It was Miss Oliver and her Businessmen who stopped the war. In a plan staggering in complexity that could have failed at a hundred points, they dared to pull all Smith assets out from under them. Bankers emptied their vaults and destroyed Smith legal papers, then hid; suppliers of metal and raw materials disappeared with their goods; many businesses that contracted Smith Copywrights at high prices went underground, sometimes even literally.
Without resources and the means to borrow money, Smith Magi deserted their posts, and vicious Smith Zealots turned on one another. Because Smith credit was no longer any good in Pontius, Smith loyalists took to robbing businesses, and so the Law turned on them as well. Just before King Wodan ordered the creation of a massive boat packed with explosives that he would have sent out with his Slayers straight into Pontius, Foreman Arcturus surrendered, swore that he would never leave his post as head of the Smiths, then put a gun to his head and fired. But the gun was a faulty prototype and exploded; the bullet blasted through the side of the barrel at a wild angle, wounding him terribly, and he lay bedridden and lost in fever dreams for a week before he died.
One city Official gave a tearful speech that he reckoned summed up the hopes and fears of his people: “If only we’d had the resources that the Valliers have… then we could have demolished them.”
Year Nine. Rebuilding began in the Black Valley as King Wodan once again sat on the Throne of Wood. Immediately after the war Wodan turned out Mallery and the representatives. “Congratulations!” he said. “Now you can return to whatever productive work you were doing before.” As Mallery sketched his ultimate speech, which would vilify Wodan’s acts on the field of battle and ask serious questions about whether or not he might be a war criminal, Wodan abused his power as King and looked at the bank accounts of all the representatives. They complained surprisingly little when he took back the tax money that most of them had stolen from the state, and the rest of their money as well, and used it to pay for a series of celebrations throughout the Valley that went on for weeks, as well as several orphanages for those who had lost more than just money during the war.
Mallery was the worst offender of all the thieves. Instead of imprisoning him, Wodan told him that the next time such a thing happened he would kill him. Mallery tore up his magnum opus speech and took some time away from speculative political philosophy and utopian dreams.
Businesses reopened in Pontius and the Law turned its attention to quelling the small gangs. The Smiths were broken. The new Foreman, a tactful man who had kept his mouth shut during the infighting, released the ban (really a monopoly) on forbidden technology in exchange for a few meager loans. Smith Copywrights worked alongside common men to make and sell technology, and now other businesses could buy blueprints and do the same. In an effort to raise more money, the new Foreman turned the Smith worship of Epimetheus into an all-inclusive popular religion. Smith Zealots preached the message that all are equal in the Machine afterlife.
In the Black Valley, Jarl the Entertainer, the official biographer of the King, wrote a dramatic history of the war entitled The Land of Heroes which was harshly criticized in intellectual circles because, technically, it was poorly written. But it was still greatly enjoyed by the free people of the Black Valley.
Chapter Seven
Perseval’s Confrontation
They left the House of Ishtar and walked through a dark forest. Perseval walked alongside young Rangers, strange old men, several young ladies that wore traveling boots under their fine dresses, with King Wodan and Zachariah in the lead. Perseval sometimes heard Mallery complaining in the rear, and Perseval was not altogether sure why he came. Eventually they ascended a hill. Their lamps seemed to leave a greasy rainbow trail behind them, and when Perseval craned his head upward he swore that he could see the stars rotating through breaks in the foliage. Confused, he talked to Simeon, who admitted that he’d slipped something into the last drink they’d had together, but he wasn’t even sure what it had been.
They passed by a group of men and women dressed in furs, chanting in the distance as they danced around bonfires.
“What are they doing?” Perseval whispered.
Somehow King Wodan heard him. “They’re bear worshippers,” he said.
Encouraged, Perseval said, “Why do they worship bears?”
“Not just any bear.” Wodan turned back slightly as he led them, smiling that all-knowing smile of his. Mallery grumbled dramatically. “There’s a special bear in the Valley,” Wodan continued. “He’s as smart as any human, and some people worship him. Maybe they enjoy seeing something like themselves replicated in nature. Who knows? But they don’t bother the bear, so I don’t bother them.”
He seems to know an awful lot about an obscure sect. “Do you worship it?”
“I don’t worship my friends,” said the King.
Perseval looked at the long, curving sword slung on the King’s back, and thought back to an incident at the House. When those who were leaving went to gather their weapons from the House guards, the King went behind the counter himself. A young man moved to pick up the sheathed sword and strained as if it were nailed to the ground. “Don’t bother,” said the King, and hoisted it into the air. He caught Perseval watching him, then held it before him and said, “This is the Sword of the Ancients, Capricornus.” He unsheathed it a few inches and Perseval saw shining green steel. He looked into its depths and saw something like water or lights traveling along in a stream. “It eats light, like a leaf,” King Wodan said by way of explanation, and when he sheathed it again Perseval assumed they were both higher than he’d suspected.
Eventually they came to an unfinished marble temple on a hilltop. They climbed a set of winding stairs. Tall columns towered overhead. “Is this is where you live, King?” said Perseval.
King Wodan shook his head. “I’ve got a little house not far from here. This is just something that Zach and I put our money into. It’s a temple to-”
At that moment something like a wild animal shrieked at them. The thing leaped monkey-like through an opening, then clambered down the side of the hill and disappeared.
“Haginar!” shouted a girl. “Come back!”
“We’re sorry!” another called out.
Zach leaned through the opening and peered downward. “He’ll be okay,” he said.
“The child’s feral!” said Mallery. “Really, he could use some discipline and more than a little-”
“He was doing his own thing,” said Wodan. “We disturbed him. It’s natural he would be annoyed.”
They spread their torches and lamps and Perseval looked around. The floor was made of purple and white marble laid out in a design, and the columns stretched upward into near-darkness. He could see wooden rafters where a roof might be someday. There was a place on the far wall where it seemed a statue should sit, but it was an empty, dark space.
Perseval wandered around the space, looking at the dark forest on the distant hills and a sea of mist rising beneath them. He felt like he was on an island in an alien world. Zachariah’s anger had burned out, and he knelt among a group discussing the theory that mankind was older than the flesh demons. Jarl arrived eventually, leaning against the shoulder of a scarred Slayer who listened intently as he muttered about how he would be needed to record an important event tonight, then the Slayer carefully lowered him to the ground where he immediately passed out.
Without thinking about it, Perseval walked toward the King, who sat on a railing between two columns that looked out on the forest below. Perseval was now too tired to be nervous and listened, as if in a dream, as he gave his own name to the King.
King Wodan turned to him, and at close quarters Perseval was overwhelmed. There was something not quite human about him, something beyond any standard he had ever encountered. The King waited, half smiling. Though it felt wrong to do so, Perseval forced himself to ask the question that had been eating away at him ever since he’d arrived in the Black Valley.
“Ki
ng Wodan, this place is different from any other nation that I’ve ever heard of. How do you know it’s going to work out?”
The King seemed embarrassed. His mouth fell open slightly, and he looked away. The gesture struck Perseval as very human. “But I don’t know,” said Wodan. “I have no idea.” Perseval worked his mouth, unsure how to continue. He’d thought that the man would either brush him off or launch into a long and carefully prepared speech detailing the finer points of his political philosophy. After a painfully long pause, Wodan finally said, “But I trust you.”
“What do you mean? You trust me… in terms of…”
Wodan shrugged. “Just in general. You, the people who came here, the people who helped me make this place. I trust you. You’re the ones making this place what it is. Don’t you know that?”
“So you… hmm… so it has to do with a… minimal approach to government? Like a free market?”
“It’s not about that,” said Wodan. “It’s not about ideology. I’m not trying to build a utopia based on a vision that somebody dreamed up. I just want this to be a place where people can do what they want, within reason.” Wodan smiled, then added, “I want to see what people do when they’re given a chance to be who they truly are. I’m not interested in people trying to be something they aren’t. I don't want to deal with the psychosis that follows that kind of lifestyle. It’s sick, Perseval. Society can’t tell you what you’re supposed to be. I can’t do it. Nobody can do it. Only you can do that.”
Perseval was taken aback. “But why would you trust… people?” He said the word as if it was foul.
“Because you’re the only thing I’ve got against the demons. I don’t know if you know it… people certainly don’t like to talk about it… but the demons destroyed Hargis, in the south. They formed at least one army, and I have reason to believe that they’re destroying other city-states in the east. Sounds awful, doesn’t it? Seems like the last thing a person should ever want to think about.” King Wodan turned away, his eyes on the dark horizon over the distant hills. “But I think about it all the time,” he said quietly. “The human species has been enslaved for as long as we can remember. Outside of city walls, we’re slaves to demons. Behind city walls we’re slaves to men who act like demons.” He shook his head slowly. “I’ve seen what that does to people. We can’t beat the demons if we’re enslaved. We don’t even have a chance if we’re exhausted from meeting the bare needs of survival.”
“But you have slaves here,” said Perseval.
Wodan turned to him, surprised. “We call something what it is! If somebody messes up, they have to pay for it. And they know the price; we set a price and give them something to work toward. And once you’ve paid your bill, you have another chance at freedom. Another chance to make a new life for yourself.” Wodan paused while looking Perseval up and down, as if gauging to see what he could handle. “Where I come from,” said Wodan, “everyone’s a slave. They’re born into slavery… and they don’t even know it. In Pontius it’s even worse. How does someone in that kind of situation ever get out of enslavement? How do they even find out they’re enslaved in the first place? Nobody knows. Nobody talks about it. They live lives of complete dishonesty, and it’s exhausting. They don’t wake up looking forward to tackling their day, wondering what they can make happen. No, they wake up with an indefinable sense of being trapped. That goes on for years, and weird, demented habits develop.” Wodan turned away, eyes resting on his own hand. “If Pontius saw an army of flesh demons marching toward them, what would they do? Defend a place that they hate? Not a chance. They’re just going to run, save themselves, and to hell with everybody else.”
Wodan stared into Perseval, then said, “I don’t want to run from the flesh demons. I want us to stand up to them. I want us to stop them. That’s why I want you to be happy. I want you ready to fight. You’re the only weapon I have against them. Understand?”
Perseval looked away. He glanced down at the King’s sword, sheathed and leaning against the wall. Though the words felt real, he knew it wasn’t true at all that he was the King’s weapon. He had a sword that seemed to be magical, and even his conversational gestures were powerful and graceful. He wanted the King to talk about something like that – something literal and real, like his sword – but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. Instead he said, “So you didn’t have any political vision in mind when you founded this place?”
He shrugged. “I suppose to some extent. Freedom had to be the main thing. Mallery over there thinks we live in anarchy, but it’s not like the market’s completely free. I shelled out tax money to find aquifers and dig wells and get the water running. Tax money goes to our military, our police, our ghoul exterminators. Most towns have their garbage taken care of by government employees.”
“Most?”
He shrugged again, then smiled. “Anytime someone wants to do it for a living, I step out of the way. It’s like I said, I want to see what people can do.”
“Is that why you’re going away? Because you want to see what you can do?”
The question sounded painfully childish to Perseval as soon as he said it, but the King did not seem to mind. He looked away and his eyes took on a fierce intensity. “You heard me arguing with Zachariah earlier, didn’t you? He was right. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I've been drifting. I’ve been devoting more time to worrying about my goats and pigs than pushing any boundaries to see if I could find an answer.”
“An answer? To what?”
King Wodan looked back at him. “The demons. I need a way to fight them. They’re just too powerful. Too powerful.” His voice suddenly became quiet, as if he did not want anyone else to hear. “There might be important information in the holy land, especially about the Cognati, but I… there’s a tower there. I’m drawn to it. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t help but wonder that it might have something we need. Do you know what I mean?”
Perseval swallowed with great difficulty, then nodded.
King Wodan’s eyes suddenly stabbed into something over Perseval’s shoulder. “You look excited,” he said loudly. “Are you looking forward to going to Srila, Mallery?”
Perseval turned and saw Mallery standing nearby. He was turned away, but he had obviously been listening in on their conversation. His face was composed but his eyes were wide and Perseval was convinced that the man’s face was flushed. “Well, I… the thing is,” Mallery said, “I was actually, perhaps thinking that, you know, that my place might be… rather, well… as it were, here with the people, maybe, so then, I might stay and-”
“I know you will, Mallery. I know you will.” He sighed, then said, “Mallery, remember that most of the people here don’t think like that crew you hang out with. The people here just want to do their thing and be left alone. Your friends, they’re…”
“I have enough sense to know what the people want,” said Mallery. He had regained his composure and seemed ready for a fight.
“Just remember what happened last time.” King Wodan rose. Perseval moved out of his way. He looked around and realized that everyone was watching their king, waiting to see what he would do. “I’d like to stay here and watch the sun rise with the rest of you, but I have to get home. My goats look after themselves, but I have my pigs fenced in, and if I’m not back in time to feed them they’re liable to knock the fence over. I don’t want to spend tomorrow afternoon worrying over a fence.”
He wants to see what people will become? thought Perseval. What would he think if he found out they were phonies living a lie? What if he found out they were unnatural, monstrous freaks?!
He did not know it, but his fists were clenched at his sides. Perseval listened as the others gushed their unwillingness to let him leave, but he knew that anything they felt was nothing compared to the kettle screaming in his chest. He watched the King as he left, waving goodbye before the night swallowed him. He wondered if he would feel relief when the King was gone, but as soon as he heard his footsteps
receding on the stairs, he felt only panic.
Perseval ran. He heard Simeon call out behind him. As soon as he was outside it seemed hopelessly dark. His feet pounded against the steps, then fell out of rhythm, then he tripped and felt his knee crash against something.
Strong hands grabbed him and King Wodan hauled him back onto his feet. Perseval stared directly into his eyes. He felt his face contorting, burning with the intensity of an emotion buried for years. “King Wodan! I have a terrible secret!” He was no longer in control and listened as the words came out of his mouth, horrified because he knew that he would have to kill himself if he was not strong enough to control himself. “I came here for a terrible reason. I’m a terrible person. Forgive me. Forgive me!”
“Go on,” said Wodan.
“I’m worse than nothing!” Perseval felt the secret thrashing in his chest, as well as the need for control clamping down with one last desperate effort to swallow the thing. He lost the battle and the words gushed out. “Wodan, I’m… I’m gay! I’m a homosexual! I’m nothing but… oh, gods, I’m a queer! I’ve tried to fight it all my life but I can’t! I only came here because... I was told... that there are others here... people who wouldn’t think that I was...” Perseval broke down into horrible, humiliating tears, every movement of the eye throwing up images of his mother, his preacher. “I wanted to meet people who... who wouldn’t think that I was a horrible person. But I know it's... it's wrong. Isn't it?”
King Wodan was silent for a long time. He looked away and Perseval studied his face, waiting to see if he would show disgust. His face was completely unmoving, almost like a marble sculpture. Only his green eyes betrayed a deep well of emotion, something wild and vast that he kept hidden from others. “It took a lot of guts to admit that, didn’t it?” he said suddenly.
Perseval turned away.
King Wodan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Listen,” he said. “I didn’t drive off a horde of flesh demons and then run around in the woods getting shot at by Smiths just so you or anyone else could come here and feel bad about yourselves. That’s Pontius. You get to leave the pain of hiding who you are back there. You know why?”
Demonworld Book 6: The Love of Tyrants Page 9
