The Demon

by Rick Bonogofsky

  The man scratched his head in confusion. He looked around for any other clues but found none. His gaze finally went out toward the ocean, hoping for some insight. He watched the waves crash upon the shore, one after the other. A few rocks split the waves here and there, causing the waves to stagger in tempo. Nothing came to his beleaguered mind. Why was there only one set of footprints? Where was his adversary? Clearly, whomever he had fought could not still be alive. The tracks were not from a friendly duel; it was a fight to the death.

  “How do I know so much about battle?” the man asked himself. Feeling like he’d find no answers until he could remember who he was, he decided to find shelter. Not wanting to sleep among the dead, the man stayed away from the burned town and sought refuge in an abandoned shack outside the gates.

  The next day he wandered along the road, wishing for some miracle to offer him food. Several miles down the road he found a sign pointing out multiple destinations. The town he’d come from was apparently called Coitat, a name that told the man very little. The nearest town, to the west, was Massalia. Somehow that told him exactly where he was. He was in the Celt territory of Gaul sometime in the fourth century B.C. Massalia was a colony of… the man couldn’t remember which country. It did nt matter. All he knew was that this country didn’t seem to give him the feeling of home. Shrugging, he turned west and followed the road to Massalia.

  In the freezing water near Coitat, a body stirred. A man rose up from the surrounding rocks, shivering and coughing. His clothes were soaked and torn, and he felt a burning pain in his chest. A shaking hand came up to clutch at a wound that wasn’t there. He stepped from the cold water onto the sandy beach and looked up at the wreckage of the town. Memories of what happened flashed through his mind, showing pictures of corpses, burned out homes, and one man. The image of that man burned in his mind, fueling feelings of hatred and rage. That man was the reason for his suffering, though he didn’t know exactly what that meant. All he knew was that he was driven to hunt the man down and kill him. He reached for his sword, instinctively knowing it would be there, and drew it. The long blade gleamed in the afternoon sun, seemingly hungry for blood. The soaked man strode off, following a set of footprints he found in the sand.

  Massalia loomed ahead, and the amnesia-ridden man smiled to himself despite his fatigue. Not a bustling city, Massalia was still a haven of life to the man who had spent the last two days traveling on a little-used road. He approached the walled town and walked up to the gates where two guards stood at attention, spear tips shining in the sunlight. The man was glad the dirt from the road covered the blood on his clothes.

  “Halt,” one of the guards ordered. “Who are you, and what is your business here?” The accent seemed familiar to the man, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  The man stopped and noticed the guard was sweating. The cool air couldn’t have caused it, the man realized. He looked around and also noticed the wall was fairly new and hastily built.

  “State your name,” the guard repeated.

  Thinking it would be suspicious to these wary guards if he didn’t have a name, the man stated the first name that came to mind. “I am Dante, a weary traveler. May I pass and find some food and lodging?”

  The guard looked to his companion, both men looking nervous. The other guard steeled his eyes and looked at the man in a manner he hoped was intimidating. “Why do you arm yourself for travel, Dante?”

  “I am sure you well know why,” Dante replied, playing on their fears. They were afraid of something and if he acted as if he was too, maybe they would let him in. “It is for my own safety I carry this weapon.”

  The guards looked at each other again. “Very well,” one said hesitantly. “However we were informed to take any newcomers to the High Priest.”

  Confused, Dante asked, “Why is that?”

  “We are simply following orders. He may have a task that needs to be done.”

  “So you weren’t told, I take it,” Dante guessed. The annoyed sighs belied the guards’ calm nature toward being withheld information. “Very well,” he shrugged. Dante then patted his sides, looking for a coin purse. Finding none, he sighed and said, “I may as well, seeing as I could use some coin if I am to eat.”

  The guards nodded, opened the gate, and Dante was escorted inside the town by one of them. The town was larger than most, but still seemed small. The people watched Dante pass with fear and suspicion in their eyes. They didn’t see newcomers much, and with whatever was going on, Dante felt they would attack at a moment’s notice. Curious, he almost asked the guard what had them so frightened but thought better of it. He would get his answers from the High Priest.

  The guard led Dante down the main path through the town and past houses and shops. At the other end of the town was a large building, likely the place where they were headed. Dante could feel the baleful stares following him all the way to the large building. He kept his hand well away from his sword. He meant these people no harm and he wanted to show it.

  “Here we are,” the guard stated. “Go inside and speak with our High Priest. You will be escorted by two soldiers at all times while you are inside. If the High Priest is generous, he may give you some food. I suggest at least washing your face of the dust from the road.” He walked away, headed back to his post. Looking around, the man found a basin of water, likely for the poor or the horses to drink. He scooped some water in his hands and splashed it onto his face, scrubbing away the grime. When the water settled, he looked at his reflection. He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin and looked at his dark, road-weary eyes. Something in the reflection seemed to trigger a feeling in him, but he could not place it.

  Ignoring the feeling, Dante turned toward the large building and walked up to the brass double-doors. Carved into the doors was an image depicting a bearded figure, clad only in a cloth around his waist, standing atop a mountain and hurling bolts of lightning down on his enemies. Before he could reach for the handle, however, the doors were pulled open from the other side. A pair of soldiers stood at attention on either side of the doorway. Two more stood ready to escort Dante further inside.

  Dante stepped over the threshold and fell in line between the soldiers, who had already started marching down the sunlit, pillared hall. Sensing these soldiers were far less talkative than the gate guards, Dante kept silent, contenting himself with observing the architecture of the building. Marble pillars lined the walls, supporting the stone roof, and carvings depicting various religious figures adorned the spaces in between. Marble busts of great men stood on pedestals beneath the large windows, their stone gazes seeming to follow Dante as he walked past. Great statues of several gods towered over those in worship. Some looked up at the sound of the soldiers’ sandals slapping against the marble floor and stared in tense wonder at the newcomer. Figuring he was in a temple, Dante wished he’d had time to bathe before coming here.

  The soldiers stopped so suddenly that Dante nearly walked into the broad back of the one in front of him. He glanced around and saw who he thought to be the High Priest kneeling in prayer under a statue of a god wielding a two-pronged pitchfork. In the back of his mind, Dante recognized the statue of Hades, the lord of the underworld.

  “Please watch over the souls of Coitat’s deceased, Lord Hades,” the High Priest whispered. Finishing his prayer, the old man stood, bones creaking from age. He held himself up with a thick staff topped with an eagle.

  “A visitor to see you, Your Holiness,” the lead soldier stated. The old man looked from the soldier to Dante, smiling lightly.

  “Thank you, Dascus,” the High Priest rasped. “Please remember to simply call me Alighier, though.”

  The soldier bowed, said nothing, then stepped away to stand at attention in a nearby alcove, followed by the other soldier. The old man turned to Dante and smiled.

  “You are new here, are you not?” he asked.

  Dante nodded. “I hear you wanted to see all newcomers. Why is that?”


  “The gods have given me a divine purpose,” Alighier sighed. That fact seemed to weigh heavily upon his withered shoulders. “I was approached by an emissary of Mount Olympus just last week. He informed me that I was to find a worthy man or woman to take up a holy quest.”

  Dante looked at the old man skeptically. “And you think such a person would simply walk right into your town here? I apologize for seeming rude, but the world is quite large and this town is rather small.”

  Alighier smiled and nodded acquiescence. “That is what I told the emissary. He was quite convinced that our hero would come through those gates. He said that it would happen no more than a week after news of Coitat would reach us in Massalia. Sure enough, his words were true. Here you stand.”

  Dante laughed aloud. “You truly think I am your hero? Were you given a description of me? Or do you tell this to all who come through here?”

  “You suffer from memory loss, do you not?” Alighier asked with a wry smile.

  Dante’s mirth vanished. “How… How do you know that?”

  “The emissary told me you would not remember who you were, but that I can be assured that you were the hero we needed. A demon is on the loose in our world and the emissary has tasked you with hunting it down and killing it.”

  The mention of a demon brought memories of burning Coitat flooding back to Dante. Once again he found his mind’s eye viewing the carnage wrought there. He unconsciously gripped his sword hilt. The feeling of the worn canvas grip soothed his nerves somewhat. Perhaps he was hunting the demon before he lost his memory. That would explain the missing tracks; demons are masters of magic. A demon could teleport itself wherever it wanted if it knew how. Or it could fly. With magic, all manner of feats were possible. Did this emissary Alighier mentioned already appoint Dante to the task of hunting the demon? It seemed the demon had escaped, otherwise Dante would not have been given the same job again. What if there was another demon? Was Dante a demon hunter? Somewhere at the back of his mind, Dante felt he had heard the term before. So many thoughts and questions swirled through his consciousness.

  “I see something has sparked a storm in your imagination, young one,” Alighier muttered. “The emissary did mention something like this would happen.”

  Dante’s mind was ablaze with new questions. “I must rest,” he gasped. “Is there somewhere I can go to take a meal and sleep?”

  Alighier smiled warmly and pulled a small sack of coins from a fold in his robes. He offered it to Dante and said, “Take this as initial payment. Get a warm meal, a bath, and some new clothes. Rest easy, for we have more to discuss in the morning.”

  Dante nodded his thanks and left the temple, accompanied by the two soldiers until he reached the brass doors. Nearby was an inn with everything Dante needed. The clothes were clean, the meal was warm, the bath was hot, and the bed was soft. Mentally and physically drained, Dante fell asleep quickly.

  The next morning, Dante rose to the sound of the townsfolk going about their daily business. He yawned and stretched the sleep from his muscles and dressed quickly. He wanted to get an early start to the day. If he was to be hunting a demon, he wanted to be ready for whatever needed to be done. He walked downstairs into the main room of the inn. Morning sunlight filtered in through the windows and the innkeeper was already hard at work preparing food. Dante continued outside and stopped in his tracks, realizing he completely missed the obvious signs. The inn was different from the one he had fallen asleep in. He was not in Massalia anymore.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Artemis walked into the council chamber, wanting to hear what the lower ranking angels had to say to him. Apparently they thought they could intimidate him with their semblance of power. They had no idea they existed only because Artemis let them. He entered the room in his usual manner, frowning at being disturbed yet again.

  “What is it this time, council?” he asked, taking his seat on the throne, which was in the place of the podium in the center of the room this time instead of at the head of the council.

  “You have sentenced Victor to a life among the mortals,” the council accused. “You did it without us, which you know is against our laws.”

  Artemis scoffed at the idea of the council quoting laws to him. He was one of the original authors of the laws.

  “Does that amuse you?” the council asked.

  “Indeed it does,” Artemis replied. “You know who you speak to, after all.”

  The council remained silent for a time, then said, “We are not as blind as you are, archangel.”

  Artemis smiled. The scars under his blindfold wrinkled from the action. “I can see better than any of you. I understand the jab was supposed to affect me. Please, continue with this farce of a trial.”

  Taken aback by the lack of concern Artemis was exhibiting, the council changed its tone. “You are given one chance to explain your actions. One chance only, and if you are found guilty, you will be joining Victor on Earth as a mortal. If you are proven innocent, we will rescind our accusations and you will be free to return to your post as commander of Heaven’s armies.”

  “I was not aware my command had been revoked,” Artemis stated. “No matter, I will explain myself.” Artemis stood, not wanting to sit if he was to address the council. He was not intimidated in the least by the bureaucratic council and knew that even if they found him guilty, he would not simply become a mortal on Earth as they threatened. He knew he was in no danger from them. “I admit, I did not foresee Victor’s actions. However, what I did, I did out of a need for swift action. I knew that if left to you slow-acting fools, Victor would be left to think his actions were not as unlawful as he once believed. If left to the council to decide his fate in light of the information I gave at our last meeting, I knew the feeling of guilt would pass from his conscience. I needed to keep that guilt fresh in his mind as I stripped him of his grace. He had to know that his unlawful actions would not be tolerated in any fashion. I circumvented the council’s authority to act on my own authority. Often you leave judgments to me anyway. What I did was to ensure that Victor would not lash out at us for banishing him. I knew that if left in incarceration, he would begin to grow angry at the council. Besides, I also knew that he failed to kill the demon as he had thought.”

  The last thought brought a gasp from the council. They had not been able to see anything that transpired after Victor drew his blade against the demon. The fact that Artemis knew anything at all implied he may have been at the scene, watching in secret.

  “The demon lives,” Artemis continued, “though I do not know where he may be now that you have called me here. No matter, I suppose, since I took measures to ensure the demon would be dealt with.”

  “What do you mean? Have you appointed a human to stop him?”

  “I did better. I sent Victor on his trail.”

  “Then you cause him to break the laws all over again!” the council fumed.

  Artemis smirked, amused by the council’s rash accusations. “He is technically a mortal now, remember? He is no longer an angel under Heaven’s rule. He is no longer bound by the same laws we are.”

  “You play dangerous games, archangel. Why should we not send you to Earth right now?”

  “Because I have not broken a law fit for such a punishment.”

  “Explain.”

  “Suffice to say that after I took Victor‘s grace, I have ensured that these two will seek each other out and settle the score.”

  “How do you know Victor is going after the demon? And how much of his memory did you remove?”

  “I have contacted a human who will guide Victor, who may be using a different name, along the path to the demon. He will help Victor regain a portion of his lost power in order to kill the demon. Some of his memories may come back, which will aid in the hunt. As he remembers, so too will he gain in strength. By removing most of his memories, I allowed him to learn new ways to fight, new techniques to utilize in battle. The demon, wherever he may be, will be hard-p
ressed to survive the encounter. At the very least, the two may kill each other. Either outcome allows you to rest easy in the knowledge that my actions were not in vain.”

  The council remained silent, deliberating on their decision. After several minutes, the council finally spoke up. “You are found innocent. For now. But, tell us: what happens in the event of war with Hell if Victor is slain by the demon? What happens if he fails to slay the demon? Surely there are demons in Hell stronger than the one on Earth.”

  Artemis nodded. “You are correct; there are stronger demons. However, there are none more tenacious or cunning than him. Or more adaptable. I have been to Hell, as you well know, and I have seen Hell’s army. In the event of open war, the battleground will be soaked in the blood of both our races. If Victor is killed by the demon, we will be without one warrior out of many. I admit Victor would make a fine commander, but he is replaceable.”

  “You said we would need him.”

  “I said we would need angels like him,” Artemis corrected. “Do not use my words against me if you do not plan to use them properly. Anyway, with Victor on the hunt for the demon, it is likely he will find other demons on Earth, thereby weakening Hell’s hold over the humans. Do not be so rash to think I sent him after only one demon. The demon he faced recently is not the only one on Earth. You would be fools to believe otherwise. Remember what I have said to you the next time you decide to try to condemn me for my actions. I am not an enemy you would want.”