A series of tall, milky-white crystal towers gleamed in the moonlight. Whenever a breeze passed over the plain they could hear a low, lonely whisper passing through the hollow structures. They dropped their bikes and as they slowly approached Perseval saw that the tall, uneven towers joined at a massive, round structure run through with holes. Several broken towers lay on the ground near a splintered wooden wall. They saw several kids getting high within the main structure, their bodies stretched and jagged when seen from the other side. One ran from his fellows, stood near the center, and gave vent to a cry that echoed madly but did not seem entirely out of place on the surreal, ghostly battlefield. The pilgrimage girl passed Simeon and Perseval some kind of red leaves. They ate them, waited, then the stars cast tracers on their vision and they were touched with a sense of quiet depth.
“How did they ever make…” Perseval began.
“That crystal thing,” said Simeon. “It was a flesh demon.”
Perseval’s mouth dropped open quietly.
“This place is where the King first brought his people. This is where they fought the devils, and the ghouls, and the traitors who turned on them... and won. Those towers were once part of a living flesh demon. The King killed it himself, and that winter they ended up hollowing out that monster and eating its corpse.”
“They ate… a demon?”
“You’re damn right they did. They turned the world upside down, Persey. The monsters that we have nightmares about, the things that eat people who dare to go outside of city walls… they ate one of them.”
Perseval stared up at the singing towers, unable to speak.
“That’s what he does,” said the pilgrimage girl. “He’s more than any of us. And he made us more than we were before.”
I have to meet him, thought Perseval, touched to his core by the culmination of his journey. It’s the only way I can understand this place.
Perseval realized that the others were staring at him. He was almost sure they had heard his thoughts.
“I have to,” he said quietly. “I have to meet him.” He closed his eyes because he could hear his mother reading to him, telling him a story about a man who tried to make a deal with a devil but only ended up having his soul and even his body completely devoured. From an early age he had learned that you have to live and be and do things in a certain way. If you don’t…. if you stray from the rules, if you stray from the path… you have to be careful, or else… he realized that he was shaking his head.
“Haven’t you already met him?” said the pilgrimage girl. “Isn’t he this land that you’ve been living in?”
“No,” Perseval said loudly. “This is just something he made. I have to meet the man himself. He’s… I mean, he’s real, isn’t he?”
The girl only looked at him. Perhaps because of the drug he’d taken, the word real sounded foolish in his own ears as well.
“I have to meet him,” he said again. The girl laughed and he shouted, “He’s not a fucking god! I just… I know I’m nothing special, but I want… I just want to…”
“You’re right, Persey,” said Simeon. “It’s not impossible. We don’t have much money left, but... if we can find his friend Zachariah, then we can set up something with the King through him. That’s how it’s usually done.”
“Prometea,” said the girl. “I saw the Philosopher in Prometea.”
Perseval nodded, feeling empty of everything but a quiet sense of resolve. He left the two alone so that he could walk along the hallowed battleground.
Chapter Five
The House of Ishtar
The two companions went to Prometea in the heart of the Black Valley. It was a town built on the arts, and Perseval was struck by its outlandish beauty. Architects competed with one another to see who could eat the best contracts and make a name for themselves. He saw twisted, curving, brightly-colored buildings that looked all the more garish for standing proudly under a vibrant blue sky. Slender trees and flower gardens lined the streets, and there was at least one book store on each corner; the large printing press companies were housed in Prometea, but many people owned their own small presses. Artists and craftsmen showed off their wares in busy markets where Perseval even saw dogmen in garish clothing dancing crazily, and passers-by tossed coins into their upturned hats. He saw people wearing outfits that did not seem to come from any mode of fashion he had ever seen before; women in silky smooth dresses flashing like spinning rainbows next to primitive-chic body paint and ornately robes as well as men in strangely dapper suits or ornamental armor forged for some kind of battle straight out of a comic book. Nearly every restaurant had open air seating on multiple floors, many featuring their own bands all trying to out-harmonize or out-chill or out-blast one another.
A caricature artist worked on the street, and they had to sidestep around his cult of followers who meditated all around him. Perseval was just about to make an exclamation about how amazing Prometea was when the artist looked directly at him – or through him. He caught a glimpse of the man's portraits. They were hideous, seemingly showing people as they truly were, or at least how the bleak artist saw them. Perseval looked in awe at the dandy men and women who stood in a line to have their likeness perverted by the creepy old man. Horrified, Perseval stumbled away and pushed Simeon before him.
Everything was so beautiful until then! he thought. Why can’t artists just make pleasant things?
“Stop shovin’!” said Simeon. “There’s a bar up ahead where Zachariah used to hang out. All kinds of philosophers and freaks go there, but it’s expensive, so we’ll have to get one drink and sip it all day long. Sip is the key word, man – there’s no telling how long we may have to wait to find him.”
The plan of waiting for a single man to enter a single bar in a single town in such a large nation struck Perseval with a feeling of hopelessness. “How do we even know if he’ll help us, Simeon? Can’t we just… you know, find out where the King lives and… I guess, you know, visit him there?”
In lieu of an explanation Simeon simply gave him a strange look. “Zachariah will help us as long as he doesn’t think we’re trying to scam him. Which reminds me – keep your wits about you. Don’t say anything stupid or he’ll flip out. I should have told you, but he’s half-crazy. I know because he used to be my tutor back when he tutored privately. He’s intense. Maybe you should just not say anything. You say stuff all the time that tests my patience, but this guy, he’s…”
“He’s what?”
“Let’s just say he’s not above quoting some ancient philosopher you’ve never heard of while he’s beating the shit out of you in a blacked out drunken rage. He’s not afraid to spend the night tied up by a bunch of Enforcers. But, uh, he really is a decent guy, though.”
***
They did not have long to wait. In fact, Simeon hadn’t even finished telling Perseval about more rules of conduct that could determine their fate when they saw Zachariah strolling past with a piercing gaze. He was a redheaded, bony-faced, bearded man wearing a rough-looking robe over clothes made for living in the wilderness.
“That’s him!” Simeon hissed.
“Let’s go!”
“Wait... I think he might be drunk!”
“So?”
“Man we gotta play this right man!”
Perseval had never seen his friend back down from an encounter. “Come on!” said Perseval, laughing.
“Ch-ch-chill out, man! Let’s hang back!”
They followed him down the busy street. Eventually Simeon said, “Alright, he hasn’t blown up or argued with anybody. Let’s do this.”
Simeon suddenly took off in a dead run toward the philosopher. The intersection was so busy that Perseval was pushed aside and missed the beginning of the conversation, but when he caught up he saw that Zachariah must have recognized his former pupil, for they were speaking amiably. Simeon introduced Perseval to him, but Zachariah must have seen little in Perseval for he only gave him a cursory glance before co
ntinuing on with something about the King’s unwillingness to sponsor a large University system. Perseval listened politely, but could not keep up with the strange, winding argument. He did not even have to nod, for Zachariah did not look at him.
After he wound down, Zachariah said, “I’m going to try to force him to go to Ishtar tonight. If you want, you can try to meet him there.”
“Uh” said Simeon, “do you think they’ll let us in? As we are?”
“There’s a stream that way. Go wash up. You got any money?”
“N-not really...”
“I’ll get you a few drinks, then.”
“Thank you, sir!”
With that, the man nodded and left.
Simeon watched him go, then said, “Man, back in the day, he would have invited us back to his place. We would have drank and talked all day.”
“He’s probably got more important people that he hangs out with,” said Perseval, feeling glum.
“What! More important than us?”
“What’s this Ishtar place, anyway?”
“You don’t know?” said Simeon, smiling wickedly. “The House of Ishtar. It’s a whorehouse, man!”
Perseval’s bit his tongue, then forced a smile. “That’s great!” he said, lying.
***
The House of Ishtar was a massive temple of darkly painted wood illuminated with brightly colored lanterns that cast otherworldly halos onto murals depicting hedonism in somber, sedate tones. In the dead of night Perseval and Simeon made their way toward the entrance. An ascetic holy man approached and begged them not to enter, but Perseval had spent the entire day preparing himself for this, so he ignored the man. Two massive dogmen with fine suits and large sidearms frisked the pair, then opened the large double doors for them.
“A rule,” said one of the giant dogmen. “You rough up a girl, disrespect her, whatever, then we have the right to stomp you.”
Perseval gulped, then nodded. “Is the King here?”
The second dogman nodded. “The King is here tonight. Have fun.”
They entered a large, dark room where dim candlelight cast a concealing glow around people lounging and drinking in huddled groups, their conversations dimmed by loud, slow drums accompanying a singing dogwoman. Perseval was immediately struck by the surreal rush of seeing exposed flesh in darkness. He saw women with red lips, strange makeup that shone in candlelight, glittering dresses or revealing outfits surely inspired by birds of prey that inhabited the forest. He even saw several muscular, nearly naked men reclining with short, squat, balding businessmen, which shocked him terribly. He had heard of such unspeakable things in Pontius, places where men could go and… but the Law was always watching. His legs were frozen in place and he could not breathe.
He realized that Simeon had been speaking to him. “… to keep moving, man. If someone comes up to us and they realize we don’t have any money, we’ll get thrown out. Let’s go to another room and look for Zachariah, come on.”
Simeon dragged him through a labyrinth of hallways and locked private rooms. Beautiful women in garish costumes winked at the boys or laughed at Simeon’s showy bows as he led Perseval, who walked with stiff-knees like some kind of automaton. They saw people lounging around pianos, women laughing at drunken suitors throwing money around. Perseval kept thinking that Ugly pimps would show up and press them into slavery in some awful dungeon deep below ground, as he’d heard in stories from days gone by, but instead only dogmen guards in fine suits with the Ishtar logo eyed them with detached interest.
They passed through many rooms in the House of Ishtar. They came to a porcelain room full of blue light, glass walls somehow containing rainbow-colored fish, a fountain built atop white and black statues of a sea-goat playing with dancing nymphs. Perseval wanted only to sit and catch his breath, but they saw women and men laughing as a drunken playboy fell into the fountain, sputtering but somehow holding his drink aloft and unspilled. Simeon found a few unattended drinks and snatched them, then they chugged them in a darkened hallway.
“You okay man?” Simeon asked.
“Yeah, sure,” said Perseval. Not really, he thought.
They passed by windows that revealed a large, blindingly-bright room. Even after his eyes adjusted to the glare, his eyes could hardly report what he was seeing. The room was covered in dark red sand where women dressed as monsters seemed to be torturing men tied to posts or black metal trees. His breath caught in his throat when he realized that the room was occupied by Ugly, the ancient power that once ran Pontius. But it was not so; it was only a drama, actors in absurd costumes enacting a scene of primitives enslaved or given up to flesh demons for the benefit of incredibly wealthy men who lived in fear of the loneliness at the top of the socioeconomic pyramid.
Simeon dragged him along and they passed through a white room blanketed in thick, white powder, white trees covered in icicles and jewels. More white powder somehow rained down on them from the rafters, where servants slowly beat gongs and pieces of sheet metal thundered. Rotating fans covered light sources, casting them in darkness, then light, such that it seemed the sun was freezing over. They saw naked revelers dancing and pelting one another with clouds of pale dust. Perseval could scarcely understand why someone would even want to be in such a room before Simeon dragged him along.
“This place goes on and on,” Simeon said. “We haven’t even been to the other floors or the basement.”
“Where’s Zachariah? Maybe the King isn’t even here.”
“Oh, he’s here,” said Simeon, eyes glinting strangely. “Can’t you feel him?”
“Don’t tell me you buy into...”
“Into what?”
Wordless, Perseval gestured about, then said, “If the people of Pontius had any idea... any idea, man...”
“Yeah, I know. They’d burn it all to the ground. They already tried once.”
“We’d better just hurry up and find the King.”
“Let’s worry about finding Zachariah first. He promised us free drinks.”
***
They found Zachariah bursting out of a private room.
“Sir!” shouted Simeon, jogging ahead in a manner Perseval found dog-like.
Zachariah whooped and raised his hand. Simeon slapped his palm, then drew his hand back in disgust. Perseval walked behind them as Simeon jogged alongside the philosopher. He was clearly drunk, and even bounced off the corner of a turn in the hall. They went down a short flight of stairs in silence. Zachariah fell loudly, wailing in anguish, then snarled as Simeon tried to help him up. In another dark hallway several young women passed them.
“Hey Professor!” one of them shouted. “Where’s little Haginar?”
Zachariah immediately composed himself. “He’s in the woods climbing trees. You know him!”
“Bring him by sometime!” said another lady. “He’s a doll!”
“He’s not, he’s an animal, but I’ll try.”
Perseval leaned close to Simeon. “Haginar?” he whispered.
“My boy!” shouted Zachariah. “My little kid!”
This mess of a man... is a father? thought Perseval.
“Come on!” shouted Zachariah. “You’re holding me up!”
He disappearing into a winding stairwell. It was very dark, and they heard the man falling and sliding somewhere down below.
Perseval kept his hand on a rail leading downward, straining his eyes, and after a few moments he realized that he was in complete darkness. His footsteps made hardly any sound against the soft wood of the winding stair. He stumbled when he reached a level floor, then groped about in the dark.
“Simeon,” he whispered.
No one answered.
“Simeon!” he screamed, suddenly aware of his own panic, like a jerking knot in his throat. “Where are you?! I can’t see! I can’t see!”
Two strong hands grasped either side of his head. In dim light he saw the bony features of Zachariah, his bleary brown eyes staring into him. In a haze
of fear Perseval heard the man speak, but his lips did not seem to move. “That’s because you’re blind,” he said. Perseval stared back at the man. His face had a primal look in the half-light, raw and unshaped, an ancient ancestor looking at him from across the ages. His eyes were dark in deep hollows under a heavy brow. The hairs on his face seemed like the hide of a beast. But it was the hint of sharp intelligence behind the eyes that truly frightened. What would the man do to him? There was no control, he realized, no control at all, anything could happen, he might even be killed here in the dark, and no one would stop-
Perseval heard the clink of dishes, the hum of conversation, and the strange vision left. Zachariah slowly turned and pointed. He saw an open doorway lit with a pale light. Perseval entered, alone.
The room was long and made of black brick. A long, heavy table was filled with people eating and drinking from dishes made of red gold. The floor was blue marble with veins of glowing purple. Then, in horror, Perseval realized that the walls, the columns, were lined with human thighbones and skulls. A chandelier of hip bones with radial finger-wings hung overhead, burning white phosphorous that dripped onto the table. The women were very elegant, dressed simply with only a few pieces of sparkling jewelry, and young men and women in black robes served up wine and food. Perseval recognized Vallier Rangers from their motley uniforms of black and green. There were others with strange, faraway looks; they were Entertainers, though Perseval would not have known them by that name.
He moved through the room as in a dream. He found Simeon taking a drink from a short girl in a robe. “Persey,” he said. “These are the bones of fighters from Pontius. Smiths and Lawmen who tried to take our land from us.” The serving girl looked at Perseval. Her face was painted white and black, and she extended a tray that carried a goblet of red wine. “Drink with us, Perseval,” said Simeon, and while he knew the boy was his friend, he no longer looked like the one he knew.
Demonworld Book 6: The Love of Tyrants Page 6
