by Rhyll Biest
It was humbling to be reminded that she was not.
She rolled her stiff body out of bed, wincing as her bruised feet hit hard ground. Running a hand along the side of her straw pallet she felt for her roller derby equipment. Skates, knee pads, elbow pads. She stole a clean pair of Adriel’s socks, rolled them on and tied her skates. Wearing the same tunic from the day before, she skated outside. Clearly her standards of hygiene were already dropping. The thought should have appalled her but instead she smiled as she ran a hand over her bare neck. Adriel had left the collar off.
He trusted her.
And wanted her.
How did she feel about that? Her body’s answer was clear but in any conflict she’d always ceded to mind over heart and body. And while Adriel wanted her to trust him in return, enough to allow him to heal her at the deepest level, she couldn’t do it. Mistrust was woven through her very fibre, stitched into every seam of her nature. To cast it aside courted disaster on the most fundamental level. There needed to be some buffer between them, otherwise he could wrest control from her.
He could end up wanting everything, like her brother.
Acid bit into her frontal lobe and Lore’s whispered warning—never think of your brother—rang in her ears. Never. A red tide of pain swelled in her chest and she gasped, backed off, emptied her mind by counting the number of dead languages she spoke.
After identifying all one hundred and twenty-four, the sensation of her chest being cracked open subsided and her blood cooled enough for her thoughts to turn to her next course of action.
Walls were closing in around her and she needed to find a way out, a way that would harm neither her nor Adriel.
She shifted, her body restless. There was no reason to remain cooped up inside the tent while she pondered her next move. Physical activity could only improve her brain function.
No-one stopped her as she made her way to the track, Moloss suspiciously absent. Another sign of Adriel’s new trust in her. Shame rose like bile in her throat. He was able to trust her but she was incapable of trusting him, too terrified his love would morph into the same invisible worm that ate at her brother.
A hard fist to her throat from Lore’s wall persuaded her to drop that train of thought and instead assess her surroundings.
A hot, dry wind from the nearby lava fields blew around the deserted arena. Grey rock walls encircled the flat earth, creating the effect of an incomplete stone corral. The bleached bones of a scurt beast lay in one corner. As she perched on a small boulder, she wished she had a spare blanket or hide to cushion her buttocks. Her hide didn’t seem to be as tough as the one belonging to the legion she-demons. She strapped on her elbow pads and knee pads and asked Lilith for good balance.
For hours she practised stops, turns, jumps and landings. And fell over. A lot. Sometimes on the hide, sometimes off it. Finding stability after a jump was the hardest, though the lower she got, the easier that became. Despite her lack of athletic background her superior learning talents allowed her to cement the basics fairly quickly and her fall rate dropped.
As her blood and body warmed, her intellect prowled from option to option. Aside from gaining healing from Lore or Adriel, another solution would be to remove the need to stay in Hell altogether. She could kill Paimon.
She winced, almost stumbled.
Without her brother there was no war. Without the war there was no need for a military alliance by marriage or for her to remain in Hell.
She nailed a sliding stop.
A part of her remembered loving her little brother. Pain as sharp as the spear that had sliced through her flared and she wiped blood from her eyes, coughing at the thickness clogging her throat. But logic now dictated his removal from the picture, and she could not ignore logic.
She skated backwards, cool wind rushing in to dry her sweat. There was a side benefit to that course of action. As opposed to finding Lore or allowing Adriel to heal her, she only had to rely on herself to slay someone. That alone made it the best solution. And if she had to betray Adriel’s trust one more time to achieve that solution? Well, that would be regrettable but he would thank her for it later.
Everyone would thank her.
And then she could leave.
Mind made up, she worked out the rest of the details as she practised. Lure her target to a meeting, by any means necessary, and make sure the meeting location was seething with Adriel’s strongest soldiers, those with blood-borne elemental powers.
Other she-demons drifted on and off the track to practise, but it wasn’t until the third moon disappeared that several teams lined up for scrimmage.
She eyed the fresh cuts and blood on some of the players’ arms and legs. Had they come direct from the battlefield? The others peppered them with questions, their conversation continuing as they warmed up by skating slow, lazy circles. Valeda exited the track and took a seat on a felled tree to watch them in action. She was soon joined by a big-eared she-demon with a pink bob.
Valeda glanced at the she-demon’s heavily bandaged knee. ‘Battlefield or roller derby?’
‘Battlefield. It was almost hacked right off and it’s been slow to heal, even with the Cap’n’s help.’
If Adriel healed all his soldiers after battle, it was no wonder he crawled into their tent looking half-dead sometimes.
‘That’s too bad. I’m Valeda.’
‘Bad.’
‘Sorry?’ She raised a brow.
‘Bad Karma.’
‘Oh, hi.’
Bad Karma smiled, revealing crooked teeth. ‘You fresh meat?’
She nodded. ‘Guilty. Got any words of wisdom for me?’
Bad Karma screwed her face up, expression earnest. ‘Don’t give up. Remember, just because you can’t do a snow plough or a lateral today, doesn’t mean you never will. Just keep at it and you’ll get there.’ She coughed and spat on the ground.
Resisting the urge to lecture her companion on the evils of spitting, Valeda idly wondered whether she’d be around long enough to learn a snow plough.
She studied Bad Karma. ‘How long did it take you to learn to skate?’
‘Several weeks. I didn’t learn until I was a bit older.’
‘Did you fall down a lot?’
‘Shit, yeah. But Lilith protected me from any major injuries.’ Bad Karma sat up straighter and grinned. ‘Oh, cool, the Muffzillas are playing next. You’re in for a treat.’
‘Yeah?’
‘You’ll get to see them at their destructive best.’
‘Wonderful.’ Valeda was eager to watch the match, mostly in the hope it would keep her mind from stealing back to Adriel and how she had to betray his trust just one more time. The memory of his touch had her shifting restlessly.
Fira skated by, caught sight of Valeda and slid to a stop. ‘Why the long face, princess? Did you spot a misspelled tattoo?’
‘No, I’m just thinking about all the books you’ll never read before you die.’
Bad Karma snorted and Fira flipped her a dirty glare. ‘Really? What a coincidence. I cried myself to sleep thinking about all the sex you’ll never have.’
Valeda had to admit she’d nearly done that herself. Despite her stiff muscles, her body still tingled from Adriel’s massage and the memory of the way his big, sure hands had run up and down her legs, flirting with the inside of her thighs. Plus, there’d been the way she’d been pressed against his unquestionably male body as he’d given her the hottest piggyback ride of her life. Keyed up, it had taken her many hours to fall asleep despite her tired body. Her newly awakened libido had snarled like a revving engine that resented being shut down instead of being taken for a spin.
She shook the thought off to focus on the game instead. The jam flowed quickly until tempers frayed, fists flew and two players got tossed in the cage. As the pack lurched off again, a she-demon with ‘Hot Wheels’ stamped on her underpants carved her way through the middle of the pack to take lead jammer. Bad Karma nodded in approval but Ar
valis was unhappy. ‘Call off the jam, YOU TWAT!’
Hot Wheels quickly put her hands on her hips and the two teams lined up again at the pivot line.
A she-demon came flying off the track and hurled her backside onto the space next to Valeda, her sailor girl skirt fluttering madly. Tongue lolling, she panted like a hellhound fresh from running down dead pool escapees, each breath harsh and rasping, her face pink under her braided turquoise hair. Valeda groped for her name. Spark? Yes, that was it.
Spark smiled and thumped her chest. ‘Only got one lung. Lost the other in a battle with a smoke demon.’
‘Ah.’
Spark leaned forward to look at Bad Karma, her dozens of tiny beaded braids clacking wildly. ‘What’s the score?’
As Bad Karma answered, Valeda eyed Spark’s skates. ‘I like your wheels. What kind are those?’
‘They’re called Poison. I like my lovers chunky and my wheels slim.’
She blinked. Okay. ‘Why slim wheels?’
‘They make you nimbler and less likely to clip anyone else’s wheels.’
The three of them inspected Valeda’s chunky wheels without comment before turning their attention back to the track.
Spark jumped to her feet to scream helpful epithets when Hot Wheels was tripped, and Bad Karma, unable to jump, screamed her epithets twice as loud.
Valeda’s spine stiffened as Bad Karma leaned in close to provide an ale-scented commentary. ‘See how while the jammer is evading blockers and picking up points, her teammates have caught the other jammer inside their pack? That makes it even easier for Hot Wheels to score points because they’re slowing the pack for her.’
She nodded. And at last she did see it. Things were no longer just a blur of limbs and colourful outfits. ‘And some players are targeting the blockers one by one to create space for Hot Wheels to get through.’
‘That’s it.’ Bad Karma clapped her on the shoulder. ‘You’re getting it.’
She blinked. Did a legion soldier really just pat her, a princess, on the shoulder? And what strange part of her was okay with that? Was this the camaraderie thing that certain war writers blathered on about?
She should leave now, track down her brother and confront him despite the hot razors the thought of him drove through her brain. Yet the she-demons sitting by her and screaming passionate epithets at the game kept her anchored there. What was wrong with her?
Her eyes widened as a tall, solidly built she-demon acting as a one-skater blocking wall nailed Hot Wheels with a well-timed block, sending the she-demon flying into the pompom-wielding fearleaders.
‘Sweet snizz juice,’ Bad Karma muttered.
‘Who’s that?’ Valeda’s gaze followed the blocker as she skated away.
‘The Iron Slut.’
Players gathered around the crumpled Hot Wheels. After several long minutes, two she-demons raised the half-conscious Hot Wheels and carried her away as she bravely waved to the rest of her team.
‘No question, derby is hard on a bitch.’ Bad Karma’s tone was quietly respectful.
Arvalis strode over to them. ‘Yo, we need a sub.’
Spark stood.
Arvalis shook her head. ‘Nope, not you. Not until you’ve rested that lung for another half-hour.’
Spark scowled. ‘Discrimination,’ she muttered.
When Arvalis looked in her direction, Valeda looked over her shoulder, saw no-one behind her, and realised Arvalis was looking at her. She shook her head. ‘You’re kidding me, right? Half those bitches are twice my size and I’ve only just learned to skate.’
Arvalis frowned. ‘So? Being small means you’re nimble, and everyone starts out with basic skating skills.’
‘No fricking way.’ Shit, now she was starting to speak like them.
‘Come on, you’ll be more popular than a porn star.’
‘Is that meant to sell it to me?’
‘I’m appealing to your sense of community spirit. We really need your help.’ She thrust a bundle of clothes at Valeda. ‘Put these on.’
The clothes were a pair of underpants in the team colour of lime green, and a sawn-off nurse uniform. Three gazes rested on her expectantly.
‘Go on,’ Spark grinned. ‘You know you want to.’
Bad Karma chimed in. ‘Yeah, go on Valeda, be a bad-arse, a bad-arse princess.’
‘You won’t regret it.’ Arvalis smiled.
She took a deep breath. Why not? Why not live and play derby just once before confronting her brother and possibly being turned into paste? Shrugging off the slicing pain the thought of her brother generated, Valeda unbuttoned her tunic at the shoulder and twitched it off. She picked up the uniform and stepped into it.
‘Zip you up, sistah?’ Bad Karma was already on her feet despite her bandaged knee.
She nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘You got a great body, the Cap’n is a lucky demon.’
‘Thank you.’ She jumped as Bad Karma slapped her arse.
Spark tore off her skates, grabbed Valeda’s feet and unlaced her pink skates. She waved her skates beneath Valeda’s nose. ‘Take mine, they’re better than yours, and this is your chance to shine.’
Insanity.
But Bad Karma was already shoving her feet into the narrow-wheeled skates.
Valeda frowned. ‘I’ve only just worked out how to stay upright, I’m going to get totally creamed.’
‘Sure. But only in a fun way.’ Arvalis grinned. ‘Lilith will protect you.’
About to point out that Lilith hadn’t done such a great job of protecting Hot Wheels, Valeda winced as Bad Karma lashed her skates to her feet tighter than the Argonauts had lashed themselves to their ship masts. ‘If my feet turn gangrenous from lack of circulation, I’m going to sue.’
‘Who’s Sue?’
Valeda sighed. Usually she would have been thrilled to educate Bad Karma about the intricacies of human litigation and get a zap of energy, but the prospect of her imminent death dulled that glow.
Arvalis sidled up to her. ‘C’mon, you’ll only be in until Spark’s caught her breath.’
‘But I only just learned how to skate,’ she repeated.
‘That’s all right. This is just friendly scrimmage.’ Arvalis winked.
A pink-haired demoness skipped by. She stared at Valeda and sang, ‘You’re gonna die.’
Valeda narrowed her eyes at Arvalis.
‘Well, fairly friendly. C’mon, princess, don’t be a quakebuttock.’
Valeda scowled at Arvalis and stood, pleased when her feet remained solidly under control beneath her. Practice had paid off.
‘Ooooh.’ Bad Karma’s eyes went wide. ‘Look who’s replacing the Iron Slut.’
Following Bad Karma’s gaze, Valeda stared at the six-foot-plus she-demon striding past. Above a black Elizabethan collar her regal profile was crowned by a set of impressive horns tipped with silver spikes. The demoness flared her arms out in a long, luxuriating stretch, drawing Valeda’s gaze to the skull and crossbones painted in death metal silver on each midnight butt cheek topping her stilt-like legs.
‘Scurtbeast horns are allowed in scrimmage?’
‘No, she’ll take them off in a sec; she’s just fuckin’ with you. Now, stop checking out her arse and pay attention.’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘Not bad, though, eh?’ Arvalis winked. ‘That’s Queenie.’
‘Queenie?’
‘Queen of Tarts.’
Crazy, muff-loving cows. ‘Do the normal rules of no eye-gouging or weapons apply here?’
‘Same rules as usual.’ Arvalis scratched her chin.
She glanced at Bad Karma and Spark, with their countless scars. ‘Refresh my memory.’
‘No elemental powers, no punching, no eye-gouging, no kicking, no chokeholds, no locks, no fish-hooking, no shivs or other weapons, no biting, and no scratching. No spitting, no cooter stomps and no titty punches.’
‘Right.’
A short, stocky tank of a demoness tramp
ed by, sliding Valeda a snaky look. The Iron Slut. With a curl of her grey lips she revealed teeth of deadly white beauty.
‘Huh.’ Bad Karma’s eyes narrowed. ‘Watch out for her once she gets out of the box.’
‘Why?’ Valeda’s anxious gaze followed the she-demon’s cube-shaped buttocks.
‘She obviously doesn’t like you, and she’s mistress of the sneaky vadge-grab that one.’
Valeda winced. ‘Please don’t explain that to me.’
‘What’s there to fooking explain? Anyway, bitch needs a lava douche for hurting Hot Wheels. Don’t feel bad about hurting her if you have to.’
‘Huh?’
Arvalis frowned. ‘And don’t let her get too close or she’ll turn your mimsy into ground beef. Your team will back you.’
‘Like they backed Hot Wheels?’ Feeling light-headed, Valeda steeled herself. Just think of this as a mission. A mission to avoid any of your body parts becoming tenderised meat.
‘And take this for good luck.’ Bad Karma handed her a pair of small charms on a leather cord.
‘What is it?’
‘Gnome balls. Very lucky. The gnome itself was delicious.’ She grinned. ‘Kiss the gnome balls and ask Lilith for speed and courage.’
Valeda forced a weak smile. How about I ask for deliverance instead?
Arvalis rested her hands on Valeda’s shoulders. ‘Remember, don’t make it your goal to avoid pain or getting hurt, otherwise you’ll never score and you’ll never have any fun. You’ve got to put your fucking game face on, trust your team, and go in for the kill.’
Such reassuring words.
Valeda passed the other team as she followed Arvalis onto the track. They eyed her silently, except for Iron Slut who cracked her knuckles.
Arvalis pulled her aside. ‘Remember, stay low, and forget about getting hurt.’
She nodded. Wait, didn’t she need a mouthguard? A helmet? Body armour? But the others were already lining up. She swallowed and took her place on the line.
***
Adriel finished with the last of the injured and washed his hands. His thigh screamed, stiff where a dread mare had kicked him. But he was too spent to heal himself. This is not sustainable.
