Demon Singer II (27 page)

        "Yours."

        "I'm not getting married."

        Hefit stopped and turned to her. He pulled his sword and placed the tip gently against her throat.

        "Then you die."

        "Let's get hitched!" Ruby said brightly.

        "I'm already married."  The dwarf king held up a polished stone the size of Ruby's eye on a pendant hanging around his neck.

        "You're married to a rock?"

        "I'm married to a dwarf, this is my betrothal stone." King Hefit said sourly.  "You will be wed to the Light."

        "What does that mean?"

        "The Light of Markhato is more than a light, more than the source of Markhato's power. It lives and breathes and feels and desires... and it is lonely.  Hundreds of years ago, the ruling families of Markhato made an agreement with my grandfather, King Mace-Giftinn Hefit.  The dwarves would serve the city and not seek to rule provided the families would seek a queen to speak for the Light.  That queen would be wed to the Light and serve as its voice.  We dwarves have served the light and the city since before there were kings here. We don't want to rule, we just want a voice for the Light. That promise has been neglected ever since and our patience has now ended. It seems time we took over Markhato. Men are untrustworthy and unfit.  Regardless, we remain faithful to the Light.  Now that it has proposed to you, we must explore the truth of the captain's claim."

        "So I'm going to marry a giant beam of Light?"

        "Yes."

        Ruby didn't bother pointing out the insanity of that idea. The dwarves obviously felt very strongly about it. Instead she asked,

        "Where are we going now?"

        "To the light. A message has been sent to your leadership council to invite them to the wedding."

        "You expect them to come to a wedding after you've allowed zombies into Markhato and attacked the city yourselves?"

        "Yes."

        "What will you do if the city leaders come to my wedding to stop it?"

        "We'll kill them.  Much easier to do once they're all in one place."

        "Super." Ruby muttered.

*   *   *   *   *

        Lyric gurgled, trying to sing.  He was getting dizzy already from the loss of blood.  He looked up into the beautiful face of Lisian. The demoness stood over him, triumph in her smile the bloody dagger in her fist. Lyric continued trying to sing while simultaneously attempting to hold his blood in as it rapidly escaped through the hole in his neck.

        Anger and stubbornness helped the Singer rise to his feet. Lisian’s smile widened and she beckoned to him.

        "Come on, you can do it. You're almost there. Come get me." She said mockingly.

        Lyric's dizziness was suddenly accompanied by tunnel vision and odd black spots in his eyes. Acheron arrived in a flash of fire and violence.  Grabbing ahold of Lisian they both smoked out.

        The Singer fell heavily to his knees and felt strong arms grabbing hold of him.

        "Can you heal him?" Cadence's voice sounded near his head. She was alive!

        "I believe I can save him, but I don't know if I can heal him. The Score sounds odd here. We need to get him away from the fighting or he will die. I can't heal a dead man." The deep voice of Dispo Sitorem rumbled near his other ear.

        Unconsciousness claimed Lyric.

*   *   *   *   *

        Acheron flew through the Verge with Lisian in tow.

        "You should be thanking me," Lisian  hollered at her sister.

        Acheron didn't reply. Instead she poured on the speed.

        Lisian struggled the whole way, but couldn't free herself from Acheron's grasp. Upon reaching hell's gates Lisian stopped struggling.  

        "You'll never get in if I don't let you." Lisian told her sister. Acheron put on solid form without letting go, forcing Lisian to manifest as well. Acheron released Lisian's arm only to grab her throat.  Slamming her against the gates, Acheron growled.

        "You obviously don't realize just exactly how much you pissed me off big sister."

        Acheron placed her palm against the gate next to Lisian's head and closed her eyes, focusing all of her strength, all of her fury. Lisian blanched as she felt what was happening.  Somehow, Acheron was leeching power from her and adding it to her own, pouring them both into opening the gates.  Lisian felt herself rapidly weakening and realized it was her true self that was suffering. However she managed to do it, Acheron was using the power of the gates of hell
against
the gates of hell.  Lisian tried to figure out how that could possibly work, but couldn't concentrate. Abruptly something gave way within her and a tremendous boom shook the air.  Acheron had blown the gates off their hinges.  

        Lisian plummeted into darkness.

*   *   *   *   *

        Ruby ran to her friends as they entered the odd little chapel.  She threw an arm around both and held them tight.

        Anaya rested a giant arm on her shoulders and Joss hugged her back fiercely.

        "I'm so happy to see you two. I can't believe they let you come."

        "They couldn't stop us," Anaya's deep voice chuckled. "Joss was insistent. I think the general understood we weren't asking to come along, we were simply informing him of our intent."

        "I thought he was going to bring the palace down," Maddy whispered in Ruby's ear as she joined the hug.  There was a comfort about the woman that made her presence appropriate in the embrace.  Ruby stepped back, wiping absently at tears she hasn't realized were running down her cheeks.

        "Anaya can be a bit of a handful," she said to Maddy.

        "Not him," Maddy nodded toward Joss and Ruby saw the Knocker’s eyes were red and swollen.

        "Joss, what's wrong?"

        "You're our girl," he said huskily, "and we couldn't find you."

        Ruby quickly hugged her friend again and was soon interrupted by the clearing of a throat. Releasing Joss she turned to General Sabre.

        "Good to see you Miss Ruby." He said with a kind smile.  "Quite the predicament you've landed in here. Have the dwarves explained their intent?"

        Ruby nodded.

        "I'm to be wed to the Light," she said calmly.  "You're all here to bear witness."

        "Who's the Light?" Joss asked.

        Ruby pointed to the end of the chapel that boasted a huge shuttered window.

        "He's talking about the Light of Markhato," she explained.

        Joss stared at her blankly.

        "Your supposed to marry a Light?" He asked. "You realize that's insane, right?"

        "I don't know, Joss." Anaya's deep voice joined them. "I once knew a man who had a stuffed armadillo ordained online just so it could officiate his marriage to his radiator."

        "I have no intention of allowing this to happen." General Sabre said softly. "Tagshout is positioning men all over the city in strategic points to counter the Dwarven attack when it comes. We will be leaving here soon."

        "Shouldn't I have a say in this?" Ruby asked mildly.

        "What? Of course..." Sabre said, his confusion obvious. "Why? Do want to do it?"

        Ruby shrugged.

        "I honestly don't know. I've spent so much of my life trying to be separate from a world I have no place in. The problem is, I've never found a place I do belong-"

        "Hey!" Joss interjected.  Ruby held up a quieting hand.

        "My friends Joss and Anaya have loved me unconditionally," she continued. "But their life isn't mine either. Meeting with King Hefit earlier was different. I felt.. calm, in control and very much as though I belonged."  Ruby sighed.

        "I've heard stories about my grandfather and the magical city of Markhato. I've heard of how he had a vision for a better Markhato, that integrity and goodness mattered to him so much that he spent his life trying to instill it in the city. That's a heritage I'm proud to be part of. I haven't been here since before I can remember, but I already loved this city before I arrived. So tell me honestly," she looked to Sabre, Joss, Anaya and Maddy in turn. "Will my doing this save lives?"

        "I'm not terribly fond of Hefit, but I've never found him dishonest-"

        "Noale, no!" Maddy protested.

        "I have no reason to doubt what he says. If you're accepted by the dwarves as a ruler, I believe they will stand down."

        "What about the people?" Maddy pointed out. "Regardless of what the dwarves think, the citizens of Markhato will not accept Ruby as queen."

        "That doesn't matter," Noale said. "The dwarves want a voice. Ruby would be serving as a communication point to Markhato on behalf of the dwarves."

        "Noale Sabre, you cannot be serious-"

        "Madelyn!" Sabre's voice cracked like a whip and stopped Maddy cold. She glared at him with a mixture of anger, hurt and frustration. He continued in a softer tone. "We don't get to force our views on others. Our purpose here is to serve the interests of the people of Markhato. Secondary to that we may ensure the safety of Ruby to the best of our ability. It is
her
choice. You and I don't have the right to make it for her."

        "The ceremony is about to begin." An aid to King Hefit announced.

        "Ruby, I loved your grandfather, King Westfall. The world grew darker when he died." Noale Sabre looked the girl in the eye. "No one will force you to do anything you don't want to today.  That's all I can promise.  The choice is up to you."

        King Hefit stood beside the giant shutters and beckoned to Ruby.

        Ruby joined the King and Maddy stood beside her. King Hefit motioned to his aides and they opened the shutters. Everyone flinched as the brilliant radiance of the Light of Markhato flooded the chapel.

        "We don't care much for ceremony," Hefit said gravely. "Stick your hand in the light."

Chapter 20

    The fallen often refer to hell as the furnace. It is filled with breathtaking landscapes, and incredibly fertile soil that grows all manner of flowers and fruits to enormous size. It is also very hot and very loud. It is the home of the pit, and nowhere in hell is the pit’s presence not felt. The endless fire created by the fallen to try to distract themselves from the agony of separation from the very One Who they were created to love sent heat rolling in waves across the rest of hell. The ceaseless screams of the damned don’t allow any peace. So the breathtaking beauty of hell becomes just another torture. An inescapable reminder of the future that could have been, but was thrown away by pride, selfishness, arrogance, greed, lust and a host of other idols that put themselves before the glory of the Composer. There is no enjoying peace, love, grace or beauty within the furnace, but there is no forgetting it either.

       Acheron had spent a lot of time on the edge of the pit in the past. She foolishly hoped it would acclimate her to the agony when the final separation occurred. Sitting here beside it now, with Lisian unconscious at her side, she realized again there was no preparation for it. She stared dully into the destination of the damned, morbidly seeking her own face. The pit existed outside of time. Everyone who chose it was already in it. She had seen herself many times.  Unrecognizable, yet somehow unmistakable.  

       Everyone reacted differently to the pit. Some were violent and screamed ceaselessly, ripping at themselves and others, trying to distract from the agony. Some wept and wailed, unable to express the depth of their sorrow. Some were like Acheron. She had shut down. She seemed completely unfazed by the flames. Until she met her own gaze.  Acheron on the edge of the pit couldn't gaze into the eyes of Acheron in the pit. Her body was still, but her eyes screamed.

       "How did you do that?"

       Lisian sat up beside her.

       Acheron shrugged.

       "I've learned a lot being tied to Lyric. He can draw on my strength but also feed it to me. I honestly have no idea how I did it to you. I just knew I could. Maybe because we're sisters." Acheron gestured to the circle of hellions surrounding them. All were silent and tense, as though awaiting an outcome. "It seems we have an audience,”

       Lisian drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, ignoring the crowd.

       "I've never understood why you sit here. Every other hellion stays far away. Eventually you'll have your fill. Why the preview?"

       "A sad attempt to acclimate." Acheron continued staring into the flames.

       "We don't have to keep fighting, little sister." Lisian said.

       "Remember the throne?"

       "Yes, and I intend to be sitting in it, just as soon I have a footstool made out of Race Widoc’s face."

       "Wrong throne."

       "Oh.” Lisian was quiet for a moment.  “Yes, I remember.  Everyone does."

       "Remember the thrill of excitement to be called into the throne room? To stand before Him, waiting for your next assignment? How humbling and uplifting it was to be trusted by Him?"

       "Yes."

       Acheron looked intently at Lisian's face, as though searching for something.

       "Remember the sound of His Voice? How it arrested every movement, every stray thought, every breath? Time itself would be still, just so we could focus on listening to His Voice. Do you remember?"

       "I remember."

       "It's odd, Lisian. Over the millenia my mind has shattered and fragmented and reformed repeatedly. But for some reason there's one thing I always come back to; the sound of His Voice.

       “I remember how He spoke and the universe obeyed. I remember working with Him in Calypso Deep, and watching as he smiled that beautiful smile and sent Leviathan skipping into the waves. He taught me to sing there you know, and let me help Him in His composing. He didn't need me. In all my might, there wasn't a single thing I could that he couldn't do better with a mere word. But He let me help, He sang with me…” Acheron's voice trailed off.

       "Why are we discussing this?" Lisian's tone had grown quiet and was absent its regular mocking edge.

       "What if you could be restored, Lisian? What would you do to make that happen?"

       "Anything." Quiet desperation was thick in Lisian's voice

       "What would you do if the chance came and it was taken from you?"

       "I would kill." Lisian whispered. Her eyes closed and tears slid silently down her cheeks. "I would never stop killing."

       Acheron stood up. Lisian followed suit. They regarded each other in silence for a moment before Acheron spoke again.

       "You freed me from my Singer, Lisian."

       "You're welcome."

       "In all the centuries we've counted since the fall I've had nothing but the memory of the Voice."

       "As have we all."

       "Then came the song that silenced Hell. Every hellion heard it, but it came to me... and I heard something else when I grabbed it. Do you know what I heard, Lisian?"

       "What?"

       "Hope." A sob wracked Acheron's frame. "You freed me of my singer. You cut his throat. He was honest and good and often a sanctimonious asshole. But he was the best man I've ever met. If restoration was possible for me, it was through him. And you freed me of him, you freed me of my hope."

       "Acheron-"

       Lisian didn't have a chance to finish. Acheron launched herself at her sister and hit her so hard it should have separated her head from her neck. But Lisian was a demoness. Not only that but a member of the Nychta Polemistis. The punch spun her around, so she harnessed the momentum and channeled it into her boot heel, which she introduced to Acheron's temple.

       Acheron was staggered by the blow. Lisian pressed the attack, seeking to back her up against the pit.  Lisian was a skilled fighter and adored violence. But Acheron was angry.

    They traded a series of attacks and counters and broke away, circling, each seeking an opening.

“He won’t stop, you know.” Lisian said. “He has seen all of this. He planned it out and it’s going exactly how he wants it to. There is no stopping him. You simply serve him or get out of his way.”

“Trytohn?”

Lisian snorted.

“Trytohn is in the pit."

Acheron’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“What? How did you manage that?”

“We stormed hell with a bunch of humans and a handful of Vergers and won.”

“Who?”

“My master.” Lisian feinted at Acheron’s head, but Acheron saw the second attack coming and blocked it easily. “I never knew it, never saw it coming. I thought he was under my control, but I was wrong. He planned the destruction of the Soul Singer's Guild. He figured out how to cure Legion’s PTSD and manipulate Rapacity to lead his army into battle against Trytohn. He planned the contracts for your precious singer. He conquered hell and convinced me to bind our armies to serve him. He planned it all and I helped him.” Lisian looked into Acheron’s eyes. “And he’s coming, sister. With his armies and his monsters and his demons. Even without them he’s more than a match for you.”

“Who!?” Acheron pressed, trying to get close enough to grapple, but her sister danced away. “Who are you talking about? Cassum?”

Lisian shook her head.

“Cassum could never sing inside hell. I’m speaking of my master, Varia Tur.”

“The rogue Verger?” Acheron asked.

Now it was Lisian who was surprised.

“How do you know him?”
    “I don’t,” Acheron landed a wicked right cross that rocked Lisian back on her heels but she recovered quickly and blocked the follow up. “I only recently learned of him. But I know the Soul Singer's Guild was founded in part to find him.”

Lisian shrugged.

“Seek him or don’t, it doesn’t matter. If you survive our little encounter here and continue with this ridiculous obsession you have with that singer, you will be directly in his path. He’s coming, sister. With his armies and his monsters and his demons. Even without them he’s more than a match for you.”

Lisian whipped out a knife and pressed the attack. Acheron blocked her and shouted shrilly.

    “Is that the knife?! Is that the knife you cut him with you bitch?!”

    “Made by Cassum.” Lisian held it up for her sister to see. “It will sever any binding in existence, but you already know that don’t you?” Lisian taunted as she attempted to stab Acheron in the face. “I had to pay him for a long time to get it. I was going to use it on Trytohn before Varia showed up.” Lisian kept swiping at her, seeking to back her up against the pit. Acheron wasn't having it.  Lisian was a skilled fighter and adored violence. But Acheron was angry.

       Another kick aimed at Acheron's face was caught and suddenly Lisian was flying through the air, her knife skidding away. Had the leverage been different, the fight would have ended there. As it was, Lisian was hurled away from the pit, not into it.

       Acheron leapt over and kicked the hateful knife into the pit then sped after Lisian and continued raining punishment down on her sister. No hellion could smoke out this close to the pit, so Lisian couldn't escape Acheron's beating. With a remarkable precision, considering her rage, Acheron managed to herd Lisian back toward the pit.

       Lisian quickly realized her situation and began frantically fighting back. Acheron was relentless. Every blow Lisian landed was ignored. Acheron forced her to the edge. A mighty shove was followed by a quick grab and Lisian hung suspended over the pit, held fast by Acheron's hand.

       "I want you to experience hope, Lisian." She said as her sister stared down into the pit in terror. "You see your eternity there below you. But a hand reached out and saved you from it. Can you feel that hope?'

       "Yes, sister, yes! Thank you for saving me!" Lisian hollered frantically.

       "Then you understand the hope I had in Lyric," Acheron said. "And here is my despair.”

       Acheron released her grip and Lisian fell screaming into the pit.

*   *   *   *   *

    Connor Lot sat in front of the gates of hell, pondering how he might get them to open. The head of the demon he most recently decapitated served as his stool as he tapped the wet blade against his chin. He wished he could use guns on these supernatural creatures. It would make things go a lot faster. He glanced down at the hole in his side where he was missing a large chunk of meat. It was in the gut of the demon he was sitting on.

   
Asshole
, he thought.

    He fully expected to die with the rest of his men in the battle when he saw what they were actually up against. Then the strangest thing happened. They all stopped fighting and walked away together like friends.

    He shook his head. Demons were as weird as humans.

    He was left with only one to deal with. It was dicey for a minute, but it turned out demons warriors were strong and tough, but not very skilled at hand to hand combat.

    Now all he had to do was figure out how to open these giant doors before more of these assholes showed up.

    An odd screamy-type groan got his attention and he watched as the gates fell crashing to the ground.

    Well.

    That made perfect sense.

    The slow roar behind him signaled something was coming. Looking over his shoulder he saw a flood of something. It might have been people, but there was so much blood and dismemberment that frankly it was hard to tell. Regardless, he didn’t need to wait around.

    So it was, Connor Lot walked out of hell.

*   *   *   *   *

       "He will live, but I can't fix his voice," the weary voice of Dispo Sitorem spoke. "That knife he was cut with had some kind of demonic power. His throat refuses to be mended." Lyric opened his eyes to a newly familiar sight. He was looking at the ceiling of his jail cell. Turning his head slowly he surveyed his surroundings. There was a terrible absence that demanded his attention that he carefully ignored, as though acknowledging it would make it real. He did not want to make it real.

       Cadence sat on the cot beside him. Her expression melancholy and her knuckles white around the hilt of her sword which lay across her knees. Dispo Sitorem sat on the edge of the cot next to them on which lay a young man who looked to be barely eighteen. Raising his head he looked further to see injured men and women laying on every available bed. A bustle of quiet activity filled the jail as attendants saw to the needs of the wounded.

       "Is she coming back?" Dispo asked Cadence. The Verger shrugged. The unnamed absence flitted around the edge of his consciousness, threatening to overwhelm him with… he didn’t know what. Something bad.

       "I don't know.  I can still feel her but the anger is quiet. Now she's grieving, but I still don't think she knows we're still tied. I've tried calling to her but it's like she can't hear me. The images I'm picking up are fractured and distorted. I think she's in hell."