Demonworld Book 4: Shepherd of Wolves

by Kyle B. Stiff

  Wodan picked up the rhythm of the chant and hummed it deep in his chest. He mourned the man who could have been a great leader to mankind, but had been betrayed by mankind, and then repaid betrayal in kind.

  * * *

  The negotiations of the surrender began. Foreman Arcturus stood on the plains with a gang of heavily armed Smith Magi behind him. Khan Wodan stood with a troop of his wolves behind him.

  “Withdraw,” snarled Arcturus. “The city officials have admitted defeat, but some of your dogs still sneak over our walls to cause trouble.”

  Wodan conferred with a few wolves, absentmindedly nodding to the Foreman. Finally turning to him, he said, “Wait... who are you, exactly?”

  “I’m Foreman Arcturus, leader of the Most Holy Order of the Smiths!”

  “But I have requested to speak to the rulers of Pontius.”

  “All of Pontius is indebted to me! As of now... I run Pontius! All negotiations will happen through me!”

  “Aren’t you afraid that you could be killed, now that you’ve come outside the protection of your walls?”

  “Ha! I believe in the Machine Eternal! I am but a Cog in its grand workings. If I am killed, another will replace me. Even if you killed everyone in Pontius, you could never break through our inner sanctum. The Smiths reign supreme. They always have… and they always will.”

  “How can you negotiate for the protection of your city when you care only about the Smiths hiding in their sanctuary?”

  “Because the Smiths are Pontius. The people who live in Pontius do so only at our discretion. They are cannon fodder, willfully blind and hateful towards the path of truth that only we can walk.”

  “Is that so,” whispered Wodan.

  Within moments, the Magi were unarmed and fleeing with tears racing down their faces. Arcturus ran across the dusty plain a little behind his men, with his robe stretched up over his head such that he could not see. Two wolves loped behind him, laughing and whipping his bare bottom with belts. Arcturus stumbled to and fro, praying that he would soon reach the main gate, and praying even more desperately that, somehow, no guards would be posted to see him.

  * * *

  They gathered in the soft light of sunrise after a night of violence. Representatives of the Law knelt in the sand: Director DeSark, Judge Rosebudd, and Lieutenant Virgil, who sat sullen and confused with bandages over his head and hands. To their left sat the landless king of Hargis and his wiry, gaunt soldiers. To the right sat Miss Oliver and a crew of Businessmen. Before them sat the Khan and his somber wolves, who were already growing fat from the ravaged fields and the plundered city.

  Wodan seemed unrecognizable to them. His shoulders were wide, he had the strong hands of his father, and his face was cut out of smooth planes. His brown hair was lank and smooth with dark grease, with small braids on one side tied up with bits of leather, as was custom among those beasts. If he was indeed as strong as the wolves claimed, then he kept it hidden beneath the wolf cloak, the mantle of the Khan.

  “The former Khan,” said Wodan, “began a great and terrible work. He fought for the destruction of civilization itself. I hope that we can end this work today.” He paused for long time, then said, “My wolves and I will remove ourselves from your land and from all the lands of men. We will carve out a land of our own. We will create a nation for outsiders, and a home for pioneers.”

  “Wodan!” Virgil said suddenly. “Is that really you? Is it still you?”

  “We will need supplies for our journey,” said Wodan, ignoring his old friend. “Pontius can either consider these supplies to be concessions to a conquering army, or an investment in a new corporation.”

  “Corporation?” said Miss Oliver. “To do what, exactly? And where?”

  “We will go to the Black Valley. We will finish the investment that you began, Businessman.”

  They sat in silence and Wodan stared ahead. He did not smile, and this convinced Virgil that the Wodan he had once known was dead. He had surely been possessed by some kind of flesh demon.

  “But, Wo - er, Khan,” said DeSark. “Pontius is... it’s already been through so much...”

  “Give what you can,” said Wodan. “Consider it my payment for relieving you of two of your gangs, for slowing down the invaders, and for taking my wolves out from your land and into another.”

  Judge Rosebudd cleared his throat loudly, then said, “I can see that you believe you’ve become a man now, Wodan. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of one of your foolish plans. This thing you set out on now… it’s a child’s dream, a dangerous game.”

  “Judge of Pontius. Is it easier to accept the idea that we live in a world where nations can be destroyed, but can never be created? Humanity cannot hide behind its walls forever. The dominant species has been complacent in its godhood for far too long. They could have driven us to extinction hundreds of years ago, but they didn’t. Now that they’ve organized and drawn together, I think it’s time that we showed them that we have a few surprises of our own. Why not counter their destructive impulses with an act of creation that will shock the entire world?”

  “Very well,” said DeSark, shaking off his weariness and glaring at Wodan. “We will give what we can. Only so long as you leave, Wodan - and never come back.”

  “I never mean to.” Wodan waited, then said, “King of Hargis... will you come with me?”

  “Of course,” said Zach, smiling at his old friend, whose eyes he recognized.

  * * *

  Khan Wodan sat with his guards Yarek Clash and Naarwulf in the failing light, watching the stars rising over the plains of dust. Wolves loped about, preparing for the strange new conquest, the creation of Valhalla-on-Earth that the new Khan prophesied. Wodan regarded Yarek, who looked so like his former tutor, yet different, a cold and silent servant whose strength Wodan only now began to understand. Yarek had not seen a soft bed in well over a week, but he did not seem to mind.

  Did Didi fill him with stories of a superbeing? Wodan thought. Did he tell him that there was a creature in the wasteland who deserved worship and devotion, but should also be watched for signs of malicious intent – and then killed straightaway?

  Yarek felt his gaze and turned to him. He blinked his yellow eyes once, then turned away again. Wodan did not know that Yarek was haunted by the memory of a small boy carried away on a little boat, a boy who should have screamed and hated the world but, instead, only waved goodbye.

  Wodan regarded Naarwulf. The giant black wolf looked back at him, nodded slightly, then turned back to the stars.

  Such simple devotion, thought Wodan. He relishes his complete and total loyalty. In the end, he secretly rebelled against his former Khan’s suicidal dream of worldwide destruction. Does he have any idea of the extent of my plans? Can he possibly imagine that my dream will challenge the very core of his beliefs and possibly shatter his identity?

  “Leave me alone for a while,” said Wodan, rising. The two grunted in acknowledgment as Wodan walked away.

  Wodan strode toward the fringes of the camp. Wolves nodded and growled to him as he passed. He left the camp, then came upon the dark spire of stone where he’d killed Vito. There he saw a circle of ragged women in quiet counsel. Finally they heard him and turned in alarm. Wodan recognized two of them, a slight redheaded girl and a dark-haired woman – the untouched brides who belonged to the Khan. They glanced at one another, then the two quickly approached and knelt. Wodan could feel resentment and hatred seething from the dark-haired woman, and he did not blame her.

  “What’s your name?” said Wodan.

  The two looked at one another, waiting for some kind of trick. The slight redheaded girl lifted her eyes and said, “Freyja.” The other sat silent, enduring her humiliation with practiced ease.

  “Freyja. I’m going to make a new country. A new world. Would you like to come along?”

  “Do we have a choice?” the dark-haired woman said quietly.

  “I can’t make it easy for you.�
� Wodan glanced at the other women, who waited to see what would happen. “I can tell that you’re trying to escape your captors. I’m sure it took a lot of planning, and a lot of effort, and a lot of guts. I’ll leave you in a minute, and you can do as you wish. The city of Pontius is safer than travelling with dogmen… but maybe not by much. You have a choice. If you come with me, I can’t offer you safety, but I can offer a new life. We’re going to go to an oasis. Flesh demons live there, but I honestly believe that their reputation stands on the foundation of our fears. We can smash them… we can drive them off and create a sanctuary where humans can live free. It won’t be easy. But wouldn’t that be something, just to try?”

  Wodan stopped. Freyja seemed ready to speak, but he raised a hand and said, “Don’t choose just yet. I’m going to move on. Follow if you like.”

  Wodan left the women and continued on while they debated their escape. The bitter wind scattered black dust around him and he nestled deep within the wolf skin cloak.

  Suddenly he felt something like a knife in his heart at the memory of the people he’d known looking at him like an outsider, a monster. He felt of his arms and they were foreign even to him. Virgil and DeSark and the others saw him as something foreign and strange and hateful towards their world. But hadn’t he always been foreign and strange and hateful toward their world? If they only suspected, before, that he wanted to change their world, perhaps they feared him now because they knew he could actually do it.

  He thought of home and felt a pang of remorse. Not only had he lost his home and the love of his parents, he’d also lost the illusion that his homeland had ever been home. He knew, now, that the only home he had was the one he made for himself.

  He stopped and looked up at the night sky. He hugged himself against the cold and considered the idea that perhaps his existence was some kind of unnatural genetic blasphemy. The path that led to the creation of a new land screamed a silent warning and read off an endless list of possible dangers. The cold night wind was like the hiss from the throat of a god that needed no living things to creep across the earth in its dark presence. He felt utterly alone.

  But the stars, the roof of stars high above, called out to his new eyes with a beautiful siren song. They were warm against the vacuum. He knew that a thousand other dreamers had looked at them, and wondered, and suffered, and finally he smiled.

  He smiled because he had no time for idle worrying. The world was an old corpse somehow kept alive by the memories of others, and was locked in an endless nightmare of worries. For good or ill, he would finally begin the great work of creating a new world. He would become a star that other dreamers could look upon. He would guide their path as others had guided him…

  And if they were strong enough, they would come to a land as radiant and beautiful and merciless as the rising sun.

  To be continued in

  Demonworld Book Five:

  Lords of the Black Valley