The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution

by Lisanne Valente

  Angela’s screams could not be heard by anyone in the room, but they echoed around the highest levels in Hell, resonating in The Conjurer’s palace. He listened to the noise; the screams were a joyous sound to his ears. Pain and unbelievable agony was being inflicted upon her, something he had wanted to do for years but could not because of his devotion to King Balam. He still suffered from the loss of one of his most loyal of kings.

  When the king had been taken, he waited to see what the Child would do, how he would deal with his mother. Now, it would appear, he had decided, was the time for her to face her punishment.

  The Conjurer was, in this moment, pleased with his actions, because, so far, all Lucias had done was irritate him.

  In the depths of never-ending darkness, below all the universes, in the fifth level of Hell, The Conjurer sat on his throne, in his own solitary world, waiting.

  Ten steps led up to the twenty-foot-wide platform that held his black onyx throne. The formidable throne was one of the remaining pleasures he enjoyed. It dominated the circular room, standing front and centre on a floor of glimmering black-and-white marble squares resembling a huge chess board.

  It had a backrest of at least twenty feet in height, and ten feet wide, etched with millions of entangled bodies. The chair was so cold to touch, it was the complete antithesis of the room, with its walls of fire. He could see his reflection in the three-foot-wide highly polished armrests and placed his elbow on one, then lay his head on his hand. He stretched his other arm behind him until he could touch the other armrest and, one by one, extended each of his talons, then began to tap them against the onyx. The tapping rose slowly, and sounded like a slow and steady heartbeat.

  And still he waited.

  He had heard of the antics of the child to Baalam. He, who now called himself Lucias the Corrupt. The Conjurer had been made aware of his antics when they were occurring, and they had humoured him for a time, but when they had turned to disasters, it was clear there was no longer any form of control—and it was most definitely the child who was out of control.

  The little information he cared to listen to, had at first been mildly interesting but cared not for any knowledge of the reasons or the outcome. He had been informed of Lucias’s desire for revenge and his lust for his half sister and suspected the child would do whatever he could to get what he wanted. For a time, he had almost enjoyed the scheming and the devilment within Lucias. It had raised a little excitement within, but now, that excitement had turned to irritation, and he wanted the annoying itch to be quelled.

  There had been no doubt in his mind that his mother, the witch Angela, would be deeply involved. Her hatred could fuel Hell’s fires. She was not held in The Conjurer’s high esteem, having bewitched King Baalam, who had been one of his favourite kings, and who was now lost to all and any universe, thanks to the child and the first of his disasters.

  Tap, tap, tap…

  The Conjurer had expected his dukes and rulers to take charge; after all, was that not the reason he had arranged it thus? To run his kingdoms—in order that he no longer had to bother with the mundane, those wearisome tasks that were below his station. Should they not have brought an end to the child’s petulance? Could they not even control that? If that was the case, then perhaps it was time for new rulers, new dukes.

  He would check this with Prince Seere. It was almost certain his knowledge of possible replacements would be better than that of Flauros. He could only trust Flauros if he was standing within the magic triangle, and it was not always possible to have him stand so, unless he was in his private quarters. Here, he had secreted several magic triangles across the floor, so no matter where Flauros stood, there would always be one beneath him

  Yes, he knew of the many attempts Flauros had made to discover where the triangles were located, but The Conjurer regularly altered their positions, much to Flarous’s frustration.

  There were times, it was clear, that Flauros wished to retain some privacy. The Conjurer would be informed eventually, and in his own good time, he would share whatever it was he had concealed, and in the main, The Conjurer had no objection..

  It was not only Flauros who kept secrets, not by a long shot. Those who entered the Cavernis—an area where he was denied entrance—and held their clandestine meetings, they, too, were guilty of keeping things hidden from him.

  In point of fact, there were a few locations inside the Cavernis, where he could not enter, but the other super being could not enter, either. The other super being was He who was omnipotent, omnipresent. He laughed heartily, to himself. How could one be omnipresent yet unable to enter an area? Surely if He was omnipresent—he was already in there!

  But, like himself, He could not enter, either, unless welcomed into the room by those conferring within. It was highly unlikely he, The Conjurer, would be invited in, as most plots against him, or the “other one” were planned within the Cavernis. He decided he would let that thought go for now, because at present, the most important factor had to be the reining in of Lucias the Corrupt.

  Because he was unable to detect who used the Cavernis, he had set up an intricate spy network, which had included the child’s sister, Rachauden, and up until recently, Xaphan had also been assisting him.

  He had lost sight of Rachauden and wondered if there would be news of her in Flauros’s report. She had been an excellent spy, a little too obsequious for his liking, but, then again, she had been useful in other ways.

  He grabbed his groin, remembering their last coupling. Yes, she had been a willing partner, and he wanted to teach her more.

  Where was she, when he was in need? Turning to face the back of his throne, he sat in angry contemplation, noting the minuscule sparks of light discharged from the walls of fire, landing on the etchings. Slowly, the bodies began writhing, moving together. Arms reached out for other arms, and when bodies met at last, an orgy of pain and lust could be heard. The Conjurer stretched lazily to the backrest, his hand seamlessly entered the onyx and, lifting one of the bodies, pulled it from the chair. This time he had chosen a man, whose whole body was covered in deep claw marks. The Conjurer nearly laughed when he saw the eyes looking back at him, filled with hate.

  You’ll do, said The Conjurer without speaking out loud. You’ll give me pleasure until I say it is enough. Your body will be used as I see fit.

  “Again,” came the insolent response.

  “Oh… have we found our balls, after all?” asked The Conjurer. “You lost them on Earth’s plane as I recall, when you thought to take your life as you lay in that bunker.” He leaned forward and sliced through the man’s shoulder with one of his talons, saying threateningly, “That was not your life to take. I owned you. You sold me your soul, and it was mine to take when I chose, not when you decided life was getting too dangerous for you.”

  “There was no point in continuing. My cause was lost.”

  “Your cause? Don’t you mean my cause? Had you not been such a perverted little fuck, I would never have gained access to your mind, but you, you were only too willing to go ahead. Did you really think those plans came from you?”

  “It is I who is the Fallen One, though. You take no responsibility for what happened.”

  The Conjurer hissed and thrust into the man, laughing in delight as he screamed, his torment only beginning.

  “No, my little Adolf, it is not necessary for me to take the blame. Your world already believed you to be the devil. You should know, no matter what happens, it always ends up with me getting the glory, in every way.” He glared at Adolf, and grimaced as he began to weep.

  “Please shut the fuck up. You’re ruining the moment,” The Conjurer whispered into Adolf’s ear, but he could not be heard above the man’s sobbing.

  “Adolf, I cannot stand your noise any more. Silence!” he shouted angrily, then, in frustration, his mind no longer interested, and repulsed by this thing, he added, “I am replete, return to the hive. I know where you’ll be, should I require your ‘ass
istance’ again.” He sneered, then tossed Adolf, like a used rag, towards the throne’s massive backrest. The Conjurer clicked his fingers, and Adolf vanished into the writhing etchings. His screams were heard long after he became lost in the millions of moving bodies.

  Closing down the squirming mass of bodies with a flourish of his hand, he returned to his thoughts of Flauros. He began making a mental list, checking off the positives and negatives as he went along.

  No, he could not trust Flauros, not completely, but neither did he feel the need to trust anyone.

  Tap, tap, tap…

  Yes, Seere would have more knowledge than Flauros. If trust was possible in Hell, then he could trust Seere. Instead, here he was, waiting.

  Waiting… again, for Flauros to appear and give him another report.

  Waiting to hear what he knew would not please him.

  Not much these days did, please him that is. Yes, he concluded, there were occasional glimpses of joy. His little interlude with Adolf had been… fine, but what he needed, no, yearned for, was something exciting. Something explosive to relieve him of the tedium. It was worse than having to be patient. And he found himself this day, having to be patient.

  He began tapping his talons on the armrest once more, but with each tap, the sound grew louder as he continued with his thought process.

  Patience, he thought with displeasure. He had introduced the foul virtue thousands of years previous, then, in order to build his empire, had set out to provoke specific Angels, targeting those whom he believed would be assets to his new world.

  With careful and meticulous planning, he nudged their minds with outcomes that could not be attained in the Heavens, promising a new beginning if they joined him, and it had worked well.

  Whenever he felt any kind of emotion he shut it down, to feel anything other than that which he intended, was unacceptable.

  His emotion switch had been turned off long before he, and his once-upon-a-time friend Michael, had had their cataclysmic fall out. It should have been an end of time conflict because of their battle, but it was better than that. It eventually led to the thousand-year Angelic war. Many disloyal to him died, but those whom he had enticed to join him in his world, were expelled from the Heavens and grateful to him, when discovering a new home, even if it was one decreed by himself, in this new and wonderful universe.

  His universe.

  Now he found himself frustrated, in his own world, and all because of a spoilt child. Something would have to be done about this, and his dukes should have brought an end to the child’s mischief. They should have already had this settled.

  He waited and tapped out the beat, which was no longer a light drumming sound, but a deafening boom which reverberated around the room.

  He laughed to himself. Could the child not have chosen a better name for himself? Had he come to The Conjurer, he would have suggested several, but again the mundane…

  “Sire,” a whispered voice echoed as the shadowy figure emerged out of the darkness.

  “You have made your presence known to me, Flauros, now tell me of the child. What is he about now?”

  Flauros stopped his hands from shaking by sheer willpower. He was Demon—he was terrified of The Conjurer. Who wouldn’t be? Was it possible, he could lie his way out of this and hide his inner thoughts from him? Would he be able to keep his loathing of Lucias to himself, and his fervent wish about the witches away from his knowledge?

  “You ask so many questions, Flauros, yet you do not ask them of me. Tell me…”

  Flauros was in the very depths of hell, awaiting his consultation. He searched the room for The Conjurer, yet all he could see was darkness. He knew he was in the highest (or lowest, depending upon your spiritual beliefs). Personally, he thought of this room as the ultimate in demon achievement; he stood before his king after all. Suddenly, The Conjurer’s face was thrust before him, causing him to step back in fright.

  “My apologies, sire.” He stumbled out the words. “I was thinking of my personal desires and objectives.”

  The Conjurer roared with laughter. “I can see that, Flauros. You stand in a demon triangle.”

  Damnation, thought Flauros. He scoured the floor, hoping to find the others The Conjurer had secreted, but he never could locate them. No matter how many he times he appeared before His Majesty, no matter how many different areas he stood in, he always found himself standing in one.

  “Now,” The Conjurer hissed, withdrawing his face into the darkness, “let us not dally and play any longer. Tell me what the child is about. I grow very weary of the mistakes he makes in my name, and I now hear he has pulled you into his little plans.”

  “He wishes to war with the Fae.”

  “AGAIN!” he roared. “He is an imbecile. Has he not learned from the last one?”

  “I am sure his plan, on this occasion, will be accomplished to our benefit.”

  The Conjurer’s face was once again before him.“You are certain of this, Flauros? You know that this is a positive?”

  “Well,” he stuttered and spewed, “nothing, in the mortal world, can be claimed as ‘definite’, but I am sure the Child has worked through the positives and negatives of the situation.”

  “The Child is led by his dick and encouraged by the hatred of his hate-fueled, bitch of a mother. She has endeavoured to feed his madness with her own, and both of those ingredients do not lead me to believe that yet another war, started by him, will end up a success!”

  Flauros struggled to see him and spun around, probing the darkness. “I am aware of his insanity. It does fuel him, and it also reeks of her, yet, through it, he comes up with innovative ways of winning. I have to say, even in my loathing—” He stopped speaking abruptly. He could have bitten his tongue through, letting that truth slip out. He took a breath, inhaling the delicious, pungent fumes of sulphur, and calmed his beating heart. “I know you are aware of my feelings towards him,” he put forward. “That does not mean I cannot glory in his victories, or believe his plans are brilliant. For I do believe he has excelled himself this time.”

  The Conjurer noted Flauros carefully stepping around his hatred for the Child. He was clever, yes, but he only had power because of his own brilliance. He alone had put the best in situations, whereby they would do the jobs he desired. Flauros was hiding something from him. When he’d magicked his face before him, he had stepped back. Regretfully, he now stood in between the triangles he had laid out across the floor, so he knew some of what he heard were carefully scripted lies, but most of it would be the truth.

  One leg in, one leg out…

  “And you will stand at his side in this next war? You have that much faith in him?”

  “I do, sire. I think, strategically, his plans are exceptional and cannot imagine he will be defeated.”

  “He will do this in my name?”

  “He claims you have given your blessing and that you are in agreement,” Flauros said, surprised.

  “He did, did he?” The Conjurer’s belly laugh caused the mist around Flauros to dissipate, and he could now see him sitting spread-eagled on his magnificent throne.

  He took a cautious breath, hoping he could hide his surprise at The Conjurer’s mistake, and when he spoke to him again, Flauros deliberately turned away, facing another direction, as though a blind man, hoping he would be able to keep his secret to himself. He determined where in the room he must be standing and knew… he knew he was not standing in a Triangle.

  However, that could change. The Conjurer regularly moved them around the floor, but Flauros found he was able to be free from sharing everything of which he had become aware in the past few moons. Some secrets were definitely worth keeping, and the Child’s idiocy was one!

  “Does he go to war in my name?” The Conjurer asked.

  Time to feed his ego, thought Flauros. “Definitely. He will name his successful mission after you.”

  The Conjurer pushed his face in front of him once again, but this time Flauros st
ood his ground. He didn’t want to move for fear of finding himself placed inside a triangle, and so he remained steady.

  “He intends to name it, when the battle is ended and he takes control of Mingary Castle. He will become the new laird and enslave the Scots of the area.”

  “Mingary?” The Conjurer was interested. “I know of Angels who abide in this Castle. Is the Child also aware of who also inhabits it?”

  “I believe that is why he chose this specific castle. He is out for the blood of Appoloin and his Mistdreamer wife.”

  “Ahhh,” he said, understanding the problem, and backed away from Flauros to sit upon his throne.

  With a contemptuous shake of his head, he stroked his chin. “They have been a boil on all of us since their very origin. Ssssssssss…” He slithered into the shape of a gigantic snake, which began making its way towards Flauros, who was mesmerised. He tried to look away, keep The Conjurer unaware that he could see him, but he couldn’t move. He stood transfixed, watching the massive snake slowly wind closer, and was filled with dread.

  “Apppollloiiin,” the snake hissed out his name, elongating every letter. “I will see the Angel dead myself. Go to Lucias, and get the Malum Reges to watch over him. If this war is lost, and battled in my name, the repercussions will go on for a millennia. Should he lose again, Flauros,” he added, “take note. It will be your life that I will bring to a spectacular end.”

  Flauros wanted to let it be known he found Lucias as distasteful as The Conjurer did. The fact he would be held responsible for the actions of the little idiot angered him even more. However, there was no point in arguing in his defence. It was clear The Conjurer had made his decision. He could only hope—because he would not pray—that, this time, the war was successful.