The Heart of Hell

by Wayne Barlowe

  And, oddly, there were Salamandrines in the images. What are those vermin doing here? What place is this? Adramalik wondered.

  Overhead, darting among the tiled-over stalactites, were formations of flying Abyssals, hissing and spitting and misting the air with their fine spittle. Their slick bodies were emblazoned with red spots that in the darkness appeared to separate and come together in flowing, hypnotizing patterns as the flocks made their careening, convoluted way through the air.

  So distracted by the spectacle of winding murmurations of Abyssals was Adramalik that when his gaze finally lowered to the floor of the cave his eyes widened. Stretching across the floor were tumuli of darkly transparent husks beyond count, each shaped like a demon, each glistening and dripping from the falling saliva. The nearer ones, he could see, were split apart as if two great hands had twisted and cracked them open. Inside they were hollow and empty of any skeletons or organs. Many were partially filled with saliva.

  “What are they?”

  “I thought it might be clear to you,” Faraii said. “Have you never wondered what becomes of demons when they are sent down here?”

  “Rarely.”

  “This place is where their spirits go. This place is where they are … changed. These spirit-shells are what they inhabit when they are destroyed. And what is pulled free from them … my lord transforms and makes new. What you see here is the currency of Death in Hell. To be found and hoarded and then spent by my lord.”

  “And all of these images. Including the Salamandrine filth?” Adramalik indicated the walls.

  Faraii looked sharply at Adramalik.

  “Be most careful when you speak of them thusly. They are the most beloved of my lord. And know, demon, the Men of Wrath were good to me once. A very long time ago.”

  This fervor surprised Adramalik and he held his tongue and simply bowed his head in deference.

  Without another word, Faraii swept past the demon and continued down a narrow passage that hugged the cavern wall. Adramalik was not sure whether the creature had truly taken offense at his words or had simply run out of things to impart, but his sudden silence weighed heavily. Adramalik followed apprehensively.

  What kind of god is this that favors the miserable, dwindling Salamandrines over demons?

  12

  THE WASTES

  It was the worst firestorm either of them had ever witnessed. And while they were sheltered from its wrath, they were squarely in the heart of it. The air was incandescent and the ground seemed to melt from the shimmering heat waves. Peering out from deep within the rock cleft’s hollow, Lilith and Ardat winced whenever a particularly ferocious blast roared past. The air was almost sucked from their shelter with some of the fiercer blasts. Incredibly, they had seen a Salamandrine in the distance, bundled from head to toe in protective Abyssal skins and bent against the fiery wind, trekking in no particular hurry. It was just another walk for him.

  Embers surged and hissed partway into their cleft and Lilith put her arms around Ardat as much for her own comfort as that of her handmaiden. Ardat looked up and smiled tensely. And a look passed between them that had flitted on both their faces before, a look of longing that, now, was the unexpected stepchild of the storm.

  Lilith drew Ardat’s face close and looked deeply into her eyes. Embers danced there … were they reflections from the storm or motes of Ardat’s yearning soul? Their lips came close, brushed, and she felt the heated breath tingle upon her face. In a moment they were plying kisses upon each other’s faces, their lips brushing each other’s cheeks, chins, and necks. They had waited millennia, circled their feelings without even knowing their depth. Ardat’s loyalty, Lilith’s devotion … two sides of the same coin.

  The winds blew in small handfuls of embers, which fell and gathered on the cleft’s rocky floor like glowing tesserae. The effect was almost magical. Lilith scooped up a thumb-sized ember and blew on it until it blossomed into white heat. With one hand she clawed open Ardat’s traveling skins and then the robes beneath, layer by layer. Eyes meeting, Lilith slowly pushed her down upon the rock floor, the handmaiden’s pale skin glistening in the half-light. Lilith’s hands pulled away the skins, ran up and down the smooth, inviting curves of Ardat’s thinly muscled torso, and reached behind to caress her firm buttocks.

  Lilith took the ember between thumb and forefinger and put it against Ardat’s neck and with a moan the younger demon arched her back. The ember traveled slowly, teasingly, upon the handmaiden’s body and left a faint wisp of steam as it made its inevitable way downward. Lilith circled Ardat’s nipples with it and smiled as she watched her handmaiden’s breath come in short, excited bursts. And, she laughed as she playfully traced tingling glyphs upon her flat belly eliciting small high-pitched noises. But her hunger grew along with Ardat’s gasps when her fingers slid farther down, parting her already-moist lips. Ardat’s hips rose as the sizzling ember entered her and the trembling that followed only grew as Lilith’s mouth descended hungrily between her legs, her sharp teeth pressing into the soft flesh. The spasms that followed did not subside until the handmaiden’s cries rose about the howling wind, echoing in the confines of the small cave.

  Ardat, eyes wide, shakily reached down and pulled her mistress up so that she could reach into Lilith’s traveling skins and between her legs as she kissed her. Lilith closed her eyes, smiling, sighing, as the insistent, probing fingers caressed her, finding their goal. She found herself growing more oblivious to the shrieking wind, to the world around her, as those clever fingers eventually found their way inside her. For all her quiet demeanor, Ardat was bold and expert when it came, now, to pleasuring her mistress. For a moment her fingers withdrew, but only a moment, and when, after a gasp, they returned they held the ember. When she applied it, Lilith growled in satisfaction, a look upon her ivory face that her handmaiden had never before seen. And when she pushed it easily, deep inside Lilith, she felt her mistress’ body tense and felt, too, the building release to come. Lilith, the White Mistress, champion of souls, consort to Lucifer, to the Fly, and to the Ascended Sargatanas, was no longer there. In her place was an ancient creature of purest lust. She snarled, snapping down with her mouth agape, sank her small, sharp teeth deep into Ardat’s breast. The pain was undoubtedly profound, and at first Ardat clawed frantically at Lilith’s bare back trying to dislodge her, but this only made the demon sink her teeth deeper and slide her hand between her handmaiden’s legs once again. The pair twisted on the cave’s floor, locked together, but as the moments wore on, the terrible pain subsided and Ardat found herself climaxing along with her mistress.

  Time and thought seemed to stop. Winds seemed to dwindle. And the ember, now tossed aside, faded and blackened.

  The pair slept the restless, dreamless near sleep of Hell. The storm passed and when they both stirred, smiling faintly, it was to find their arms around each other, the scratches still visible. They rose, put on and adjusted their traveling skins, strapped on their weapons and packs, and exited the cleft, saying nothing. A welcome threshold had been crossed.

  * * *

  Lilith spotted the distant soul caravan before her handmaiden. They were so far off, Lilith at first thought her eyes were playing tricks in the ever-shifting ash fields. But her eyes were every bit as keen as they had been all those millennia ago when she had targeted far-off humans in their swamps.

  Lilith, squinting into the distance, saw something in the way the souls were moving across the landscape that aroused her curiosity. They seemed to be dragging things behind them. Ardat and she wordlessly nodded to each other as they took up the pursuit.

  The winds from the firestorm had blanketed the ground in dark, now-cooled embers that made soft crunching sounds as Lilith and Ardat set out. After crossing a flat, gray plain crisscrossed by thin ribbons of lava, they picked up the souls’ trail and found themselves following not only the many footprints but also six furrows that were clearly drag marks.

  The pair picked up the pace but were c
areful to stay concealed as they drew nearer, keeping to the far sides of hillocks and the deeper, shadowed parts of gullies. Lilith’s mood toward the souls had, if anything, hardened over the days since her last encounter. The sense that she had been following a lost cause for all those long millennia in Dis only served to make her more bitter.

  They were something I needed to focus upon to deflect my own misery. I can see that now. Could I have survived without them? I wonder.

  She frowned as she made her way toward the souls and Ardat, seeing that dark expression, knew to keep silent.

  When they were a few hundred paces from the party, Lilith and Ardat finally saw the authors of the long drag marks. Six tied figures, females it would seem, were being dragged roughly by two to three souls each. The females were succubi by the look of them, their garb shredded and hanging in tatters. Watching them being pulled over the sharp terrain twisting in pain raised Lilith’s anger to a point that was soon barely controllable.

  She and Ardat edged closer until they were only a few paces from the muttering gang. Lilith silently slid Lukiftias from its sheath, stalked forward deliberately, and jerked her chin fiercely toward them. Ardat understood and quietly pulled out her own blade.

  With a growl Lilith leaped from behind cover, followed swiftly by Ardat. The souls were so shocked that, as one, they shrieked and scattered, dropping the ropes by which they had been pulling the unfortunate succubi. Many, clearly new to the ways of war, dropped their weapons in their terror and surprise. Rather than pursue them—they had fled in every direction—the pair sheathed their weapons and set about freeing the demons.

  “What are your names?” Lilith asked as she tried to work free the tightly knotted tendon ropes that crisscrossed their bodies.

  “Mine is Araamah,” the succubus said hoarsely as Lilith freed one arm. She jerked a thumb at the others. “Hers is Liimah. That one kicking one of the souls is Kaasah. Those three are Dimmah, Mashtaah, and Asaakah.”

  The knots were uncooperative and, with an annoyed groan, Lilith pulled a small Abyssal-tooth knife from her satchel. Its serrated edge made easy work of the tough ropes and Araamah was freed quickly. She stood unsteadily, pain creasing her delicate features, and rearranged her tattered garments.

  “Go free them, Araamah. Take this. And kill the soul Kaasah is kicking,” Lilith said, handing the succubus the black knife. “I want to make sure those souls aren’t regrouping to come back.”

  Lilith moved up a small hill to Ardat’s side, feigning scanning the horizon.

  “What are we going to do with them?”

  Lilith shrugged.

  “We cannot leave them out here. They would wind up just as we found them. Or worse.” Ardat was clearly sympathetic.

  Lilith shook her head slightly. This is just not what I had in mind. Finding Buer … getting back to Dis as quickly as possible … this is just going to slow us down.

  “You are right, Ardat,” Lilith said with a sigh. “We can drop them at the next demon outpost. That is, if we find one that has not been overrun. Otherwise they are just going to have to keep up with us.”

  Lilith turned and headed back down the hillock. The succubi were kicking away their bonds as Araamah finished with Dimmah.

  “Pick up whatever suits you,” Lilith said, indicating the souls’ lost weapons. The various pieces looked mostly like swords and pikes “liberated” from demons—good, solid weapons.

  For a few moments the succubi tentatively picked through the swords and dirks and hatchets until eventually they were satisfied. Oddly, Lilith noted, whether it was by agreement or not they all seemed to select the same crooked blades—forged weapons, these were, meant for demon officers—which they hefted and twirled in mimicry of their former captors.

  Ardat joined Lilith, smirking.

  * * *

  Lilith was not about to slow her pace just for some itinerant succubi even if they were cast about Hell’s five points against their will. And to their credit—and Lilith’s and Ardat’s quiet approval—the younger demons kept up admirably. It was, Lilith reflected, almost as if the release from their imprisonment and servitude put added strength in their legs and enthusiasm in their breasts. They were, as it turned out, low-level succubi, pleasure givers to Dis’ decurion class and young, by Hell’s standards—a millennium or two for each of them. And none of them had been outside the confines of the Keep before.

  Algol rose and set before the party found a sheltering cliff’s overhang. Winds were kicking up again.

  Lilith and Ardat listened as they rested, half-interested, while Liimah, the most forthcoming of the succubi, explained their escape.

  “We were never even aware a war had been going on for so long. The decurions never said anything. We were just sweet meat to them.” Liimah’s three eyes flitted from Lilith to Ardat looking for sympathy from the two demons and found none. They had been through far worse at the hands of the Fly than the comparatively pampered existences of these creatures. And they had seen too many atrocities since leaving Dis behind to consider the succubi anything but truly fortunate.

  “When the Keep was forcibly emptied of its occupants just before they razed almost all of it, the victors came in to claim their spoils. Us. They used us no better or worse than the decurions of Dis. And, for our troubles, we learned little bits of information about the war. Sargatanas’ army would be unforgiving to anyone from Dis, especially from the Keep. So, we fled.”

  Lilith felt a pang in her heart momentarily as his name was pronounced. She saw Ardat shoot the succubi a look, but they could not have known what their transgression was and they ignored her. It has been so long since I lost him and yet it is still so hard to hear his name. Maybe that needs to end.

  “The mandate was tolerance in exchange for fealty.”

  Even as she said it, Lilith knew better. Knew that demons from Dis beyond count, far from Put Satanachia’s idealistic gaze, were humiliated or destroyed and that very few of the Fly’s hierarchy were found guiltless enough to be absorbed into the government of Adamantinarx. A mere handful. The corruption had been too deeply ingrained, the sadism too pervasive, to be so easily expunged. So be it, she thought. They got what they deserved.

  “The mandate was … overlooked in most cases. We saw the mountains of rubble that had once been the demons of the court and government of Dis. The executions were unending. The air was thick with their dust. And we were sure we would be treated the same. We escaped by way of the underground arteries that come from beneath the Keep. Once that thing … Semjaza … was loosed it was easy to find our way into one and then to evade the armies up above.”

  Lilith maintained her studied demeanor of indifference. These succubi were little more than playthings, pampered pets of the entitled military. Why should their misadventures be of any interest to her or Ardat?

  Liimah carried on despite Lilith’s obvious aloofness.

  “When we finally did make it away from Dis we headed out into the Wastes. We thought we would be safer away from the armies.”

  “You were wrong,” Lilith said flatly.

  “Yes, we were. We wandered for what seemed like forever. And then Araamah had an idea. She had heard about Adamantinarx and Sargatanas. Had heard what he did. And she got it into her head to go there.”

  Lilith sucked in her breath and turned away. She had heard this kind of thing so many times from other travelers.

  “And I had the idea to find you.”

  Lilith turned and looked intently at the succubus. A trace of a smile crossed her face. “So, you enlisted a gang of soul brigands to capture all of you and then had yourselves dragged to my feet? Good plan. It worked.”

  Liimah laughed, a not-unpleasant sound.

  “That was not really the plan, Mistress. The plan was to find you and to appeal to you to let us follow you.”

  “Follow me? Where?”

  “Not where … how. We all decided that Sargatanas’ cause, his sacrifice, was … holy. We want to become
your … disciples. Acolytes, if you will allow us.”

  Lilith looked at Ardat. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. I’m suddenly someone to be followed? Simply because he and I were together?

  Ardat smiled wryly, clearly reading her thoughts.

  She turned back to the tattered succubi who straightened under her gaze. Despite their effort to look hardy, they looked, instead, weak and pampered, more fit for the court seraglio than the fiery Wastes.

  “So, you want to be my disciples.” She paused, took a deep breath, nodded toward the piled weapons. “Pick up your weapons. You have a lot to learn.”

  13

  THE WASTES

  Boudica grew bolder and more zealous with each venture into the once-unknown Wastes. The demon-hunting patrols that K’ah led were well organized and exhilarating. He was a natural leader, one who planned as carefully for the destruction of his enemies as he did for the safety of his fellow warriors. And he was more than attentive when it came to her. In some ways she felt liked a well-trained pet or mascot kept at heel for the sport of it, yet in others she sensed that he actually cared about her. But she could not deny the importance her mentor placed on her being along during the raids. There seemed to be some kind of underlying motive to his thinking, some larger reason for his inclusiveness. It took fewer than a dozen raids before she was riding next to him, helping him with tactics and decisions. And she could not fail to notice that the raids were edging closer and closer to outlying cities.

  Between raids, the Salamandrine taught her the ways of the sword she had earned. It was a weapon designed for stabbing and thrusting from a distance. Its long blade was thick and powerful and yet flexible enough to bypass other weapons and find its mark. Its purpose had evolved over millennia to destroy demons, to penetrate their heavy armor and deal a killing blow from a distance great enough to prevent them from striking first. She immediately understood its potential. K’ah trained her hard and once, during a rest period, she had asked him whether he found it odd to be training a soul and he had replied that it was but that another tribe had once trained a demon, eons ago. This extraordinary demon had fallen from the sky so far from his kind that he had asked to be adopted by the nearest tribe. That, K’ah said, had been the oddest thing he had ever heard of. The demon’s name had been Faraii and his exploits had been sung for millennia. The name meant nothing to Boudica, but the tale was, she admitted, strange.