Demonworld

by Kyle B. Stiff

  He’s trying to distract me, thought Korliss. He’s hiding something.

  “I’ve already found recurring heroic themes in stories unique to Haven,” said Korliss, “but I want to study myths from the wasteland, too. Can’t understand ourselves without understanding the Other, can we? It’s easy to judge wasteland mythology as… well, pretty pathetic. There’s the Sufferer, whose tears made the salty seas and whose blood birthed the demon gods who keep man from being proud. There’s Jacobo the Dice Thrower, whose idiocy could never get him into a situation so dire that his luck couldn’t get him out of it. There’s the Conqueror Worm, whose favorite meal is a fat human who ‘bit off more than he could chew.’ And so on and so on, the lesson being that what is human… is bad. The Founders gave us new stories, stories based on their pro-strength philosophy and the transvaluation of the values of the meek-yet-brutal wastelanders. But if you read closely, Didi, there’s evidence that even the wastelanders have heroes, heroes that go against the grain of nihilism. I would love to study those leftover heroes rotting in the primitive world.”

  “Strange that you should mention the old world and an attempt at understanding the Other,” said Didi. “I’m going to the wasteland.”

  “You… what!” Korliss nearly dropped his bottle, then took a long drink. “Are you serious, Didi?”

  “I wanted to study human DNA, and I’ve done that. What’s done with the results of our work, I’ll leave for other scientists to decide. As for me, there’s a team heading into the wilderness, just like in the old days. A team of scientists and Guardians are going to an oasis, you see… and I’m going with them.”

  “What for, Didi? We need you here! You’re a genius, my friend - almost as smart as I am! But no one is smart enough to dodge a bullet from some primitive waving a gun around, or from a demon that sees you as its next meal!”

  “I’m going to study the demon, actually. I’ve helped map human DNA. Now I want to see the code that makes up our enemy.” Korliss shook his head sadly, and Didi said, “You’ve often spoken of heroes, but I think this has become a purely abstract concept in modern Haven, has it not? Something we talk about, something we read about... but something we do not understand. Can we hide forever, Korliss? Or don’t we need to venture out and see what it is that makes the flesh demons our mortal enemies?”

  “You’re turning the assumed human condition on its end, you know. The hunted victim who survives by hiding doesn’t wander out of his hole to learn about his killer.”

  Korliss turned away and watched the crowd below. Didi sees Haven as a fantasy world, too. He’s always been the type to see through the veil… and tear it aside. Violently, if he has to.

  “Didi. Be careful out there.”

  “There’ll be more Guardians than scientists, I’m told.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” said Korliss, eyes locked on the revelers. “There are myths, wasteland myths, about seekers who tried to understand the demons. Others may have tried before. There’s one in particular about… Ezek was his name, I believe.”

  “Oh?” said Didi, smiling. “And did he live happily ever after?”

  “Not quite. Ezek met a demon once, and even though he was scared and disgusted, he wanted to understand the demon. He tried thinking about the matter, but that wasn’t enough. He thought about speaking with the demon, but that was too much for him. He realized that there were too many things holding him back from understanding the demon. He had to remove his personal impediments, you see. First, he gave up his legs so that his own fear could not carry him away from his demon. Then he gave up his arms so that he would not instinctively fight back and thus invite retribution. Then he gave up his tongue so that he could not scream and drown out whatever the demon might have to tell him about itself. So finally the demon approached and was able to speak with Ezek, but then the demon told Ezek that one thing still held him back from an understanding between their people…”

  “Go on,” said Didi.

  “The demon had to pluck out Ezek’s eyes. Ezek had to look beyond the demon’s flesh, you see? He had to see beyond the demon’s appearance. Then he understood. But by then… it was too late.”

  ***

  While the six exiles sat in the sacred moonleaf tree, Saul knew that his mind had been pushed into a state where he might, just might, achieve a greater understanding of the Other Side than ever before. He had already experienced many, many drugs in Haven. Some that muddled the mind, others that pushed the mind into new territories. This went beyond all the others – if not in potency, then at least in its ability to allow the user to retain his sense of self while still shifting his awareness far, far from the everyday.

  He realized that he had been staring at the cave down among the stones for a long time. He had achieved no greater understanding yet. He knew he would have to force himself. He would need help. He looked at the others. Marlon was passed out. Peter and Iduna were lost in conversation. He could see that Iduna was clearly disgusted by Peter and everything he stood for, but at the same time, it seemed important for her to build some sort of rapport, a bridge for validation. Peter was clearly too high to speak coherently, but it was obvious to Saul that Peter saw Iduna as a possible “ally” to use against Marlon. The doctor would come with him, no doubt about that, but there was something off about the doctor. Saul watched him and he could tell that the man was staring into oblivion. Only the darkest parts of his psyche had any sort of hold on him now.

  He turned to Wodi. Wodi watched the glowing bugs flying through the branches of the tree and Saul could tell that the boy was in awe, shocked to his very core. How child-like he was! How open to all the possibilities of existence! Yes, it would have to be Wodi. He was surely the one!

  “A cave,” said Saul. A thousand associations with the idea “cave” danced in his mind and Saul had to push them back. Finally Wodi turned to him, slowly, slowly, then peered through his mask and into his mind. With great difficulty Saul was able to say, “There’s a cave down there. Among the stones at the foot of the hill, where the creek turns.”

  Wodi looked at the others and realized they could not come with them. Not to that place.

  “Let’s go,” said Wodi.

  The two slipped down from the tree, then made their way down the hill. The entrance of the cave beckoned.

  ***

  Thirty-Seven Years Ago

  Three massive airships coasted over the Sea of Tranquility under cover of night. From a window in the passenger section, Didi could see the blinking lights of small fighter escorts that surrounded them. They cast many broken lines of red tracers across the sky, and among them blinked a few sets of orange and yellow lights, slow and long, the lights of the bombers ready to incinerate wide areas at a moment’s notice.

  Scientists sat lost in thought or talked quietly with one another to calm themselves. Laborers played cards or tried to sleep, both tasks made nearly impossible by the raucous laughing and boasting of the Guardians that filled the ship. They never seemed to tire of arm wrestling, head-butting, and mixing their ridiculous mottos with crass homemade rhymes. But it was the quiet ones, those who cleaned their guns and polished their armor long into the night, that caused many of the scientists to fear their protectors.

  “Mind if I sit with you a minute?”

  Didi turned and saw a young Guardian beside him, kneeling on one knee. The young man was lean, muscular, with a shock of short red hair that came down in long sideburns on his square face. His armor was polished white, but his blue and yellow jacket was unbuttoned casually. Didi nodded slowly, and the man unslung a large rifle from his back and fell into a seat near him.

  The intercom buzzed, then a female voice repeated pieces from their earlier briefing. “No scientist or worker will go into the field without Guardian backup and radio,” said the voice. “Radio silence is to be maintained if possible.”

  The young man studied Didi for a long moment, his eyes impassive, his face cold but without cunning. �
�You’re a scientist?” he said.

  Didi felt dread and wondered if the Guardian would put on a friendly act in order to trick him into saying something that he and his friends could laugh at. He nodded, said, “I’m Didi, a junior scientist.” He waited.

  “You’re maybe one of the youngest scientists here.”

  Didi hummed a note in the affirmative.

  “I’m young, too,” said the Guardian. “Eighteen, and been in the Guardians for two years. When I heard about this trip a few months ago, I hauled ass so I could go. I just got promoted to Lieutenant, got my own unit.”

  Now Didi smiled and said, “What’s your hurry? Shouldn’t you be enjoying life?”

  The young man smiled a red-cheeked smile and said, “This is how I enjoy life.” The two laughed, and the soldier reached into a small pouch at his side and stuffed part of his mouth with moist tobacco chew.

  The two regarded one another. Overhead the voiced chimed, “The demons live individually. This is to our advantage, in that we can overwhelm one, kill it, and take its body. No demon is to be abducted alive.”

  The young man worked his chew for a moment, then spit on the floor. He extended his hand, said, “I’m Sevrik Clash, Lieutenant of the Guardians of Haven and head of AD7 Rifle Unit.”

  Now Didi suspected no trickery, and shook Sevrik’s hand warmly.

  Speaking around the thick chew in his mouth, Sevrik said, “I often wonder about the nature of you scientists. The ethos of the Guardians was written in stone long ago. It attracts an individual of a certain nature. I see this every day. But I don’t see scientists every day, which is odd, because the scientist and his work is the reason why all other Havenders exist. That’s why I...” Didi looked away. “It’s true!” said Sevrik. “Fighters, laborers, merchants, politicians - they all have their place in the outside world. With my rifle and my mindset I could find a niche in the wasteland. I could find weak people to do my bidding and patch up the insecurities of my ego, no problem. Not you. Not any scientist. The closest comparable thing that the wasteland has are shamans and the like. So tell me, Didi. What is the difference between you and a wasteland shaman?”

  “Very little,” said Didi. “It’s a matter of degrees.”

  Sevrik froze. He had not expected such an answer. After a moment he turned and pointed at a man in a neat little sweater who was obviously ill at ease in his environment. “But, Didi, how can you say… I mean, what does that little man have in common with some charlatan with a bone through his nose who runs around and screams at invisible phantoms?”

  “I know what you’ve heard,” said Didi. “It’s a popular assumption in Haven, and we believe it was with the Ancients as well, that a scientist empties himself of all assumptions and objectively studies the world. The world is A, and the scientist studies the world that is A. A shaman, on the other hand, believes that he world is B. He throws around a pile of chicken bones, dances around, makes a big show of invoking a few spirits in order to impress the crowd… and then they feed him and give him whatever he wants.”

  “That isn’t so?” said Sevrik.

  “It is… to a point. But many cultures before ours have rested on that point and been split asunder on that point. We employ logic and we look at matters with some amount of objectivity, Lieutenant Clash, but science only advances with the help of intuitive leaps. There are limits to what can be measured and tested and quantified. The mind has functions which cannot be understood even by our finest neuroscientists. But not all scientists have this intuitive capacity – at least, not to a degree that they can reliably employ in their everyday work. So, in order to maintain the fantasy of control – that is, our assumption that the world is B - and shake hands and congratulate one another on what a fine job we are doing at advancing beyond the level of the primitives, we must believe that true science occurs by men in lab coats wielding test tubes and electron microscopes. Priests depend on prophets, you know, even as they hunt down the prophets to protect the status quo… which was, in its day, built on the corpses of yesterday’s prophets. And so on. Lieutenant Clash, I tell you I have seen some incredibly childish arguments among my peers; battles which would make the old priests of the wasteland churches blush.”

  “But,” said Sevrik, “you do believe that Haven has… ah, come further than your average wasteland community, do you not?”

  “I do,” said Didi. “Our freedom and our peace have given us a perfect environment for intuitive visionaries to do their strange work, and has allowed our scientists to make something practical out of the legacy of those visionaries.”

  Sevrik thought for a long moment, then turned his head and spat loudly. Long minutes passed as he sat in thought. The voice on the intercom spoke again. “Past observation shows that if one demon is attacked or slain, others will eventually come. How demons communicate across distance is unknown. After a lone demon is found and killed, our forces will take the corpse and fly en masse to another location where the corpse will be scanned.

  “No demon is to be abducted alive. Radio communication should be strictly limited while moving a demon’s body.”

  “I like what I’ve heard, Didi,” said Sevrik. “I feel as if I’ve made the right choice in being a Guardian.”

  “How so?” said Didi. “Why did you become a Guardian?”

  “I’m a violent soul,” said Sevrik, “and there’s no doubt in my mind that, if I were born outside of Haven, I would have been the worst sort of parasite.”

  “I don’t believe that,” said Didi. “You obviously have the ability to express yourself and to consider your situation. That’s a sign of intelligence.”

  “I’m no dumbass, but... even that can turn to evil in the wasteland. I thought of other fields, but it’s the sword and shield that I love. I’m grateful to Haven for giving me something noble to focus my animal instincts on.”

  “And why did you want to come here?”

  “It’s all well and good to train all day, to bully some men and obey others, work my way up in the ranks, you know, but I want to see the real enemy. I want to know what it is that I’m supposed to be protecting my people from.”

  “You might die.”

  “I might live, too, and when it comes time to hand out promotions and power, those who were strong enough to face the outside world will be the ones favored.” Sevrik shook his head, then said, “This might sound phony, but I really do care about protecting my people from the outside world.”

  “It doesn’t sound phony to me,” said Didi. “When I hear someone speak of their ideals, I don’t automatically conclude that they’re trying to con me. That’s a habit picked up from hanging around the wrong sorts of people. Anyway, please do not be insulted, but I didn’t realize any Guardians were… self-aware.”

  Sevrik laughed, knowing that it took a brave man indeed to put him in his place. The voice on the intercom said, “No demon, dead or alive, is to be brought into Haven. Ships pursued by aerial demons must not return to Haven. Scanning of demonic corpses should be done quickly. Once scanned, all forces will move again once demonic corpses have been incinerated.”

  A Guardian leaned over a scientist and spoke with insincere joviality. The pair watched, but could not hear, as the scientist tried to laugh at the situation and humor the menacing Guardian. Sevrik leaned forward, shouted, “Basau! I don’t think that guy’s down for any heavy petting. Why don’t you go clean something?”

  The Guardian turned away from the scientist, glared at Sevrik, then said, “Shi-i-i-i-it,” and stalked away. The scientist gave Sevrik a nervous smile, then looked down at notes that he had already memorized.

  “Not many of them are self-aware,” said Sevrik, quietly. “Sometimes I think I really am alone in a world of dumbasses preoccupied with boosting their weak egos.”

  “I feel the same way,” said Didi, and tapped his hands together quickly. “But there are people out there interested in something more.”

  “Something more?”

 
“Yes. I know of at least one person I’d like you to meet, if... when we get back to Haven.”

  Sevrik stood up, and the leather of his armor creaked loudly as he stretched into his full stature. He slung his rifle over one shoulder and said, “I want to keep in touch. I’m on a defense unit, so I’ll be close to you.”

  Sevrik looked Didi up and down quickly, as if noticing his leg brace, squinting eyes, and unnatural varicose veins for the very first time.

  “We will stay in touch,” said Didi, nodding once.

  Sevrik turned to the dark fore of the airship. Didi leaned happily against the window, and the intercom voice spoke against the hum of the bridge. “We are approaching the valley. Scouts have met no resistance at landing zone one. Fighter escort will now break and wait for our call at mountain landing zone two.

  “When we land: Laborers, put up camp as quickly as possible. Do not horse around. Keep your thoughts focused on the quiet grandeur of Haven. Do not wander away from camp. Guardian defense units, set up shop with little small-talk. Guardian offense units, get in the dark and off a demon.

  “E.T.A. is ten minutes. Strap in until you see the green lights.”

  ***

  Controlling so many ghouls at once was equal parts thrilling and draining. To bring the pawns together, to see the humans stumble into the trap, to smell their panic and watch them flee – what a rush! Through the ghouls, Blindness had hundreds of mouths, a thousand hands. He was legion! Puny bullets and blades could not stop him! But he could not lose himself in an act of gluttony; he had to hold back and allow the humans to flee into the mines.

  The humans ran into the mines. Blindness was satisfied to relinquish control of the ghouls. Disoriented, they fell to squabbling amongst themselves. Blindness watched a little of the drama, then concentrated on testing his next weapon.

  Serpens Rex was another matter. It was easy to unleash the monster’s pent-up rage against the humans, but forcing him to sit and wait in the cold had been taxing for both of them. He was convinced that Serpens was capable of better response times than he was putting out! Was it the cold?