“Un.”
“So why don’t you go in there and make your motherland proud?”
* * *
Darel’s hands shook, his head ached, and he could barely breathe. He ran cold water.
I did it, he thought.
He looked in the mirror. He knew that no one would ever know what he’d done, and how difficult a thing it was to accomplish. Everyone was talking about Wodan Kyner, how he’d been in a gunfight or something when trying to get back into Haven. Darel had been intimidated to meet him, but once he’d seen him in person, he could tell that there wasn’t anything high and mighty about him. Anybody could point and click and shoot somebody down if their back was to the wall. That was nothing. Darel smiled, thinking that he’d just faced down the Prime Minister and his personal goon – and won.
You think you’re pretty bad, Wodan? he thought. I’ll show you badass.
As he stuck his hands into the cold water, he glanced at the door and mouthed the word, “Pigs.”
The door flew open with a terrific crash. Darel screamed out in terror and felt the exact moment when he began to teeter over the edge and into madness. Udo came through, mouth contorted in rage, huffing like a mad animal, face purple, fingers bent like steel girders. He kicked the door shut behind him. Darel stumbled backwards. Udo was on him before he could do anything, hands locked about his throat, unbreakable, all powerful. He could not breathe, head nearly exploding from the pressure. Udo lifted him up, choked him with one hand, then adjusted the water in the sink. Udo swung Darel about like a rag doll and smacked his head into the wall. Steam rose and mixed with the black spots in his eyes. Over and over he told himself that this simply could not be happening. Udo lifted the boy and stuck his head into the sink. Scalding water, burning like molten steel, pain like he never thought possible, a nightmare. He lashed out weakly, kicking, elbowing, but could not stop the monster crushing him. His mind suddenly shifted, disconnecting itself from overloaded nerves. Perhaps this was a nightmare, and now he was waking. He felt a strange sense of relaxation, then oblivion.
* * *
“You dirty slut! You dirty, filthy cunt! Who’s a dirty, rotten cunt?!” said Udo, pumping away. “You are!”
Chipper Vachs laid flat on the bed, legs open, hands holding breasts from bouncing too much. Her mouth hung open, slack.
“Aegis Vachs’s wife!” he grunted. “Missus Aegis Vachs! Dirty slu-u-ut!” He gritted his teeth and grunted, body frozen in mid-thrust. He zipped up and stepped back.
“That was nice, dear,” she said bitterly.
* * *
Today is Wodi’s birthday. We’re going to have a party!
- final entry from Rachek’s Red Diary
Chapter Nine
Make a Wish
Night fell on a wooded park. Wodan sat on a fallen trunk, dangling his feet and making patterns in the snow. He arranged the web of data spinning in his mind.
He knew that Seloid Cramer had written the Kill List and had drawn the map for his exile. Seloid Cramer worked for Prime Minister Vachs, who was connected to Shem Udo, who was probably connected to the very Guardians that kidnapped the seven exiles. Luumis Lamsang had gotten a copy of the list somehow, and in his madness he had nearly killed Wodan’s parents. He was not sure of Lamsang’s connection with the rest.
On the one hand, it seemed preposterous. He was not sure why exile was chosen over outright murder - or even, why murder or exile or anything was necessary in the first place. It made sense for Peter Remus, who was Vachs’s political rival, but not for the others. There was no clear connection.
On the other hand, the gross mistreatment of seven citizens was not so ridiculous when he thought about Haven’s crimes against Rudy Seaver and Cyrus Jebediah. The men had broken laws, true, but Haven had peaceful ways of dealing with lawbreakers. People had been killed and, even though the information was there for anyone to see, the men behind the murders had gotten away with it.
And then there was Sevrik Clash, the powerful man who had tutored Wodan. What was his connection to the Seaver and Jebediah incidents? Wodan had to admit that he still trusted the man. He did not trust Yarek. He had none of the warmth of his father.
The biggest question of them all, the most worrisome detail, was, of course, what to do about the whole thing. What should - what could - one man do? Wodan shook his head as he looked down at his hands. He was not even a man. He was, in many ways, still just a boy.
But that was not entirely true. He had fought devils in the valley, killed men in the wasteland, even sacrificed his life in a gamble to save those he loved. He had survived against those odds. Still, he was frail when compared to practically any trained Guardian. What was he supposed to do? It’s not like he could break into Vachs’s mansion with guns blazing. There was nothing superhuman about him.
Wodan knew that he was, all things considered, a fairly smart person. Perhaps he was smart enough to know the difference between the things he could change and the things he could not. If the blame for the Seaver and Jebediah incidents could be laid on Shem Udo – and Wodan hoped that they could – then perhaps the best thing would be to go directly to Sevrik Clash. Sevrik was a military man with no love for Aegis Vachs. If anyone could do something about this mess, perhaps he was the man to do it.
The moon rose, full and wondrous, and Wodan realized he was going to be late for his own birthday party. He looked at his watch – he was already late! He hopped off the trunk and sloshed toward the stone avenue. A great hope rose in him. Finally, finally, he would see his friends! He realized then just how much the weight of the mystery had been bearing down on him, drowning him in its insistence. His heart could beat freely, knowing that he could see his friends without feeling as if he were shirking his duties. Early tomorrow he could contact Sevrik and let someone else worry about these things for a change.
He jogged through the streets. In a flash he understood that he had overcome a great hurdle. He had done his part in solving the mystery of a power struggle; now, his part was over. He had overcome a great trial. His childhood was over, and it was now time to prepare for the next chapter of his life: Helping his father clean up their store, and then learning what he had to learn so he could successfully take it over! If he was still worried about the future of Haven, he could always write a book that employed his unique perspective as a Havender who had some experience with the outside world. Perhaps Professor Korliss could help him with a project like that!
Things are really falling into place, Wodan thought. He got lost on the way to his friends’ house, but he did not worry. Eventually he was able to find a familiar street, then he picked out a winding road that led away from the city proper and into the privacy of the foothills where his friends lived. He slowed down as he walked uphill. Trees stood on either side of the road, adding a sense of privacy and quiet solitude. He could see his breath in the chill air.
He saw a wooden house with a gray-shingled roof. It stood alone on a hill. Warm lights shone in the window. He doubled his pace, fearing that his friends might doubt that he cared about them due to his lateness. He saw tracks in the snow, proof of habitation, and his heart raced.
The door was already cracked open. He stepped inside, nervous and joyful, ready to shout out a greeting.
But he was greeted by a scene of utter horror.
* * *
The house was covered in blood. The carpeted floor was drenched in black, with the spent shells of ammunition lying everywhere. Wodan slowly stepped inside.
Brad sat in a wheelchair, head leaned back, mouth open, covered in blood. Maxil laid nearby, face down on the floor. Wodan touched him; he was cold. Wodan’s feet squelched in the blood. The hem of his cape drank it up. He felt his chest caving in, heard himself crying in great sobs. He saw a table filled with brightly colored presents. A cake. He took another step and saw Rachek flat on her back. Part of her head was missing, face mutilated. She was dead, they were all dead. Wodan drew away from the bodies, overcome
by fear and horror and revulsion, all conscious awareness lost, heard himself screaming again and again, grasped the sides of his head to shut it all out.
He leaned against a wall, telling himself to breathe. This was surely a dream. He would wake up. He must wake up. Bracing himself against a wall, he walked down a hallway to be away from the bodies. Saw a room with no lights on. Terrified, he flicked the light switch on to snuff out the darkness. He saw Agmar sitting up, leaning against a wall, eyes staring ahead blankly. The wall around him was covered in bullet holes.
Wodan blacked out for a moment and found himself in a room. He was sitting on a bed crying uncontrollably. There were brightly colored clothes in an open closet, pictures from magazines tacked to the walls. Rachek’s room. On a small dresser, saw a little red book, a pencil. He picked up the book, sobbing and aching terribly to know that it had belonged to her. A small thing, now the most important thing in the world.
Fear, horrible fear, gripped him again. He got on the bed and lifted his feet from the floor. He saw that he was spreading blood everywhere. He realized he could be trapped in the room if he obeyed the fear. He pushed himself from the bed, leaned against the doorway, and pushed himself back into the hall. Went back into the room with... with Rachek and the others. On the far wall, beside the entrance, he saw blood smeared in a pattern. He stopped, gripped by cold. On the wall, the blood said
REAVERS
Wodan’s fear vanished. The tears ended. He felt heat inside his chest, burning, a great halo of cinders cast off from a will set fire. The heat overtook his mind and burned away everything, leaving only pure clarity.
Wodan left that place of death and returned to the avenues of Haven. He would finally go to the place he had feared to go before, the place he had not even allowed himself to think of. He would go to the home of a fallen god.
* * *
Two Guardians stood before Wodan. His cape was covered in clumps of filthy black snow.
“Stand aside,” said Wodan.
“What makes you think you may enter?” said one of the Guardians, his voice echoing behind a steel mask.
“Let’s see some ID,” said the other.
Wodan raised a hand and pointed to his own face. His face was a mask but his eyes burned hot.
“It’s the exile,” said a Guardian. “It’s him, alright.”
“Fine,” said the other. “Romana Wodan Kyner, you may enter.”
The two Guardians parted. Wodan entered Didi’s mansion.
Chapter Ten
Pigs in the Shape of Men
The mansion was so dark that Wodan had to run a hand along the walls to guide him. He followed a pale ghost-light down a hall, then up a set of stairs. He saw purple light at the end of a hallway. Flashes of green. He removed his hand from the wall and let his cloak cover his body.
Wodan entered the room. It was large and full of great disarray and was lit by the programs of several computer monitors. Wodan saw Didi sitting in the middle of the room. He was small, coal black, wrinkled. His face was unreadable. They stared at one another for a moment.
Wodan cleared his throat, then said, “Everyone in Haven drinks nutrimilk, but not everyone has seen an actual bovine plant. I saw them on a field trip. And now I finally get to meet the wisest man in Haven. A man so wise he figured out how to be the first man executed in many generations.”
“I haven’t had my trial just yet,” said Didi, shaking his head. “That lies ahead. Right now, it’s time to speak with a flesh god.”
“You think you’re a god?”
“What I am, or am not, no longer matters,” said Didi. “I was referring to you.”
Didi’s voice was clipped, almost mechanical. In the silence that followed Wodan heard the hum of the machines, pulsing, a heartbeat.
“I wonder why you named me as your visitor,” said Wodan. “Was there something you needed to tell me? Something inspirational?” Wodan laughed without humor.
“I can do far better than that,” said Didi. “I can give you the data you need to inspire yourself.” Didi extended an arm to a nearby seat. Wodan crossed the room and sat near the man.
“Korliss Matri, Sevrik Clash, and I have been friends for many, many years. Our common bond was our thirst to create something wonderful, a golden idol that reflected our own need to deify ourselves through action. We saw the condition of the world through clearer eyes than others. We saw that there are terrible monsters who govern all life and that the majority of men survive only because they have the sense to hide. Or, worse yet, they ally themselves with the dark forces of this world and become puppet-lords of this communal sacrifice that is ‘the real world’.” Didi paused, then added, “Don’t make the mistake of assuming that I speak only of the wasteland.”
Wodan said nothing, so Didi said, “Korliss is a philosopher. Sevrik, a warrior. The bulk of my science concerns biology. Wodan, if the three of us wanted to create something powerful, together, what would that thing be?”
“A superbeing,” said Wodan.
Didi nodded slowly. “How did you know that?”
“I saw some intercepted emails. I saw messages that you sent to Aegis Vachs concerning funding for a great Project. I saw his rejection. I saw communications between you and the others regarding meeting times and places. You three had already accepted great amounts of money from the government. To continue your Project, there would be no need for official funding earmarked for such a specific creation.”
“Quite true,” said Didi. “Though I doubt that any normal man would draw such a conclusion, even with all the data that you had at your command. Not unless he heard the whisper of the god in his own veins.”
Wodan was silent.
Didi continued. “We did not accept demonic ownership of the world. In practice, that means that we did not accept the moral code passed down to us from the demons and their kind. To be meek, to sacrifice, to be humble, to revel in peace, to glorify martyrdom; you must understand that these virtues must, must be practiced by the majority of men in order for evil to continue as it does. Evil does not live by its own virtue, but by the tolerance of others.
“And so, we three uttered the greatest blasphemy. We rearranged the four-letter genetic code of an unborn child so that he might one day become a superbeing. A superbeing smarter, faster, and stronger than a normal man. A being of war, and with a will strong enough to wage war on the demon itself. A living god capable of upending the status quo of this… this hell-planet.”
“But how could you assume that this superbeing would even want to fight against the flesh demons? Didn’t you run the risk of creating some kind of apathetic genius content to play the stock market and get rich? Or just push people around?”
“In that, we trusted Korliss. He resigned from his post as head of the department of humanities at the University and took back his old post as professor. He taught virtues long forgotten since the time of our Founding Fathers. Pride in being human. Strength, in exercising your abilities. Objectivity, in trusting yourself over the word of another. Nobility, the idea that a man can become a king. Self-worth, and the anger that comes about naturally when one sees clearly that a duller, and far crueler, species commands this world. All those virtues have been demonized by popular morality. Can you not say, Wodan, that you like strength over weakness?”
“You think I feel the way I do because... because I was that person that you changed? But what about the fact that...” Wodan opened his arms and pushed his cloak open. “Look at me, Didi. I’m no superbeing. No more so than you or anyone else.”
“I will explain. What if you had been born a thousand times more powerful than anyone else? Would you not have looked down upon your mother, your father, your teachers? Would you not have become a cruel and wicked being, lonely and bitter, worse than any devil in the wasteland? I arranged the letters in the book of the superman’s life such that he would not attain true power until he had grown to maturity as a man. Only experience can make an organism grow i
n any healthy way. All else is cancer, a thing not meant to exist.
“The virtues you have are yours because they are yours by nature’s decree. You are a survivor, made so through millennia of natural selection and twenty-one years of surviving among other survivors. So, no, you are not a superman. Not yet.”
“Why did you not tell me this earlier?”
“Because I did not know that you were the one. We were afraid that even if Project started out weak, we would still treat him as a little prince. He were afraid that he would bide his time until he could exact revenge on all those who did not fall down in obeisance to him. I set things up in such a way that we would not know who Project was until he had grown into his role. And until then, Korliss would teach his philosophy to the willing, and Sevrik would teach his warcraft to the able. Even if the superbeing never came about, if I had messed up somehow, then we would still give Haven one of its greatest generations.”
“And how do you know that this thing is me? Does it have something to do with my exile?”
“I don’t know. But you have a one in three chance, Wodan, and yes, I do draw those odds from your exile.”
“Saul and Marlon?”
Didi nodded slowly, said, “I have a machine called a NeuSen Array… a “neuron sensor array”. It gave a readout of Project’s mind, so long as he did not leave Haven for too long. I tuned it to the superbeing’s biological resonance as I changed his unborn self. As long as Project lived, my NeuSen would show the pattern of his thoughts.”
“You could see what Project was thinking?”
“I could not. I could only see the readout. You see, I did not invent the Array. I discovered it. I have no idea how to unlock its full capabilities.”
Wodan thought for a moment, then said, “The cave in the valley! I saw some sort of projection of you, a younger you! And someone else, too, a scientist of Haven, a white-haired man.”
Didi seemed taken aback. “You have been to the cave,” he said, dully. He rubbed his forehead for a moment. “A terrible place. But, yes, that is where I found the NeuSen. That... and other things.”
Demonworld Book 2: The Pig Devils Page 17