But he had only helped. Her entire body was sore from a constant string of violent suitors, each one chosen on the off-chance that she could whisper a rumor here, a rumor there. She could barely stand, much less walk, but tonight would be different. Tonight she had been promised assistance, as well as the great culmination of something wondrous.
She would soon meet the master of her dreams.
They drew near a clearing filled with pale moonlight. A woman stood before them. She was naked, and Nilem knew at once that the thing was not human. She had a hideous overbite, two misshapen protuberances on her forehead, empty black eyes, and scar tissue on her breasts. Strangely enough, she could tell that the males were immediately enchanted by the creature. Their breathing quickened and she could see them glancing at one another, wondering if they would have to fight to the death for the creature’s attention. Even Jago’s eyes were glued to her. Nilem was sickened.
“Send them to me,” said Bilatzailea, lifting her hand slowly. “One at a time. Then more.”
Jago blinked as he regained control, then turned imperiously to a chief and tossed his head toward the flesh demon. The chief entered the clearing and Nilem watched with a mixture of disgust and fascination as the respectable leader fell on the monster like a panting, moaning animal, worshipping something he could never understand. Nilem lost interest and sat on a tree root as Jago sent two more suitors, then three, then three more.
Nilem began to wonder why she had ever been necessary in the first place, then she felt the quivering fingers in her mind and realized that her master was with her. Without thinking, she knelt.
“Master!” she said. “You’ve come!”
She felt him whispering to her, and was filled with warmth. So reassuring, the tongue in her mind; so smooth and commanding, and so wonderful to know that she was never alone. As long as he lived, as long as Zamael was with her, she was never alone!
Zamael sent her a troubling dream. He was in danger. She knew that the ghouls were attacking the hunters from the fort at every turn, then disappearing before the dogmen could regroup and hunt them down, but Zamael revealed his secret: The power of the ghouls was an illusion. Zamael had two demonic scouts, the blue one she had seen earlier and a color-changing chameleon, and he used these to find weak teams of dogmen hunters. With just a few teams of ghouls, he could attack and flee and appear to have overwhelming forces everywhere at once. It was an illusion, and the fact of the matter was that the number of ghouls had been drastically reduced during their first two battles against the invaders. Any dogman was more than a match for three ghouls, and a battle-crazed dogman could drag at least ten ghouls into the grave with him.
“Oh-h-h, master!” she said, still kneeling, eyes closed as she watched the vision. “You’re in danger. They want to hurt you! You!”
Nilem saw a great black orb ringed with fire, an eclipse, a black sun. It was Zamael, the soul of Blindness, and she saw that it was immortal. Bullets could not touch him, blades could not tear him, and she was in awe – but then she saw that his dream was vulnerable. His dream – his paradise in the woods – could be destroyed. He could not be killed, but all his friends, and everything he worked toward, could be taken from him.
“I want to help you,” said Nilem, and she truly meant it. She felt warmth coursing through her skull, kneading her brain like warm dough. “I want to help you, my love.”
Nilem’s eyes were opened and she saw Bilatzailea speaking, even as no less than five dogmen were writhing on her, slobbering and lost in mindless ecstasy. “Your people have fallen into ruin!” said Bilatzailea. “You have believed the lies of a monster, and are being used! You must leave the place of sin and break the chains that bind you! You must bring your people out of slavery and into the realm of the gods!”
“We are ready,” Nilem whispered. “We will bring the dogmen to you, my master. They will protect you. They will be the champions of your dream!”
Jago sat and watched Nilem pray while the others lost themselves in the orgy. He strained to hear Nilem, and heard her whisper “champion of your dream” and knew at once that she was telling the gods of the invisible world that he, Jago, would become that person. He stood and unslung his axe.
Champion, he thought to himself. That is what I will become. An unstoppable champion, the right hand of the gods themselves!
Chapter Fourteen
Hunt
On the night that Wodan rejected his title and left the fort, he wandered in darkness without direction. He was already weak with hunger, but he also felt as if a burden had lifted from his shoulders. His mind was free of clutter. He made his way through the woods until he drew far past the routes of any dogman hunting parties, then pressed further still, then finally he laid down on the cold grass and slept against the moss-covered roots of a tree.
He woke around midday the next day in the shade of an old gnarled tree. He sat up and gathered his thoughts. He had no weapons but his own hands. His only possessions were a pair of old pants and a pair of boots made in Hargis and taken from a dogman he’d slain before coming to the valley. He traced his fingers over the black, sealed-over wounds, young ones ready to join the community of old scars that covered his arms and chest. He took to running his hands through his greasy hair. It had grown all the way down to his shoulders, and he wondered if he should unbraid the small dog-style braid that hung down on one side. Though he had no direction and no trail to follow, he wondered if he was finally on the true path. He was glad that he’d left the dead-end that had claimed all of his attention before, but all the same, he felt lost.
He rose to his feet and walked.
Wodan tried to think of nothing as he made his way through the dense forest. The thing he wanted to find – an answer to the question of how to save everyone from a mind-controlling demon – was not something that would be listed on any map. The only thing he could do was survive, keep moving, and hope that he would find a solution. Worrying would not help.
Hours passed. Just when his hunger grew so intense that he thought he would have to gorge himself on alien berries, he smelled death. Immediately his senses sharpened. He crouched low and quickened his pace.
Soon he heard something tearing, then heard many sets of teeth clicking together. Without thinking, he picked up a heavy stone and cradled it near his chest. He crept up to a wide tree and leaned around it.
In a narrow clearing he saw three ghouls crouching over the body of a slain deer. Without word or argument they crouched over the thing, tearing open skin with their bare hands and taking turns sticking their faces into its torso. Immediately Wodan dashed into the clearing, brought the stone down on one ghoul’s head, then whirled about and cracked another skull open. The final ghoul lifted its head slowly, its features dull and strangely unconcerned as Wodan flung the stone toward it. The heavy stone crashed against the ghoul’s torso. The creature sat heavily on its behind, attempted to draw in air with ruined lungs, then fell over dead.
Exhilarated, Wodan knelt over the deer and prepared to eat it raw. As soon as he touched it, he drew back. The edges of exposed flesh were tinged with gray, and the eyes were yellow. It was impossible to distinguish the smell of rot from the ghoul’s own stench, but he knew the signs. The deer was no fresh kill. Most likely the ghouls had carried it with them from some old hunt.
Wodan was too hungry to be disappointed. He set about the clearing like a madman, throwing sticks and old leaves into a bare, dry spot. He found a spear tipped with flint. He lodged a long-dead branch between his knees and tore it open, exposing raw splinters. He ground the flint of the spear into the wood and, palms against one another with spear in between, rotated the thing fiercely. He bore a rough hole into the wood, but produced nothing else, so he broke the spear in half and cast the flint away, then jammed its raw end into the hole and repeated. He spun the thing so fiercely that he nearly fell unconscious. His arms bulged, his hands grew numb - then tendrils of smoke began to dance and the ends of splinters sho
ne red.
Soon he had a fire going. He braced one foot against the deer’s carcass, placed both hands on a hoof, then heaved with all his might and ripped the leg free. He fell on his back, prize in hand, and rolled back the velvety skin to reveal a large chunk of gray-white meat.
* * *
After Wodan ate most of the deer, he stomped out the fire and choked on the thick cloud of smoke that filled the clearing. He felt revitalized, but before he could sit and enjoy the sensation, he felt eyes on him. He turned about but saw nothing. He decided that it was past time to move on.
As he walked, he was overwhelmed by the sound of living things, creatures hiding and shouting senselessly. It became impossible to separate the feeling of being watched from simple paranoia. He could not shake the feeling that something had seen his fire. Something was out there, and it was hungry.
Wodan climbed the face of a squat hill and laid against the trunk of a moss-covered tree. As soon as he stopped he immediately heard footfalls, movement against foliage, even labored breathing from inhuman throats. He froze, wondering what to do, then the stench of rotting flesh hit him. He dashed from his spot, tore through a bush into a clearing - and saw a pack of ghouls crouching and shambling towards his position, glaring through dead faces and not at all surprised to see him. They bore spears tipped with flint and hatchets of sharp stone.
For a moment he felt some of the fear he felt so long ago, during his first exile into the valley, but as soon as the creatures jabbed their spears toward him, he reacted with blinding speed. He ducked under their spears, flew forward, then shot up and back-handed one ghoul such that its head spun around and it fell into its brothers, staggering them. Wodan leaped into them, lashing out with fists and knees, and drove the ghouls into a hissing, spitting pile on the ground, then he stomped on the pile.
As soon as the poor wretches ceased hissing, he heard still more tearing through the undergrowth. Without hesitation Wodan ran toward the noise, burst through some bushes, and saw more rotting heads creeping forward with spears held ready. He leaped over their spear-wall and landed on a ghoul’s face feet-first and drove it into the ground, splattering it like a ripe melon, then whirled about to avoid the spears of its brothers. He grabbed one spear, flung its owner into the air, then lashed out at eyes and throats. Just as he shattered the spear against the last ghoul’s dome, more burst into the area with hatchets swinging.
Weariness could not touch him. He felt only a high-pitched whine in his ears, a terrible singing in his blood. Wodan’s mania was further fueled by the knowledge that these creatures, once so terrifying, were quite a bit weaker than dogmen. The ghouls came at him as if they were slogging through thick mud, jabbing their weapons in a suggestive pantomime of aggression, and his every blow tore through their bodies and cast them to the ground. It always seemed as if they were watching the spot where he had stood seconds before, and were then surprised when he fell on their flanks in a flurry of blows.
“You’re pathetic!” Wodan shouted as he flung one ghoul against a tree trunk, breaking his spine with a resounding crack. More ghouls raced into the clearing and he charged into them, tossing them left and right with terrible blows that often flung their intestines into one another’s faces. “I’ve killed far worse than any of you! Meet Boris in Hell, if you want! Go and find my old friend Pelethor!” He knocked a line of the monsters over like a bowling ball against a line of dominos. “Shake the hand of Vito! Check up on Aegis Vachs’s career while you’re at it! Bow down to the dozens of demons I’ve torn apart!”
As if in a dream, he watched his own martial prowess as he tore through the creatures. He was shocked at how satisfying it was to tear through them. Even though he had been physically weak for most of his life, he had never enjoyed killing dogmen with his newfound strength. As others cheered him after he won a duel, he was always painfully aware of the family members who had to silently grieve for their fallen son, and who would receive little sympathy for their loss. But these ghouls were different. They were empty shells, a blight, soulless automatons that needed to be erased. Each one that fell in a bloody heap made the world a slightly better place.
Wodan stood over the twitching corpses and heard movement on all sides, footfalls tearing through wet leaves and ragged breathing. He dashed from the area and came to a steep side of the hill covered in jutting stones and leaning trees with exposed roots. He tried to listen, but was breathing too heavily to hear. He leaned over the face of the hill and saw dozens of ghouls rushing through the darkness below. Just as he pulled his head back, spears flew up and were caught in branches overhead. He spied movement further down the hill and realized that the ghouls most likely surrounded the entire hill.
Don’t be stupid, he thought. I survived before because I was clever. Being strong doesn’t give me an excuse to be stupid. These weak little cretins might be hemming me in and wearing me down until something stronger can come along and finish me off. I have to outthink them.
Wodan raced down another side of the hill and almost immediately several spears flew and smacked into the sides of trees behind him. The hill grew steep as he descended, and when he saw a troop of ghouls forcing themselves uphill toward him, he leaped and fell directly on top of one, crushing it underfoot as they both slid downhill with spears and hatchets following them all the while.
As he slid into a wet stream with his dead companion, Wodan immediately raced up the side of another hill. Just when he thought he was free of the ghouls, still more spears flew at him from the side. One licked his back in a burning trail just as the butt-end of a flung hatchet smacked against his chest.
Somehow the ghouls were tracking him despite the fact that he was running faster than they could keep up. In a flash, Wodan realized that they were coordinated, far more coordinated than their dull minds could account for. Wodan remembered that a powerful flesh demon had penetrated his own mind only days before, and a chill ran up his spine. His opponent was far greater than he’d imagined; instead of fighting against an army of weak ghouls, as he’d imagined, he was really doing little more than trimming a demon’s fingernails and expecting to win through attrition.
Near the top of the hill, among a cluster of gray trunks and a shower of dead leaves, he leaped onto a low branch and saw that the hill was covered in clusters of ghouls making their way toward his position. Even the ones far from him knew exactly where he was. Wodan spied a slender gray stream far below, leaped from his branch, and ran in its direction. Almost immediately a pack of ghouls leaped from behind several tree trunks and fell on him with spears extended. Points of flint bit into him as he smacked one ghoul with an elbow and tackled another, sending himself in a downhill slide with short spears smacking against him all the while.
They slid to a stop among scattering leaves at the bottom of the hill and Wodan rose up covered in black blood. Already the troops were gathering around the stream, but still more were scampering down the hill behind him, so Wodan raced along the misty edge of the water. He glanced back. Silently they gathered, glaring at him from the darkness, stalking through the mist. Spears rained down around him. More ghouls poured down the hill. He leaped into the stream and splashed through it. Short spears splashed down, bit into his back and arm, into his leg, biting like hornets. With a great surge of strength he leaped onto the bank, tore spears from his flesh as it sealed over, and surged up yet another hill. He ran fast, lungs finally burning terribly. When the sounds of the ghouls grew dim, he stopped to rest.
Just then he heard movement at the top of the hill, far above. He looked up and saw, in the dying gloom of the day’s light, something shift before it halted suddenly. He stared at a black trunk, but saw nothing. Instinct crept along his arms, for he knew he had seen something. He stood as still as stone and stared at the spot where he had seen movement.
In answer to his thought, the thing that held its breath in stillness finally gulped down a lungful of air; the thing was perfectly camouflaged, practically invisible except
for its sudden movement.
That’s what’s been watching me! Wodan thought. That must be the demon that’s coordinating those ghouls!
Wodan quickly grabbed up a stone and, with his eyes never leaving the spot where he’d seen movement, he threw the stone with all of his might. The camouflaged thing near the trunk shifted, but it was too slow - the rock crashed into the invisible monster, then Wodan heard a terrible shriek as the thing fell over the side of the hill, tumbling violently and spitting all the while. Without pause Wodan raced along the face of the hill.
Wodan ran until the surging press of ghouls behind became scattered and confused. They beat at the bushes, hissing with frustration as night fell. Wodan scurried under a thick bush and rested. He had finally lost his hunters.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that he was staring at a strange pattern of black-and-white sitting directly beside him. It took him a long time to realize that he was staring at fur. A great mass of fur.
The giant bear breathed so slowly that it seemed to be a part of the living forest itself. Then the bear’s wide muzzle opened and revealed wide, yellow fangs. The mouth of the beast could enclose a man’s entire head and torso. Wodan lifted his gaze and saw two great black eyes staring back at him.
* * *
Far away, Zamael switched his awareness from one ghoul to another, but without any luck. The strange leader of the invaders was lost. Eventually the camouflaged reptilian demon woke and rubbed its aching head. While unconscious, its scales had shifted to pale white with tinges of pink. It curled into an aching fetal position, then assumed the color of the gray leaves that made its bed.
Find him! Zamael shrieked, jerking his lines of control and sending waves of hostility through every open channel. I don’t care if he’s out of favor with his people. We can’t have something that powerful running around free. Not in my valley. Not anywhere in this world!
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 23