Demonworld

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “They good horses,” he said.

  “Just make sure,” said Wallach.

  They waited. Barkus did not move.

  Wallach saw one Ugly breathing as if running a marathon. This one had killed scores of men and women and never lost a minute of dreamless sleep. He was currently blinking uncontrollably, scratching his nose, tugging on an ear, and probably developing other nervous ticks.

  “Hey,” said Wallach. “Hey, they’re probably okay by us. They probably already heard us, since we nearly ran over them following that trail. Just be still and we’ll be fine.”

  “Demon sometimes draws out a kill,” said the man.

  “Our kind have been okay by them for a long time,” said Wallach. “Be still, we’re fine.”

  Wallach saw fear spreading to the others. Finally he shook his head and made his way further up the rise. He nudged Barkus. Barkus handed over the binoculars, then nodded toward the plain ahead of them.

  Wallach looked, said, “God’s finger.”

  “They’re a sight, aren’t they?” said Barkus. “I counted fifteen, maybe more. It’s hard to tell. When they group together like that, it’s hard to tell where one demon ends and another begins.”

  “They’re gathered around that one,” said Wallach under his breath.

  “It’s dead,” said Barkus. “Feels strange to see one dead like that, doesn’t it? Like catching a priest naked.”

  “The trail the slaves left runs right through here,” said Wallach. “Left of the slope and right through that spot where the demons are gathering. What do you think, Barkus?”

  “If they don’t see us moving slaves, or if they can tell there aren’t that many of us, they might attack. We can’t trust ’em. They’re smart, you have to respect that in the wild. But they’re viciously stupid, and you have to respect that, too.”

  “They had to have heard the horses earlier. They must know we’re here.”

  Barkus suddenly grabbed the side of his own head and scratched roughly.

  After a pause, Wallach said, “There might be some that’s okay by our kind. Still, I think we should get out of here, go around them, and pick up the trail... you okay?”

  Barkus scratched at his head faster now, and hissed through his teeth. “What are you saying?” he said roughly.

  “I said we should ride by them,” said Wallach, “but first let’s-”

  “Not you,” said Barkus. “Shut up!”

  Wallach looked at him angrily. Barkus’s hand stopped, but he gripped at his hair and ear. “How do you know my name?” he said, and his voice was low, gravelly.

  Wallach moved his jaw, stared his master up and down.

  “Why... me?” said Barkus.

  Wallach looked through the binoculars, then back to Barkus.

  “How can I trust you?” said Barkus.

  “The hell, man?” said Wallach. “Who are you talking at?”

  Barkus’s jaw tightened suddenly, and he said, “I’ll come, but I want to bring my men with me.” He waited, then nodded.

  “What was that about?” said Wallach.

  Barkus laughed nervously, said, “Told you I’d show you the world, didn’t I, Wally?”

  “Shit!” said Wallach.

  “Pack your bags,” said Barkus, “cause we’re about to meet the devil his self.”

  ***

  The killers bound their faces with shirts and bandannas, then held hands like children. Barkus led them. His men were willing to follow him into Hell. He alone could hear the small voice, and he alone would carry the burden of seeing the place of mystery where they would go.

  They stumbled over a field of stones. The heat inside their masks was unbearable. Many thought on their death-vows in order to keep up their courage. My hands belong to the Ugly. I am the weapon of the Living Scar. I am a slave, I am the master of my pain. The sheep will do anything to avoid pain. My master who feeds me is the master of pain. My hands belong to the Ugly…

  Wallach trusted his lord, but he knew that he was more sensible than Barkus. Wallach’s heart was full of turmoil. They passed into a shadow and the air cooled; they could feel moisture on their skin. Wallach felt something like wings beating, stirring the air.

  “Oh, gods,” said Barkus. His footsteps faltered and the line shuddered. One man removed his blind. His companions heard him spit a string of nonsensical gibberish and the line grinded to a halt.

  “Put it back!” said Barkus. “None of you take your blinds off! Shut your eyes, shut your eyes!”

  The line waited while Barkus rushed back, slapped the man and gave his hand back to his companion.

  “Do what I tell you,” said Barkus, roughly. “We’re welcome here. We are... protected. For now.”

  “Barkus,” said Wallach, “what are you seeing? Are they-”

  “Nevermind,” said Barkus. “Just do as I say.” Barkus spoke again, his voice lowered, and they knew that it was not to any of them that he was speaking.

  Now cold air gripped them, and their sweat sharpened and stung them. They stumbled down into the dark hole, one after another.

  They entered a cold, black hole in the earth. They felt things stirring around them. They heard something wet dripping, dripping, and they trudged through puddles like syrup. A long time passed and the path twisted ever downwards. They lost all sense of direction as they descended into absolute darkness. They heard the whispering of inhuman tongues from strange lips.

  Time was lost in that place. There was only endless cold and the growing sense that if they let go of one another’s hands, then they would be lost forever in the earth, lost among a race of beings utterly alien and wholly without mercy. They clung to one another because they knew the gods of this place were the universe itself, the darkness beyond the fantasy world of the everyday, the cold at the end of the fire, the emptiness between the stars, the stillness at the end of life.

  They heard a clack-clack-clacking sound in the distance, a senseless repetition of something hollow or metallic knocking against something else. The thing grew louder as they approached, then dimmed as they passed it by. More than a few of the men were horrified by the idea that the passages they walked stretched in all directions, an infinite black world lying just beneath the surface of everything they once thought was real, and it was nauseating to know that that world was filled with strange and inscrutable actions repeated endlessly by beings beyond their comprehension. The sound stopped for a moment, then they heard a sliding and senseless bellow, then the sound repeated once more, clack-clack-clack-clack, until they lost it in the distance.

  “Oh, no, no,” said Barkus, stopping suddenly. “Oh, please, guh-give me a blind, too.”

  There was silence as they stood about awkwardly, their heads hunched into their shoulders.

  “Sit here,” said Barkus. “Sit, everyone. Keep your hands pressed to your bodies, don’t touch anything.”

  Something enormous moved nearby, then something wet cracked open, casting droplets of water onto them. They heard deep, labored breathing. Patterns of light flashed against their masks, a sort of visual transmission, but its definition was obscured. The men in front felt Barkus jerk and fall against them, shaking uncontrollably. He spoke but his voice was immediately drowned out by a cacophony of notes blown from organic tubes. They heard a deep, rumbling, barking sound, over and over, and when the sound caught on mucus clogged in the tubes, it was violently cleared by a force that shook the floor and produced a terrible smell of musk and rot. The men fought to keep from throwing up into their masks. The sounds came to resemble human speech, but the voice was deep and came from many sources all working just short of harmony. This went on for a long time before they realized that the sound was the name “Barkus” repeated until it became both a threat and a mantra.

  “Barkus! Barkus! Barkus!” the voice made out of many said. “Barkus! You come in three sets of six. You kneel and make a show of obeisance. But even now you hide thoughts from us! You revile the God you worship!�
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  “N-n-no, Lord!” said Barkus. “We love and fear you! Now and forever, I swear it!” Barkus’s voice was full of fear. It was common among the Ugly to always look for weakness in their leaders so that they could be replaced. Now, in that dark place where they could hear strange things slithering about nearby, none envied Barkus’s position.

  “Forever?” said the voice. “You come to Soul Taker and speak of forever? Your kind live for a moment, alone and lost, then disappear and are forgotten. Only we are forever!”

  “Forgive us, Lord,” said Barkus, and the others could tell by his voice that his face was near the ground.

  “Know you why you come to me?” said the one called Soul Taker.

  “We lost some slaves. There was… a revolt. There was a boy. He made the others fight against us. We were taken by surprise.”

  “You come six, by six, by six, to silence a voice of blasphemy. You come to kill a boy so that the world will be as it once was in your mind. To make all as it should be.”

  The lights in the room shifted, further disorienting the men blinded by their masks.

  “Ah, that’s him!” said Barkus. “That’s him! This is his fault, he’s the one who tricked the slaves into escaping!”

  “So we thought.”

  “We’ve had slaves sneak away before. Some would end their own life… but they never disobeyed like this! The world doesn’t work like that! This is his fault!”

  “All of our eyes are one,” said Soul Taker. “What one sees, another knows. This boy has killed two children of God. This monster has ended the lives of two sweet children who only wanted to dance and play. They only wanted to touch his bare meat and sing a sweet song with him. But this boy lashed out blindly, with hate in his heart.”

  “Lord, my men and I are tracking him. We are only a few hours behind him. I swear to you, we will put an end to him!”

  “You are just and kind, little saint. We know you want to make the world a good place. You have been discussed among us. You may even have a place in the world to come. But your kind have always been cursed to live in a perpetual fantasy, blind and weak, unable even to do the things you will, much less the things you should.”

  Barkus stammered, said, “What do-”

  “Do not speak!” the terrible voice rumbled. “Think you that we do not know that you track the boy and his cohorts for your own personal ends? You pray and say that we know all things, but then you think the workings of your heart are outside of our reckoning! You have in your mind an image of the world and its workings. You consider yourself a master of that world. Now this boy has upset your image of the world, and thus undermined your mastery of it. You cannot abide his existence. You have left your station as a gentle shepherd to track down this wolf. Oh, saint, do you doubt that we know all? Do you doubt that we could kill this single boy in an instant?”

  Barkus stammered a line of nonsense gibberish. The lights in the chamber flashed red and thundered. The voice shouted, “Be still! All of you, grovel! Lose yourself in prayer! I go now to consult the gods themselves. You may yet have a place in this world. Pray that that place is not inside the belly of a child of God!”

  ***

  Through the eyes of another he watched the riders panic. How they argued, bickering like little children. He ran at them. How nice it would be to play with them. To smash them, scatter them!

  “It’s time to form up in a line and start killing these dumb animals that think they rule the world.”

  Such a wicked thing to say! The boy’s face, so cruel. His teeth are straight. The riders form a line. They point their guns. Did they really mean to…?

  His body – it hurt! Pain, pain all over, a cry of warning spread out in a ripple to the others, then darkness as one finger of the thousand hands was cut off…

  Soul Taker rolled the memory about in his hand once again. Such a strange, strange creature. A hateful creature, a product of bad cultivation. Evidence of a garden, somewhere, overrun with weeds. The boy’s face… they had seen that face in another time, another place.

  Soul Taker touched the filaments, white threads spanning the ether, branching, looping, pulled taut.

  The boy stood before broken Eragileak, miserable Eragileak, in a dark tunnel. He held a gun. “One day,” said the boy, “we’re going to do this to all of you.” That face… pure evil.

  No doubt it was a miracle that the Coagulation would soon wipe the world clean of all human dens, for if one boy like this existed, then there must be more. But might they come from one place? Soul Taker touched his face to the fine, slender threads. In a moment he stood before Blindness. A strange combination between those made for thinking and those made for doing, he alone was “nephew”, not “brother”. Soul Taker saw Blindness playing with a mind, pulling and pushing, stripping some layers and reinforcing others. How hard he worked to become what he already was! What a sad little exile!

  Soul Taker stood behind him and grasped the filaments that gave him access. He could smell and see that others greater than himself had already done so. The memories glided along his awareness.

  Humans entered the holy valley. Not the first time this had happened… but these could not take flight. These could not disappear. They could be tracked. Soul Taker reached further into the filaments and saw that Blindness had direct access to the mind of one of those very humans! Soul Taker saw the place called Haven and shuddered, horrified to his very core. To think that such a place could exist! By a trace of subtle, knotted threads he could see that the great ones were discussing the placed called Haven even now. Soul Taker was incapable of taking part directly, but he could crane his head and see down into the depths – inversed, at the peak of something like a flaming mountain – where the thing was discussed.

  He could hear great voices. The boy, the hateful one, was deemed of little importance. The problem was the land, the terrible womb where such a one was created. A place of indescribable blasphemy. It must be destroyed! Unfortunately, many of Soul Taker’s kind were busy gathering for the Coagulation, the great ritual that would end the age of man. Soul Taker saw the discussion move even deeper as still greater voices discussed what could be done to that land. Soul Taker could not visit such a discussion, but he knew, from listening to others, that they agreed that the land of Haven must be found. Even the great ones who participated in the deepest circles only waited for the voice of the one who was greater than they, and whose word was absolute reality.

  The boy had been lost, but had reappeared in Soul Taker’s own territory. The boy was going north, and was no doubt making his way toward the hated land. He could be tracked. Soul Taker plunged as deeply into the discussion as he could, for he could help. The boy could be followed…

  ***

  Barkus led the men in prayer to keep their minds free of the strange place. Their prayers were interrupted by Wallach’s cries of “Fiat Noctis!” and “Morte Fidelis!” that strengthened their resolve. One man was near tears because some small, strange creature was licking the drops of sweat as they trickled out from under his mask. The worst part was that the creature hummed as it licked.

  After an hour or more of this torture, the tunnel shivered and the voice returned.

  “I have gone down to the shining lands,” said the voice, “and in a ring of fire we discussed the trouble this boy has given you.”

  Barkus bowed low and said, “Thank you, Lord!” for he had grown fearful that the demons were going to eat him and his men. Surely this meant they would be spared?

  “Listen well, Barkus! This boy was produced in a refuge of pure evil on an island far away. Just as your heart yearns for the destruction of this boy, so do we. But do you know that he has already spirited himself away in a ship? Can you track a man’s footsteps in the water?”

  Barkus heard Wallach shifting his weight, uncomfortable with the statement. Barkus had worked with Wallach for years, and he knew what he was thinking: That it would be impossible for the boy to have dragged the
slaves across the wasteland at a dead run, made directly for Sunport, then procured a ship within the span of a few short hours. It seemed unlikely, but Barkus prayed that his second-in-command would keep his mouth shut.

  “We smell your doubt! But, child, what has your doubt gotten you thus far? You doubted the cruelty of this boy. You doubted his rebellious nature. You doubted that he could turn the others against you. You doubted that he could make a fool of you. He proved you wrong.”

  The light on their masks flashed white, and the blind men winced. One of the Ugly, who had released his hand from another in order to pray, quietly pried away the shirt that covered his face. He blinked to regain his focus.

  “This boy is far more clever than you, Barkus. He has taken to the sea. Our eyes have seen his followers eating your horses and laughing at you. Laughing at the smiling fool who thought that his guns were the key to power!”

  The lone Ugly was finally able to see. He kept his head still, but glanced about. They were in a small chamber of natural stone. The chamber was dark except for a blinding light before them. Because of the blinding light, he could only just barely make out strange forms nearby, shifting their weight occasionally. Barkus was bowed with his face to the earth, prostrate before the light. The light was a dancing array of colors that played on the surface of a shifting, milky screen that was visible through a wide crack in the wall. Sometimes the screen disappeared quickly, like a giant eyelid blinking, casting them into temporary darkness.

  As the voice continued to berate Barkus, the Ugly concentrated on the moving screen of light. Sometimes the light formed into solid, moving images, or even strange letters which the Ugly could only barely read. He saw

  FATHER

  GOD IRRATIONAL

  and then there was an image of a large, powerful Ugly, scarred and black-bearded. Three children, all boys, lined up with their pants down so that the powerful Ugly could whip them with a thin cane. Barkus shook. The light formed the shape

  MIDDLE CHILD NOTHING NOBODY

  and he saw one of the boys crying bitterly. The small face enlarged to vulgar proportions on the milky screen. The Ugly saw