[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  Perseval took the drink and moved on. Smoke clouded the air and drifted through the eye sockets of the dead witnesses. So these are the dead from my homeland, he thought. He saw a black flag hanging on the far wall. On its face were dirty streaks of dull reddish brown, the imposing circle and V, and he knew at once that it was made of invaders’ blood.

  Then, near the end of the long black table, he stopped short. There, under the flag, sitting alone on the Throne of Wood, was Wodan, King of the Black Valley. The man radiated icy distance. He was built lean and muscular, with long limbs, and wore a simple black suit and a single golden ring on his left hand. He was very pale, but his long hair was as brown as the earth and fell in waves. His sharp green eyes stared ahead, into their own world. He took a sip from a silver cup, then continued staring ahead.

  Perseval was weak in his legs and looked for a place to sit. A young woman in a glittering green dress smiled and gestured to an empty seat as if she had been waiting for him. Perseval sat and drained his cup. A serving girl moved up beside him, waiting without smiling.

  Perseval nodded toward the King, then said, “Let me have what he’s having.”

  “You can’t drink what the King drinks,” said the girl.

  “Why not? Is it expensive?”

  “He’s not like you and me. It’s strong. It could kill you.”

  “Oh. I’ll have some more wine then, please. It’s... it’s on Zachariah’s-”

  “I know,” she said, then poured until his cup was full.

  ***

  Perseval was given a meal, and while he ate he watched King Wodan until he became distracted by a skinny, dark-haired man in a suit of white and purple. The man clicked his tongue against his large front teeth as he spoke to a young prostitute, who nodded and hid her mouth behind her cup when she yawned. The man ignored her massive cleavage as he spoke about the need for changes in the Valley that would enhance the lives of the citizens. Perseval drank as he listened, and when the man referred to himself as Representative Mallery, Perseval broke in suddenly. “The Valley has representatives? I thought it was a, you know… a monarchy.”

  For one split second Mallery’s eyes stabbed into him, then he smiled and said, “Of course the communities in the Valley have representatives! How else could a King who shelters himself from his people ever find out what’s going on? The people elect their representatives democratically, and you better believe he needs us.”

  “Hard to believe he needs anybody,” said Perseval, and the prostitute immediately brightened and nodded quickly.

  “Kid, what sector are you from?” said Mallery. His eyes quickly scanned him up and down. Before Perseval could ask what was meant, a farmer in a ridiculous tweed suit laughed and muttered, “Sector!” Perseval ignored the question and turned back to the King on his Throne.

  “I’m just trying to drink up some courage so I can go up to him,” said Perseval. The young woman in the green dress laughed slightly. “This room, it’s a little intimidating. Isn’t it?”

  “Sick, is what it is,” Mallery said into his cup.

  The young prostitute leaned forward. “It’s considered bad manners to approach the King while he’s on the Throne,” she said to Perseval. “Let him drink and he’ll come down to see us.”

  Perseval thought for a moment. “Is that what they call the Throne of Wood? Is this... like, where he rules from?”

  “In this place, I’m just another customer.”

  Perseval jerked in his seat, for King Wodan stood across the table looking down at him. His features had changed completely. He was smiling, and there was some warmth in his eyes.

  Perseval’s mouth froze. The prostitute beside Mallery rose suddenly. “Wodan!” she said, rising. “Take my seat!”

  The situation seemed terribly, painfully awkward to Perseval. He wanted to rise to give his own seat as well, but his legs would not move.

  “We can share it,” said the King. He sat down, and then the young woman sat on his lap and wrapped an arm around him. They both smiled and laughed. Perseval was unsure what to make of the bizarre, indecent scene, so his eyes fixed on a human thighbone on the wall directly behind the pair. Thankfully the farmer in the rough tweed suit leaned over and began speaking with the King, seemingly unembarrassed by the situation. Perseval looked at Mallery and saw that he was as still as stone, but his eyes burned with rage as he openly glared at King Wodan. Perseval reasoned that he must have been mad that the King had stolen the attentions of the prostitute sitting next to him; but then again, she had clearly been bored by all his talk of politics, and could not be faulted for wanting to laugh with the King as the farmer told a story about his prize bull waking him up by sticking his giant head through the tiny window of his farmhouse.

  Perseval finished his drink, then took a long, deep breath. He looked at the King, opened his mouth, then-

  “Excuse me,” said the King.

  “Of course!” said the young lady, rising.

  Strangely enough, even Mallery seemed disappointed when the King left to see his friend the philosopher.

  ***

  Perseval drank and mingled with the farming lords and veterans and robed servants in the room of bones, listening to tales of the history of the Valley and its people. Eventually he took to openly staring at the King, watching as he spoke with people. He simply could not understand. The King had none of the demeanor, or even force, of the public Officials in Pontius. He was at once calm, and open, and distant, and everyone who spoke with him seemed to go away a little brighter than before. He saw rough farmers hammer out practical details with him, he saw prostitutes laugh and flirt with him, he saw businessmen run plans by him, and he even saw some kind of primitive, elderly woman with a shaved head speak with him quietly before they smoked something together, shook hands, and then embrace one another without letting go until their conversation was done. The King seemed to accept it all.

  Or almost all of it. Several times during the night he seemed to get into hushed arguments with Zachariah; always he would walk away and Zachariah would find another drink and stare at his King with sullen, bleary eyes. Once Perseval heard him shout at King Wodan’s back, “You’re drifting! Shuffling like a cow in a field, waiting for something! Rolling downhill! Running in place! You’re pathetic. I wish I’d never met you!” The King did not respond, and the outburst was quickly forgotten by the crowd. Only Mallery smiled and seemed to relish the event.

  Perseval found Simeon speaking with a tall man in a gold-trimmed black cloak and a ridiculous, tall, pointed hat. He was amazingly drunk, with eyes just barely slitted open. Simeon was laughing, but a middle-aged woman in an incredibly fine, dark dress, no makeup, and black hair tied up in a bun seemed to take the drunk very seriously.

  “Perseval! You’re just in time!” Gesturing to the woman, he said, “This is Fortunata, the lady who runs the House of Ishtar! And here’s Jarl, man! Jarl himself!” Perseval had no idea what they were talking about, so Simeon added, “He’s the King’s biographer and a really important historian of the Valley. I can’t believe you haven’t-”

  The drunk did not seem to know that anyone was talking about him, and Fortunata took in Perseval at a glance, then quickly turned away. “Please, Jarl,” she said, “Go on with what you were saying.”

  “I was… I… what was I…?”

  “The four gods of the wasteland.”

  “Oh! Yes! Yes. Well, as we Ent… ah, according to the legends that some people record, there are four gods of the wasteland.”

  “Like demons?” said Perseval, wanting to be included.

  “That’s just one,” said Jarl. “The Many. ‘Where there’s one, there’s all’ – that’s s a quote straight from the Red Book, so you can quote me on that.”

  “Isn’t that the book that the Ugly-”

  “And the second is called Outworlder. According to some. That god is, you see, it exists, but is not flesh. It’s a balance between contradictions. And that god demands sacrific
e. Plenty of dogmen worship that one. You see?”

  “Well, I-”

  “The third one is a beast. It’s a lion. It’s a hunter. Always predator, never prey. And whoever sees it, I’ve read that it asks a riddle, or three riddles, depending on the source. It eats you if you can’t answer the riddle. And no one’s ever answered the riddle.”

  “So what is the rid-”

  “And the fourth and last is an unapproachable place. It’s far south of here, on the Fields of Epimetheus. There’s a tower there, and a sword… a flaming sword that kills anyone who approaches the forbidden place… but I, uh, the records aren’t clear if it’s a place, or a thing, or a creature… I… I have to sit down. I’m gonna be sick.”

  Perseval looked about, desperate for a means of escape from the madman, but when Fortunata grabbed the storyteller he realized that he should have done the same. They awkwardly manhandled the leaning giant and helped him onto a bench, where he leaned against a row of skulls placed directly into the wall.

  “Thank you,” said the lady, nodding to Perseval. “I would have some of my boys take him to a room, but he would only find his way back here.”

  Desperate to speak about the King rather than fantastic nonsense, Perseval said, “Excuse me, but did the King and his philosopher… well… are they arguing?”

  “Who knows?” Fortunata said. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Wait, please! I have to… I mean, I was wondering…”

  “Yes?”

  She seemed impatient to leave. “Does the King… uh, you know. With the girls? Does he pay, and…” Perseval looked away, feeling as if his soul was strapped to a mouth which knew only how to vomit.

  “He used to,” she said, smiling slightly. “Not anymore.”

  “Well… do you… know why?”

  “I suppose he was human.” She shrugged. “But then the War changed him. It changed everyone. We don’t try to hide that. Why else do you think we gather in a room full of corpses? But he still treats my girls with respect. Isn’t that strange, boy?”

  “Well, I-”

  “Maybe he sees the humanity in them?”

  She let the question hang in the air for a moment, then she suddenly left. He wondered if he had really been so obvious, then decided that she was obviously too important to gossip with someone like him. He looked about and realized that Simeon had abandoned him. He moved to leave as well, but a hand grasped his wrist and pulled him back.

  Jarl pulled him down and continued speaking. Horrified that the drunk would not simply pass out, Perseval closed his eyes and held his nose as the drunk's hot, reeking breath hit him.

  “That Outworlder’s important,” said Jarl. “In Srila they worship him. You’ve heard of the Cognati? The wizards who can move objects without touching them?”

  Perseval stared at the King across the room. “That’s impossible,” Perseval hissed. “You can’t move something if you’re too much of a coward to touch it.”

  “Ah, but they can,” said Jarl. “That’s magic for you. The magic down south. In Srila, the holy land.”

  ***

  Perseval sat with the Entertainer as he dozed on his shoulder for a few minutes. Eventually Jarl made his way to a bathroom where he could puke, and Perseval decided it was his chance to approach the King. Unfortunately King Wodan perked up when he heard Jarl puking, and quickly rose and went into the bathroom as well. Perseval paced about, glaring at the skulls that stared back at him, then he found Simeon and took some cigarettes from him as payment for dealing with the storyteller.

  Perseval kicked himself for a few minutes, wondering if he would ever be able to approach the King. Just when he was about to despair, King Wodan suddenly burst from the bathroom, smiling, his features animated. Perseval was shocked at the change in his demeanor; he rushed about the room as if looking for someone. Zachariah rose from his chair, looking as if he were about to face off in a schoolyard rumble.

  “Zachariah!” said Wodan. “We’re going on a pilgrimage!”

  The philosopher screwed up his face. Perseval strained to hear every word.

  “We’re going to Srila!” said Wodan. “I’ve been talking to Jarl, and…”

  “Globulus,” Zachariah said quietly. “The exile… that my father should have killed.”

  “And the Cognati! We’ll learn about them, and-”

  Immediately the haggard philosopher flung himself at the King, and they embraced, laughing.

  So strange! Perseval thought. Almost like children. First arguing, then hugging and laughing!

  “Hey Persey,” said Simeon. “I just got a tip on something. Some people are going to invite themselves to hang out with the King, maybe even at his place. You in?”

  “Believe it,” said Perseval.

  Chapter Six

  Nine Years in the Black Valley

  Perseval heard many tales of the history of the Black Valley while in the House of Ishtar, and he gained a full account after that. The following is a short record of that history.

  Year One. After the Usurper War, in which Wodan slayed the demon Zamael with Capricornus, the Sword of the Ancients, he was crowned king and none challenged his rule. Zachariah Hargis, Chief Yarek Asher, the dogmen Naarwulf and Magog, Chris Kenny the sniper, the primitive fighting women Amiza and Maena, and Jarl the Entertainer survived the battle at the ruined fort and worked with the humans and dogmen to rebuild their home. The farmers planted, but the siege had delayed them until late in the season, so no crops were raised before winter set in. They heard nothing from Pontius, nor did they receive the vital supplies that they had paid for with shipments of lumber.

  The first winter in the Valley nearly ended them all. Many dogmen who had betrayed them before now returned from the forest, hungry and begging forgiveness. Wodan and his inner circle kept the starving dogmen from eating the farmers’ precious reserve of seed stock by turning their attention to the corpse of the crystal flesh demon, which was preserved fairly well by the cold. They assumed that they had been written off by Pontius, their contract for supplies torn apart as revenge against the dogmen from the south who attacked Pontius earlier.

  They did not know that Pontius had problems of its own, for the shipment of valuable wood that Wodan’s pioneers sent downriver had unleashed a bloodbath. Wodan had struck a verbal agreement with Miss Oliver, head of the Businessmen (lumber from the Valley in exchange for supplies), and had warned Oliver to set up a deal with the Law to protect the shipment. Agreements were made between the Law, the Businessmen, and the Smiths. But the Smiths were powerful in those days, perhaps the greatest of all the gangs of Pontius, and so when the valuable lumber came in on the nameless river, madness set in. Smith Magi attacked, the Law retreated and counterattacked, and the Businessmen bought up mercenaries to protect their interests. Foreman Arcturus, head of the Smiths, negotiated for peace even as he sent Magi bombers against the Precincts and homes of known Businessmen. The streets of Pontius were wet with blood and the nameless river was clogged with dead men and wealth.

  Many were declared heroes in the violent nonsense while the people of Pontius hid in their homes. Lieutenant Detective Virgil, Wodan’s old friend in the Floyd Street Massacre affair, was shot and killed by friendly fire in the legendary Gravesend Shootout. Foreman Arcturus narrowly escaped an assassination attempt when his private restroom was blown to smithereens; he later claimed that the Smith god Epimetheus warned him about the plot in a visionary dream. Director DeSark of Precinct Zero and his Lawmen held out in a violent siege for several days, and even released many criminals from the underground dungeons in order to bolster their defense.

  After weeks of civil war in which thousands were killed, the lumber was divided into equal thirds between the Law, the Smiths, and various Businessmen. This was very nearly the same deal the gangs had sketched out before the war, though much of the lumber was stolen by smaller gangs and businesses during the fighting.

  When winter came to an end in the Valley, Edwar Brune
r, inventor of the zeppelin, took a small amount of supplies and a zeppelin owned by Miss Oliver and found Wodan’s pioneers. Bruner admitted to the starving King that, since the pioneers had not returned in failure, they were assumed to be dead. When Bruner told him that his friend Lieutenant Detective Virgil was dead, Wodan said, “Then what’s left of Pontius? Bring us our supplies, then stay with us.”

  Edwar Bruner was surprised to see a child with them: Haginar Hargis, son of Zachariah Hargis and Maena the primitive. Bruner offered to take the child back with him to ensure its safety, but the starved pioneers violently opposed the idea. “He’s the first natural citizen of the Black Valley,” said one farmer. “You’re not taking our mascot to some hellhole like Pontius.”

  Year Two. The farmers’ lack of experience with the Black Valley’s climate had little effect on the crops, which soon thrived in the rich soil. Only a few strains of crop were lost to moisture-born rot. Among the harvest of wheat, maize, hemp, and others, Wodan’s loyal henchman, Naarwulf, discovered hidden gardens of marijuana, opium, silver-clove, mescaline, betel nut, and even amanita mushrooms. When he brought some of the men before the King so that they could be executed, he was surprised when the King simply engaged the farmers in conversation and learned all that he could about the illicit substances. The King begged them to increase production and prepare themselves for the great festivals and holy days that lay before them.

  Strengthened by the wealth of food and peaceful days, the pioneers tackled the mines once more. Others set to work building wooden homes for themselves, and bartered with one another for what they could not secure themselves.

  King Wodan took a plot of land for himself. He captured a wild boar for meat and goats for milk. When people came to him to settle grievances, he usually made them walk alongside him as he plowed the land with his own homemade plow, and they often they found themselves helping out in his garden or showing him wood-working and homemaking techniques as they explained their situations to him.