Followed by Fire

by McKenzie Austin

  “Ah,” Bernard’s eyes twinkled at the spectacle. “As confident as you are quick. Are you a busker, then? A street performer?”

  “No, sir, not at all.” Balvonak smirked, reaching up to pluck an empty bird’s nest from a low tree limb. He knelt, placing his kindling where he needed it to be. The bow drill settled into place as he gazed up at Bernard, beaming. “Just an honest man who loves fire.”

  “Perhaps I’ll have a watch,” Bernard said, kneeling down beside Balvonak. “I’d love to learn how to be better prepared in the future.”

  Balvonak blinked. He recovered from his display with a charming laugh. “Of course, my friend, of course. I’ll need you to find some rocks to help contain our inferno first, however. Can’t have a forest fire on our hands now, can we?”

  “Oh.” Bernard pinched his lips together, feeling foolish for having not thought of it himself. “Of course.” He laid the rabbit down and stood, scouring the forest floor for suitable stones.

  Balvonak watched as Bernard collected the rocks. Satisfied that the traveler’s attention was focused elsewhere, he glanced down at the kindling and removed his glove, rubbing his thumb against his other fingers. He’d enjoy a free meal before he robbed the man. No sense in letting good meat go to waste.

  Smoke rolled off of his fingertips. Then, a spark. The kindling sucked the heat into it and created a flame. Balvonak reached over, scraping a handful of smaller twigs toward him. They were dry enough to serve their purpose.

  By the time Bernard turned around, Balvonak had already achieved a commendable fire. “By the Angel Lord’s hand,” he breathed, shuffling back to the flames, “I didn’t even hear the bow drill. Right you were.” He chuckled, placing the stones he’d gathered around the blaze to keep it contained. “You really are a man who loves fire.”

  The demon gazed up at Bernard, raising his shoulders in a humble shrug. “It’s a great deal of luck, too, I’m sure.”

  “No need to be modest.” Bernard reached over to start dressing the rabbit. “If you’ve a skill that grand, you ought to shout it from the rooftops.”

  Balvonak leaned back on his palms, feigning amusement. “I should think that neither the rooftops in Pinesguard nor Bronzglen could support my weight.”

  “Shoddy materials for shoddy people.” Bernard expertly stripped the fur from the creature’s hide. “If only we all had access to the stones and mortar of the Nobility, aye?”

  “Oh, my friend,” Balvonak closed his eyes, basking in the warmth that the flames brought, “I hope one day to have access to far more than that.”

  An uproarious laugh leapt from Bernard’s throat. “Dreams are the medicines that keep the fools at ease in their delusions. They can be dangerous things, dreams that big.”

  Balvonak’s cheek tucked up into his eye. “Dangerous things, indeed, Bernard. You’ve got that right.”

  Oblivious, Bernard finished stripping the game of its inedible contents. He gave it a quick assessment, finding its state to be satisfactory, minus the act of cooking it to temperature.

  Balvonak studied him, leaning forward. Bernard seemed well-traveled. Intelligent. Perhaps his usefulness extended beyond his physical resources. After countless years of failure hunting down Amadeia, it couldn’t hurt to ask if he’d heard of her.

  Resting his elbows on his legs, Balvonak placed his chin in his palm. “Speaking of dreams, Bernard, ‘tis a dream of mine to complete a quest I find myself on. I need to find something. Or rather, someone. Tell me…” He paused, watching as Bernard picked bits of entrails out from under his fingernails. “Have you heard of a woman by the name of Amadeia Greenbriar?”

  If Bernard had been eating, he would have choked on his meal. The man arched a brow, growing restless in his spot. “Why, in the Angel Lord’s great land of Brigovia, with its limitless blessings, would you actively seek out one of the greatest blemishes on our world?”

  Balvonak only grinned. “You have heard of her then.”

  Bernard ran his tongue over his lips, fidgeting. “Many of the folks here have. Though, talk of her has died down, given what happened six months ago.”

  The human’s curious statement made Balvonak cock his head. “What happened six months ago?”

  “Ah.” Bernard pulled a skewer from his pack and shoved it through the meat. “That witch’s sins finally caught up with her. They plucked that heathen from her home and burned her right in Pinesguard’s center.”

  The former charisma Balvonak wore melted from his face.

  That couldn’t be right. Amadeia was a beast. A witch with powers unmatched by many of Brigovia’s most talented enchanters. Surely, she could not have been brought down by the hands of simple people. “I see.” He swallowed, trying to recover. “What a relief to hear. That will save me a hunting trip.”

  “You’re a witch hunter, then?” Bernard rotated the corpse over the open flame, trying to achieve an even char on all sides. “Are you a member of the Brotherhood?”

  Balvonak only caught some of what the man had said. He was too distracted by his swirling thoughts, tapping his finger on the side of his leg. “Something like that,” he muttered, simply to satisfy the human’s inquiry.

  The news did not bode well for his endeavors. Balvonak had searched for Amadeia Greenbriar for years. The witch’s unmatched skill allowed her to conceal her location, despite his best efforts. She had no desire to be found. Not by the demons of the Netherworld, anyway. Amadeia had severed her ties with that nation long ago, when human religious efforts sewed the title of ‘Dark Arts’ into witchcraft.

  Balvonak had heard it was her love for the people that made her do it. He wasn’t so sure. Rumors were only ever partially rooted in fact. Amadeia loved the Netherworld too, once upon a time. That much he knew. While it irked Balvonak that the great Amadeia would turn her back on one nation to appease another, he wasn’t surprised. Humans were fickle things. And while Amadeia Greenbriar was Brigovia’s greatest witch, she was still very much a human.

  Still… he was supposed to find her.

  The Demon Lord, Marumon, needed her. The entire Netherworld needed her. And he needed her, if he was to get his hands on the prize of eternal freedom from the hellhole where he hailed.

  Balvo wondered how much her untimely death would alter Marumon’s plans. He frowned. A return journey to the Netherworld lived in his future. Though he was none too eager to go back, it was necessary to deliver the unfortunate news.

  With any luck, Marumon would not kill the messenger.

  “This is a mid-sized hare,” Bernard mentioned, waiting for the juices to run clear on his catch. “It should only take about half an hour to cook. You’re welcome to share in my bounty, if you’d like. My thanks, for your assistance in starting the fire.”

  Balvonak’s dark eyes darted around the ground. After a moment, he stood from his resting place, dusting the natural debris from his legs. “That’s quite all right, Bernard. You enjoy your reward. I have somewhere I need to be.” The demon readjusted the hat on his head and straightened the animal hide vest he wore. Against the feelings of disappointment that coursed through him, he coerced a final, amiable smirk. “In any case, it seems I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Bernard cocked his head, unaccustomed to anyone passing up the opportunity for a free meal. Times in Brigovia were tough. He shrugged off Balvonak’s announcement and bobbed his head. “That’s all well and good, then. Safe travels, and again, thank you.”

  Balvonak responded with his own nod, stretching out his fingers as he turned on his heels. “The pleasure was all mine,” he murmured, offering the human a wave, though he did not turn back to make sure he saw it.

  Bernard would never know how lucky he was to avoid falling under the hands of the fire demon, Balvonak.

  It was a shame that Balvo did not share the man’s luck.

  Dead. Of course Amadeia was dead. Balvonak traipsed through the forest trail until he was certain he’d stepped beyond Bernard’s line of sight. Free from t
he human’s vision, he cut to the right, wandering farther into the woodlands. Sparse trees grew thicker, wilder, affording him more coverage.

  The trees closed around him. What would have been claustrophobic to some, brought a small comfort to the fire demon.

  Sharp, black branches jutted out on all sides of countless unsightly tree trunks. They threatened to slice the skin of any passerby who failed to pay close attention. Dense foliage clustered together overhead, blocking out the warmth of the sun. Terrified creatures skittered about, scuttling away at the first sound of nearby feet.

  It reminded him of the Netherworld in that regard.

  Satisfied with how far he had wandered off of the trail most traveled, Balvonak leaned back, popping out the stubborn stiffness in his spine. Hesitation sprung up inside him. It had been years since he had returned to the Netherworld. Years since he had to face Marumon. The Demon Lord had a temper to begin with. Plunging in head first bearing the news that the one woman he sought in all of Brigovia had been slain…

  Balvo shuddered at what awaited him.

  Still, it would not be as bad as what would have awaited him had he attempted to deceive Marumon by not telling Him at all. Maybe, just maybe, if Balvonak was no longer required to hunt Amadeia down, he could still wriggle out from under Marumon’s thumb.

  The Demon Lord, Himself, wasn’t terrible. The Netherworld, though… the Netherworld was suffocating. Particularly when compared to the surface world.

  “All right,” Balvo muttered to himself, cracking his knuckles shortly after. No sense in dawdling. Best to dive in with both feet, rather than linger in insufferable doubt. “Here we go.”

  Reaching into his pocket, he curled his fingers around the gnarled object that laid inside. The flesh from the small bone had all been stripped away long ago—a necessary step before fashioning it into a key to the Netherworld. Balvonak absentmindedly ran his thumbnail over the nicks and grooves carved into the object. His tongue clicked on the roof of his mouth, assessing the environment a final time.

  Unlikely to fall under the eyes of spectators, he decided it was as fine a place as any to open the gate to the Netherworld. Reaching forward, Balvonak thrust the key into the air around him. It held there, as if it nestled into an unseen padlock. The first third of the bone key vanished into the invisible catch, hovering there still, even after he gave it a twist and released it.

  The fire demon took a step away, placing his hands behind his back.

  Then, he waited.

  In moments, scarlet sparks with orange halos spit from the lock. They carved both up and down, fashioning a vertical line that stretched some eight feet in height. When the height requirement was met, the blazes darted to the side, then met in the middle of one final, upright stretch: the door had taken its shape.

  Balvonak pinched his lips together as he rocked on his feet. Soon, the sight of the forest within the door’s rectangle faded away. In its place, a flurry of bodies stood, silhouetted by fire.

  As soon as the demons’ pupils turned to pinpricks from the light of the surface world’s sun, they clawed at the opening, snarling, foam frothing around their peeled back lips.

  As rabid in their attempts as they were, their fingers could not stretch beyond the doorway. Balvonak watched them, unimpressed. He winced as one let out a particularly high-pitched shriek. It was muffled by the unseen shield that made the doorway; still, it irritated his ears.

  “Come on, now. You know you can’t make it through.” He twisted his index finger into his ear, hoping to clear out the ringing sensation left behind by their shrill cries. “You’re just embarrassing yourselves.”

  One took a step back, its tongue flailing between its jagged teeth and unhinged jaws. Balvonak found himself frowning. It always stung to look at them in this state. They had been demons for far too long. Long gone was anything that made them operate with any semblance of reason. No rational thought left. Nothing. It had all been burned away by thousands of years spent living as beasts of Marumon.

  A shame, he thought. It was not an optimistic future to look forward to. Then again… optimism was in short supply altogether in the hellish landscape that awaited him.

  “All right,” he muttered again, trying to coax himself forward. He stuck his hand through, trying to push the demons aside. It was a struggle. They were none too eager to ease away from the light.

  Through the invisible glass that held them back, Balvonak squeezed through, unharmed. “Step aside, come on, make room—” Using his shoulder, he edged his way through the beasts, shoving them when needed. Upon squeezing his way past them, he looked over his shoulder, watching as they continued in vain to vie for their freedom.

  The fire demon shook his head. Mindless things. He preferred the company of the more lucid demons who dwelled in the Netherworld. Those like himself. But they were far too intelligent to come running toward a door they knew they couldn’t get out of.

  Turning back to the task before him, he shoved his hands into his pockets and trekked onward.

  There was no sense in summoning Marumon to his location. Balvo was not keen on seeing the Demon Lord’s face. He knew that if he walked long enough, he’d find Him around here somewhere.

  It was spacious beneath the surface world. No complaints about that. The mantle was the largest layer of all that rested under the land of Brigovia. It was the hot, dense rocks surrounding it on all sides that made the environment considerably less hospitable. Coupled with the pressure that threatened to crush one’s ribs, living in Brigovia’s underbelly paled in comparison to the glamor that was living above.

  Balvo jumped when he rounded a corner and found a glowing, grim figure inches from his face on the other side. The doomed soul stared at him, its gray features blending into its pale body. “Jeeze!” The demon laid a hand over his frenzied heart. “A little warning next time, huh?”

  The soul ogled at him in silence, its eyes open in a permanently curious, observant gaze.

  The demon’s shoulders shuddered as he moved on. “Creepy little son-of-a…” The Netherworld was clogged with them. One couldn’t throw a small chunk of igneous rock without hitting a human soul. They made for great target practice and little else; always watching, observing, studying the demons of the Netherworld with their gray, vacant eyes.

  For all the years he had spent in the Netherworld, Balvo never grew accustomed to their presence.

  Sheets of melted rock flowed around him like heavy, viscous asphalt. Balvonak removed a single hand from his pocket to fan himself as he walked. It had been so long since he last set foot here. He’d forgotten how intolerable it was. Luckily, he knew his target was close by. It was easy to know when one came within walking distance of the Demon Lord, Marumon. It grew hotter the closer he walked.

  The temperature hovered somewhere near 2,000 degrees where he had opened the door; but as the distance closed between himself and the Lord of the Netherworld—the heat climbed upward of 4,000 degrees. Balvonak was no stranger to insufferable warmth, but even he formed beads of sweat around his forehead when he spotted Marumon up ahead.

  The Demon Lord sat in His throne, His elbow propped on the great chair’s arm. He was colossal. Towering over Balvonak by twice his height, Marumon made a low noise in the back of His throat.

  His chin sat in an open palm and lazy eyes, absent of pupils, slid over to Balvonak. A surprise visit. Marumon licked His hard lips, steam rising up when the saliva touched the frayed edges of the only skin on his face. “You would not have returned unless you had news,” He observed, His voice low, yet somehow still booming enough to shake the rocky floor.

  A smirk swept onto Balvonak’s face. No formal greeting. Classic. “Perceptive as always, Lord Marumon.” The confidence in the demon’s expression faded into one of caution. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “Unfortunately, the message I return with is... less than pleasant.”

  Through His flaring nostrils, Marumon inhaled. His lips pressed up toward the
holes that made His nose, and He leaned forward in His seat. “What message do you bring?”

  Balvonak froze. Traversing for years above the Netherworld had left him poised, self-assured—but one look from Marumon still felt as if it could drain him of all his blood. “It’s…” He shuffled, blowing out his cheeks. “It’s Amadeia Greenbriar, my Lord.”

  The words immediately made Marumon sit up in His chair. Something in His voice changed. “What of my Amadeia?”

  Balvonak winced. The light he saw in the Demon Lord’s eyes was ablaze. A shame he was about to douse it. “She... she’s dead,” he uttered quickly, for the sake of getting it off of his tongue. “Burned at the stake by human hands.”

  Silence.

  Then, rage.

  A pulse surged from Marumon’s body. It was swift. Involuntary. The reverberation spread outward, beneath Balvonak’s feet, affecting everything in its wake. It left a bitter feeling in the fire demon’s toes and ankles.

  Marumon’s fingers dug into the arms of His chair. Part of it snapped under the pressure. The fragments settled near His feet. A quiet second ticked by. It was followed by additional fury.

  With a snarl, Marumon ripped the rest of the chair’s arm from its place and hurled it out of His sight. Standing, He dug his stone fingers into the base of His skull, squeezing His frustration into it. “Vile filth,” He whispered, the words tainted with venom. How did he allow those animals to go on living as long as He had? A pox on His twin brother, for sealing Him in his home world. They were mistakes. Mistakes that should have all been slaughtered years ago.

  His anger spread outward through His body, settling in his torso. Marumon felt the weight of it. His eyelids fell to a close, and for only a moment, the grief outweighed the ire. His poor, precious Amadeia. What must her final thoughts have been? Pressing His fingers into His temples, Marumon tightened his jaw. “For how long?” He asked.