[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  The two looked at one another. He knows I want to know. Yet he says nothing. Wodan's mind raced. He considered that the demons were simply too complicated to have been created in a laboratory. What would have been their purpose? One creates a bomb to make an explosion of a certain size, Wodan thought. Not start a chain reaction that burns off the planet's entire atmosphere.

  Wodan chose another angle. “So you and the dogmen were created around the same time?”

  Setsassanar nodded. “But Cecil had nothing to do with those humanoid attack dogs.” He placed his chin against his fist. He suddenly seemed tired. “Many new things were made before everything… well. We couldn’t remain in the Garden of Eden forever, could we? Maybe I will tell you about some of my special friends next time. If we have a next time.”

  “If?”

  “I was only a child in those recordings,” he said, shrugging. “Barely past twenty years. My father gifted me with a strong will, Apprentice. I didn't model underwear until the very moment the world fell apart.”

  Wodan glanced at the crest on Setsassanar’s black shirt once again, and saw the icon of a dragon staring back at him.

  “One more thing, Master,” said Wodan. “Will you tell me how it came to an end?”

  “Another time,” said the Master. “Go to Srila. Decide whether or not you want to continue your training with… one born of such humble roots.”

  Wodan realized that his Master had faced utter humiliation just now, the thing that most men and women would pay any price to avoid. Wodan regretted most of what he had said to him lately. Would he ever come back to the Tower? He already knew what his decision would be.

  “We all have humble roots,” said Wodan. He turned to leave, then stopped. “Ah, but tell me this,” he said, as if the matter was an afterthought of no importance. “What do you plan to do with Langley while I'm gone?”

  The lights shining within the cubes began to wink out, and the throne slowly retracted within the walls. “It's no concern of yours,” said Setsassanar, his attention already drifting elsewhere. “Think you can take her from me because you saw a record of my weakness? Think again, boy. But don't worry yourself. Our marriage will not commence while you are away. But when you return… perhaps you can be my ring bearer.”

  Wodan slung Capricornus across his back. As he strode from the room, Setsassanar laughed and said to his back, “Or make an attempt at being my pallbearer, if you can!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Does Naarwulf Serve for Nothing?

  Naarwulf walked the halls of the Temple of the Summons. He passed guards in blue robes, big men and dogmen, and envied them their simple tasks. When he saw the monks in their robes of orange going quietly about their way, he felt ashamed of his jeweled cane, a sign of ostentatious vanity that betrayed how soft he had become. He saw groups of men in black robes moving about swiftly, whispering among one another, looking very stern and worried. Naarwulf often bowed his head respectfully, but the black robes ignored him.

  He stopped and studied paintings of the Redeemer, a plain man with long hair, head bent sadly under the weight of humanity’s sins. He saw illustrations of the Good Tyrant, the law maker Tyrannus who had met with the Ghost, and Naarwulf could not help but feel a twinge of guilt, as if he had been disloyal to his people. Had he forgotten some of the old ways?

  How far the world has fallen, he thought. People do not keep the laws of the Ghost anymore. But I have done my part to maintain order, at least. No more could be expected of me.

  The hallway curved abruptly. A cold draft raced across the ground and bit at his ankles. As he walked, he stooped slightly to see whether or not he had actually forgotten to put on socks – and then in a dark corner he saw High Priest Globulus. The wise man stared back at him like a small statue, and Naarwulf felt shock wash through his being.

  “I know you, dog,” said Globulus.

  Naarwulf bowed quickly, trying to conceal his staff between his legs.

  The High Priest gestured, and Naarwulf followed.

  They walked through the dark labyrinth of the Temple. “Do you know of the Garden of Eden, dog?”

  Naarwulf nodded quickly. “From what my people have told me, sir. They say the fathers of the tribes of dogmen lived in that land of plenty, and God, the Ghost, was with them. And the great lion was with them, too. He was tame, and a friend to the fathers of the dogmen. But there was a serpent in the garden. It often provoked the dogmen, and tempted them with evil thoughts. The dogmen quarreled with the lion, and then the Ghost cast them all out.”

  Globulus smiled thinly, revealing the tips of long teeth. “The legends of your people are not so different from the written records that we humans possess. That is a sign that your people are a good people - naturally obedient to the ways of God, it would seem. Both stories of the garden include that of a serpent pushing our people to think forbidden thoughts. To commit an original sin which has cast us all into a world of immoral darkness.”

  “It is so, sir,” said Naarwulf, shaking his head.

  “Do you understand the nature of the one true God that we worship, dog?”

  “Ah... I... I would not presume...”

  “That is good! For who could presume to know the nature of the Ghost? Yet as the leader of my people, as the servant of the holy land, I am allowed some sanction in this matter. Which I undertake in humility. Our God is called many things. Ghost. Outworlder. Defender. Ruler. I Am. Yal-da-be-oth. He is not of this world, dog, or of any world where flesh and evil has sovereignty. Is it not said that ‘many dogmen praise Him and raise spears to his name’?”

  “So it is rightly said!” said Naarwulf, nodding roughly.

  “In some ways, it could even be said that our God is dog-like, though it sounds blasphemous to those without ears to hear. For He is loyal, a warning against evil, a constant companion to any man or dogman who dutifully gives sacrifice unto Him. Now do you understand why I say that your people are natural offspring of such a God?”

  “Ah... I do!”

  “Then understand this, dog. Your people never partook of the eating of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. You quarreled in the garden, yes, you were cast out with the lion... but you did not give in to the temptations of the serpent. Only man has done that. So, is it any surprise to you that humans are more naturally drawn toward evil? And that some humans, having a more willful nature, are more naturally drawn towards evil than other humans?”

  Naarwulf felt his heart turning about. “Yes, sir... though it pains me to say, it makes sense. I have often wondered... I mean, about humans... their ways are so...”

  “For example: This land that you come from. Would you not say that it has more than its fair share of the willful partaking of sin?”

  “Most surely, sir. Most surely it does.”

  “Ah...” Globulus sighed for a long time, shaking his head. “It is a changing world, dog. Do you not feel it in the air? The beings that men call flesh demons are destroying city after city, nation after nation. And then there is San Ktari, against whom no man or nation can stand. Such forces are changing the world.”

  Naarwulf nodded sadly.

  “Dog. In a few years’ time, there will be no room for willful egomaniacs who have no sanction but their own, who lead men and dogmen into sin, who expect to be safe from the justice of the wasteland for much longer. Do you not feel the truth of this?”

  Naarwulf could not help but think of his king, of his strange ways. It pained him to think of that.

  They came to a wide stone balcony that overlooked a large chamber. Naarwulf smelled rotting meat, and bristled at the stench. The High Priest did not seem to notice. Globulus pointed down below, and Naarwulf saw a single bed covered in a pale red blanket. The ghoul, the would-be assassin, laid on it. Though covered in bandages, the creature seemed fine. Large guard dogmen in blue robes stood at each corner. An orange robe entered the room, quietly replaced the creature’s bedpan with another, then left. B
ored, the creature lifted its pillow and withdrew a comic book, then flipped through the thing. A black robe emerged from a hallway, walking with short, angry steps. Though they could not hear it, he obviously chastising the ghoul. The ghoul hissed loudly, then bellowed and swung a bandaged arm. The black robe turned and left, shaking his head fiercely.

  “You see that beast?” said Globulus. “For many days now we have tried to educate it, to drive knowledge into its sinful head. But it is obstinate, and prefers its tawdry picture-books to wisdom.”

  Naarwulf growled. “I am sorry that your people have been troubled by it.”

  “Do not be sorry. It is our duty to lead the blind, to instruct the ignorant. We do not do it because we hope for success, but only because it is our duty.”

  “That thing is not even man or dogman, sir. It... it’s an animal, it should be-”

  “Oh no, good dog, no. Just because it is brutish in appearance and nature does not mean that it is not a child of God. You see, the same thing that makes us one people... is also in that creature. Especially in that creature, I should say.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. For it is the will that binds us, dog, it is our will that makes us one. The will to do evil, to sin, to decay. And that is a most willful creature. Remember that, dog: All traits, such as appearance, intelligence, capacity for good works, strength of body - all of them vary, all of them distinguish us as individual beings. But it is our will, our soul, that makes us truly one. Our difference is only shadow, illusion. All are one... all is one. Do you understand?”

  “It is... difficult, sir...” said Naarwulf, but just then the ghoul’s hand strayed beneath his covers, and to his crotch, and Globulus quickly led Naarwulf away from the balcony.

  Before Naarwulf could apologize to the High Priest, Globulus stopped near a dark corner and forced his face close. “Do you remember Vito, your original master? The man who was my own disciple?”

  “Ah - yes, sir.”

  “And do you remember his beliefs? That of the great cleansing, of purifying the rot in the world? Of starting over fresh, perfectly clean?”

  “Well, I... yes, sir, I remember... but he was defeated by my current... I mean, it was the rite of the duel, the forms were strictly obeyed… so...”

  “Beaten in a duel?” said Globulus, lip twitching in a faint snarl. “Is it not written that the meek shall inherit the earth, dog? Is it right that the strong should kill and abuse the weak, according to their whim?”

  Naarwulf felt himself swimming in confusion, pushing against currents with no place to stand firm. “Sir... when you put it like that, then no... well, that is, not really... in a matter of-”

  “Dog! Your internal strife is plain to see. Is it not a serpent who now tempts your will with confusing ideas? Does your current leashman not think forbidden thoughts and commit forbidden acts in the very light of day?” Globulus paused, and Naarwulf turned his head away from the dim, gray, unmoving eyes. “Once, you were loyal. And a day may come when you must make a choice. Between doing what is wrong, and what is right.”

  Globulus’s eyes flicked across Naarwulf’s face, drinking him in quick sips, nullifying his strength. Smiling on one side, Globulus suddenly said, “Did they tell you that the God we worship is a symbol? An idea? An abstract notion?” The smile quivered. “We know better, don’t we, dog? The memory of our service is written in our blood. It is real, this thing we call out to. This thing that we beg and pray to. He is coming. And He will remember his friends.”

  Before Naarwulf could answer, the High Priest left him alone in the dark corner.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mercy, Cruelty

  Wodan stepped from the Gul-in Kami onto the muddy airstrip of Srila. He inhaled deeply and tasted the sharp, crisp air. He felt cold and wet, as if newly born.

  Ryo Jo stepped down behind him. In the Eastern tongue Wodan said, “I thank, Ryo Jo, for showing how to fly with a plane. Good experience, to fly with you.” Ryo Jo smiled awkwardly, reddened, then bowed. During the entire flight the pilot had treated Wodan with nervous distance, never speaking unless spoken to. He must have sensed a change in Wodan. Wodan had flown almost the entire way, needing only occasional assistance, and had even landed the plane himself. Learning seemed so easy now.

  Perhaps he thinks I’ve become like one of his gods, thought Wodan. It must be terrifying to think that I haven't been created by his state.

  “Remember, my friend,” said Wodan. “The dream you tell me. There is place for you, any time, in Black Valley.”

  Wodan strode across the airfield. The soldiers were tense, shoulders held back, eyes fixed forward, even shoelaces being tied were done so with sharp, robotic movements. The tension did not spread to Wodan. He felt as if he were looking down upon “merely human” events. Details seemed sharper and clearer, but he did not feel as immersed as before. He felt as if he had found out that life was merely a video game. It could be stressful, but it could also be enjoyable.

  He felt a strange tugging at the edge of his awareness, like someone staring at the back of his head. In the distance he saw an envoy of black-armored Ktari soldiers with white faces approaching a fat-bellied helicopter. In the middle of the group he saw a tall, lean Ktari official in a black leather coat and regal hat covered with several red stars. The official had a thin goatee that framed white bloodless lips. He turned to Wodan and for one long moment Wodan felt an ice cube traced across his back. Then the official and his black cadre disappeared within the hold of their helicopter.

  Wodan continued on. His sense that he was separated from the small worries of life began to slip away as he worried that the official was investigating the situation of the Engels. Wodan wondered if the man had the authority to throw the Killswitch that could end Dove's life. Wodan visualized a state war goddess’s files and paperwork carefully moved from ACTIVE to MIA to KIA in an elaborate bureaucratic funeral ritual.

  Wodan stopped outside of the small sheet-metal hut, bowed to a soldier at the door, then said, “King of Black Valley here and request to meet honorable Kommander Won Po.” The soldier hesitated, shocked that an outlander could speak the only true language. He cracked the door, whispered into the darkness, then pulled the door through a channel of mud and motioned for Wodan to enter.

  Wodan felt the dank heat only as a sort of afterthought in the back of his mind. The cloth of his modified suit shifted against him slightly as its temperature and moisture deflection mechanisms did their work. Kommander Won Po sat behind his short desk, sweating quietly. It seemed to Wodan that the man looked like a rag doll thrown on a shelf, used and then forgotten. The guards were statues, the secretary a quietly humming machine.

  Wodan bowed slightly. “Greetings, sir,” he said. “I return and have news. News not altogether good, but can be brought to good conclusion given time and effort.”

  Won Po showed only mild surprise at Wodan’s use of Eastern. He nodded his head politely, extended a hand for Wodan to take a seat, then ordered tea from the secretary. “King Wodan,” Won Po said in Western. “I am honored that you speak our language. However, I do not wish to trouble you. Please, you may speak your own language, and understand that it helps me as I am attempting a better command of Western.”

  “Very well,” said Wodan.

  The man is altogether changed, thought Wodan. His authoritarian rudeness is gone. I’ll have to ask my friends what’s been going on in my absence. Wodan wondered if the black-clad Ktari official had given him a verbal beating. He felt sorry that Won Po had the impossible duty of chasing after the shadow of conquest. But he knew better than to let down his guard around the Kommaner. If he learned the truth of Dove Langley's situation, he would be duty-bound to report the situation. The bureaucratic apparatus would demand her death, god or not.

  I must tread carefully.

  Wodan sipped bitter tea with the worn Kommander. After a time of silence, Wodan said, “You’re under pressure these days.”

  Won Po
nodded, blinked. “It is a difficult thing. I... envy the position of your people.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mm. Many of my soldiers find them... undisciplined. But I see the thing. This is only surface. Each one seems to do as he will. Ah. But I have spoken with your General Clash.” Won Po smiled, said, “I think he envies my position. He grows nervous, thinking your people will arouse trouble. He would like a well-disciplined band of... vacationers! So, we both envy one another!”

  Wodan laughed quietly. “Authority is natural for Yarek. But the Valliers are not easily organized.”

  Won Po laughed, then trailed off into painful silence.

  “Kommander, let me tell you what I have seen and done. I met with the Engelen Winds of Death and Axe of the Dawn, and they wanted me to tell you that this entire matter is very sensitive, and must be kept secret. The pilot you assigned to me can vouch for this. What has happened is that the Lady of Divine Cognition is a guest of another being who is also like the Engelen. I have spent time with them, and have seen that she is well.”

  “Ah. So this thing is strictly Engel business. Mm.” Wodan saw a great weight lift from the man. Since the gods of the state were like appendages of the Emperor himself, there was nothing he could or should do about the matter. He sighed and sipped his tea. Only a short time passed before Wodan saw the weight settle on his shoulders once again.

  “Kommander, I saw an official-looking man at the airstrip. Is he an officer in the San Ktari army?”

  Won Po nodded slowly. “Colonel El Sin of the Yasha Struppen, Interior Division. A very... honorable man, highly esteemed, much respected.”

  Wodan felt the man’s thoughts hanging in the air, so he pressed him. “Yasha Struppen?”

  “Nnnn... elite commandos. But this is new Interior Division. They quell... they monitor, ah, domestic trouble. A police force. Colonel El Sin, he is not my superior. But we have had discussion. When one is in the field as I am, one can lose touch with the... the political situation. It is always shifting, changing. Heaven and Earth, you see. My forces are of Earth. The way of Heaven is inscrutable, especially for one like me. Not so inscrutable for Colonel Sin. Way of Heaven comparable to, ah... the movements of stars with the seasons, planets that only learned astrologers can predict, the phases of the moon out-of-phase with regular yang solar calendar. You see? Only Emperor is perfect and immobile within the Heavens, a solid foundation in the invisible world. Colonel El Sin has apprised me of shifting currents of power, of which I am most grateful.”