Demonworld (9 page)

“
I don’t work for Aegis Vachs. I answer to the Senate. And a thousand gunmen answer to me, so I’ll worry about stepping on toes later. Aegis Vachs and Shem Udo, Secundus of the Guard, control a third of the Guardians, and as of now they are both under suspicion. If they try to stop me, and I see guilt in their eyes, they’re done. I’m a soldier, a man of action, and I have two more days to find Project before Didi pushes the button and ends it. We pick up the pieces later.”

“
Fine, then.” Korliss turned away from the open sky and entered his dark living room. “As for me, I’m going to take a heroic dose of this psilocybin I’ve been saving for a special occasion and take this opportunity to contemplate our species sliding into extinction. And while you shake your head and balk at the very idea that there’s guilt in my tone of voice, old friend, just you remember, as you throw politicians into prison cells and reawaken old methods of torture so you can keep the dream of a bright future alive,
just you remember
that it’s our fault that the politicians operate the way they do because we taught them how the game of power is played. We taught them the lust for power, Sevrik. All three of us did.”

Korliss stood under the glowing green idol of the mind they had engineered and he thought to himself,
Not once during our conversation did he bring up the fact that only the Guardians could have kidnapped seven people and shipped them out of Haven without anyone stopping them. It either never entered his mind, or he never wanted it to enter
my
mind.

Do you still lust for power, Sevrik? Are you still the wild animal you once were?

The Tree of Life and the Cave of Harsh Enlightenment

The six made their way through the darkness, worn out, emotionally empty, aware only of the stream chattering beside them. Hermann had said nothing since the torture. He lagged behind and no one looked at him. A creeping wave of mist rolled over them with cold tongues.

“
You’re taking us somewhere?” said Wodi to Iduna, who was in the lead.

“
Yes, a place I saw earlier.”

“
What place?”

“
It’s just up this hill.”

Through the haze of his exhaustion, Wodi only dimly realized that they had been walking uphill beside the stream for quite some time.

Suddenly the frenzied whispering of the stream grew calm and quiet and Wodi lifted his eyes and saw that they stood in a wide clearing on the side of a hill wreathed in fog. The top of the hill was open, dark with green grass, and it was crowned by a single wide, twisted tree. Wodi saw moonlight peering through gray leaves and, because the mist below was so thick, he had the impression that the hilltop was an island floating in the clouds. The great tree dominated Wodi’s awareness; it was an old god, a guardian of a sanctuary, a keeper of mysteries far older than the nightmare horrors and chaos that ran shrieking throughout the rest of the valley.

As they neared the great tree Wodi was hit by the scent of honeysuckle mixed with old batteries and his awareness shifted. Saul’s head jerked upwards and he felt of his own fingers; he was experienced in the use of strange substances and he knew what was happening. He touched Wodi’s shoulder thinking to tell him that the tree’s leaves contained a potent drug, but as he watched Wodi turn to him slowly, slowly, and then smile, then laugh, Saul knew that he already understood.

They climbed the tree to sleep for the night. Wodi felt electricity running from the rough bark into his hands and, as he looked up, he saw stars shining through the branches and he felt that the branches of the great tree were dark channels than ran throughout the cosmos. It was a labyrinth of connections, a sustaining force that held all things aloft. Why life or matter or dreams existed was no longer a mystery to him. Awe-inspiring and terrible, as if reality itself was a mask removed and a shining face was revealed beneath the brute forms. As they settled into little nooks between the wide branches many fireflies came out to dance, landing on twigs, leaves, fingers, hair.

Wodi turned and looked at Peter Remus. The elder looked both pig-like and delicate, his face slack, his eyes scanning something visible only to him. Wodi considered that the man spent most of his time dealing with poor people who had run afoul of the law as well as judges and lawyers and politicians who aspired to positions of power. Peter’s brow furrowed and the spots and lines of the man’s brow sent Wodi into a vision: He saw men in brown, fur-lined jackets meeting in a cold basement to argue the finer points of philosophy, science, belief. Wodi knew that these were the great Founders of Haven who had conspired against the monarchy and the religious leaders of Sunport six hundred years ago.

Sunport
, thought Wodi.
That’s where we’re going! The coast, the edge of the wasteland… we’re looking for Haven, just as they were
.

The men debated violently. He saw a portly, wizened old man with dancing words and a mind like a blade; he saw another who spoke softly but looked barbaric, like an animal; he saw another with flaming red hair who took notes to codify their beliefs and debates in writing so that their ideas would live on if they should be found out and killed between this meeting and the next. Wodi laughed violently, for he realized that the faces of the men were those of actors who had played the Founding Fathers in various recorded dramas he had seen in his youth.

He was shocked again as the men left off from their debate to take part in a ritual. Candles were lit and the men wore robes and masks. This was not taught in schools and there was something perverse about the movements and lengthy, monotonous invocations. Wodi saw the dark branches of the great tree connecting him and his companions to the men of old.

“
Damn the demon!” cried one of the Founders.

“
The demon is death!” the others repeated.

Did Peter mouth those very words just now?
Wodi wondered.

Even as the men turned and stepped in rhythm with the fireflies, Wodi saw the subtle disagreements that drew lines of conflict among the Founders. He saw that many of them believed that man was made in the image of a great creator, an architect who hid behind the form of things, and it was their sacred duty to free mankind from the chains of demonic ideology so that a vast, wild, and inconceivable creative force could be unleashed upon the universe. He saw that some worshipped the sun, and dreamed of creating a new world fit for a new type of man, and they were willing to kill for their peaceful ideals. Others were obsessed with stories that included a pantheon of gods and heroes. Over and over throughout history they looked for stories and created new ones; just as many times their records were thrown into fires stoked by rulers, pontiffs, hatchetmen. Some observed and recorded and worshipped a world of natural laws and order, while others prayed to dark forces that lived in a world beyond reason. The only thing the Founders had in common was that they hated the flesh demons and hated the line of kings who sacrificed humans to demons in order to survive. But even in that, Wodi could see that some of the men only hated the demons and demon-kings because they hungered for power themselves.

As the men turned about, hands clasping and unclasping, he saw a large tapestry hanging over them. Many great, round gears all intertwined in three sets of ten and then three more, and if one should turn, they all would turn…

Wodi returned and saw the gray leaves of the tree curling and un-curling in the light of the moon.

Even in Haven
, thought Wodi.
They built a land of egalitarianism free of demons and free of brutality. But even in Haven there was an old cancer that bided its time and is now making its presence known
.

“
A cave,” said Saul. Wodi turned to him slowly. “There’s a cave down there. Among the stones at the foot of the hill, where the creek turns.”

Wodi thought about it and realized that the tree must have a mirror image of itself that went down into the earth, into darkness. He looked and saw that Marlon was snoring loudly, his head thrown back into a crushed bird’s nest. Hermann was lost in his own world while Iduna and Peter discussed something among themselves.

“
Let’s go,” said Wodi, and the two scampered down the tree.

The purple light of the flesh demon’s belly made dancing shadows of the tree trunks as he made his pilgrimage to the eastern end of the valley. He was in a pit of frustration. Just hours ago he’d had the chance to grab several strange men, swing them by their ankles, and dash their heads against wood, stone, a bed of sharp pebbles – anything he could imagine – but he had been ordered to leave the men
alive
and come to the nephew’s lair. He did not know why. If he had not been taken from his duties, he could have picked through the organs and wiry veins and plumbed their mysteries. He could have made a mound of their intestines and kicked it and watched the scattering in awe. He could have been in his nest smelling their hair, thick with sweat and the musk of fear, at this very moment. But no, he had been ordered to go on this long, cold walk. He wanted answers!

He came to a large clearing filled with tall, twisting spires of glowing pink crystals, living sculptures, frozen blood. His hooved feet clattered against the glass floor and glowing liquid beneath the surface followed his steps. Something like eyes blinked at him in the crystal spires, orbs dim and twisted behind the glass. This was the lair of the children of God in the oasis; it was alive, a sleeping god.

He felt a brother in his mind, then saw Bilatzailea resting on an altar of crystal between two tall towers. She was pale and small and had long pitch-black hair and, because she was a master of pheromonal influence, her victims considered her beautiful. They always fell for her red lips and round hips; under her hypnotic influence, they never noticed the grime under her long yellow nails and the stench of old meat on her breath. In order to further her mimicry of the female form, she had even carved scar tissue into her breasts. She had no nipples of her own, for she could not produce milk and she could not produce progeny. Bilatzailea was like him – an “it” that was free of sex. She had been made into the shape of a human female so that she could procure seed for Mother. That was why her name meant
seeker
in a tongue that died with the Ancients.

She sat still, like an empty husk. Her eyes did not follow him, but he soon felt a connection crackling to life. Bilatzailea, like all of their kind, were capable of
communion
. There was no possibility for miscommunication, as with the humans who were cut off from one another. He sent his anger to Bilatzailea in waves of heat and pinpricks.

Most of the Mother’s children communicated through images and passions, but Bilatzailea could speak in the language of men. It was one of the many weapons in her arsenal. He saw his name thrown up before his eyes:
Eragileak
. Eragileak, the executor. Eragileak, the strength. Eragileak, the hand of the little master, the nephew. He stopped and considered his role. Bilatzailea, no doubt, was reminding him that their nephew’s ways might be strange, that he might be in exile from heaven below, but it was still their sacred duty to obey him and to help in his eventual salvation. But the way was difficult: Because the will of their little master was often violent, and because Eragileak was chosen specifically for that purpose, Eragileak was not a creature of subtle means or great patience.

Eragileak felt a great channel open wide. A rush of images, hopes, various physical pains. Their nephew, the little master, was awake. He was called Blindness because he had no eyes of his own, but because he could see through the eyes of others and because he hated the sight of himself, Bilatzailea politely turned away. Eragileak saw a great shadow cast on the side of one pillar. He could see shifting tentacles, a bulbous mass, something like horns protruding from the front… he watched the shadow twitch and writhe in the light of the crystals, but did not cross the space to see his master’s form.

Blindness opened the channel wide enough to flood Eragileak with innumerable instances of the treachery of men. Kill a handful of them now and face a hundred of them tomorrow. Break their knives today and face guns tomorrow. They may be lost and hungry today only to return later with weapons, fire, plans. Blindness showed him that they did not need a handful of dead men – they needed information, they needed answers to variables that would help them solve the equation of mankind.

They must be watched. They must be followed. Bilatzailea perked up as the communion shifted to include her. They saw that Blindness was using his subtle fingers to probe at the eyes and the mind of one of the men, but it was difficult, so difficult, to remotely probe an alien mind and attain any sort of results. Blindness needed a physical sample. Bilatzailea must sniff them out. Force of arms would not give the Mother victory. Not this early, not this day.