work like that! This is his fault!”

  “All of our eyes are one,” said Soul Taker. “What one sees, another knows. This boy has killed two children of God. This monster has ended the lives of two sweet children who only wanted to dance and play. They only wanted to touch his bare meat and sing a sweet song with him. But this boy lashed out blindly, with hate in his heart.”

  “Lord, my men and I are tracking him. We are only a few hours behind him. I swear to you, we will put an end to him!”

  “You are just and kind, little saint. We know you want to make the world a good place. You have been discussed among us. You may even have a place in the world to come. But your kind have always been cursed to live in a perpetual fantasy, blind and weak, unable e
ven to do the things you will, much less the things you should.”

  Barkus stammered, said, “What do-”

  “Do not speak!” the terrible voice rumbled. “Think you that we do not know that you track the boy and his cohorts for your own personal ends? You pray and say that we know all things, but then you think the workings of your heart are outside of our reckoning! You have in your mind an image of the world and its workings. You consider yourself a master of that world. Now this boy has upset your image of the world, and thus undermined your mastery of it. You cannot abide his existence. You have left your station as a gentle shepherd to track down this wolf. Oh, saint, do you doubt that we know all? Do you doubt that we could kill this single boy in an instant?”