Demonworld Book 6: The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  Wodan stood slowly. “Suffering? Suffering?” he said. “Maybe that's what it is about your kind. You're so afraid of suffering and you want so badly to avoid suffering that it turns you into something that I will never understand. You focus on your suffering so much that you eventually worship it. Your pain becomes your God. You pray to it and sell out your brothers and sisters to it. You tell them they're evil if they don't pray to it, too, and you try to reshape humanity into what you want it to be. I'm sure you know quite a bit about history. Surely you've read how every greedy corporation tried to squeeze more and more out of their employees, promising them rewards while taking from them more and more and more. I'm sure you've read about almost every government that's ever ruled its corner of the world, and how they made law after law after law in order to make humanity into something spectacular, but it always ended up with soldiers beating down rebellions they could never understand, internment camps filled up with dead men and their dreams. And religion, I'm sure you're closely acquainted with that one. Has your religion ever taken a look at humanity and tried to decide on a healthy course of action for it? Or have you and your kind only stared at your bizarre ideal for humanity and then tried to twist humans and crush them and bend them until they look the way you want them to?”

  Wodan took a breath, then continued. “Why not just let humanity be? Why not find out, for the first time in history, what humanity truly is? I know you want it to be something other than it is, but it isn't that thing. You don't know what humanity is. Neither do I. We've only seen it when it's beaten, molded, indoctrinated, confused, angry, desperate. We've only seen the twisted version, you and I. How about we step away from the fear of suffering and let humanity become what it naturally wants to be? I don't think you have the solution that humanity has always been searching for. I think you're one more in a long line of deluded men who imagines he has the solution, but doesn't. But if you do know something that others don't, if we could benefit from your perspective, then why not live as an example of that? Why not show others through action, rather than force, and let them come to you of their own will? Why?”

  Globulus turned away. “A parent does not ask a child if he wants to be disciplined.”

  Wodan turned to the window, preparing to leave. “One more thing,” he said. “I know you said you were an atheist, but are you planning on summoning some kind of god from another world?”

  Wodan smiled as if joking. An awkward silence hung in the air. “Wha-a-at?” said Globulus, shrugging in a comical display of innocence. “But I… excuse me, I didn't quite hear what you...”

  “Whatever it is,” said Wodan, “just don't do it, alright? My people enjoy coming here. Will you please just put your energies into making this a nice place for them so they can give you their money and forget their troubles for a while?”

  “I’m sure I… well, I have nothing to say about that. Rather absurd if you ask me.”

  Wodan found it hard to believe that his left-field question was the one thing that had finally caught the old man off guard. And here I thought Jarl had his head in the clouds, thought Wodan. Was he actually correct? Even if it seems crazy, I hope Globulus doesn’t plan on sacrificing someone in a demented black magic ritual.

  Globulus suddenly turned his head toward Wodan. “You think I’m actually a danger to you? Ha! Your people are armed. You yourself carry a sword and go wherever you please. You’re a known murderer. My life is in your hands – not the other way around.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you,” said Wodan, turning his attention out the window.

  “Well, that’s all well and good, but one of the armed goons you brought with you might.”

  “If it means that much to you,” said Wodan, turning back to him, “then I’ll spread the word. None of my people are to hurt the High Priest, no matter what. How’s that sound?”

  Globulus shrugged, muttering to himself.

  “Can I get the same from you?” said Wodan. “You have the Cognati at your command. I don’t want them to hurt any of my people. And Lucas – just leave him alone. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  “Oh… well… of course, I should have extended… I thought it was implied that I… but then again, you don’t need a person like me to even say it, as I would never-”

  Wodan laughed. “It was a yes or no question,” he said. At that, Wodan launched himself out of the window. Globulus’s jaw dropped. He went to the window, looked around, and saw the barbarian king running along a ledge impossibly far below. He disappeared into the darkness.

  He sat back, amazed. Imagine, that he had gotten a vow of safety from such a man! He hoped that he had been diplomatic enough about extending a similar gesture. Such bindings were one thing among barbarians, whose lives were simple and most problems could be solved by swinging a club or mounting a rival’s mistress. But things were more difficult for a civilized leader like Globulus, who had to always be aware of the changing currents and swelling tides. A vow made one day might have to be broken the next.

  That was what it meant to be a leader, he decided.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Return to the Serpent's Den

  Kommander Won Po abandoned his hut and busied himself with setting up a base of operations on the lower levels of the Temple, and since Ryo Jo was nowhere to be found, Wodan refueled the Gul-in Kami himself. He ignored the soldiers on the airfield so that they would also ignore him. He took off, breaking through a cloud of dust and mist until he found himself flying through the bright white expanse of the wasteland. Though he never quite overcame the fear that the plane would simply fall apart at any moment, he was at least comfortable with operating the thing. During the long day and night, he read through a large collection of religious tracts he'd picked up in the Upper Valley, enjoying the little earnest truths presented alongside absurd, grandiose statements and handmade comic book printing standards.

  When he reached the Fields of Epimetheus, Justyn and Matthias were gone. A single soldier approached him and stood silently.

  Wodan thought of trying to speak in Eastern, then thought better of it. “Where are the Engels?”

  The soldier only seemed slightly annoyed at some deficiency of tone or posture. “Gone hunting,” he said. “My lords are hunting game.”

  “That's too bad,” said Wodan, sighing with relief. He was not only glad that he wouldn't be forced to give a long list of excuses for why he had not yet bravely wrested Langley from the hands of the tyrant of the Tower, but was also glad that Matthias and Justyn had not ordered more supplies brought in, thus sending a signal that all was not well and that a goddess might have to be remotely destroyed via Killswitch.

  He turned his attention to the black void stabbing upward at the bright, merciless sun. He felt a sense of clarity, the rush of knowing where his footsteps must lead him.

  “Fuel my plane,” he said, then brushed past the soldier without another word.

  The nearer he drew to the Tower, the more his heart was engulfed in a strange swirl of emotions. He knew that he would see Langley again, and felt guilty that he had done little for her plight. He felt a twinge of fear as he passed by ruined, burnt-out vehicles and charred corpses that had fallen to the “sword of fire” that protected the Tower from the unworthy. But mostly he felt a surge of joy, for soon he would once again stand in the presence of the being who was making him more than he once was. No one else in the world knew such wonder. There was guilt in that joy.

  He came to the endless black wall of the Tower and saw that an entrance already waited for him. He entered a featureless black chamber. The floor suddenly rose. The light from the entrance was cut off as the elevator took him into darkness, then he was bathed in blinking red lights as he passed through various levels. He could tell that the elevator was not moving vertically, but in a rising corkscrew.

  “Hello, Robot Number Two,” said Wodan.

  He was greeted by a feminine voice. “Greetings, young Master-in-Training.”

/>   “Where is the Master?”

  There was no response.

  “Ah,” said Wodan, “I mean of course Robot Number One, the version of the Master that I’m used to interacting with.”

  “He is currently waiting for you in the astrological observatory.”

  The platform came to a stop and Wodan saw Setsassanar standing in a wide chamber filled with sand. The walls rose to a domed roof, and every inch was a monitor covered in a visual feed of stars in a night sky. The stars moved quickly, a giveaway that the scene was recorded. As Wodan stepped onto the sand, he saw rocks lined up here and there, and he realized he was standing on a representation of the wasteland.

  Setsassanar, now dressed in white, stood with his back to Wodan.

  “Nothing ever stands still,” he said, surveying the stars moving overhead. “Did you ever notice? Nothing in all the universe. That's why we have to learn our place only in relation to other things. It sounds so cliché, and yet it's something we have to hear again and again. It's in our nature to crave rest. But no one should ever seek rest. Rest finds us when the universe is ready to recycle the materials that make us. Then it turns us into something new.”

  “Is that why you play at being a messiah?” said Wodan, stepping along the route that Vito and his subhuman horde took from Hargis to Pontius. “You recycle yourself through people like Lucas so you can experience new things?”

  Setsassanar turned to Wodan with a smile on his face. “Am I that obvious?”

  Wodan laughed quietly. “Srila has thousands of superstitious villagers and men in black robes who would come and burn you at the stake if they heard you preaching about power and tyranny, yet I couldn't help but notice that their Temple is filled with paintings of you in a white robe healing the sick, praying, and being executed for the benefit of the common man.”

  “Sounds like a lot of crazy conspiracy talk if you ask me,” said Setsassanar, shrugging and turning away. “I wasn't talking about anything like that. I was talking about the stars at night. Come, look. You'll need to learn where they go and when they go if you want to be able to navigate the wasteland. You will be your own map, Apprentice, so that you will never be lost.” Setsassanar seemed unwilling to look at him. “Ah, but look here – Orion the hunter. Easy to spot, isn't it? Follow his belt to Sirius, his canine companion. We'll run this simulation through an entire year so you can see how Orion stands in relation to Chronos, who turns them all.”

  Wodan watched the stars wheel about in the black heavens. “So you have nothing to say?”

  “Oh, quite a bit. But that reminds me – how did your suit work?”

  “It was great. Warm in the cold, cool in the heat. But the boots were, ah... destroyed by a talking lion that threw a magical fireball at me.”

  “A pity! We'll work on an upgrade. Until then, I have a new outfit for you.”

  Setsassanar handed him a new training outfit, a black, padded set fixed with a goat's-head badge. It was similar to the dragon badge that Setsassanar bore on his white training uniform.

  “Thank you,” said Wodan. “Did I graduate from my white uniform?”

  “Graduate!” Setsassanar scoffed. “No. This commemorates a new stage in your never-ending education. You had a chance to walk away, but you didn't. Congratulations: That means you will experience more pain and more responsibility.”

  “And the goat insignia?”

  Setsassanar pointed out another star formation, then showed its relation to the North Star as the seasons changed.

  “Do you remember when the lion called you a 'little mountain goat'?”

  Wodan winced. “Yes. I was hoping you might not have seen that.”

  “Come now, dry your tears! You survived, didn’t you? And don't bother lying to yourself. Of course I would be watching.”

  “So you watched… through Lucas?”

  “Through the Scry. Now, no more interruptions, please. It was the lion who gave me the idea for your insignia. Stubborn, hard-headed, a survivor, the mountain goat prefers to be alone. He climbs up to lonely places where most could not reach. The mountain goat lives in the cold; he doesn't mind the freezing wind, but loves the freedom of open air. The goat is lucky enough to wear the crown of nature's spiral - that is, horns. Horns are similar in structure to the spiral arms of many galaxies, or whirlpools, or on shells that grow on the backs of sea creatures, and even on some leaves. They are a symbol of living creation… and they can be used to shatter bones, knock down impediments, and establish hierarchies. But when the goat comes down from his high place, people place all of their resentment onto his strong shoulders; they whisper their shortcomings into his ears, then they murder him. That's where we get the term ‘scapegoat’. The ruler who has the mountain goat as his guide would do well to remember the cunning nature of the weak who live under his domain.

  “But remember – this is just a symbol. You pick them up along the path, then you drop them when they no longer serve you. Or you transmute them.”

  “Transmute?”

  “Stick them in a cave and have them tortured until they change into something else. Perhaps even a corpse.”

  “You mean Barkus.”

  Setsassanar glanced at Wodan's new clothes, which he held near his chest. “I admit, Apprentice, I was scared. I set a trap for you. All this time you thought Barkus was trapped in that cave. No, Wodan. You were the one in there, torturing yourself.”

  Wodan felt dirty thinking of the affair. “What do you think about-”

  “You survived the trap,” said Setsassanar. “I half expected you to fall on Barkus, tearful and begging his pardon. If you had done that, I swear I would not have let you back in here.”

  “That's demented. You should-”

  “Should what? Let some weak, common fool in here? Waste my gifts on him, then set him loose so he could be killed by demons? No, Apprentice. Such kindness would be the greater cruelty. You were a king even before you came here. You should know that morality is a tool of expedience that changes with time, perspective, and breeding. Morality is not a timeless absolute!”

  “You really wouldn't have let me back in here?”

  Setsassanar ignored him.

  “Is he still alive?”

  Setsassanar smiled. “Ah! Who cares?”

  Wodan gazed up at the stars and could almost imagine that he stood with his Master in the wasteland. The illusion was broken as stars were visibly highlighted when Setsassanar directed his attention, or even moved them back and forth in time. Wodan memorized it easily, even without verbal cues.

  “You're so lazy,” said Wodan. “I started this thing with Barkus before you ever taught me cruelty or manipulation.”

  “And I never would have begun a single lesson with you if you had not already proven yourself an able student. I have taught you nothing. In fact, you're too stubborn to really learn anything. You don't even understand the value of laziness. I am lazy, but you have no idea how much work it is helping you codify what you already live by.

  “But maybe I am too hard on you… you're a child, really. You don't even have a hundred years on you yet. You have no brain backup systems, even. All your data is stored in one tiny little skull! And yet we'll make something out of you yet. Something worthy of worship.”

  Wodan looked up at Setsassanar's face in the synthetic starlight. He realized just how much he'd missed him. Wodan knew men and women who wanted to be fooled, wanted to be told comforting stories about the way the world worked. He knew men who were weary of their own lives, men whose wisdom amounted to systematized cowardice, and simple men who believed that the greatest good they could do was sacrifice themselves to other men who were scarcely human. To Wodan, Setsassanar's bleak pessimism coupled with an indomitable will was a breath of fresh air. Setsassanar offered him only honesty, and was incapable of being shocked when it came to Wodan's behavior. Wodan had never encountered such a being. His heart thrashed in his chest, the feelings too complicated to understand. Wodan looked away.
How could he ever understand a tyrant who had kidnapped someone and held them prisoner, but also supplied countless messiahs to people who were too weak or unfortunate to have anyone else to lean on?

  “Godlike,” said Wodan, exhaling. “You would be the best one to teach such a thing. You're avoiding the subject, but you clone yourself into some kind of religious martyr on a regular basis, don't you? Tell me… was there ever an original Redeemer?”

  “Oh,” said Setsassanar, pointing out one of the wandering planets, “I certainly didn't invent the concept. But I have been doing it longer than anyone else, and have gotten fairly good at it.”

  “How much does Lucas know?”

  “Mostly whatever he decides on his own. Likes most humans, he writes his own narrative. But I sometimes transmit data to him. The information comes to him in the form of dreams, imaginative visions, gut feelings. Sometimes I find information through the Scry program, then I send him names and secrets which are channeled through his subconscious in such a way that he feels he simply knows. It's as if God was giving him divine knowledge… and that's not so far from the truth.”

  “And his miracles,” said Wodan. “What are they? Mass hysteria? Delusion?”

  “No, no. They are genuine, man-made miracles. Have you heard of nanotechnology?”

  “The theory of it, sure. Little machines the size of a few atoms strung together. I'd heard they were working on it in Haven.”