Hell On Wheels

by Rhyll Biest

  Crunch.

  The sound of bone snapping. Valeda winced, struggling against the dark memory trying to tear its way through the caul of suppression guarding her mind. A fist gripped her spine. Snap. Bile, hot and acid, squirted in her mouth.

  A dry hand rested on her arm. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Lilith, she had to get help before those memories ripped and clawed their way through the wall. The circus of colours swirling around her added to her nausea.

  Focus on facts. Identify and categorise the outfits. Analyse.

  A majestic parade of fashion crimes on wheels twirled by. Western, rockabilly, punk. Gothic. Don’t know. Don’t know. The starting line was a sea of waving pompadours, quiffs, mohawks, fetish bangs and the odd stetson. Cowgirls, bobbysoxers, goths and sailor girls all lined up side by side, their make-up heavy and garish.

  Her mind latched onto the obvious question. Where were they getting all the topside cosmetics and clobber from? As demons without maleficent powers they couldn’t travel topside, so who was supplying them? Justice?

  If so, the she-demon had been generous and busy. The skaters not only had every fashion accessory known to humankind but also knee and elbow pads. Everything except for one essential item. ‘Shouldn’t they be wearing helmets?’

  Arvalis rolled a rheumy eye her way. ‘What for?’

  Protection against concussion, brain damage. Oh, hang on, she was in the Seventh Realm. Right. She eyed the neon green leggings, PVC miniskirts, studded bustiers and gleaming skirts. These she-demons had quite different priorities. Like orgies …

  Arvalis glanced at her. ‘The game’s modelled on human roller derby. The leagues that allow fighting, anyway. Justice says those girls know how to have fun.’ She nodded approvingly.

  Valeda eyed her. Were all the captain’s soldiers crazy? ‘Which one’s our team?’

  Arvalis smirked. ‘Our? What’s this our?’

  Her eye twitched. ‘Fine, what’s the name of the team Fira and Missy are playing on?’

  ‘Fira and Missy’s team, representing the first phalanx, is called Club Thump.’

  ‘Cute. What’s the other team called?’

  ‘Battle-snatches. Pack o’ tarts from the fifth phalanx. Okay, watch now, it’s gonna start.’

  The referee, Justice, raised a large white scurtbeast egg high above her head and held it there, poised for several seconds, before dropping it. As soon as the egg splattered on the rocky ground, both packs lunged forward in a mad scramble of skates, each of the ten she-demons jockeying for position. And then … they did things.

  Valeda frowned. ‘What’s happening? It all just looks like a big muddle to me.’

  Arvalis gave her a patient look. ‘Fira tried to create a gap for Missy to get through but the Battle-snatches’ blockers read the move and closed it down. That allowed their jammer, Fannie Tastic, to take lead jammer position.’

  ‘Fannie Tastic is the one with the undies on her head now, right?’

  ‘Yup.’

  Fannie Tastic’s tongue lolled from her mouth, a long pink streamer as she flew by the other skaters.

  Valeda lost sight of the jammer as the pack disappeared around a corner. Within a minute they appeared again, skating hard towards the line where they’d started. One she-demon’s white cheerleader pinafore was drenched with blood from her streaming nose while Fannie Tastic’s bouffant hairdo had also sprung a leak, and a red trail of blood painted her face as she slid to a stop, hands on her hips.

  ‘Why’s she stopping?’

  ‘She’s controlling the game. She just picked up four points so now she’s calling off the jam to have a rest and allow the pack to take one too.’

  ‘I thought you lot were too tough to need breaks.’

  ‘Up yer arse.’

  Valeda smothered a grin. How was it possible that she was enjoying this? Or was she just enjoying the distraction from the epic shitstorm her life had become? As a distraction from impending madness, it would do quite nicely. Her gaze shifted to the starting line as a new bout began.

  Missy flashed by, crouched low and the hem of her waitress uniform fluttering wildly.

  ‘Why’s she crouching down like that?’

  Arvalis looked at her. ‘Makes you go faster. Ain’t you ever skated?’

  ‘Nope.’

  The old she-demon’s eyes rounded as she whistled softly. ‘Fuck me, you ain’t lived. Want to try it?’

  Valeda hesitated. Her gifts and interests had always steered her towards mental rather than physical pursuits, and she doubted her physical prowess.

  Arvalis elbowed her. ‘Want to?’

  She had no interest in being clobbered by hordes of she-demons on a regular basis but, on the other hand, without any books boredom was circling. Plus, interaction would provide access to resources for escape. ‘I can learn to skate without playing, right?’

  ‘You mean just train but not join in scrimmage?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I suppose, if you want.’ She rested her bright, beady gaze on Valeda. ‘But the team might want something in return.’

  Valeda raised an eyebrow. ‘The chance to watch me fall over repeatedly isn’t enough?’

  ‘Nope, they’ll want more.’ The she-demon’s expression turned crafty. ‘Think of it as your tuition fee.’

  ‘Well I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I don’t exactly have access to a lot of resources at the moment.’

  ‘Hmm, but I bet those sisters of yours come by and visit, don’t they?’

  Valeda took her eyes off the game to inspect her companion more closely. How had Arvalis guessed what the captain had not? ‘And what if they did?’

  ‘Well, then, the team could always use more skates and costumes. Game’s pretty rough on them.’

  Valeda blinked. ‘You want my sisters to supply you with topside skates and clothes?’

  Arvalis grinned, baring teeth yellowed and blunted by age.

  Valeda inspected the idea from all angles. There were a number of ways Arvalis could help her in return. ‘I’ll talk to them.’

  ***

  Adriel laid a hand on the she-demon’s half-severed arm, the intricate web of bone and tendon shattered and torn into an unrecognisable, bloody mess. The she-demon—mercifully unconscious—would be lucky to fight again. But unlike Arvalis she would keep her arm, at least. He would do his best for her.

  The hellhounds by his feet watched as he went to work. Demons had great recuperative powers and he nudged that regenerative ability along with his maleficence to heal tears and gaping holes, along with snapped bones and severed tendons.

  A gruesome sight, but not the worst he’d seen in the past few hours. That honour went to the reanimated soldiers, a new horror to emerge on the battlefield. They were tarred black by the scum of the dead pools, and their eyes glowed with the silver maleficence driving them. A suppurating mass of black sores, their sheer numbers had overwhelmed his troops and they’d been forced to retreat. At least he now knew what had become of the dead pool that had vanished from their territory. Through the slime dripping like a black caul over the faces of the reanimated he’d recognised fallen soldiers from his own legions, no longer at rest.

  Immune to pain and almost unstoppable, the reanimated had almost shambled their way to victory until Adriel had remembered the queen’s daughter, Cinna, was a powerful necromancer. Cinna had done a good job of slowing the reanimated enough so that his legions could escape. He shuddered as he washed his hands in a tin basin. Lilith, give him anything, anything, to take his mind off the more gruesome battlefield images of the dead feeding on the living.

  He stepped out of the healing tent.

  A laughing, naked she-demon streaked by, another naked she-demon in hot pursuit.

  He smiled. Date night.

  But he didn’t have a date.

  It wasn’t the first time—he could hardly fuck his way through his legions and expect to retain their respect. But this time it felt di
fferent, knowing there was a she-demon in his tent—one who set his body aflame … and who didn’t want a bar of him.

  That felt like failure and he didn’t like failure.

  He headed for his tent. Wooing. He would woo the fuck out of her, that’s what he’d do. He paused to pat Moloss before pushing through the tent flap.

  Valeda reclined on her side. Not, unfortunately, in an alluring pose wearing naught but a come-hither look, but fully dressed and scribbling furiously with pen and paper. Where had she found such things in his camp?

  ‘Hello, wife.’

  She looked up and flicked him a glance before refocusing on the page she was drafting. ‘Husband.’

  Not a hugely enthusiastic welcome but better than a dagger in the arm. He wanted to make love, not war, even if her tone indicated he was about as welcome as a spitting spider. He focused on the pen, or rather, the hand holding it—her long, slender fingers. What he wouldn’t give to have them on him instead, on his chest, his abdomen, his—

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she snapped.

  Something trembled in her voice. Awareness? Caution? Unease? All of the above?

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like I’m edible.’ She frowned before smoothing her tunic. ‘What’s the situation on the battlefield?’

  All right, not the sexiest topic but he could work with it. ‘They haven’t breached our borders yet, so things are looking good.’

  She raised her eyes and narrowed them as she inspected him. ‘Right. Now tell me what’s really going on.’

  It was a great shame that her delightfully soft lips, which had yielded most exquisitely to his own on two occasions now, preferred difficult questions to kissing. ‘All right. Our fort at the southernmost border will probably fall in the next few moons. We’ll have to delay travelling to the Eighth Realm until the situation improves.’

  ‘So you’ll have a leaky border?’

  Her tone, so cool and unruffled, pricked his nerves. Was she deliberately needling him? If she wanted a fight he was more than happy to wrestle. Though preferably without clothes. His shoulders twitched with the effort of erasing that particular mental image. ‘Yes, we’ll have a leaky border.’

  She put her pen down. ‘Why don’t you want me to know what’s going on? Do you consider me that untrustworthy?’

  He hesitated. ‘Not untrustworthy, just not completely trustworthy.’

  ‘I see.’

  Time to change the topic. ‘What would you like for dinner?’

  ‘A divorce.’

  He squinted at her. Had he deserved that? Possibly. ‘Okay. What exactly do you want to know?’

  ‘How soon do you expect the enemy forces to overrun the south? And what’s your plan for doing something about it?’

  ‘I would feel more comfortable outlining our plans if you would commit to helping us. For example, by telling us your brother’s weaknesses.’

  Her luminous eyes clouded over with pain at the mention of her brother and Adriel’s determination almost faltered. Almost. ‘What stops you from talking about your brother?’

  Eyes dull, she tapped the collar. ‘This stops me for starters. You don’t trust me enough to take it off, so why should I trust you?’

  ‘Maybe I will. Soon.’ He studied her. ‘Sooner than later if you tell me about your brother and save me from wading through the blood of my legions to get at him.’ She would bend to his will, she had to.

  As she stared at him in defiant silence, a fat droplet of navy blood dripped from her nose to splash on her grey tunic, the stain spreading wings across the fabric.

  What poisonous womb had given birth to such a dreadful curse? And inflicted it on such a beautiful creature? ‘If you tell me the source of the curse I can heal you.’

  But as he moved towards her to lay hands on her she leaned away. ‘No, don’t touch me.’

  Patience. Be patient. ‘If your brother has cursed you I can help. Healing is my strongest gift.’

  He read her surprise. Many reacted the same way when they discovered that the Captain of Bloodshed and Slaughter was a gifted healer.

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not a curse, it’s a gift.’

  ‘What?’ How could such a thing be a gift?

  Her lips thinned. ‘It’s a protective neural wall given to me by the archdemon Lore. It blocks memories.’

  He frowned. ‘What for?’

  ‘To keep them from destroying me.’

  Destroying her? What kind of memories were capable of that? ‘So every time you think about your brother you bleed?’ How in Hades was that useful?

  ‘The problem is that the wall is broken. I mean breaking.’ Her eyes locked with his, navy depths intense. ‘But if you let me go I can get Lore to heal me.’

  Lore, the archdemon of All Knowledge. A being so cold and remote she may as well have been a glacier. He wasn’t sending his wife to a crazy archdemon for help. ‘I just told you I can heal you.’

  Valeda looked away. ‘The wall is delicate; you could smash it to pieces if you blunder about in there without knowing what you’re doing.’

  ‘Blunder about?’ Lilith, if she was as expert with a sword as she was at puncturing his ego she could win the war single-handed. ‘I’m not setting you free to go chasing after an archdemon. You signed a military pact, remember?’

  Winter settled over her features once more. ‘Fine, I’ll just sit around waiting for my brains to bleed out while you and your legions bang swords.’

  Sit around? He folded his arms, partly to resist the urge to tan her haughty backside. ‘Nope, if you’re not going to join us in battle, then you’re going to help run the camp. Build and maintain latrines, do laundry, procure food, repair tents, sharpen weapons and participate in drills.’ He waited for a snotty response; he itched for one so he could start an argument. It would be good to get all up in her face. He was in the mood for it and if they weren’t going to fuck they could at least fight.

  But she gave him nothing.

  ‘That’s not the best use of my abilities.’

  A disappointingly calm response. ‘Tough.’ His hands twitched with the urge to put her over his knee. Instead he sat on the corner of her straw pallet, shifting his balance as it sagged in an ominous way. ‘I haven’t seen your sisters around. That seems pretty shitty considering you really took one for the team on their behalf.’

  Her gaze snapped to his. ‘So?’

  Aha, she’s protective of her sisters. ‘And what about your mother? Where was she when Shax had you chained? Where is she now,’ he reached out to stroke her collar with a fingertip, ‘that I have you chained in my tent?’

  A scowl settled over her alabaster brow and her lips thinned. ‘Now you’re simply trying to provoke me.’

  Fornicating fairies, she was too good at avoiding direct conflict. How could he deliver a well-deserved spanking when she refused to rise to the bait? He craved some sort of response from her. ‘Don’t you want to talk about your family? What’s wrong with that?’

  Her shoulders twitched. ‘Ugh, this is … intolerable.’

  How was it possible she sounded sultry and snotty all at once? No doubt it was the way she delivered the sour words wrapped in a voice as rich as chocolate. ‘What’s intolerable?’

  ‘I’m trapped inside this tent because there’s an orgy happening outside, and now you want to discuss family and feelings. Somebody kill me now.’ She mimed stabbing herself in the throat with her pen.

  Adriel bristled but reined in his temper. She’s afraid but can’t admit it, not to you and not to herself, and all she’s got at the moment to defend her precious autonomy is snark and distance—distance from you. Strange that he was able to find restraint when it came to her. The second he imagined her afraid or hurt, it thoroughly disarmed his anger.

  ‘You know what I think?’ He stroked her leg and she pulled away. ‘I think you’re stuck in a strange place a long way outside of your comfort zone and that you should swallow your pride and as
k for help.’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t need help. Or comfort. I’m accustomed to adaptation.’

  With the centuries she’d spent living topside, he believed it. ‘That doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help.’

  Her mouth drew down at the corners. ‘And depend on others?’

  All his senses sharpened. ‘What’s wrong with depending on others?’ He studied her closed expression. The thought that someone had betrayed her trust made something inside him snarl.

  Her lip curled. ‘Is this the part where I bare my soul for your inspection? And then we make sweet, post-disclosure love?’

  He wasn’t averse to the idea of sweet, post-disclosure love but gaining her trust was more important. ‘We’re together in this battle, so let me help you.’

  ‘No, I’m as alone as ever.’ She looked away.

  Why did she believe that? What had happened to her to make her think that no-one would help her? ‘Even if you don’t trust me, that’s untrue. As we speak, your sister Cinna is fighting your brother for control of his reanimated demons.’

  She gasped and more navy blood trickled down her philtrum. ‘My sister is on the battlefield? You can’t risk her; she’s our realm’s only necromancer.’

  Why did she pretend to care only for that reason? He frowned. ‘And our realm lost its last necromancer two moons ago.’ Although the blood on her face struck him like a fist through his heart, he hardened himself against the sight. All she had to do to make the pain stop was to ask him for help.

  Or help him.

  She locked gazes with him and they wrestled without a word, two unwavering wills searching for combat advantage.

  ‘Risk my sister again and I’ll never help you.’ Her voice, clear and strong despite her poor bargaining position, almost pierced his resolve. Almost. She thought she had him in a clinch but she was so wrong; he was an old hand at grappling. ‘You’re not helping now, so what’s the difference? And I’ll sacrifice every one of your sisters if it’ll help me defeat your brother.’

  She rallied. ‘The queen would never allow that.’

  ‘You don’t know your own mother if you believe that.’

  A clean take-down. She blinked.