To Hell and Back dv-5

by Lilith Saintcrow

  "The hedaira?" The minute it was out of my mouth I regretted it.

  "All of them. Each life the Prince ordered me to take. I keep them here." One elegant golden finger tapped at his temple. "We're very close now."

  There was nothing to say. Still, I pulled on his arm. "Japh. Hey."

  He didn't look at me. His eyes narrowed as they swept the crumbling garden. "We should hurry."

  "Hey." I tugged on his arm until his gaze swung down, touched mine. "Come here."

  "I'm here," His expression didn't change.

  I pulled him close and slid my arm around his waist, a moment of awkwardness as my sword got briefly tangled up. I hugged him as hard as I could, squeezing until rewarded by his brief exhale.

  He hugged me back, a slight careful pressure, before freeing himself with exquisite gentleness. His face had eased a little.

  We set off through the ruined city again. I was beginning to get almost used to the sound the bridges made when the city shifted, and almost used to the vibration underfoot, sliding through the echo chamber of my body. I mean, as much as you can get used to being shaken like a bad sodaflo can every few minutes in a place that wasn't quite the regular world, drenched with a cousin to Hell's chillfire air.

  The streets smoothed out, widening into an avenue that dumped us into a huge plaza floored with more red-glass stone. Here the light was brighter, but deeper in shade, heart's-blood instead of arterial flow.

  In the middle of the plaza a massive building lifted, bone-white marble glowing along its pillared front. Its walls rumbled with grief and Power, and I stared, forgetting to move forward until Japhrimel, not unkindly, pulled me along.

  "It's a Temple." The plaza threw the words back at me. Surely I didn't sound that horrified? The idea of a Temple here, in this twisted sorrowing place, filled me with unsteady loathing.

  He waited four steps before he answered me. "It wasn't built for one of your gods."

  The sound of my lonely footsteps echoed too, magnified by weird acoustics. I tried to imagine this place full of people and failed miserably. "A demon god?" Call me a coward, but I don't want to know what kind of god a demon would worship.

  "No. This was a place to celebrate what we could become." He paused, thoughtfully, and the echo of my footsteps trickled away like running water. "The A'nankhimel spoke blasphemy, to the rest of us. This was where that blasphemy bloomed. When I came here, it was as a fire comes to cleanse." The words began to tumble out. "This was not just a place for hedaira and Fallen. Others were brought here, humans who showed promise, and taught. They were given many gifts, which they took outside to the world. Lucifer flatters himself that he allowed it, to bring humans up from the mud. Shavarak'itzan beliak." It was obviously an obscenity; the air cringed away when he said it. "The first products of the unions between your kind and mine were born here. Later, an A'nankhimel would take a hedaira away to give birth in secret. They had good reason."

  I knew about this. There was a chance that a hedaira could give birth to an Androgyne — a demon capable of reproducing. Which would pretty much destroy Lucifer's monopoly on reproduction in Hell. It was a big deal to demons — after all, the Devil had wound me up and sent me after Santino, who had merrily absconded with the means to experiment genetically until he performed the biggest hat-trick of all, making Eve.

  Eve. The child I hadn't been able to save. Little girl all grown up and making trouble.

  "Were all of them women?" I was curious, you see. This was the most information about hedaira he'd ever given me.

  "There were stories about males- hedairos. I saw none."

  You'd be in a position to know, wouldn't you. I was suddenly glad I hadn't eaten anything. "Okay. So why only women?"

  The bloody light exploded again, soft crimson lapping at the air. I flinched.

  "The human female breeds, my curious."

  That's why Lucifer killed them, you idiot. "Oh."You know, I'd give just about anything to go back to the hover now. I tried to speed up, but Japh kept us to the same even pace. For a demon in such a hurry, he wasn't moving very quickly. Just steadily, our steps like clockwork measuring off eternity.

  How long had it been since someone walked here? Did I want to know? There was no dust but plenty of the dry sterile red dirt, and the way the place shook every few minutes probably wasn't conducive to dust settling.

  Another thought came hard on the heels of that one. Where are all the bodies?

  Add that to the list of questions I could live without answering. The longer I lived, the more of those there seemed to be.

  The Temple's steps sloped up, some of them broken and cracked. Another shudder and bridge-scream left the air shaking, icy hell-heat flapping at my new coat, reminding me of things I needed to forget if I was supposed to stay sane. I kept my sword in a white-knuckle grip, tried to ignore the way my hands were shaking. Maybe an onlooker wouldn't have noticed it, but I could feel the tremors, like an overstressed dynamo.

  What if Lucifer shows up?

  I told myself it was ridiculous. Japh wouldn't bring me here if he seriously thought the Devil would appear. He was just being cautious.

  Yeah, right, sunshine. Tell me another one. I stole a look at Japh's face, its set lines, the perfection of his golden skin drawn tight against the bones. He didn't look as starved as he had. His hair fell over his eyes, feathering out in ragged bits.

  "Up the stairs," he said, but he didn't look at me. The expression crept into his face, a look of listening. No matter how hard I strained, I suspected I wouldn't be able to hear whatever he was hearing — or trying to hear.

  It was the same look he'd worn in Toscano, keeping to himself the fact that the Devil was asking for me, playing for time to let me heal.

  Something's about to happen. I only have a touch of precognition; it's nowhere near my strongest Talent. Still, it's just enough to warn me when something awful is about to go down.

  I wish it wasn't so well-exercised. I have just enough precog to warn me right before I step into quicksand up to my neck, not nearly enough to stop me from sinking.

  Closer to the top, the steps were deep and riven. It looked like someone had taken a plashammer to them in several places, marble crushed and ground to pebbles by resonance-harmonics. I had enough to do in scrambling over broken stone, Japh's arm somehow never leaving my shoulders. He was impossibly graceful even now, as I slipped and slid.

  We reached the top, and I hopped onto the porch. The pillars were chipped but otherwise whole, marching along the front of a building big enough to house a whole fleet of freight transports.

  Typical demon. Build everything so huge it's unbelievable. Wonder what they were compensating for? The snigger caught me off-guard, echoes booming and shattering between the pillars, touching the doors. There were five of them, the central one largest and holding two shattered slabs of marble that once had been able to close. The last door on the left was closed, marble writhing with carving I didn't want to look at. The other three smaller doors were in varying stages of brokenness.

  Knock knock. Who's there? Just me. Just me who? Just your favorite demon assassin, that's who. I waved away Japhrimel's quizzical look. "Nothing. I'm okay."

  "Keep the Knife ready." His voice fell flat, didn't bounce up from the hard edges like mine did.

  No worries about that. The panic died. My left thumb caressed the sword's guard, ready to click the blade free. I could draw, drop my scabbard, and yank the wooden Knife free of its sheath if I was given half a chance.

  There was no way I was facing a demon without good honest steel in my hand, no matter how powerful the demon-wrought thing at my hip was.

  Sharp repressed anger stained the world for a moment, as if the bloody light had crept inside my eyes. I took a deep breath, shoved it down, and found the trembling in my hands had receded just a little bit. Just enough. "Which door?" Sounds like a goddamn holovid game show. "I'll take the demon behind Door Number Three, Martin."

  "It matt
ers little." He indicated the largest with an economical gesture. "If we were here before the City was broken, this would be the door I brought you to, at least the first time. There would be a celebration, and sacrifices to mark the occasion."

  How the hell do you know? "You were here?"

  "Know thine enemy is not only a human proverb, my curious." The listening look deepened, and he cocked his head. The city moved again, a huge restless stone animal accompanied by screams. "Some few demons came here to learn, and to watch."

  "Learn what?" What could a demon possibly learn from humanity? Hadn't they been the ones to teach us? Or at least, that was the suspicion enshrined in academia.

  "How to Fall. Come." He stepped over a rivulet of broken stone and dust, his arm leaving my shoulders. His hands flicked and two silver guns appeared, held low and ready as he edged forward. That's when I finally realized what I should have known all along.

  Japh wasn't hoping trouble would pass us by. He knew trouble was about to happen, and had tried to keep me from worrying about it as long as possible.

  Great.

  Chapter 17

  The Temple's roof had either been nonexistent in the first place or destroyed so completely it didn't matter. The inside was such a mess either was a fair guess. Great chunks of masonry were gouged up and scattered around, and unlike the outside, dust lay in a carpet up to my shins; whispering against my jeans as I waded in. The massive rectangular space focused on the far end, where a bank of glowing nacreous steps crouched under a long winged shape I had to blink at before recognizing as an altar.

  The walls ran with a riot of color unsmirched by damage, and I had to swallow hard when I saw it was mosaic. Fantastical creatures with wings and fins leapt and cavorted against jungle green, and everywhere there were slender graceful golden women, all with glyphs worked into their flesh, white robes cut aside to reveal the marks proudly. After the desertion of the city outside, it was an assault, and the echo of Inhana's dark sad gaze was enough to make me wish I'd never seen this place. "Anubis." I sounded choked. "The mosaics."

  "It was traditional." Japhrimel lowered his guns slightly.

  "Hurry."

  Hurry? There's nobody here. Still, I wasn't about to argue. "Where?"

  "Where do you think?" He tipped his head toward the altar, red light bringing out odd highlights in his shaggy hair. "Up the steps, while I make certain no other intrudes."

  "It's up there?"

  "If the Anhelikos brought it, the casket is there. Please, hedaira, as you love life, hurry." He backed away from the doors, covering them in standard position, something I might have learned at the Academy. Still, he did it far more gracefully than a human could. His coat rustled, its long edges rippling and settling.

  He must be nervous. His wings wouldn't do that otherwise.

  I waded through the dust, picking my way around beached hunks of stone. When I glanced up, there was nothing but the red light. I couldn't see the roof of the cavern, and it was probably a good thing. I didn't want to see what was glowing fiercely enough to drench this entire place with light. I also didn't want to be reminded of how far we'd fall if the bridges quit screaming and started breaking. It would be just my luck to have centuries-old demon glasswork fail just as I got here.

  My boots slid on a hard pebbled surface under the shed skin of centuries. More mosaics? Probably. The thought made me feverish, the icy heat tearing at the edges of Japhrimel's borrowed Power over my aura.

  I'm in a temple. What if I start feeling like my insides are being ripped out again?

  I told myself not to worry. There was nothing sacred left here. The gods had fled, if they'd ever been invited in the first place. My cheek sizzled as my accreditation tat shifted under my skin, inked lines twisting.

  Besides, I've been dewormed. The black humor in the thought almost helped.

  Almost.

  There was a long unbroken sea of dust, the stairs rearing out of it like spines. Oddly, no grime had settled on those white, white planes. The altar crouched, its shape less rectangular and more sinuous now, carved with deep scored lines I recognized as angular demon writing, their peculiar rune-alphabet. My shoulder twinged, the mark settling deeper into my flesh, nestling in the hollow of my shoulder like a bird with its own heartbeat.

  I wanted to fix each rune in my Magi-trained memory, but settled for swimming my boots through the dust and struggling cautiously up onto the steps, testing the first one with my boot before trusting my weight to it. OtherSight was almost useless here, between Japhrimel and the haze of grief in the air it was even difficult to see my own aura. It was like being blind, being unable to see the interplay of forces under the skin of the world.

  The altar's main portion had a curved back, and something I stared at for a long moment before making sense of it.

  Manacles made of silvery metal lay tangled across each end of the main part. On the winged sub-altars on either side were deep lines — blood-grooves, a long-ago memory of an illustration in a textbook rose to supply the term. The chains looked thin, strands almost hair-fine twisted together in complex patterned knots, but I would have bet every credit I ever earned doing bounties and quite a few I never laid hands on, they would have held just about anything down.

  In the middle of the tangled mess of metal, a rectangle of darkness sat. I recognized it immediately.

  It was the twin to Sephrimel's wooden box. Only this one looked oiled, well cared for, and was closed, with a dainty little silver padlock shaped like wings.

  For now, simply take what is yours by right, Sephrimel whispered inside my head.

  I reached out for it, stopped halfway. What about those chains? Who had they chained here?

  Hedaira? Or demons?

  "Dante?" Japhrimel, his voice falling oddly away. He didn't echo here like I did.

  "There's chains." I couldn't get enough air in. "What were they for?"

  "For a hedaira's safety. Is it there?" Impatience snapped the end of each word off.

  "There's a wooden box. It looks like —"

  "Pick it up. For the sake of every god of your kind and mine, hurry!"

  The premonition hit so hard my chin snapped aside, as if I'd been punched. If I could relax, it would swim up through dark water and swallow me, and I would see a bit of the future. Not much, never enough, but maybe something useful.

  The trouble was, relaxing wasn't anywhere close to what I wanted to do. I stared at the box, my eyes unfocusing as the premonition circled, drew closer… and passed me by, close enough that I felt a brush like thousands of tiny feathers through the air around me.

  "Dante." Japhrimel's tone brooked no disobedience. "Take it from the altar."

  Just as I leaned forward to do so, another voice slid through the Temple's shocked quiet. It was clear, and low, and definitely a demon's.

  "Yes. Take up the Knife, Dante Valentine. Let us see what you can cut with it."

  Chapter 18

  I jerked around in a tight half circle, Fudoshin clearing the scabbard with a low rasp of oiled steel. Blue fire woke along its edge, runes from the Nine Canons twisting on its curve, the heart of the blade burning white. Rage woke in a blinding red spray and I took two steps, my body coiling, compressing elastic demon muscle preparatory to explosive action.

  The breath left me in a sharp sigh. I stopped, my rings spitting a cascade of golden sparks — no spells left in them, just pure Power accumulating in the sensitized stones and metal.

  Eve stepped out of the shadows of wreckage at the far left side of the altar, her pale hair catching fire and lifting a little, framing her sweet face. She was beautiful in the way only demons can be, wearing her exotic golden skin like a silk glove, her wide dark-blue eyes- Doreen's eyes — meeting mine with the force of a hover collision. Above and between those eyes, an emerald glowed, set into the smoothness of her forehead. Just like Lucifer's.

  I flinched at the thought.

  She had Doreen's triangular face, Doreen's mouth, and a
wary little half-smile that was all mine, under the supple carapace of demon beauty.

  On Lucifer, beauty looked deadly. On Japh it was purely functional. On Eve, it was… magick. And under it, I saw the shadow of the child I had rescued from Santino's lair, the child Lucifer had taken as I watched helplessly under the bright hammerblow of Nuevo Rio sunlight.

  The only child I might ever have.

  Behind her, resolving around a pair of bright blue gasflame eyes, was Velokel the Hunter, broad and powerful as a bull, his large square teeth closed away behind lips that thinned as they took me in.

  I twitched. But Eve's eyes met mine, and she smiled. It was a genuine smile, not the little half-grimace we shared; the armored expression I faced the world with. "You've come so very far." Her voice was soft and restful; and the smell of her — bread baking and demon musk, a powerfully comforting scent — boiled out from behind a screen of dust and age.

  "How…" I had to clear my throat. "How did you get here?"

  "Kel has tracked more tricksome beasts than the Anhelikos, Dante. It was not quite child's play to follow the Knife, but it was close — and still, so much depends on you." Her smile widened. "Now here we are, and we have little time. Stay where you are, Kinslayer."

  Japhrimel halted midway across the sea of dust. Both his guns were trained on Eve. "If you touch her —"

  Eve shrugged. She wore black, a merino sweater and loose elegant slacks, a pair of what looked like handmade Taliano boots. Kel made do with buff-colored canvas slacks and a blouse under a leather doublet, something like a Renascence illustration of a woodsman, complete with a pouch and a curved horn hanging from his broad leather belt.

  They called Velokel the Hunter, and I wondered if he'd seen this city before. When he was hunting hedaira. That's exactly the least comforting thought in the world.

  "There is no need for threats, Eldest." Eve took a step toward me, measured Japhrimel with a single glance, and took another. "We are not at cross-purposes here."