Vito twisted the first guard’s wrist about as he stared down the second guard, who slowly lowered his gun. “Pathetic,” Vito hissed. “Weak and pathetic.” The second guard looked away. Vito pushed the first man into him, then stalked off.
No one else in the camp challenged him, but only whispered and stared. On the outskirts a jeep rode up behind him, then stopped. Men in dark robes dismounted and one pulled back his hood. He was a large black man with long dreads and a beard broken up by a scar that extended down his mouth and split his lip. “You really say all that shit they said you did?” said the man.
Vito thought for a moment, then said, “Ric Ramos. Ramos the Strangler. I remember you.”
“Yeah, son of a bitch, you arrested me. I went through eight years of Hell ’cause o’ you.”
“You went through eight years of Hell because you were trying to live and profit in a system that has no place in it for people like you.”
“People like me?” said Ramos, striding up to him. He towered over Vito.
“That’s right. A wolf currying the favor of sheep. What was it? Murder? Theft? The selling of drugs? Rape?”
“All of ’em,” said Ric, smiling darkly. “But I never raped no little kids.”
“Well, you’re hanging around a bunch of children now, Ric. They’re no different from the master-sheep that you despise. All the time that we were fighting one another, we were doing it for their benefit. Never for our own.”
Ramos the Strangler nodded slowly, then smiled brightly. “You got somethin’ better in mind?”
“We do what it is we were always meant to do. We slaughter the sheep and end their lies. We make the wasteland pure once again.”
“My man!” Ramos shouted, then drew Vito into a great bear hug. The rebels in the jeep cheered and shot their guns into the air. Vito climbed inside and they drove away from the camp of the freedom fighters.
* * *
Khan Vito stood in a circle of men and dogmen and watched the ridiculous antics of the challenger Grindwurst as he danced around in a circle, flapping his arms and barking. The circle of dogs barked and jeered and it was never obvious who they cheered for, or whether they only cheered for blood itself. But Vito knew that once one of them was dead, they would all ally behind the victor, and would claim they had backed him from the start. He had learned through the years that it was not the loyalty of the dogmen that was legendary, so much as their show of loyalty.
Dogs, aptly named, he thought. He stretched his arms out, then his neck, then cracked the bones in his back and bent down to stretch his legs.
Grindwurst stopped suddenly, already slick with sweat. He stared at Vito as he worked his jaw up and down and flexed his muscles. Vito cracked the bones in each finger as he returned the dogman’s stare, and he knew in his heart that the cowards of Hargis would have sold themselves out in any way possible in order to avoid just such a situation as Vito was in now, a direct confrontation with the brutality of the wasteland, the wagering of one’s own life against another’s. As much as he looked down on the dogmen in times like these, they were his people, and were truer than the men of Hargis had ever been.
But even these dogs, thought Vito, even these good dogs will have to be wiped out, someday, in order to burn away every trace of weakness and dishonesty from the world.
* * *
Several Weeks Ago
Khan Vito walked through the sands of the waste with Naarwulf and Ramos on either side. He saw a fire in the darkness ahead, then a wagon and several figures. “On your toes,” said Vito. “Could be a trick.”
“You know, I wouldn’ta come here in the first place,” said Ramos.
“I know your counsel,” said Vito.
“I just speak my mind, you know.”
“All the time, yes,” said Vito. “But when the wasteland calls, we must listen.”
They drew near the figures. The tallest one among them wore a black robe, and the firelight glinted off the top of his bald head. The long hair around his ears and the back of his head was pulled back in a thick braid. He had a thin goatee that hung down from his cadaver-colored face, and his dark eyes were sunk deep into his head. At the sight of him Vito drew in a sharp breath, then dashed forward.
Vito nearly fell to his knees and said, “Rabbi! Teacher!”
Globulus, the wasteland philosopher, smiled. “Vito, my pupil!”
The two embraced. Globulus pulled back and Vito smiled up at the face of his master. The other robed figures drew near, youths with black robes and green sashes. Vito turned to Naarwulf and Ramos and said, “Kneel, leashmen, to the only man that I would call master.”
They knelt quickly, then Naarwulf caught a strange scent, and peered into the distance. Vito followed his gaze and saw a lone figure sitting near some large animal. Globulus gestured to the fire and they all sat around it.
“Vito, my son,” said Globulus, “I’ve heard many wonderful things about you since my return.”
“Rabbi, where did you go?”
“When the false king of Hargis exiled me, I drifted from village to village for a long time. Then I went deep into the wasteland. Many terrible things happened that I will not trouble you with. By divine chance, I was found by a gang of wandering missionaries from Srila. They took me into their home, and I became a teacher and a student among them.”
“Srila!” said Vito. “So far away!”
“Distance becomes meaningless in the real world,” said Globulus. “All points are one and the same in the wasteland. Vito, please greet my student Jared. He is a Cognati wizard.”
Vito nodded to the dark-haired youth, who hesitated for a long moment, then nodded slightly. Naarwulf growled, deep and low, and made a gesture of protection against spirits.
Globulus regarded the dogman. “You have taken on students of your own, Vito?”
“They are my leashmen,” said Vito, nodding. “This man is Ric Ramos, called Ramos the Strangler by the sheep of Hargis. A hundred times he has laid his life on the line for me, and for our vision. And this one is Naarwulf, a dogman. He was the first dogman to grasp the merits of my vision - which comes from your teachings, Rabbi.”
“Your vision,” said Globulus. His thin lips parted slowly, revealing long teeth that stretched out without gums. “I must admit, when I was exiled I feared that you would be drawn back into the fold of civilization. For that mistake I am sorely ashamed - you were more advanced than even I knew.”
“I would not work alongside those who plotted against you, Rabbi.”
“And now that I have returned, I hear that you have been busy. I hear that you are fighting the kingdom harder than all the other rebel groups combined, and are drawing the strongest, the purest, of them into your own ranks. And greater still, I hear that you have visited the twelve tribes of dogmen, and even the smaller clans, and are spreading the word to them.”
“All of it, inspired by your teaching.”
“Oh, but Vito, you are doing far better in the work than I would have done, had I been allowed to continue on in Hargis. For I’ve heard that when the dogmen are too stupid to make sense of your message - you simply knock sense into their heads!”
Vito bowed, mostly to hide his blush.
“There is nothing more that I can teach you, Vito. You have done my work for me. I will depart again.”
“You will leave again, Rabbi? But... you’ve only just...”
“I’ve only come to deliver a message to the true people of the wasteland.”
“To my people.”
“The very same. It seems that the nature of the world is becoming purer, even on its own. We are only the tools of the gods, remember. We must take no merit for the work itself.”
“The work of purification. Of honesty.”
“Yes. I’ve come to tell you, Vito, that an army of flesh demons is coming to Hargis. They will utterly wipe that decadent whore off the face of the world.”
Vito leaned back, visibly shaken. Globulus turned to Naa
rwulf and said, “You smell it, dog?”
Naarwulf growled, then gestured to the lone figure and the large animal in the distance. “I smelled the demon here.”
“Worry not,” said Globulus. “They come only to speak the truth to us. People like us have nothing to fear from the truth. Soon, everyone will know that the absolute truth of the wasteland cannot be kept out by the feeble walls of civilization.”
Vito looked into the distance and could only dimly make out the forms. He saw that the lone figure sat in the folded arms of a large beast, which was roughly in the shape of a man, but with a long head and curved horns. The lone figure bent slightly and seemed to be eating something from the hand of the devil.
“Here is the short of it,” said Globulus. “Vito, Khan of the twelve tribes - is Hargis the enemy?”
Vito started to nod, then stopped himself. “No. It is civilization. Our enemy is the lie that protects the sheep from the wasteland.”
“Very good. Hargis will fall to the demons soon. Very soon. Gather your horde from out of all settlements. The wasteland is your home now, movement is your shelter. Find what people are loyal to you within Hargis and tell them to fix upon themselves a red circle, a zero. It is the symbol of nothingness. When the gods see this sign they will pass over it, for they come only to destroy that which exists, that which is false and a part of this evil world. You will gather up the truest people that you can find and march them on a glorious quest. You will help in the work of purification.”
“Hargis... gone,” Vito said quietly. “Just like that.”
“Indeed. The work of men is as dust compared to the work of gods. But you can help, Vito.”
“Help - by moving on to the next civilization...”
“And wipe it out. Smash through it, eat what meat you can pick from its bones, gather up what souls you can, and then move on to the next civilization.”
“Why are the devils changing their ways?” said Vito.
“Feh! You would try to understand the gods? Perhaps you are still a student!” With that, Globulus shrugged and laughed.
Vito laughed with him, then said, “Where should we go?”
“The devils march east. The south belongs to me. There is already nothing in the west. Process of elimination, my son.”
“North, then. We will wipe out Pontius.”
“Then angle ever north, to Sunport, then the coast... there are many, many cities to be ravaged on the coast. So long as you stay away from San Ktari, my son. They have their own place in the divine scheme of things.”
“Yes, Rabbi,” said Vito, full of wonder and light. “We’ll destroy them all.” He looked up to the stars, shining hard and bright in the coldness of the deep. He could never see the stars in Hargis because of the pollution of fires and the blight of tall buildings. Soon, the pure stars would be visible all over the world. What beautiful majesty he would soon reveal.
Khan Vito heard a loud slurping sound, then looked again at the lone figure in the distance. The man continued to eat from the demon’s extended hand. No, that was not it... Vito realized that the man was eating the demon’s own arm. The man chomped and slurped up bits of its very living flesh. The devil looked down on its small human charge. If it felt any pain from the sacrifice, it made no sound to show it.
* * *
Vito and Grindwurst charged at one another. The dogman’s arms were long, far longer than Vito’s, and he swung before Vito was within striking distance himself. Vito feigned as if he would tackle, but instead he ducked, hit the ground, then rolled up beside him. The pup swung, backhanded, and Vito dived aside. Vito bounced on the balls of his feet, one arm held high and the other low, reading his opponent. Grindwurst barked and unleashed a flurry of blows. Vito twisted sideways, bouncing in and out of Grindwurst’s range. Grindwurst stopped, huffed loudly, then Vito drew near, threw a quick left which Grindwurst knocked aside even as Vito backed away again.
“He tries to wear you out, Grind!” barked a dogman in the crowd. Vito knew that Naarwulf would note the face of the speaker.
Grindwurst studied Vito as he caught his breath. Vito dashed within the dogman’s reach, twisted from side to side as if unsure of his next move, then moved out of the way of a blow and simultaneously smacked the pup’s shin with the toe of his boot. Grindwurst barked in pain, leaped away, then hopped and landed a lucky blow to the side of Vito’s head. Vito toppled sideways, completely jarred; even the glancing blow of a dogman was enough to knock a normal man unconscious, so many cried out as Vito stumbled and fell to one knee, expecting the fight to near its end. Grindwurst took the bait and, as he dashed forward, Vito jammed an elbow into his gut, then grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed a fist into his face over and over, so fast that few could see his blows, yelling out, “HUP! HUP! HUP!” with each blow.
Bent over, Grindwurst grabbed one of Vito’s ankles and easily flipped him onto his back, but then stumbled away. The dogman’s face was a mess, a raw bundle of screaming nerves. Vito rolled aside, sand caked to his skin and dropping from his wet hair. Grindwurst blinked pain from his eyes as Vito flexed his aching right hand.
“Your reach, pup! Use your reach!” someone cried.
Grindwurst gathered his resolve into a ball of rage and approached, hands touching the sand as he lowered his center of gravity. Vito saw burning black eyes behind a mask of shining blood run through with runes of matted hair. Vito felt something akin to fear, a wild and blazing thing like leaping from a great height. During the fight, he had established himself as an opponent who held back and observed before taking action, so when Grindwurst approached him hunkered over with caution, Vito ran and leaped at him feet-first.
He saw the pup’s eyes widen into little circles as he locked his knees on either side of the pup’s neck. For a handful of seconds the two danced about awkwardly, the dogman jumping back as if hung up in a trap, Vito jerking back and forth as he tried to grab one of his own ankles. Grindwurst slapped two hands like bricks into Vito’s sides, then fell heavily on his ass as he ran out of breath. Vito immediately locked a hand around one of his own ankles, then crushed the air from the dogman’s throat. The two fell on their sides and flopped in the sand like fish.
The roar of the crowd became deafening, overwhelming, maddening, as Vito choked the life from his opponent.
Vito rolled off the dead dogman and raised his fists into the air. His bloodlust was already spent and he could feel salty sweat mixing with his torn and bloody knuckles. He licked a clump of sand from his lips and chewed it thoughtfully. The dogmen howled to wake the damned, full of the victory of their leader, their Khan, to whom they would remain loyal for the rest of their lives or until the end of the day.
“Now, Naarwulf,” said Ramos, “it’s pretty widely known that I like to choke the hell outta somebody.”
“This is true,” said Naarwulf, shouting to be heard over the crowd.
“Well, I never choked anybody like that before.”
Chapter Five
Careful Planning vs. Anything, Anytime, Anyone
The seven boys rode over the flatlands and the further they drew from the city, the greater the blue of the sky became, and Wodan was filled with a great joy. The motorcycle shook powerfully underneath him and sand swept by underfoot. Thin clouds drifted by and Wodan felt like a part of them. Even the stifling heat of the suit and helmet were a joy to him, a sweaty forge he had cast himself into. When the day drew on and the sky dimmed, they followed Jon’s lead and took off their helms and latched them onto the rear of their bikes, and the wind swept through Wodan’s hair like the wind of freedom itself. The sun set on their right-hand side, a great pyre that extended all along the horizon.
Wodan had never felt this way in the wasteland before. His first trek through had been motivated by the whips of the Ugly. Later, with the merchant caravan, his obsession with revenge had whittled his soul into something small and mean. Now, he felt free. Even the idea that he would soon die was no longer an impediment to h
is goals. Like the wind and the sunset, it simply was.
Pinpricks of light hung in the purple sky. Cedrik flashed his lights, then slowed, drew up alongside the truck, and smacked its side. Wodan drew his bike up in a wide circle and stopped near the others.
“Fuel?” said Wodan.
Cedrik nodded, then said, “We’re gonna have to change our sleep cycle. Ride by night, sleep by day. We’ll make better time, not gettin’ worn out by the sun.”
“Sounds good,” said Wodan. He dismounted to join Chris Kenny, who was already opening up the rear of the truck.
Wodan went through their food stores. Jake ambled up to the rear, then said, “What happens when we run out of fuel?”
“Dunno,” said Wodan.
“We eat up food,” said Justinas, hopping in alongside Wodan. “Make room for bikes. Plus use up explosives, killing dogman. Store bikes in truck, when room to do that, or leave bike behind when you pussies start dying.”
“Shit,” said Jon, and Justinas laughed with sharp, high notes.
“Pull the bikes up here!” screamed Chris. “I’m not hauling this goddamn fuel over there so you guys can sit around!” His face contorted strangely. Until then, he had always worn an expression of cadaverous serenity.
They took turns refueling their bikes and ate near the back of the truck. Jon lit up some strange-smelling weed and passed a pipe around. It stopped at Justinas, who turned pale. “Hit this shit,” said Jon, face hardening up comically.
“I... I... ah...” said Justinas.
“I can’t smoke that stuff either,” said Wodan. “Makes me paranoid. I’ll be seeing demons where there aren’t any.”
Jon shrugged and passed it off. Justinas nodded in thanks to Wodan. Justinas was still young enough to worry about such things, and appreciated Wodan’s ability to skillfully dissipate any potential awkwardness. Wodan winked in return.
Demonworld Book 4: Shepherd of Wolves Page 4
