The Shivered Sky

by Matt Dinniman

  She was too far away to be easily noticed by the two, but the Wuj left a mental wake in their passage that slammed into her thoughts. She recoiled as the strange, sudden headache washed over her. Cries rose from all around. The wild red and black manes of the Wuj disappeared into the crowd as the pain in her skull dissipated.

  It was said if one spent too much time in the presence of a Wuj, her brain would become hardened like clay, permanently frozen in the pain she felt in her moment of death. And Wuj could see thoughts, too. Only smaller demons, like the Mites, could withstand their presence. Even the Wuj sitting on the Council of Twelve had to be contained within a shield.

  She couldn't return to her quarters. Any one of her non-Charun neighbors would gladly turn her in to gain favor. Would they be watching the homes of her Charun sisters? Yes. They probably would be.

  A group of three Dahhak floated nearby. They prayed. She clicked her beak, watching them.

  * * * *

  Indigo watched silently as the ragtag group lined their weapons and equipment on the ground. Several guns, devices of unknown use, suits of armor, and a whole lot of junk were piled together.

  They had been at the camp for some time now, doing nothing. Tamael waited for Yehppael and the others to come back, but they seemed to have disappeared. It was too far with their meager radio supplies. Many whispered they were probably dead. The humans had once again cost the lives of important angels. Indigo prayed constantly for the safety of Gramm and Dave. And for Rico, too.

  Hitomi sat on the ground beside her. She fiddled with the periscepters. She had found that they could be attached to each other, to make a longer stick. They still worked when they were together, but the beam wasn't stronger or wider or anything. She seemed to think it was a sort of puzzle, and if she had all of them, maybe they would do something different.

  A muscular male angel stood forward. He was bigger than most of the others, but he was still an engineer. Earlier, she had overheard another pair of angels call him ‘the archangel.’ Tamael and Yehppael both were archangels as well, but some of the “true Powers,” as Tamael had called them, were normal type angels. The only difference seemed to be their size. The archangels were larger, more attractive. Better made.

  The angel bent down, picked up a hunk of metal that looked like a bent golf club, flicked a switch on it. Smoke rose. He cursed, flipped it off, and tossed it to the ground.

  “We need an imaging crystal,” another angel said. “With the cloaking units, we would be able to create both a visual and radar illusion of anything we wanted. We could duplicate a Dominion transport and sail right past.”

  “They would challenge us via radio,” Tamael said.

  They murmured agreement.

  “But we could still do it,” the muscular one said. “We're just trying to get to the other side of the city. With a single crystal we could make an illusionary transport. I have enough parts for a radio. Maybe we can fashion a drone that could listen in if we're being hailed. We can't answer, but we'd know if they were suspicious.”

  Tamael snapped her fingers and turned to Indigo. “Your tale of your arrival here. Didn't you discover an anima bot at the beacon?”

  “You mean the suitcase with the holograph?” Indigo said. “Yes, but it blew up.”

  “That's okay,” a fat angel said quickly. “We designed them so the imaging crystal would stay intact. Usually.”

  “You ask too much,” a female angel said. It was the same one who had wanted to shoot Indigo earlier in the tree. “The Hashmallim sent a party to find the beacon from which the humans came, and they never returned.”

  “I agree,” another said. “I do not wish to ever see that graveyard.”

  “We have no choice,” Tamael said. “We'll divide into two teams. One will stay here and begin to fashion the supplies we need for our trek. The others, volunteers,” she drew out the word, looking over them, “will come with me to seek out the beacon and the parts we need.”

  She turned to Indigo. “You two come with me. I'll need your promise you won't attempt to run off, however. Otherwise I'll be forced to bind you.”

  “We won't,” Indigo said, glaring at her.

  “The word of a traitor is useless,” the female angel said, glowering. “I do not trust them left alone with you, Colonel.”

  Tamael nodded, a slight smile on her lips. “I don't plan on leaving them alone with me, Leefa. That is why you must come. And anyone else who volunteers.”

  The angel scowled, then picked up a gun from the pile on the ground.

  Several others stepped forward.

  “Very well,” Tamael said. “Everyone going on the patrol arm yourselves. We leave as soon as possible.”

  * * * *

  They were on the edge of the market. They both stopped to take it all in. Dave sucked in air heavily. The colors, the smells were staggering. His senses came alive.

  “Move,” Gramm prodded.

  The road led straight toward the Spire, but from here there appeared to be no entrance to the great building. Gramm's sense had been correct before. It was their only guide. They had no choice but to trust it.

  The noise was deafening. Creatures yelled back and forth at each other, haggling over prices. They spoke in a demon language. It was much different than the angel speech. It was abrasive on the ear, and it sounded like the words would hurt his throat if he attempted them.

  A hunchbacked frog creature tended to the first booth. He sold plucked and skinned birds that he was roasting over a spit. The booth had a yellow and white awning and a crest on the front of a three-headed chicken. A line of customers pushed and shoved each other as they waited for a roasted bird. Many of them were the dark, humanoid demons identical to those who attacked them just outside the forest. The ones Yehppael called “Dahhak.” They seemed to be the most common type.

  There were others, too. A pair of flying snakes with arms conversed with each other, ignoring the shoving match around them. A blue-skinned woman demon with enormous boobs talked with a group of short, feline creatures who stood on two legs. Clouds of tiny demons buzzed about in swarms.

  Human slaves were everywhere, too, and on them Dave focused his attention. They all wore the dark cloak. They walked quickly, heads down, and they traveled in singles, pairs, or more. Some carried great heaps of food on flat plates on their heads, or sacks of something under each arm or over a shoulder. A few pulled carts behind them, like they were simple beasts.

  The terror had to be obvious on his face, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He expected a hand or claw on his shoulder at any moment.

  The other booths were much the same. They sold various foods, each operated by one or two demons. There were frog men, lizard men, medusa creatures with worms that thrashed and snapped at each other for hair, giants with smooth skin and colorless eyes like pools of milk. Each booth had a colorful awning with a different crest on the front. Sometimes lines of booths bore the same crest, but often it was just one or two. With every step, a new scent assaulted Dave's nose. Some were pleasant, like hamburgers grilling, or hotdogs. Then something rancid would waft by, and he had to hold his breath to keep from gagging.

  To his relief, they didn't attract notice. Everyone, even other slaves, ignored them.

  A group of about twenty humans, all muscular Asian-looking men, laden with a bronze statue of a crane passed right by. He tried to make eye contact with them but they wouldn't raise their eyes. They grunted with effort.

  There was something odd about these particular humans. They were zombies. Totally emotionless. Did their owners do something to make them this way? Lobotomize them? Or was this just the result of long, hard labor? He had the urge to reach out and shake them. Wake up, he'd cry. Come with us. We'll set you free.

  A booth caused Dave to pause. It was larger than most, almost three times the size of the one selling roasted bird. The proprietor was a floating black shadow with no legs, like an evil genie. The demon eyed them suspiciously. Dave
saw what the creature sold. He had a sudden urge to vomit.

  A fat female human was impaled on a vertical spit, slowly turning in an enclosed oven with a glass door. She was shaved bald. The metal rod went right up between her legs and came out the back of her neck. Half the skin and meat on her left leg was gone, and most of her right side was sliced away. Black, red, and white bone could be seen through the gaping wounds. Her skin bubbled in the heat.

  The woman blinked.

  “Oh dear God,” Gramm said, under his breath.

  Dave did everything he could to fight the urge to scream and run.

  The shadow looked away from them to take the next order. He opened the door to the oven, whistling a happy tune, and sliced a hunk off her with a curved blade. She screamed, but her voice was weak, barely audible over the din. The shadow slammed the door, cutting off her cries. He plopped the meat onto a metal plate and topped the steaming dish with a handful of onions and red spices. The line here was also long, and the customers were other shadows like the proprietor, the scorpion demons, or vulture monsters that stood eight feet tall with enormous wings folded on their backs.

  Next to the booth were several cages. Inside each one was crammed a naked woman. Each one was overly plump, and the cages barely contained their girth. They were obviously alive, but each one had a black sack over her head. As he watched, a tiny rat-sized demon buzzed up, and with a tiny black blade, neatly cut the finger off one that was sticking out the top of the cage. Inside, the woman cried as gouts of red blood gushed from the wound. The shopkeeper yelled at the demon, shaking his fist.

  Then there was the slave market. A low stage stood at the end of a clearing, and a diverse crowd milled about, talking, joking with one another. A line of humans was set up on stage, all completely naked. About half of them were collared and bound with shackles. The others simply stood there, the same glazed look in their eyes. Some demons poked and pinched them, looking at their teeth or arm muscles.

  Dave caught the eye of a slave. It was a girl in the middle of the chained humans. She was about ten years old, and tears streamed down her face. She was not from the same world as them. Her face was too thin, and her eyes were almost on the sides of her head. She had black hair all the way down to her tiny waist. Her lips trembled.

  “Help me!” she screamed, her voice amazingly loud and shrill. Dave and Gramm stopped, frozen. She yelled directly at them. She spoke the angel language. “Please! I want to go home.” The winged cat men descended on her.

  “Ignore her,” Gramm hissed. “There's nothing we can do. Nothing.”

  “We can't just let this happen,” Dave said. He felt sick. The image of the woman on the spit being carved wouldn't go away. He found the periscepter handle under his robes. The demons jabbed her with sticks, which let out a loud electrical crackle. The girl screamed as a puff of black smoke rose from her skin. Some of the demons laughed. A few others were regarding Dave and Gramm curiously.

  A blue female demon stepped forward and handed the slaver a few coins. The crying girl was unhooked and shoved at the demon. The girl bolted, but the demon was too quick. The demon grabbed the girl by the hair, and she was yanked backwards, sobbing. The crowd whooped. The demon took flight, the girl still clutched by the hair. She wailed as she disappeared into the sky, spinning like a mad pinwheel.

  “Come on,” Gramm said quietly. They walked quickly until finally they came to the edge of the market. The Spire of Jhunayn towered over them like a giant Christmas ornament. If there was an entrance, however, it wasn't on this side. There was nothing before them but wall.

  “What now?” Dave asked.

  “I ... I don't know,” Gramm said, a panicked edge to his voice. “This is strange.”

  “You don't know? Well what is your navigational thing telling you?”

  “To keep going forward, through the wall.”

  A group of four Dahhak were about fifty yards away, talking amongst themselves and constantly looking at the two. The situation suddenly seemed more dire. “Maybe it means go around?”

  “Maybe, but before it always gave me a direct path. If we had to go around something, it told me how to go around. It's very precise.”

  “Then there's a secret door,” Dave said. “Or something.” The Dahhak approached them. “Oh, crap.”

  “Blots neegron! ” one of the Dahhak barked. Another pulled its gun. They were still several paces away, but they walked briskly now. Other demons took notice as well. “Blots neegron! ”

  “Shit,” Dave said. “What do we do?”

  He turned, and Gramm was gone! The Dahhak started shouting. Where did he go? Dave backed up. All four of the Dahhak had their weapons out now, and all four of them were shouting at him. He pulled for one of his periscepters.

  “Die!” he screamed, wildly thinking that was something Rico would say. He squeezed the handle. The now-familiar punch-in-the-stomach hit him, but something pulled at his shoulders too. He fell backwards into the wall, through the wall.

  He was transported to a small, square room. The outside sounds and smells abruptly cut away, causing him to be disoriented. He was on top of Gramm and he rolled away. The room was roughly the size of his cell at the angel base. And like his cell, there were no doors. Only four stone walls, and an eerie light without a source. He felt dizzy and sick, the periscepter still stuck in his hand.

  “Where are we?” he asked, standing up.

  “Look,” Gramm said, pointing to a small plaque on the wall. It was the only adornment in the whole room. It was posted over the wall he had come through:

  Welcome to the Spire of Jhunayn.

  Test your skills! Test your memory! The labyrinth will excite you! The labyrinth will mystify you! Can you encounter the exit? Many will try. Few will succeed. You may exit in shame through this wall. If you find yourself lost, go right seven times from anywhere in the labyrinth, and you'll find yourself again in this room.

  -Jhunayn.

  The angel text was a strange, cursive language, written right to left. Somehow he knew it. Like he had been reading it his whole life. “So this is a maze?” Dave said. His head was swimming. “Like a carnival ride?”

  “I don't know,” Gramm said. “I just touched the wall and fell in. I was facing that plaque. I reached through the wall in front of me and pulled you in. It's really strange. Like a puzzle.” Gramm looked down at the periscepter in Dave's hand, and his eyes grew wide. “Did you...”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit! Why didn't you say so? We aren't safe here.” He grabbed Dave's arm and pulled him toward the wall to the left. “It's this way.” He disappeared through the wall. The stone really wasn't there. Just an illusion. Like a house of mirrors.

  A Dahhak head cautiously peered through the stone wall opposite the plaque as Dave went into the next room. The barrel of its gun poked through too. Dave raised the periscepter, but he couldn't get it to work this time. The Dahhak shouted, and he fired his weapon, but it was aimed forward, not in Dave's direction. The bolt went right through the wall. The Dahhak screamed, falling forward.

  The sound was cut off the moment Dave went all the way through. They were in a room identical to the last. But this time there was no plaque. “They're coming,” he said.

  “Left again.” They went through to find another identical room. Then forward, then right. Then right again. He soon became hopelessly lost. All the rooms looked the same, and as far as he knew, they were going into the same room over and over. Then he saw one room with a red arrow painted on the ground. Gramm ignored it and went left of the sign. Another had a yellow floor. But most were the same. A few times they heard shouting, and once it was awfully close like it was in the next room. But Gramm cautiously went in the direction of the voices, and the demons weren't there. There were gunfire sounds too, but nothing reached them. Though one room smelled of smoke and fire, like a bolt had passed through only seconds before.

  They turned back the way they had come three times in a row, and the
last time they came to a small pentagon-shaped garden with a red tile fountain in the center. The foliage was overgrown, but the water still bubbled. A fish skeleton, about the size of a cat, was caught on the edge of the water mechanism, waving lazily like a flag. A small bench sat amongst the high grass, inscribed with: “Take a rest if you must.”

  “How much further?” Dave asked, breathless.

  “I don't know.”

  The distant sound of an explosion vibrated the floor. “We better get there fast.”

  Gramm nodded. They went through the wall behind the bench. After about ten turns, they came to the garden again. “Oh no,” Dave said.

  He remembered Yehppael's words. If they were in trouble, they could contact him by speaking his name twice. “Maybe we should call the Colonel?”

  “He can't help us here. Even if he wanted to, there's nothing he'd be able to do.”

  Then he realized this room was different. The giant fish was still alive in this fountain. It was a translucent purple, and it shimmered like stained glass caught in sunlight. It was thin and bony. It looked at them mournfully as it nibbled on some foliage that had overgrown into the water.

  “Poor guy,” Dave said. He bent the stem of a big fern so it dipped into the water. The fish darted toward the plant, inspecting it. They continued. A few more turns, and Gramm stopped. It was another small room. “Okay,” he said. “Take my wrist.”

  “What're we doing?” Dave asked, grabbing onto Gramm with his left hand.

  “Through the corner. I think it's going to be tight.” He went to the right corner of the way they had come, and he squeezed himself in, like it was a really close fit. Dave followed, and he felt as if he was caught between two walls. He lost grip with Gramm's wrist. He panicked slightly, but then he popped out on the other side.

  He and Gramm stood before a group of six angels, each one with a massive gun pointed directly at them. Five of the angels were males just like all the others they'd seen, but not as muscular or battle-worn. They were shorter than Gramm, too. About the same height as Dave. Effeminate almost with flowing white robes. Though not so much so with the giant guns in their hands.