Around midday, they spied a pack of dogmen lurking in the woods ahead, eyes peering back and forth, weapons held ready. The women took cover and notched their arrows.
“Don’t shoot, those are some of my people,” said Zach. He ran ahead and shouted, “Hail, dogmen! I’ve returned with bad news concerning the mines.”
The dogmen turned to them and stared, then dashed forward, barking violently.
“Wait!” said Zach. “I’m – I’m on your side!”
The women fired their arrows. Many dogs fell, but still more charged ahead.
“Stop firing!” said Zach. “They’re friends! Friends!” But the women continued, for the dogmen were shrieking for blood.
“Now! Now!” cried a deep voice, and immediately another pack of dogmen burst out of hiding with Yarek and Magog leading them. Yarek fired Teufelmorder into the first pack. Yarek’s pack took advantage of the first pack’s confusion, hacking and slashing without mercy. Blond Magog drove his great sword into an axe man’s chest, then pulled it free and beheaded another dogman in one smooth motion.
The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. Yarek’s pack of dogmen eyed the women, who glared at them from behind their bows. Magog looked at how many had been felled by arrows, then said, “Such women!”
“Zachariah!” said Yarek, hopping over to him on a crutch. “You’re alive!”
“What’s going on here?” said Zach. “I’ve news about the mines, but...”
“That’s old news,” said Yarek. “Listen, things are bad. Wodan’s gone, and Nilem incited a revolt. Dogmen from the tribe of Qemel attacked the fort and tried to get our guns. We drove them off, but they’ve all gone over to the flesh demons. Now those dogs, and the ghouls, are attacking our hunters day and night. Food’s getting real scarce. You’re lucky we happened to cross paths. Now, just who are these women?”
Zach was dumbstruck. Wodan, gone? Nilem and an entire tribe working for the flesh demons? Without thinking, he asked the first question that came to him.
“What happened to Freyja?”
Chapter Seventeen
The Marriage
When they abandoned the fort, the dogmen of the tribe of Qemel tore through the forest for days without rest. They were filled with a manic sense of purpose, an old familiar feeling they had nearly lost in their dealings with men. They felt clean again, strong, confident in their place, and excited by the prospect of serving a powerful master.
A short, blue reptilian devil led them into the east, then the creature handed them off to Bilatzailea so that he could return and maintain his vigil at the fort. One night they came to fires laid out in a path guiding them deeper into the east, and they saw the black eyes of ghouls watching them from the darkness. The dogmen were not afraid. They understood that the ghouls were not adversaries, but underlings. The ghouls were servants who sat beneath them in the hierarchy of the jungle. Everything made sense when it was in its place, and the dogmen of Qemel knew that they would soon find their place.
Nilem led Freyja by pulling her hair or kicking her from behind. Terrified and exhausted, Freyja was grateful that the dogmen ignored her and focused entirely on their frantic spiritual journey. Unfortunately Nilem was now able to focus all of her anger on Freyja as her quiet resentment of everything in the world bloated like an unburied corpse. Nilem no longer muttered under her breath, but shrieked with pent-up rage. Freyja could not help but think that Nilem was possessed by spirits whenever she looked into her wild, raging eyes. But she knew that Nilem was not possessed, not in any supernatural sense; instead, she had handed her conscience over to her new master, and as long as Nilem obeyed her master in all things, then she could do anything she wanted without remorse. Nilem never seemed to grow weary of abusing Freyja.
On the night when they passed by fires that illuminated the dead faces of ghouls standing and watching their progress, Freyja staggered on numb feet, nearly asleep as she walked. Nilem left her alone for a few moments - only to suddenly rush at her from behind and push her to the ground. As Freyja tried to rise, Nilem pulled her onto her knees by her hair and shouted into her ears, saying, “Renounce your Khan!”
When Freyja pulled her mind from the fog of exhaustion enough to understand the words, she was struck by the ridiculousness of the demand. Wodan was her friend, she enjoyed being around him, and as far as she was concerned they were equals. You worry so much about power and domination, Nilem, she thought. Why can’t you see that not everyone thinks in those terms?
She was altogether too weary to argue. Taking her silence for insubordination, Nilem jerked Freyja’s hair harder. “Say it, bitch!” Nilem hissed. “I want to hear you renounce your loyalty, you filthy slut!”
Freyja glanced at the dogmen passing by on either side. She did not want to say anything bad about Wodan, but she knew that at any moment the dogmen could be reminded that an enemy – a female enemy – was within easy reach. She knew exactly what form their violence would take if Nilem brought Freyja to their attention. Now was not the time for a confrontation.
“Fine, okay,” said Freyja. “I renounce him.”
“Liar! Liar! Renounce him, now!”
“I do, alright? I hate him, I can’t stand him. I completely renounce him!”
“Lying bitch!” Nilem shrieked. She shoved her head aside, then kicked her in the ribs. Freyja fell on her side and prepared for more blows, stifling the panic of being unable to breathe. She heard Nilem muttering hateful curses, even sobbing, as she stalked away. Freyja rested with her eyes closed until she could breathe once again. Dogmen continued moving on either side, but when she opened her eyes to see if she could sneak away, she saw Nilem sitting on a tree root, staring at her silently with hatred boiling just under her immobile face. Freyja rose and continued on.
The barking and grunting of the dogmen took on an unreal, dreamlike quality as she staggered forward with her eyes closed. Muttering echoes, one much like another. She stepped on a solid surface. Under fallen leaves she saw a floor of dark, red glass, then lifted her gaze and saw towers of pink crystals leaning at an odd angle. The place was ringed with flickering fires that glittered along red mirrored surfaces where she could almost make out coils of thick veins and moving liquid. Several of the towers were squat and topped with mushroom-growths of something like scabs.
She froze, terrified at the sight of green, reptilian stormtroopers made all the more nightmarish by their humanoid form. The demons did not attack, but only looked on as the dogmen parted to encircle the crystal lair. The dogmen continued to ignore Freyja, completely intent on shouting out praise, some bowing before crystal towers, others speaking to themselves as if in communion with invisible spirits. A massive red stormtrooper with only one eye crouched atop a short tower. It hissed fiercely and many dogmen pounded their chests as they stood admiring the demon.
Nilem brushed past Freyja and entered the labyrinth of towers. A few ghouls followed her. Freyja was unsure what to do. She noted that no dogmen dared to enter the holy ground, so she followed Nilem at a distance. Feeling eyes on her, she looked back and saw a hideous woman staring at her. She was naked, with hair like wet, black seaweed, and her eyes were empty of anything but dull, brooding malice. Freyja turned away and continued on. Bilatzailea watched her until she disappeared among the crystal towers, then turned and left. She planned on receiving a sacrifice in the western foothills, but would be killed by Amiza and her archers en route.
Days passed as Freyja hid in the warm crystal lair. All day long and all night long she heard the dogmen outside praising, worshipping, giving vent to some deep-seated need that Wodan could not quench. She heard packs of dogmen leaving and returning constantly, boasting that they killed the hunters of their rivals, that they drove the farmers behind the walls of the fort and stomped their fields flat. Nilem no longer abused Freyja but remained crouching in one spot, her arms upraised and eyes closed, muttering to herself, listening to words of love from her invisible master, basking in his glow. Nilem sweated from her exert
ion and grew thin.
Sometimes a thick liquid bubbled up from the cracks in the smooth glass floor and eventually Freyja drank the liquid before it could slide away. It tasted of metal and quenched her thirst, but she was still very hungry. She knew that the dogmen were killing and eating game, but none ever brought her food, and she was too scared to venture out and draw their attention. Sometimes a few ghouls would wander into the area and stare at the two women disinterestedly, but never brought them any food. Many times a shadow hovered over them, something that hummed and had many long limbs. Only once did Freyja look up, but a ghoul became enraged and shrieked at her. It pointed at its eyes, at her eyes, then jerked a finger to the floor. Freyja never looked up again after that.
In the middle of her terrible solitude, with fear hemming her in on all sides, Freyja thought of Wodan. How she missed him... and how deeply she regretted breaking the bow she had made for him. Her anger at him had passed, and only regret remained. According to the stories that Jarl had told her, Wodan was capable of fighting anything, capable of fixing any terrible situation. She knew that she would give anything if only Wodan would come and take her away from this awful place, take her back home to be among decent people, and to be free from fear.
One lonely night she remembered a particular moment with Wodan. He had tried to approach her, but was interrupted by an important dogman warrior who had incredible difficulty forming coherent sentences. Just as Wodan extricated himself from the conversation, a farmer had approached and seemed dead set on telling Wodan his theories on how well some crops would grow in the moist soil, but how others would not, and how his theory was far more sound than others he might come across. Wodan glanced at Freyja as he dealt with the man, then gave her a look that said, “Can you believe this bullshit?” The moment seemed unremarkable at the time, but now, lost in solitude and hunger and fear, the gently comic expression on Wodan’s face struck her so fiercely that she was racked by laughter. For nearly an hour she shook with barely stifled laughter, unmindful of the ghouls crouching around her.
After the laughter passed through her, she cried uncontrollably. An unbearable homesickness for a home she’d never had the chance to build dragged her down further and further into a sadness so black and cold that it threatened to erase her very soul.
Over and over she toyed with one idea: Would Wodan save her? He was certainly no longer at the fort. Was he nearby, watching, waiting for an opportunity? What would he say to her if he was here now? What advice would he give?
As she clutched at the idea and turned it over and dismissed it and clutched at it again, she finally decided that, knowing Wodan, he would most likely say that if she was in trouble, the best thing she could do would be to save herself. No one else could do it for her.
But what can I do? What can I do to get away from this place, these creatures? What can I possibly do to get away from all of them?
She slept for a while, then woke up more angry than depressed. She glared at Nilem, whose hands were lifted in prayer. She seemed content with idleness and enslavement. Nilem’s thin undergarment was so soaked in sweat that Freyja could see every rib that pressed against her back. Her neck was tiny, with pale skin stretched around taut cords. Her hip-bones jutted out on either side of her. Two strange little raisins lay before her as offerings.
Freyja was greatly alarmed. She crawled over to Nilem and shouted, “Nilly, Nilly! Don’t you see what you’re becoming?!”
She did not answer. Freyja crawled around to face her and, horrified, saw that her face was covered in blood. Her eyelids hung limp over two black, empty eye-sockets. Both of her index fingers were covered in blood. Freyja shrieked uncontrollably, could not stop, covered her mouth, then flung her hand before Nilem and knocked away the two shriveled eyeballs. She stifled her screams and crouched in silence. She closed her eyes but could still hear Nilem breathing, and that somehow seemed worst of all.
* * *
Freyja dreamed and saw the red bow rise, fall, then snap in half with a clear, pure note. She woke and saw that it was either sunrise or sunset. Only one ghoul crouched near her, its head drooping as it slept. A sword was propped against the ghoul’s thick torso. The sword was thin and curved, made of steel so dark that it was almost blue, and was topped with an elegant black handle. Freyja’s eyes locked on the thing. She rose and crept over to the sleeping ghoul, then stretched out her bony arm. She was surprised by how unconscious and quiet bravery could be; without fanfare she lifted the sword up by its handle. She tested the feel of the Usurper sword in her hand and felt strength flowing into her veins. The ghoul continued sleeping.
She crouched low and made her way through the labyrinth, which was warm and hummed slightly underfoot. Soon she could smell earth and leaves once again, and knew that the edge of the lair was drawing near. In the mist at the border of the forest, she walked over a pack of sleeping dogmen. She held the sword aloft, mind empty of fear, completely prepared to thrust the blade into anyone who stirred. She considered the fact that she could be killed, then cast the idea off as relatively unimportant.
Freyja entered the forest. The mist obscured her from the few dogmen who were awake; most were gone. She felt no fear, only an acknowledgment of necessity. When a pack of growling dogmen shambled near, kicking up piles of dead leaves and muttering like beasts, she crouched behind a wide tree. She could feel the sword throbbing in time with her pulse. The pack passed nearby, then disappeared into the mist.
Freyja moved deeper into the forest. She had forgotten the unhealthy hum of the crystal lair until it was in the distance. Now the world seemed alive with birds and insects singing, or the whisper of the wind in the leaves. She felt something like joy, the rush of moving and being alive again. Another pack of dogmen trudged near, and once again she hid. She crouched between the roots of a large tree and listened to the beasts bragging to one another. She felt no fear of them. They seemed like nothing more than children. She closed her eyes and slept, and when she woke they were gone. The sun shone bright through the canopy. She rose and moved on.
She stopped suddenly and turned without thinking. A ghoul sat hunched over, face blank, eyes glinting from its shaded hideout. Freyja slowly lifted the sword and pointed it at the ghoul. A challenge. The ghoul did not move. She continued on, eyes and sword on the ghoul, then turned away from it.
Sometime after that, the trees shook as something great passed over or through them. She heard a deep hum and felt the hairs on her arms tingling. A shadow fell on her. Time seemed to slow down, and she saw another ghoul peering at her from a bush. Something very big slammed into a tree behind her. She ran, but was struck from behind and hit the ground breathless. Two massive horns drove into the ground on either side of her. She felt rage rather than fear and moved to rise and throw herself at the monster, but slick, gray tentacles stretched out before her and several immensely powerful coils wrapped about her head and shoulders and forced her face down into the dirt where she could not see.
A voice spoke in her head.
“Zamael, is it?” she said in answer. “Well, you can go to Hell for all I care.”
A mucus-slick membrane wrapped about the back of her head.
It spoke again, and she answered, “Why would I ever do that? You’re pathetic!”
The seal between the membrane and her head tightened. Warm slime dribbled down the sides of her head. Panic rushed through her heart, but her rage was so strong that she was able to stifle her fear. She had survived the destruction of Hargis, enslavement by Vito, a death-march across the wasteland, and an emotionally grueling imprisonment in the crystal lair. She had been afraid the entire time, and now she was so sick of being afraid that death looked better than one more second of hoping and dreading. She wanted only to somehow hurt the monster.
The monster spoke again. Freyja replied, “You think I’m like Nilem? You think I’m going to get in line to be used? You’ve been around pathetic creatures for so long that it’s twisted you inside.” Frey
ja strained against the monster’s hold, but could not move. “I might be some weak little nobody who can’t do anything to stop you, but there’s no way I’ll be afraid of something as pathetic as you! Because you’re going to die! There’s someone out there who’s strong and brave, and he’s coming for you, and he’s going to kill you!”
Then the voice screamed inside her skull, the attached membrane sucked in, hard, and her body fell dead.
* * *
Jago strolled about the grounds near the crystal lair, too angry to speak with anyone since Bilatzailea and Nilem had left his side. He saw a crouching ghoul picking at the ground with a sword. The sword was beautiful, and Jago wanted it.
“You!” barked Jago, standing over the ghoul. “Give me that sword, servant!”
The ghoul looked up at him with empty eyes, then looked away and continued raking at the ground.
Enraged, Jago pulled his axe free, lifted it, and brought it crashing down onto the ghoul’s skull. The head jerked about and split open, then Jago released the axe where it lay embedded and let the ghoul’s corpse slump over. Jago picked up the blade. Usurper glittered in the sunlight like a slender doorway into starlit night on another world, and power coursed through its handle, filling Jago with a desire for greatness.
So often in life, he had come up short when others had so much. Now, with Usurper in his hands, Jago knew that things would be different. Others would see him and acknowledge his strength and his unique destiny. He could feel the sword calling out for blood, and Jago knew that only he could sate the sword’s hunger.
“It is as the wise shamans say,” he growled, lifting the sword. “Now the last will become first!”
* * *
Zamael returned to the crystal lair. Below him, Nilem woke, shivering and deathly pale.
“Master?” she croaked, casting her head about weakly. “Why did you leave me, love?”
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 27