Dirge of the Dead

by Reed Logan Westgate

  “An imp,” Oxivius smiled as the frightened creature struggled in her grasp. Its body was fat with long thin monkey like appendages.

  “Imp?” Xlina questioned, holding onto the creature.

  “A lesser demon,” Oxivius replied, looking at her. “Cowardly servants.”

  “Does it speak?” She replied.

  “I spek,” it squeaked with a high-pitched, ringing voice.

  “You speak,” she responded, holding the creature by its torso firmly.

  “It’s probably not very intelligent,” Oxivius replied, looking at the imp. “They are more servant like pets to demons than any real threat.”

  “No threat,” the imp whined through its ringing voice.

  “It was watching us,” Xlina countered, holding the creature tightly. “Spying on us.”

  “No spy,” it squealed, scraping at the rocks to find a purchase to crawl away.

  “It knows our language,” Xlina answered, shooting a glance at Oxivius.

  “They sometimes use imps as messengers between worlds.” Oxivius nodded, looking at the whelp.

  “No spy,” the imp cried again, whimpering, “Hiding, always hiding.”

  “From what,” Xlina replied with a firm shake and the imp batted and swatted helplessly at her arms.

  “Demons,” the imp wailed in response, “Awful spiteful demons that rip off my wings.”

  Xlina looked at Oxivius. Stunned, her eyes filled with disbelief. Could this creature be a victim here in the infernal plane? Or was this just more demon lie?

  “Steady,” Oxivius replied solemnly, reaching his hand to her forearm and holding her. “Don’t hurt it.”

  “Yes, no hurt,” the creature cried in a shrill voice.

  “No hurt,” Xlina nodded and loosened her grip, allowing the Imp to scuttle around the rock facing.

  “Where is everyone?” Oxivius questioned the Imp calmly.

  “Ertigan and his horde do battle on the fiery planes. Great armies of Hellborn and Demons,” the imp replied, pointing to the horizon.

  “Other demons,” Oxivius replied, and the Imp nodded, its gargoyle like face twisting in a horrific smile.

  “Other demons, all want the Citadel, all want power,” the Imp responded, looking at the towering Citadel.

  “So, they battle,” Oxivius reasoned.

  “But if they can’t die here,” Xlina asked, her voice trailing off.

  “Battle rages for long time,” the Imp answered her unasked question. “Much suffering for Hellborn.”

  “Hellborn?” Xlina asked.

  “Natives to the Infernal Realm,” the Imp replied, “The first of our kind enslaved by the demons.”

  “Enslaved?” Xlina questioned, looking at Oxivius.

  “The first creatures the demons invaded and turned,” Oxivius nodded. “There were whispers. That demons are not native to this realm, rather they are the conquers.”

  “Just like Earthrealm,” Xlina nodded solemnly.

  “Indeed,” Oxivius replied, looking back to the Imp “Do you know how many remain in the Citadel.”

  “Many remain,” the Imp replied, scurrying on the rock face like a lizard on in the desert. “But many more marched to war.”

  “Perfect,” Oxivius smiled, looking at the Citadel. “You will show us the entrance?”

  “No,” the Imp protested with a shrill cry, “not going back. Not getting hurt.”

  “We’ll protect you,” Xlina replied reassuringly. “Just show us how to get in and we’ll take it from there.”

  The Imp looked at her through slitted eyes. It stared at her curiously before scuttering around again on the rock face. If she had to guess, she would have said it seemed scared or nervous. Possibly both.

  “No, run, must run,” The Imp replied, looking at the horizon and flittering its wings.

  “You have run before,” Oxivius declared with a wary eye. “Haven’t you?”

  “Many times,” the Imp agreed with a frantic nod.

  “They always catch you,” Oxivius replied knowingly.

  “But I always escape,” the Imp retorted.

  “No, you never escape,” Oxivius said grimly, looking at Xlina with a bitter expression.

  “Yes,” The Imp replied with a shrill whine. “Always escape, always run.”

  “They let him loose,” Oxivius remarked to Xlina, “They let him run, give him hope so they can hunt him down and torture him. Over and over.”

  “Why?” Xlina asked, shaking her head as she looked in pity at the small creature.

  “Because it’s excellent sport,” Oxivius stated flatly, “Because they are bored and it’s something to do.”

  His answer sounded like something Valeria would say. Boredom, the demon’s reason for doing everything. A sick and twisted entertainment. They gained perverse pleasure from such things. The Imp could run, it could hide in the furthest corners of the Infernal Plane, but it could not escape. It belonged here, trapped. They would hunt it. They would trap it, and they would torture it. Just to let it loose once more.

  “No, I escape,” the Imp replied proudly.

  “Of course,” Oxivius nodded knowingly.

  “Not return this time,” the Imp stated boldly.

  “We need to let it go, Ox,” Xlina begged, her voice dropping in tone as she nibbled her lower lip pensively.

  “Why would we give up such a guide,” Oxivius replied, turning to her with a skeptic look.

  “I don’t know,” she answers with a shrug. “We can send him to the paradox. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “The right thing to do,” Oxivius bristled, as if she had insulted his intelligence.

  “Yes,” Xlina affirmed with a nod, “Ending the cycle. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Love,” Oxivius paused, mulling over his next words carefully, “There is no right thing. It’s just a convenient white lie we tell ourselves right before we make a decision with our hearts instead of our head.”

  “That’s cynical, Ox,” Xlina countered with a defiant shake of her head.

  “You’ll see in time,” Ox smiled in return. It was his way of not turning it into debate, and she had to admit there were more pressing matters at hand.

  “What then,” Xlina replied, looking to the imp.

  “He comes with us,” Oxivius replied flatly. “At least far enough to show us how he escaped from the citadel. Only then will he be free to go on his way.”

  “I don’t like it,” Xlina replied again with a shake of her head. All the warnings from those around her about making sacrifices. About how easy it was to compromise over and over until the mark wore her soul down. “It’s not right.”

  A howl in the distance broke their discussion, sending man, woman, and imp scurrying for the cover of the rocks. Behind them, a large black creature with a lizard like body came into view. Its scales were dense, like armor, and its reptilian eyes were a pale yellow as it scanned the rocks. Its forked tongue darted from its mouth twice as it perched on a boulder at the top of the trail behind them.

  “Gila,” the imp hissed frantically. “Smells your stink.”

  “Unfortunate,” Oxivius replied under his breath, “I had wished not to test my magic so soon.”

  Xlina turned to look at the necromancer, who already teemed with the telltale black wisps as the souls etched on his skin burned away. He was drawing on his dark magic and the now familiar scent of death and decay filled her nostrils, overpowering the stink of sulfur.

  His hands wove in intricate patterns as he drew sigils in the air and grumbled something in a language probably long forgotten. Xlina hated this part. When her friend Oxivius displayed his necromantic side. The call of dark magic was foul, leaving a pit in her stomach that roiled and churned as the unnatural casting played out before her eyes. He shot a hand forth through his smoke like sigils and a gout of black fire emerged. It forked and feathered through the air, as if searching for any living thing to consume. It hit the lizard with a resounding force,
sheering its armor-like plates as if they were little more than tissue paper.

  Xlina’s stomach churned at the smell of rotting flesh as the black flames decayed muscle and bone alike. The Lizard creature cried out, an unnatural gurgle as its lungs withered away. Fetid refuse fell from the bones as the flesh gave way to the rotting flame and the rocks below the lizard were a wash in a putrid steaming reddish ichor that bubbled sizzled like a fresh egg in a hot pan. When his black flame subsided, all that remained were the stained and yellowed bones that used to be the Gila creature.

  Ox sighed heavily and grabbed his stomach, lurching down to the rocks in a wail of agony. Xlina was at his side in a moment as black smoke rose from his shirt. She tore at the garment as he wailed in pain.

  “Stay back,” he commanded, swinging his arm defensively and brushing her hands away.

  “Ox, you’re still smoking,” Xlina replied, reaching for his shirt as if to pat out invisible flames.

  “It’ll stop,” Oxivius answered through clenched teeth. “Gods and hell, it’s as if the souls are clawing to escape.”

  Xlina looked back at the rock outcropping. The Imp vanished. In all the action and confusion, it had scampered off. Probably for the best.

  “Are you okay,” she asked, looking back at Oxivius, who was struggling to return to his feet.

  “I’ll live,” Oxivius snickered, adjusting his shirt, “Story of my life, love.”

  “We can’t linger,” Xlina replied, looking down on the Obsidian citadel.

  “No, we shan’t,” Oxivius replied softly as he retrieved his cane and turned back to the citadel below. “We seem to have lost our guide.”

  “For the best,” Xlina replied coldly, “There is no loyalty here in hell. It probably would have betrayed us to its masters to save itself a minor lashing.”

  “Xlina, love,” Oxivius replied softly, his voice pained with regret, “I believe you finally understand what we are up against.”

  Chapter Four

  The River

  Xlina held her breath as they passed close to the obsidian citadel’s wall. The polished glass like surface jutted up in sharp spikes nearly as tall as a skyscraper. She was close enough now to see the stippling on the smooth surface was, in fact, a spray of blood and gore. She dared not touch the glass like surface as she reached out with her hand and pulled just short. The duo of invaders had traversed from the paradox, down the rock cliff, to the base of the citadel, with barely a creature in the infernal realm taking notice. Entering the actual citadel had proved much more difficult.

  They had been walking the perimeter for what seemed like hours, searching for a door, a window, an entrance of any kind. So far, the obsidian walls had remained smooth and unbroken. She sighed, looking around another expanse of solid, smooth glass.

  “We are getting nowhere,” she huffed in frustration, turning to see Oxivius leaning heavily on his cane. He had been in significant distress since they had arrived in hell, and he only seemed worse as the day progressed. Assuming, of course, there was day or night in this infernal place. She stopped to wonder how long it had been since they left Earthrealm. Paradox was a realm without time, according to the Grillo, and they spent most of their time there under an illusion. The trek from the mouth of paradox down to the Citadel had seemed like a journey that took forever, but exactly how long was it? A numbing sensation took root in her.

  “No night,” Oxivius answered her as she looked at the roiling black clouds in the sky. “No day either.”

  “It’s unsettling,” she said grimly with a slight shudder.

  “Time dysphoria,” Oxivius nodded, pointing his cane toward the black clouds. “No passing of day or night. No set sleep schedule. It wears on one’s mind.”

  “Is that all?” Xlina asked, crossing her arms more in bluff than bravado.

  “Not to be underestimated, love,” Oxivius returned her bluster with a serious expression, “The mind can be an inescapable prison. Endless. Unrelenting. Never doubt the power the mind plays over the body. Kings and tyrants alike have found removing the cycle of day and night to have profound effects on the mind. Why would hell be any different?”

  “We linger far too long, Ox,” Xlina replied sourly. “I can feel it. Deep inside.”

  “There is a path,” Oxivius sighed heavily. “The book spoke of many great citadels of the demon lords.”

  “Wonderful,” Xlina replied curtly. “Were you waiting until just now to mention such?”

  “It is a road I would rather not take,” Oxivius lamented, looking weary.

  “It’s looking pretty grim out here, Ox,” Xlina countered, looking at the weary necromancer, “And so are you.”

  “In the Pseudomonarchia Daedonum, the demon lord tells Agrippa that they build the fortresses of hell on fonts of power. The placing of this citadel is not random.”

  “Great,” Xlina replied. “How does that help us?”

  “The book speaks of the four rivers of hell,” Oxivius explained. “They carry souls from our realm here into the infernal. Styx, the river of hate. Acheron, the river of pain. Cocytus, the river of lament. Finally, Phlegethon, the river of blood.”

  “That sounds dreadful,” Xlina replied in a sour tone.

  “The souls of the damned flow in these rivers,” Oxivius continued, “Carried through the infernal realms and all the levels of hell. It is here, at least according to the book, in the bowels of the great citadels that demons fish souls from the rivers for torture.”

  “You’re saying under this monstrosity,” Xlina asked, looking up at the obsidian citadel.

  “Is a font,” Oxivius continued, “A river of souls, ferried through hell. Possibly our means to enter.”

  “So, we are looking for a river?” Xlina asked in trepidation.

  “A geyser or a crevasse,” Oxivius nodded. “If we mean to enter by such paths, we must enter the river and then enter the citadel from below.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Xlina replied. “Couple of demon stooges fishing souls. We can take them, right?”

  “It’s not the demons that scare me, love,” Oxivius continued solemnly, “It’s the waters. Filled with souls of the damned bound to an eternity of hate. What do you suppose swimming in those waters will be like?”

  “That’s why the Imp,” Xlina asked tentatively.

  “That’s why the Imp,” Oxivius nodded, “A stroke of luck granting us safe passage that we may slip into Ertigan’s stronghold unmolested.”

  “But I thought letting him go was,” Xlina replied with a heavy heart, “The right thing to do.”

  “There you are, love.” Oxivius grinned and lifted that damn eyebrow that made her heart flutter. “Making poor decisions with your heart rather than good ones with your head.”

  “I’m sorry, Oxivius,” she answered with a shake of her head and a furrowed brow. She contemplated the dangers of swimming in soul filled waters.

  “No need,” Oxivius replied with a bow leaning heavily on his cane as he swept his arm wide and bent at the waist. “Not all of us are monsters... at least not yet. It makes you human.”

  “Thanks,” she replied as the butterflied in her stomach resumed. It was a terrible moment of dread and fear, but she could feel the bond between them growing. He was crazy, irritating sometimes, and beguiling at others. Oxivius was a walking conundrum. A dangerous mystery to be unraveled. In one moment, his dark magic repulsed her. In the next, his charm and kind heart warmed her belly inside. He was confusing at best, but nonetheless, the strange paradox of a man had indeed become her friend.

  “Come, love,” Oxivius answered, tapping his cane on the ground once more and standing straight, “The time for rest is over.”

  They continued around the obsidian fortress, circling the massive glass like compound to no avail. Xlina understood the lack of guards as it appeared the only entrances were high above the ground made available to the winged demons alone. It had been some time since their last rest as they labored on in sile
nce. A mutual understanding growing between them of the perils they faced if they could not find another means of entry into Ertigan’s stronghold. When she was certain they had passed the same rock outcropping for a second time, she stopped and turned on the necromancer, who strode nearly five paces behind her with a grimace on his face.

  “It’s time, Ox,” Xlina replied, looking up at the giant needle like spires. “Unless you can fly.”

  “I am afraid trans modification is not an art necromancy is renowned for, love,” Oxivius replied, also looking up at the pointed spires.

  “It’s time to go below ground,” Xlina added firmly.

  “Agreed,” he replied with a sigh.

  “So how does one go about finding said rivers of souls,” Xlina asked impatiently.

  “I have been thinking about that very thing these last days,” Oxivius replied.

  “Days?” Xlina asked curiously, “Hours perhaps.”

  “It has been near a week since we first stepped foot from the paradox,” Oxivius replied coldly.

  “That’s impossible,” Xlina shook her head in denial, “We have neither slept nor eaten.”

  “Time dysphoria,” Oxivius replied with a shrug. “As far as reaching the dream realm, I would gather that, too, is impossible for this place. There is no need to dream in this place where there is no hope.”

  “No dreams,” Xlina mouthed softly, rendering a thought. “She once told me that demons don’t dream.”

  “I would imagine not,” Oxivius replied. “Dreams are our hope and fears love, you of all people understand that better than most.”

  “So how do we find this river of souls,” Xlina asked determinedly.

  “Well, if we knew which of the rivers fueled Ertigan’s citadel,” Oxivius replied, thoughtfully stroking his goatee, “We might focus on that to divine a path.”