Necessary Evil

by Donald Hanley

  I don’t have a body, I grumbled. I’m lucky to have any senses at all. She ignored my complaint and continued on.

  The only sound I heard was an odd sort of groaning, barely audible, like the creak of an old pier shifting with the tide. The trees swayed slightly although I couldn’t feel any wind, or anything at all for that matter. I couldn’t shake the sensation that they were watching us, waiting for their moment to pounce. If I had any hair, it would have been standing on end.

  Daraxandriel seemed to feel it as well, although she made no comment about it. She paused every now and then, listening intently, and then moved on, shaking her head when I asked her what she was doing. There was no other living creature in sight, for which I was grateful.

  We came across another column of shadow and I wondered where it led. Then I wondered if it was the same one we came through, because everything looked exactly the same. Daraxandriel just walked around it without saying anything, though, so I kept my doubts to myself.

  The ground started to rise ahead of us and we climbed steadily until we reached a ridge of dark shattered stone. The land fell away in a sheer cliff and Daraxandriel stood right on the edge, making me very nervous. If she falls, I wondered uneasily, will I stay up here or get dragged down with her? I sidled closer and looked out over Hell.

  The vista stretching out below me was bleak, a world of broken plains and ragged spires wreathed in mist and smoke. The thorny forest spread out as far as I could see to either side and thick bile-colored clouds smothered the sky, fed by countless flumes rising from pits limned with fire. In the distance, something glowed like an open furnace, although I couldn’t make out any details, while a black, sluggish river flowed along the base of the cliff far below.

  This is where you’re from? I couldn’t disguise my dismay.

  “Aye,” Daraxandriel said sadly. “Is it any wonder so many of us strive to stay in thy world? This way.” She pointed to the right, where the trail descended towards the river. We didn’t get far, though, before she stopped suddenly. “Ware,” she whispered.

  There was some sort of creature squatting in the middle of the path, watching us warily with its beady onyx eyes. It looked like a hunchbacked monkey with scaly hide, huge bat ears, and a horny beak in place of its snout.

  What is that? I asked quietly. Is it dangerous?

  “’Tis an imp,” she murmured. “Bide in silence. What is thy name, imp?” she called out.

  The imp clacked its beak a couple of times. I wondered if Daraxandriel understood what that meant but then it tilted its head. “Skixix,” it said in a raspy croak, like a crow that just learned to talk. “What is thy purpose here, succubus?”

  “My business is mine own,” she answered with a haughty lift of her chin, “yet I would ask of thee, has my clutch-mate passed this way in recent times?”

  “Many of thine ilk walk this path to deliver their souls,” Skixix shrugged, an awkward twisting of its body. It was hard to tell exactly where it was looking, but it seemed to be staring at the Philosopher’s Stone. “By what means would I know thy clutch-mate?”

  “We are alike in appearance, save for her silver hair. She styles herself Lilixandriel.”

  Skixix remaining motionless for the longest time and then finally it dipped its head. “I have seen this one. She did look upon me with disdain,” it added sullenly.

  “That is she. Dost thou ken her whereabouts? I needs must reunite with her.”

  “She was in haste and did not linger, yet she did demand the swiftest path to the Widow’s Mire.” The imp’s jaw gaped open, probably its equivalent of a grin. “I sent her roundabout for her ill manners.”

  Daraxandriel hesitated. “I do not know that place,” she admitted. “Canst thou guide me there?”

  “Whyfor should I aid thee, succubus?” Skixix sneered. “Wilt thou offer me threats as did thy clutch-mate or hast thou aught of value to exchange for my service? Prayhap that bright soul upon thy shoulder?” It gaped another smile.

  “Nay!” she said quickly, raising her hands protectively. “This is destined for our Dread Lord. Do not think to sully it, ere His wrath befall thee.”

  Skixix ducked his head with a resentful glare. “Then cede me the bauble upon thy breast. ‘Tis fair payment for my guidance, for I can lead thee safely to thy clutch-mate.”

  “Thy price is too steep, imp,” Daraxandriel told him dismissively.

  ”Then thou shalt wander the borderwoods for the rest of thy days,” Skixix said with a flip of its gangly arm, “for none but I know the way.”

  “Nay, for thou shalt bring me to the mire forthwith,” she snarled, “and thy reward shall be my forbearance.” She crooked her fingers into claws and her nails were suddenly a lot longer and sharper than before. Skixix tumbled backwards in alarm.

  “Nay, nay, lady!” it squealed in fear, covering its head with its arms, “stay thy hand!” It looked around quickly, as if searching for an escape route, and froze when Daraxandriel stepped closer, her hand raised and ready to strike.

  “My patience is frayed, imp,” she told it with quiet menace. “Wilt thou lead me or no?”

  “Aye, certes!” it agreed hastily, bobbing in a jerky bow. “Come! Come this way!” It started down the trail widdershins, checking over its shoulder to see if Daraxandriel was following or attacking. She strode after it and it moved ahead quickly to remain out of reach.

  I drifted closer to Daraxandriel’s ear. Is this really a good idea? I asked as softly as I could. You said imps can’t be trusted.

  “They are easily cowed to obedience,” she replied, just as softly, “but remain wary. None here is trustworthy.”

  Skixix led us downward off the ridge, which was a relief, and deeper into the woods, which wasn’t. Every now and then it would sit up on its haunches, listening intently as its ears flicked in different directions, but it never said anything to us about what it might have heard.

  We came to another crossroads and another shadow portal and Skixix gave it a wide berth, edging around it as if it was afraid of getting sucked into my world. I was almost ready to give up on our mission and jump through to wherever it led but I told myself to be patient. We’ve come this far, I told myself. If there’s any chance we can defeat Lilixandriel here, we have to take it.

  We continued on and the trees reached across the path to form a tangled lattice overhead, deepening the gloom around us. My anxiety slowly ratcheted up with every step and I almost screamed when another imp bounded out of the darkness onto the trail ahead of us. It was a virtual clone of Skixix, glaring at us with the same beady black eyes. It clacked and hissed at Skixix, who answered in kind, both of them watching us intently.

  Do you know what they’re saying? I whispered in Daraxandriel’s ear.

  “Nay,” she murmured. “I like this not.”

  You’re not the only one.

  The discussion ended when the new one spat out a sound like a cat coughing up a hairball and then leapt into the trees, somehow managing to not impale itself on the thorns. Other than the sharp snap of a breaking twig, its passage was absolutely silent.

  “What did that one say, Skixix?” Daraxandriel demanded.

  “It confirmed thy clutch-mate did come this way,” Skixix answered, bobbing its head again. “She is not far ahead. We shall be upon her ere long.”

  “Lead on, then,” she ordered. The imp gaped another smile and shuffled forward.

  “Thy quest nears its end, succubus,” it said, looking back over its shoulder. “I expect suitable recompense.”

  “We shall determine thy worth when we find Lilixandriel,” Daraxandriel retorted. “Make haste.” Skixix croaked irritably and lumbered on.

  Didn’t it say that it sent Lilith the long way around? I asked uneasily.

  “Aye,” she said softly. “No less than she deserves. Whyfor does this trouble thee?”

  If she’s just ahead, aren’t we taking exactly the same route? How come we’re catching up to her? Skixix wasn’t goi
ng particularly quickly and Lilixandriel had no reason to dawdle in this place.

  Daraxandriel’s pace slowed and her tail started flicking back and forth again. Skixix got another thirty feet along the path before it noticed we weren’t keeping up.

  “Whyfor dost thou balk, Daraxandriel?” it rasped. “Thy clutch-mate awaits thee.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “I did not name myself to thee,” she said. Skixix stared at her and then gaped.

  “Thou art more canny than Lilixandriel foretold,” it chuckled menacingly. “She will be most displeased with me.” It approached us on all fours like a stalking tiger. “Mayhap I shall claim thy soulstone for mine own, ere she comes to take it.”

  “Flee, Peter Simon Collins!” Daraxandriel shouted. “We are betrayed!”

  She bolted back up the trail and I flew after her, but my disembodied form wasn’t as fast as she was and she quickly outdistanced me. I hazarded a quick glance back and saw Skixix bounding after me, its beak gaping wide as if it intended to swallow me whole.

  Dara! I shouted, zigzagging to make myself a harder target. That had the unfortunate side-effect of slowing me down and Skixix quickly closed the gap between us, reaching out with its front paws to snatch me from the air.

  Daraxandriel came out of nowhere and hit the imp like a cruise missile, slamming it to the ground with the crackle of breaking bones. Skixix bounced a couple of times, keening shrilly, and then she punched her fingers through its broken chest, pinning it to the ground.

  “This is thy reward, imp,” she snarled, “for thy treachery.” She yanked her hand out, spraying oily black blood everywhere. Skixix clacked its beak twice, shuddered, and then sagged into roadkill. Daraxandriel stood over it, breathing hard, and then lifted her face to me. I backed away from her blazing eyes. “Art thou unharmed, Peter Simon Collins?” she asked, her voice almost unrecognizable.

  I’m fine, I assured her. We need to get out of here. There was no one else in sight but the trees seemed to be leaning in closer.

  Daraxandriel looked at her hand as if she didn’t recognize it. Thick drops of blood dripped from her fingertips and spatters striped her torso. She shook herself and then hurried towards me. “Make haste,” she ordered tersely. “Lilixandriel would not leave our fate in the hands of a mere imp.”

  She led me through the woods, setting a pace I could barely match. To my surprise, she turned away from the ridge and took another route that wound back and forth like it couldn’t make up its mind which way to go. “She will come from the Styx,” she explained over her shoulder, “as will her next champion. We must elude their approach.”

  We found another shadow column but Daraxandriel ignored it, pressing on along another path. Why don’t we take this one? I argued. Any place is better than this. I didn’t care if we ended up in the Amazon or Siberia, although explaining to Mom and Dad how we got there might be problematic. She just shook her head and moved on.

  This part of the woods was creepier than the rest, with ragged bone-white moss dangling from the tree branches and flickering lights drifting through the forest like zombie fireflies. I was flitting five feet above the trail but the ground seemed damp, spattering under Daraxandriel’s footsteps and leaving prints anyone who wasn’t actually blind could follow. Fleeting shadows hinted at birds or bats or something flying above us but I couldn’t quite spot them.

  Daraxandriel paused at another intersection, lifting her head and listening intently. What is it? I asked but she held up her hand to silence me. She turned slowly and then flung herself to the side as something zipped between us, missing her by a fraction of an inch and burying itself into a tree trunk with a solid thock! She rolled into a low crouch and growled deep in her throat as someone moved out of the shadows, nocking another arrow.

  If I met him inside Lorecraft, I would have called him a troll. He stood nearly seven feet tall, with rough-hewn muscles and brutish features further distorted by a pair of tusks protruding from the corners of his mouth and criss-crossing scars across the side of his face. He was bald and dark-skinned, wearing only a crude loincloth and sandals and an ugly iron amulet around his neck. His bow looked well-crafted, though, as did the quiver of arrows on his hip.

  “Thou art nimble,” he said grudgingly, his voice a bass rumble beneath his sneer. “I do not often miss so easy a target.” His bow creaked as he pulled the cord back to his ear. “I will not miss twice.”

  “Hold.” I spun around at the new voice. Another troll stood there, brandishing a curving sword with a gleaming edge and a wicked hook at the end. He was thinner than the first one and sported an eye patch instead of scars but he was otherwise identical as far as I could tell. “Lilixandriel wished her captured, not slain.”

  “Unless she fled,” Scarface argued. His aim didn’t waver one iota.

  “Art thou so anxious to face her ire?” One-Eye countered. Scarface hesitated and then lowered his bow. “Bind her and bring her.”

  Scarface grunted and jammed his arrow back into the quiver before slinging his bow across his chest. He dug into a small pouch dangling from his waist and extracted a length of leather cord.

  “Rise,” he ordered, standing over Daraxandriel. She did so warily, trying to keep both of them in sight. “Turn.” He pulled her around by her elbow when she didn’t move quickly enough, yanking her wrists behind her back and tying them tight enough to draw a gasp from her. He shoved her forward and she stumbled and fell, landing in the slick mud.

  Dara! I moved in right beside her head. I’m going to hit one of them with Flame Lance. Get ready to run.

  “Nay!” she whispered back urgently but I faced One-Eye regardless. Since he was the one wielding a weapon right now, I had to deal with him first. I raised my hands to pull up my damage spells, but I didn’t have any hands and absolutely nothing happened. My spell bar and my targeting reticle were nowhere to be seen.

  Where are my spells? I gasped. Nothing I tried made any difference. What happened to my spells?

  “Fret not, Peter Simon Collins,” Daraxandriel murmured to me. “I shall deal with my captors.”

  How? I asked incredulously. They were bigger and stronger than she was and she was tied up like a chicken for the slaughter.

  She didn’t deign to answer me. Instead, but she wiggled and twisted and finally managed to get to her knees. She stared up at Scarface, spattered with mud and looking small and helpless as her bare chest heaved. He leered down at her, brushing the back of his thick-fingered hand across her cheek. She made a small noise and turned her face away from him with a shiver.

  “Lilixandriel said naught about leaving her whole,” he said with a menacing chuckle. “A succubus is a prize worth claiming.”

  “She will not thank thee for despoiling her clutch-mate,” One-Eye said warily but he licked his lips as he looked Daraxandriel over.

  “None will decry what happens to this one. Do you not see this hair?” Scarface grabbed one of Daraxandriel’s horns and hauled her to her feet, shaking her like a rag doll. “Who could gaze upon this and desire her? She should thank us for allowing her to pleasure us.” He threw her down and she landed heavily on her side.

  “Nay!” she protested shakily, struggling frantically with her bonds. “My maidenhead is sworn to another!”

  “What is this?” One-Eye exclaimed in surprise. “A virgin succubus? Can such a thing exist?”

  “Let us find out.” Scarface unslung his bow and his quiver and set them aside before reaching for his loincloth. Then he froze as the tip of One-Eye’s sword pressed into his sternum.

  “Stand back,” One-Eye growled. “I claim first rights to her.”

  “She is mine!” Scarface snapped, slapping the blade aside. It scored a line across his chest, leaving a runnel of dark blood dripping down his torso, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I captured her!”

  “Thy shot missed its mark! She would have fled but for me.” He kicked Daraxandriel’s legs apart with his foot but Scar
face shoved him back.

  “Thou scurrilous cur! Thy shriveled member would not pleasure the hag that bore thee!”

  One-Eye’s eye opened wide and then blazed with fury. He slugged Scarface on the chin with his free hand, staggering him back a step. Scarface shook the cobwebs out of his head and then lunged at One-Eye with a guttural roar, wrapping his arms around him and taking him to the ground.

  They cursed and pounded and kicked and bit, each gaining the upper hand for a moment and then surrendering it again. One-Eye tried to hack at Scarface with his sword but Scarface had his hand wrapped around the guard, trying to rip it from his grip.

  Hurry! I urged Daraxandriel as she rolled to her knees away from the brawl. Let’s get out of here!

  “Nay,” she shook her head, focused intently on the trolls, “we needs must end this here, else they will harry us to the end.”

  A bellowing roar signaled the end of the battle, as One-Eye stunned Scarface with an uppercut and pulled his sword arm free. He used both hands to thrust his blade through Scarface’s heart and left it there as he dragged himself to his feet, panting heavily as he wiped blood and mud from his face. He turned to look at Daraxandriel, his eye glaring and wild.

  “Thou art mine, succubus,” he growled. He ripped off his loincloth as he advanced on her, casting it aside. Daraxandriel and I gaped at the sight of his rampant member and she scrabbled backwards to get away from him, but he grabbed her ankles and pulled her back, holding her in place as he dropped to his knees. “Thou shalt scream my name in ecstasy.”

  “I shall,” she said smugly, “an thy name is Whoreson.”

  He blinked at her in confusion and she twisted free of his grip, rocking him sideways with a vicious kick to his jaw. She rolled to her feet, snapping her bonds with an effortless tug, and then she leapt straight over him, using his shoulders as a springboard. She landed by Scarface’s corpse and pulled the sword from his chest like Excalibur, spinning on her heel and slashing at One-Eye as he charged her like a rabid bear. She danced aside and he stumbled past her, falling in a shapeless heap like a bag of rocks, but his head kept on rolling until it fetched up against the base of a tree.