God's Demon

by Wayne Barlowe

  “He is late,” Nergar said.

  “Would you be eager to sit down and be questioned by us?”

  “If I was blameless…”

  Adramalik heard footsteps and turned to see the tall demon enter the room. He could see Nergar’s escort taking up position behind the door. The Prime Minister, usually so proper in his mien as well as his dress, looked ruffled and slightly unkempt, as if he had been just awakened; open concern was written upon his tight, severe features.

  “It is late and I was resting. Why have you had me roused and brought here?” His creaky, indignant voice was muffled somewhat by interrupted rest, further indication of his having been brought to the Basilica hastily.

  “You do not know?” Adramalik asked.

  “No,” Agares said flatly.

  “You were telling… who was it, Lord Nergar…?”

  “Baphomeres.”

  “You were telling Baphomeres that you felt Lilith was better off wherever she was. That is what you said, is this not so?”

  “What of it, Adramalik? She is. No one could doubt that, not even you.”

  “Baphomeres is one of Nergar’s demons… a lowly, covert Security functionary, actually.” He saw Agares wince slightly. “As for me, it is not my place in the court of Beelzebub to judge him and his relationship with his Consort. Is it yours?”

  Agares stared at the Chancellor General. He was now attentive and on guard, the gravity of the interview obvious to him. His silvered eyes glittered intensely.

  “Perhaps not.”

  Nergar cleared his throat. “Can you tell us anything regarding the disappearance of the Consort?”

  Agares looked down.

  “I can only tell you what you know already, that she departed, incognito, from the Sixth Gate. No one knows where she went from there.”

  “Had you seen her shortly before her departure?” Adramalik asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How did she seem?”

  “She was understandably distraught. Her handmaiden had just been—”

  “We know,” said Adramalik without feeling. That one had gotten what she deserved. “Did you comfort the Consort?”

  Agares looked at him angrily, small flames licking from his flared nostrils.

  “Remember to whom you are speaking, Chancellor General. I am the Prime Minister of Dis, the capital of Hell. I resent your collective implications, I resent I your having brought me here at this time of night, and… and I resent you.”

  “That is as it may be, Duke Agares, but your behavior is now an open question.”

  Agares looked from one demon to the other and, after a long moment, said evenly, “As Prime Minister it is my duty to look after the well-being of the Prince’s interests. That includes, by my understanding, his Consort.”

  Adramalik considered this. “There is a difference between looking after his interests and countering whatever the Prince has implemented as his personal policy. By comforting the Consort you chose to counter his punishment of her through her handmaiden.”

  “The very real question for you to ponder,” Nergar interjected, sounding very reasonable, “is just how is the Prince going to feel about your role in all of this? Especially now that his Consort has not been brought back to him.”

  “My role?” Agares sputtered. He jerked his thumb at Adramalik. “Ask him why Lilith has not been returned.”

  Adramalik clenched his jaw. The pain was back with teeth, and Agares’ bluntness was almost too much to suffer.

  “The Prince already has,” said Nergar, “and the Chancellor General is paying, in his own small way, for it. It is now time for your master, through us. to turn to you.”

  “I have told you what little there is to say. Do I feel that Lilith is better off now? I have already said as much. Did I help her leave Dis? No. And you will never prove otherwise. Now,” Agares said, rising, wavering slightly, “may I retire to my chambers?”

  Adramalik stood as well; he felt fractionally better on his feet. “You may, Prime Minister, but I would not expect too much rest, if I were you. We are, after this interview, bound for the Rotunda and must deliver our conclusions to the Prince. You will be sure to hear his response before the night is over.”

  Agares’ hand balled into a fist even as he swallowed hard. Focusing on neither of them, he turned brusquely and, without another word, strode stiffly from the room, followed by his unwelcome escort.

  “What do you suppose he will do?” muttered Adramalik, looking at the Prime Minister’s retreating form.

  “What any demon would in his circumstances. Attempt to destroy himself.” Nergar looked pleased at the prospect.

  “Better Abaddon’s Pit than Beelzebub’s wrath, eh?”

  Nergar nodded as he rose. “Well, yes, actually.”

  Adramalik steadied himself as another clawing wave of agony shot through his body. As he passed through the threshold on his way to his chambers, he caught sight of Nergar smirking at his obvious discomfort from the corner, but the pain was so intense he ignored him. As Adramalik lurched into the corridor, he promised himself he would not forget Nergar when the time was right.

  ADAMANTINARX-UPON-THE-ACHERON

  As soon as what was left of the victorious Great Army of the Ascension had returned, Lilith excitedly left her chambers to seek out Sargatanas. Apart from the lines of returning soldiers, the streets as well as the landings leading up to the palace steps were relatively open. Once before the huge doorway she saw that her progress was not going to be so easy; small groups of demons gathering down on the plaza below had formed into larger crowds and were waiting to enter. Once inside, she found traversing the palace corridors difficult; the milling about of demon clerks eager to hear of the battle slowed her progress to a crawl but also allowed her to hear snippets of battlefield news. Sargatanas had, she gathered, been brilliant against the worst Dis could marshal. He had been wounded. And some of his generals, along with their armies, had been destroyed.

  Lilith made her way toward the Audience Chamber, but she soon found that she was far from alone in that goal. When she arrived at the outlying arcades she could see that a huge crowd had gathered around the base of the dais; it seemed as if Adamantinarx had emptied its streets and avenues into the great circular chamber.

  Tales of the passing of Valefar found their way to Lilith in incomplete fragments, shreds of conversation caught as sad whispers in halting Angelic from the murmuring crowd. She had taught herself the language from books but never heard it spoken and wondered why now it was; when she had pieced the words together she had to stop and, supporting herself by a column, catch her breath. It had been hard not to let slip anything about their shared past in Dis; it would be harder still not to let her grief show. He had been an extraordinary demon, she thought, wise and undeniably noble. And now he was gone, leaving that other noble demon Sargatanas to fight his noble war without him.

  As she moved toward the foot of the dais the crowd parted for her, but-still, she heard quite a bit. The battle had been won, but by all accounts the price had been heavy. The complete destruction of Adamantinarx’s military backbone—the phalangites—the end of Earl Bifrons, and the resultant chaos within his legions that had led to their massive casualties all had left the city weakened. At least the same or worse can be said for the state in which Dis must find itself. The Fly must be enraged! How happy that makes me!

  Lilith climbed the steps noting that more demons were coming down than going up. All who passed her saluted in some manner or another, each according her the honor as was their custom in their own wards. She spotted Zoray, deep in conversation with three other officials, and went to him. He disengaged from the demons and greeted her warmly as she gained the top of the dais, but she could sense immediately that something was wrong. Clusters of conversing demons obscured her view of Sargatanas, but Zoray navigated through them until both he and Lilith stood before the throne.

  Bathed in the red light of the oculus, it stood empty, f
lanked dutifully by Eligor’s Guard.

  “I thought you should see for yourself, my lady,” Zoray said softly. “He has not been seen since the first day of his arrival in Adamantinarx. He ordered that the court language be changed to Angelic in Valefar’s honor and then he was gone.”

  “Is he injured?”

  “Yes, but it did not seem to cause him too great discomfort. It was but a flesh-wound, deep but not debilitating. He would not let anyone minister to it, though. And there is something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “I saw him the day he returned. His appearance was shifting so rapidly, so awfully, that were it not for his sigil I would have scarcely recognized him. The seraph has never been further from him.”

  Lilith looked at the throne and shook her head slightly. His misery at Valefar’s loss must have been consuming him.

  “Is he in his chambers?”

  “We think so, but there is no way to be sure. Perhaps you…”

  “If he wishes to be alone then it would not be my place to intrude,” she heard herself say with apparent conviction. But Lilith knew what she would do. And she knew where she would look first.

  “Tell me of the Soul-General, Zoray.”

  “He is terribly wounded; Moloch’s Hooks dug too deep; he cannot possibly heal himself. On the battlefield he was patched up, but we have not been able to do much more. We have purged and safeguarded the traitorous Baron’s quarters and Hannibal now lies within. But he is not well. My lady,” Zoray said gravely, “we are not accustomed to healing souls and we are not certain he will survive.”

  “Then I must go and see what I can do; I have some knowledge of them and may be able to help him.” She pressed Zoray’s arm and turned away. And then, so as not to arouse any undue suspicion, she said over her shoulder, “Zoray, if he should venture out…”

  “If he should venture out, my lady, you will be among the first to know.”

  “Thank you, Zoray.”

  Zoray bowed and she continued down the steps, her bird-feet clicking lightly against the stone. First, she thought, first I must see to Hannibal. But then I will go to him.

  * * * * *

  Lilith was relieved and pleased to see Captain Eligor outside Hannibal’s chambers. Eligor was a levelheaded demon and someone whom she trusted. And better than that, he was a relative expert in the ways of souls. She knew quite a bit about them herself but welcomed his bolstering presence as she entered the chambers.

  The room that Hannibal occupied was dark and warm, and as she approached she saw that he lay upon a soft pallet, unconscious and still. Even though Faraii’s chambers had been purged and the walls sealed, complex glyphs-of-protection circled at ceiling height, designed to raise an alarm if the Fly in any way attempted to reenter this particular chamber. Lilith passed a solemn Mago on her way to his brother’s side. Leaning over the Soul-General, he examined the wound that had him so close to destruction. His entire shoulder and arm, attached to his torso only by the crude field-glyphs, had been peeled down in thick strips, the result of the multiple prongs of the Hook, which lay by his side. It was huge and she picked it up by its thick handle with difficulty, turning it in both hands and noting how the moving light of the glyphs overhead played upon its diamond recurved prongs. As she placed it back upon the table with a loud scrape she noticed, lying in shadow, the large, round disk that had been Moloch. She ran a finger over its blotchy surface and withdrew it quickly. She knew that it was inanimate but somehow, whether real or imagined, she felt a malevolent energy emanating from within. She hastily turned to Hannibal. The soul’s torso was open and she could easily see the very large black scab that ran from his neck to his hip. That was good, she thought. It had probably been the only thing that had kept his fluids within him. She would have to remove that and clean the wound beneath, but she knew that whatever she did, he would lose his arm completely; the glyphs apparently healed demons but were not effective on souls. The Arts Curative were not very highly developed among demons, but as she was careful to distinguish, she was no ordinary demon. She had known human beings from their own beginnings.

  The arm was already shriveled and useless, the black, slow-moving blood having entirely drained away. She imagined that the organs within his chest must still be vital enough for him not to have been destroyed on the spot. The viscous blood in souls she knew was present only to keep the body flexible; it had no other properties that any demon had ever been able to discern.

  “Mago,” she said haltingly, “he will lose his arm and a part of his shoulder as well.” She did not easily speak the common language of the souls, and it always sounded harsh and percussive to her ears.

  Mago rose and stood by her, watching her pulling gently on Hannibal’s skin, gauging just how she would stitch him up. She unrolled her little kit of tools and selected a sharp little knife—her favorite carver. With this she deftly sliced the few remaining ropes of skin that had kept the arm attached to the torso.

  “Eligor, if you would,” she said, pointing to another larger knife with a blackened finger.

  Silently, they worked off the scab and immediately saw the black fluid begin to seep quickly, dangerously, from Hannibal. Lilith put the knife down and picked up a needle she had also brought from her chambers and quickly threaded the thinnest sinew into it. As Eligor pulled the gray skin taut, she began to carefully stitch the two flaps together. She knew that this was less than an ideal solution and that she would have to seek out someone with more knowledge of soul anatomy and the Arts Curative than herself.

  Her stitches were very fine, close, and tight, and it took longer than she wanted to work her way up to Hannibal’s neck. As she worked she realized just how much she had invested in this soul; not only was he a capable general, but he also had a profound potential to govern his kind. In fact, she would do whatever she could to help him do just that.

  Eligor was told that as she closed the gaping wound he could gradually release Hannibal’s skin. When Eligor could completely let go he stood back and admired Lilith’s deft finger-work; he commented that her stitches were so precise that he could barely see the sinew, and when she finally tied the tiny knot at the soul’s neck and straightened to look at her handiwork she was smiling faintly. No fluids seeped from any point, but just to be sure she uttered a single word and traced her finger lightly over the seam. It vanished completely.

  “Now, that should do. I can do nothing for the damaged organs. We shall have to see how they affect him.”

  Eligor nodded and turned and saw Mago, the hope written upon his face.

  “He will mend, Mago,” Eligor said fluently and convincingly in the souls’ tongue. “The loss of his arm will be a problem only for a short time. Considering what souls are used to here, his problems will seem insignificant.”

  Lilith was looking at Eligor with a raised eyebrow. “That is a skill I did not know you had, Eligor.”

  “What? Lying?”

  “No, Eligor,” she said gently. “From what I could tell, you were reassuring. I meant speaking their tongue. It is very difficult.”

  Eligor looked pleased. “I have made them a focus of study, my lady.”

  “So I have heard. Once again it is clear to me that Lord Sargatanas has chosen his staff with great care.” Lilith replaced her knives and rolled her tool-blanket, carefully tying the skin ribbons that held it together. She looked once more at the soul. His features were as strong as his will. He must have been quite a force to reckon with in his Life, she thought. And then, in an odd way, she realized that she was proud of him. In Hell, he was her finest creation.

  Lilith turned to Eligor and looked up at him. For a moment she looked deep into his silvered eyes.

  “I want to go to Sargatanas, but I am sure that I cannot find the way. Will you take me?”

  There was the briefest of hesitations.

  “But, my lady, he is certainly in his chambers.”

  Whether Eligor knew his lord’s whereabouts and was simply
protecting him as was his duty or truly did not know Lilith could not be sure.

  “No, Eligor, he most certainly is not.”

  Eligor’s chin went up a fraction. Again she could not tell if he was being intractable or was merely found out. Does he know where Sargatanas is or am I revealing something to him that he had not considered? The demon’s wings twitched slightly as he slowly looked down at his feet, either considering the situation he was in or realizing just what she was suggesting. Both paths led to the same door, and either way, she knew that he would have to obey her; she was Lilith and there was no way to deny her.

  When he looked up again he said, “I know the way.”

  “I knew you would.”

  * * * * *

  She dreamt of green trees heavy with scent and brightly colored fruits and streams of diamond-glittering water and yielding, fertile earth beneath her feet, and those feet were like the feet of souls. And she dreamt, too, of a sun’s golden light upon her naked body, bathing it in sensual warmth, as she wandered the Garden heaven she had once known. In her dream she knew she was dreaming, but it did not make the turquoise sky any less blue.

  The distant soft scuffing of Eligor’s approaching footsteps drew her away from her lost, short-lived heaven, pulling her back down into the darkness of reality. She awoke fully, and as frequently happened when she had this dream, the bitterness washed away from her any pleasure she might have derived. She missed that place and the freedom that had gone with it, missed it even more than her equally short life with Lucifer. But it was gone forever and she had vowed that even if all of the seraphim of the Above came on bended knees to beg her to join them she would refuse. The Throne had cast her away and here she would stay. She knew this was nothing more than an idle fantasy; her anger, wreaked quite purposefully on the souls, had lasted a dozen of their generations—a moment really in the Above, but it had been enough.

  Lilith rose from the hard bench, her skin robes falling in some disarray, and stretched unselfconsciously. But as he came closer she could see Eligor’s eyes avert, and she quickly covered herself. She often forgot the effect she had on those around her.