by Marcus Wynne
I nodded. Looked at Otto.
“I have come far with you, Marius,” he said. “And we are not yet through.”
I unslung the Shield, looked into it at the much-scarred soul piece of my beloved.
She stared at me unafraid. Nodded once.
Consensus.
I nodded again. Stepped forward. They fell in on either side of me, making the V formation of birds in flight, or angels at war. I held the Sword high.
And marched through Hell’s Gate.
Crossing the portal was a tangible, physical sensation. It felt as though we were pressing through some thick aqueous membrane, something that held us back to a certain point, but then snapped and let us through, sealing us in. All of us crossed into and through the barrier, and I held the Sword, which gave off a brilliant blue light, illuminating the long hall in which we stood, even to the end of it, where something huge was chained to a throne on a raised dais at the end, details wreathed in shadow.
The Fallen.
Something approached us down the hall. Manlike in shape, still wreathed in shadows. Closer. Closer. Closer.
It was a man. Not tall, hunch-shouldered, with erratic, sharp, jerky motions to his arms and legs. He stopped short and waited for us to approach him. He flinched as the Light of the Sword washed over him, but stood there as we walked closer and fully illuminated his features . . . and a very neatly pressed Nazi uniform.
“Hello, Adolf,” Otto said.
Adolf Hitler had his arms crossed behind him. His facial muscles twitched constantly, giving a Charlie Chaplinesque tweak to his small mustache. He nodded once, sharply, the whole Prussian-Teutonic nod thing.
“Otto Skorzeny,” Hitler said. “Betrayer. Why have you returned?”
“You know why,” Otto said. “I see you are still chief lackey to the Fallen. Lackey, this word you understand, Marius?”
“Yes, Otto,” I said. “I understand lackey.”
“You are to follow me,” Hitler said. “I will take you to him.”
“Lead on, lackey,” I said.
“I require . . .” Hitler began.
“You require to do your master’s bidding,” I said. “So lead on and be silent.”
Hatred blazed in the depths of the black holes that passed for Hitler’s eyes. He turned, stiffly, and with that strange jerky walk led us down the featureless hallway to the Throne of the Fallen.
A dais. Raised of the same black metal that formed the doors. The same black metal that formed the throne. The same black metal that formed the chains, the leg irons and wrist manacles that held the Fallen.
Lucifer. Also known as Belial. Son of the Light. Lord of the Darkness.
Michael’s brother, cast down and bound here till the Creator released him.
The perfection of a chiseled human body, the size of a five-story building, each muscle and sinew showing, with just a slight bit of extra flesh at the middle to add verisimilitude to the likeness. A classic Greek face, a dimpled chin, sharp cheekbones, but then the eyes . . .
The eyes.
I expected Darkness and Flame. The red and the black.
Instead, human-looking, blue and huge . . . weighted with sadness. Heartbreaking sorrow. Or so it appeared.
On his shoulders, the shorn stubs of sheared wings, with a few white pinfeathers still remaining.
He looked down at us gathered at the foot of his throne.
“Marius Winter,” Lucifer said. “Welcome to Hell.”
What do you say to that?
I thought silence was best, or maybe it was just because, for once, I was at a loss for words.
“And you have brought the Sword,” Lucifer said.
“Yes, yes he has,” Hitler said eagerly. “He has it and now we can . . .”
“Shush,” Lucifer said gently. Hitler’s mouth slammed shut as though slapped.
“He’s very eager, isn’t he?” Lucifer went on. “The Sword that Binds can also Unbind. True, yes?”
“That is not my purpose here, Lucifer. There is only one who can and will unbind you,” I said.
“The Sword,” Lucifer went on, as though I had said nothing. “The first time since I was . . . brought here, I see the Sword. I once had one just like it, you know? All of us did. All who stood in the Presence. As I once did. It was taken from me . . . by my brother. Perhaps there’s something of it in that fragment you carry. Perhaps.
“Do you ever wonder why you were Chosen, Marius?” Lucifer went on. “Why you would be Chosen to join the handful of mortals who carry part of the Sword? I wonder. I’m not allowed to know, you see. Once, when I was joined in the Light with my brothers and my father and my mother, I knew everything. All of the Divine Plan. But now . . . I do not. I only see bits and pieces. My part to play, if you will. And I see you in this part, Marius Winter, shaman of the plains, Bearer of the Sword of my brother, whose name I am not allowed to utter here, Seeker in the Darkness, Light Bearer . . . Path Finder.”
He laughed, a booming presence, yet strangely empty of any true happiness.
“Path Finder. That would be you. So few descend here who can return. You’ve been here in spirit, but now, now you are here in the flesh. You and your party. All for a woman, yes? Is that what you believe?”
“We are here to retrieve the soul of Jolene LaMoore. We are here to return her to her life after you and yours took her,” I said, as formally as though I were reading an indictment.
“I find that amusing,” Lucifer said. “Her name. Jolene. Derived from the French for pretty, perhaps derived earlier from Norse for Yule. The birthday of your . . . well, the Light of the Creator Made Flesh. I’m not allowed to say his name, either. Inconvenient. And her last name . . . is that a joke, I wonder? LaMoore. L’amour, the French word for love. Pretty love. Is that what you came here for, Marius? Your pretty love?”
Behind the sad blue of the eyes, something dark and cruel peeking out around the facade.
I raised the Sword.
“Not yet, shaman,” Lucifer said. “Be careful here with that. Certain things, once done, cannot be undone. Would you like to leave here with your pretty love? And all of your friends? Or would you prefer to stay here for all time, in the Darkness, with me?”
There was a massive slam that shook the stone beneath our feet and a blast wave of air rippled our hair and what remained of our tattered clothing.
The door had slammed shut.
“I understand you are fond of movies, Marius. Actually, I know this, because peering into mortal minds is one thing my . . . brother and my father . . . left me. A particularly exquisite form of torture, perhaps? Or their idea of mercy? Who knows. I can no longer peer into their minds so I must amuse myself by peering into yours. Do you remember that movie The Watchmen? From the comic? That wonderful scene where the character is imprisoned, and after brutalizing one of his fellow inmates, turns and screams at his fellow inmates: ‘I’m not in here with you, you’re all in here with ME!’”
The last word was shouted and echoed through the chamber, which, despite its vastness, felt very small with those echoes.
“Eternity is a very long time, Marius,” Lucifer went on, in his semblance of a normal, calm voice.
Hitler was hunched up, his shoulders under his ears. “Master, we, I mean, Master . . .”
Lucifer looked at Hitler and silenced him with an eye blink.
“A very long time,” Lucifer said. “So perhaps you’ll see something that will influence your thinking. After all, so few mortals have ever made this trip in the flesh. And while you have come here in journey . . . this time you are subject to binding of the flesh as well as of the spirit. Here. By me. For here, I hold Dominion, bound or not.”
I held my tongue.
“Wise,” Lucifer said. “Or else the cunning of the cornered fox.”
He gazed at each of my companions, one after another. “Powerful allies . . . in the Middle World. Here, well, that remains to be seen.” He drew a massive breath and exhaled.
“Bring out the woman,” Lucifer said to Hitler.
Hitler scurried away, mouth moving nonstop though no words came out. He went around the corner of the dais and vanished into the dark.
A long moment.
And then he came back around, leading Jolene on a chain. She was in an otherwise immaculate white gown that covered her from chin to the ground. Her hair, completely white, pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes were empty sockets. Where her mouth would have been was a pale expanse of scarred flesh. She followed, like a cowed dog on a leash, unable to see or speak.
I felt the red tide of rage coming in on me.
“She is a bit worse for wear,” Lucifer said. “Very stubborn, and very strong. Willful, too. And more than a bit arrogant, or at least she was. I doubt that now. As one of my followers said to someone at Abu Ghraib, ‘It’s biology. Everyone has a breaking point.’ Even one such as she.”
Hitler tugged the leash to and fro, and Jolene stumbled along, head down.
“Steady,” Otto whispered from beside me.
Lucifer studied him closely, leaned forward, smiled. “I remember you well, Otto Skorzeny. So much about you . . . but I require your silence now.”
Otto raised his hands to his mouth . . . or where his mouth had been. A seamless expanse of flesh from below his nose to the jaw. Sealed.
“And you others . . .” Lucifer mused.
Black metal manacles and chains appeared around the wrists and ankles of Burt, First In Front, Tigre, and Otto.
Everyone except for me.
“I cannot bind a Sword Bearer, Marius. But I can certainly bind everything you hold dear and love in the world,” Lucifer said.
“And I can call on the Light of the Creator here,” I said. “I hold the Sword.”
“Yes,” Lucifer said. “You can. You may be able to unbind them. Perhaps you should try?”
Otto strained against his chains, throwing his head violently from side to side in a silent no. I looked at them, the metal that held the chains and manacles together . . . the same metal that held Lucifer in place.
“Oh, I think you see the dilemma,” Lucifer said. “Are you thinking that if you unbind them . . . you might unbind me? Certainly a possibility. Though of course, then you’d have your allies and your woman. And the Sword. Shall we see?”
Otto struggled, to Hitler’s amusement. Hitler saw me looking, and rattled the chain that held Jolene. I heard a hiss from the Shield on my back.
“Yes,” Lucifer said. “With both of them, you may be able to repair her. After a fashion. Though I don’t think you can do it here. You’d have to be elsewhere. Out of my Dominion. And you, of course, can go. But these others . . . they’d have to stay here. Much like Persephone and Hades, yes? Except all your beloveds will be in the one place where you can guarantee that they will endure undying torment till the End of Days.”
Lucifer laughed, a peal of a gigantic bell.
“Shall we try the unbinding, shaman? Think of the story you will be able to tell. How you went to Hell and unbound Lucifer. I’d let you tell that tale, though you’d probably have to fictionalize it a bit. Maybe as an urban fantasy, that’s what they call it these days, yes? And of course, the world might change a bit . . . what say you? Shall we give it a go?”
“No,” I said. “I think not. I think I will contest with you, Lucifer. Because you are the Father of Lies, lies in all things. If it’s true that I can unbind you, perhaps I can add to your binding. Or perhaps the Sword has other plans for you. Maybe this is your ending. What do you see, Fallen?” I held up the Sword, pulsing with blue light. “I see the Light of MIIII-KAI-ELLLL!”
Lucifer screamed. Hitler fell to his knees and clapped his hands over his ears. The entire chamber shook and rocked; dust settled around us, and there was a huge clap as though of thunder. Lucifer tried to raise his manacled hands to his own ears, but the chains were too short.
“Aaaahhhh!” Lucifer screamed, his torment echoing in the chamber.
I rushed to Otto, raised the Sword and slashed down on his chains. Sparks flew, but the metal was untouched. I tried it with Tigre. The same. I turned and went to Hitler, who cowered down in the fetal position, his hands pressed tight over his ears. I struck at the chain that bound Jolene.
Nothing.
For a long moment, Lucifer twisted against his chains. Then he opened his eyes.
“So now you know a little more,” he said calmly, as though nothing had happened. “The contest is not over. You must fight my Champion. If you win, you take your woman and your allies and you will leave. If you do not, you, the Sword, and your allies remain here forever. Except for one. I will release one to return to the Middle World, so that what happened here will be known to all. To all, Marius. You will serve as the object lesson to those who trifle with me and mine. And that one will bear witness. Do you understand?”
“I think you got the talking part done, Lucifer. Arm your lackey. He’ll need more than his sharp uniform and little mustache,” I said.
I was looking forward to kicking the shit out of Adolf Hitler. Seemed to me I might have missed that in a previous lifetime.
Loud peals of laughter, and Lucifer didn’t even try to hide the malicious humor in it. “You are such a fool, Marius. Such a tool. Your ego is such that you see yourself as an instrument in the Hand of the Creator . . . you are a tool for any who can get to you. You think the Creator has use for such a blunt instrument? I think not. I call forward my Champion to crush you. Now.”
I turned and faced Hitler. “You like movies, Adolf? Ever see that masterpiece The Unforgiven, directed by the one and only Clint Eastwood? Great line in there: ‘He should have armed himself, he’s gonna decorate his saloon with my friend.’ So I’ll paraphrase Clint, Adolf, though I dislike mentioning you and him in the same breath: best arm yourself if you’re gonna decorate this chamber with my friends.”
Adolf leered at me, orclike in his glee. “Oh, I’ll see you crushed, vain mortal. I’ll see you ripped to pieces while you watch me rip your little toy here . . .” he rattled the chain. “And I’ll see you stripped of that Sword.”
I tipped the Sword and stepped to him. “You’re not much of a Champion, Adolf.”
“He’s not the Champion,” Otto said.
I spun on my heel, backing to keep Adolf in my peripheral vision while I looked back.
Otto’s chains were gone. His mouth had returned. His recent scars vanished. And he had grown to the size of your standard Archdemon. Satan’s sword was held firmly in his hand. The shredded clothing he’d worn had disappeared to be replaced by what looked like a gladiator’s loincloth, bound at the waist with a golden belt that looked like the Ouroboros.
“Otto?” I said.
His eyes were still human. Sad and trapped. But determined.
“Yes, my friend,” he said heavily. “I am Lucifer’s Champion.”
CHAPTER 32
“Otto! No!” I said.
My other allies strained at their chains, helpless in Lucifer’s Dominion.
“I’m sorry, Marius,” Otto said.
“How is this?” I said.
Hitler laughed. “What a fool you are, Winter. You’ll have all eternity to ponder that question.”
“You fought beside me, you saved my life and my soul, Otto,” I said. “How is this?”
Lucifer laughed and laughed. “Pride goeth before the Fall, as was written, little shaman. Welcome to your undoing, your binding, and the celebration of my unbinding.”
I raised the Sword. “I think not, Fallen. Otto?”
“He is a betrayer,” Lucifer said. “He always betrays. It is his purpose, his method, his reason for being. He betrayed Hitler, he betrayed me, ultimately he betrays all who trust him. And he is so, so trustworthy, is he not? Trustworthy enough for you, to be at your side, to make sure that Sword made it all the way down here, past all the Guardians, past all the trials, to be sure that it arrived safely . . . here. Right here. Where I called it and where I
need it.”
Laughter, demonic beyond demonic.
“How else to get a Sword Bearer here? Were you more experienced, you would have known how to use the Power of the Sword to fetch your little wench back, but no, you always go for the drama, don’t you, Marius? Something about the romantic appeal of storming into Hell with your allies, like the Rangers at Normandy, or the Charge of the Light Brigade, or ‘Mad Dog’ Shriver’s last stand . . . so you had to bring it here, all the way here, where I can call upon it . . . once your dead fingers are pried from it . . . to unbind me and mine. So that we may return in triumph to the Middle World, pour out of the portals to reclaim all that is rightfully ours, and to do so long before my brother realizes it. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, yes?”
Demonic laughter.
“So to speak,” Lucifer said. “So to speak. So. Champion. Shall I tell them of your seduction? How you were seduced? Or would you like to tell it? I might enjoy hearing you relate the details of your downfall—pride, fear, love of a woman, love of children . . . all the good things that make up a good man, turned and corrupted—you are one of my finest pieces of work, Otto Skorzeny. Courage turned and twisted . . . so brave in facing me, so craven in your downfall . . . but like someone else said, ‘It’s all biology’ for those of you born into the meat. And you are all meat on my table . . .”
Demonic laughter, deep into the marrow of my bones.
“What say you, Champion? Would you like to explain to your friend, your friend of many lifetimes? Did you know that, Marius? Otto here was your lieutenant in the Guardians of the Faith, you oh-so-elite in the Service of the Light, in Atlantis. He ran with you, beside you, without question, to your death . . . and his. Life after life, the two of you met and partnered, faced down death together, saved so many lives . . . and always the seed of resentment, the hatred well hidden that leads to betrayal, deep in Otto’s heart. You’re always so blind to those you choose to befriend, Marius—you overlook what it’s like to be in your shadow always, to be the second banana (an appropriate metaphor for a reasonably intelligent ape) to you—to watch you save the day and sail away with the fair maiden . . . each and every time.”