Hell On Wheels

by Rhyll Biest

  ‘A small but very determined one.’ He looked her up and down. ‘A lot like a certain princess I know.’

  She refrained from biting. ‘What does he do in battle?’

  ‘He protects the fallen from horror birds, and fights in underground tunnels and other small spaces.’

  ‘Oh.’ She eyed the tiny beast with a smidgen more respect. ‘I wanted to ask, how long will we be staying here?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why? Do you have somewhere else to be?’

  The hammer pounding her head like an anvil struck harder. ‘I like to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Ah, that’s right. Knowledge demons hate not knowing things, don’t they?’ He stepped closer and leaned in so that his lips brushed her ear. ‘Too bad.’

  Scowling, she edged away from his heated presence. Once she put the collar around his neck she would teach him all about ‘too bad’. How would she get that blasted key back?

  As she kept a wary eye on him, he clicked his fingers and crouched. The hellhounds abandoned their meals to swarm around him, spiked tails wagging as they licked at his hands and jostled for pats.

  It creeped her out. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just hanging with the guys.’ He rubbed their ruffed shoulders, patted their scaly backs and played with their ears until she lost sight of him among the hound smiles and bodies.

  Fine, if he preferred the company of hellhounds she would leave him to them. She turned away.

  ‘Wait.’

  She froze, then looked over her shoulder. ‘What?’

  He rose to his full height and took her hand. He seemed to be about to make some sort of declaration.

  ‘Moloss, guard.’

  What? As she watched, the mini-hellhound trotted to her and sat by her feet. She stared at it. ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘Your safety and wellbeing. He’ll follow you around. You probably won’t even notice that he’s there unless you’re in danger or you try to walk too far from camp.’

  ‘He’s my guard?’ She met the hound’s yellow eyes.

  ‘Yes.’

  The nerve of it. ‘Just so you know, I’m not a huge fan of pets.’ She jerked her hand free and stalked away, the hellhound’s tiny feet padding in her wake and stealing her hauteur. There went another plan of escape. But she could still contact her sisters, and Moloss could bark all he liked while they helped her.

  She set a brisk pace, keeping an uneasy eye open for horror birds and scurtbeasts, until she reached a series of inky laccolith intrusions, all naked rock eroded by wind. There she paused and checked she was alone before opening a vein in her forearm to draw a blood portal.

  It was a risky method of communication, easily detected or hijacked by other demons with elemental powers, but desperate situations called for desperate measures.

  Moloss sprawled in the dirt to watch, tongue lolling.

  Once finished drawing the circle, Valeda stood back and eyed the rocky towers reaching for the midnight sky. She’d heard a she-demon call them Lilith’s Tower and Nob Peak. Whose nob, Valeda preferred not to ask. In between the Tower and the Peak, several smaller volcanic necks clustered to form a tight-knit lattice. Granite formations in the shape of bridges nestled beside them, the stone worn by the archdemon Furneas’s very own fiery temper, if legend were to be believed. Here and there stone trees jutted above the vast flat landscape like jagged fingers raised for help. Most were thick with horror bird nests made from regurgitated rock. Adriel had said the fire-breathing birds hatched their eggs before the harsh, frozen winter. Her gaze slid across the desolate red landscape that was so very different to her own black-earthed realm. It hammered at her, that merciless expanse.

  So endless, static.

  The scent of smoke made her turn. Lymenia stood in the blood portal wearing her favourite red armour. She raised a russet brow. ‘Honeymoon over already?’ Stepping out of the circle she looked towards the camp site. ‘How’s life in the ghetto?’

  Surprised that Lymenia had actually bothered to appear, Valeda pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Shh. Adriel could be lurking, and he has this weird super-hearing thing going on.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Lymenia’s gaze flicked around her surroundings before settling on the mini-hellhound. ‘Is that a laccolith rat?’

  ‘Close. One of the captain’s smaller hellhounds.’

  ‘Huh. Hey, speaking of Captain Carnage, did Semya tell you she managed to “accidentally” spring him in the nuddy at the castle? Said she’s seen lumber smaller than his pecker. And we’re talking old growth forest here.’

  Valeda rolled her eyes. ‘Great, thanks for that.’

  ‘I think her point was that—’

  ‘Thank you, I have a pretty good idea what her point was, Ly.’

  Lymenia shrugged. ‘All right, don’t bite my head off. What’s that thing around your neck?’

  Valeda frowned. ‘What it looks like: a shackle.’ She tapped the iron collar. ‘Is the vile stench of gorgon fat not familiar to you?’

  ‘Is that what that is? I thought it might have been one of the stinkier local beauty products.’

  She grimaced. ‘I can’t use my power with this thing around my neck. And he drained what juice I had with his own gift. It really hurt.’

  A wisp of smoke escaped Lymenia’s nostrils. ‘Want me to paint the rocks with his blood?’

  Valeda thought about it but the captain could have left her chained up at the fortress, or with Shax, so she did owe him a smidgen of mercy. ‘That would breach the marriage contract big-time and the queen would have a shit fit.’ She shook her head. ‘I just want to get rid of this fornicating fungus gnat of a collar.’

  Lymenia squinted at it. ‘I could melt it.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure molten iron running down my skin won’t hurt at all.’

  ‘Sissy.’ Lymenia’s gaze wandered to the glow cast by the distant camp fires. ‘What about the legion soldiers? Could you get several together and teach them how to spell their names to build some juice? Build enough to overcome the gorgon fat?’

  ‘How can I teach them when I can’t even talk to them? We have nothing in common. They can’t even read. As humans they’d have names like Bobby-Jim-Bestiality and Mary-Beth-Incest.’

  Lymenia’s bark of laughter trailed off into wheezy snorts. ‘Better find a way to power up, sis, or you’ll be stuck here forever.’

  ‘Well, what am I going to teach them? They’re not interested in baking and I don’t know how to pole dance.’

  Lymenia snorted. ‘I’d trade a century or two of my life span to see that. What about some craft classes? Knitting, decoupage, scrapbooking, that sort of thing. Teach them how to knit themselves an alluring G-string.’

  ‘Ly, if you’ve come around just to pull my leg—’

  ‘I came because I thought it would raise your spirits, Princess Stabby-crotch, and to see if you wanted me to bring you anything.’

  ‘Books.’

  ‘Don’t you mean a pair of bolt cutters?’

  ‘Nothing’s going to cut through this collar.’

  ‘Fine.’ Lymenia rolled her eyes in disgust. ‘Any particular kind of books?’

  ‘Yes, books on picking locks. And tell Cinna to find me.’ She had a glimmer of an idea forming in her head about how to get in touch with Lore. She winced as a rusty bayonet stabbed her in the brain.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yes.’ The lie came so easily now it was almost automatic.

  Lymenia glanced at the ground. ‘If you move camp, draw another portal so I don’t have to search half the realm to find you. Where are you headed?’

  ‘To the Eighth Realm, so Adriel can show off his loving bride—that’s me—and seek their military support.’

  Lymenia nodded. ‘Makes sense. By the way,’ she leaned forward, ruby eyes sparkling, ‘promise you’ll use the books I get you for violence.’

  ‘Oh, I will, trust me.’ The speed drain the captain had used on her still rankled. How dare he knock her
out and carry her around like a sack of potatoes? He’d be lucky if she didn’t take two books and clap them together to neuter him in his sleep.

  As Lymenia returned to the portal, heels trailing sparks, Valeda called out to her. ‘Don’t set anything on fire.’ It would be just too awful if Lymenia set the books on fire by accident.

  Moloss scratched himself and set about washing his private parts as her sister disappeared.

  ***

  Valeda was still waiting for her books by the time they moved camp again. This was not a huge surprise since Lymenia was easily distracted and had a habit of abandoning duller tasks in favour of pyromania and causing structural damage to buildings.

  At the new camp site soldiers dug pits and hammered tent pegs, the hammering threatening to cause Valeda’s raw, throbbing head to explode. Her mental wall felt close to breaking.

  She crept away—Moloss at her heels—and found a quiet spot to draw a blood portal.

  Once done she went exploring, walking in the opposite direction of the hammering.

  She stepped into an open clearing surrounded by rock formations and paused. Three or four soldiers were marking the ground with black lines while a group of around ten sat chatting as they drank from their flasks.

  One she-demon, vaguely familiar, sat slightly apart from the rest, chewing iboga root while sharpening her sword in such a loving way it struck Valeda as vaguely masturbatory. Still, information about her current location and the legion’s next moves would be useful, and her flower girl would no doubt remember her.

  ‘Missy?’ she asked. Such an odd name for a legion soldier.

  Missy looked up from her sword, her narrow face expressionless. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Do you remember me?’

  She nodded, focusing on her sword again. ‘Princess Prissy-pants from the prissy Ninth Realm.’

  Ouch.

  Missy flashed a razor-sharp grin without lifting her eyes from the sharpening stone she ran up and down her blade. ‘Just kidding.’ She spat a dark stream of chewed iboga root.

  Yeah, right. Still, Valeda wasn’t trying to make friends; she was looking for opportunities to exploit.

  Moloss came to sit by her feet and glare at her. She glared back.

  ‘Hey, cutie.’ Missy put her sword aside to rub Moloss’s head. She proceeded to baby-talk the ground-hound who dribbled and waggled his whole body in enthusiastic response.

  Nauseating. She ignored Moloss to focus on Missy. ‘Do you know why we’re setting up camp here?’

  Missy played with the hound’s ears. ‘We’re waiting for the supply train to catch up.’

  Since there were no railways in Hell, Missy had to mean a train of pack animals, heavy dread mares carrying water and food supplies while the rest of the legion rode unencumbered.

  ‘I see. What does the legion usually do while they wait for the supply train to catch up?’

  ‘Eat pussy and skate.’

  Valeda nodded, blinked, and looked closer at Missy. But Missy had already turned her head to tune into the story a one-armed she-demon was telling. The demoness, her face broken with age, several teeth missing, was recounting her sexploits from back in the day. Semya would approve. Since the demoness only had one arm, Valeda guessed she was one of the speedier supply train drivers rather than a soldier.

  ‘So, I’m with Margrith, riding the North Face when, bah-bow, the general turns up.’

  Valeda frowned. Riding the North Face? What did that mean?

  ‘I was worried he’d dock our pay for not keeping watch like we were meant to, but instead he says, “Keep going, ladies, a demi-dollar if you can come before the change in watch.” And we each got paid.’

  The she-demons guffawed.

  ‘Arvalis, you dirty old canker sore.’ Missy’s grin held nothing but admiration as she continued to pet the ecstatic Moloss.

  The aged demoness winked before taking a long pull from her flask. The smell of blindness-inducing spirits wafted over.

  Valeda glanced at Missy who held no flask. If they were all friends, why wasn’t Missy imbibing? ‘You’re not drinking?’

  ‘I can’t, it makes me sleepy and I don’t want to fall asleep early on date night.’

  Valeda idly toed a pebble with her boot. ‘What’s date night?’

  Missy paused her petting. ‘You’ve never heard of date night?’

  Moloss butted Missy’s hand with his head until she resumed petting him.

  Pushy little rat. ‘Well, topside I have, but I can’t imagine it’s the same here. It’s always night here, for starters.’

  Missy cocked her head. ‘They have a topside date night? Huh, how about that. What’s it like?’

  Valeda grimaced. ‘Pretty sappy. The best way to describe it is that it’s a prearranged occasion on which an established human couple, usually those with children, enjoy a night out together.’ Zap! ‘Is that anything like your date night?’

  Missy screwed her face up. ‘You mean it’s got nothing to do with derby?’

  Valeda blinked. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The captain’s trying to make date night less lethal but I still like a bit of smack a bitch.’

  Smack a bitch? She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Missy frowned. ‘Date night, stupid. What’re you talking about?’

  Valeda frowned back at her. ‘How can anything involve beating up other she-demons be called “date night”?’

  Missy flashed a coy smile. ‘Well, it’s just a game, a demon version of human roller derby.’

  Of all the topside activities to be adopted in Hell, Valeda would never have picked roller derby. She’d read about it once or twice but could only recall the vaguest details. ‘Why do you like this human game?’

  ‘It’s incredibly violent but in a good way.’

  Violent in a good way? Was that even possible? ‘And?’

  ‘It’s grade-A battle training and good PBR.’

  ‘PBR?’

  Missy sighed. ‘Pre-battle rec.’

  ‘Which means?’ She earned herself another sigh.

  ‘Eat, drink, and shoot fire from our crotches for tomorrow we may die.’

  Why was the crazy bitch singing the words? ‘And the captain approves of this?’ Valeda frowned. ‘What about your battle readiness?’

  ‘Well, usually it’s just scrimmage, so we’re not trying to hurt each other. Unless you really hate someone’s guts, of course.’ Missy grinned.

  Of course. ‘What’s scrimmage?’

  Missy scratched Moloss under the chin. ‘Scrimmage is a practice bout, training with your own team.’

  Given the size of some of the she-demon soldiers, it had to be a bloodbath. ‘Are there many injuries?’

  ‘Nah, we limit that with the rules. There’s no punching—including tit punches—no king-hits, no eye-gouging, no kicking, no chokeholds, no locks, no fish-hooking, no tussling once out of bounds or once the game’s over.’

  ‘That’s it?’ Valeda lifted a wry brow.

  ‘No weapons, and no elemental powers if you’ve got ’em.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And no bush pushes, twat shots, boob blocks, cooter stomps or titty take-outs allowed.’

  Despite not grasping the finer nuances of each term, Valeda winced. She cleared her throat. ‘Why take all the fun out of it?’

  ‘I know, right? I keep telling the captain but he won’t listen.’

  Valeda rubbed her aching temples. Was she ever going to get her head around this realm’s ultra-violent, lowbrow culture? ‘How does it help with battle training?’

  Missy opened one eye to inspect her. ‘It’s good physical training, makes you fast and strong. And you learn how to work as a team to manipulate your competitors into playing the game that you want them to play. That’s a pretty useful battle skill.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ She couldn’t picture it. The battles she’d witnessed always seemed about as strategic as teen pregnancy.

  ‘And
three days of bouts, bruises and bloodletting can really clear the air between she-demons, resolve those petty grudges that can sometimes fester in camp.’

  ‘So it’s only for she-demons?’

  ‘Yup. The odd soldier complains about the fact that we she-demons get our own thing and they don’t but most of them just enjoy spectating, and the captain always stands up for us.’

  Valeda nodded. A pity he wasn’t half as nice to his wife. ‘What do you like about the game the most?’

  A dreamy, wistful expression floated over Missy’s face. ‘You get all hot and sweaty and you’re pushing up against each other and whatnot.’

  The comment about enjoying skating and eating pussy made so much more sense now. Although, one thing didn’t make sense to her. ‘Wouldn’t you rather just get straight to the sex?’

  Missy frowned. ‘Just because we like sex doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate a little romance. Besides, we like to mix it up. It’s no fun diving straight into each other’s genitals all the time. Sometimes a girl wants to be wined and dined, sometimes she wants derby fun, and other times she wants to be banged proper nasty without so much as a “hello”. It’s the variety that’s fun.’

  ‘Right.’ An inappropriate image of Adriel ‘banging someone proper nasty’ worked its way into her brain.

  ‘Plus,’ Missy pointed at her, ‘how many dates have you been on where you get all hot and sweaty and poundy with each other before you even learn each other’s name?’

  Valeda shifted uncomfortably. Now was not the time to admit she’d never been on a date, as such. ‘When’s your next date night?’

  ‘Depends on when the supply train catches up. But if they’re not here within the next hour or so I reckon it’ll be on.’ She slid Valeda a sly look. ‘Want to join in?’

  ‘You mean play derby?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She snorted. ‘I’m not suicidal.’

  Missy shrugged and gave one of Moloss’s floppy black ears a tug.

  Valeda scanned the endless expanse of barren rock and boredom. ‘But maybe I’ll come and watch.’

  ‘Cool. Wear the collar, it’s hot.’