The giant and the little creature must have been connected by some invisible umbilical cord, because Wodan felt his perspective shifting from the larger to the smaller. The giant shadow threw its arms up and toppled over. It hit the ground silently and sent up a great plume of snow. Wodan crawled over to the giant. He felt his legs bending along soggy knees at an awkward angle, so he pulled himself along with his arms. He crawled along the length of the unmoving giant. The face was indistinct and difficult to see; Wodan bent over and smelled the head, and so he was able to “see” that the giant had only a curving smoothness that warped its head. It had no mask, nor any face at all.
That would not do, so Wodan squeezed his own face until an eyeball popped out. His vision shifted wildly and he had to choke back a wave of nausea. Wodan felt about the giant’s head, found a nice spot, then pushed the eyeball inside. He repeated the process until he could see his own face, white and chipped and lined and sagging with worry.
Both the giant and the little creature were hungry. The world was empty; they were the only inhabitants. The giant opened his mouth and the little creature stood poised over the black throat. They stopped and waited, unsure but also convinced that a great trick had been played on them. Surely the ground beneath their feet covered an endless pool of rich, warm blood?
Wodan blinked and woke in a cool, dim stone chamber. A rotund primitive sat staring at him. The primitive was covered in brown and red paint and white scales. Strangely enough, he wore brown denim pants that Wodan had seen before.
“Sylas?” said Wodan. “What are you doin’ in that crazy getup?”
“YEEEAAAH!” Sylas screamed. He threw his head toward a small opening overhead and screamed once more. Almost immediately Jon and Cedrik and all the others piled inside, smiling goofily, then other primitives climbed down among them until the little room was completely packed.
Wodan rubbed his aching head and tried to sit up. A hand moved near with a bowl of water and Wodan drained the thing quickly.
“You were out for a week,” said Sylas. “You had a fever, a really bad one, and we were sure you weren’t gonna make it. But you did! You’re alive, man!”
Wodan still clung to part of the dream, not only trying to remember it but also feeling as if he was somehow still in it and still needed to do something. Finally he realized that he was glad to see his comrades, and sat back against the cool stone wall. “Where are we?” he said. He looked at the pale-skinned, wild-looking primitives, and smiled with relief. “Some kind of traveling circus pick us up?”
Chris snorted and Jon said, “That fire you lit, man… these people saw the smoke an’ picked us up.”
“I lit a fire?” said Wodan. “Ah, that’s right. But I was just trying to get rid of our jackets so we’d bake a little quicker!”
The boys laughed and one of the primitives shook his head. Wodan turned to him and said, “Thanks. We owe you our lives.”
“Not really,” said the primitive. “It’s easy to save a life. Keeping someone from throwing their life away, though… that’s the hard part!”
* * *
The people showed Wodan their village and he probed them with questions. They lived mostly underground; no vegetation at all survived on the hard-baked surface. A few huts were dug into the ground with only their roofs visible from the surface, but most of the people lived and worked in a labyrinth of underground tunnels. When Wodan asked about their food source, they took him to a series of subterranean streams and lakes. He saw young men plucking eyeless, white fish from the water, saw women carving them up, and saw artisans using the skins and bones and scales in their work. A crowd of tiny, pale boys and girls followed the crew wherever they went, and Sylas seemed to be on friendly terms with many of the primitives, calling each of them by name. Wodan met a spirit man who was known to take on the spirit of the Ice Bird; Wodan watched the man croak and flap his arms for a while, then asked him point blank if his people sacrificed to devils. Sylas held his breath in embarrassment, but the spirit man stopped his gesticulations and politely explained that they did indeed sacrifice to a flesh demon that they called the Deep Monster, but which the eldest among them called Lankrist. The spirit man showed them a number of totems made in the image of the beast; the thing was covered in shimmering rainbow-hued scales, white hair, and had many legs and could roll up into a ball, and when it did that no man’s spear could penetrate it. The thing swam but breathed air.
The spirit man winked conspiratorially, then took Wodan to a narrow chamber concealed in shadow. A great lump of dried flesh sat on the floor, six or seven feet long, and a series of long hooks extended from one end.
“The leg!” whispered the shaman. “The leg!”
“You guys took the demon’s leg?” said Wodan.
“Years ago, when I was just a child, the warriors, they fought the Deep Monster. They took one of its legs, but many died. It did not go well for our people... I remember going hungry for a long time, as we were mostly unwelcome down here, after that. But sometimes... you know, every once in a while, we will drink, and someone will tell the story of the taking of the leg. And that feels very good!”
“So, you have to sacrifice to this-”
The spirit man shushed him violently, glanced at the leg as if it would come to life, and rushed Wodan out of the little chamber of secrets.
That night the six boys gathered around a fire with some fishers from the village and ate and talked. After they laughed over the story of the Monkey Queen and the Slippery Fish, things grew quiet, and Chris said, “Guess we should be moving on soon.”
There was long silence, then Cedrik said, “How?”
Awful dread crept into Wodan’s gut. He knew that they were far from Pontius and in the middle of nowhere. It seemed foolish to rush out into a world that had only recently tried to suck them dry. They had no resources to do so even if they wanted to.
“I’ve seen pack animals,” said Wodan. “We could… maybe we could trade for them.”
“Well...” said Jake.
“What?” said Chris. “We did enough to earn a pretty big chunk o’ change from our contracts. Didn’t we? We didn’t stop the invaders, sure, but we did plenty. I’m not about to cash in my chips and spend the rest of my life down in some hole. No offense, friends.”
“Ma-a-an,” said Jake, stretching out on the floor of the cavern, “why are we doing any of this, anyway?”
“For that cash, man.”
“Is that it, though?”
Chris thought for a long time, then said, “Well, I signed up because… I was also interested in... I guess, you know, a side of life that Pontius doesn’t have. Or isn’t supposed to.”
“Pontius has it all, though,” said Cedrik.
Chris did not answer, but Wodan said, “As a mortician, you’ve seen a lot of bodies, right? You probably got curious about where they come from, didn’t you?”
Chris grinned sheepishly, but said nothing.
“That’s... that’s evil,” said Jake.
“Hell!” said Chris. “It’s better than trying to get killed over some girl, Jake! Shee-yit, man. Actin’ like that - the way I see it, that’s evil.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s what got you into this shit, isn’t it, man?” said Chris, glaring at Jake.
“I guess. Maybe so. I definitely regret it.”
“Regret it?” said Wodan. “Regret all the good times we’ve had?”
“Ahhh... sometimes, sometimes,” said Jake, “I wish I could just be a fisherman. Just worry about fish all day, and nothing else.”
“Fish are worrisome!” cried a primitive. “Gods! I have problems like you wouldn’t believe.”
Wodan laughed, then said, “Alright, then. What about you, Jon? Why’d you sign up for this expedition?”
Without pause, Jon said, “I wanted to prove myself to the world.”
“But you could have done that in Pontius, you know. Did you figure the money would put you ahead of the g
ame?”
“Sort of...”
“What if there’s no Pontius to return to, though?”
“Well, that’s it,” said Jon. “I didn’t just want to do something big in Pontius. I said I wanted to prove myself to the world, and I meant it! I knew that if I survived something like this, it would change something in me. Make me into something so that, no matter where I ended up - and believe me, I don’t want to end up in Pontius forever - then I would carry that thing with me, forever. It would be beyond a doubt. That’s what a man is, I think. Someone who carries his validation with him, and not just in the eyes and opinions of others.”
Wodan looked at Jon for a long time. His young face had grown scruffy and cadaverously thin, with hollows in the cheeks that shone dark in the firelight. Only his eyes still seemed young, untouched by the thousand miles of the wasteland.
Chris kicked a foot out and hit Cedrik’s leg. “Guess I did it for my family,” said Cedrik, his voice soft and easy. “I did it ’cause... wait, wait. Am I the only guy here who even likes Pontius?”
“Probably,” said Jake. “That’s because you live on a farm.”
Cedrik closed his eyes and laughed without sound. “Maybe you’re right. Pontius is where I go to party. You know? It’s where the freaks are.”
“They don’t have any hot dudes livin’ on the farms?” said Chris, laughing. “Guys like you don’t jerk each other off out there, man?”
“They got all that,” said Cedrik, his voice serious. “But they also got dads with shotguns ready to take your life. Man, I got people mad at me all over the farms. My family, they complain all the time ’cause everyone’s mad at me, an’ mad at them for keepin’ me. Guess I figured if I had the kind of money they promised us, I could smooth things over a little. Maybe even start my own brothel or somethin’. Money can make people do crazy things, you know?”
“That’s the truth,” said Chris.
They laughed, and the primitives looked at one another in shock, then chuckling guiltily. When they quieted down, Sylas said, “As for me, I wanted to see the world!”
“Sylas, you dumbass!” said Chris, slapping his forehead. “You’ve got to be shitting me, man.”
“Not at all, Chris, not one bit! Shake your head all you want, but as bad as we’ve had it sometimes... I’ve never felt more alive!”
“Even after them dogmen beat the shit out of you?” said Jon. “Come on, man.”
“Sure, they almost killed me. I still see their faces in my dreams, I’ll admit it. Mouths full of twisted teeth, fangs… they’re more animal than man, which isn’t something I would have said about them without firsthand knowledge.” Sylas thought for a moment, then said, “But this place, I’m… there’s just something about it. Don’t you agree? I’m going to miss it. I can’t put my finger on it, but being here makes everything we went through worth it.”
“You’re not making sense,” Jon said flatly.
“Pontius is a gray world, Jon. It’s a hub of constant activity and worry where nothing really happens. The biggest thing that ever happened, as far as I can remember, is when Wodan arrived and did something that anyone in their right mind would have told him was impossible. Then again, as tiresome as the whole thing seems, I’m curious to see how it all turns out. Wodan and I saw the invading army closer than any of the rest of you. Pontius isn’t long for this world. Perhaps we should hurry back, if only to see how it happens.”
“You don’t think Pontius is gonna make it?” said Jon.
“Of course not.”
“Then how can you go on?”
“I don’t think it’s gonna last either, truth told,” said Chris.
“Yeah,” said Cedrik. “Me either, man.”
“What?” cried Jon. “Come on, you all. Come on! Wodan - you saw the invaders. What do you think?”
Wodan fell into himself for a long time. He thought of the gangs, their constant squabbling, how they recruited people who were desperate to make a name for themselves, then ground up their recruits’ individuality until they were only nameless cogs in a self-serving meta-organism. He thought of the Businessmen, and how they had thrown money at a few desperate kids who were willing to throw their lives away so that less courageous individuals might live just a little longer. Then his thoughts wandered toward Haven. He remembered holding it up as an example to others so that they would be willing to fight to survive, to fight with everything they had, to do more than they’d ever thought possible. He remembered how the people of Haven had been so willing to exile him, to push him into oblivion because he was an embarrassing reminder that their founding fathers were once savages from the wasteland who were unwilling to compromise.
Wodan saw the face of Vito staring back at him, accusing him. Was civilization nothing more than an old man hiding behind a desk, crying and screaming in terror at the dark shapes beyond the window and ordering young people who didn’t know any better to risk their lives to protect him? Was Vito’s way the ultimate truth? Was the only honest response to an absurd network of relationships, like Pontius or Haven, to burn it all down and walk away into the night?
“I may have signed up for the wrong reasons,” said Wodan. “But Pontius is where the fight is. That’s where we resolve this mess, and I mean to figure out a way to get us back.”
“Tough guy!” said Chris, getting up to take a piss. “You’re a real tough guy, Wodan!”
* * *
The next day the six young men sat before the village chief and his spirit man. The two elders often eyed one another conspiratorially, as if terrified they were on the verge of being caught at something. This did not surprise Wodan; he had spoken to many of the villagers, and he’d put enough of a narrative together to decide that the chief had come into power mostly because he was born with a crooked leg, which excused him from work and gave him enough free time to listen to rumors and thus take advantage of any possible rivals. The people were easy to govern, as they mostly concerned themselves with fishing and storytelling, so the chief had an easy time. As for the spirit man, he had grown up pestering the former shaman; when the shaman died prematurely, he had been able to scrape together enough of the old man’s lessons and rituals and herbal remedies – not to mention the strange behavior expected from a shaman – and pass himself off as a decent spiritual counselor. Many of the villagers could intuit that something was not quite right with the current spirit man, but they did not feel confident in their ability to find a better one, so they let him get by without working and mostly ignored his medical advice.
As their official diplomat, Wodan sat before the other boys and faced the chief. They sat in silence while the chief’s spirit man sprinkled magic dust onto them, shrieked directly into Wodan’s face, performed a short dance in each corner of the room, then calmly sat beside the chief.
“Sir,” said Wodan. “You know that we are travelers from a distant land. We have ridden very far in order to oppose a great force of men and dogmen who are moving toward our city. Now, it is imperative that we go back, so that we can report what we have seen and help in the defense of our land.”
“This is terrible,” said the chief. “The dogman, he will take your cattle, he will take your women. May the gods protect your ill-starred land!”
“Help from the gods would nice, but if we could make it back and help them, that’d be better. I would like to propose a trade agreement. Some of our guns, perhaps, for six pack animals and enough food and water to get us back home.”
“Ai!” said the chief. He unfurled a large bundle and revealed their dusty guns, bereft of ammunition. “The artisans are already looking forward to tinkering with these fine and noble knick-knacks. But, my boy, I had thought that perhaps these guns would be a gift from you to the men who saved your lives...”
“This one isn’t!” said Chris. He leaned over and snatched up the pieces of the dismantled Hargis sniper rifle. “This is mine. It’s a dog-killer, not ornamentation for some crazy looking statue.”
Wodan glanced at Chris, then said to the chief, “I wouldn’t be opposed to that. You gave us shelter, and you’ve kept us fed. If you happen to meet any travelers, you could trade these guns with them. Frankly, they aren’t worth a lot to us now that we’ve run through all our ammunition. We do have more than this to trade, but it’ll require a little trust on your part. I am the official diplomat for our crew; I have at my disposal clearance to barter goods from our land, which can be brought here if we are given enough supplies to return to our land.”
“Ai-yai! But your cattle and all your women - they have already been claimed by the dogmen.”
“We do not recognize their claim. Moreover, we have in our land the means to destroy them. We have more guns like these. We have enough of them to protect all our cattle and even our women, too. We can draw up a contract right here, and I will sign it in blood if necessary.”
“So you say... so you say. If your land is weak, then the dogmen will take what they want and leave nothing behind. But if your land is strong, what need have you to honor a contract with us? They will not respect or remember us. They have guns like these; contracts are not necessary to such a people.”
Wodan wanted to agree with the chief. He couldn’t imagine any of the Businessmen or the Law or the city officials caring enough about a small tribe out in the middle of nowhere to honor an agreement drawn up by someone whose life they had most likely already written off. However, Wodan was desperate to return, so he forged ahead. “They will honor the contract because they have done so in the past. Guns such as these cannot be made by people who do not honor contracts. The miner of iron would not trust the metalsmith, who would not trust the gunpowder maker, who would not trust the arms dealer, who would not trust the gunfighter, without the binding of contracts, you see.”
“So you say... so you say...”
They went on like this for a long time and Wodan realized they had reached an impasse the very moment they had set foot in the hut. Six pack animals, in a land of subterranean fishermen, were a fortune compared to the abstract promise Wodan had to offer. After perhaps an hour the spirit man sensed a terrible ghost among them and chased it back and forth with a stick of incense, and in the midst of his caterwauling Wodan could barely think, much less keep his frustration from degenerating into outright despair.
Demonworld Book 4: Shepherd of Wolves Page 20
