by Sating, Paul
"Yeah, why not?"
I threw my hands up, almost sending the shot glass skyward. "Because you're in a relationship and serving in the Army would end that."
Ralrek cocked his head, one corner of his mouth curling up while he winked. "It's not like we've been together that long, and we're definitely not that serious." He read our quiet reactions. "Come on, guys. Torlan and I just started dating. We're not even freaking exclusive. I like him; he's a good incubus. But he's not my life. Heavens, I don't even know yet if he has the potential to be. And like Bilba said, we could be drafted. If that's my decision point, to risk being drafted for an incubus who may or may not be in my life next week, it makes things a little simpler. I might do it."
I looked at both of them, not believing this conversation was happening. "You guys can't be serious?"
"I am," Bilba said firmly enough. "I have to be."
"Think about it," Ralrek said. "If this is happening, would you want to be drafted? None of us have served in any of their wars. How many chances do you think you'll get to volunteer, Zeke? The Army will look at those who haven't served first, before they draft those who already have. Are you willing to take that chance?"
Ralrek had a point. Within the last hundred years, humans had fought two mammoth conflicts that spread across half the blessed planet. Both times there were rumors that the Army would be recruiting, and ultimately they did. Both times they instituted a draft. And both times my number hadn't come up. Neither had Bilba's or Ralrek's. We'd been lucky, especially with the First World War. So many died in those short years; nearly ten thousand never came home. Was the third time the charm? If they drafted me and put me in the most dangerous job, I'd never forgive myself and neither would my mother. My boss would kick my ass.
But could I really do it? If I joined and was sent to the Overworld, it would only be a couple of years. Four, in fact. What was four years when you lived tens of thousands? I mean, I would never get excited by suffocating daily structure, early mornings, and all the screaming and shouting, but, if I would have to serve anyway, shouldn't it be on my terms?
I ran a hand through my messy hair.
Bilba laughed. "I won't ask you to do anything you didn't want to do, Zeke. But I think you're making this out to be more than what it is. If we volunteer, we might get great administrative jobs far away from the fighting."
"And if we don't …" Ralrek said. "Something each one of us better think about."
I pulled my hand away from my hair. Not that it mattered. None of the hundred succubi had looked my way the entire night. Maybe if I was a combat veteran, I'd have enough credibility to be worth five seconds of their time? "You guys are ridiculous."
Both of them wore stupid smiles.
"Why's that?" Bilba asked.
"Because," I said with a big sigh, "I'll do it. I'll volunteer for Lucifer's stupid Army."
4 - Underworld, Fifth/Seventh Circle
A piece of advice for you mortals. The thing about making difficult decisions is that you have to make them as soon as you have enough information to be confident, at least if you want a favorable outcome. Don't linger and pontificate endlessly, since doing so may cost you. Take it from me, Hell's recovering reject, learner of life's tough lessons.
A week passed since our nightclub conversation. In that time, I may or may not have been distracted by life. Work was going well, and I was getting plenty of hours, meaning more coin stashed away. My parents were still absent since the Samhain feast, so there was little in the way of family stress. Succubi were still uninterested in me on a romantic level and only Gigi at the Chilly Willy's coffee stand had a conversation with me that lasted more than five minutes. This should have been a perfect opportunity for me to do some thinking about my future. As fate would have it—true, I don't believe in fate, but blaming a concept is easier than admitting to laziness—I didn't give a second thought to the conversation at El Diablo about volunteering for the Army.
We get comfortable and then we get lazy, right? Use the demands of life to convince yourself you'll get around to that nagging need as soon as you can? Immortal or mortal, we're all guilty. The fact is, I wasn't the only one who dawdled.
How do I know that? Because, like I said, a week had passed since the nightclub conversation and now Bilba and Ralrek were pounding on my door.
Half asleep on the couch after a long day of taking inventory at the bookstore, their racket snatched me from a enjoying what promised to be a wonderful slumber. My heart didn't stop hammering until long after I reached the door, throwing it open and shouting, "What the heaven to you want?"
Bilba pulled back, his face whiter-than-normal.
Ralrek's laugh was timid. His face, not whiter-than-normal, was still handsome—of course—but strained. "Invite us in," he said. "We have news you'll want to hear."
Demons have an adage that there is no good way to deliver bad news. Best to throw it out on the table and deal with it than spending energy softening the oncoming blow.
And that's what my friends were doing at this very moment. Together in my living room, Bilba by my side, we read the letter he'd received. It was identical to the one Ralrek also held, only the personal identification information differed. Before they stopped by, I had a small pile of unopened mail precariously stacked on my kitchen counter—I hate opening mail unless I absolutely have to because it's usually a company demanding money for a service I probably didn't need but was too lazy to cancel.
With Bilba and Ralrek's sudden visit, I struggled to determine if I was happy to have not opened my mail earlier as I held my own letter in shaking hands.
"I'm sorry, buddy." Bilba rubbed my shoulder.
I swayed back and forth, feeling like I was about to fall over. My eyes traveled to the subject line for what had to be the thirtieth time.
SUBJECT: NOTIFICATION OF DRAFT SELECTION
"And you guys got one?" I said without pulling my eyes away.
Bilba nodded. "I heard hundreds did, just in our zone. There are probably thousands who did across the Circles."
"At least," Ralrek said in a voice devoid of its usual confidence.
"Drafted." I said the word again. It sounded foreign in my head. "I can't be drafted into the Army."
Bilba looked off into the distance. "I never wanted this either, but there's nothing we can do about it."
I thrust the letter at Ralrek. Disgusted. "Can you do something about that? I don't want to see it anymore."
An instant of skin scratching passed as he cast a small flame and torched the notification letter. Smoke drifted up as it burned down to his fingers. Nothing had every smelled sweeter—well, except for the Overworld's chicken wings, but who could think of food at a time like this?
I groaned. "There has to be someone we can talk to! This isn't right."
"It is what it is," Ralrek said as he leaned back in a chair, his hands drooping over the arms as he stretched his long legs out.
"What the heaven is that supposed to mean? This isn't a joke. They've drafted us. Freaking drafted us. And you're just going to take it?" I said with far more heat than was fair for the oil-black haired incubus. Would Ralrek feel the same when he realized what this development would mean for his wonderfully thick locks?
"What else can we do?" Ralrek's tone was soft, defeated, but kind. He'd given up, just as Bilba had.
How quickly did these two capitulate? Minutes? Seconds? They couldn't have received the notifications that much earlier than I did, and in the time it took them to find each other and come check on me, they'd decided they were at peace with this?
"We can ask for a waiver or something," I said. "There has to be a way to get out of this. Let's just say we're conscientious objectors. The mortals have movies about that, and it gets them out of service all the time. Well, at least the rich ones."
"But we're not human or rich," Ralrek offered, unhelpful as ever. "So we have to accept this."
"Yep," huffed Bilba.
"Come on,
guys. Don't give up on me now."
Bilba patted my leg in a grandfatherly way. "We're going to have to do this, Zeke. Look at the date. There isn't much time."
"And we need to use that time to get everything situated," Ralrek added, standing. "Look at it this way, at least you're not in trouble with the Council or being Abandoned in the Overworld. A nice head shave and few years in uniform is a lot better than that, isn't it?"
This was moving too fast. There was too much to do. Too many things to get settled, and I didn't even know if I could rely on my parents to help with the life I was leaving behind.
The world spiraled. Control was slipping. Who could help settle it?
***
Dialphio hugged me. Her neck was blotchy. "I'm so sorry. I know this is the last thing in the world you wanted. And I can't believe you're leaving so soon."
I looked around The Book Abyss, the narrow bookstore that was my home, with its shelves crammed with titles no matter how hard I worked to counter-act Dialphio's love of buying more and more books. "Trust me, neither can I. I don't know what I'm going to do. There's so much to take care of and so many things I don't know."
She waved with a chubby hand. "Don't you dare worry about that. You have enough going on."
"I feel bad asking you to do this."
Dialphio leaned to look around me at the shop. It was quiet, even though we were a few hours into the day. "In case you haven't noticed, this is a bookstore where we sell … books." She paused to chirp a half-hearted laugh. "Things don't get so crazy that I can't handle it. I don't want you worrying about a single thing. Take care of what you need to and I'll watch over your life back here until you come home."
I swept in and wrapped my arms around her, squeezing tight. "I don't know what I would do without you."
"I hear that so often that I must be doing something right. Maybe you should be the one paying me?"
"Seriously, Dialphio, you are so kind. I wish I had more demons like you in my life."
"There's no one like me, Ezekial." She winked, the blotches in her neck beginning to fade as the mood of our conversation lightened. "Plus, give it time and things will turn around. If anything comes out of this military service, demons might appreciate you a little more. You deserve that."
"Thank you." My voice croaked.
Dialphio moved to her desk in the back corner of the bookstore behind the half-wall and the stacks of books atop it that blocked off our 'office' area from the customer area. Her desk drawer was pulled open slowly, as if she didn't want me to notice. I did. "You already said that. Now get back to work. This is your last day; I need to get all the labor out of you that I can."
And we did just that, spending the rest of the day together, mostly silent. When I first met Dialphio, she tried to play the tough gal boss role. That lasted for about as long as ice in Hell outside freezers. My mother was an amazing succubus, but Dialphio was on-par with her, and my boss had no blood relation to motivate her. She cared because that's who she was. She looked out for me better than I looked out for myself, and that was something I would miss with this upcoming military service. If I didn't flunk out first, which was always a possibility, especially if I put enough effort toward it.
It was probably the fastest any workday had ever passed, this last day at The Book Abyss, and walking out the front door held an unnerving finality. I lingered, halfway in and halfway out, taking in the space which had become my second home. I was going to miss it, and being a realist, the possibility that I might never see it again was my new companion. These things happened.
If Dialphio noticed my delay, which I'm sure she did because nothing got past her, she said nothing, choosing to remain in the office. As I was about to close the door, I swore I heard sniffling from her hiding spot. Half my heart tugged me back into the store, encouraging me to ease her pain, but my rational side realized doing so would only delay the inevitable. Separation brought pain, even if it was temporary. My ambiguous return was much, much worse. Attempts to comfort her would only extend the discomfort for both of us. So I stepped out of the shop and clicked the door closed, sending a message to Lucifer, asking Him to be kind enough to give Dialphio a rush of customers that would keep her busy for the next few days. The empty shopping zone, however, laughed at my desperation.
***
I stood in my living room, two suitcases by the front door. I was alone and considering the immensity of what was about to happen. This was a simple moment of reflection and appreciation for everything in the apartment. My lamps, the first I ever bought. The nightstands in the bedroom, acquired from an old succubus down the street who held a garage sale to get rid of her old junk. The gaming console that helped me pass thousands of lonely hours. The stove where I made my first dinners—horrible, but still able to rival my mother's. The single picture in the hall, a housewarming gift from that very same terrible cook. The apartment, sparse, but all mine. And I was about to leave it, possibly for the last time.
I should have been downstairs already, making my way to the gateway, but I delayed. Once I dragged my suitcases downstairs, loaded them into the hired carriage, and headed to the collection point, my future would become all too real.
Collection point.
Such a wonderful term.
I'm not sure how long I stood there, mourning the loss of the things I took for granted. All the wasted hours playing games, sleeping, or exploring bottoms of vodka bottles. I could have done better. I should have. Now, it was too late.
Letting loose a stunted growl, my shoulders dropped, I grabbed my bags and pulled open the door before I changed my mind to hide from the Army until they came to arrest me for desertion.
The open square where we stood waiting for someone to tell us to do something was quiet. The houses that surrounded us watched silently, as if they understood the gravity of the event. The Fifth, my home, was not about to intervene on my behalf.
My suitcases were light and small. The Army was kind enough to send along a recommended packing list with their letter informing me I was to be a slave. That stopped me from over-packing. Light and simple was the way to go—though I still had a problem with the whole 'going' part.
When I arrived at the gateway, I learned that even my slim packing was still over-packing. A crowd of forty other recruits stood in the vicinity, and each one of them had a single bag or suitcase at their feet. One. Not two. My double bag approach garnered odd looks—which was great, because I really feared this fresh start on life would deny me from being the oddball again—that's sarcasm, by the way.
I had hoped that Bilba and Ralrek would already be here. They weren't though, so I tried to strike up a conversation with the incubus closest to me.
"Hey," I said awkwardly to a short, stout demon with a spotty complexion and long, unkempt hair. Rumor was, the Army loved making examples of anyone who went to boot camp with long hair because they saw it as an affront to tradition. By his expression, this incubus wasn't worried. Better him than me.
He nodded and returned his focus to the gateway.
Nervous anticipation stifled the area. Few spoke, and those who did only did so in reserved tones. The air itself seemed wound with tension, spruced with a bit of apprehension.
No one representing the Army was here yet, but I was still early. I busied myself watching the other draftees and fiddling with my suitcases, wishing I'd brought a single bag like the rest of them. I double, triple, and quadrupled checked their contents.
A familiar smell hit my nose. I spun. "Mother? What are you doing here?"
She blinked, surprised, at my sudden recognition of her presence. "Hello, Ezekial," Lilith said in a shaking voice before she embraced me. Locked in a mother's grip, I was reserved in my return of affection. We hadn't spoken since the Samhain feast, though I had sent a merlin to tell her the Army drafted me and when I was scheduled to leave.
As my mother held me, I struggled to find the right words to say.
She pulled back, but ke
pt both hands wrapped around my triceps. "I'm so sorry this is happening." She made a snorting sound, a mixture of a bitter laugh and a choked sob. "It's the last thing any of us wanted. But you'll get through this. I know you will. You're an amazing incubus, and you're going to do wonderful things while you're gone."
"I wish I had your faith, Mother. I don't." I looked around to make sure no one was listening. From what I heard, the Army favored those who ratted out troublemakers, and I didn't need to start on the same foot as that long–hair.
She rubbed my arm. Her square jaw tightened as if she was trying to suppress tears or harsh words. "You've always been short on faith, Ezekial. But maybe that's what will come out of this? After you return home, we can talk about all of this and what it means for you; will mean for you. But I don't care about that right now. I just wanted to say bye to my baby boy."
"Where's Father?"
Sorrow deepened in her expression.
"He's not coming, is he?" I concluded so she didn't have to. "It's okay."
She scanned the sparse crowd of future soldiers of Lucifer, most of whom had lovers or parents, sometimes both, waiting along with them. I swear, the five hundred-year-old impling in me wailed when her voice quivered. "You two should have made up before this."
"We will, when I come back," I said, honestly not sure if I meant it.
"Please do, Ezekial. Please do." Her eyes filled with tears, again flittering from mine to the other incubi. "Sometimes we don't get the chance to say goodbye to demons we care about. Don't let that become our story. Please."
We fell silent, ignoring the meek awkwardness in the middle of a cluster of demons about to have their lives changed. Time, though, didn't relieve the tension as we stood and waited for something to happen. The minutes ticked away agonizingly slow, each edged more than the previous.
"You should head home," I said, finally breaking the strained silence. "There's no reason to hang out here. Nothing's happening until it does."
