Dark Gods Rising

by Mark Eller

  * * * *

  Around them, crickets chirped their nighttime song. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the long lane leading to the restaurant’s door. Mathew’s, an exclusive restaurant which catered only to the rich, was surrounded by acres of trimmed grass and shaped shrubs. To Maggie, it seemed an isolated oasis trapped within Yylse’s filth and corruption, a golden spot of peace created by one of Yylse’ greatest crime lords. Even at her highest, Maggie could never have afforded to dine in its rarified air.

  Halfway down the lane Maggie leaned deeper into Jolson’s arms and moved her lips close to his ear. His lean body felt hard against her softer flesh, but the raised scars pressing through his clothing were harder. She ran her right hand over his side, traced out the whorls of one interesting scar, and wondered if Belthethsia had given it to him. The thought sent a warm surge through her, making her want to press into him harder. Instead, she tightened her grip on the broken tree limb she held behind Jolson’s back and whispered in his ear.

  “Where are they?”

  “They have just now left,” Jolson said, not bothering to lower his voice.

  “Took them long enough. We’ve been waiting here for two hours. How much food can one woman eat? What are they doing?” A faint thrill of anticipatory fear ran through her.

  “She is speaking disrespectfully about a past admirer named Ludwig.” Jolson replied. “His left arm is wrapped around her waist. They are walking in our direction. The restaurant’s lanterns are being extinguished. They are almost here.”

  “Whisper,” Maggie ordered, wishing Jolson were not slipping back into his dull stage. “Don’t let them hear you.”

  The order came too late.

  “What have we here?” Gorges demanded from only feet away. His voice sounded wary. “Waiting for us, are you?”

  Maggie’s mouth went dry when a blade rasped free from its sheath and Gorges took a practiced knife fighter’s stance. Marietta stood only a pace away. Further back, two other figures stepped through the restaurant's doorway.

  “Belthethsia and Heriod are approaching,” Jolson said needlessly.

  “Why, it’s the young snit who tried to sing on my stage,” Marietta said. “Hello, snit. What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Maggie demanded, running one hand along the broken curve of Jolson’s cheek. “I’m romancing my beau.” Gripping the hidden branch tighter with her other hand, she wished Jolson’s scarred face was not so slack it made her lies of passion patently false. “So what’s your problem? Are you claiming all of Yylse as yours, or is there some small part of the city where you’ll allow me to stand?”

  She wanted to curse. Belthethsia and Heriod were almost upon them. The time to act was well past, and she doubted another opportunity would be easy to find. After this late night meeting, Marietta would keep a wary eye out for her.

  Gorges’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me why you’re here?” he demanded of Jolson.

  Jolson shrugged. “Maggie wants to hit you with the tree limb she’s holding behind my back.”

  Maggie did curse. Shoving Jolson away, she twisted in a sudden jerk, the tree limb clenched tightly in her hands. She started her swing toward Marietta but changed her angle when Gorges glided in with a six-inch knife held firmly in his right hand. To her surprise, the limb connected with his forearm. The knife fell, and she screamed victory.

  But Gorges had not fallen. He was quickly on her, a man, tall and strong. She remained a small woman who had not had much time to build up new strength. He easily ripped the limb from her hands, threw it to the side, and grasped her in the circle of his arms. She struggled and kicked and screamed until Marietta waddled forward and punched her in the nose. Amazed by the blow’s force, Maggie’s eyes instantly blurred with tears. She stilled, breathing hard, swearing under her breath, and glared at Jolson’s unrepentant visage.

  “How delightful,” Belthethsia cooed. “Thingy, did you arrange this entertainment for me?”

  Holding up his hook for the succubus to see, Jolson gestured toward Marietta. “Maggie wants this woman’s voice.”

  Belthethsia looked at Maggie and back to Jolson’s hook. “Is that why you aren’t afraid of— why, yes it is. Thingy, you have been a naughty boy by not being afraid of me, but you were very clever to bring me Athos’s Hook. I think you deserve a reward.” She pointed at Marietta. “Heriod, capture her and kill the man. He’s far too familiar with a knife for my comfort.”

  Heriod had Marietta by the hair before Maggie could draw another breath. Gorges let out a gasp, released Maggie, and took off at a run.

  “Help!” he called. “Murder! Help!”

  “How disappointing,” Belthethsia sighed. “The man has no balls.” She made a brief gesture in the air. In response, the air swirled, solidified, and a lesser imp shot arrow fast after the running man. Gorges managed only a few more steps before the imp surrounded his head and slithered though his open mouth. Gorges’s body leaped, surged briefly through the air, and then fell to the walkway like a broken marionette. A moment passed, and then the imp rose out of George’s mouth, pulling the wisp of his soul behind it. It towed the soul to Belthethsia and cuddled into her. After cradling the soul’s wisp in her hands for a few moments, she smiled gently, swallowed it, and burped.

  Belthethsia looked impatiently at Jolson. “Well?”

  Walking up to Marietta, Jolson calmly shoved the hook’s glowing point into her throat. She stiffened, tried to gasp, but no sound came from her. Maggie saw no blood, no wound, but she hadn’t expected to see any. There had been no visible wound on Viln when Jolson finished with him, nor on her. Athos’s Hook had not been designed to sever mortal flesh.

  Finished with Marietta, Jolson shuffled over to her and peered into her eyes. His own eyes were dim, showing barely enough intelligence to get this job done.

  “Her voice,” Maggie begged, unable to take her hungry eyes off the hook’s glowing point. Her future adulation was there. With what the hook held, she would have riches, comfort, and the company of kings, and that was only the beginning. Before she finished using him, Jolson would make her a woman beyond compare. King Vere himself would grovel at her feet. Hell, given time she might even have Emperor Dade eating out of her hand. “Give me Marietta’s voice.”

  “Her voice,” Jolson agreed, and then he buried the glowing hook’s evil point deep into her throat. It pulsed in her, surged. Heat filled her neck until she thought her flesh might burst into flames. Tilting her head back, Maggie wanted to fall to her knees and scream. She had to scream— had to— and then she did scream. The scream erupted as a pure soprano that was her and Marietta and more than either of them had ever been. It was a far grander and purer scream than had ever before been heard up upon the world. Her scream turned into song, and the song’s pitch soared into a terrified screech when Jolson’s hook moved from her throat, past her chin, and deep, deep into her brain. Pain and light flashed through her when the hook burned along pathways created when she stole Viln’s youth and grace, giving her original grace to Jolson in return.

  Finished, face expressionless, Jolson stepped back. When the hook withdrew Maggie’s knees sagged, and her senses reeled, but she gathered herself together, straightened, and wondered what she should do. Reaching no decision, she waited quietly for somebody to give her directions.

  Heriod released his hold on Marietta. Tears streamed down the imperious woman’s cheeks and dripped off her chin. Belthethsia went to her and gently grasped the woman’s face between cupped palms. Leaning forward, she parted her blood red lips and licked Marietta beneath her left eye. “I love the taste of tears.”

  “What have you done to me?” Marietta whispered, her voice a tortured croak.

  “He has given you what you always wanted,” Belthethsia gently explained. “You are free from your admirers.” Stepping a pace back, she abruptly slapped the woman’s face. The blow looked almost gentle, but the force rocked Marietta's head to the side and sp
lit open her cheek. “Run along before I decide to play with you some more. Heriod, grab Thingy for me.”

  Marietta took off at a run. Unlike Gorges, she did not cry for help.

  Swiftly moving in, Heriod grabbed at Jolson, abruptly stopping when Jolson raised his still glowing hook. The monster gasped, stiffened, and slowly backed away from the threat while shaking his head.

  “I will destroy what’s left of you,” Jolson warned.

  Belthethsia looked to Heriod, at Maggie, and turned her gaze back to Jolson. “You two are quite a prize. Heriod, bring the woman along. Thingy. Follow.”

  “I won’t go back,” Jolson said stubbornly.

  His face appeared more animated than Maggie had ever seen it before. The forceful presence blazing from his eyes overwhelmed her. She felt Belthethsia focus her will on him. The focusing seemed almost tangible. Irresistible.

  It affected Jolson not at all. Belthethsia’s will split before him, washing to each side as if he were an immovable boulder in the center of a stream. In response, the hook’s glow became brighter.

  “I have a weapon,” Jolson said.

  Momentarily, Belthethsia appeared stunned, and then a small, amused smile quirked at the corners of her perfect lips. “So you do, and I see you used this woman instead of letting her use you. Very commendable, Thingy, but for your sake I hope you left her enough will to work with. I need to take Athos a special present if I’m to convince him to allow me back into Hell. I’m afraid a damaged Heriod just isn’t enough to impress the dear fellow. I need our Maggie and her dual voice.”

  Sighing, she ran a pale blue hand through her light green hair. “I wonder, Thingy, what I should do with you, I can strip your soul with one of my pets, but it seems I can no longer order you to my bidding. Are you sure you don’t want to return with me?”

  Jolson’s face was set, stern, unyielding. It was a strong face. Maggie wished she had seen his strength before. “I won’t go back.”

  “You will after you die,” Belthethsia said, “if not before, and Thingy, you’ll probably die soon. Athos will send his hounds after you when I tell him you stole his hook. They’ll gut you and laugh while they’re doing it.” She waved a negligent hand. “For the sake of sport, I suppose I’ll let you run. Watching the chase will be most amusing, and I have always enjoyed seeing you bleed.”

  She gestured toward Maggie. “You will come with me.”

  “I don’t want to,” Maggie whispered. Images of Athos’s Court tumbled through her. Memories of the ravishes inflicted upon her mind and body while in Hell made her shudder.

  “Jolson now owns your will,” Belthethsia said. “You cannot deny me.”

  Closing her eyes, Maggie cast a simple prayer to the Seven virtuous gods. Empty silence answered her, and she despaired. Reopening her eyes, she saw Jolson’s shadowy moonlit form more than fifteen feet away. He stood tall and limber, and he walked away from her with firm purpose in his stride.

  She reached out, beseeching, begging. “Jolson— please— I protected you. I helped you. Don’t leave me. Please!”

  Jolson paused. When he half-turned to look at her over his shoulder, Maggie’s heart leaped with hope, and then her hope died when she saw his set expression.

  “Go to Hell,” Jolson said. Turning back to the path, he walked away.