Raising Hell

by L W Rogers

  “Dammit, Lychester! Is that all you’ve got? Give it some welly, man!”

  You’d be forgiven for thinking those words fell from the mouth of our dark overlord, but not so. The person addressing the torture master is none other than Jarrod himself. Lychester snarls and sets about administering an even more savage beating than before. If he carries on like this I fully expect his arm to start smarting from the strain at some point in the very near future. As it is, it feels like he’s been going for an eternity. I’m starting to get decidedly twitchy, seeking to distance myself from the scene as Lychester rains such severe blows that he is sure to break the skin soon. Which means blood will be drawn. And we all know how that will end for me now, don’t we?

  “Now, Blaine. What news do you bring for me, hmmm?”

  The Satan is studying me closely. His scrutiny is not welcome at the best of times, but right now I’m hoping that the shenanigans with Jarrod will be a useful distraction. At least with his attention partially on the guard I will have a chance to bluff my way through this meeting.

  “As of this moment, Lord? Very little. There is indeed a mole who is leaking information, but as far as I can ascertain there is nothing of great consequence that is filtering out. If I may say so -”

  “You may not.”

  The Satan’s voice rages in those three short words. It’s like millions of years of anger have all been saved up for this moment, and all for me. I’d be scared, but I’m kind of flattered. Although he apparently loses his shit quite often, it was never aimed at me on the single occasion I met him. Bad attention has to be better than no attention, right?

  Unless, of course, when it involves a giant meaty hand tightening around your throat and constricting your airflow.

  My feet are dangling at least six metres from the floor. The Satan hasn’t moved from his throne, but his proportions are so large that he doesn’t really need to. Regardless, I am still left wondering how the situation escalated so quickly. I have gone from the middle of the vast room to staring into flaming eyeballs in less time than it takes a McLaren F1 to reach sixty miles per hour. I may or may not be perspiring profusely in this moment, but I’m convincing myself that it’s more to do with the scorching breaths that are forcing their way out of his flared nostrils and snarling mouth, than it is to do with the fact that I may just pee myself a little with outright fear at any time now.

  Somehow I manage to stem the urge to leak urine and await the punishment that will surely come.

  “Blaine, Blaine, Blaine. What am I going to do with you, hey?”

  “A sporty car or case full of cash should do it.”

  I don’t even know I’ve been thrown across the room until I hit the wall. The impact is so great that I find myself imbedded in the plaster and brickwork. Dust begins to settle on my clothing and I’m spitting mortar shards and dirt. Damn, I really should learn how to keep my mouth from running away with me.

  I slump forward to the floor leaving a me-shaped hole that is going to give somebody a bastard of a job to conquer when the devil has finished admiring his handiwork. Staggering to my feet, I brush the muck from my clothing and crack my neck whilst working my jaw back in like a regular tough guy. That shit’s going to bruise, but I may as well try to look unaffected. If I don’t, if I show any signs of weakness, I will only get a harder smack-down later and probably when I’m least expecting it.

  The Satan releases a roaring laugh. It shakes the room with its volume. When my eyes re-focus, I realise that the source of his amusement is not me. He’s staring out through the bank of floor to ceiling windows that line one side of the room. I wasn’t lying when I said he liked to adjudicate from his chair. This place is a huge commentary box, not unlike the smaller ones you find on Earth at sporting events. However, this isn’t some rugby or football match that he is presiding over. This is the battle to end all battles; two sides fighting for the right to the Kingdom of Hell, neither with their true leader at the helm. The original Satan is otherwise indisposed (wasting away in an unbreakable cell the last I heard), and the new boy on the block is currently bouncing in his shiny chair like a four year old child at Christmas. He’s enjoying the show so much he has forgotten about me, at least temporarily.

  I glance through the glass and note the blood of the brave running in streams that feed the River Styx; tiny trickling tributaries that change its shade from blackest red to a deep fruity burgundy. Some of the soldiers are drinking nature’s offerings from cupped palms, the blood a source of sustenance to rejuvenate their war-weary bodies.

  I turn from the window as the bile rises to burn the back of my throat. But now my gaze has fallen upon Jarrod who is still in his prone position, only now he’s sporting weeping wounds and the wall is splattered crimson. I can see butterflies in the blots and know I need to look away before I faint.

  “Oh, Mikael. Behind you!”

  I spin to see The Satan bellowing into a large microphone, and follow his glare through the glass and out onto the field in time to see Mikael turn too late. The axe embeds itself in his head and blood spews everywhere. As another of my brethren falls, hysterical laughter bleeds out into the warzone through hidden speakers. The Satan is uncontrolled in his amusement, and decides to taunt at least another dozen soldiers, all the while laughing as they are dispatched in increasingly gory ways. As you can imagine, I’ve long stopped looking in that direction. I think it was the point at which someone was disembowelled and their intestines were used as a Braveheart-style face-paint that I turned away. Bunch of bloody heathens, is what they are.

  I will need to make a decision soon as to whether I’m going to brave this out and wait to finish the meeting. The chances are that I’ve permanently lost the attention of our Master, as he glorifies in the chaos that he is wreaking on those below. I may as well come back later, or better yet send a short note to him via a messenger. That could work. It’s a much safer option than waiting here for another pasting.

  My decision made, I turn and head towards the door. The Satan is still distracted by his twisted game, so I slip from the room without a single person noticing. Skipping down the stairs, I reach around the half way marker when I notice Thing 2 (I believe his name was Mitch) standing at the bottom of the stairwell. I grind to a juddering halt. My triumphant exit is about to be wrecked as Mitch ascends and I back up the steps one at a time.

  “Yeah, you’d better move, pal. The Satan hasn’t finished with you yet.”

  Damn it! Deep down I knew it would be impossible to escape that room without him noticing, but I thought I would at least get a little distance between us first. I sigh and turn back to my doom.

  Mitch follows close behind, his spear occasionally prodding at the space between my shoulder blades. The last jab was a little too hard, but the next one goes deep enough that I feel blood begin to trickle from the wound. I whirl and find him grinning broadly.

  “Oi! There was no need for that!”

  “Really? I’m pretty sure that it’s nothin’ on the whoopin’ you’re about to be handed.”

  I really don’t need him reminding me of that. The Satan isn’t going to be the least bit happy that I tried to skip out on him, regardless of the fact that I was invisible to him for the last five minutes.

  I feel the point of Mitch’s weapon at the base of my spine, but decide that complaining is not the way forward at this time. Instead, I choose to increase my speed and I make it back up the stairwell and through the door in double quick time.

  “Ah, Blaine. Welcome back.”

  The boss may be full of pleasantries, but he looks really pissed off at my early departure. It’s no surprise really as he hadn’t given me permission to leave. There’s no mistaking the fire in his eyes and his bared teeth for anything other than what it is; pure rage. If I didn’t know any better I’d think there was something else that had triggered him. Nevertheless, when he gestures for me to approach his throne I head over with every appearance of confidence whilst being in the poss
ession of none.

  The Satan gestures to a wooden stool next to him and I sit, albeit cautiously. His attention momentarily flicks back to the carnage that lays before him, before he glares at me and snorts. A shower of ash and embers rains upon me and I twitch as the flecks singe my body on contact.

  “I’m sorry I left, my Lord, it’s just I thought that you had finished with me.”

  “If I had, I would have made it clear to you. NEVER assume that you may come and go from my quarters as you please, Blaine. I most certainly have not finished with you yet. You’ve barely given me any information at all. That should be rectified now, don’t you think? That is unless you really do have nothing else to say, of course. Besides, I have some news of my own for you. It may help us gain more information with regard to the mole.”

  Shit! I’m hoping that my poker face is holding right now as I am two steps away from trying to make a run for it. Surely he can’t know, can he? If he knows then I am one dead daemon. No, he can’t know. If he did I would be...well, I would be any damn thing he decided I’d be. There are no limitations to the amount of harm that he could cause me. The only thing that I know I have on my side is that whilst the devil doesn’t care, he does play fair. The punishment will always compliment the crime and he will not dole it out if he isn’t 100% certain that he has the right perpetrator of said felony. In this case I think I should be fine. There’s no way he can possibly know. At least I don’t think there is. Although he is looking at me kind of oddly right now.

  There is a loud rapping at the door, which prompts The Satan to remove his probing gaze from me, which is excellent as he was beginning to unnerve me somewhat. He bids the visitor enter. It’s one of the warriors from the battlefield. He is a gnarled mass of scar tissue and attitude.

  “Ah Phineas, what news do you bring? Tell me I have something to look forward to.”

  “Yes, my Lord. They’re on their way now. They’re currently picking their way through the battle and should be here in the next few minutes. If you look outside you should be able to make them out as they crest the hill.”

  “Excellent. You may leave us.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  Phineas races from the room, only to re-appear out on the field. He grabs a long sword from the torso of the nearest body to him and heads back into the fray swinging wildly at the opposition as he goes. What he lacks in technique, he makes up for in enthusiasm. Heads are dropping to the floor leaving a scarlet carpet for anyone who follows in his wake. If I didn’t have my blood issues I would be pretty damned impressed.

  “Come Blaine. I have someone I’d like you to meet. They could be the answer to our prayers.”The Satan guffaws as if he’s made a joke then raises his massive form from his seat. He gestures for me to follow him out to the battlefield, all the while chuckling. When we arrive he points towards the brow of the hill.

  “There they are now.”

  “Sorry, my Lord. There are who now?”

  I’m officially confused. He’s speaking like I should know what he’s talking about, but laughing like there’s a huge joke that everyone but me is in on. There is a twisted glee to his laughter which is deeply worrying.

  “Ah, my poor Blaine! Look. It’s Sadie and Darius and they have brought a friend to our party.”

  He’s gesturing in the same direction as before, yet he’s looking at me with a rotten grin. What the hell is going on? I let my gaze travel the length of his arm and check out the scene unfolding before me. Gone are the sounds of battle, as are any signs of movement at all. The burning sky reflects in lakes of blood, bodies are scattered everywhere, and in the distance two figures approach at a level pace, although the one to the right seems to be struggling somewhat. As they near, an overwhelming sense of dread begins to overtake me. Something is very wrong.

  The nearer the pair get, the more apparent it becomes that Darius is struggling with whatever it is he is carrying. They stop when they are around five metres in front of us, at which point the torture master, swings his writhing load from over his shoulder and deposits it on the floor with a thud before addressing The Satan.

  “All done, as requested sir. Fuckin’ glad that’s over though. My back’s going to be killing me for a while.”

  Sadie rubs Darius’s back as he kicks the now still bag to our boss. The Satan reaches down and almost lovingly caresses the hessian fabric with one clawed hand.

  “Get off me.”

  The muffled voice coming from inside causes me to freeze immediately.

  There’s no way.

  It couldn’t possibly be.

  I can only look on in dread as The Satan hooks a talon through the weave of the fibres and tears the bag from neck to base. A female figure unfurls from her foetal position and struggles to her feet.

  Goddammit Lailah! How in the hell did you end up here?

  Chapter 9

  Cadence

  Maggie and I part ways after some small talk. I have good intentions to go straight home and crash, but don’t feel that I can leave quite yet. Uneasiness lingers, partly from what Helena had said before she left, but also for the way my mum was acting when I was with her. She’s been so pushy about this ritual and wanting me to take her place so damn quick. And now she gives me her amulet. What is with that? I have never once known her to take it off. I can feel an eeriness creep up my back, causing me to shiver. I wrap my arms around myself, rubbing them to try and warm up. You’d think for someone with fire as her element that I would always be warm, but for me it is quite the opposite.

  I head to my car to grab my cardigan which lies crumpled in the foot-well of the passenger’s seat. Underneath it is the box mum has left me. I hesitate briefly, wanting to ignore it for as long as I can, but decide to take the shoe box with me and wander back to the garden. I sit under an adjoining Oak tree and, not wanting to be disrespectful to the dead, place the box at my feet. I’ve put this off for so long and here, at this most inappropriate moment, my heart is telling to me start now.

  I hold onto my mum’s amulet tightly as I open it. Silly really, there’s nothing in here that I’m not prepared for. I’ve read about the rituals needed, so I’m not completely in denial. Yet, knots form in my stomach and I feel my heart fluttering just that little bit faster. Is it nerves? Possibly.

  I take the lid off. The first item is a small envelope with my name elegantly written in mum’s handwriting across the front. She used her ‘best’ stationery. We may live in a world filled with modern-day ways of communicating, but my mum always loves to hand write letters. She says we have lost the personal touch. My fingers lightly brush over my name and I feel an edge of nervousness and worry. Why am I hesitating in opening it? Why has she written me a note instead of just telling me, or write a simple list?

  Taking a deep breath, I tear open the envelope, inside is a small note.

  Dear Cadence

  Don’t let the deeds of others influence who you become.

  You are your own person. You have so much good in you, remember that.

  Fulfil your duty, darling, and be kind and forgiving to others.

  All my love

  Mum

  Blessed Be

  I read it again and then look on the back to see if there is anything else. Nothing. This note hasn’t calmed my uneasiness at all, only heightened it. I glance at my watch. It’s almost one in the morning. I can’t call her now, I don’t want to disturb her, but I do want to see her sooner rather than later.

  I pop the note back in its envelope and then look at what else is in there. She has individually bagged each ingredient and numbered them. A simple dumb ‘how to’ guide for witches. I smile at this. I know she means this in the nicest way and wants to make sure it is done right, seeing as the first ritual has to be performed by me alone. As much as I’ve been putting it off, now seems as good a time as any to do it. I’m still wired from the previous magic and definitely don’t feel ready for rest.

  I nip into the home of the former
witch to grab a mortar and pestle. An item a witch is never without. I also rummage for some candles and a small sharp knife which aren’t too hard to find.

  I grab the grimoire from the car and then head further into the woods that back onto Hannah’s home. I could have done it anywhere but I have always been drawn to the woods. Not sure why. Maybe it’s the way the tall trees hide and protect me, their branches forming a kind of hold around me. Whatever it is, I love it. It doesn’t creep me out, or scare me.

  I hear the twigs snapping as I walk through the small worn pathway, further into the woods. The moon is a guiding light in the darkness, full with a smoky white aura surrounding it. I hadn’t even realised it was a full moon until now. Witches can work their magic at any stage of the moons phases, but when it’s full we are at our strongest. We can channel some of its strength and power into our spells. This is perfect for tonight’s ritual and actually a really nice way to say goodbye to a fellow witch.

  I find a small clearing a few yards ahead and get set to cast my spell. I collect some branches to make a small fire, using my own powers as the ignition, I flick a small fire ball into it, instantly setting it alight. I place five tall church candles around the fire, each with its own unique colour to represent the five elements.

  I find the page needed to do the initiation ritual and mix the ingredients in turn in the mortar with the pestle. There’s one final ingredient to add to the mixture…a drop of my blood. I quickly slice my index finger, squeezing crimson droplets into the herbs. Once I feel I have given enough, I mix it all together. For the spell to work, and for me to be able to take in all the elements of magic, each candle needs this concoction drawn in my blood on it. Placing my finger into the mixture I smear it on each candle. Once done, I smear some on my forehead, across my chest, and then my inner wrists.