Demons of Divinity

by Luke R. Mitchell

  I opened my mouth to speak. Realized my throat was as dry as Franco’s sounded. “How long have I been out?”

  “Don’t know,” Franco croaked as I looked around the room. “I haven’t been awake long. Can you…?”

  I forgot about the room for a second as I caught his drift and turned my attention to assessing my bindings with my senses. Except I couldn’t. Couldn’t feel anything but my own stiff body.

  “Scud,” I whispered.

  Franco nodded, unsurprised. “I was afraid of that.”

  Maybe Dillard and Hound Company are coming, I wanted to say. They’ll probably come blasting in any minute.

  But as I processed our surroundings, my hope dwindled.

  We appeared to be in some kind of underground dungeon. Ancient-looking stone walls and floor. Wooden furniture that looked hand-carved. The room was meticulously clean and full of an odd juxtaposition of old and new. A heavy-looking wash basin and washboard. Cauldrons. Stoves. And then, amongst all that, a fab, and a full node workstation. And around it all, books. Shelves and shelves of them.

  “Where the scud are we?” I muttered. And how the scud had we gotten there?

  Louder, I called, “What do you want from us?”

  The pasty-faced acolyte recoiled a little at the jump in volume, then recovered and pointed at the table with his wand. It was only then I noticed the books that lay open in front of me and Franco. There were three of them, all as ancient-looking as the stone walls. More so. Old enough that it looked like their dry pages might simply disintegrate were a strong breeze to sweep the room. Far more interesting than the antiquity, though, was what was on the pages of the first book.

  Runes. Runes unlike any I’d seen in Carlisle’s work.

  I leaned hungrily forward—or tried to, only to tug against my bindings. I scanned the pages as best I could from where I was. There was little text on the page, and I was unsurprised to find that it was written in such archaic language that I only recognized pieces, and still stumbled over those.

  I glanced at the next book over. A faded ink drawing of a long, bulbous ship stretched the two open pages, disgorging hundreds and hundreds of tiny figures at the base of some mountains. The Byahnan Mountains? It was impossible to say, but judging by the ratio between the ship, the mountains, and the people—if that was indeed what they were supposed to be—the ship would’ve been gargantuan in size. There was no text. No explanation.

  My gaze was already shifting to the next book, which was open to one full page of text and one full page illustration of an epic battle between three people, clearly Shapers, and one dark figure with—

  “You’ve gotta be gropping kidding me,” I muttered.

  “I had similar thoughts,” Franco said.

  I was too busy scanning the text for some explanation. There. Something about some kind of council, I though it said, and a man named Valen… defeating the prophet… the false prophet…

  “Sarentus,” I whispered.

  “Praise Alpha,” Franco replied.

  I stared at the illustration, dumbstruck. Stared at Sarentus, wreathed in shadow.

  His eyes were red.

  Even faded as the ink was with age, it was unmistakable. But that didn’t mean anything, did it? It was just a drawing. Just a drawing in a book that looked to be hundreds of years old. A book, I saw now, that mentioned the Emmútari more than a few times. As did the rune book, I saw now at a closer look.

  Unless some forger had gone through a lot of trouble, I was pretty sure I was looking at honest-to-Alpha records of the Emmútari.

  “Can you turn the pages?” I asked.

  Franco shook his head, not moving his unbound hands. “I tried.” He tilted his head. “Our friend didn’t seem to like that.”

  I looked up at Pasty, still watching us from his corner of the room.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “How do you have these?”

  He blinked at me. Looked around at the shelves of books. Sweet Alpha, was he a simpleton? Was that wash basin of his lined with softsteel?

  “What the scud do you want from us?”

  I hadn’t meant to yell, but between Pasty’s seemingly perpetual state of dumb surprise and my own frustrations at being powerlessly bound, it just happened. Pasty flinched, wide-eyed as if he’d never heard such barbarism. He hung his head, trembling slightly.

  “I… I’m sorry,” I was surprised to hear myself say. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

  What in demon’s depths was going on? Where were we? Where had Hawk Nose gone? And why the scud was I apologizing to the guy who was at least complicit in holding us prisoners?

  He just looked so damn pathetic.

  “What do you think he wants?” I asked Franco. “Why’s he doing this?”

  “Because you’ve clearly hurt his feelings, Demon,” came a voice from somewhere behind.

  I craned around and caught a glimpse of a slender build and dark, unkempt hair. Hawk Nose, returned from whatever the scud he’d been doing—unless he’d just been sitting there listening all along. When I looked back, Pasty had perked up at his partner’s arrival. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but it still made me think of a hound greeting its master after a day home alone.

  “I believe he was referring more to the abduction and silent prison master act,” Franco said, “to which I’d like to pose the same questions. Why did you attack us, and what do you want?”

  “Only way to bring the Prospect in safely,” Hawk Nose said, scooting around our table to stand in front of us.

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “Am I the Prospect? Prospect for what?” I eyed the wand in his hand. “And what the scud is that thing?”

  He glanced down at the device himself, frowning a little. “Thought you might’ve known.”

  What was it with these people? Even when they talked, they managed not to answer a single question. I was about to try again when Hawk Nose held out his wand for us to see more closely.

  The device was less than a foot long and maybe an inch in diameter. It was made of a dull metal, and now that he held it out, I could see that its surface was covered in etchings inlaid with what might’ve been silver. Runes. They were intricate, and very well-ordered. More like the ones in the book than those on my cloaking pendant.

  I looked between Hawk Nose and Pasty, trying to understand, to fit the pieces together. “Are you Emmútari?”

  The question seemed to amuse Hawk Nose. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t answer—just turned to his pale companion. “It’s safe now. Let’s get this over with.”

  Pasty gave an excited little clap and padded across the room toward us. He was barefoot, I realized, pasty white feet smacking the stone floor. He went to a nearby trunk, rustled around, and withdrew a battered old helmet straight from the ancient history lessons. Except not quite, I realized as I got a closer look, because the helms in the lessons hadn’t been covered by intricate silver runes.

  I got a funny feeling as Pasty padded forward, holding the helmet as if he intended to slip it onto my head.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “What is that?”

  “Just relax a minute,” Hawk Nose said, wand held at the ready but not quite pointing at us.

  “If you’d simply talk to us, goodfellows,” Franco said, “I’m sure we could come to understand what it is you—”

  Hawk Nose held up a hand to silence him. “You’ll get your answers if and when it’s time.” He waved at Pasty, who’d paused nervously, to continue. “We need to be sure first.”

  “Sure of what?” I growled, jerking my head away as Pasty held the helmet out. I couldn’t move enough to fight. Couldn’t feel a damn thing with my senses. Beside me, Franco was tensed, ready to spring at Pasty.

  Across the table, Hawk Nose raised his wand at Franco. “Don’t.”

  Franco was about to try anyway. I could see it in his eyes. I was just about to warn him off when Pasty surprised us both by darting forward and jamming the helmet over my head. I froze, scared
to even breathe.

  Nothing happened.

  “Congratulations,” I said, looking between our captors. “You got me. Now can one of you please tell us what the scud is going on?”

  Pasty made a series of impatient gestures, tapping his head with both hands, then turning them out, palms up, as if to say What are you thinking?

  I wanted to scream. What was wrong with these people?

  Pasty tried again, this time placing both hands over his heart and spreading them to the open room before bringing them back to cup his head.

  “You want me to… open up? To a helmet?”

  Pasty nodded excitedly.

  “No.” I looked between Hawk Nose, who watched impassively, and Pasty, who looked suddenly crestfallen. “No. Why in demon’s depths would I let you crazy bastards in my head?”

  “Very well,” Hawk Nose said. “We’ll find another.”

  He raised his wand at Franco.

  “Wait,” I snapped. “Sweet Alpha, what’s the matter with you two?”

  Hawk Nose said nothing—only waited to see if I had more to add.

  “What’s this thing gonna do to me?”

  “You will be measured,” was all he said.

  Helpful as always.

  “Hal,” Franco said, “you don’t have to—”

  “It’s fine.”

  In truth, I hadn’t the faintest clue what the scud it was. Certainly not fine. But hey, if I could fight my way out of a raknoth’s telepathic prison, I should be able to handle an inanimate object, right? Hopefully. Besides, Alpha only knew what they’d do to us if I refused.

  We’d come here for answers, hadn’t we?

  “Put that damn wand down,” I said.

  Then I lowered my mental defenses.

  It happened quickly—a kind of slow, sweeping warmth scanning across my mind from one side to the other, like a sliver of sun sliding across the floor in accelerated time. There were bursts of emotion and pain. Flashes of memories of my parents and my days as a tyro in Sanctuary. Of Elise and Carlisle. Of the raknoth. Most came and went too quickly to process. Some lingered too long—the night Al’Kundesha had murdered my parents, the slaughter at the White Tower. I didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it. But at least there seemed to be no sign of impending torture or struggle.

  Distantly, I was aware of Pasty hovering beside me, leaning in to inspect something on the helmet. Light of multiple colors flickered at the edge of my vision. Could he see what was happening? There was no inkling of another presence sharing in this experience, but he seemed awfully intrigued by the side of the helmet. I tried not to think about it, hoping it would be over soon. And it was.

  Sooner than I’d expected, the device’s odd warmth retreated from my mind, leaving me alone in my head once more. I drew my defenses back around me and shifted my focus back to the room, feeling vaguely ill.

  Franco was watching me with a tense expression. Hawk Nose had ignored my command to lower his wand and was watching his partner expectantly. I turned to Pasty.

  He recoiled a few steps, lower lip trembling, eyes wide, watching me like one would watch a snarling wolf.

  “What?” I said. “What happened?”

  Franco looked as confused as I felt.

  “Is it him?” Hawk Nose asked.

  Pasty shook his head frantically, refusing to meet my eyes.

  Hawk Nose closed his eyes. Let out a deep breath. “Scud,” he whispered.

  Apparently I’d failed their test. But I’d also had enough. Far more than enough. They weren’t going to answer our questions—I was pretty sure of that. Whether they were planning on letting us live was less clear. But I’d be damned if I was going to wait around to find out.

  I caught Franco’s eye. Tried to give him a signal.

  He crumpled in his chair like his strings had been cut. It took me a second to realize what had happened. By the time I whirled on Hawk Nose, he was already shifting his wand in my direction.

  “You bastard!” I cried.

  Then the world went dark.

  This time, I sprang up from the darkness with a gasp. Franco was hovering over me, occupied with his palmlight. Some of the tension bled out of his face when I stirred.

  “Good. I was starting to worry. Come on.”

  I sat up too quickly with Franco’s assistance and tried to look around past the spinning in my head. “Where is that Hawk Nosed bastard?”

  “Gone, I think. Thought I caught a glimpse of him running off when I came to. We need to move.”

  “Why?”

  The world steadied around me. We were tucked away in a stone alcove on the edge of a quiet garden square. There was no one in sight, which seemed kind of strange, but—

  In the distance, an alarm keened a long, mournful note.

  “That’s why,” Franco said. “I’m calling Dillard.”

  I checked my palmlight. Dozens of messages and missed calls. And no wonder. It had been a couple hours since we’d first confronted Hawk Nose by the Byahnan River. Hound Company was probably tearing this city apart looking for us.

  But that alarm…

  I was reaching to return Johnny’s last call when Ordo Dillard’s voice crackled from Franco’s palmlight.

  “Fields! Where the scud are you two?”

  “We’re safe, relatively speaking,” Franco said. “The contact surprised us. Took us somewhere. We’re back on our own, now.”

  “Good, then you two need to—”

  A transport roared by overhead, flying far too fast and low to be Legion. I craned my neck out of our alcove and saw others descending on the city. A shrill scream carried to us from across the garden, followed by an inhuman roar.

  “Do you confirm?” Dillard’s voice crackled.

  I scrambled woozily to my feet and watched in horror as, a few blocks down, the speeding transport slowed to a hover and began disgorging ravenous hybrids into the streets.

  “Repeat,” came Dillard’s voice, “Humility is under attack.”

  17

  Incursion

  Maybe it was the civilian clothes I wore over my armor skin, making me feel the part. Maybe it was a residual effect of how powerless I’d felt being handled by Pasty and Hawk Nose in that Alpha-cursed dungeon. Whatever it was, in those first moments seeing the hybrids descend on Humility, I felt just as terrified as every other screaming civilian.

  “Call your skimmer and get your asses the scud out of here!” Dillard was snapping through Franco’s palmlight. “That’s an order.”

  Franco was busy doing just that, tensely swiping commands into his palmlight. I could only stare in dumb shock as, three streets down and about a hundred yards away, feral hybrids crashed into their first kills of the day. Only they didn’t kill them. They grabbed them up and dragged them off, kicking and screaming.

  It was happening again.

  “Hal,” Franco was calling. “Get back here. The skimmer’s on the way. Hal!”

  But I was stuck—frozen by the dull wringing in my head, unwilling to watch the horrors unfolding, but unable to look away. More hybrid transports coming down now. More civilians running, screaming, carried away. More dying. The crack of gunfire as Humility’s meager local forces stepped into action.

  Dillard barking at me through Franco’s palmlight, pinging me on my own.

  “Stay where you are, Raish,” he called. “I repeat, do not engage. You are to return directly to Haven and—”

  In the chaos ahead, I saw a hybrid turn from the screaming woman it was carrying to tear out the throat of the man who was pounding on its back, trying to stop it. Everything condensed to that point, my heart hammering in my ears like detonating thumpers. I was only distantly aware of Franco and Dillard’s voices in the background. Somewhere, multiple hybrids roared.

  Then a man and woman stumbled into the garden square at a disoriented run, and I was moving before I knew it, tearing across the garden as their sickly green pursuit came howling after them. I tore through a line of shrubs
and vaulted the parapet, not stopping to think.

  The hybrid caught my presence just in time to catch my fist—and a considerable hunk of panic-fueled telekinesis right along with it. The creature hit the adjacent building with a wet cracking sound and dropped limply to the ground along with a few falling bits of stone debris.

  My abilities were working again, then. That was good to know.

  The two civilians turned wide eyes to me, and I realized the man was cradling a baby.

  “Go,” I said. “Straight out of town. Go!”

  They backed away, looking as shocked as I’d felt a moment ago, and finally turned to run.

  “Hal,” Franco called, jogging up behind me, “they’re ordering us out of here. I know what you’re thinking, but—”

  “These people need help, Franco.” I spotted a loose building stone next to the fallen hybrid and called it to my hand with telekinesis. Holding an image in my mind, willing it to be so, I started channeling. My head buzzed, the air cooled, and the stone shifted to form a simple spike in my hand.

  I looked back to Franco. “You should go.”

  He searched my face, came to some decision, and went to grab himself a stone.

  Crude weapons in hand, we charged down the uneven stone street toward the sounds of fighting. It didn’t take us long to find it. The first hybrids I’d seen were still there in the square a few streets over, some just beginning to spread out to the north and south, several others rounding up –or feeding on—the few civilians who hadn’t yet made it out.

  The hybrid at the eastern entrance of the square whipped around just in time to take my telekinetic spike to the eye. It dropped with a keening growl. I was already yanking my spike free, darting into the square. Almost as one, five hybrids turned from their mayhem and bellowed a horrible challenge. I was about to hurl my spike at the leftmost when another choir of roars sounded to the south. Another to north. And again, further out, spreading through the city like the cries of some demonic wolf pack.