Cancer's Curse (The Zodiac Book 4)

by Sating, Paul

  But that wasn't necessary. I didn't need words to complete the action. I could do it silently, such was our connection.

  Rattling, as if it could sense the danger, Creed vibrated loose, slicing through the air and smacking against my open palm. I gave it the best shake I could with my restricted range of motion. But Creed didn't need encouragement to activate, just that signal. It extended to its full length, the wavy blade at the butt end jutted out as the double axe head sprang to life.

  I couldn't do much in this current position, but I could move it enough to slice some stalks. Each pass severed dozens of stalks from the ground, releasing small wispy gasps as if the grass itself was crying out.

  My arms freed, I sliced through the ones holding my feet. I stabbed the blade end of Creed into the dirt and fought the last remaining tendril wrapped around my neck. It put up a fight, but I still yanked it out of the soil, cutting off its life.

  My freedom didn't last. Standing in the small clearing I'd created, stalks began to regenerate. I wasn't interested in sticking around to see how quickly they grew back. I swung Creed in an arc along the ground, back and forth, back and forth, severing hundreds of stalks every few seconds and carving a path to my squad.

  Their screaming and yells confirmed I hadn't been the only one attacked. I extended my senses, feeling for other spells and finding nothing. I thrashed at the living field of grass, beads of sweat running down forehead, into my eyes. The skin on my arms itched from tiny slices I received.

  I found the group pinned to the ground just as I had been. Without thought, I sprinted around them, swinging Creed and creating a clearing broad enough for everyone to stand. The wisps of dying magic grew louder the faster I ran. Once freed, the squad was on their feet, conjuring their specific type of magic. Every reaction, individual and combined, flooded my capacity to process what Abilities everyone was using.

  "Halt!" A voice boomed through the chaos and the grass stopped swaying and growing, instead retreating to its waste–high height.

  "What the heaven?" Charlie gasped.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, still holding Creed at the ready to sever any stalk looking for a fight. "I don't know. Just be ready."

  Instead of a fight, we received a slow hand clap coming from the edge of the field. It was soon joined by another pair of hands, and then another. And then the instructor staff stepped into the open, Sergeant Kelem beaming a broad smile that brightened his dark face.

  "Well done, Sunstone. Well done," he said as the group approached. When they joined the open circle I created, he flicked a hand at Creed. "You can put that away now. The fun and games are over, and you lost."

  "But you used your Abilities," Charlie whined.

  Sergeant Kelem's expression lost its humored overtones. But then the drill instructor laughed, a lighthearted sound of victory. "All is fair in love and war, boys."

  I shook my head. "You only did it because we were going to outflank you. Sir." I added the last bit in a rush of thought.

  "Every battle provides an opportunity to learn, to develop, to grow. Today, I hope this one did that for all of you. What did you sorry gaggle learn from this?"

  The squad took turns looking at each other as if the answer was there, etched on someone else's face. It wasn't.

  "That we're so good you had to cheat to win?" I said, a wry smile on my face.

  Our leader shook his head, still half humored. "Hardly. If we'd wanted to, we could have decimated your squad, even though there's only five of us. No, I want you to take something else from this. Think boys. What was it?"

  I tried to decipher his code but couldn't see through my frustration at them cheating. Frankly, I was pissed. It wasn't right. And then the answer came to me. "There are no rules in war, sir?"

  Sergeant Kelem winked and made a gun with his pointer finger and thumb, snapping his thumb down."Bam! Nice work, Sunstone." He extended his arms, waving his hands towards each other, encouraging us to move together. "Brief the platoon who are out there, somewhere, probably hiding. Teach them what happened when you're together again. This isn't about boot camp anymore, boys. This is about the real shit you're going to face. Too soon. When you go up there, the Overworld is going to tell you all sorts of things. You'll hear every lie mortals ever concocted, and some of the most egregious are the lies surrounding war. They'll say you must comply with their rules of conduct, which put you at a disadvantage when facing an enemy who doesn't play by them. The intellectuals will have debates about the ethics of war. But those who preach behind lecterns lack the courage to throw on a uniform and step into battle. If they ever found the guts to give it a go, they would burn every rule ever printed that they hold so dear. It's easy to assume the position of moral authority from behind a desk or in a classroom, but it's a different beast when you're hunkered down behind a collapsed wall with bullets flying over your head." Sergeant Kelem stepped forward, opening his hand. "Relinquish your weapon, Sunstone."

  That was it. In front of my squad, right at the beginning of my command, I was being fired.

  I pulled the strap from my shoulder and handed the paintball rifle to my drill instructor, the heat of shame burning my cheeks.

  Sergeant Kelem lifted it above his head, looking very much like the war heroes in every mortal war movie ever made. "These are toys, nothing more, and yet you felt the exhilaration, the panic and anxiety of what it means to fight. Very soon, you might find yourself in a similar situation, and the things being shot at you will make a permanent mess of your uniform, not something your mommies will be able to wash out. Don't ever forget that we are vulnerable in the Overworld. Don't ever forget that angels will also be recruited to fight against us to maintain the Balance. This isn't about which mortal side is right or wrong. That doesn't matter. Never forget the square." His voice lowered at the mention of Gemini's failed execution and the angelic attack on Hell. His head dropped, as did his arm holding my paintball gun aloft. "No boys, there are no rules once the bullets fly. Never," he paused, a snarl forming, "ever forget."

  He handed my paintball rifle back and gave me a nod. That was the end of that. Our lesson learned did not include my firing after all.

  And we shared it with those who missed out. Over the next week and a half, we shared a lot of stories with each other. Behind each story, lesson, and words of encouragement was the unspoken realization that we were a single team, with a single purpose. We grew, as soldiers and as demons. We went into our war games as implings and came out as warriors.

  ***

  We didn't stop learning after our time in the field. For weeks, the lessons continued, hot, heavy and intense when we returned to the main base.

  Over that time, we'd become a well–oiled machine. We marched with precision. Everything we accomplished, we completed with snap and urgency. The entire platoon was effective and efficient, sharp and perfect in the first time of asking. Heaven, one of the greatest accomplishments was the fact that I could now make one nasty hospital corner on my bed sheet.

  As we performed to higher and higher levels, Sergeant Kelem reduced his intensity and scrutiny, slowly becoming more of a peer than a dictator. He still held the title as our drill instructor, but what I noticed over the past few days was he was our leader because we wanted him to be, not because he told us he was.

  So it wasn't any wonder that when Sergeant Kelem shattered our world three weeks after our war games, we knew, as scary as the future was, everything was going to be all right.

  He ordered us to the dayroom, telling us to forgo sitting at attention—a shock—and wait for him. Charlie called us to attention and our leader walked in. His face was troubled.

  "Relax boys," he said in an even tone. "We've got a lot to get through." He tossed his campaign hat on the desk. The manilla folder in his other hand was thick with paperwork. He grunted when he sat in the chair and let out a long breath. "I know you're sick of seeing me and I'm definitely sick of seeing your ugly faces, though they do look a lot better
now that most of you have grown back your hair. Some of you," he looked over at one of the quieter trainees, "will never have back what you once had. Better get used to shaving that dome of yours if finding a young succubus who will accept your ugly ass is important to you."

  We laughed at the incubus in the way no one outside the military could ever understand as a true sign of respect.

  Sergeant Kelem flipped open the folder. He slapped his hand on the top sheet. "And that's why I'm happy to have received these earlier."

  Everyone sat up straighter, trying to get a look at what was on his desk.

  The drill instructor barked a laugh that sounded half dead. "You scum look like implings on your first day of kindergarten. Settle down. You will find out soon enough what this is. But before I get to that," he paused, swallowing before composing himself. "I wanted to let you know that as trying as this class has been, it has been a pleasure to be your drill instructor." Sergeant Kelem cleared his throat. "Now, we need to get to business. What I have here is your rank designation and your orders"

  Boot camp or not, the incubi in the room burst with disbelieving chatter, me included, at the announcement.

  Sergeant Kelem held up his hand. "There's been an official declaration of war by the majority of mortal nations involved in the tensions. Some of you will walk out of here with bigger paychecks than you deserve. Most of you will, in fact. But, in the wondrous omniscience of your Army leadership, some of you are going to leave as Privates and nothing more, as it should be."

  We were graduating? Now? It was a moment I had looked forward to and one I had dreaded in equal measure.

  "Don't let this lift you too high or sink you too low. It's administrative stuff, mostly, though I did have a little input. Trust the system and know that Lucifer has a reason for everything. Now, let's get you sorry excuses for soldiers out of my sight, shall we? Dasher?"

  Dasher stood in the corner. "Yes, sir?"

  "Private Second-Class. Stationed at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Stevens?"

  Dasher nodded and sat even as Stevens jumped to his feet. "Yes, sir!"

  "Private Second-Class, stationed at Fort Knox, Kentucky."

  "Yes, sir!" Stevens shouted louder than necessary, obviously excited by his elevated rank and duty station. I didn't know anything about Kentucky, but based on his reaction, it must be a wonderful place.

  And so this went on and on, through each one of us. Bilba was the first of my tiny group called.

  "Private Second-Class, stationed at Joint Base Lewis McCord, Washington."

  Bilba smiled. "Yes, sir!"

  A few recruits later, Ralrek was called, receiving the same rank and assignment as Bilba. They would be together! My spirits rose, keeping my fingers crossed that I would soon join them.

  "Sunstone."

  I shot to my feet, my heart thumping in my chest. "Yes, sir?"

  "Private, stationed at Joint Base Lewis McCord, Washington."

  My mind buzzed. I didn't move. Sergeant Kelem must have sensed that something was amiss because he looked up from his paperwork without tilting his head. "Are you going to get your ass on the floor, Sunstone?"

  I was flustered but did my best to hide it. "I'm sorry, sir. I think I misheard you, and I just wanted to check that I didn't."

  "What was there to misunderstand?"

  "Sit down, Zeke," Bilba mumbled beside me.

  "It sounded like you said my rank was Private, sir."

  "I did, Sunstone. Take your seat so we can get through the rest."

  My face flushed. My platoon, a third of whom I had commanded only weeks earlier in our war games, examined me. Only a handful of us had been designated the lowest enlisted rank. I'd taken leadership positions. I was a blessed commander. Bilba and Ralrek had not done either. Sure, they had responsibilities they'd performed throughout boot camp and they started quicker than I did, but did that necessitate my lower rank?

  "I'm sorry, Zeke. I don't know why they did that," Bilba said when we packed. "But it doesn't really matter, right? This is just a temporary thing."

  "Don't worry about me. It's nothing," I lied, shoving the last of my belongings into a bag.

  I'd left one uniform out for the morning ride to the gateway that would take us home for a few days before we headed to the Overworld and our mortal military future. Everything else I'd haphazardly crammed into my bags, because I truly didn't care. The only thing I cared about now was getting away from boot camp and Sergeant Kelem.

  ***

  Washington state is green. Very green. This was my second time in the state. But last time, when chasing Aries, we'd been restricted to the city of Seattle. This time, near Tacoma, I was amazed by the endless open space on Joint Base Lewis McCord. Even though we were assigned to the dormitories on an instillation crowded with nearly thirty thousand soldiers and their families, there was still so much space in every direction. One day I tried to walk the perimeter when I was bored and needed a break from my crowded living conditions and found myself lost. It took half a day to find my way back, and I missed mealtime. I was too tired to walk to the fast-food joint. That was a long night.

  There were a lot of those nights once we reached the Overworld. Partly because we became mentors for the other demons secretly assigned to the unit, some from the Fifth Circle but many not. Adjustment periods can be wickedly cruel and this one was for a lot of incubi—most who outranked me, unfair as that was.

  The job wasn't easy either, being in an infantry unit. Our Staff Sergeant was a cruel little man, I learned. He was the type of military person who hid his insecurities behind the chevrons on his chest, who didn't seem happy unless everyone around him was miserable. There were days, oh so many days, where I wanted to pull Creed out from the seam I'd sewn inside my utility uniform pants and whack Staff Sergeant Basker "Jake"—his self-assigned nickname he thought made him sound cooler—Rogers upside the head. But I'd been told that doing so was an excellent way to end up in mortal prison, so I refrained.

  Instead, I did what I could do; I tolerated him and counted the days until I returned home. The only aspect of life here that I enjoyed was the fact that I was beyond the practical reach of the Council, though I dearly missed Dialphio and working in the bookstore. It brought a peace I had not had since leaving home. That peace, I embraced.

  Time passed, and I settled into an unhappy routine, still struggling to accept the circumstances and trying to forget about the Underworld.

  We hadn't been assigned to the infantry unit for more than a half year when the orders came down and we found ourselves on a mixture of military and civilian aircraft as we crossed the world to the Middle East—let me tell you, as a demon who spent six thousand years living in Hell, flying over the Overworld in a metal tube was not the proper way to be introduced to the miracle of flight. Heights are bad enough in Hell; they're a nightmare in the Overworld, when the endless expanse of the universe is within reach. I think my fingerprints are still etched in the seat handles on three different aircraft.

  Qatar was its name and endlessly waiting for a flight into the war theater was its game. Day after day, we sat around, slept, sat, slept, and waited … and waited … and waited. I struggled to resist the urge to wish Lucifer would send the war here. This terrestrial purgatory was torture.

  My life was going to heaven in a wheelbarrow.

  8 - Overworld, Qatar/Baghdad

  I regretted even thinking about wishing.

  It was our fourth morning in Qatar—it could have been our one hundred and fourth. Half the mortals I came across in the tent spent sixteen hours a day sleeping the days away; a quarter looked ready to shoot anything that moved; the last quarter moved, spoke, and interacted with the world like zombies. I sympathized with the latter, stayed away from the shooters, and envied the sleepers. The heat didn't help any of them. Six millennia in the Underworld and even I found this part of the Overworld toasty; I couldn't imagine the toll it took on the humans. I tried to ignore the hot, stale air by focusing on ig
noring the sheer boredom of every passing minute. Trust me, that took quite the effort. I swear, the greatest struggle on a deployment is surviving the grueling nothingness of waiting for something to happen. And I did, day after day, until they bussed us to the passenger terminal for a flight into the theater.

  Final destination: Baghdad.

  "Get moving, girls" Sergeant Rogers shouted, even though we had a few females in the platoon, and I'd don't think they appreciated his using their gender as a slight.

  Less disgusting but equally problematic was the fact we were moving to where killing was a thing humans wanted to be part of—side note, you'd think with such brief life spans, you humans would avoid rushing death as a visitor. I wanted out of this mortal purgatory, but I really, really was not in a hurry to get into Iraq.

  Thankfully, the Army moved at a sloth's pace when moving troops, even in war. So many soldiers to move, but only so many aircraft to move us. It did not help that only two personnelists were available to process the outbound flights at the moment. As we sat and waited, they worked feverishly to get us on a plane to where bullets were flying, as anyone not named Rogers could easily see.

  Over the next three hours they called chalks—a number assigned to a group of soldiers and their associated cargo. It was excruciating to think we were on our way at the beginning of the announcement, only to discover another chalk was headed out and we were left waiting again. Talk about toying with a covert demon's emotions. When the chalk before us was called, we had to report to a corner of the passenger terminal where we formed a line at the front of a caged door.

  "What do you think this is about?" Bilba asked, trying to peer past the human and demon soldiers.

  "No idea."

  We found out soon enough. This line was another step in the process, just with darker overtones.

  I looked at the young enlisted troop handing me the Kevlar vest. "What's this for?"