Into The Abyss (Demons of Astlan) (6 page)

Hurt.

Pain.

Agony.

Suffering.

Severe pain.

Intense agony.

God awful hurt.

Extreme suffering.

Painfully agonizing suffering and hurt.

This is not good, thought Tom in one of his semi-lucid moments between thoughts of assorted types of pain, agony, et cetera.  So far, in the last few hours since he smoked that joint, he had really done nothing but experience new and varied forms of pain, Tom decided.  Fortunately, this pain was not so all encompassing or soul wrenching as the pain of formation or whatever it was called in Astlan; however, that did not make it any less intense.  It was in fact a type of pain he was a little more used to, or at least able to cope with.  This was the type of pain one felt after landing stiff legged from a long fall, only a lot worse, because this was a fall of several thousand feet.  It was also the pain of having one's breath knocked out, and one's lungs temporarily collapsed, and that of a severe shock throughout the entire skeletal system.  All in all, a bitch.

Eventually, Tom managed to draw in a shuddering breath and slowly open his eyes.  He looked down at the ground expecting to see his broken legs, shattered all over the place.  Instead what he saw was ground that resembled the pictures taken of the Martian deserts and which came half-way up his thighs.  His legs it seemed were imbedded in the ground.  They had actually punched two holes in the ground, and he was stuck in the ground.  Not good, but at least they weren't shattered.  In fact, as he reanalyzed the pain, he realized that his legs must still be intact, so that the pain could feel like it was sending lightning bolts up
his leg bones, which it did.

Boggy came flying down from above at this point.  "I told you to relax and not think about it.  Now look what you've done.  You've gotten stuck."

"Yeah," Tom panted.  "Got...my...breath...knocked...out...too."

"Shouldn't do that."

"I…really--didn't mean to fall."

"Oh, not that.  Although you shouldn't have done that either.  I meant breathe."

"What?"

"Personally, I never breathe except to talk.  Too much of a hassle for too little muscle exercise.  All that ever happens is that it gets knocked out of you, or you accidentally breathe a noxious smelling vapor."

"Don't you need to breathe to live?"

"Nope, we're energy fields remember.  We're not alive in the normal sense."

"Then if I'm just an energy field, why do I hurt."

"Well, that's a little more complex.  Actually you are physical, sort of.  We're mainly condensed energy
...actually that's all matter really is too;  but we are just less condensed.  Anyway, your demon body does have senses, or something close enough that our mind perceives them as traditional senses.  One of these sets of nerve like pathways, or senses, simulates our old pain receptors.  This is, of course, for similar reasons, survival etc.; however, in our current forms, it's not quite so necessary.  However, we do still want something to simulate a sense of touch, to gauge pressure. So think of this pain as an overload of those senses.  The pain from formation however, that's something different.  That's more of a spiritual pain, in other words, it hurts because it's doing something unnatural to your essence or self, and our minds interpret it as pain.

"Interprets my ass," interjected Tizzy as he came in for a landing, "if it hurts, it's pain.  Plain and simple."

"Well," Boggy said, glaring at Tizzy, "whatever you chose to think.  You can experience unpleasant sensations, even though you’re not totally material."

"Yeah," Tom seemed to be saying that an awful lot, he thought.  The pain was finally starting to subside, a little.  "So, how do I get out?"

"Raise your arms, and we'll try and pull you out," Boggy suggested.

Tom complied, and Boggy grabbed his right arm and Tizzy his left.  The two demons launched themselves into the air with all their might and pulled as hard as the
y could.  Slowly and with a lot of effort, Tom began to rise from the dirt.  His legs pulled slowly out of the holes, until suddenly, a point was reached, and the earth gave way.  The three demons went flying up into the air as the ground reluctantly gave Tom up.

Slowly they settled back down.  Tom's legs, he noticed, appeared to be intact, but they did ache a lot more than they had up on the pillar.  In fact, when they set him down, he could not stand.  His legs hurt way too much, so he had to kneel on his hands and knees.  He found it was too hard to sit directly on the ground with his animal
like legs and his long tail.

"I don't know if I can make it to those mountains, let alone find a cave right now.  I'm way too sore and too tired to even really try," Tom told Tizzy and Boggy.

"No serious problem.  I doubt anyone will bother you right here for awhile, if you want to sleep here," Boggy reassured him.  "However, you really need to fly again as soon as possible.  Otherwise you may end up too scared to fly, and a demon who can and doesn't fly has a lot of trouble."

"Sure, but let me rest first.  I really can't do much more."  Tom was quite serious
; he felt almost as if he might pass out from exhaustion.  The weariness and pain from formation, which had been temporarily forgotten, was now back in full force; coupled with the pain from the fall and the exhaustion of his wing muscles, it was almost more than he could bear.  "You're starting to sound like my mother."

Boggy
smiled knowingly, “You’re doing good, lad.  Most new arrivals would be running around berserk at this point, insisting they were in some sort of dream or hallucinogenic state.”

“Some just go catatonic.”  Tizzy interjected.

"Tell you what, Tom my
...by the way, Tom, just how old were you, before you got captured, I mean, how old are you now?"  Boggy asked as the thought just hit him.

"Sixteen. Why?"

“Sixteen!  By the Notorious Dame’s skirts you could almost be British what with your stiff upper lip and all.  Right ho!  Taking it like a man!”

“Or de-man!” Tizzy exclaimed.  Boggy shook his head.

"No reason..." Boggy continued. "As I was about to say, if it will make you feel any better, Tizzy and I will stay here while you sleep, to insure nobody bothers you."

Tom took Boggy's reason for asking at face value, he was too tired to do else.  He nodded his head thankfully at Boggy's offer.  He then slowly slid his arms and legs out till he was flat on his stomach, and promptly went out like  the flames in the air above.

The school was bustling with servants and staff running about madly, trying to prepare for the expected siege.  The morning sun beat down upon the courtyard of the tower, giving a vibrant feeling to the air.  Lenamare surveyed his people confidently.  His gaze swept the large courtyard, examining the people piling firewood in the corners; carpenters constructing large wooden tanks to hold water in case fires should be ignited in the timber roofs of the stable and forge buildings.  Lesser skilled servants and local peasants bringing food and game in from the countryside for supplies; the guardsmen drilling for the defense of the walls.  Captain Markoff grilled orders in his typically surly manner, making guard recruits cringe.  Here and there a stray dog would yelp as someone carrying supplies or tools would step on its tail or paws when it wasn't paying attention and got in the way.

His school may not be the biggest, thought Lenamare with pride, but it is certainly one of the strongest.  Not only militarily, since Lenamare also ruled a good portion of the land around the school, but more importantly, magically.  There were two full masters, Jehenna and himself, three assistant masters, and twenty-five students.  Counting the best of the older students, Lenamare had about seven
to ten wizards to draw on and of course his own incredible talent, which made the effective number about nine.  He had fifty fulltime men-at-arms, forty-five new recruits, and about a hundred peasant men able to fight.  Of course, Exador would probably bring about three to four hundred men, but Lenamare's fortification and his more potent permanent pentacles for summoning demons and conducting other spell craft, evened things out.

Which reminded
him; he really should go up and check with Jehenna to see how construction of a talisman for controlling the greater demon was going.  He turned around, and entered the narrow door to the tower.  He crossed the large great hall in which women were setting up pallets for the wounded and any fleeing peasant folk to sleep.  As he neared the center stairwell, he saw Assistant Master Hortwell leading the older students down to the dungeon level to inspect the magical wards that guarded the outer walls of the keep.  Lenamare smiled to remember his brilliance in thinking to install permanent wardings for the walls.  Now, anytime they were needed, simple spells could bring up powerful defenses to guard the keep.

He nodded to Hortwell, who gave a slight bow back, and continued down the stairs.  Lenamare took the stairs up.  The stairway was a large gray stone spiral
staircase, which climbed from the dungeon levels up to almost the topmost floor.  He went up three full revolutions and stopped at the main workroom, where he knew Jehenna to be.  He opened the door to his left, the stairwell wound down counterclockwise, like all good defensive spirals, so that men retreating up the stairs, would in the open area in the great hall, have their sword arms free, and the attackers' would have to put up with the center pole of the spiral.  Lenamare again congratulated himself on his inspiring military genius in recognizing the necessary defensive elements, when he designed his tower.

As he opened the door
, Jehenna looked up from the table at which she was working.  The room was of medium size, designed primarily for the construction of implements of magic. The room was equipped with a small forge, with ventilation, anvils, engraving tools, jewelry tools and many other more esoteric tools.  The table at which she was working was filled with engraving tools, and small vials containing powdered jewels.

"I'm almost finished.  I've decided to make the talisman a ring.  Mainly, of course, for the benefit of the strength inherent in the Neverending Loop of Confinement, which the ring so easily represent
s."

"Good choice," approved Lenamare. "I take it you've inscribed the standard bindings for combat manipulation of a fourth order demon?"

"Of course, I used Pertwinge's Annulment of the Devious Destructive Demon, as well as Ekelios' Ectonic  Shielding.  Not to mention attuning it to the Kristel's Fourth Order Binding that I did yesterday."

"Good, you've inscribed the ring?"

"Yes, as you can see for yourself," she handed him the ring.  "I admit, I did a rush job on the talisman, but it is perfect.  It will allow any of us to command the demon with a minimum of effort during the battle."

He read the inside of the ring where the demon's name was inscribed, "Tomasedwardperkinje, fine.  Odd name for a demon, but then they all are."

"Who did you want to help us in sealing the demon?  Trisfelt?”

"No, I felt he was a bit weak, when we first bound the demon, let's use Master Hortwell
. Elrose is busy planning the positioning of the other demons, and ensuring that they're ready. 

"Hortwell is in the dungeon with some of the students, I
believe they will need a few hours to manage the inspection of the wards.  I'll send a messenger to Hortwell asking him to meet us in the same conjuring room we used last time, right after the evening meal?"

"Fine, I'll be done."

"Good enough," and Lenamare left the room.

Tom slowly came to.  What a nightmare he thought, I'll never smoke grass again.  He kept his eyes tightly closed, he could feel the rocky ground around him in Reggie's back yard, where he must have fallen while stoned.  "Helloooo," a voice shouted at him, "I can
see you’re awake now, your wings moved."

Oh shit, it's not a dream, or it's still going.
  Tom recognized Tizzy's voice behind and above him.  Slowly he opened his eyes.  In front of him he could see his red, snout-like, nose and beyond that, the rocky Martian like surface of the demon plain, or was that plane?  Tom thought weakly.  He moaned as he tried to sit up, his muscles protested.  They were still sore, but they didn't ache like they had.  "Aah," he said as he accidentally sat on his tail, bending it the wrong way.  He stood up, since as he now recalled, sitting was rather difficult.

"Slept like a bat you did," Tizzy said. 
“’Cept, of course, you wasn’t hanging from your feet.”  Tizzy’s voice was still distinct but a bit less shrill now, more grizzled.  Did the demon have some sort of multiple-personality disorder?  One could easily be excused for going crazy in this place.

Tom looked
around; the desert seemed to stretch forever.  Behind him was the pillar from which he fell, towering ungodly high and incredibly thin.
Surely those pillars violate some law of physics?
Tom thought to himself. In the distance to his right and before him was a range of mountains, apparently where he was supposed to be going.  He searched for Boggy, but couldn't see the little demon anywhere.

Seeing him looking around, Tizzy said, "Boggy got called away, he'll be back as soon as possible."

"Called away?" Tom inquired.

"Yeah, you know, summoned, conjured, e
tcetera, went to see his favorite accursed master."  He waved his pipe; smoke was coming out of the bowl, apparently, he’d been smoking while Tom was sleeping.

"Right, I should have guessed."  Tom reluctantly began to remember all the things Boggy had told him.  Eternal slavery, pain
-dominated servitude, lifelong misery.
What a thought to wake up to and to look forward to
, thought Tom.

"Well, ready to fly again?"

"No.  I think I'll walk."

"Take too long, and besides you'll never be able to cross the
Styx."

"The
Styx? As in river to the underworld, with the boat keeper?"

"You've heard of it?  Yep.  Favorite transportation of mortals
, or at least dead mortals, through the Abyss.  Travels the entire plane.  And a major bitch to cross if you don't fly."

"I don't know.  Last time was not fun."  Tom looked down at the two holes in the ground nearby, where his legs had implanted themselves.  "Besides, I really should eat something first."

"Are you hungry?"

"No
…" Tom said, realizing it was true.  He hadn't eaten anything in ages, and he'd been through a lot, but he was not hungry in the slightest.

"Then why eat?"

"I don't know.  Habit I guess."

"Wasteful habit.  Demons don't need to eat.  We get enough energy from the heat in the air around us.  Course,
we can if we want to.  Munching a little wizard or two for breakfast is always a fun thing to do."  He took a deep pull on his pipe and grinned at Tom.

"No thanks.  I suppose I should try and fly again," Tom said doubtfully.

"Just try short, low level flights at first.  It's a lot easier."

"I guess," Tom said, not really wanting to, but knowing that he'd better learn, if he was going to be in this psychotic state for long.  Or was it neurotic?  He was definitely aware he wasn't perceiving things quite right anymore, did that make it neurotic? or
did the fact that he was having hallucinations automatically mean he was psychotic.  His stepfather had been a clinical psychologist,  an
d
To
m
had often visited his  office and talked to him about different types of crazy people.  It was quite different being one of the crazies now.

However
, Tom just thought,
I fell asleep and I still seem to be here.  Everything seems to make sense and is rationally connected, assuming one can accept the premise of a demon plane and a bunch of wizards kidnapping stoned kids from parties.  Now, am I actually out of my mind or really here? 
Tom had read enough fantasy novels to know that the major characters, who were transported to fantasy realms, often spent a great deal of time disbelieving in the world around them, and therefore managed to get into a lot of trouble. 

So
, thought Tom,
would it be better to disbelieve in this place and say this is all a dream and possibly get into a lot of trouble, if it's real; or do I accept that everything is real, and risk falling even deeper into my personal insanity
?  Reeling from the weight of thoughts he had never expected to have to face in real life, Tom giddily began to wonder if there was actually any way that he could determine if his whole past life had been a dream and that he was now awake.

No
, he thought, pulling himself together suddenly,
Boggy assured me that I had lived somewhere else as a normal person, thus this is either a new place, or a dream, and my past definitely real regardless of the situation.

"Hey, are you going to fly or not?" Tizzy interrupted his thoughts suddenly.  He quickly realized he had just been standing there going around in mental circles while Tizzy waited on him to start trying to fly.

"Well how do I start?" Tom asked.  Since, Tom rationalized, anything based on a false assumption was true, then if he was crazy and this world a dream, then anything he did was correct, so it couldn't hurt to believe; whereas, if this world was true, it could be very dangerous to disbelieve. He decided, therefore to accept his situation as real, until more convincing proof became evident later.

"Simply relax and start walking.  As you walk think about walking upward at the same time, think of gaining altitude.  Once you start rising, you can stop your legs, but just continue to pretend you're walking.  For you it should be easy.   Me, well I had to get used to my extra legs as well."

Refusing to simply say, `right,' or `yeah,' or `OK,' again, Tom simply did as he was instructed.  He began walking towards the mountains.  As he walked he pretended he was also climbing stairs.  Shortly, he could no longer feel his legs touching ground, so he looked down.  He was walking about ten feet above the ground.  Tom was so pleased by the easiness of flight, that again his wings started to falter.  This time however, he quickly looked forward, and tried putting all thoughts but those of walking forward out of his head.  It worked, he started going forward again, he wasn't gaining altitude, but he wasn't losing it either.  Once again he began to think of rising, and once again, he did.  He simply couldn't stop being amazed at how easy this flying was, if one didn't think about it. 

"Good job, good job," Tizzy said as he flew up beside him.  "We've only got fifty kilometers to the mountains.
”

"What!"  Tom said as he stopped and turned to face Tizzy in midair, then promptly fell.

Actually, it wasn't quite as bad as it had sounded at first.  As Tizzy showed him, once he managed to get airborne again, demons could fly considerably faster than a normal man could walk.  In fact, the mighty wing muscles of a demon, combined with their not quite material state, allowed them to fly, as Tizzy explained, much faster than a horse could run.  As they picked up speed, Tom conservatively estimated their velocity to reach about thirty-five miles an hour, or about fifty-six kilometers per hour.  Which, since Tom had no way of judging time, meant that it took them only about an hour to reach the base of the mountain range.

Tizzy was an interesting companion on the flight, since he would fly ahead, then fall behind, dash right and dash left and occasionally come alongside with an obscure comment on some of the local geography.  All in all he found Tizzy to be good at keeping his mind off their altitude, and his as yet unresolved questions about his own sanity.  In fact, he was somewhat relieved to note that if he was crazy, then Tizzy was crazier. 

The river Styx, when they passed over it, was quite impressive.  It seemed to wind from horizon to horizon across their path, and was located about halfway between the mountains and where he had landed.  The river was black, darker than any river he had ever seen on Earth, and much wider.  The river had to be several miles wide, he imagined that the Mississippi was probably about the same width, but he had never seen it, except from thirty-thousand feet in an airplane.  It was also quite violent, which puzzled Tom, he had always expected really wide rivers to be fairly calm, but this one certainly didn't seem to be.  It seemed to be as turbulent and violent as a white water river, like the ones that raft trips were taken on.  However, there didn't seem to be any actual `white' water in the Styx, even the foam was a black color.  Perhaps there were some silvery streaks on the crests of the waves, but he couldn't be sure from one hundred feet above. The river also seemed to be slightly out of focus for some reason, and this didn't help matters any.  He was unable to see any boatmen on the river, and he couldn't see how any boat could traverse that river.

Tom had, after the first fifteen to twenty minutes of flight, gained enough confidence to fly higher above the land.  As Tizzy pointed out, a fall certainly couldn't kill him, it could only hurt him; however, Tom greatly desired to keep his requisite pain to a minimum, so he kept his altitude at about one hundred feet.  He had to admit there was some beauty in this `hellish' land.  Not normal beauty, but a grim, impressive beauty, in the huge desert and towering pillars. 
The streams of lava, highlighted everythin
g
and the arcing flames and immense fireballs, seemed to punctuate the majesty of the view below him.

His most treacherous moment in the flight occurred when one of the great fireballs all of the sudden ignited right in front of him.  He had simply been flying along, when all of the sudden he saw a small light in front of him, and then there was this roaring fireball.  As if he was walking, he spr
ang back, out of the way of the fireball, and stood there an arm’s length away from its edge. 

He could feel the heat on his face and chest and he realized that it had to be incredibly hot, but he felt only mild discomfort from the intense blaze.  In all, the fireball must only have lasted a few seconds; however, it seemed to go on for several minutes.  Only after the ball had shrunk back to a small flame and then out of sight, did Tom realize that he was hovering in midair.  He hadn't fallen; maybe, just maybe, he'd
finally be able to get the hang of this flying business.

Eventually they did reach the base of the mountains.  "Here we are!" Tizzy exclaimed. "We actually made it, and you still have all your parts."

Tom looked speculatively over at Tizzy, wondering for a moment about the demon's comment, and wondering how much of the confidence he had seemed to show in Tom had simply been faked.  "So where do I go from here?" Tom asked.

"Why anywhere you want to live."

"Just go pick out a cave, anywhere?"

"Well, any uninhabited cave.'

"How do I tell which ones have demons in them?"

"Easy, every demon makes his personal mark above the entrance to his cave, just don't go in any marked ones."

"How many caves have demons in them?"

"Oh, I don't know, not all, certainly not even most of them."

"Well, I guess I'd better start looking," Tom said, not knowing really where to look, since he couldn't see any caves at the moment.

"The best ones are over there."  Tizzy pointed beyond the first layer of mountains, deeper into the range.

"Very well, I guess I'll start looking."

"Yes, I always say
..." Tizzy's voice drifted off a little as he seemed to look off into space for a moment, puffing on his pipe.  "Sorry, gotta go."  With that, the small octopodal demon vanished into thin air.

"Hmm, guess I'm on my own."  Tom said
. He supposed Tizzy had just been called off to see his `accursed master.'  Tom flew up higher in the air so that he could pass over the mountains.  The mountain range seemed, like the river, to be larger and more imposing than any he had seen on Earth.  The mountains were all jagged, torn and extremely rocky.  None of the close ones had snow, which was to be expected if the temperature was two hundred degrees Fahrenheit.  It did appear, however, that some of the more distant mountains did have white on them.  Thinking back on what little geography and geology he'd had, Tom guessed that those mountains would have to be incredibly high for the temperature to drop from two hundred degrees to the point where snow could exist.

He was now flying over the first mountains.  He was higher than he'd been, since
any time after he fell off the pillar.  He guessed he was still not as high up as the pillar had been, but this mountain had to be at least nine thousand feet high.  He guessed this by the time it took him to fly to the top, based on what he estimated his speed to be, about twenty miles per hour.  If this mountain was nine thousand feet, then some of those further in had to be twenty thousand feet high, and those snowcapped ones would have to be higher than Mount Everest.