Demonworld (40 page)

“
You’re quite welcome!” said Agmar, bowing with a forced flourish. “Welcome to the land of freedom! I’ve no doubt that all our needs will be met out here in the wilderness. Well, except the need for food, water, sleep, shelter, or even a bare minimum of safety. But other than that, it feels great to be here, doesn’t it?”

“
What are you talking about?” said Wodan. “You wanted to escape from the Ugly just as much as we did.”

“
We’re alike in some ways, but we’re a little different in others.”

“
Is that so?”

“
For instance,” Agmar continued, “do you feel any guilt about the lives you took?”

In truth, Wodan did not. He had read books and seen films in his youth that showed normal, average people pick up a weapon to defend their life from some criminal; inevitably the person’s hands would be shaking so hard that it never proved difficult for the criminal to disarm them. He’d also seen stories that showed crime-fighting vigilantes taking lives, but later moping about with a conscience weighed down by guilt. There was always a scary aura of darkness that hung over such so-called “superheroes” who took the law into their own hands. Strangely enough, Wodan felt no guilt at all. While aiming a gun and pulling the trigger and watching his enemies fall, his only concern had been about accuracy. He wondered if perhaps he was some sort of monster. If all the slaves had risen up and overpowered the Ugly without killing them, would he have been capable of arguing against the idea of torturing their captors to death?

“
No answer?” said Agmar. “Maybe that’s why I came along. Maybe I was afraid that these people were being led by an immoral little boy with no sense of remorse or compassion or… humanity.”

“
Humanity?” said Wodan. “That’s where you’re wrong, Agmar. Those men we killed – they crossed a line and left their humanity behind. I know it was your sense of compassion that kept you from using a weapon earlier, but you have to understand that you were raised and programmed to obey a morality that
they
made. Do you think the demon and the Ugly would be the masters of this world if they couldn’t depend on the passivity and meekness and selflessness of popular morality? I saw you take the book that Barkus dropped. I don’t have to see it to guess what’s inside; I saw it written on the faces of the old ones who refused to fight back. Is it full of stories about idealized hardships suffered by victims? Are the bad guys magically defeated in the end? Is there a concluding chapter where all the evil in the world is conquered by some outside force that finally rewards all the poor suckers who endured their suffering with a smile?

“
Agmar, we had to kill the Ugly because they were confident. They were confident in their strength and our weakness. They were confident that we would live in fear. And if you and the other old ones hadn’t held back, we would have outnumbered our enemies four-to-one. Less of us would have died, the people we left behind wouldn’t be living in hell right now, and the Ugly, well… it would be
their
turn to endure the suffering that they seem to love so much.”

Agmar was about to reply, then he noticed that all the others were sitting straight in their mounts. They held their guns with confidence and their eyes were alive. They were not in the mood for self-deprecating introspection.

“
He’s right,” said Brad. “Let’s ride the hell outta here.”

“
All the way to Haven!” said Rachek, smiling. “Right, Wodan?”

“
Right!” said Wodan, laughing.

Wodan was about to ask Agmar of the route they must take, but at that moment a cry broke out. A man with sharp eyes pointed into the distance. In the rising light of the dawn they saw a large figure in the distance.

They watched the black, featureless thing. There was nothing natural about its movements. The dark shape churned against the earth, leaping oddly with the help of membranes that flapped at its side. It was far away, but moving toward them very quickly. Soon they could make out horns and quivering limbs.

“
Demon!” shouted one. “A demon!”

Screams broke out and everyone kicked their horses in a blind panic.

“
Stop!” yelled Wodan. “Wait! Stay where you are!”

The riders broke into small groups and stumbled in odd directions, and some crashed into one another and clung to the sides of their bucking horses. Wodan turned about, stabbing the people with his eyes but unable to stop the panic. It was a cold slap in the face to realize that even though the Ugly had posted guards to watch for demons, not a single demon had come near them; now that they were alone and on their own for just a few hours, a demon had already found them out and was ready to kill them.

A shotgun blasted. The people stopped and saw Brad holding the smoking barrel of a gun, a deafening reminder of the power they wielded. “Quit actin’ like a bunch of whipped bitches,” said Brad.

“
But it’s a demon!” said one man. “It’s a destroyer! We can’t…”

“
Can’t what?” said Wodan. “Can’t outrun it? Can’t wrestle it to the ground? Look at you. You’re bigger and stronger than I am.” Wodan produced a handgun and leveled it at the man’s face. “Just remember, no matter how big or how strong anyone is, one between the eyes is the greatest equalizer in the whole world.” Wodan lowered his gun, then said, “It’s time for people to stop killing people. It’s time to form up in a line and start killing these dumb animals that think they rule the world.”

“
He’s right!” Rachek shouted. “Form a line, now! No more sacrifices, no more running!”

Brad and Rachek drove their mounts in a wide circle and gathered everyone up. Wodan stood and faced the monster, and the line formed on either side of him. Wodan glared at the approaching monster and exchanged his handgun for a heavy rifle. The others were terrified, but more than a little ashamed at their cowardice. Even though their bowels threatened to burst, they spat on the ground in disgust and aimed their weapons.

“
Do not be afraid,” shouted Wodan, and he raised his rifle high. “DO NOT BE AFRAID!”

“
What do you mean to do?” asked Fachimundi, biting his lip and wringing his hands. He watched the elite leaving the tent and they seemed dead-set on some plan of action.

“
We’re going to find them,” said Barkus, striding past. Fachimundi ran to keep up. “We’re going to find them before the demon does. We’re going to kill them before the wasteland does.”

“
Can we, ah… move that fast?”

“
No, we can’t,” said Barkus. “The larger the group, the slower it moves. That’s why we’re splitting up. You’re in charge.”

Fachimundi stopped as if he’d run into an invisible wall. He stared at his master’s back, then realized he’d been drooling and wiped his chin. He ran to catch up again.

“
Eighteen horses have come back,” Barkus continued. “That’ll be enough for us. You and the rest of the boys will continue walking the slaves to Sunport.”

“
But... there’s so many of them left,” said Fachimundi. “We’ll be outnumbered more than ten-to-one. They’ll be quicker to rebel next time.”

“
Won’t be a next time.”

“
They’re already complaining!” whined Fachimundi.

Barkus stopped suddenly and gripped Fachimundi’s shoulder. “When the sun comes up, you fire your guns into them. You beat them, whip them, scream at them. Give them no rest until they stagger into Sunport half dead. You hear me?”

Fachimundi stared at the ground and shook his head slightly. Barkus knew that it was not because he pitied the wretches; the accountant’s shriveled heart held so many sadistic fantasies that Barkus rarely felt comfortable alone with him. He grabbed Fachimundi’s ear and shook his head.

“
This won’t happen again!” Barkus hissed. “We’re going to teach them a
lesson
. You beat those dogs until they pray some demon takes their lives. By the time you reach Sunport, you’ll see the hides of those criminals baking on the city walls.”

“
How many,” said Fachimundi, slowly. “How many can I kill... before the job is no longer profitable?”

“
Profits!” said Barkus. “Forget the gold. This isn’t about slaves for money anymore, you pup. There’s a lot more at stake here than living nice or living nicer. Kill as many as you want to see dead. Kill one every minute just to count time, if you like.
But mark this: You leave enough of them alive so they can spread the tale. We will show the world what happens when the dogs step out of line
.
”

Fachimundi lifted his eyes and saw the black-clad killers mounting up on their horses. Two Ugly youths approached and one buckled Barkus’s gun belt about his waist while the other placed his heavy fur cape on his shoulders. Wallach rode up slowly, armored in greasy leather, a shaggy mane of bison fur framing his thick face and neck. Fachimundi swallowed, terrified by the sight of the grim-faced hunters.

The eighteen killers waited for the sun to peek over the horizon, then they invoked a curse and rode off without another word. The ground shook with their departure.

“
They will make the Living Scar proud,” said Fachimundi. He turned to the slaves and fingered the sawed-off shotgun hanging at his side, then said, “Now I have my own work to attend to. We must all do our part.”

See the Monkeys Dance

On the coast at the edge of the world stood ancient walls of stone with gun towers leaning at odd angles. The sun withered orange overhead and great cloud pyres burned in the moments before darkening. A gaggle of lean, exhausted horses stumbled over the southern horizon and the famished riders wondered if they would be able to guess the signs and words that would gain them admittance into a hard world that could exist just as well without them.

As the riders drew near they could see dozens of weathered crosses standing before the gates of the city. A few bore the upper halves of mummified corpses, but most were empty.

Wodan turned to the others, said, “What are those?”

“
Execution crosses,” said Agmar. “Long ago, Sunport was ruled by demon-kings… humans who made deals with demons in order to assure the safety of the city. At the time, noble houses feeding commoners to demons was the only way they knew how to get by. Fortunately, Sunport got rid of those guys. I’m not sure who rules now. I don’t think anybody knows for sure. It’s not like Pontius, where the lines were drawn hundreds of years ago. Here, whoever can take power gets to keep it as long as nobody else wants it. Of course, somebody else always wants it…”

“
So they don’t make sacrifices to demons,” said Wodan. “That’s great and all, but what are those bodies doing up there?”

“
Ah! Right. Sacrificing to demons is against the law in Sunport, but they still have criminals, you know? I guess they figure they might as well hang them up here and, well, if a demon should happen to come by with a powerful hunger…”

Wodan shook his head. “So do they crucify murderers and rapists, or do they tend to target political dissidents?”

“
You’re getting it already!” said Agmar, laughing. “You sure you weren’t born in the wasteland after all?”

Wodan eyed the heavy gate that stood before them. From the gun towers he could see small black silhouettes of men watching them. “Are they going to let us in with all these guns we’re carrying?” said Wodan.

“
Son,” said Agmar, shaking his head, “we’ll be lucky if they let us in at all. As for the particulars, it depends on who’s in charge, what kind of mood the guards are in, stuff like that.”

When the riders drew near enough, the guards
swiveled machineguns toward them, slowly, and said nothing. Wodan stopped and the others followed suit. He looked around and cleared his throat, unsure of his next move. He could see the guards above smoking, waiting.

Agmar waved to one tower, said, “Hey, Machek! It’s me, Agmar. Agmar Epemi!”

“
Ah,” said a guard with gray bristles on his face. His voice was high-pitched and, though he did not raise it, it carried from the stone walls and bounced to the petitioners. “Ah, Agmar, good times, right! You come to trade and such?”

“
Trade, eat, rest,” said Agmar, “like that.”

“
Come up to me, right, later,” said the guard. He waved behind him, said, “Open up, it’s friends. It’s friends!”