Skull Gate (25 page)

“What of my suffering?” she shot back. “To see but not touch them?"

The god shrugged.

She met her brother's gaze. Her heart was ice, unrepentant. “I pray you suffer most of all,” she said.

Orchos bent a finger. Her brother bowed stiffly and the mist swallowed him up.

“How great were the sins of my father,” she demanded, “and Burdrak?"

His eyes crackled with lightning. He moved, and his shadow fell over her. She shivered in the umbra of his power and remembered a day when, as a child, she'd stood on the cliffs of Esgaria and watched a storm approach over the Calendi Sea, wondering with that tingling, innocent thrill if it would blow her away. Orchos was such a storm, beautiful and awesome.

Thy father came unbidden, a suicide, to my kingdom
, he said sternly.
Thee needs no more answer. As for Burdrak ...
His countenance softened somewhat.
Not all hells are for suffering.

She bit her lip. If her father suffered, it was her fault. Fresh tears filled her eyes. If only she had not come to this dismal place.

“I journeyed here to seek your help.” She brushed the wetness from her face. “I've found your cruelty."

Orchos nodded, and the parade continued. She stiffened her spine, prepared to endure it, determined to show no more weakness.

Some faces she remembered: Than and Chavi, the sons of Lord Rholf, who dwelled in Rholaroth. In a tavern brawl she'd killed one, wounded the other. Apparently, he had died later. For that, Rholf had sent Kimon to exact vengeance. There were few others she recognized. Men slain in battle, she guessed. Each performed the ritual bow and passed on.

The number surprised her. Still they came. Surprise turned to unease. So much done with a mere length of steel. When a small boy stepped from the fog, she protested angrily.

“I never harmed a child!"

Daughter, but thee harmed many children!
The pride in his voice filled her with loathing.
Thee slew fathers aplenty in thy wars. Wives and little ones starved with no one to provide for them.

“Carrion-eater! They would have slain me!” She flushed with rage and shame. The little boy bowed, departed.

Thee are my true daughter, my angel, sowing doom, cutting a crimson wake where thee wanders. Transported by thy sword these souls were, or by orders thee gave, plans thee made, or by consequences of thy actions.
His eyes gleamed; he folded arms over his massive chest.
Thee makes me proud.

She waited stiffly, silently, for the last shade to pass into the infinite mist. Then an odd thing struck her. An icy chill raised the hairs on her neck. She turned sharply to the lord of the nine hells.

“Where is my mother?"

Orchos blinked, said nothing.

“She died by her own hand,” she pressed, “after my father!"

His tone was chiding. A
witch of such power as thee once possessed knows that to a great sorceress death is but another experience, a new source of knowledge, a wellspring of eldritch vigor.

She clenched her fists to still their trembling. “She lives?"

His face was an impassive mask.
Thee came seeking help
, he said, abruptly changing the subject.
But thee has seriously failed me in an enterprise.

“What?” He was rejecting her plea before she made it. That wasn't fair. She had traveled too far, seen too much to be refused without a hearing. “To judge by this court of yours—held in my honor, as you put it—I have failed you in nothing!"

The demon, Gel
, he answered. The mist suddenly swirled around him like a maelstrom.
In the guise of a green star I guided thee to his conjurer, expecting you to dispatch the misbegotten human. Thee knows it not, but the wizard has made a pact to set the demon free upon the earth.

She was barely interested, shaken by the twin ideas that her mother still lived and that Orchos was refusing to aid her in Aki's salvation. “So slay him yourself,” she snapped, then scornfully: “Are you not the true lord of hell and death's master?"

Yet I am bound by cosmic law, and this was lawful conjuration. I granted that Gel should serve the human.

She shook her head, not understanding. “But if Onokratos entered into a pact with you, then he is bound by those same magical laws."

Thunder crackled in his voice.
The fool is human! He has broken our pact by making a new one with Gel.

“If the pact is broken, then why keep your part of it?” she argued sensibly. “Do what you will. Kill Onokratos and reclaim your demon."

His speech was no longer gentle; it throbbed in her skull, causing pain.
I am Orchos!
he raged.
I am Death! My word is bond and must be kept, even to the mortal spawn that seeks to cheat me, even to a rebel demon that plots to escape the very bounds of my eternal realm.
He thrust a finger at her. Again, she remembered that storm she'd witnessed on the Calendi cliffs. It had blown inland, ravaging crops and homes, taking lives.
Thee must slay the wizard for me. Only then will Gel be mine to reclaim.

“I can't!” she shouted, clapping hands to her aching head. “I need him!” Hastily, she explained about Aki and Kalynda, how the chaos-bringer held their souls in bondage, how she hoped to rescue them.

“For one reason of itself you should help us,” she pleaded. “Gath has stolen two souls that rightfully are yours."

Only one, daughter
, the death lord answered.
Spiders are sacred to Gath. The Kalynda-child died from the venom of those creatures; her soul is rightfully his. As for the Aki-child: I will not war with chaos for the possession of one soul.
He waved a hand.
Speak no more of this matter.

She felt a tingle in the soul-thread. She looked behind in alarm, but the cord soon disappeared in the fog. She could not see the portal. Desperation gripped her. Time was short.

“Would you risk it for five?” she challenged. “And for the return of your demon?"

The god's eyebrows shot upward, a curiously human sight.
Explain what thee proposes.

That echoed softly, painlessly in her head. She knew she'd caught his interest. But the soul-thread jangled now, sending shocks through her astral form.

“A contest!” she shouted. “If you win, you claim our souls instantly to punish as you will..."

And if thee wins?
He was scoffing, mocking her. His amusement was a tangible sensation in her brain.

The soul-thread vibrated insistently. She rushed to spit the words out. “You agree to fight Gath for the girls' souls! To free them to live the natural span of their lives!"

His laughter nearly overwhelmed her. Her senses whirled, and for a moment the jangling of the soul-thread was forgotten. She covered her ears uselessly.

But who will fight?
he inquired through his laughter.

“I will fight!” she answered fiercely through her disorientation. “And Tras Sur'tian and Kimon, Onokratos, and Gel!” She felt the soul-thread again, stronger, insistent. “I must go!"

He waved his hand again. The mists of hell's third level faded. The fires of the ninth and lowest hell licked harmlessly at her silvery flesh. The cries of the tormented assailed her. Far above, she spied the portal, a yawning hole in the blazing sky. She leaped, feeling the soul-thread contract, pulling her toward home.

Whom shall I send against thee?
Orchos's mocking laughter resounded in her skull.

The portal grew rapidly as she sped toward it. The jangling in her lifeline did not ease; it spread through her. She flew as swiftly as she could, terror-stricken that the portal might close before she reached it. Would her soulless body become like Aki's, then, animalistic?

Whom?
The question echoed again.

“All your hordes of hell!” she screamed. “Or anybody!"

Heat and fire dissolved. She raced through inky blackness, the same void she had traversed before, following the shining, glistening soul-thread.

Death's vast, leering face suddenly blocked her path; he extended his arms as if to catch her, and those limbs seemed to stretch to the four corners of infinity.
Daughter
, he hailed her.
Such audacity rivals the gods'. It deserves opportunity, which I grant.
His immense brow furrowed.
But be warned—thy sins have been great and many.

The threat was not lost on her. Not all hells were for punishment, the god had told her. But most were. She pushed the thought away and flew faster. The warning of her soul-thread was more immediate, demanding her attention.

I am proud of thee
, he proclaimed with a sage nod.
We will meet again at Skull Gate.

The image faded, leaving her way to the portal clear.

It was a dim light in the void. Drawing near it, she could see, as if through a window, the room where her body stood entranced. Gel loomed over it. The dagger—Orchos had called it an athame—trembled in her outstretched hands.

She achieved the portal, passed through, went straight to her body, and merged with it.

A scream ripped from her lips. Demonfang's energy rippled through her mind, gripping her will with undeniable strength. She screamed again. Gel's control over the dagger was nearly gone. She could feel its hunger. Too long had it gone unsated. It would feed soon, feast on her heart. Through blurred vision she could barely see Tras Sur'tian. Didn't he know she was back in her body? She gathered what little strength she had left.

“Help...” she croaked unintelligibly. Could they have heard that pitiful sound? Hadn't they heard her screams?

Then Kimon's face was next to hers. His hands closed around hers. He nearly jumped on the blade as he jerked it toward his chest. “No!” she cried, though no word came out.

Desperately, she pushed against Demonfang's power, resisted, and managed to divert the blade ever so slightly. The point missed his heart, sank half to the hilt through the muscle of his chest. His mouth twisted in a noiseless shriek, eyes widened with sudden terror, and he fell.

Blood fountained on his tunic. He stared upward, seeking her gaze; his face convulsed with pain. Frost fell to her knees beside him and wrenched the dagger free. He gripped her sleeve. His features clouded over, and his head lolled abruptly to the side. Then, his lids closed.

“He loves thee greatly, daughter...."

Frost clapped a hand to her mouth and recoiled. Kimon's lips moved with speech, but the voice belonged to the lord of the nine hells.

“His sins are blackest of all, yet he braves this death for thee. Remember thee in thy songs, then, how his father spurned him as a bastard son and his mother reviled him for the shame of his birth, how that father trained and used him as murderer and assassin, and how he walked all his days on the rivers of blood.” The voice of Orchos paused, and a crimson froth boiled from Kimon's lips.

Death's master continued. “Thee alone, daughter, of all that he has ever known showed him trust and freely gave him heart-love. He saw the caring thee shared with comrades and thought to share it, too. Once, he might have killed thee for a coin. Instead, he fled his past and reached for greater treasure."

Again, Orchos paused. Frost trembled, despairing, unable to move. Kimon's lips stirred. “I may have him this time,” the god said. “I see his soul approaching. Like thee, he has served me well, and I am proud of him. Remember, daughter, in thy songs."

There was no more. Frost rose slowly, numb. The silent, sated dagger clattered on the floor. Her hand, bright and sticky with Kimon's life-fluid, shook uncontrollably. She stared at it, deep in horror, unable to accept that the red, flexing fingers were hers.

There was a noise barely perceived, a heavy thud as Gel collapsed, exhausted. Onokratos leaped inside the triangle of silver dust and swiftly snatched up Demonfang.

“No!” she shrilled, kicking it from his grasp.

Hands grabbed her gently but firmly by the shoulders. She felt breath warm on her neck; soft words, calming words whispered in her ear.

“Tras!” she cried, turning in his arms. Her thoughts rushed in chaotic, disjointed fragments. “Help me!” she begged. But then she pushed him away. “No, don't touch me!” She stared at her incarnadined hand, at Demonfang on the chamber floor, at Kimon, at the candles and braziers that smoked and glowed, reminding her of the fires of hell. “Tras?” Gel curled up weakly at her feet, and the demon glared at her. “Tras!"

The Korkyran reached out again to soothe and hold her, but she backed away from them all until the wall pressed against her spine. Her shoulder brushed the shutter of the western window. She whirled and flung off the latch, threw it wide. The sun, a fat and dusky ruby, squatted on the purpling horizon, tugged on the first strings of night.

Her mouth opened then. She screamed and screamed until blackness swallowed everything.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

From every side the demons attacked. She whipped out her sword, too late. It melted magically; molten metal seared her hands. Claws rent her flesh. Fangs dripping with ichorous saliva sank into her throat. The hordes of hell bore her helplessly down. The tattered end of her soul-thread lashed the scorching air. Her screams turned to frantic gurgles as they pushed her head beneath the steaming, boiling surface of the lake of fire. The skin dissolved from her skull.

Suddenly, they released her. She gasped for breath, looked up as the demons fell away, and gave a little cry of joyous relief. Orchos filled the sky with his presence; his laughter filled her ears. She lifted her arms suppliantly, thinking herself saved. But laughter ceased; his smile turned to a leer. His huge foot rose over her. She screamed as it came squashing down, down, down...

She sat up suddenly, drenched in sweat, shivering. Her hair hung in ropes about her face; the blanket that covered her nakedness was clammy and damp. Nightmare images still burned in her brain. She rubbed her hands nervously, sucked deep breaths.