Hellforged (25 page)

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Authors: Nancy Holzner

Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Demonology

BOOK: Hellforged
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I turned pages until I reached the end of the story of Avagddu and Taliesin. Or where I thought the end was. Without being able to read the words on the pages, I couldn’t be sure. So I began again.
It took forever. I’d stare at a page until I started to go cross-eyed, waiting to see whether understanding would flood my mind. The process wasn’t helping my headache. I tried to be patient, to be calm, to keep myself centered. But I’m not a patient person on my best day, and the frustration of trying and trying and
trying
to understand a book I couldn’t read drove me crazy.
I turned a page, snapping it and nearly tearing the parchment.
Take it easy, Victory.
Then I realized that
Victory
wasn’t self-talk—the book was sending the word into my thoughts. I stared at a group of letters, and the impression of
Victory
grew stronger. Keeping still, as though moving would dissolve the meaning, I waited. More words appeared in my mind.
When the dead walk, then shall Victory bind itself to the legions of Hell.
Pryce’s first two signs: zombies in Boston, and the strengthening of my bond with Difethwr. I’d done that for my own reasons, not to fulfill some stupid prophecy. And I didn’t appreciate being referred to as an
it
. Or did the sentence even refer to me? Maybe the book was predicting some kind of triumph for the Hellions. Mab said the book would try to trick me; I shouldn’t jump to conclusions about its meaning.
I moved my eyes to the next line:
A new order shall rise when the Morfran emerges anew. Then shall Uffern breach its boundaries and the Brenin step forward.
That was what Difethwr had said to me in Tyler’s dream. It was happening now. The Morfran was out there, killing zombies. Uffern—the demon plane, Hell, whatever you wanted to call it—expanded into any dreamscape I entered. And Pryce, styling himself as King of the Demons, had stepped forward in a big way. I had the bruises to prove it.
The next line exploded in my mind like fireworks.
Then shall the prophecy be fulfilled: From a goddess two lines diverged, but they shall be reunited in Victory.
I threw the book across the room.
“Victory!” Mab jumped from her chair. I couldn’t help it. I wanted those words out of my mind. And I didn’t want that damn book anywhere near me.
Mab picked up the book and inspected it for damage. I expected a scolding, but she sat beside me on the sofa. She placed one hand on my leg and the other on the book in her lap.
“What did it tell you, child?”
Instead of answering, I stood and walked to the French doors. My heart beat like a moth slamming itself over and over against a lighted window. I reached up to smooth my hair and realized I was shaking. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be part of some goddamn prophecy from Hell. Rain dripped from the eaves and splashed onto the flagstones.
Mab came up behind me. I didn’t hear her, but I saw her reflection in the glass. Transparent, silent, like a ghost. She reached for my shoulder. I flinched, and she dropped her hand.
“I know this is difficult, child. But as I said when we began, it’s necessary.”
I nodded. The rain went
drip-splash
,
drip-splash
. That book had killed my father. It would be the end of me, too. I could feel it.
“Come. At least show me which section you were reading.”
I let her take my hand and guide me over to her desk. She sat me down in the chair and opened the book in front of me.
I lifted a hand to turn the page but froze halfway there.
Mab leaned over from where she stood behind me. “I’ll turn the pages. Tell me when we reach the part that upset you.”
Okay. I could do that.
Slowly, she paged through the book. She passed the picture of Avagddu, passed the dozen or so pages beyond it I hadn’t been able to understand. Then, as before, the word
Victory
appeared in my mind. “Stop!” I grabbed her wrist.
The page contained an illustration that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was a different page—it was impossible to know. The picture showed a rocky hill with a small, square opening, like a darkened doorway: some sort of cave, or maybe a mine or a dolmen. Beside the cave, bigger than the hill itself, stood Difethwr, pointing. A cloud of bats flew out of the cave and in the direction of Difethwr’s pointing claw. I looked closer. Those weren’t bats. They were crows.
The Morfran emerges anew.
Mab put on her reading glasses and peered over my shoulder to examine the page. After a few minutes, she took a magnifying glass from her desk drawer and leaned in closer. More minutes passed before she shook her head.
“That part of the book has always been closed to me,” she said. “I thought perhaps I could read it today, since the book granted you understanding. But I cannot. The new illustration gives me an idea, but it may be misleading.” She closed the book and put her hand on my arm. “So I’m afraid I must ask you again, child. What did it tell you?”
“It was a prophecy. Parts of it have already come true.” I told her about the dead walking and Victory binding itself to a Hellion. She nodded. “The next part was what the Destroyer said to me in my client’s dream. About a new order and the Morfran emerging and a king stepping forward. Pryce thinks he’s that king, doesn’t he? He talked about a new world order, too.”
“Did the book say ‘king’ or ‘Brenin’?”
“Isn’t
brenin
Welsh for
king
?”
“Yes, but it’s also a title. The Brenin is a sort of emperor of the demon realm.”
“That’s what the book said. Brenin.”
“Is that what upset you? That the book echoed the Destroyer’s words? Don’t let that frighten you. All Hellions know this book by heart.”
“No, there was something else.” I didn’t want to say Pryce’s prophecy out loud, but maybe Mab could help me understand it differently. I took a deep breath and said the words: “ ‘ From a goddess two lines diverged, but they shall be reunited in Victory. ’ ”
The expression on Mab’s face showed she was as disgusted by the idea as I was.
But she shook her head. “I’m sorry, child. I didn’t catch that. Could you say it again?”
I repeated the words, just as Pryce had said them, just as the book had shoved them into my head.
Mab shook her head. “I can’t understand you. It’s as though you’re speaking in tongues.”
I stared at her. “Can you understand what I’m saying now?”
“Yes, perfectly well.”
“Okay, let me try again. ‘From a goddess two lines diverged, but they shall be reunited in Victory.’ ”
“You repeated the prophecy exactly each time? Word for word?”
“Yes.” By now I’d said it so many times that the hated words were etched into my mind in fiery letters. They really were starting to feel like destiny.
Mab inspected the book through the magnifying glass again, then sighed and rubbed her eyes. “The prophecy is cloaked. I can’t read the book. When you spoke, the words sounded different each time, not in any language I recognize. Just random sounds.” She thought for a moment. “Try paraphrasing. Say it in your own words.”
“Pryce thinks it’s my destiny to reunite the Cerddorion and the Meibion Avagddu by having his baby.”
Mab heaved an exasperated sigh. “I can’t understand.”
This was ridiculous. I grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from Mab’s desk and wrote out the prophecy. I can’t claim to have the world’s greatest handwriting, but it was legible. I read it over to make sure, then passed the pad to Mab.
“It’s gibberish, child.”
I looked again. She was right; the words had changed. The sentence I’d written had morphed into a long string of random letters.
I stared at the page, willing the letters to change back, to say what I’d written. But they stubbornly remained as they were. Something was forcing me to keep Pryce’s prophecy secret.
AFTER ANOTHER HALF HOUR OF TRYING, I COULDN’T GET anything else from the book. Every line I stared at, every page I turned, trumpeted the same message:
From a goddess two lines diverged, but they shall be reunited in Victory.
The damn book was taunting me.
When I looked up, bleary-eyed, Mab was watching me as intently as if the book’s meaning were reflected in my face. “Anything?” she asked.
“No.” I rubbed my temples, trying to ease my persistent headache. “Just that same prophecy, over and over.” I took another stab at saying it out loud, but Mab shook her head.
“Why can’t I make you understand? Is there a spell on me?”
“No. But the book owns its words and decides who may receive them.”
“That’s one hell of a copyright.”
“Indeed. Never forget, child: The book tries to control your understanding of what you read. There’s a part of the prophecy it doesn’t want you to discuss with me. That suggests your current understanding of the prophecy is aligned with what the book wants you to think. Do not consider your understanding true or inevitable. Be open to other interpretations.”
I nodded, but I had my doubts. What else
could
it mean? Pryce had made it so clear.
“Enough of the book. Now,” Mab said, standing, “it’s time for lunch. Then I’m going to teach you how to fight the Morfran.”
20
I STOOD ON THE SLOPING BACK LAWN. HUGE, PUFFY CLOUDS filled the sky. A steady wind blew, and I was glad my hair was short enough to stay out of my face. Something told me I’d need my concentration.
Beside me, Mab wore her usual weapons-practice outfit: a black turtleneck and narrow black pants. No helmet, and no elbow or knee pads, so she didn’t expect things to get too physical. Good. The shower helped, but I still ached from yesterday’s beating.
I was ready to learn how to kick some Morfran ass, and I said so.
Mab frowned at my choice of words. “The Morfran lacks that anatomical part,” she said in her lecturer voice. “It’s different from any demon you’re accustomed to fighting. As I told you yesterday, it’s a hunger. It requires direction, which it gets in one of two ways. The Morfran can take possession of someone who already has a propensity for destructive hunger.”
“You mentioned serial killers.”
“Yes. Mass murderers also, and those who commit wartime atrocities. But Morfran-possessed humans are relatively rare, and they’re not our concern.” She gestured, pushing that topic away. “As you’ve learned,” she continued, “the Morfran is the essence of all demons, created by Avagddu. Demons can direct the Morfran, but only within their own realm.”
“Uffern.”
“Yes. That’s why Pryce needed your bond with the Destroyer as a bridge. Through you, he could push demonic control of the Morfran into the human plane.”
“So why not just set me up with a lifetime supply of that no-dreaming tea?” As soon as I said it, I knew it wouldn’t work. “It’s not only my dreams. The Destroyer got into that client’s dream. I’d never be able to make a living if I couldn’t enter anyone’s dreamscape.” Drude exterminations were my number-one source of income.
“There are two additional concerns. One”—she held up a finger—“the tea is a temporary solution. No one can live for long shut out of their own dreamscape. In time, your body would circumvent its effects. Two”—she held up a second finger—“as the Morfran grows stronger, Pryce needs you less.”
“He said something like that yesterday.”
Mab dropped her hand, and urgency tightened her features. “The Morfran has already fed three times. As it strengthens, so do demons. And the Morfran calls more of itself to itself. When the Morfran reaches critical mass, the demons will gain power they haven’t possessed in centuries.”
Bad news. I’d been fighting demons for ten years. More than once, I’d nearly been killed on the job. But Mab was saying that those demons were a bunch of wimps compared to what was coming if we didn’t stop the Morfran.
As if to confirm my thoughts, Mab nodded. “Humanity thrives because our kind has kept the Morfran contained. Most of it, anyway. But now, I fear, Pryce has discovered how to release the Morfran. I’m going to teach you to put it back where it belongs.”

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