The Book of Daniel (25 page)

I took advantage of the temporary standoff to steal a few glances at the other skirmishes being fought around us. To our left, a band of soldiers was engaged in bringing down a giant centipede of some kind. Every time it reared up to attack one member of the team, another bravely ducked under its legs to stab at its soft underbelly, each wound spewing out clots of thick green ichor which hissed acidically as they hit the ground. Another nearby group was not faring so well, trying to rescue one of their comrades who was pinned to the ground underneath the prongs of an enormous pitchfork. The trapped Purgatorian struggled to free herself, but every time she moved, the armour-clad demon that held the pitchfork leant in on its weapon, gouging her wounds and wringing fresh screams of agony out of her. The monster paid no attention as the blows of the other soldiers bounced ineffectively off of its shell, focussing intently on torturing its poor victim instead. An angel passed swiftly by, ignoring the group’s cries for help, heading directly and unswervingly towards a large orange demon, wreathed in flames, that resembled a praying mantis. With brutal efficiency, the angel chopped off the mantis’s head, freeing a man who had been just seconds away from certain death.

Observing this mayhem, a new question suddenly occurred to me. “How come none of the other demons are attacking us?”

“We’ve been marked by this one. Claimed. Normally, that wouldn’t count for anything and the others would be all over us, but if one of the masters singles someone out for special treatment,” she said, nodding meaningfully at our foe, “then that’s a different matter.” She averted her gaze from the demon for an instant. “You must have done something special to deserve such royal treatment from Hell’s ranks on your first day out.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

One eyebrow flickered upwards. She continued to watch the demon, like a lion tamer facing down a particularly dangerous animal. “There’s no such thing as luck, Dan. Fate, maybe; but not luck.”

Whether it was fate or luck, I didn’t really care; but one thing was for sure, and that’s that it wasn’t on my side. The news that the thing gearing up to attack us was one of the head chefs in this crazy kitchen—and that it had chosen me from amongst all the other tasty morsels on the menu—was enough to swing the pendulum of my confidence firmly back in the other direction once more, and the demon, sensing my fears, suddenly lurched towards us again.

This time there was no hesitation or leniency in its attack. It crouched and lunged forwards like a giant panther, and Harper shoved me to one side just in the nick of time. She herself was not quite so fortunate. The demon lashed out with its claws as it shot by, striking her on the chest and knocking her to the ground. There was a tiny metallic chink, somehow audible over the noise of the battle, and I saw the small, familiar shape of my mother’s medallion tumbling through the air, torn free from around Harper’s neck. However much I wanted to watch where it landed, I forced my attention onto the more pressing matter of what had happened to Harper instead. I knew that by doing so, I had seen the last of the medallion, but if Saint George had done his job and protected Harper, then it was a small price to pay. I’m sure my mother would have approved.

To my relief, the only damage that Harper had sustained was to her armour, just below her neck. I started towards her, intending to help her to her feet, but had taken only a couple of steps before her eyes widened.

“Don’t worry about me, you idiot, look out behind you!”

I spun around to face the demon, only to find it already bearing down on us again. I scarcely had time to raise up my sword before it was upon me. With one sweep of its hand, it swatted my weapon to one side as if it were nothing more than a twig, sending a shockwave reverberating painfully along my arm. Somehow I managed to keep a grip on the sword, but before I could retaliate, a second, backhanded sweep flung me to the ground. Even though battered, I was still alert enough to notice that the demon had deliberately refrained from using its claws, presumably because it was still intending to draw our deaths out as much as possible, to obtain maximum, twisted pleasure from them. I hoped I could somehow exploit its overconfidence and get Harper and myself out of this mess. But how?

I got to my feet as slowly as I dared, making an effort to appear more groggy than I felt. The armour I wore, about which I had had so many misgivings earlier, had absorbed most of the force of the blow, but I decided that it was prudent to keep that a secret for now. The rush of combat was enough to reawaken the soldier’s instincts that lay dormant within me, like a splash of cold water in my face. The fundamental principles that the drill sergeants had endlessly beaten into me back on Earth came hurrying to the forefront of my mind, reporting for duty: never let your enemy know your strengths or weaknesses; always try to control his reactions; no weapon is more effective than surprise. Everything fell back into place, and by the time I was on my feet, I felt properly ready to tackle this black menace.

The demon wasted no time in renewing its attack, bounding towards me and rearing up, raising its mighty fist high into the air once again. I focussed only on my opponent, filtering out the other battles going on around us, the barrage of the Fallen that roared overhead, the fountain of earth that erupted a short distance behind my foe. When the blow came, the hand plummeted towards me at an almost impossible speed, but even so, I was ready for it. At the last moment, I made a miraculous recovery from my apparently stunned state and thrust my sword upwards, locking my arms in place and bracing my feet against the ground. I looked around my blade at the demon. Now it was my turn to grin.

A look of horror and rage came into its eyes in the split second it took for it to realise that it had been tricked, but it was too late by then for it to pull its hand back. There was a deafening roar as it impaled itself on my sword with the full force of its swing. My feet skidded backwards in the earth, leaving trails a metre long, and it was all I could do to prevent myself from being driven to my knees. Blood, or whatever else it was that ran in the demon’s veins, sprayed out of the wound and ran down my blade; and just like Harper’s sword, mine flared brighter at the taste of it. The blood hissed and spat angrily as it oozed towards my hand, then quickly evaporated, leaving coils of acrid smoke in its wake.

The downward pressure quickly abated as the demon tried to draw back its wounded hand. I suddenly found myself being pulled instead of pushed, and almost wrenched off my feet in the process. I gripped the handle of my sword tightly and tried to yank it free of the hand, but it was no use. The blade was firmly lodged in place, and every time I tugged at the sword, fresh blood and howls came from the demon. The violence and desperation of its efforts to disengage itself made me certain it wasn’t play-acting this time, and I grimly held on to the sword. I knew that if it slipped from my grasp, I would be left weaponless in the face of an enraged demon.

For a few moments, the demon and I remained locked in this stalemate, and then suddenly there was a crushing sensation across my chest. I looked down, already knowing what I would see, and there it was: the demon’s other hand, squeezing the breath from my lungs and pulling me away from my sword. The strength of its grip was phenomenal. I heard a cracking sound that at first I thought must have been my ribcage giving way, but which I realised later was my armour, buckling like an empty tin can. The tighter it squeezed, the more difficult it became for me to breathe—not that I particularly wanted to, for the stench of the demon was almost as oppressive as its fist.

I desperately tried to struggle free, but without any kind of leverage, it was impossible. With one last tug, the demon ensured that the sword’s handle was no longer in my grasp, and with it disappeared also my hope. As I was lifted upwards, I was dimly aware of Harper nearby, flailing at the hand that clutched me, yelling something that I couldn’t make out over the sound of the blood in my ears. She hacked at the hand like a lumberjack, flinging bits of demon everywhere, but the twin suns of the monster’s glare remained fixed on me, oblivious to any pain other than that of its unfulfilled desire to devour me. The ineffectiveness of Harper’s rescue attempts became irrelevant when, within seconds, I was hoisted out of her reach and towards the gaping maw that leered at me triumphantly.

The panorama that met my eyes as I was raised into the air was enough to take away the last of my breath. From my imposed vantage point high above the battlefield, I got a new perspective on the sheer scale of the war raging around me. Countless other people were either ensnared in struggles akin to my own, fighting for their lives or those of their friends, or else ran helter-skelter amongst the insanity, pursued by the stuff of nightmares. The blood-red sky, heavy with soot, was streaked with the trails of the Fallen, all converging on New Jerusalem. One of the three trident-wielding giants I had noticed earlier strode across the battlefield a few hundred metres away, terrifyingly gargantuan even at such distance, kicking its way through friend and foe alike. Given my predicament, I almost envied those at the end of its cloven hoof.

Beneath me, I could see Harper racing towards the demon’s legs, sword raised, but as I moved closer and closer to its mouth, so my hope of salvation withered. I was now near enough that I could feel the furnace of its breath wash over me, distorting the air with each exhalation. A slavering tongue, like the tentacle of a black octopus, whipped across its jagged teeth, dislodging the bent blade of some unlucky Purgatorian’s sword and sending it tumbling to the distant ground. Echoing dimly over the noise of the battle were the cries of the poor unfortunates already ensnared in the demon’s belly, like children trapped in the bottom of a well; children that very soon I would be joining. Right on cue, the demon raised its hand above its head, dangling me upside down over its mouth like the exquisite morsel it no doubt considered me to be.

The blood rushed to my head, and for a moment I wavered at the edge of unconsciousness. Considering the fate that awaited me, such nothingness would have been a blessing, but of course, it was a blessing that was denied me. I clearly remember my disgusted resignation that it should have come to this, that God should seemingly have given me a chance at redemption here in Purgatory, only to pull the rug out from under my feet and have me sent to Hell after all. I supposed that I should have been praying for salvation at that point, poised as I was on the cusp of oblivion, but Thomas’s advice was the last thing on my mind; all I could think about was the fact that I would never see Jo again. With that thought, I summoned up the last of my courage, determined that I was not going to go out with a whimper. I wanted Jo, wherever she was, to be proud of me.

“Come on then, you bastard! Let’s get this over with!”

The demon was only too happy to oblige. It raised me up higher over the pit of its mouth, and then, suddenly, released its grip.

I fell.

Chapter 16

M
y head entered into the demon’s mouth, and I thought it was all over. But just at that moment, there was a sharp tug on my ankle, almost dislocating it, and I suddenly felt myself being raised up again. The demon’s teeth slammed shut in front of my nose, close enough that I could see the cracks and chips that undoubtedly came from grinding up countless other less-fortunate souls. I twisted around to look up, and there above me soared an angel, a bright halo of cold blue light blazing from its head, sword held aloft in one hand, my ankle clasped in the other. For a moment, the terrifying thought skittered through my mind that perhaps God was only interested in prolonging my suffering, and that this stay of execution was only momentary, designed to make me pay for all the years I had spent railing against Him. Then, the angel spoke five simple words.

“Do not be afraid, Daniel.”

I was surprised to find that that was exactly the effect its words had on me. I had no idea how I was suddenly able to feel so calm, especially in view of the fact that the demon beneath us was already making it very clear that it was not going to give up its meal without a fight. But even as it swatted at us with its hands, I knew I was safe. The ease with which the angel avoided its clumsy blows left me in no doubt, and for every attack the demon made, the angel’s sword made a graceful and precise counterattack. Within moments, flesh hung off of the demon’s arms in bloody rags, and, realising that the tables had turned, the monster panicked and tried to flee. But it was too late. The second that its back was turned, the angel landed on its shoulder, raised its sword high in the air, and thrust it one-handed into the demon’s neck, burying it up to the hilt. The monster collapsed to its knees midstride, with a sound that started out as a roar of pain and finished up a wet gurgle, as a gout of thick black liquid came shooting out of its mouth. With one last effort, it tried to grab at us, and then its hand, my sword still speared through it, collapsed to the ground. The demon was dead.

There was no opportunity to express my gratitude. The instant the demon died, the angel soared upwards, dragging me with it, still dangling by my ankle. If I’d had a chance to catch my breath, I would have protested against leaving Harper behind. I did the best I could to twist around in the angel’s grasp, trying to look back to see if she was safe, but it was no good; by the time I could do so, we were too far up in the air.

Higher and higher we flew, weaving between the infrequent blue lights of those undergoing transition, gradually heading towards the battlements on top of New Jerusalem’s walls. Beneath us, other angels swooped to and fro, and beneath them, the tide of battle ebbed and flowed. With the angels’ help, it wasn’t turning into quite the massacre I had first supposed, but Hell’s army stretched as far as the eye could see, even from such a great height. I wondered if, given enough time, the angels would eventually succumb to their ranks. Surely even God Himself wasn’t powerful enough to resist such an overwhelming force.