The Heart of Hell

by Wayne Barlowe

  Adramalik watched as the fallen god grew more impatient and angrier with each mountain slowly negotiated. Ordering the column to halt for the first time, the god rose from his throne and stalked back among his subjects. Without any warning he moved among them, randomly grabbing them and tossing them off the mountain, rending others apart and crushing even more of them in a fit of displeasure. Adramalik watched as the god’s rage ebbed, his anger sated by the violence. The demon had to admit that none of it was any worse than what he had witnessed at the hands of his former master, the Fly. His mood improved, Ai Apaec resumed his throne, and the column moved ahead again.

  Finally, as Algol began its slow dip below the horizon and the gloom deepened, the ragged edge of the Pit was spied and the column picked up speed as it descended the last slope.

  Adramalik peered into the growing shadows and saw a familiar shape. Once again, Abaddon’s herald, Faraii, awaited them, his wiry form squatting a hundred paces from the yawning opening. He got to his feet as the party approached.

  Ai Apaec raised a hand and the column halted. Whether it was the first whiff of foul air from the Pit or an overabundance of caution, the god determined that coming any closer was unnecessary. He rose from his throne and stepped down. The Bearer hurriedly moved aside, as the god made his way to Adramalik.

  “I see no welcoming officials, no putative puissant god of the lower world upon his throne to greet me as an equal. Instead, I see … that!”

  “Indeed, my god, I, too, am surprised at the lack of pomp and fanfare.” Adramalik tried to sound earnest. In truth, he had had no idea what to expect. “This is as it was when I first came here. That creature and I have a passing knowledge of one another. Please allow me to confront him on this dreadful oversight and find out why you are not being shown the respect you are due.”

  “I will allow you to do as you ask, demon. But the Bearer of the Knife will be close by your side to witness your exchange.”

  “Of course, my god.”

  Adramalik broke ranks with the column and without turning to see if he was followed made his way past his puzzled Knights and on to the creature that was once Faraii.

  As he drew closer, the creature extended a foreleg and bowed down almost gracefully, a gesture if not sincere, certainly disarming.

  Adramalik heard the clinking of jewelry as the Bearer stopped a pace behind him.

  “Adramalik, you are as good as your word,” Faraii said, rising. “You have acted as go-between in a delicate situation. My god is pleased with you.”

  The Bearer snorted.

  Adramalik said nothing but nodded appreciatively.

  “And who is this?” Faraii indicated the Bearer with a short jerk of his head.

  “He is called the Bearer of the Knife and is first among many in the exalted court of the Great God Ai Apaec.”

  “I see,” Faraii said, his expressionless face taking the Bearer in. “And I see you brought your Knights along as I requested. Fewer than I recall.”

  “Yes, much has befallen us in our stay in Pygon Az. They were all too willing to make the journey and leave that city behind.” Adramalik suppressed a grin as he heard the Bearer inhale sharply at that.

  “It will be their last as Knights, Adramalik.”

  “What?”

  “They are powerful. My god has decided in his profound wisdom and majesty to bestow captaincies upon them. They will be at the head of his glorious legions.”

  “That was never agreed upon, Faraii!”

  “They are the final sacrifice, the final necessary offering to Lord Abaddon. Your offering and token of fealty. Be proud. It is an honor not lightly bestowed. And not able to be refused.”

  The Bearer snorted contemptuously.

  “You see, Adramalik,” he sneered, “the last shreds of your power and influence have finally fallen away.”

  The Faraii creature turned to the Bearer.

  “As has yours,” Faraii said, cocking his head as if listening to some distant sound. “It approaches.”

  The ground trembled.

  “What does?” the Bearer asked.

  “The end of this time.”

  A sound like the blaring of unthinkable numbers of horns issued from the bowels of the earth and the Pit, itself, glowed fiercely with a blinding, golden effulgence. The frozen ground around the Pit bellied upward with a groan, causing the rocks underfoot to shudder violently and break apart. A sound like the bass rumble of thunder grew beneath them, growing in volume, and then the ground sagged downward.

  Only the Faraii creature seemed unaffected by the massive tremor, standing on a patch of solid and immovable rock that floated serenely amidst the churning ground. Adramalik, flapping his broken wing furiously, clawed the air to stay upright. He turned and saw Ai Apaec, roaring, leaping from his overturned throne. His champion rushed forward, knocking the shocked retinue aside with his huge club, clearing a path for his god as they charged toward the Pit. The Knights, despite the chaos and disciplined as ever, saw the enraged god approaching and leaped aside while the headless champion bludgeoned anyone too slow or clumsy who blocked his god’s progress. In an instant the standard-bearers at the column’s head, steadfast and oblivious to the oncoming pair, were shattered and catapulted into the air.

  Ai Apaec hurtled onward and, bellowing in rage, launched himself toward Adramalik and Faraii. Suddenly the Pit erupted, vomiting a steady stream skyward of dark Abaddim, their heads dark with flame and huge jaws agape, Abaddon’s solitary black glyph hanging within the fire. They climbed over one another’s backs in a frenzy to reach the open air, forming a huge mound of writhing bodies. Bony mandibles wide, screaming, they twisted in midair and descended upon the column. Ai Apaec’s silent champion rose, a terrible mountain of flesh. His club hand flailed to and fro, smashing into the Abaddim and sending them flying, until it was grasped by three of the creatures and sheared off by their mandibles. The champion stumbled, black blood geysering from his wrist, caught and weighed down by numbers until he hit the ground with a tremendous thud. Adramalik saw him struggling even as his great body was torn apart.

  Eight Abaddim caught Ai Apaec in their jaws and, before he could utter a word or incantation, scissored his giant body to pieces, the blood-spattering chunks of him tumbling around Adramalik. That creature that was Ai Apaec, himself, fell separately, heavily, and frantically tried to scuttle to cover, but he was snapped up by two Abaddim that tussled over him before bursting him in a spray of fluids.

  Too late, the horrified Bearer grasped his chest and wrenched apart his rib cage, reached inside, and pulled a large, glyph-wreathed golden knife from within. He brandished it at the Faraii creature, which deftly sidestepped the Bearer’s thrusts. Adramalik saw two arms suddenly appear that had been hidden from sight within the Faraii creature’s torso. He reached out and, in an instant, the right hand elongated into a semblance of the black sword Adramalik so well remembered in Faraii’s previous incarnation. This he used with familiar and blinding dexterity to rapier the Bearer through an eye, and before the spasming demon could fall to the ground two Abaddim swept him up and away toward the Pit. The Faraii creature turned, eyes alight, something like a ferocious grin on his features.

  Adramalik crouched down into the settling rubble and cast his protective glyphs, but he was less than certain they could keep the creatures’ mandibles away. And, yet, none came for him.

  What have I unleashed? What have I done? He saw Faraii standing placidly, staring back at him as the Abaddim Horde streamed around and past. And he saw his Knights valiantly charging into the attacking whirlwind of dark, chitinous bodies only to be swiftly disarmed and lifted, struggling but unharmed, and spirited away and down into the lambent Pit. He shuddered involuntarily. He knew their fate to come and hoped, for his own sake, he would never encounter them again.

  It was not long before the demons and souls of Pygon Az’s court were no more. With snarls and roars, the Abaddim had consumed anything organic in their path, leaving b
ehind the metal of ornaments and weapons and standards and a smudge of darkness in the air. Only Ai Apaec’s smashed throne bore testimony to his former presence.

  Adramalik watched the waves upon waves of Abaddim pouring forth from the Pit and saw how their powerful armored jaws begin to immediately tear at the frozen ground. The hard, icy flesh covering was no match for their mandibles and the incandescent saliva that spewed from their mouths and melted the very ground they moved over. Nothing would stop Abaddon’s spawn. As the Horde moved away, consuming all the flesh in their path, they left behind a dark, heavy cloud over the landscape hanging low in the frigid air like a noxious cloak thrown over the world.

  Abaddon’s cloak. And, after the Abaddim had done their work, Adramalik thought, when finally the hot winds of change blew and the old god removed that cloak and Hell was once again revealed it would be a very different place.

  Adramalik realized that he was trembling. He tried to put that down to the raw and frenzied energy he had been surrounded by as the Pit had disgorged its denizens. But deep within himself, he knew better.

  17

  THE WASTES

  Mave and Cammi tumbled in the grass, laughing and throwing clods of earth at each other and laughing even harder. They were irrepressible redheaded balls of energy when they were like this and Boudica, her heart smiling, did nothing to interfere. Times were stressful and this was a wonderful respite from the worries of the events that seemed bent on fracturing her people’s way of life. She sat on the moist sward, letting her restless mind wander over recent events. The invaders cared little for the deeply rooted customs of her tribe, let alone for their gods. Theirs was a world of things built of stone and taxes and military might. It was all becoming intolerable. And it was all coming to a head. Something was going to snap; Something was going to smear the sky with smoke and ash and the land with blood. She felt it coming—

  She burst out laughing when her daughters catapulted themselves at her, knocking her over. They smelled like wet grass and clean sweat and sun-drenched hair—a wonderful scent. They tussled and laughed and—

  The trembling ground woke her with a start, as it did the dozens of Salamandrines who rested beside her. It was moments before it subsided, before the hanging Abyssal-oil lamps stopped swinging and the wide-eyed young started breathing again.

  Boudica rose hurriedly like the warriors around her and climbed out of the encampment to survey the land. Nothing. She peered far out into the murky distance and saw no mighty Abyssal herds that might have shaken the grounds and no advancing army from Adamantinarx or Dis to threaten them. Only the briefest flickering of lightning flashing on one horizon and a high-altitude firestorm glowing in the clouds in the far distance caught her attention.

  That as it was, it would be prudent, she thought, to break camp, and K’ah agreed. This they did with their usual quiet efficiency and it was a very short time before the Salamandrines were on the march.

  * * *

  K’ah pointed out the promontory long before Boudica’s soul’s eyes would have spotted it. Clouds nearly obscured the curving jut of rock that rose above the surrounding plain.

  “There is a settlement there … more a single huge keep … called Dolcha Branapa in the tongue of the demons. It is supposedly a place of learning and records, or so I have heard. Souls can be found there as well as demons. They keep their histories there, copying them and sending those copies out to the cities. We’ve destroyed so many of their caravans going in and out of there.”

  “Why didn’t you destroy the keep a long time ago?”

  “It seemed inconsequential. Why would we care about the demons’ history here?” he said. “But now, now with the demons still reeling from their war, we would erase the very memory of their existence from our lands.”

  Boudica’s mind swirled around the word “records.” Could this be where the Books of Gamigin lay, secreted far from the cities? She had to stay calm, to somehow persuade K’ah not to destroy everything he and his warriors found within those walls.

  “And what are your plans regarding the place now?”

  “My plan is to destroy everyone within its walls.”

  “But might it be useful for us to study what we find?”

  “Study what?” K’ah turned his head jerkily to look at her.

  “Our enemy. To understand him fully is to have the advantage over him. There could well be information there about the legions, their strengths. And weaknesses. We could force them to find this information for us.” It was the best she could come up with.

  The Salamandrine, his four eyes unblinking, regarded her and made a small whistling sound through his beak. K’ah agreed but not enthusiastically.

  “You have taught us much about being more cautious, B’udik’k’ah. This is wise.” And he added wryly, “We will be measured in our slaughter and destruction. And consult you before we break anything.”

  Boudica grinned. It was as close to humor as K’ah could come. She tried not to get her hopes up, tried not to fantasize that the answers to her daughters’ whereabouts would be found within the walls of that keep. But it was impossible not to be hopeful. And that thought—hope finding its way into Hell—made the corner of her mouth go up.

  The keep grew larger as they cautiously approached. There was no need to be quiet—the winds had picked up and howled, taking with them cinders from afar. Boudica was used to the steady, sometimes forceful patter of cinders against her back. It reminded her of something from her Life, but she could not quite remember what.

  When the Salamandrine war party was a few hundred paces from the building Boudica and K’ah crawled up an escarpment that overlooked the keep. From that vantage point it was clear that there was not going to be any real fighting. Looking down into the settlement, Boudica could see that it was completely undefended, devoid of legionaries or even legionary-conjuring decurions just as K’ah had said. Boudica could easily see souls and demons carrying manuscripts, walking upon the keep’s walls, oblivious to the threat that hunkered down yards away in the rocks outside the walls.

  Boudica took in the place ever more astonished that it was still entirely intact from lack of attacks or the erosion of time. Surrounded by a thick wall, the buildings within, hewn from the living stone of Hell, descended into the heart of the promontory in a corkscrewing spiral. She imagined the oldest texts deep down at the base of that spiral—it was only logical that the scholars would have some chronological system for their archives—but she had no evidence that was the case. That would be remedied presently. Apparently, the scholars who lived within its stone walls took excellent care, repairing any damage caused by wind, firestorms, or the buildup of ash and cinders. The place was immaculate. And the archiorganic buildings—a disturbing anachronism after the post-war freeing of souls—were of an older type not unlike the more ancient buildings of Adamantinarx that she had reworked in her former days on the work-gangs. Again, she imagined that the soul bricks were still in place not out of demonic stubbornness or contrariness but by dint of the remoteness of this outpost.

  The pair scuttled back down to the waiting warriors and K’ah gave Boudica a crisp nod. The Salamandrine’s deference to her was now fully accepted within the ranks of the warriors. The strange soul whose fierce hatred of their eternal foe, proved by the mountain of demon rubble and remains she had left behind, was their war-band leader and they followed her without hesitation. She gave the silent signal for swords to be drawn. A hundred Salamandrine hands were filled and without another order the war party began to filter down through the rocks toward the walls of Dolcha Branapa.

  Grapple-hooks were tossed and the Salamandrines easily scaled the wall, dropping onto the wall’s wide upper platform. Any unfortunate enough to be caught there were quickly killed whether they were demon scholars or soul assistants. And then began a methodical descent, filled with blood and the cries of the unarmed scholars. Boudica was not entirely at peace with this. Two factors seemed at play. She knew tha
t no one here was directly responsible for any of the calamitous events that had preordained hers and all the other souls’ fates in Hell. And yet she saw them as the functionaries in a much larger scheme. In fact, she rationalized, the notion that they were so unaware of the massive changes that had occurred in Hell made her feel a cold resentment, which easily turned to indifference for their fate. Why had the word not gone out to every one of the five corners of Hell that souls should be freed? Or had these far-distant outposts chosen to turn a blind eye to the mandate? At one point, resting from the slaughter, she glanced at the wall she was leaning upon and her eyes met a solitary green eye staring back at her. The fear in it was real. She felt a welling up, a combination of anger and deep sadness that surprised her and redoubled her resolve to purge the place of its demons. Bureaucrats or not, this keep was a symbol of the oppressive regime that had tormented her for millennia.

  She caught up to K’ah, who was leading the warriors ever deeper into the funnel of ancient buildings. As they descended the long steps that led deeper into the sanctuary Boudica saw some of the Salamandrines split off and head into the curved buildings.

  “I need to search these rooms, K’ah. You know what I’m seeking.”

  “Your daughters. The Books, am I right?”

  “Yes, the Books. There is to be no torching of the buildings until I agree it’s time.”

  “I have already given that order, B’udik’k’ah. I’ve told them that disobedience will result in banishment.”

  “Perfect.” She knew what banishment meant to a Salamandrine.