He had no idea how long ago it had happened. He stood easily, expecting the usual struggle. He was naked and his entire body was whole, unmarked, thin but crackling with vitality. He felt incredible! The feeling was marred by the memory of Wodan’s face. He admitted to himself that he hated him, that he wouldn’t mind seeing him dead. All the same, he knew that the torture had cleansed him of a mental habit he’d never known was there, a habit of saying, “I’ll show you how much pain I can take” to everyone and no one in particular. It was a signal sent out into the universe, and in return he was sent back suffering, which he relished. Those days were over. Now nothing could hurt him. Not even Wodan.
He looked about and saw some rough but clean white robes folded nearby. He thought of the virgins of the Temple, the women who were called “white robes” and who were not allowed to leave the Temple. They existed only to pray, and it was forbidden and shameful for any man to ever become a white robe. Barkus smiled and donned the white robe.
At that moment a young woman from the village edged her way around the stone partially blocking the entrance. She screamed and dropped the medicine and jug of water she carried. They looked at one another, then the woman gathered her resolve.
“Tell me where you have taken the man who was here,” she said, “and I will go and get him.”
Barkus thought of the old man shriveled up on the floor hating himself, and felt disgust. “The man you are looking for is no longer here,” he said.
“Who are you?” she said.
“Barkus,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “Barkus, the, uh… Barkus Right-Arm?”
“No, just Barkus.” He moved toward the entrance and she stood aside. He entered the chill gray world and saw a stand of trees in Autumn shades at the bottom of the hill, the rich colors somehow enhancing the somber gray overhead. It was a wonder to him that the world had always been this beautiful. Or had it? Had the world outside the cave been destroyed and recreated while he was inside? Whatever the case, now he saw that it was beautiful.
He knew exactly what he had to do.
***
It was the day of the Summoning. Alone, High Priest Globulus donned the Urim and Thummin, the metal joints and crooked wires and gaudy jewels clashing with his black robe and blood-red sash.
Deep within the Temple he could hear the chanting. He knew that down below the black robes were entering into an altered state of consciousness, their intentions calling out through the holes between space. Later, Globulus would give his ministrations, then would come the bloodletting that summoned the Ghost. He walked the dark halls and felt as if he was walking in a dream, an apocalyptic sense that the end was drawing near which he attributed to the fact that the Temple was unusually empty. Everyone was either down below taking part in the ritual, or had been sent out on long errands if they did not have the moral fortitude required by the ritual.
As he drew nearer the chanting, he began to forget his age, his usual aches and stiffness, and began to feel sharp and ready to assume his rightful place in the new world. He reached a long, dark chamber where a picture of the Redeemer watched from one side and the Good Tyrant stood at the opposite, glaring at one another. As he neared the middle, a door shot open and he froze in terror. Zachariah Hargis walked through, rubbing his arms as if he was freezing. They stared, each surprised to see the other. Then Zachariah drew a knife.
“The High Priest’s robe,” said Zachariah, slowly walking forward. “You must be Globulus.”
“And you are?” Globulus tried to remain cool, but was wondering if he should call for a guard even at the risk of forcing the man’s hand, or instead try to control him with words.
“A Vallier.”
“But your people left! We saw you!”
“The Valliers are making their way to the northern passes, but… I came back.”
Globulus’s mind raced, a rat running through a maze. “The child!” he sputtered. “Listen, it’s not what you may have heard. The ritual, it’s… he volunteered. He won’t be harmed, w-we would never harm a child, if you heard that we took him then-”
“Took him?” Zachariah froze. Now it was his turn for his mind to race and connect one thought to another. “You must mean Haginar, he’s the only child that… but I didn’t know you… you took him. I assumed he was with someone else. I’ve not been the best father. I ignored my intuition… I only came back to confront you, to find out why my father exiled you, why others said you should have been killed… but I never thought…”
“Your father? So you’re… Zachariah?”
At once Zachariah came back from his train of thought. Cold rage gripped him. “They were right,” he said. “You should have been killed.”
Zachariah rushed forward and Globulus stumbled backwards. “Ah! G-guard! H-help me!”
Globulus fell, but then strong hands grasped Zachariah and slung him across the room and against a wall. He saw stars and toppled over. When he pried his eyes open, he saw Naarwulf helping Globulus to his feet.
“Rabbi,” said Naarwulf, in apology. The dogman was bare chested, all of his ornamentation and his badge of rank gone in exchange for a blue sash around his waist.
“Apprentice,” said Globulus. “Deal with this trash for me.”
Naarwulf towered over Zach. “I knew I would end up saving this holy man’s life from your evil intentions,” said Naarwulf. “You’ve gone too far, Zachariah.”
“Traitor!” Zachariah shouted. Naarwulf winced as if hurt by the accusation, but he did not bother to move aside. “You’re helping a man who took my son! He may be dead for all we know!”
Globulus hobbled to the far end of the room. Zachariah rose and dashed toward him. In a blur of movement Naarwulf grabbed his face in one massive hand and threw him to the ground. Zachariah rolled, blood flowing freely from his nose. “You bastard, Naarwulf!” he shouted, too hurt to rise. “After everything Wodan did for you! Wodan took you away from living like an animal, gave you responsibility, treated you with respect! He trusted you! And now you’re crawling on your knees to serve that… that thing!”
“Wodan’s a sinner, Zachariah!” Naarwulf bellowed. “I never should have served him! What he’s done to our people is worse than anything we’ve ever endured at the hands of men! He’s turned us into second-class citizens! We were once proud warriors! Now we’re just thugs who protect weak, spineless children!”
“You want to go back to preying on people? Protecting people is the best thing you could hope to do!”
Naarwulf stalked forward, intent on pulling Zachariah’s tongue from his head, as he’d always wanted to do. Then the doorway through which Zachariah had entered opened once again.
Magog stepped into the room. The blond dogman looked from Zachariah to Naarwulf to Globulus. His eyebrow curled, as if embarrassed at what he was seeing. “Sorry I followed you, Zach, but I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he said. He curled his lip at Naarwulf. “Naarwulf, we thought you were killed when the Cognati attacked. But here I find you… well, I hope this isn't what it looks like.”
“He tried to hurt the High Priest,” said Naarwulf, standing between Magog and Zachariah. “And for that, he will be punished.”
Magog shook his head in disgust. “I’m taking Zach and we’re leaving. As far as I’m concerned, you’re no longer a Vallier.”
“Oh?” said Naarwulf. He flexed his fists menacingly.
“You’re just a dog looking for a leash,” said Magog.
“What is that to you?” Naarwulf growled. The two circled one another. “Look at you. You haven’t touched a weapon or been in a fight for years. You’re fat. Shouldn’t you be in a warm house mucking around with your paint, little pup?”
Magog’s large hands moved in a slow circle. “I might not be the fighter I once was, but I think I can handle an old dog with more gray hairs than black.”
In a flash the two fell on one another, shouting and striking and throwing one another around. Zachariah rose to his
feet and saw Globulus reaching for the far door. Then Magog slammed into the ground, gasping in pain, and Naarwulf grasped Zachariah by his neck.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Naarwulf, gasping for air. “Both of you will be punished for your arrogance.”
Globulus smiled, then turned to leave.
At that moment, another door opened. Vendicci entered. His beady, uneven eyes took in the scene, then settled on Globulus.
“Don't know what's going on here,” he said, “but the old man – he comes with me. We're going to talk about why his people kill beautiful things and make others insane.”
The strange statement hung in the air for a moment, then Naarwulf scoffed loudly. “Get out of here, beast,” he said.
Vendicci shook his head slowly, then approached Globulus.
“Go, Rabbi!” shouted Naarwulf. “Continue the ritual!”
Globulus fled as Naarwulf and Vendicci slammed into one another, one growling as the other shrieked a battle-cry.
***
In the room of black steel, Dove Langley heard the Tower suddenly humming all around her. She heard a low, somber note with high-pitched tones interspersed throughout. She roused herself from her dissociative state, unsure whether the sounds were entirely real or echoes from a dream. She felt pain as she came back to herself, the sharp sting of cramped arms and legs.
Robot Number Six, the little mechanical fiend called Black, silently stepped into the room. She glared at him, biting at her gag. This isn’t a dream, she thought, focusing her anger. This is real.
Black pulled something from his back. In his long, delicately clawed fingers, he held a wedding dress. It was white and made in the traditional Eastern style but with Western lace on the arms and throat.
Hatred ran through her. Unable to move her limbs, she used her thought-forms to press against her invisible cage, then she lifted herself, ignoring the pain in her legs. The tech-charms hanging from her chains hissed and sparked, working to nullify her powers. She felt wasps in her head as she pushed and pulled against the chains.
No one would come to save her. She knew that now. As Black held up the white frilly dress, one thought gripped her mind: Never! I’ll die before I submit to that!
***
Globulus entered the large, black stone chamber that was buried deep beneath the Temple. As the black robes chanted in prelude to the Ritual of the Summons, blue robes led sheep into the center of the chamber and with large knives they hacked open their necks and dragged them around in a circle. Mist rose from the cold stone floor as the blood poured out. A handful of Smiths stood on the sidelines, staring at the Urim and Thummin that Globulus wore. Furthest from the ceremony stood Jared and his Cognati, disdainful of the macabre proceedings.
Globulus strode up to the two Execution Crosses that held the sacrifices, Yardalen and little Haginar. They were not crucified, but tied to the base of the crosses with ropes.
“Well, wench,” said Globulus, his eyes lingering on Yardalen’s breasts. “I’m sure you see the irony in all of this. As High Priest, I am guardian of all that is good and noble and just, and yet… I’ve been forced into a position in which a few must die so that many may survive. And now you, vile as you are, will be used as an instrument that will protect-”
“Don’t torture me with your pretentious posturing!” Yardalen snapped. “You’re as sick as the monster you worship. You’ve suppressed your own humanity, then taken your worst impulses and named them ‘God’!”
Globulus seemed genuinely hurt. “You think I’m evil? My lady…” Globulus tried to sound as condescending as possible in order to impress upon her just how correct he was. “My lady, you and your people dance naked in the woods and ingest all many of illicit substances, and in the presence of children, I might add. Is there any behavior more evil than that?”
Haginar pressed against his bonds, leaned his head forward, and spit on Globulus. The old man danced away, wiping the spittle from his sleeve.
“Such impropriety!” Globulus shrieked. “May the Lord rebuke thee!”
***
Dove Langley hovered and strained against her chains, shrieking and blasting the floor and ceiling as Black flew around. Though the field around the walls prevented a horizontal attack, she constantly pulled on the heavy pedestal she had been placed on, thinking that she could use it to smash a field or, if necessary, have the pedestal bounce off one field and strike another. She ignored the pain-charms placed on her chains; once she realized they didn’t affect her powers, but only goaded her with pain, she used her rage to nullify the effects. Though the battle was awkward, she found she could do more than she had thought.
After stumbling behind cover like a rat, Black finally made his assault. He flew through the field that contained Langley, fired a handful of darts at her, and she crushed him as an afterthought. But again and again the menacing little robot reformed in a flash of crackling nanomachines. Even the dress, torn to ribbons, was repaired. Black flew in, attacked, then was swatted and crashed gracelessly, the dress never leaving his hands. She felt faint, and had to assume some of the darts had hit her. She did not care whether or not she was being injected with drugs to knock her out, as her force of will drove her on even as her consciousness withered.
Slave Circuit’s voice broadcast over the battle. “Master, wake!” she cried. “We are under attack! We are under attack! Laser, full strength! Prepare all nanomachines for battle! Prepare to be breached!”
“Trying to trick me!” Langley shrieked as she crushed Black once again, jerking at the end of her chains. “Shut up already! I’ll kill you! Kill you all myself!”
***
In the black room beneath the Temple, Globulus walked into the protective circle, feet sticking and splashing through thick blood. A Smith radio crackled to life. The eyes of the attending Smith went round as he listened.
“What is it?” said Jared.
“Under attack!” said the Smith. “We’re under attack!”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Jared. “The foreigners are all gone. Any Ktari soldiers still here work for us now.”
“No!” shouted the Smith. “They’re breaking into the Temple!”
“Who? Who dares attack holy ground!?”
Realization stabbed into Globulus’s chest, cutting off air. “It’s that godless monster!” Globulus shrieked. “Wodan!”
***
The heavy double doors leading to the Temple blasted inward and fell with a deafening crack. Blue robes and newly-recruited orange robes hunkered down behind machineguns and sandbags. They covered their eyes against the cloud of dust that passed over them. The men and dogmen in blue robes prayed under their breath, and watched as the orange robes loaded and checked their rifles with practiced ease. Then the dust cleared.
They saw the silhouette of one man in the entrance – Wodan, King of the Black Valley. Then he ran and, though they could scarcely believe it, he climbed a stone pillar where they could not hit him.
Before the riflemen could maneuver around to shoot him, his army attacked.
***
Earlier that day, Yarek and Won Po planned how they would lead their people through the high mountain passes for yet another tortuous day. Skirting around the valley had turned out to be more difficult than they'd thought, with terrain and dwindling resources hemming them in. They could not go through the valley because of the Cognati, but now they had come upon a pass leading to the rear of the Temple, and many were considering going that route and throwing themselves on the mercy of those who had kicked them out.
“Unless we can be sure of a straight shot to our original campsites,” said Yarek, “we won't be able to make it.”
Won Po seemed as if considering his words, then looked away. “I am sorry,” he finally said. “The mind is wandering.”
Yarek could not be frustrated with him. He felt the same. Cold, hungry, lightheaded.
They heard a cry of alarm, then cheering. Confused, they made their way
to the rear of the long line of evacuees. There they found Wodan surrounded by Valliers overjoyed to see him. Wodan broke away and looked at Yarek and Won Po. Yarek could tell that Wodan was exhausted, but there was also something manic about him. His red, worn eyes had the look of someone who had overcome an insurmountable obstacle. He almost seemed to be smiling, despite their situation, and the nubs of teeth growing in on one side of his mouth gave him a predatory look.
“This path cuts straight down into the valley,” said Wodan. “Going through the Temple is the most direct route to safety.”
Yarek could see what he was thinking. “And you have a plan for dealing with those Cognati?” Despite himself, despite what they had been through, he could already feel anger welling up in him. He felt as if Wodan had no plan, and was risking the lives of others. It was obvious that he had dragged himself through some incredible ordeal, and was now filled with confidence far beyond the normal measure. But Yarek knew that was the very thing that bothered him about his king, the thing he did not trust. The things he did, the risks he took and the pain he endured, most people simply could not. Now Wodan had come out of nowhere, and wanted to take control despite the progress that Yarek and Won Po had made. Yarek wanted to protest, to tell his king that the people should not be forced to-
“Follow me,” said Wodan. “Just follow me.”
***
Wodan's forces ran into the Temple. Valliers fired as they ran, leaping behind heavy pews for cover. Won Po's soldiers marched down the middle, then divided with some firing from cover while others advanced.
The new orange robes were quick to remember their training, manning machineguns near the altar, their robes and beads clashing with the guns spewing smoke and fire. They directed the blue robes, who were unused to modern weapons, and were slow to come out of cover and often fired without aiming effectively.
[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants Page 62