Devil's Gambit

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  Both our second drinks were done. Cindy was silent. She was still holding onto the glass mug that had contained her latte. Her index fingernails were painted black and white.

  “Why did you tell me all this?” I finally asked.

  “Don’t make deals with devils. Devils of all types, Kat,” Cindy whispered, hushed, but filled with power. “Evil is evil. Evil used for good is just as evil. I know you were desperate to save Trudie, but next time, do not converse with the darkness.”

  Did I have a choice?

  Could I have left my friend to die? But even then, was saving her worth it?

  I didn’t know, and I don’t think there is a good answer.

  Cindy stood, suddenly.

  “I’ll pay for the coffee,” she said.

  I made a motion to argue but she stopped me.

  “I was also a student once. It is the role of the ex-student to alleviate the current student’s plight.”

  She gave me a faint smile. I gave her my thanks.

  She paid the bill and made a move to leave. I did the same. Needed to get home to make sure Duer wasn’t growing any toadstools. He was likable enough, but pixies had a particularly mischievous nature. Couldn’t blame them for it but couldn’t let them run amok either. Then, I remembered something.

  “Cindy…”

  She stopped and turned.

  “When I was on the island…” I began. How should I continue? How could I explain it to her? I didn’t know what I had done myself.

  “When I was on the island, with the vampires, I said something that made whatever the vampires were summoning retreat.”

  Cindy raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ve read LeBlanc’s new book on the Ancient Theory. Brett described something that matches LeBlanc’s description.”

  The fact that she heard these things from Brett made me slightly irritated, and a bit jealous. That last part made me even more irritated.

  I hid my annoyance and nodded. “It tried to bite me, to turn me into a true vampire, I think, but I managed to resist. I said something to it and it recoiled. I don’t know what it was I said though, or how…”

  I swallowed my words. I didn’t know what else to say. That time was a blur. I couldn’t even recount what I had said. All I knew is that I had said something, and that I wasn’t a drained corpse or forced into vampire servitude.

  Cindy turned to face me fully. She was wearing her full Heiligeslicht regalia and looked mighty respectable, if a bit intimidating.

  “Magic is the language of nature,” she said, simply. “Contrary to popular belief, humans are also a part of nature. Within many of us exist the words needed to bring light against the dark. For most of us, we cannot bring it out without intense study. Even sorcerers like myself need to embrace wizardry to channel purification incantations. But, even then, there are words that are anathema to evil. Try to remember them, Kat. They may come to be useful to you again.”

  She turned, then murmured, “They may come to help us all, in the end.”

  Chapter 7.

  Demonology

  I don’t know if it was my conversation with Cindy that sparked a new-found interest, but I started looking into demons. Not deeply. As Cindy said, demonologists had a penchant for being corrupted, but just enough to attempt to sate my voracious curiosity.

  “You should be looking up on the undead,” Treth said. “They’re our raison d’etre.”

  He had learnt the French term and was using it any chance he got.

  “Variety is the spice of life,” I responded, paging through some demonic cosmology on my phone while waiting for Trudie to finish her class. We were going out to buy some music. She was into some new goth darkwave stuff and I couldn’t help but also enjoy it. It usually had a sick beat and twisted enough lyrics to appeal to my inner demons.

  “But focus is the meat,” Treth responded.

  “Touché,” I said, using another French term. It was a day for French, it seems, despite my Scottish, Irish, Rhodesian and South African heritage. “But, can’t hurt to look into demons a bit. We may just fight one someday. We know enough about the undead already. Time to expand our horizons like we did with spirits.”

  “Can never know enough…”

  “Exactly, so I’m learning about demons.”

  And there was a lot to learn. After music shopping with Trudie, who found my constant reading of demonic lore irritating, I continued my research in earnest at home. Duer was particularly worried for me, but I satisfied him with vodka and honey. Pixies are easy to understand, unlike demons.

  In my studies, what I found particularly interesting was how accurate pre-Cataclysmic demonologists actually were with their studies. While the crackpots of Earth, before magic actually became a thing, were usually just that – crackpots – a lot of the demonic cosmology written down by Medieval, Enlightenment and modern-day scholars ended up being closer to the truth than expected.

  Plenty of the demons of myth that haunted human nightmare and scary bedtime stories ended up being real. Krampus, the horned goat-demon who punished children around Christmas time, for instance. He was contained by a cult of central European demon-catchers twenty years ago. Lucky for the demon-catchers, he wasn’t a powerful demon. He had entered Earth willingly to enact his weird agenda. He wasn’t exactly angry about being captured. He just wondered what took the humans so long.

  Other demons were not as pleasant.

  Demons, in essence, are the carnal and primal left-overs of creation. While spirits are the left-overs of the now departed living, demons are the left-overs of the beginning. Not just of the beginning of it all, while some are by-products of just that, but the beginning of all things. Every strong idea, emotion, event, invention…may breed a demon. While some demons are very simple in illustrating this, like the elemental djinns who embody the forces of fire, earth, air and water, others are much more complex. The archdemons of the originally Christian mythos are a good example. They embody the essences of particular traits. These traits often being seen as the cardinal sins, of course. There was Lucifer of Pride, and Satan of Wrath, of course, but there were others. Mammon of Greed, Asmodeus of Lust. Leviathan of Envy. Beelzebub of Gluttony and Belphegor of Sloth.

  There were many more archdemons, but these were particularly pertinent to a society that used to be dominated by Christianity. After the Cataclysm, when the truth of these demons was revealed, but the veracity of the religion as a whole was not, there was a lot of chaos in the Church. Over the years, organised religion shrank and shrank. It returned to the days before the rise of the Catholic church. There were no mega religions any more. Just a lot of cults – some holding onto past favour.

  What I wanted to know, however, was the nature of these archdemons’ names. Names were a vulnerability, as Cindy told me, so how did such powerful beings let their true names be known by mere mortals? Or were they their true names at all? Were we holding onto the false names of demons in a vain hope to banish them? When the real battle came, would we attempt to banish such a demon and be laughed at for our troubles?

  More pertinently: who was the archdemon that appeared in Pinelands? Was it one of the seven archdemons of the Christian cosmology, rulers of the hosts of Hell, or was it one of the bestial demons of Raz’ed? Perhaps, even, one of the amorphous terrors from the Damned Worlds.

  The problem with demons and identifying them was that there were so many types. And for many, you could not even classify them as types. All that held them together as demons was that ever vague definition, essence of creation.

  They were like nothing I had ever studied before. They were physical, yet not exactly organic. They were an essence, yet not incorporeal. They were bound to rules, but nobody had the rulebook.

  They fascinated me, and I was glad that Conrad reminded me that I had night-shift at the Citadel, for the more I felt myself absorbed by the study of demons, the more I understood Cindy’s words. One could not stop with mere study of demons. Eventually, one w
ould want to make a deal with the devil. If only for more knowledge…

  ***

  It was dark on top of Table Mountain. Only the few lights of the cable station and the distant aura of Hope City and Old Town lit up the silhouette of the Citadel. I had only a few square meters of eerie white light and the small beam of my flashlight to guide my patrol around the Titan Citadel.

  Not every monster was around day and night. Some could only appear in one or the other. While I had gathered no leads during the day, that didn’t mean there wasn’t something I could find at night.

  I rubbed my shoulders in the chilly night air. I had my full ensemble of gear on, leather jacket, scratchy bite-proof scarf, face-plate and even an extra jersey underneath it all. All of that couldn’t stop the wind and the nip in the air.

  “I never thought I’d be thankful for dilapidated buildings,” I said, through chattering teeth. It was directed at Treth but said to fill the silence.

  “How come?” he replied. His voice sounded wary. He was watching our flanks, ensuring nothing could sneak up on us.

  “Fewer angles of attack. And less wind.”

  Treth grunted his assent.

  I didn’t think I’d find anything out at night. The door to the Citadel was lined with silver. A night spirit wouldn’t be able to enter. There were beasts that didn’t mind silver, however. Plenty of undead (my bread and butter) and quite a few living fiends. But in a world constantly changing with all sorts of different types of monsters, it was hard to nail down what could be responsible for anything. It’d really help if Stephen could grow up and give me access to the surveillance footage. Then I wouldn’t have to be traipsing around all night for a pay check like some wage-slave. Sure, a healthy and stable income is good, but I prefer hustling. There is an unbeatable independence and dignity in working for oneself. Every inch of success is earned with grit and blood. And if I’ve learnt anything in my line of work: suffering is often virtue.

  I’d be glad when I was shot of this case. It was interesting finally visiting the Titan Citadel, but I wouldn’t miss it once I was gone.

  I sighed and sat down on a flat-topped rock by the stone path. My flashlight attached to my bag strap shook and flickered from the sudden vibrations.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m starting to think one of the mages is killing their own at this rate.”

  I snorted. That was ridiculous. The sorcerers who powered the Citadel were loyal to the point of fanaticism. The Cult existed for a reason – they needed unfailing loyalty to the cause.

  I felt Treth hesitate. “Buck up, soldier.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at the forced sheepishness in his voice.

  “What?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Buck up? Another phrase you’ve picked up?”

  Silence, and a tinge of embarrassment from the knightly spirit. I stopped laughing, and felt a sombre air descend over us, contrasting with the damned gale hitting my back.

  “You used to give a lot more sage wisdom,” I murmured, while I fidgeted with the pommel of my sheathed dusack.

  “You used to need it.”

  “That a compliment, Mr Concord?”

  “I’m from Concord, not Mr Concord.”

  “That a compliment, man from Concord?”

  More hesitation. What was Treth thinking in his non-physical mind? What thoughts were going through the head of this alien who I felt so close to, by choice and by design? Would I ever know? And should I?

  “You don’t need compliments, Kat.”

  I leaned back and gazed at the night sky. It was a clear evening, and the stars were in abundance.

  “Your sage wisdom got me this far, Treth. Need it or not, I kinda…miss it.”

  Silence. Why was he being so coy? He used to be a knight paladin who killed powerful undead, for Rifts’ sake! We should be comfortable enough with each other to get a bit personal. Well, I can’t blame him completely. I’m a closed book, and I haven’t been forthcoming with him in the past. In that regard, we are both very similar.

  The pause became silence and I gritted my teeth.

  “Treth…”

  “Kat, there’s a light.”

  I stopped and looked around. Treth was right. In the distance, floating like a wisp in the wind, was a little orange flame, emerging from the black.

  “Nobody but Titan mages and myself are meant to be up here,” I said.

  “So, seems we have our lead. Go.”

  I stood up, drew my swords, and entered the blackness away from the shallow pool of light being cast by the cable station.

  “Turn off the flashlight,” Treth whispered, even though only I could hear him.

  I did. While many monsters had night-vision, it was still best to attune my own vision to the dark. The moon would be all the source of light I’d need.

  The orange speck became a more pronounced flame as I came closer and closer. My boots, an upgrade over my usual sneakers, crunched on organic debris and fynbos. Couldn’t be helped. The flame didn’t move, however. It remained, until the moon seemed to brighten, and I arrived at the foot of a boulder. Atop it sat a suit-wearing man with short, black hair, a hawklike nose, pale skin and a pair of black horns protruding from his scalp like a deer’s. In his hand, he held a lit pipe as long as my forearm. He held it delicately, as if it was a flower, but did not lift it to his lips.

  He paid no heed to my presence, but I knew that he had noticed me a long time ago. He sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the boulder, assured that he would not hurt himself. There was a confidence in his posture, yet also an immense sadness.

  I opened my mouth to speak. Stopped, and then started again, as sternly as I could.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  He did not look at me as he spoke. Rather, he looked out into the distance, over Hope City and its undying lights.

  “So much has changed,” he said, simply. His voice was…normal. I don’t know how to describe it. It was neither too deep nor too sharp. It was not a voice for radio, but it wasn’t a voice that would be too bad on radio either. It was perfectly average, and that is what somehow made it unique.

  “Answer me, creature,” I said, loudly. It was the way I spoke to the more intelligent undead when I meant to unnerve them. Wights rose to challenges very easily. Taunting them threw them off guard. But this man just continued sitting. Staring.

  “I sat near this rock…I don’t know how long ago,” he continued. “I still smoked back then. It was still considered a temptation. Something to be proud of. A competition, rather than a silly vice. I meant to be the best at it. And I expected to be.”

  I raised my eyebrow. Best at smoking?

  “I would gaze out from this rock. It was a very different place back then. Man was only just settling. No skyscrapers. No lights. Just a few settler shanties and ranches. I’d say I miss it, but then I would be lying. There was a charm, but progress is something to accept.”

  The man shrugged.

  “But there is something I miss.” He sighed. “The man who bested me…”

  He laughed, short and bittersweet.

  “We covered this mountain in a fog so thick that people called it the tablecloth. We smoked and smoked. Him, to stay away from his wife. Me, because it was something to do.”

  The man raised the pipe closer to his lips, and then stopped.

  “He bested me, that man whose name I cannot recall despite my best efforts. He bested me and outlasted me. And I cursed him for it…”

  He stopped and gazed once more onto the city.

  I stepped closer, tightening my grip on my swords.

  “Careful, Kat,” Treth warned, and I felt a very real fear in his voice.

  “Did you…” I began. Swallowed. “Did you kill the mages?”

  Silence.

  And then.

  “Yes.”

  Instinct overwhelmed fear, as it often did in me, and I jumped towards the man. His legs dangled so that I could
probably get in a decent swipe to wound him, and then drag him down to finish him off.

  That is if I hadn’t been shot back five metres with a bleeding nose and an instant headache. I shook the ringing out of my head and jumped back up. The man stood before me. Half a metre away. His arms were behind his back, still holding the pipe.

  With a roar, I slashed in an upward arc with my left sword. Treth roared with me. He clicked his fingers without looking at us. We both stopped suddenly as we felt the pain. I had never been shocked by electricity, but I imagined this was what it felt like. I recoiled and looked at my arm. It was fine. I could move it. But my sword was shattered to the hilt. It didn’t look scorched or bent. It was just as if the metal above the hilt had been deleted.

  “There is a right way to do things, Kat Drummond,” the man said, simply.

  I looked at him. He looked so human, if not for the pitch-black horns. But despite his humanness, my chest tensed, my breathing stopped, and my heart hurt. I felt a very real terror. He returned to his seat in a blink, twiddling the pipe in his hands. He looked at me and I felt tears rise to my eyes. All I could think about was one thing: run. Yet, my body could not move. I held impotently onto the hilt of my broken sword.

  He shook his head.

  “Go.”

  My body didn’t need further prompting. I dropped my broken sword and ran the way I had come, towards the dark silhouette of the Citadel, and the cable station at its base. My heart raced faster than I. Raced faster than I thought prudent.

  I’d fought wights, vampires, spirits, monsters and hordes of undead. I’d faced down terror made manifest. Why then did facing this simple looking horned man fill me with such terror.

  “Kat!” Treth yelled at me.

  I was breathing too fast. I knew it, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. A panicked person doesn’t tend to care about the rational voice in their head telling them to calm down.