“My gods! Do you know there are less than a few hundred upper demons…at least that I’m aware of. There may be more, considering I didn’t know of these portal demons you’ve mentioned, but still, you should be able to overpower them easily just using your sheer numbers.”
Graville spoke again, and enunciated slowly, as if talking to an imbecile. “We are a collective, kind sir. In our singular attempt to rise higher, we threw ourselves at said gates, willingly, until a group of above-demons captured and decimated our queen. Once that deed had been done, there was no one to take charge; no one to work for. What reason did we possibly have to continue?”
Dagon remained patient. “Do you remember what motivated you in the first place? Besides your queen, that is,” he prompted. “Can you recall why she thought you should try to escape this level?”
“Yes, of course. We all remember. She and some of the old ones got excited talking of a time when we had been allowed access to the first plain. Our bodies had once thrived; and had not always been slender and opaque, but powerful. They told of delicacies for the palate that lived under every rock, ripe for the eating, instead of the dull fare of husk-like bugs that currently make up our meager diet.” All the heads nodded, and something like awe came to their faces. “The light is supposedly stronger there, and the heat not so intense. It is a place of many wonders, and our queen was sure that if we succeeded, our lives would be incredibly fulfilled. She hoped that with an infusion of energy, a new queen might be produced.”
Dagon, thinking of his own purposes, became increasingly excited as Graville spoke, and couldn’t hold back. “What would you say if I told you that all of what she said is true?” Glowing faces stared at Dagon, as one, eyes growing wide. “Yes. It is. I’ve spent plenty of time in that part of the Underworld, and even though it isn’t my favorite place, it beats these bare walls, hands down.” He had their undivided—literally—attention, then remembered the supper he had neglected earlier to eat. In an act of faith, he put down his weapons and reached for his pouch.
“See this?” He withdrew his hand, and held aloft the previously roasted meat. There came an audible gasp.
“This is a bug I skewered as I walked. They scuttle about in great numbers and are easily caught.” Dagon tried not to think about how they would swarm his body every time Nergal’s minions cut him down. He passed the large hunk to Slaggat.
“Try it,” Dagon urged.
Slaggat tore off a small piece and offered it first to his female, Minrella. She let her tiny mouth close around it, and her eyes widened. More than 2,000 voices groaned together.
“You can share the flavor?” Dagon found this group’s interconnectivity highly entertaining. Especially the way the males seemed to care for and cherish their females. It was all very…god-like.
“We can.” Slaggat took a bite of the food himself, clearly savoring the rich flavor, before passing the rest over to Cragar. It seemed that they would share it as far as it would go. “I’ve never tasted anything so sweet.”
Dagon felt bad that a bug he considered at the bottom of his food chain was the best thing these creatures had ever eaten. He emptied his pouch and gave them all he had.
“If you want more. I can help.” He gestured to the small group closest to him, which included Slaggat, Minrella, Cragar, Orearga, and Graville. “We’ll talk and you can tell your collective what I have to say. I’m not sure how you vote down here, but I’d like to have a consensus from you on whether or not you’ll join me in my attempt at your demon portal.”
Chapter Twelve
“Everyone knows what to do?” Dagon asked for the fifth time. He didn’t want any mistakes. In the short time he’d known these glowies, they had proven to be intelligent, thoughtful, and even ambitious. He liked them. There would be casualties, but he wanted to keep the carnage, at least on this side of the portal, to a minimum.
Slaggat had assured him that every one of their people understood the risks, and would willingly make the necessary sacrifices to attain a better life for the collective.
Dagon had given up his longest blade to a female named Lavarette. She was one of a small handful in the colony known as champions. Her job, with a dozen others, had been to protect the queen, and her biggest shame was that she had failed. Although the rest of the glowies didn’t blame her and still held her in great esteem, Lavarette carried the pain and guilt from her defeat with a heavy heart.
She had stepped forward quickly when Dagon asked for volunteers. Other than Dagon himself, she had the most dangerous job, but she appeared more than willing to carry it out.
“I am in place, Master Dagon.” she whispered. “And so are the others.”
Lavarette stood hidden, to one side of the portal and waited for Dagon to begin. He approached the gate. “Demon!” he yelled. “Demon who guards the portal!”
A great lump of oozing, gray flesh squeezed forward into the narrow doorway. It was a form of fiend Dagon had never seen before. He just hoped it acted the same way as the ones he had battled for so long.
“I am Dagon. God of the oceans. I find myself lost here below and wish to get back to Nergal’s throne room. I ask permission to pass.” Dagon already knew the answer. The demon laughed a wet, throaty chortle.
Nergal says you are to stay in deepest hell.
Would his glowie friends be able to pick up this demon’s telepathic language, or was the link only between themselves? So far, Dagon had yet to be able to connect with his allies that way.
He stepped closer to Nergal’s minion. “I’m sure there’s some mistake. If you look here, you’ll see I have a written message from the king himself.” Dagon held up a piece of parchment, level with the thing’s head, and as the demon brought his gaze to the fake paper, Dagon concentrated on one gloppy eye.
He immediately held it and compelled the evil hellion. “You will stay still and silent.” Dagon ordered. “My friend has something she’d like to show you, so don’t move.”
Maintaining eye contact, Dagon waved toward Lavarette, who leaped forward and brought the glistening sword down with astounding strength over the beast, severing its demon neck. Before the inanimate lump had any chance of regeneration, a group known as workers―standing close by―dragged the carcass a hundred yards to a deep, flaming pit and threw the remains in. Without knowing where a specific demon’s life force rested, the only way to kill one completely was to incinerate it. In hell, it wasn’t difficult to find an obliging flame.
“Fine work.” Dagon congratulated. One down, and an indeterminate number to go.
He waited until his troops were back in place and called forth another portal guardian. “Hello in the portal. I said I want to get through.” He backed up after his yell.
His reward spewed forth. An immediate roar. Where is the one who should be taking care of this? I am eating my lunch. A second demon, looking exactly like the first, leaked through the entrance.
Dagon wasted no time compelling this one, and the process of dispatching their foes was repeated. Dagon wondered how many they could kill, before the muck-minions caught on. They got an even dozen out of the way until no more showed up.
“This is the tough part.” Dagon told his compatriots. Pulling a knife from his belt, he moved cautiously forward. The only reason he had been able to use his compelling successfully to this point was because he’d only had to face one demon at a time. That had always been the problem with compelling. You could put one being into a stupor, but not a group.
Dagon had no idea what they would face beyond the portal. Were there more gate guarders on the other side? Or were they free and clear until they met the demons with whom Dagon was intimately familiar? Caution prevailed. He would go through first.
Dagon moved into the doorway slowly. He yelled once or twice to see if he could draw more demons forward, but silence met his hails. He opened his acute hearing capabilities, but could sense no sloppy breathing, nor could he smell anything foul, two things that always gave d
emons away.
Dagon raised his weapon, rushed through to the new level, and dropped to a fighting stance, glowies streaming in around him to face…nothing? They all looked to the left and right. There wasn’t a sign of another being anywhere. A well-scuffed area fifty feet away held the detritus of a long-used camp, but that was it.
Dagon stood erect. Hopefully the ones they dispatched had been the entire contingent. He relaxed his guard and then sent out a plea to Ereshkigal. Am I headed in the right direction? He got nothing in return. Great. What was going on with the queen? He now had more than himself to worry about. He didn’t like the thought of his new friends being placed in danger.
“Lavarette.” Dagon called to the female. “Take your dozen champions, and a handful of workers to scour the surrounding tunnels. I have a feeling we’re in the clear, but I want to be sure.” He threw to her, one by one, the small arsenal of weapons, located all over his body, and watched as she passed them along to her co-glowies.
She beamed back her compliance. “It will be our pleasure, Master.” Lavarette smiled broadly.
Dagon wasn’t onboard with the master moniker. He’d already been through this earlier with them, but the whole collective refused to call him anything else. A few weeks ago, Dagon would have been more than pleased to subjugate an entire new species. Now, he just wanted their help to get him back to Holly and to lead them safely to a better life.
He sat down for the first time in hours and allowed his mind to wander to his Chosen. He wondered what she was doing. Did she miss him as much as he missed her? He reached out with his mind, trying to find her, trying to connect, but came up empty. If only he’d had the chance to undergo the amulet ceremony with his Chosen, he’d be able to find her now, and talk to her—although he wasn’t sure if a god’s abilities to communicate transcended the barrier of hell. It would have been a great comfort…but that was selfish.
If he had bound her to him, she would be experiencing as much misery now as he. At least without the completed connection, she would continue on with her life, go back to her family and perhaps someday find another…
Dagon felt a sudden and wrenching heat in his shoulder He couldn’t think of her mating with anyone else. It would send him into a rage, something the glowies didn’t need to see, at least not yet.
Slaggat and Minrella had been sitting close by, watching Dagon. Minrella approached him now. “You are thinking of your female, Master Dagon.” The delicate demon leaned over him.
“How did you know?”
She pointed to his shoulder, which glowed. “We have something similar. We hold it in our bellies.” Minrella indicated her midsection where a lively blue effervescence churned.
Dagon turned to look at her mate, and sure enough, Slaggat’s middle did the same dance.
Minrella regarded him, confused. “Why do you not call to her?”
“We have not yet shared the amulet.” Dagon explained to the glowie how a god’s mating ritual worked and received nods from all in the group, which had formed around them to sit down as he spoke.
One of the females sighed. “It must be sad for you.” She brought down a surprisingly warm hand, to touch Dagon’s shoulder. “I know that we suffer much pain without our mates near.”
“We are the same.” Dagon supplied, feeling oddly better. “But we have to share the amulet first. Although…” His eyes became clouded. “I can’t help but feel that there remains some kind of peril if we stay apart.” It was probably his fearful imagination. He worried like an old lady. He simply needed to eat. That was it. He leaped to his feet.
“Shall we see what this level has to offer for food?” The words barely left his mouth when the champions returned from their foray, laden with large flat insects that when peeled, resembled tortillas. More and more glowies streamed in, and as they caught sight of the new delicacy, they fanned out in the new labyrinth of passageways looking for additional food. Dagon had no doubt the vast group would have the tunnels mapped within a matter of hours. There was something to be said for numbers.
With very little direction from him, the task of cooking was described and mastered. Tortilla bugs were delicious roasted over an open pit. Some kind of compound in their chemistry caramelized in the flames and lent a crunchy sweetness to the outer flesh. It was easily the best bug Dagon had ever eaten in the Underworld. Of course, it was even nicer because after demonstrating with the first one, his new friends had taken over the cooking.
The group sat, companionably, polishing off the last of the insects.
“Tell us of your Chosen, Master Dagon.” Minrella asked.
He already figured out that the little one was a consummate romantic. He leaned back against the rocks and began. “Her name is Holly and she’s…she’s just your size, Minrella.” Dagon hadn’t exactly thought of Holly as petite before. She had an extra-large spirit.
“Her hair, uh, this stuff we have on top of our heads,”—The glowies were all bald—“is dark and curly. So soft to touch.” Dagon imagined running his fingers through it and could almost smell her subtle shampoo. He digressed. The group waited for more.
“Her eyes are pale, ice blue.” When Dagon realized they had no possible reference for that description, he reached for one of his daggers, still resting on the thigh of a seated champion. “Might I have that back for a minute?”
The knife came into his grip, and he flipped it over to reveal a small nest of gemstones embedded in the underside of the quillon. He pointed to a steel-blue sapphire, and showed it around the circle. “This is the color of her eyes.”
There was a collective “oooh.” All the glowies had flat black eyes, not much different than Dagon’s, although in full light, his actually mimicked a midnight blue.
“And is she a goddess, master?” Orearga wanted to hear more.
“She is not.” Dagon lamented. “Not until I undergo the amulet ceremony with her. Until then she is a human.”
Another gasp. The only humans the glowies had come across were dead ones, still filled with the evil that had sent them to hell.
“Is she…does she do bad things?” Orearga’s mouth had dropped open.
Dagon laughed. “No. No. Not all humans are bad. Only the ones who come here. There are many, many humans who are good and true, and when their lives are over, they go to a special, beautiful place in the heavens.”
Slaggat nodded. “We have heard of this place, but the dead humans who speak of it believe it to be a myth.”
“Many humans feel that way,” Dagon continued. “It is on faith that they live their lives in goodness, hoping for the reward of heavens to come. As a god, I know there is such a place, where the overgod resides and passes judgment on all living things.”
“It seems he must have forgotten us.” Minrella said in a small voice.
As surely as if the overgod had spoken directly into his head, Dagon said, “Certainly not. Look. Why am I here? Whatever transgression your people may have committed many thousands of years ago, the overgod is now giving you a chance to come up from the darkness.” He pointed around at the abundant food. “Already things are better here than on the level below. When you reach the mantle where Nergal rules, you will find much to rejoice in. I promise to take you there or die trying.”
How odd. Dagon’s being suddenly suffused with warmth. A loud cheer grew as his words passed from being to being. The joy pulled inward. His mind stretched and grew to become a vast and endless chasm, and across that infinite void, reverberating off the walls of his brain, came the roar of thousands. Dagon lowered his head, humbled. The collective had let him in.
Will you continue your story of Holly for everyone? Slaggat smiled, knowingly, and Dagon took a minute to find his voice, such were the emotions that choked him.
I am honored to share with you. I only ask that you not judge me too harshly, for I have done many reprehensible things in my life.
Dagon settled back, and over the course of the evening, told his entire story. H
e reveled in the tales of his childhood, days filled with the happiness of acting out with his cousin Anshar. Dagon let them know of his serpent within. He told them of his fall from grace and the reason he had been sent to hell that first time, which he still needed to explain to Holly.
Then, with much regret, never having voiced it before, Dagon spoke of his betrayal toward the finest group of gods and friends of whom he could ever have been a part. His eyes filled with tears as he recounted his treachery.
Finally, he had trouble finding words to speak on his harsh treatment of Lenore and Anshar, both blood kin, and the evil plans he had concocted for Holly before his heart turned. Silence filled his head as Dagon closed his eyes and waited; waited for the collectives’ conclusion.
It seems your overgod has given you a second chance as well. Minrella spoke quietly. It is right that we have banded together. We need you, but it seems you need us as well. I would say that we make a formidable alliance.
Now when that cheer came inside his head, Dagon was overcome. It seemed the glowies accepted him, regardless of his past.
I will not let you down, he assured them. We will find a way to the next level, I promise you.
A buzz started, a buzz of many voices. Dagon had trouble understanding. He wasn’t used to so many speaking at once.
Lavarette sensed his confusion. Listen directly to me and you will not hear the rest.
Dagon was relieved. It was like locking in on a god channel when privacy was required. I have you now, Lavarette.
Good. Some of the workers who went farther afield than the rest are reporting back from several miles above.
Dagon got a bad feeling. Tell them to go no further, he ordered. I want to be the first to face any danger that might come our way.
They will stop, Master Dagon, but not because you have asked it.
What? Why is that? Dagon prepared for the worst.
Lavarette sighed. The workers have found another portal.
Going Deep Page 11
