[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “Lucas, don’t!” cried Wodan.

  Y’diamach whirled.

  “Demon!” shouted Lucas. “Leave this place!”

  The lion paused.

  “You are not welcome, demon!” cried Lucas. “Leave! Now!”

  Emotionally confused, Wodan believed Setsassanar himself was about to be killed by Y'diamach. Without thinking, he prepared to leap onto the monster. But then, as faint as the rustling of leaves, Wodan heard Y’diamach whisper, “... You!”

  Y’diamach slid down from the wall, turned and loped down the path of ledges, then leaped down into the forest. The canopy rustled delicately as the god passed through.

  Flexing his burnt hands, Wodan looked at Lucas, the little clone of Setsassanar, standing tall and severe.

  It recognized him! he thought, mind racing. That monster recognized Setsassanar in Lucas!

  “Are you okay?” Wodan shouted.

  “Not the first exorcism I’ve conducted,” said Lucas, sighing with relief. “It probably won't be the last.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Little Demon

  Wodan journeyed alone through dark woods on his way to the village of Baalinar. Many of the paths were overgrown, further proof that he needed to investigate the isolated village. He found it strange that no demons haunted Srila, but when he'd asked about Lucas burying the only demon of Srila in its own home, the people of the Deepest Vale were evasive with their answers. It was clear that they didn't respect or trust the people of Baalinar. It was suspicious that they were the only people of the Vale who did not send anyone to join Lucas at the meeting on the hills.

  I have to be sure, thought Wodan. It wouldn't make sense for the demons to leave an oasis like the Vale completely alone.

  Just when he began to wonder if he was lost, he saw crouching forms in a foggy clearing surrounded by black trees. Men and women, wild-haired and painted white, clutched bony children and gazed at him with wide eyes.

  “Don't be afraid,” said Wodan, showing his hands. “I just want to talk. Do you have a chief or a shaman?”

  The people crept away in different directions, fleeing in slow motion with their eyes locked onto him. Wodan moved quickly and grabbed an older man by his thin arm. The man jerked his head in such a way that Wodan knew it must have seemed as if he'd disappeared and reappeared before him.

  “Hey, hey,” said Wodan. “It's alright. I won't hurt you. I just want to ask some questions. Okay?”

  “Ah-h,” the man stammered. “That's… well, I guess that's… f-fine...”

  “Good. Now, you people know Lucas. He helped you out, didn't he? Saved you from a demon, correct? So why haven't you joined him for the meeting?”

  The man was visibly disturbed at the mention of the demon. “The… others...” he finally said. “Outsiders – they don't really understand our ways. Our ways are ancient. But you wouldn't… I mean, you're an outsider, so...”

  “What do you care about a dead demon for?”

  The man winced. “It don't really like to be called that kind of name,” he said quietly.

  “But a dead demon wouldn't mind, would it? Ah… but it's not really dead, is it?”

  Wodan saw a stick tossed at him lightly and, as he grasped it from the air, he realized that it was a spear and that it was meant to harm him. Without bothering to look at his hidden attacker he smacked the thing against his knee, broke it, and tossed the end away.

  “Go on,” said Wodan.

  The man was wild-eyed. He kept looking over Wodan's shoulder, a sure sign that others were preparing to spring a trap.

  “Maybe not quite as dead as some would like,” the man said menacingly. “Now!”

  Wodan heard a sudden intake of breath behind him, as if the ambushers were scared of the man's signal. Finally they moved and Wodan calculated his best course of action. He was convinced the people really were harboring a demon, but he had no idea where it was. He didn't want to hurt or agitate the people for information.

  He decided to stand still. Eventually he felt a light tap on the back of his head - someone must have hit him with a club. Wodan grabbed the back of his head, then he groaned and fell as hands pushed at him feebly. He laid still, but kept a hand on his head in case the people really got out of hand.

  “Got you, bastard!” someone shouted. “I got him! Did you see?! It was me that got him! Did you-”

  “Grab him,” said another. “Take him to the vicar. He'll get a feast from this one!”

  Wodan felt hands tugging on him, hot breath, panting on his neck. The congratulatory atmosphere turned to one of frustration as the villagers grunted and tugged on his limbs but were unable to move him. Several minutes passed, then Wodan realized that they never would be able to move him – his sword was too heavy.

  Wodan stirred and moaned. “Please stop,” he said. The villagers scurried away, terrified. Feeling more than a little foolish, he unslung his sheathed sword and fumbled about with it. He did not want to draw it, but the villagers were too scared to move against him. Finally he simply dropped the sword, held his head, groaned once more, and fell over. The people rushed him, kicking and leaping away as if he would electrocute them. A spear jabbed in his side. It did not break flesh, nor even his suit, but it hurt.

  “Idiot!” someone said. “No cutting! We don't want to waste his blood!”

  “Hurry now, you get his arms, you boys get his legs.”

  “Hurry, hurry!”

  Having organized themselves once again, the four strongest men of the village grasped him by all four limbs while another two lifted his torso from either side. Huffing and wheezing they carried him. He was face-down, but kept his eyes open and watched their route. Craning his head, he saw a group of naked children standing around Capricornus, no doubt daring one another to touch it.

  Wodan stayed on the uncomfortable ride as they stumbled through the woods. At first the men bragged about what their master would think of them, then they complained about the leaden giant, then they became too exhausted to speak and only carried on doggedly.

  They reached a mound of jagged stones. Wodan reasoned that if the tale of Lucas sealing the demon's cave was true, then they may have reached their destination. The men set to work carrying him up the mound, but they stumbled and his head smacked into a hard rock.

  “Ow!” said Wodan, steadying himself. “That's enough. You can set me down.”

  The men cried out and scattered, their voices hoarse from exertion. He saw that he was at the base of a hill choked with brambles and run through with broken stone shelves. Atop a mound of stones, he saw a dark crack that led into the hill. It looked like it might have been part of a wider entrance once buried, then partially dug open. He had found the demon's lair.

  Wodan raced back along the path they had come. He found his sword still on the ground, but he also found two men slowly working it free from the scabbard. They jerked it back and forth, gazing in awe at the emerging green glow. Wodan seized the sword and the men staggered as if caught in an earthquake.

  He strapped Capricornus to his back and returned to the entrance of the cave. He was alone. He hesitated. He knew the lion had humbled him. What if the demon lurking down there was as powerful as Zamael, the original demonic overlord of the Black Valley?

  Wodan unsheathed Capricornus and entered the darkness. Fear is an old habit, he thought. There's no sense in indulging in it anymore!

  He had to crawl to get in the narrow entrance. After making his way down a path of broken stones, he was able to stand. It was dank and warmer than it should have been. He descended a wide basin where the floor was made entirely of broken stone. The air reeked. It had the stench of being used already, of having filled monstrous, putrid lungs. He shone the light of Capricornus around like a torch. Then he saw it – a small, gaunt, pale red figure squatting and watching him with large black eyes accustomed to darkness.

  Wodan was startled. The creature hissed and hurled a stone at his head. Wodan avoided it
easily and watched as the little thing scampered over the rocks. Something like a rope was attached to it. Wodan grasped one end of the moist, warm rope. He tugged it and the creature was jerked off balance and tumbled back down into the rocky basin. Wodan ignored the little demon's cries and protests and reeled him in, banging the demon's knees and head on hard, sharp stones.

  Wodan got a good look at the thing as it rolled around and tried to get comfortable. It was scarcely four feet tall, with wrinkled flesh hanging on a bony frame. A bulbous belly jutted out from its ribcage, and shaggy patches of black hair hung from its groin and armpits and from behind its long, sharp ears. It had a pointed nose and pink bags that hung from dark, cruel eyes. Its lips were fat and when it opened its mouth to speak it showed double-rows of tiny, uneven fangs.

  “You again,” said the goblin. Its voice was surprisingly deep, full of cracks and weird notes that echoed through the chamber. Wodan saw that the glistening rope was made of flesh. It was attached to the goblin's belly and extended down into the floor.

  “Have we met before?” said Wodan. “You act as if you remember me.”

  “We have met before...” The goblin waved its hand. Wodan understood the vague gesture. Because all demons were connected on some subtle level, this little creature “remembered” encountering him through other flesh demons. Wodan gripped the umbilical cord and wondered if he was becoming like a recurring nightmare to demonkind.

  It's been a long time since I put one of them down, he thought. And they have no idea what I've become since last we met.

  Wodan pulled on the cord. He realized that the other end must connect to a living thing. It could only be the demon that Lucas had buried in a landslide. The demons had not been able to dig their brother out, so instead they had sent this little goblin and his umbilical cord. Wodan was disgusted by the idea that the goblin was eating for two.

  “You demons really are something,” he muttered.

  “And you're nothing,” said the goblin. To Wodan it sounded like a child's retort, more appropriate for a playground bully than a dangerous opponent with godlike influence on the world. “You call us that nasty name out of ignorance. You are ignorant!”

  “No,” said Wodan. “I know your kind very well. The only ones ignorant here are the poor people out there who worked hard to keep you fed.”

  “Kshhh! You look down on them, but they will outlive all other humans. They are meek and humble. They do not endanger the earth. You should get down on your knees and kiss all of my furry parts if you want forgiveness!”

  Wodan's mind reeled with disgust, not just because of what had been suggested, but also because all of the demonic tendency to combine gross desires with lofty, pretentious ideals.

  Is smug self-satisfaction a dead giveaway for utter stupidity? he wondered. Wodan wanted to kill the creature immediately and go bathe in a stream, but there was something that didn't add up.

  “I am awed, I'm sure,” he said. “But if you are so much greater than the humans here, why is the entire Valley not feeding you? Why don't demons descend on this place and force everyone into the same position as Baalinar? Why were you sent to babysit this thing...” At that, Wodan tugged the umbilical cord where it trailed into the ground. “Why was no one else sent with you?”

  “You think these were the only people of Srila who gave to us?” The goblin's head cocked sideways. “Do not listen to the others when they say only Baalinar gave sacrifice.”

  “But now Baalinar cuts itself off from the others.”

  “When the mighty child of God who lived here was buried, but did not die, only Baalinar had the good sense to remain loyal.”

  “Good sense? They live in fear. So I ask again: Why not force the other villages to-”

  “Because we take a long view! You are an animal! You crawl in the dirt and you see only what your nose turns up!”

  “Then enlighten me.”

  The goblin stood up and puffed its narrow, bony chest out as if it was confronting a bully. “This is no secret, especially to you, who poor, foolish Zamael told so very much. You already know this. We have come together to bring our mercy to all the filthy corners where men have dug in and live wallowing in slime and decay.”

  Formed armies to destroy human cities, Wodan thought. “Please, go on,” he said.

  “Obviously we would come here last,” he said, shrugging. “This land is not so bad, as far as cesspools go. The people are humble. They respect a little clown in a robe who tells them not to be proud. He lives in a castle and walks around with his nose in the air, but he'll beg to eat shit if you suggest it.”

  Wodan wondered if the demon was referring to Globulus. Would they really know that much about him? If so, how? He thought about what the goblin had said. It made sense that they would turn on Srila last. The people here were no danger to them, plus there would be logistical difficulties with invading such a sheltered oasis.

  Knowing that the demons faced limits in their conquest gave him some comfort. Surely that boded well for Haven, too. Years ago Yarek had told him that Haven had been in skirmishes with demons, but it was nothing like when the Ugly attacked alongside four dragons. Wodan was glad. He didn't want his parents or sisters to go through anything like that.

  But he could not drop the matter. He had to know. The goblin had been proud enough to speak openly to him, so he reasoned that he could press it still further.

  “What of Haven?” said Wodan. “Have you given up on it? I heard you formed two armies. Do you plan on marching one of them over the ocean?”

  “Listen at the great strategist,” said the goblin. It smiled, unperturbed. “You think it took all of us to make those two armies? You think we haven’t made new plans for new contingencies? Ha. Don't worry about that sad little island.”

  “What… then what have you...”

  The demon smiled broadly. “It is not the same as it once was.”

  As Wodan fought nausea and a rising panic while thinking of his family, he had no idea that a multitude of minds were vying for space behind the eyes of the little goblin. They studied every inch of Wodan, fascinated by the growing worry on his face, the hard, smooth mask ruined by anxiety.

  “It is not only the island we play with,” said the goblin, his voice growing strangely deep. “We know about your gathering place in the woods...”

  Wodan felt his fingers tightening, his control weakening as his body craved violence. “I know you'll be coming to the Black Valley,” he said, forcing the words out slowly. “But when you do… we'll destroy you.”

  “Oh? You are gathering strength we do not know about? Armies, weapons, tools outside of our observation?”

  Spies, he thought, imagining things creeping through the woods, watching his people. He was sick, and could not help but feel as if he was speaking to a different creature now. Not a little goblin, but a giant, menacing servant of darkness.

  “We'll be ready.”

  “There is no time.” The creature’s head tilted.

  “How… how long...”

  “Perhaps a year. Perhaps more. Perhaps less.”

  His mind reeled. One year! He'd imagined his people slowly advancing, eventually turning into something like Haven, technologically advanced but without as many fears and societal restrictions. But we're still just farmers! he thought. Our technology is… and we're not organized for that sort of…

  “Why give away your plans like this?!”

  “To see the look on your face.”

  Wodan lunged. The goblin shrieked and fled, losing its aura of menace as it scrambled over the rocks. Wodan pulled on the umbilical cord only to find that the other end had come loose from the goblin. It went for a narrow hole that Wodan had not noticed. He flicked his wrist and Capricornus sailed through the air, slamming into the hole like lightning. It stuck out sideways, and the goblin twisted about, trying to work his body around it and into safety. Wodan grabbed it by one leg and jerked it out of the hole. The thing wiggled and hissed
and shrieked like a wild animal. Wodan focused his rage and threw it across the chamber, where it smashed into the far wall. Its head burst like a melon and the body fell limp.

  As Wodan relaxed and breathed deep to slowly vent his anger, he heard a low, booming howl. The stone floor shook, then silence and stillness filled the chamber. He waited, then contented himself with the knowledge that the devil beneath him would slowly starve to death, and the people of Baalinar would be free. For a while, at least.

  ***

  The people watched silently as the giant emerged from the vicar’s den. He sheathed his magic sword at his back and came down to them. He seemed tired and his eyes did not focus on them. There was no telling what sights he had seen. No doubt he had been punished, but perhaps it would have been more merciful if he'd simply been eaten.

  They noticed he was carrying something like a dead child or animal in one huge hand. As he passed them by, he tossed the limp bag of bones onto the ground.

  “Behold your god,” he said. He left quietly and they never saw him again.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Book of Job

  Vendicci sat alone on a rocky, sparsely wooded hill. He had no fire and could see no stars, and so he sat in darkness and silence. He fell asleep sitting up and saw one horrible thing after another, his arm gnawed by unreal creatures, then humans eating it with the little tools they used. He woke blubbering and crying out. He looked at his wound. He had covered it with cool mud, but it was hot again. He could smell the putrefaction. It hurt to breathe; he felt only a mass of raw nerves and chipped bones grinding with each breath. The throbbing pain was a second heartbeat, a circulatory system of poison coursing in ragged waves. His left arm was bloated and numb, the skin hard and smooth, the limb now alien to him.

  He heard footsteps, then saw the light of a torch or lamp ascending the hill. He thought of hiding, or reaching for a rock or stick. But why bother? It would hurt to move. Would he fight to prolong his suffering?