Dark Gods Rising (26 page)

* * * *

Around them, crickets chirped their nighttime song. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the long lane leading to the restaurant’s door. Mathew’s, an exclusive restaurant which catered only to the rich, was surrounded by acres of trimmed grass and shaped shrubs. To Maggie, it seemed an isolated oasis trapped within Yylse’s filth and corruption, a golden spot of peace created by one of Yylse’ greatest crime lords. Even at her highest, Maggie could never have afforded to dine in its rarified air.

Halfway down the lane Maggie leaned deeper into Jolson’s arms and moved her lips close to his ear. His lean body felt hard against her softer flesh, but the raised scars pressing through his clothing were harder. She ran her right hand over his side, traced out the whorls of one interesting scar, and wondered if Belthethsia had given it to him. The thought sent a warm surge through her, making her want to press into him harder. Instead, she tightened her grip on the broken tree limb she held behind Jolson’s back and whispered in his ear.

“Where are they?”

“They have just now left,” Jolson said, not bothering to lower his voice.

“Took them long enough. We’ve been waiting here for two hours. How much food can one woman eat? What are they doing?” A faint thrill of anticipatory fear ran through her.

“She is speaking disrespectfully about a past admirer named Ludwig.” Jolson replied. “His left arm is wrapped around her waist. They are walking in our direction. The restaurant’s lanterns are being extinguished. They are almost here.”

“Whisper,” Maggie ordered, wishing Jolson were not slipping back into his dull stage. “Don’t let them hear you.”

The order came too late.

“What have we here?” Gorges demanded from only feet away. His voice sounded wary. “Waiting for us, are you?”

Maggie’s mouth went dry when a blade rasped free from its sheath and Gorges took a practiced knife fighter’s stance. Marietta stood only a pace away. Further back, two other figures stepped through the restaurant's doorway.

“Belthethsia and Heriod are approaching,” Jolson said needlessly.

“Why, it’s the young snit who tried to sing on my stage,” Marietta said. “Hello, snit. What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Maggie demanded, running one hand along the broken curve of Jolson’s cheek. “I’m romancing my beau.” Gripping the hidden branch tighter with her other hand, she wished Jolson’s scarred face was not so slack it made her lies of passion patently false. “So what’s your problem? Are you claiming all of Yylse as yours, or is there some small part of the city where you’ll allow me to stand?”

She wanted to curse. Belthethsia and Heriod were almost upon them. The time to act was well past, and she doubted another opportunity would be easy to find. After this late night meeting, Marietta would keep a wary eye out for her.

Gorges’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me why you’re here?” he demanded of Jolson.

Jolson shrugged. “Maggie wants to hit you with the tree limb she’s holding behind my back.”

Maggie did curse. Shoving Jolson away, she twisted in a sudden jerk, the tree limb clenched tightly in her hands. She started her swing toward Marietta but changed her angle when Gorges glided in with a six-inch knife held firmly in his right hand. To her surprise, the limb connected with his forearm. The knife fell, and she screamed victory.

But Gorges had not fallen. He was quickly on her, a man, tall and strong. She remained a small woman who had not had much time to build up new strength. He easily ripped the limb from her hands, threw it to the side, and grasped her in the circle of his arms. She struggled and kicked and screamed until Marietta waddled forward and punched her in the nose. Amazed by the blow’s force, Maggie’s eyes instantly blurred with tears. She stilled, breathing hard, swearing under her breath, and glared at Jolson’s unrepentant visage.

“How delightful,” Belthethsia cooed. “Thingy, did you arrange this entertainment for me?”

Holding up his hook for the succubus to see, Jolson gestured toward Marietta. “Maggie wants this woman’s voice.”

Belthethsia looked at Maggie and back to Jolson’s hook. “Is that why you aren’t afraid of— why, yes it is. Thingy, you have been a naughty boy by not being afraid of me, but you were very clever to bring me Athos’s Hook. I think you deserve a reward.” She pointed at Marietta. “Heriod, capture her and kill the man. He’s far too familiar with a knife for my comfort.”

Heriod had Marietta by the hair before Maggie could draw another breath. Gorges let out a gasp, released Maggie, and took off at a run.

“Help!” he called. “Murder! Help!”

“How disappointing,” Belthethsia sighed. “The man has no balls.” She made a brief gesture in the air. In response, the air swirled, solidified, and a lesser imp shot arrow fast after the running man. Gorges managed only a few more steps before the imp surrounded his head and slithered though his open mouth. Gorges’s body leaped, surged briefly through the air, and then fell to the walkway like a broken marionette. A moment passed, and then the imp rose out of George’s mouth, pulling the wisp of his soul behind it. It towed the soul to Belthethsia and cuddled into her. After cradling the soul’s wisp in her hands for a few moments, she smiled gently, swallowed it, and burped.

Belthethsia looked impatiently at Jolson. “Well?”

Walking up to Marietta, Jolson calmly shoved the hook’s glowing point into her throat. She stiffened, tried to gasp, but no sound came from her. Maggie saw no blood, no wound, but she hadn’t expected to see any. There had been no visible wound on Viln when Jolson finished with him, nor on her. Athos’s Hook had not been designed to sever mortal flesh.

Finished with Marietta, Jolson shuffled over to her and peered into her eyes. His own eyes were dim, showing barely enough intelligence to get this job done.

“Her voice,” Maggie begged, unable to take her hungry eyes off the hook’s glowing point. Her future adulation was there. With what the hook held, she would have riches, comfort, and the company of kings, and that was only the beginning. Before she finished using him, Jolson would make her a woman beyond compare. King Vere himself would grovel at her feet. Hell, given time she might even have Emperor Dade eating out of her hand. “Give me Marietta’s voice.”

“Her voice,” Jolson agreed, and then he buried the glowing hook’s evil point deep into her throat. It pulsed in her, surged. Heat filled her neck until she thought her flesh might burst into flames. Tilting her head back, Maggie wanted to fall to her knees and scream. She had to scream— had to— and then she did scream. The scream erupted as a pure soprano that was her and Marietta and more than either of them had ever been. It was a far grander and purer scream than had ever before been heard up upon the world. Her scream turned into song, and the song’s pitch soared into a terrified screech when Jolson’s hook moved from her throat, past her chin, and deep, deep into her brain. Pain and light flashed through her when the hook burned along pathways created when she stole Viln’s youth and grace, giving her original grace to Jolson in return.

Finished, face expressionless, Jolson stepped back. When the hook withdrew Maggie’s knees sagged, and her senses reeled, but she gathered herself together, straightened, and wondered what she should do. Reaching no decision, she waited quietly for somebody to give her directions.

Heriod released his hold on Marietta. Tears streamed down the imperious woman’s cheeks and dripped off her chin. Belthethsia went to her and gently grasped the woman’s face between cupped palms. Leaning forward, she parted her blood red lips and licked Marietta beneath her left eye. “I love the taste of tears.”

“What have you done to me?” Marietta whispered, her voice a tortured croak.

“He has given you what you always wanted,” Belthethsia gently explained. “You are free from your admirers.” Stepping a pace back, she abruptly slapped the woman’s face. The blow looked almost gentle, but the force rocked Marietta's head to the side and split open her cheek. “Run along before I decide to play with you some more. Heriod, grab Thingy for me.”

Marietta took off at a run. Unlike Gorges, she did not cry for help.

Swiftly moving in, Heriod grabbed at Jolson, abruptly stopping when Jolson raised his still glowing hook. The monster gasped, stiffened, and slowly backed away from the threat while shaking his head.

“I will destroy what’s left of you,” Jolson warned.

Belthethsia looked to Heriod, at Maggie, and turned her gaze back to Jolson. “You two are quite a prize. Heriod, bring the woman along. Thingy. Follow.”

“I won’t go back,” Jolson said stubbornly.

His face appeared more animated than Maggie had ever seen it before. The forceful presence blazing from his eyes overwhelmed her. She felt Belthethsia focus her will on him. The focusing seemed almost tangible. Irresistible.

It affected Jolson not at all. Belthethsia’s will split before him, washing to each side as if he were an immovable boulder in the center of a stream. In response, the hook’s glow became brighter.

“I have a weapon,” Jolson said.

Momentarily, Belthethsia appeared stunned, and then a small, amused smile quirked at the corners of her perfect lips. “So you do, and I see you used this woman instead of letting her use you. Very commendable, Thingy, but for your sake I hope you left her enough will to work with. I need to take Athos a special present if I’m to convince him to allow me back into Hell. I’m afraid a damaged Heriod just isn’t enough to impress the dear fellow. I need our Maggie and her dual voice.”

Sighing, she ran a pale blue hand through her light green hair. “I wonder, Thingy, what I should do with you, I can strip your soul with one of my pets, but it seems I can no longer order you to my bidding. Are you sure you don’t want to return with me?”

Jolson’s face was set, stern, unyielding. It was a strong face. Maggie wished she had seen his strength before. “I won’t go back.”

“You will after you die,” Belthethsia said, “if not before, and Thingy, you’ll probably die soon. Athos will send his hounds after you when I tell him you stole his hook. They’ll gut you and laugh while they’re doing it.” She waved a negligent hand. “For the sake of sport, I suppose I’ll let you run. Watching the chase will be most amusing, and I have always enjoyed seeing you bleed.”

She gestured toward Maggie. “You will come with me.”

“I don’t want to,” Maggie whispered. Images of Athos’s Court tumbled through her. Memories of the ravishes inflicted upon her mind and body while in Hell made her shudder.

“Jolson now owns your will,” Belthethsia said. “You cannot deny me.”

Closing her eyes, Maggie cast a simple prayer to the Seven virtuous gods. Empty silence answered her, and she despaired. Reopening her eyes, she saw Jolson’s shadowy moonlit form more than fifteen feet away. He stood tall and limber, and he walked away from her with firm purpose in his stride.

She reached out, beseeching, begging. “Jolson— please— I protected you. I helped you. Don’t leave me. Please!”

Jolson paused. When he half-turned to look at her over his shoulder, Maggie’s heart leaped with hope, and then her hope died when she saw his set expression.

“Go to Hell,” Jolson said. Turning back to the path, he walked away.

Chapter 13
—
The Road from Hell

Phrandex stood in the doorway to the nursery, sulking in the gloom of Hell. His mother’s admonishments rang fresh and clear inside his head, a constant reminder he would never live up to her expectations.

“For god’s sake, Phrandex, grow some horns and be a devil.” Or “If I weren’t your mother, I’d kill you myself.” And his least favorite. “I’ve seen spawn with more initiative than you.”

Other, more recent complaints tumbled around his head, banging against his beleaguered brain. She had visited him three days ago to demand he accompany her into the middle world on a small chore. It was, she said, a chance for him to get his feet wet, whatever that meant. When he asked the reason for their journey she had only sneered. The putrid memory of her belittling attitude still clung to him like stink on a human.

A shrill, terrified, shriek brought the devil’s attention back to the nursery. The noisemaker was his new— what did they call them again? Boob mother— ninny— Nursemaid! Yes, that was the term. His new nursemaid, was number three to be exact. Unfortunately, the other two hadn’t faired very well. Imalda, his first assistant, had lasted only a few months before she was eaten. Her fault, really, for suicidal inattention. Phrandex had repeatedly told her not turn her back on the little rascals. However, being a rather stupid sort, she had fallen asleep during the children’s nap time. When the children woke two hours early, they were hungry, and Imalda had prepared no food for them. She instantly became the little darlings’s lunch.

The second boob mother, Lira, was harder to come by than the first. The agency he hired Imalda from didn’t want to lose another prized worker. Consequently, the second boob mother came from a different agency, one possessing less stringent standards for their employees. This meant Lira wasn’t as sturdy or well-equipped as Imelda. In fact, on the first day of the third week she ran off screaming after one of the babies gave her a friendly little nip. Honestly, it was only the tip of her pinky. The female displayed a complete over-reaction to the situation. Phrandex would have understood if she had lost an entire hand, but a fingertip?

He hadn’t seen a glimpse of her since.

Now, a month later, he had Bejou. She was a strong, burly sort of woman with brown hair cropped short about the face and shoulders. Her eyes were dark, fierce, and unafraid. Not to mention she had put up a pretty good fight and cussed him profusely when he dragged her into the hellhole. She had shown spunk, especially when Berferd, his other assistant, raped her.

Phrandex liked the idea of spunk in his boob mothers. It was a good sign because it meant she might last more than a few weeks. Now if he could only keep her from trying to escape. For some inexplicable reason, the daft woman actually thought she could find her way through the tunnels and back to the surface without getting eaten.

“You little, filthy, no good demon child!” Bejou stood in a corner, club in hand, fending off one of the demons who had started teething recently.

Phrandex looked around for the little fellow’s teething rock, and realized the child had dropped it. He smiled when he saw the black-scaled demon playfully eyeing Bejou’s bleeding leg. A long section of cloth had been torn from her apron, and the flesh beneath bore several long scratches.

The demon child raked the air in front of him with long, sinewy arms, ripped free another section of cloth but missed flesh this time. Its stubby fingers had newly sprouted talons. During the last several years, Phrandex had noticed talons seemed to grow longer and sharper at the same time fangs first developed. He grinned when the boob mother screamed again. Demons were so cute when they discovered their new toys, but the noise was irritating.

Snarling, Bejou swung the club. It connected with the child’s head with a disappointingly half-hearted thunk. Phrandex grimaced with disgust at her ineptitude. She had barely dented the club’s wood.

Releasing an aggrieved sigh, he shook his head. “No, no, if you expect to get out of the corner, you have to swing faster and harder. He’ll be on you as soon as you swing again because you left yourself open near your toes.”

Phrandex left the doorway and walked toward her, taking the time to pick up another teething rock along the way. When he reached the cornered milkmaid, he plucked the demon up by its neck. It hissed and tried to latch onto his arm. As soon as its mouth opened Phrandex shoved the rock between its newly pointed teeth. With a clack and light crunch, the demon closed his mouth over the rock and drooled.

“Never forget the rocks,” Phrandex admonished his assistant. “Rocks are important, especially when the darlings are teething. I remember one time when…”

He paused when excited shouts sounded from the tunnel. Curious, he walked to the nursery’s entrance and looked out to see dozens of hellborn rushing by.

A spawn stumbled past, and Phrandex deftly plucked it from the throng.

“You are going where?”

The spawn, a woman, cowered and mewled. Her struggles were weak and pathetic, which wasn’t surprising since she was a spawn. “To the great–to the great hall.”

Phrandex shook her because she irritated him. Her speech was barely understandable. She was so frightened her words were garbled and nearly inaudible.

“Why?”

The spawn’s eyes rolled around in her head, and her breaths came in great heaving gasps. Apparently, the longer he held her the more frantic she became.

Phrandex shook her again. “Answer and you can go.”

The spawn stopped squirming. Sucking at her bottom lip, she scratched at a scabbed and scarred head which was missing patches of hair. Those patches might have been blond at one time, Phrandex supposed, but they were filthy gray now.

“I think–I think Zorce is coming.” Spittle flew from her mouth as she lost all control of her speech.

Instantly dropping her, Phrandex wiped her slobber from his arm. Zorce was coming? Ignored, the spawn rose and stumbled off while the young devil turned back to his nursemaid.

“I’ll be back shortly.” He watched her awkwardly swing her club at another demon child. Half the club had already been chewed to splinters. As a precaution, he gave her another club and more rocks. He really didn’t want to go chasing down another boob mother.

* * * *

When he reached the Great Hall, Phrandex pushed and shoved his way between spawn, soulwrights, gaunts, and lesser demons until he stood at the back of a large group of devils who were all older and larger than him. Since he preferred giving pain to receiving it, he didn’t dare try to muscle his way past them. Frowning thoughtfully, he looked around until he saw a spawn standing three feet up on a pillar, its foot jammed into a deep crack. He smiled and headed that way. By the time he reached the pillar the spawn already lay dead at its base. Berferd, a devil who had been Phrandex’s nursery charge ten years ago, and now his part-time assistant, had his foot shoved deep into the crack.

Grinning at his half-brother’s vulnerable back, Phrandex shoved his claws in the young devil’s behind and hoisted him down. “Find someplace else to perch.”

Berferd spat poison on the ground. Rock bubbled. “You’re not my nursemaid anymore.”

“But I am your brother,” Phrandex pointed out, “and I’m older than you.” He climbed up the pillar, shoved his toes in the crack, and made himself comfortable before looking down at Berferd. “Go away.”

Berferd growled, but he left. Dismissing the impertinent sprat, Phrandex turned his eyes toward the main show and cursed when he saw Zorce’s favorite general standing beside the Hell god. The last being Phrandex ever wanted to see was his mother.

Zorce and Sulya stood inside a large chariot decorated by precious and semi-precious jewels. A polished ring of skulls, sitting atop the chariot’s edge, acted as a macabre handrail for the occupants to hold onto as they rode. Hellhounds nearly as big as arvids, their eyes fiery as a pit in Hell, served as the dark god’s grim beasts of burden.

Belthethsia, a blue skinned succubus of uncomely affections and great bounties, stood below where Athos watched from the dais. Softly whimpering, a ragged, skinny woman with dirty long hair sat crouched at her feet. Belthethsia held clumps of the woman’s hair in her right hand, but the succubus’s attentions were not on her prisoner. She looked cautious and more than a bit nervous as she stood before the two gods.

Zorce was thirty feet to her left. Ten feet in front of her Athos sat on his throne. The two gods seemed evilly pissed. Then again, Phrandex reflected, the gods of Hell seldom looked anything but pissed. Still and all, there were different degrees of pissed ranging from only wanting to rip a being apart to desiring the destruction of everything everywhere. Their present moods seemed to be at mid-level and dropping fast.

Not good. It might be wise to leave before the gore flew, but if he left now he might never learn who had been killed unless, hopefully, it was his mother.

Athos’s eyes burned bright red. His skin, normally bone white with mottled patches of old scars, was flushed slightly ochre. God energy coursed wildly around the four horns jutting from his head. The energy danced and flared and flowed around him, caressing his naked body in a delightfully obscene dance which pushed his horrid member more than a yard high, pulsing red and black with his anger. Poisonous secretions glistened along its length and dripped off its barbed hooks. Eying the horrendous thing, Phrandex felt glad he wasn’t born female. Athos’s need for sex was legendary. So far, Belthethsia, Phrandex’s half-sister, was the only surviving female capable of enduring Athos’s attentions, though this fact did not win her any special favors since it sometimes took her weeks to re-grow certain parts of her anatomy when Athos became a bit enthusiastic.

“You saw the spawn,” Athos said gently to Belthethsia. “You saw it wearing my hook. Why did you bring me this woman instead of the spawn?”

“She has a voice like the world has never heard,” Belthethsia desperately answered. “Thingy used the hook to put another woman’s voice in her. The result is—”

“Silence!” Energy shot from Athos’s third horn. Crackling wickedly through the air, it sliced into Belthethsia’s gut, cutting it open. Screaming, she fell to her knees and held loops of spilled intestines in her cupped hands. Moving with frantic haste, she barely had time to shove the intestines back into her belly before the wound healed.

Phrandex fought back a giggle. This was proving to be far more entertaining than he had hoped.

“I care nothing for this singer, this Maggie,” Athos said once Belthethsia regained her feet. “I have owned her before and soon became bored. I want the spawn. I want my hook.”

Zorce chose this moment to speak from the chariot. He did not raise his voice, but it was clearer than any other voice Phrandex had ever heard.

“The spawn and the hook will be mine. Whoever brings them to me will receive my son’s entire domain when I rule the upper world.” Zorce’s dark face split into a feral grin as he looked again to Athos.

Phrandex clutched the pillar tighter. Had Zorce just put Athos’s job up for grabs?

With his face purplish-black and splotchy, Athos surged out of his throne with a roar. “How dare you! Hell will be mine! All of it! No one will take your challenge! They don’t have the horns to face me.” Athos’s head swiveled around as he roared out among the gathered hellborn. His eyes became fiery holes set deep in his horned head. “Try it,” he warned the watchers, “and you’re ash.”

“I promised you my section of Hell,” Zorce said. “I never said you would have everything.”

Phrandex thought about Zorce’s offer. If he stepped forward and accepted the challenge Zorce might finally notice him. This would be more attention than Athos had ever given him. On the other hand, Phrandex had no illusions he could rule this section of Hell for long. He was too young, too inexperienced. The greater devils would be fighting over his remains within hours. Then again, if he returned the spawn and was rewarded with this section of Hell, he could gift it to Athos. Athos would make him a favorite, allowing Phrandex to finally leave the nursery behind.

Would Zorce be offended? Athos might be the son of all evil, but Zorce was the source. He had, after all, been the co-creator of the blessed nano that infected all of mankind and destroyed the first planet. If not for the nano infection there would be no demons, devils, or gods.

Phrandex shrugged. He supposed the details of his offer could be worked out after he succeeded, but first he had to succeed. Accepting the challenge meant he would have to go above ground with all the humans. The thought made him shudder. He didn’t like humans. They smelled bad, didn’t operate by the correct rules, and many of them had pointy sticks, or so he had heard.

He started to climb down from the pillar when a thought popped into his head. If he succeeded he would become more important to Zorce than Sulya. She couldn’t berate him if he outranked her.

Phrandex’s head snapped upward. He looked at Zorce and imagined himself standing in Sulya’s place.

Emboldened by the prospect of having his mother under his thumb, Phrandex decided he would take the quest as soon as he found a way to safely leave Hell.

He was about to leave his pillar and push his way to the front so he could volunteer when a commotion rippled through the crowd. Berferd pushed between two devils and stood before the gods.

“Atta' boy,” Hellnost, Berferd’s father called out. “That’s my little devil.”

“I accept your offer,” Berferd said

Zorce’s face twisted with amused surprise. “Who are you?”

“I’m Berferd and—”

“He’s a baby sitter!” Athos laughed. “He watches after the baby demons.”

Scowling, Berferd refused to look at Athos.

Others began to laugh as well. “Yeah, he’s a boob mother!”

The laughter became louder.

Spinning around, Berferd glared at the crowd, searching for the speaker. “Bejou is the boob mother! I’m— I’m—”

Phrandex watched Berferd reach for the proper word, but his tongue didn’t seem able to wrap around the damn thing. This wasn’t surprising since Phrandex often had trouble remembering the proper term.

Berferd improvised. “I’m a ninny, thank you, and proud of it.”

The crowd laughed louder. Damned beings held their sides and stumbled over one another. Phrandex heard a loud groan over the laughter. Turning his head, he saw Hellnost’s furious glare land on Berferd. Hellnost shook his head slowly and shouted. “Nanny, you idiot! Nanny!”

Phrandex actually heard Berferd grit his teeth.

“I have successfully taken care of our young for over ten years,” Berferd shouted over the bedlam. “In all that time I’ve never once lost or eaten one. My powers have grown to the point I’m being wasted down here. I should be in the upper world, causing havoc and fear instead of running about tending to the replacement boobs my
brother
finds for us.”

“You might have killed some of them with laughter.” Athos sneered. A grin cracked across his face.

Zorce raised a huge, taloned hand, twice the size as Phrandex’s head. The laughter subsided. “Why are you still in the nursery? Devils are only required to watch our young for one or two years.” He looked slowly toward Athos.