The Labyrinth of the Dead

by Sara M. Harvey

  Portia brought the axe up into a defensive position, hands loose on the handle and wings arched back for balance. "Good. I don’t fancy being harmed."

  So, it comes to this at last, Portia thought ruefully. And Imogen nowhere in sight to see how long I staved off this fight. She readjusted her grip on the axe handle, marveling at how natural it felt in her hands as the coin tugged and twisted.

  "You have wasted your life in Penemue. A Gyony, of all the idiotic things." Belial shook her head in disbelief. "It is your destiny to be great, can you not feel that? Feel the weight of power on your soul? And what do you do with that? Protect little mortals who are likely to die anyway. Why bother saving a creature with so little to live for? Besides, you have a difficult time enough keeping your own kind in the living world."

  Portia bristled. "It was my choice to serve. I took an oath and I would not break it. Not for you; not for anyone." Not even Imogen, she realized, but she could not bring herself to imagine truly testing that resolve.

  The demon queen laughed, throwing her head back and showing those ivory teeth so hooked and sharp. "Choice? Oh, no. No, no, no. So charming that you think you had any choice at all. You were bred, you were taken, and you were kept, my dear, just like all the others. Your will meant nothing to the Grigori, and still means nothing. You had something that they wanted and they took you as easily as plucking an apple from a tree."

  "Pluck this!" Portia swung the axe. The hammer side struck a hard blow across Belial’s throat and the underside of her jaw. She fell backward, landing sprawled on the floor. She brought the blade side hard into the queen’s torso, landing blow after blow, cleaving the bare porcelain flesh. Belial writhed and screamed. Clawed fingers slashed at Portia’s arms, drawing rivulets of blood. She arched her back and let out a bellow that knocked Portia back.

  Belial dragged herself to her knees, one hand clutched over her belly, barely keeping its contents contained while purple-brown blood pooled beneath her. "That was a poor decision," she rasped.

  "It was the only one left to me. I don’t intend to die here. And I will kill if you stand in my way. In fact, we’re all really better off if I kill you, regardless."

  "You think in absolutes, damn your Gyony training. Nothing fits so easily into categories of black or white, good or evil. Portia, you are not good. You are born of deception and cunning and blood, yet you cast yourself in the mold of hero, of savior, of saint. You and I are the same, Portia: ambitious, powerful, steadfast."

  "That may be true. In fact, I rather think it is. But you change sides too quickly for my pleasure. Fawning over me until Kanika came upon us, and now you cast your lot with me again because she defies you? Make up your mind, madame."

  The air around them growled with Belial’s temper, and as the sound reverberated through the walls, something deep in the recesses of the building rumbled as if in reply. Belial rose to her feet and the air shimmered with rage around her.

  "How dare you," she snapped, her eyes red as the rising harvest moon. "I offer the world to you—not only this one, but all of them!"

  "What did you offer Nigel? Or Kanika? Or Imogen?" Portia gripped the axe handle in her hands and felt a tremor deep in the wood. "You are a deceiver through and through, spouting whatever lies suit you best. I have had enough! You are keeping me from the one thing I came here to do."

  "You will not take her."

  "Try and stop me."

  With her wings spread taut, the demoness let loose a scream that brought down tiles from the ceiling. Portia flinched at the sound and folded her wings around her, forming a barrier that glowed blue-gold with her might.

  Belial’s eyes were squeezed shut and her jaw unhinged to let out the enormous cry. The gashes to her torso were now nothing more than lumpy scars that still writhed as they healed.

  "I will not die here," Portia murmured, as if to remind herself. The warm light kindled quickly in her breast, the power coming faster and easier than it ever had before. It felt as if Fereshte sought to remind her as well. She felt the glow suffuse her as she lowered her wings and stood amid the tumult of noise without hearing any of it.

  She swung the axe again, flaring out her wings as a counterbalance, an action that was becoming second nature. The weapon sliced through Belial’s throat with some difficulty. The tendons and muscles were as tough as the roots of a tree. She could not cut entirely through, but the hideous sound dissolved into wet choking. Fresh blood poured over Belial’s naked body, staining her perfect skin as it flowed.

  Portia swung again, aiming to sever the head entirely, but the demoness was too quick and evaded the attack. Belial sank her fingers into Portia’s calves, the sharp golden talons sinking right through the sturdy twill of her trousers and into the flesh. The pain seared through her and took her breath away. Panting, Portia tried to pull away, but her legs felt too heavy and thick to move. the sensation began climbing her thighs, turning her slowly to stone.

  Belial’s face had transformed into something grim and menacing. The wound in her throat lashed itself back together tendon by vein, and her lips pulled back in a sneer. "I do not need all of you, daughter-that-once-was, just your heart and that piece of bone that bears the mark."

  Portia’s knees went numb and immobile. "And I have no need of you at all, any part of you."

  She dropped the axe and clutched Belial’s wrists. She crushed the bones in her grip and drove her energy into them, remembering the reapers. One by one, long, sharp bone spurs erupted from Belial’s milky pearl-white flesh, tearing open raw wounds that bubbled with blood. The demon queen jerked back but Portia held fast, gripping her tightly. Slowly, the spurs crested along Belial’s extremities like waves, first up her arms, then down her legs. They sprouted with increasing speed from each rib and jutted down her spine. Belial’s inhuman wail shrieked through her mutilated vocal chords, ringing with pain and outrage. She thrashed in Portia’s grasp, stretching her mouth wide enough to devour Portia’s head in one swallow.

  "Clever," she moaned. "Clever bitch. Too much like your father. We could have him back again, you know. We could cleave him free of his bonds." She glanced between the axe and Kanika, who knelt behind them in rapt attention, Portia’s satchel clutched in her small hands.

  Portia bore down, opening up recesses of power that she had never before tapped. Curls of rancid smoke rose up from between her fingers and she drove wave upon wave of energy into the demoness.

  Growing desperate, Belial threw herself onto Portia, knocking them both to the floor and pinning her to the marble. She thrashed against Portia’s body, seeking to pierce her with the bone spurs. And as she writhed, her body began to lengthen and morph into something serpentine and inhuman. Portia fought to keep hold, but the queen’s wrists were turning soft and supple, like eels, with flesh just as slick.

  The stone flesh of Portia’s legs rendered her immobile. Belial began to slither free and Portia had no way to pursue her. With eyes closed, Portia concentrated, driving the sharp points of bone deeper and deeper into Belial’s flesh, teasing them into hooks and barbs with serrated edges that tore skin and sinew. When the spurs began to burst forth from Belial’s jaw, cheekbones, and forehead, the struggle lessened considerably, but the keening began.

  A shudder passed once more through the palace.

  "What will it benefit you to strike me down?" Belial howled through bloody, clenched jaws. She bucked and writhed, desperate to get free.

  "For me? No benefit, really. Save that it will take you out of my way, out of the world’s way, and that is all I need. I only came here for Imogen."

  The laughter was guttural and harsh. "You are an ignorant and misguided fool. And an idiot not to think past the precious and useless soul of your ladylove. Have you not found your road too easy? You set foot in the shadow-side and you find yourself at once with a guide, a weapon, a quest, a path. When I saw her, I knew at once you would come looking. I made sure to steer your steps to my door. She stood before me in this hall,
you know."

  "Yup. Saw that."

  "So, you know, then, what I took from her?"

  Portia flinched.

  Belial nodded toward the axe lying a few feet away from them. The shadow-gold coin tied to the leather strip was glowing softly and sliding across the floor toward Portia.

  "What have you done? Tell me!" Spurs erupted with gouts of flesh and blood from the bones of Belial’s wings, splattering Portia’s face.

  The demon queen laughed, part cackle, part cough. "I did not take much. Just enough for one little coin. Zepar, on the other hand," the axe rattled against the marble tiles as she spoke her brother’s name, "he paid dearly for his betrayal. He played favorites, choosing Nigel over us both. Fathers and sons." She shrugged. "But when Nigel came crawling back to me, his body killed, his soul weakened, suddenly his father was not so appealing any longer. And not so intact, either. Your Imogen, I will admit she makes almost a worthy mate for you."

  The axe clamored now, knocking against the floor angrily.

  Belial turned toward it. "You had your opportunity, Zepar! You were supposed to help guide her, to gauge her power, and to help me subdue her. And yet again you abandon me, you faithless, opportunistic bastard!"

  The axe spun across the marble tiles, nicking Belial’s shoulder before coming to rest in Portia’s palm. She did not want the thing, had not wanted it since the beginning, but there it sat in her hand, offering her the means to escape.

  "I don’t trust you," Portia said to it, and it quivered ever so slightly.

  "Ruined!" Belial shrieked. "I am ruined by the lot of you!" She reared up, her grotesque face perched on a dragon-like body streaming crimson tears. Her clenched fists beat at the air, and she drove her own long nails into her flesh and screamed in frustration.

  With legs still encased in stone, Portia pulled herself painfully to her knees and brought the blade up into Belial’s belly. It wedged deeply into the flesh and stuck fast. Portia could not remove it.

  "You cannot kill me, Portia Gyony." Belial reached out and removed the axe, casting it aside. "You have been a very naughty child! I have offered you all the power of the under-side, and this is how you repay me? I shall have to have you punished, my dear girl."

  Belial brought one long, haunched leg up and sank sharp toe talons into Portia’s thighs, wrenching them through both flesh and fabric and the magic that made them as immobile as rock. Portia pulled herself back, sending blood splashing across the demoness’ body. It scalded where it landed and Belial hissed, covering herself with her leathery wings.

  Portia struggled to her feet, dragging one leg beneath her, then the other, and attempting to lever herself above them. Blood streamed from the wounds in her thighs, dripping into her boots and making a sticky puddle around her feet. But as it flowed, the stoniness softened and little by little Portia regained both sensation and movement. "You have pulled my strings long enough, Belial. Everything I have lost in this life has been because of you. Lady Hester, Imogen, even Nigel. I can’t even imagine what kind of person he might have been had it not been for your meddling and shaping and trying to create us in your warped image!"

  "Everything you have lost? No, my darling. Everything you have, everything you are, is because of me. I gave it all to you. I sent Zepar to your mother, I made sure the Grigori found you. I made you! By all rights you belong to me!"

  "I will find a way to destroy you, mark my words."

  "You will not. You cannot."

  "No, but I can." The voice surprised them both. Deadly calm, it did not sound a bit like Kanika.

  Belial stiffened and sank to the floor, the bone spurs snapping off as she fell first to her knees, and then collapsed with her face knocking thickly against the black marble. A small Blessedwood stake protruded from her back, heavy with the odor of salvation flower and myrrh. Coppery-purple blood gushed from her wound and began to weep from her eyes, ears, and mouth. The demon queen writhed, a scream gargling wetly in her mouth. She bent her elbows in the opposite direction, but was unable to reach the stake. Frothing blood clotted in her long golden hair, leaving sopping brush-strokes across the tiles.

  "Kanika." Portia gasped out the name, exhaustion robbing her of the strength to speak above a whisper.

  The girl looked up. Her grey eyes gleamed familiar but her smile was terrifying. "I almost couldn’t manage the spell," she said, as if they were chatting over tea. "You lost the cemetery moss back at the docks. And the virgin’s hair is missing, too. But no matter, really, it is actually better this way. She’s weakened, but still potent enough to be worth my while." Her grin widened and her canine teeth extended into long, vampiric points. Kanika crouched beside Belial’s body, stroking her forehead almost tenderly for a moment. "Thank you, Portia. You did everything you ever promised me you would do." Glancing up through velvety lashes, her face lit up with a chilling smile that soured Portia’s stomach. "You promised me your aid once, not so long ago, but it seems like a lifetime ago now. I suppose that it was, all things considered. Not that it matters, now. This wouldn’t be possible if it hadn’t been for you—none of this."

  Kanika bent down and ran her ever-lengthening tongue through the congealing blood, sweeping a clean track through it. She coiled the disturbing extremity back into her mouth and savaged Belial’s nearly-healed throat until it, too, ran violet.

  The axe vibrated and the coin pinged against the floor. Portia gave Belial and Kanika a wide berth and retrieved it. She held it, ready to strike, but her muscles hitched and tightened. Something kept her from striking.

  The girl sat up, licking her lips and snickering. "You can’t hurt me, Portia. You wouldn’t. You promised to protect me."

  Portia’s breath hissed out from between her teeth and she lowered the weapon. Kanika grinned and returned her attention to Belial, leaving her back exposed, her inky curls falling away from the nape of her neck. Portia stood, rooted to the spot.

  Run, the axe seemed to urge. Run, damn you!

  Kanika continued to drink hungrily, slurp after gulp. She paused once more and caught Portia’s eye. "You really have given me what I want, Portia dear, and now I’d like to return the favor."

  "And how is that, pray tell?" Portia eased away slowly.

  "What do you most want?" Kanika wiped her mouth daintily with her fingertips. "How silly of me, I know what you most want. And I can give her to you."

  "I can go to Imogen myself."

  "Not if I consume her first." Kanika’s cold, grey stare bore straight through Portia. "I know where she is. Do you think you can beat me to her?" She smiled. "That would be a lark wouldn’t it? On your mark, get set, go!"

  Belial moaned and Kanika turned her attention back to the demoness. The satchel had been dropped in the middle of the floor, forgotten, and Portia pawed through it eagerly until she found the black velvet bag. She crammed it deep into the front of her corset, taking comfort in the press of it against her skin. Behind her, Kanika still drank noisily as Belial struggled and mewled pitifully.

  "Portia Gyony." The demon queen’s voice was the scrape of bone on bone. Her skin pulled taut against Kanika’s devouring mouth. "Like a daughter to me. Only you can save me from this fate, my child. I will be your slave. Save me, save me like you have saved so many others." She reached out a gnarled hand, still studded with bony spikes, most of them broken and jagged. Her pale skin had lost its luminosity and was beginning to sink into the terrain of her skeleton.

  Portia stepped around her. "No, I can’t help you. I never could. You brought this upon yourself, Belial. You had so many strings to pull that you’ve become tangled in your own web."

  A strong tremor passed through the derelict castle, shuddering through the ground at their feet.

  "The machine," Belial hissed, scraping at the floor. "She is going to take my place as queen, she is going to conquer without me. She does not need me. She needs Imogen. She needs the one who straddles both worlds to open the door. Stop her, Portia," she wheezed with her la
st rattling breath.

  Kanika reveled in the ecstasy of consuming Belial. Portia had seen this before, when Nigel had drained the essence out of Analise. She took what little time this grisly ritual offered her and ran from the hall.

  The herders, Portia saw, still cowered behind a pillar, their lenses focused on her. They regarded each other for a breath of stillness before they came forward, glancing warily toward the throne where Kanika had dragged Belial’s body across her narrow lap to better pull at what little fluid was left in the demoness’ flesh, cradling the queen in a savage embrace.

  The herders touched Portia’s forearms, prodding and pushing her toward the wide entry doors, yet shuffling unwillingly away from their dying mistress.

  "Come with me," Portia ordered them, and they fell in behind her, relaxing into the habit of being under command.

  Drained of blood, Belial looked like an ivory effigy, but Kanika was not finished. Portia knew what came next and she was not keen on witnessing it again. The herders loped close on her heels as she made for the large double doors at the far end of the chamber. Beneath the floor, Belial’s terrible machine groaned ominously. Kanika sealed her voracious mouth over what was left of the queen and breathed in the very last of her essence. A high hum filled the air, rising in pitch until it climaxed into a ringing harmony before shattering into an uneasy quiet. Glancing back, what had been Belial was nothing but a fine golden dust gleaming gritty on the marble floor. Kanika was bent double and panting, blood glittering on her lips. An aura of light and shadow swirled around her, growing stronger, and the ringing began anew, but deeper, more sonorous and somehow much more dangerous.

  An intense quake rocked the building and a deep fissure cracked the floor from end to end. The herders pushed Portia out of the glided throne room and heaved the massive doors closed behind them. As one, they whistled through their masks, calling a pack of dire-hounds to them from the shadows. The tallest of them hooked his ropy, muscled arm around Portia’s waist and whisked her along with him through the receiving rooms and into the decaying foyer.