The Shivered Sky

by Matt Dinniman

  Sometimes Yehppael wished his own people would take a lesson from these creatures. If there were more of them, they could very easily take over and control all of existence. The Dominion's biggest mistake was enslaving them.

  Though he couldn't see them, all down the line two angels were set up. He gripped the handle tightly, poising himself. Hopefully these gates opened slowly, giving him a chance to race to Gramm and sweep him out of harm's way. He was instructed to run as fast as he could, down the alleyway between the cages.

  “Pull!” he yelled, yanking hard on the mechanism. He felt it give as Gramm tugged on his end. With a mighty groan and shriek, the crystal wall plummeted, like a dropped curtain. The razer shot out like it was ejected from a trebuchet.

  He cursed, launching himself into the air. Beasts emerged in the darkness around him. He whipped around the corner, desperately trying to catch view of Gramm.

  Where was the razer? It couldn't have gotten out so fast.

  He had expected the sudden cacophony to assault him as the cages were opened. And the stink to rise considerably. But the air itself was suddenly much hotter. Rock crumbled from the ceiling. A pair of reptilian enormities he didn't have a name for rolled down the aisle, crying and ripping at each other, bowling over supports for the ceiling. He couldn't tell if they were fighting or mating.

  There. He spotted Gramm, running for his life. He swooped. The human let out an oomph as his arm hooked him from behind. The long-haired human said something, but Yehppael couldn't hear it over the din. He caught sight of Dave also being borne through the air. They flew evasively to avoid the teast that was desperately scuttling after them. A few snaps came dangerously close.

  He looked down again, and Gramm's expression had changed to horror. He was screaming. He turned to look. Too late. The razer barreled down the aisle at them, its quills raised. It hissed like a snake. A flight of needles came for him. He dove as the blades whipped by, one quill ripping through his hair.

  The quills found a target in a monstrous shelled creature called a blunnigan. It squealed in pain, emitting a high-pitched sound that caused Gramm to squirm in pain. Then it initiated its defense mechanism, a spreading cloud of oily smoke.

  Though Yehppael and the human managed to only release one creature, the others were quickly moving from cage to cage, freeing the massive beasts. Already, several poured up the ramp and out into the city. An alarm was raised outside, a blast of prerecorded horns that were a weak imitation of the shofars. The black cloud spread.

  “Go, go, go! ” Yehppael cried into his radio. “Be ready,” he screamed at Gramm. They dodged a chomp of a reaver, a caterpillar thing, and with the others forming around them, they burst up the ramp, over the top of a second razer, and into a sky filled with bewildered and fleeing demons. With Ashia and her two guards near the head, they made a line toward an unoccupied area, rising higher and higher until they were almost level with the top floors of the buildings.

  Below, a teast sprinted through the city, its bladed arms cutting through the walls of the buildings. They collapsed around it. It was being pursued by a platoon of Dahhak who fired at it to no effect. In the distance behind them, the rumbling sounds of destruction and warfare began to rise.

  “There!” Ashia said, pointing toward an overgrown park sitting under the shadow of a floating platform, a zoo Yehppael had visited often.

  An angel, a Principality, screamed as a bolt sheared through him. Yehppael turned to see they were now being chased by a platoon of thirty Dahhak.

  “Gramm,” he cried, flipping his body around. Gramm lit up his weapon as several of the other angels opened fire. But the demons anticipated, and they scattered in a web formation. Gramm's burst only caught two of them. Dave fared a little better, managing to get five by swinging his light through them.

  Like a serpent, the formation dipped toward the sett entrance. The Dahhak, momentarily thrown into disarray, began to regroup.

  “Yehppael,” came the shriek over his radio. Distant, but clear enough. “We got your message.” Tamael. If he wasn't already filled with the battle craze, his heart would've simply stopped. “If you get this, do not go forward with your plan. It's imperative you contact us before you do. Please, my love. You must help us.”

  * * * *

  Ungeo had come to the conclusion that she was, in fact, going crazy. It wasn't uncommon for the mighty Charun to fall victim of mental illness. Though her great family certainly had no such stains upon its bloodline. Those afflicted with the brain-consuming disease were tortured and publicly ridiculed, of course. It was important that the young learned the weak would not be allowed to survive.

  But she didn't have the brown foam coming from her beak, and she had no desire to fly about the mountaintops pissing over those below her. And it seemed to be only a temporary affliction when she attended the worships and oblations for Moloch.

  Mass hysteria, then. Originally, she had begun attending the prayers because she was expected to. She was something of a celebrity, so it wasn't so tedious. Not only had Ungeo survived the dance against two exceedingly pious opponents, but she had also defeated the scourge and survived a treacherous attack. Her consuming of Plehka was already famous.

  However, Ungeo found the prayer meetings to be oddly soothing. The more she learned of this Moloch, the more it made sense. Not this human that they bizarrely worshipped, but the deity that was written about long before any of them even existed.

  Many of the tenets of the religion were consistent with what the Charun already believed. It was all placed forward in the great book of Molochism, the Decretal. Sacrifice the weak for the greater good, and those worthy will reap the benefits of life. The religion was a little too steeped in routine and ceremony, but when all the worshippers came together and bent forward, uttering their prayers, begging for forgiveness, she became part of the energy, part of the experience. She knew the prayers now. She said them with everyone else. She slowly began to realize that she meant it, too.

  It was a feeling completely foreign to her. When she was alone in her quarters and had time to brood over it, it ate away at her. What are you doing to yourself? she would ask. You didn't come here to be drawn into their craziness.

  But the temple services would come, and everything was forgotten the moment she was together with the others. Such fervor she showed, the acolytes brought her in on their meetings to offer a different perspective.

  She learned there was a small, but dogged, movement within the church to separate from the Dominion. Not just in the local sector, but throughout all the congregations around Cibola.

  The Dahhak were the main troops used in battles everywhere, and as a result, they were the ones to often suffer the most casualties. They were almost always the first to be sent off into the battle, and the first to be bloodied. The angel resistance was wearing down, but the future held more violence. Hundreds of scattered demon worlds were ripe for invasion. They hadn't joined the Dominion willingly, but they were going to be absorbed if the council had their way.

  Through all these conflicts, the Dahhak would be the most relied-upon soldiers. The grande-commanders treated them as disposable. While the Dahhak firmly believed dying in battle was a way to ensure proper attainment of their Pri, the wiser Dahhak elders were alarmed at the disproportionate deaths amongst their people. Some of the strongest bloodlines were being decimated in battle.

  The leaders of the Dominion weren't in Moloch's grace, and some believed he was punishing his followers because of this. The recent disasters were proof enough.

  Then there were the rumors the late Overseer had known exactly what was in store for the Dahhak who attacked the subterranean angel base and didn't warn them. Ungeo shifted uneasily whenever they spoke of this. Just the suggestion whipped some of the more respected acolytes into a frenzy.

  She was safe here, and conceivably, she could stay as long as she wanted. There was no reason for her to want to meddle in external issues, especially now. In fact, it
would be in her best interests not to get involved and draw attention to herself.

  Ravi still visited her, tended to her injured toe. It was starting to grow back, but it would be gnarled. Ravi was the closest thing to a friend Ungeo had ever had. She no longer had any desire to consume any part of him, and she sometimes found herself looking forward to his visits.

  Several mealtimes before, Ravi came excitedly to her quarters. He was so worked up, his stutter had momentarily returned. The big news was the battle at the decimated marketplace and the subsequent release of the Overseers’ infernal beasts. A gadfly had even managed to severely damage a floating temple, the same one that had been attacked earlier by the angels. Their interim rector—another Nemat—had been slain. They said he had been picked out of the temple like a grub from a tree, screaming while he was gobbled whole.

  The military focused on subduing the ones within the city—even within the vast tracts of dense but unoccupied metropolitan Cibola, before coming to the aid of the temples floating outside the city limits. It was the breaking point, Ravi whispered, the excitement clear in his young voice. The Dahhak elders had declared an emergency meeting, coming from all over Cibola. Some had even made the perilous journey from the Dahhak world. They were meeting now, here.

  And they wanted to meet with Ungeo. Now.

  “Me?” Ungeo said to the out-of-breath Dahhak. “Why?”

  “I ... I don't know,” he said. “I was just told to fetch you as soon as possible.”

  Of course they want to see me, a voice said inside her head. They probably want my superior intellect to help them with their decisions.

  She laughed, eliciting a nervous glance from Ravi. She needed to stop thinking like that. One of the laws of Molochism was that none were above the church. Also, one had to confront and realize her biggest weaknesses in order to gain her Pri, or most perfect self. Sometimes she was a little too ... sure of herself. That had to be corrected if she was to survive.

  Still, why would they want to talk with her? She followed Ravi down the hallways, her cumbersome form filling the dark, moist passages. Others gave obeisance as she pushed past. Perhaps the elders wanted to interrogate her, maybe even execute her for her knowledge. One had to be prepared for anything.

  Eventually they came to yet another chamber Ungeo had never been to. It was only a few levels below the Dancing room, so she knew it was going to be big. Without knocking, Ravi pushed open the door, stepping aside to let Ungeo enter.

  “They are waiting,” he said.

  “Welcome, Charun,” a voice boomed, his accent especially thick. “Step forward. These old eyes would like to look upon the most talked-about dancer since Fheda of the twelfth age.”

  Ungeo sucked in deeply. The room was about the same size as the one a few floors above it, but the ceiling reached high into the darkness, adorned with skins and shields. Frescos adorned the walls, depicting Moloch creating all the worlds, him banishing his enemies instead of killing them, his self-induced oblation and resurrection. They must have taken a whole age to complete. Sometimes Ungeo forgot that this land and building were actually brought here from the Dahhak world, and such great works of art caught her off guard.

  About sixty Dahhak and their attendants were in the massive room, all standing. Also, curled about in three enormous coils were a trio of Nemats. Together, they took up almost half of the free space, like piles of spilled intestines. None of them were attached to their feeding apparatuses. They looked miserable and cramped.

  Other than the rector and the two grande-commanders, Lothe and Pooljab, the room was filled with unfamiliar faces. It smelled of age and strength. Two of them were of particular interest. The one who had spoken to her was easily the oldest Dahhak in the room. His dark skin hung like rider bags on either side of his face. His hair was fully gray, and his beard was about three times the length of his own body. Two denuded human slaves stood on either side of him, carrying the long train of hair. He dressed in the traditional Dahhak garb of a long leather overcoat, dyed red. But he had the black stripe that signified him as a prelate, a direct assistant to the arch-rector. The clothes were unsuitable for this world because Dahhak couldn't easily fly with the heavy material here. He must have just arrived.

  The other Dahhak was a young queen, the first Ungeo had ever seen. Like male Sedim, none of them were here in the angel city, considered too rare to risk. She was as yet unmated. (Once she settled into a mating chamber, she would never again leave that room, it was said. Her lower body would grow in length and girth until she surpassed even the Nemat in size. Her vaginal chamber would expand to the point where three or four male Dahhak could walk in at the same time and mate against the membrane wall. A physical structure would be built around her back end to keep it firmly in place. They had spawns of several thousand Dahhak each mating cycle.) A heavy red robe, also leather, covered her. She was the only Dahhak in the room seated, situated on a simple bone chair borne upon a jewel-encrusted litter. The litter was held up by eight humans of diminutive size.

  “We were just discussing you and your fate,” the elder Dahhak said. “Come closer, closer. Don't be shy.”

  Ungeo stepped forward until she was close enough to touch the old Dahhak. His scent was particularly strong. Behind him, a Nemat gnashed a pincer.

  “You are not the first Charun to convert. Does that surprise you?”

  It did, in fact. “Yes,” she said. “I was not aware.”

  “She was a spy. She never had any intention of falling into Moloch's benevolent grace, and she was treated accordingly.”

  Ungeo clicked her beak. “Surely you don't think this of me?”

  The old Dahhak shook his head. “No. No one believes you a spy. But your commander here, Pooljab, seems to believe you a fraud.”

  She glanced over at the grande-commander. She knew him and the other, the old Lothe, by sight, but she had never had any real contact with either of them. Pooljab stood straight, not showing any emotion.

  Ungeo bowed slightly to him and turned back to the prelate. “With all respect, your excellency, I can't see how this officer is in a position to know my motivations.”

  Pooljab finally spoke. “Charun,” he said, in the crisp commanding tone of an officer, “do you recall a Dahhak by the name of Hekka?”

  Ungeo paused uncertainly. She didn't like where this was going. “No,” she decided. “I've known many Dahhak over my course of duty, and sometimes names slip my mind.”

  Another uniformed Dahhak stepped forward to stand next to the grande-commander. “This is him,” Pooljab said. “Do you recognize him now?”

  He didn't look familiar at all. The room had become utterly silent, all eyes on her. The only sound was the dry sucking of the Nemats’ pores. The queen shifted, and her litter creaked. What was this?

  Pooljab had barely moved since he first spoke. “A good commander remembers the faces of all those directly under his—or her—command. Hekka is the only surviving member of the Tempest Squadron which you commanded before you were supposedly set upon by angels in an ambush.”

  And now she remembered. Hekka had dived too early, thus causing the humans to escape the attack and then capture a few weapons. He had disappeared when they regrouped. She had assumed he was dead.

  She tried to think frantically, how much did he see? How much did he know? Her life depended on it. If he saw what I did....

  Ungeo hadn't thought about that incident in a while. She felt some remorse for it now. She quickly decided to remain silent. Let them lay forth what they knew.

  “After the incident, you told the Overseer that it was a trap. There are many witnesses to this. You claimed there were none of these periscepters, and you were waylaid by a large group of angels.”

  She had to be extremely careful. Think slowly, and there will be no mistakes. She clicked her beak. An odd conflict filled her. The queen was smiling, she realized. She could just make out a glint of teeth under the robe. Lying no longer seemed a desirable pa
th. She had the feeling she shouldn't tell untruths in front of the prelate or the queen, like they would somehow know.

  They aren't Wuj. They can't enter my thoughts, Ungeo told herself. I have to lie. It's my only chance for survival. No matter what the damage is to my Pri.

  “I would like to know what became of you, Hekka,” she said to the younger Dahhak. He looked surprised. “What caused you to abandon your fellows?”

  “It was a matter of faith,” Hekka responded dryly. “If you truly are who you say, you'd know that duty to Moloch comes above all things.”

  An ambiguous answer, but it told Ungeo what she needed to know. Relieved slightly, Ungeo looked back at Grande-Commander Pooljab. “It was my first excursion into battle, and I failed the soldiers under my command miserably. I told an untruth to the Overseer to protect their honor.”

  Pooljab's expression did not change. “It can be argued that this ‘untruth’ is directly responsible for the deaths of over ten thousand Dahhak and many Pazuzu. We attacked this angel base under the belief that there were no such weapons in their arsenal. How do you respond to that?”

  She instinctively cracked her talons, and her injured toe exploded in pain. How the bloody hell could she respond to that? She felt like a hatchling pushed from the nest for the first time. She grasped desperately for an answer.

  Before Ungeo could think of anything better, she blurted: “My actions were Moloch's will. I had not yet fallen into His grace, but I felt the calling even before then. And how can any one of you question that? It was only recently I proved my piety in the dance. All my previous sins were forgiven.”

  Pooljab didn't seem impressed. Ungeo felt the old anger rising up, and she pushed it away, like one would fight any unwelcome urge. She had to keep a clear mind.