Demonworld Book 6: The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “Who is that man in gray?” said Wodan.

  “We call him the Penitent. He has taken a vow of silence. He atones for a life of wrongdoing.”

  Wodan nodded and the orange robe left. Wodan’s heart filled with dread and a strange, dark feeling of completion. He blinked quickly, overwhelmed.

  A sudden hush fell over the circle. Wodan knew the moment had come. He turned to the Penitent and saw that he was praying silently into his hands.

  “Your vow of silence ends today,” said Wodan. His voice was loud and many pilgrims fell silent. The old man did not move, but froze as if dead. “Take off your hood and look at me,” Wodan continued. “I look different than before, but I can tell that you recognize me. I am that small boy you remember. You look different, too, but I could never forget Barkus, the Right-Arm of the Ugly.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Forgiveness, Revenge

  There was utter stillness around the fire as everyone laid eyes on the gray Penitent. Slowly the man pulled back his hood, revealing long hair that was dull red and gray. He unwound a gray scarf and let it drop. The man’s pale face was lined and drooped with age. He would have seemed far too old to be the man that Wodan accused him of being were it not for the dim remains of a tattoo on his face – once a bold black sun – and deep scars carved into the sides of his mouth. Those scars once gave the sickening appearance of an eternal smile, but that smile now drooped and was mostly covered by a long, wispy gray beard.

  But the scar was enough to identify the man. Even the younger Valliers had heard tales of Barkus the monster, the cruel and sadistic slaver of the Ugly. The sense of rage was palpable in the air. Were it not for Wodan’s presence, the older Valliers would have slain the old man outright.

  Wodan remembered the dark, overpowering charisma of the man. But now the old man's fingertips trembled as he laid his hands on his knees with his shoulders hunched together. He was old and pathetic. Valliers looked back and forth as the two eyed one another, their faces still and unreadable.

  “It’s me,” he said, nodding slowly. His voice was frail and thin. “Barkus. The Ugly who captured you, tortured you. Chased you, and… killed your friends. I was the one who gave the location of your homeland to… to monsters.” He shook his head as if he did not want to continue. “I know you. You look so different. You must have... must have been a child back then... but your eyes and your manner are the same. I’ve been hating you... fearing you... for so many years now. And the worst of it is, is that I never caught your name.”

  “Wodan!” he barked, frightened by his own rage. The leather of his winter suit whined as his muscles bulged, drinking and spitting out the blood coursing through him. “My name is Wodan!”

  All grew silent at his outburst. As the crowd backed away, Yarek and a few Slayers stood still, guns held ready. Barkus’s face grew red but he did not withdraw from the outburst. He hung his head slightly and let his eyes drop to Wodan’s feet.

  Barkus cleared his throat, then said quietly, “Wodan, is it... Wodan, will you let me speak, before you do anything to me?”

  Something about Barkus’s gentle manner made Wodan want to pick up a piece of flaming wood and dash it across the old man’s face. It angered him still more that he could tell Barkus was not faking his show of submission. Wodan made a conscious effort to pry his fingers apart, but then the memory of his torture at Barkus’s hands, in that lonely tent in the middle of the wasteland, welled back up in him. His hands clenched again and he forced out a long breath. “Speak,” he said.

  “It was over a decade ago,” said Barkus, “when I saw that you were different from me, so I wanted to destroy you. That’s really the truth of the matter. When I failed at that, I thought that I was broken. But I was only a child myself back then. I did not know the meaning of being broken... not yet.

  “With the devil’s help I made my way back to Pontius, my homeland, so that my damnation could continue. When I told my brother about you and your land, just like me he wanted to throw himself at you. My arrogance was great, but was nothing compared to his. If a child of your land could reduce the great Barkus to ashes, then an entire land of your kind... well, it was inevitable that we were brought low. Our gang never had a chance against your people. Back in my homeland, I became a hunted man. I cared little while various power-seekers traded me like a pawn in their games of pride. I cared little. I cared for nothing.

  “Back when I was chasing you, I... I... Wodan, I hated you so much that I bartered with a devil, and mated with one, in order to destroy you. The horrible spawn of that vile act came and “rescued” me from Pontius.” Barkus waited as the crowd gasped and whispered about this shocking confession. Barkus kept his eyes on the ground, numb to the derision. “My son and I traveled the wasteland, and there my troubles began.

  “I spent my life in activity, Wodan. When I was not fighting, or whoring, or numbing my mind with drugs, I studied the philosophy of the Ugly. My life had always been directed outward. My ego had never met with any obstacle that it could not crush or destroy or mutilate in some way. But out there, in the wasteland, with my horrible son... there was nothing to do but go inward. Under that burning sun, under the uncaring stars, I saw myself for what I was. I watched my life. I went through every bit of it. And the fact that the only thing I had to show for it was a son who was a monster was not lost on me.”

  Barkus paused as if unsure how to continue. “That devil son of mine. I thought at first that he was leading me somewhere. For a long time I followed him, and in my arrogance I wondered what plans the devil had for me. What a fool I was. Eventually I grew tired of his brutish face, his silence, his willingness to let me eat parts of him, and even drink his blood, in order to survive. One night I raged at him, threw myself at him. The next day I went off in another direction, and the stupid beast followed me. With the same dull, retarded demeanor it had before! I realized, to my horror, that it had never been leading me anywhere. It was only walking for lack of anything better to do, and I was walking with it, going nowhere. I knew this was what the entirety of my life had been like.

  “I kept walking through the wasteland with my son, knowing that I was going nowhere. That was when the nightmares began. Nightmares in which I was chased, shackled, tortured, raped, murdered. I could find no rest. For weeks it went on. I was reliving all the things that I had done to others. I had built up an incredible storehouse of sinful debt with no way to pay back what I had done. And I knew that if it went on for much longer, I would kill myself.

  “But I’ve learned, Wodan, that it is not man who decides his fate. Nor does man dictate his will to the gods. It is for us to learn, to be passive... to try to grasp our terrible will and... simply... learn to be. Wodan, I know this is difficult to hear. When I was your age, I would not have listened to this. But it is God’s place, and His alone, to dictate to man. I’ve done terrible things in my life, things for which I alone can atone for... sins I must reckon with. That is why I ask that you please... please listen to me for just a little longer.

  “It was the will of God that brought me to Globulus. He was wandering too, going from village to village teaching and learning. He... he was friendly to me, Wodan, despite what I told him about myself. His mind was great enough to see me for what I was, and yet he could still treat me with greater kindness than I deserved. I skulked about on the outskirts, hiding because of my demon son who followed me wherever I went. But Globulus never seemed to mind his presence.

  “Globulus had friends in Srila, so we traveled over the mountains together. It was then that Globulus, in his wisdom, turned on me. He waited until we were far from civilization so that I could not run from him. He kept needling me, forcing me to further confront what I was... a small, ignorant, hateful, spiteful little creature. In a childish fit of rage I took up a stone and struck my child in the face. He did not defend himself. Anger only led to more anger and I kept hitting him until he was dead. I wept, Wodan, as I had not done since childhood. Globulu
s told me that I had finally done what I should have done long ago: Killed the monster within. The horrible, hungry, immoral monster in my heart.

  “When we entered Srila, Globulus told me that there was nothing left for us in the outside world. He said that world was finished. So I forgot my name and became the Penitent. I have heard nothing of the outside world since. I take no interest in it. Wodan, you may not believe any of this... you only remember the monster that was Barkus. Here, I... I fast, and I pray, and I meditate, and I study the holy books. And I wait on the will of God. I have hurt no one here. These people, they are... they are kind to me, Wodan. And I have done nothing to hurt them, any of them. I love them.” Barkus bowed his gray head. “Globulus studied here. We remained close. The former High Priest was old then, and soon died. Globulus went on to become High Priest… and I become the lowest, the Penitent.

  “But I have waited for the will of God, Wodan, for all these years. And now that you are here, I know that I have lived for a reason. I know that... that this is my day of atonement. Our roles have been reversed from what they were on that terrible day so long ago. That day when I, well... but now you are here. And I am not afraid to die. I am not afraid to die.”

  The two were silent for a long time while the crowd watched and waited. Yarek looked at the crowd, and it seemed to him that a few people felt sympathy for the old man and his heartfelt tale.

  Finally Wodan exhaled. “And I thought it was painful when I had to listen to you back in the wasteland, when I was your slave,” he said. “What a load of god-bothering nonsense.”

  Barkus lifted his gray eyes in surprise.

  “You still hate yourself and scar yourself, and you expect everyone to watch you do it,” Wodan continued. “Do you really believe that you suppress your ego, Barkus? To me it appears as bloated and sick as ever. Twice now I have listened to you. Now you will listen to me.

  “You say you have no interest in hearing news of the outside world while you wait on God’s will. Unfortunately it must be God’s will that you sit and listen to what happened in the world you left behind, because I’m full of news and I’m in the mood to speak.

  “After your cronies fled from Haven, I left and went into Pontius. I went for revenge, Barkus, and I had my revenge. I bathed the streets of your land in blood. Do you remember your little brother, Boris? When you were in a cell in Precinct Zero, did anyone bother to tell you that he was killed? Did they tell you that he held a child hostage to save his own skin, but was gunned down anyway? Did they tell you that I was the one who killed him, Barkus?

  “I destroyed your cult, the Ugly. I even engineered events so that anyone who bore the scars of the Ugly were hunted down like animals.”

  Barkus lowered his old head into his hands and moaned softly. Wodan’s eyes were hard and unmerciful, his mouth contorted by bitterness he thought long forgotten.

  “You think you’ve changed?” Wodan continued. “Your tattoos have faded, but you’re still Ugly, Barkus. If you wanted to atone for your sins, you would have taken your demon with you into Pontius and struck back at the ones who turned you into a monster in the first place. You would have freed slaves, not walked away from them wringing your hands. You would have stopped feeling sorry for yourself, not put on a robe and made a big show of your guilt for everyone to see and wonder at.

  “You’re still Ugly, only you grew tired of small scars. Now you starve yourself and daydream about the ultimate cleansing scar, the final scar that everyone will remember you by. You relish the thought of your own murder.”

  Wodan finally let his gaze drop and relaxed the tightness in his shoulders. “You want me to hurt you, but I take orders from no man. I’m a king now, Barkus, not a slave. I cannot give you the life, or the death, that you want. Only you can do that.”

  Barkus’s eyes grew wide, stretching out the dark bags beneath them.

  “Besides,” said Wodan, “that was all so long ago, and I have more important things to do. Believe it or not, I didn’t come all the way here just to take part in your drama.”

  Barkus jerked his head to the side, then said, “So I am... forgiven?”

  Wodan shrugged. “Call it what you like. You were a small man driven by forces outside of your control. Now that I’ve seen you and vented, I feel only pity for you. Forgiveness... sure. You are forgiven.”

  The old man wept then, his fists on his knees, shoulders jerking in an exaggerated, childlike manner. Some of the onlookers heard anger in his sadness.

  ***

  Wodan sat apart from the others for a long time, but as the night crept on he rejoined them. He saw his people speaking with the orange robes and other inhabitants of the valley. As soon as he drew near, Yarek brought up the subject of the Cognati and his thoughts on whether their absence was a good or bad sign. Wodan’s mind was still too scattered to offer any insight on the matter. A new group of Valliers joined them from the mountain passes, and as they loudly greeted the others the distraction proved too much for Wodan. He gave some thought to withdrawing entirely and finding a place to sleep, but then an awful stench hit him.

  “Yarek,” he said, looking about. “I smell something dead.”

  A terrible cry tore through the crowd. There was a struggle – several men tried to stop a cloaked and hooded figure, but they were pushed away with alarming strength as the figure barreled through like a wild horse. All was confusion, shouting, Wodan saw a woman flung up over the crowd, then several Rangers clustered around him protectively, which only prevented him from seeing what was happening. He peered between two jostling heads, but then a man to his right fell with blood streaming down his nose. Wodan saw the blur and only had time to turn slightly as starlight reflected on the edge of a blade, then the cloaked figure pushed the blade into his midsection.

  Pain bowled him over, radiating like lightning through his bowels. He fell with the knife in his guts as Rangers leaped on the hooded figure and brought him down with weight of numbers.

  With trembling hands he touched the hilt of the blade. He saw men shouting, kicking and stomping the hooded figure, but they seemed to be far away. Gathering his nerve he jerked the blade free, then felt warm blood ooze into his winter suit. He pressed his hand against the biting pain, then forced himself to relax so that he would not retch.

  A crowd of onlookers pressed against the berserk Valliers, and Wodan saw Yarek using his elbows like paddles as he pushed his way through the screaming throng. The General pulled the assassin up into a sitting position by his throat, keeping one hand on his sidearm until he was satisfied that there would be no tricks, then tore off his cloak. Wodan saw a look of revulsion pass through the crowd. Even Yarek jerked his hand from the thing’s throat and let the assassin flop onto the ground.

  Wodan looked and, in the pain-addled haze of his mind, he thought, How the hell did a ghoul get here?

  The ghoul’s face was swollen and covered in black blood. It sat up, coughed violently, then spat blood on the stone floor. It growled and bared its fangs at the crowd, then fell back and turned its face to Wodan. Small, dark eyes radiated hatred at him.

  “Gods below,” said Yarek. “Somebody put a bullet in that thing.”

  “Wait,” said Wodan. He gently pushed away those crowded around him, then rose onto one knee. Already the flesh was mending itself. He was surprised at the ghoul’s strength; he assumed that the blade had penetrated through the muscle and into the sack holding his intestines, a killing blow for a normal man. He felt weak and light-headed as his body diverted energy to the task of healing, but anger gave him the strength to stand.

  “Your king’s not dead yet!” said Wodan. A patriotic cheer blasted through the crowd. “Step away from that ghoul," he said. "Valliers do their own killing!”

  As the crowd formed a shouting, stomping ring, dozens of orange robes looked about, confused by the tawdry outland spectacle. Realizing that he was being fenced into some kind of killing grounds, the ghoul barked savagely and struggled to rise. As he
moved to retrieve his knife, Wodan kicked it away. Still on his knees, the ghoul stared upward at Wodan, who stood holding one hand against his belly. Wodan felt revulsion looking at the thing, its face like a skull covered in rot. He knew the foul creature was gathering its strength to lash out at him one last time.

  Wodan unslung Capricornus from his back and placed it on the ground behind him, then pulled his hand from the sticky gunk at his side. He still felt weak, and knew he would have to cover his side. He watched the large ghoul rise to its feet and raise its calloused fists to guard its face. The stench was incredible, even in the open-air arena. He knew the black winter gear it wore, which was the same as his own, must have been stolen from a Vallier who was now dead. He thought of saying something to the monster, but what was the point if it couldn’t understand? Smashing its head like a melon for the enjoyment of the crowd would be statement enough.

  The two circled one another amidst a torrent of shouting, Wodan’s hands at his sides, walking lightly on his feet, the ghoul wheezing and hunched over with fists upraised. Suddenly the ghoul flew forward with surprising speed, but Wodan sidestepped and easily avoided the clumsy blow. Wodan coiled, exhaled sharply, and rammed his fist into the ghoul’s side. He heard the monster grunt in pain as he hopped away. The thing glared at him and continued circling doggedly, waiting for an opportunity that would never come.

  I’m just being cruel, thought Wodan. There’s no need for this. It can’t help what it is. Just put it out of its misery!

  Wodan darted forward as the ghoul did the same. They collided forearm to forearm, their hot breath in one another’s face. Still leaning their weight into one another, the ghoul shot his knee forward as if to hit Wodan’s gut; Wodan pulled inward, understanding that the knee was a feint only moments before the beast swung its fist in a backhanded blow that caught the side of his head, jarring his skull and staggering him.