Read The Code War Online

Authors: Ciaran Nagle

Tags: #hong kong, #israel, #china, #africa, #jewish, #good vs evil, #angels and demons, #international crime, #women adventure, #women and crime

The Code War (4 page)

BOOK: The Code War
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'That's because you don't know
what's coming. Heaven has chosen well, Jabez. You're stronger than
you think. If Bezejel knew who she was facing in this battle, she'd
probably throw in the towel right now.'

Jabez laughed. 'Yeah.' There was a short
silence. 'Ok, Luke, I get the point. Moan over. It's time to get
down to business.'

'Attaboy.'

'Nancy needs help. And I'm on the
case.'

'Actually, t
he Earth needs help.'

'What?' Jabez was alarmed.

'I've
just been asked to tell you. This isn't only about Nancy.
It's not just one soul. It seems that Inferno are working on
something much, much bigger.'

'Like what?'

'We don't know what it is yet. But
Nancy is at the centre of it. Hold on, there's new information just
coming in.'

As Luke looked away for a moment,
Jabez began to walk. After a few minutes he found a dune with a few
tufts of grass and sat down, gently furrowing the sand with his
wingtips while he waited.

Luke came back on.

'
Jabez I
don't know how to tell you this.'

'Try.'

'It looks like the enemy are
planning something serious. It could be the biggest assault against
humanity since Earth's World War II.' As Jabez stared down at him,
Luke paused, searching for the right words to explain what he had
to say. Eventually he found them.

'
And
you're in charge of the defence.'

 

 

 

Husk Tower, Central
Pentacurse Region, Inferno

 

'Who ever said Hell
i
sn't beautiful?' asked Bezejel
rhetorically of her mute bodyguards, Gog and Magog. 'That view is
intoxicating.'

She took another step up the
spiral walkway that wrapped itself around
the outside of Husk Tower like a helter skelter. Then she
paused for a moment to take in the sights below, clicking her heels
together and resting her black gloved hands on the parapet. Gog and
Magog, satyrs nearly twice her size, stood back respectfully and
waited.

The sky was dark as it always was over
Hades. But that just accentuated the fiery colours that glowed
upwards from below. All possible shades of red, yellow and brown
stirred themselves together in the suffocating heat and spread
across the landscape.

There was Festerlode
stretching out into the distance, one of the
five fingers of Hell. The 'fingers' were hundred mile long
promontories that each jutted out beyond the five walls that
protected the central Pentacurse region. In the middle of
Pentacurse,
where most upper caste demons
lived, Husk Tower rose up, dominating all.

In-between the five fingers of
baked land, where most of Inferno's residents existed, were lakes
of lava that boiled and spa
t. The lakes
were not static but flowed under and through the fingers depositing
tantalisingly small nuggets of hydrocarbon that occasionally
percolated their way through the land crust to the top. There they
were seized upon by the starving masses who devoured what they
could, quickly, before they were beaten and dispossessed by those
surrounding them.

A brown haze hun
g over Festerlode like a shroud over a corpse. It sparkled
in places as flammable concentrations among its noxious gases were
superheated from below and burst into momentary incandescence. On
its craggy plain a crawling, groping mass of demonry fought and
gouged each other over clods of oil or tar that occasionally
churned to the surface. Hydrocarbons were the only food that demons
could stomach.

Bezejel looked down proudly,
silently applauding the survival instinct that inspired
every
lower caste troll, mawl or gurn to
fight so viciously with tooth and claw. It was good. Fighting made
folk strong.

The next finger around the dial
was Tyrants' Fall and then Miser's Folly with its newly poor,
followed by Slothmire and Desoland. Bezejel could see them all as
she slowly climbed the Tower.

The long U-shaped slag walkway
that followed the coastal contours of Tyrants' Fall was crammed as
ever with gawking, pointing demons of all ranks and
castes.

They stared at the wretched
inmates of the Fall, behind the wire, and drew each other's
attention to a famous name here or there that they knew
personally.

Bezejel pointed to
Tyrants' Fall and turned to her bodyguards. 'See
that place, boys? It's a special place. A special place in Hell
reserved for warlords, crime kingpins, corrupt leaders, slave
traders, feuding kings and dictators. They all brought huge numbers
of souls to Inferno. Lucky souls. But now the Leader keeps them in
that concentration camp because they might try to band together and
take over Inferno. Can you imagine how Hell would decline if any of
those arrogant swine became Leader?'

They watched as a group of Fall
inmates was led out in chains and tied to pillars in the centre of
the walkway. Many Infernals owed their own fate to the actions of
these tyrants. Now the crowds gathered around one or other of the
chained figures and began to hurl abuse.

One crime boss who had ordered
many killings
in his community was
surrounded by the families of those he had butchered. The abuse was
raucous and savage, the faces of the accusers twisted with rage and
hate. As the noise increased the attacks became physical. Male and
female demons, formerly mothers and fathers who had later fallen
into ruin, began to tear at his flesh and stab at his eyes. The
ex-crime boss screamed and cried as his bones were cracked and
teeth gouged at his privates. His pleas for mercy only intensified
the violence. He had shown no mercy to his victims, one demoness
shouted, there would be none now for him. They swarmed over him
like ants around a captured beetle, slashing and biting.

All along the line it was the same
as formerly proud men - and some women - once impregnable and
haughty in their government palaces or hiding behind their armed
stooges were faced by those they had destroyed. The mayhem and
brutality intensified, one group's rage feeding off another's until
the very ground shook
and the air was
riven with screams. Then guards came, beating back the mobs and
hauling off the torn and bloodied bodies until the next day when
the process would be repeated. For those who had abused their
power, the final death of the soul could not come soon
enough.

Even Bezejel, a stalwart believer
in the value of fighting seemed moved, Gog and Magog noted. Her
eyes were wide and her fingers held tight to the edge of the
parapet. They shuffled their feet noisily and Gog made a sign to
Bezejel reminding her she had an appointment to keep. It would not
do to keep the Leader waiting. Not unless she too wanted to find
herself in Tyrant's Fall.

Bezejel drew her eyes
away from the scenes below and continued her
helical ascent. Gog and Magog fell in behind. The mood was now
sombre and she walked stiffly. Fear was growing in her eyes. She
looked up to see her destination and her previous good humour
evaporated further. Husk Tower was not designed to inspire or
encourage. Its many windows were constructed to look like hooded
eyes, watching the behaviour of Hell's citizens below. Within each
window was a far-seeing jager imp, scanning the crowds and
gatherings throughout the kingdom for any sign of a plot against
Inferno's Leader.

As her gaze lifted to the top her
blood chilled. The crown at the top of the tower was a vast, round
construction that projec
ted out many
metres on every side. Black stone slabs set into the sides of the
crown were so angled as to appear like angry frowns.

Bezejel could see the trap doors
set into the overhanging floor of the crown, trap doors that were
used all too frequently when the Leader found one of his subjects
guilty of some minor offence. As she watched, one pair of trap
doors flew open with a loud clatter. Nothing came out. Bezejel
could see two helmeted sprites on the inside looking down at her
sourly. That one was just a test. Maybe a warning.

A troop of demon soldiers led by a
sergeant came marching down the walkway. As th
ey rounded the curve their military bearing was perfect,
their eyes fixed straight ahead. But the beauty of the siren
Bezejel was too much for them and several slowed their pace and
fell out of step. Two soldiers collided with each other. Another
stumbled and walked into his own spear. Worst of all, the sergeant
didn't notice his men's disorder, so intent was his
stare.

Bezejel reacted in fury. 'Squad.
Halt.' The troop came to an undignified stop. Bezejel approached
the sergeant
like a tempest. Before he
could react her slap landed on the side of his face and he span
away into the parapet wall. Gog and Magog came up behind Bezejel
ready to protect her. There was no need. 'You soldiers are a
shambles,' she shouted in a voice that rang with authority. 'Stand
to attention.' The demons snapped to. They were all facing
different ways. 'I know your unit,' she shouted. 'You're the Tower
Guard. Report to your officer and tell him you're for a punishment
detail.' Above and around her the eyes in the hooded windows
watched in silence. 'When you're on duty you don't lose your
concentration. For anything.' The soldiers' faces were rigid. Their
terror was absolute.

'Ready. March. Left,
righ
t, left, right.' The troop tramped
off to Bezejel's command leaving their sergeant behind. Bezejel
turned to him. 'Come here and hold out your arms in front of you,'
she commanded. As his arms came up, a puzzled expression on his
face, Bezejel barked out another order. 'Hold him steady.' Gog and
Magog took position to each side of the unfortunate NCO, each with
an arm around his chest.

Bezejel grasped his sergeant's
stripes and twisted the sleeve towards his face. 'You won't be
needing these for a little while, ex-sergeant. Not till you've
learned to discipline your men.' She wrenched on the tough leather
with such force that the stitching ripped at the shoulder and came
away in her hand. Bezejel threw the sleeve on the
ground.

'Turn.' As the terrified creature
turned
his other arm towards her she tore
off the second sleeve and threw it behind her.

'Now report to your officer and explain
to him how you came to lose your stripes. Go.'

As the soldier marched away,
stricken
, Bezejel looked up at Gog and
Magog. 'An army needs discipline. Total discipline. That's the only
way we'll ever beat the angelic host.'

With that, she turned and strode
away
at a ferocious pace leaving Gog and
Magog scrambling to keep up.

As the three of them climbed,
other demons with business in the Tower passed them on the way
down. All gave them plenty of room.
No-one spoke to them.

Bezejel
finally reached the top of the spiral walkway and
approached the gate of the crown. Huge chain-mailed satyr demons
scrutinised her features and checked her for weapons before raising
their poleaxes to allow her to pass. Satyrs were the highest male
caste in Inferno. They were demons transformed from men, but they
had the strength of large beasts.

Gog and Magog were forbidden
entry
to the crown. Bezejel entered
alone. Inside the gate a stone staircase led upwards and outwards
to the external ring room. Here a line of newly-arrived beauties
from Earth awaited their turn in chains to please the Leader. It
would be his pleasure, not theirs. If they failed to please, the
trap doors awaited.

They would have to wait a little
longer this day for the Leader was keen for his meeting with
Bezejel. Unusually keen, for the Leader was accustomed to keep all
visitors waiting a long time. On this occasion however, Bezejel was
waved through from the external ring by his personal female guard
and ushered through two more concentric curved halls into his inner
chamber. This was known as the Oven. Not for its heat, but for the
searing intensity of the welcome that visitors received
there.

She bowed low. Lucifer, Satan, the
Devil. He had many names but in Inferno he was known simply as the
Leader.

She waited for him to speak first, as
protocol demanded.

'Look at me,' he commanded.

Bezejel raised her head and forced
herself to meet his burning eyes. As a fallen angel he was still as
beautiful as he was terrifying. His magnificent wings were works of
art with bright, perfect plumage that shone as if they had their
own light. His face was as if carved by an inspired sculptor. From
any angle his arch-angelic features inspired awe and
devotion.

But it was his eyes that
seized
the heart and stopped all hope.
His stare inspired terror in every one of his subjects. There was
no compartment of the mind that he could not inspect at will,
scouring it for any trace of rebellion or independence. The Leader
demanded complete subjection and his management tool of choice was
fear.

Bezejel felt his presence inside
her head, forcing her to give up all her recent memories. He
inspected every thought, pored over every motivation and viewed
every act of hers as though watching it through her eyes. Nothing
was left hidden. She was more naked than if she had removed her
skin. The Leader could see the inside of her soul as easily as
others could see the outside of her garments.

BOOK: The Code War
9.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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