Hellfire, page 10
part #9 of The Ironspell Chronicles Series
“Or what? You’ll hurt us?” The other fallen angel spoke up.
“Shut up, Dagon.” Azazel facepalmed. “I’ll have you guard her next.”
“I already guarded her and she threatened to crisp the other side of me if she saw me again,” Dagon whined.
“Shut up.” Azazel turned to me. “Fucker is such a coward. Look. I swear on my power that we won’t hurt you in the elevator.”
“What about on the Eighth Circle of Hell?” Tuzren quipped.
He glared. “You won’t get there without us.”
“Promise our safety in the Eighth Circle of Hell.” I lowered Drowslayer and rested the blade’s tip against my boot’s instep, hilt down. The sword thrummed with power that I didn’t quite recognize. I suspected it was the Hellfire mixed with the magic of the Vorpal blade.
“I promise your safety.”
“Swear on your power.”
“Fuck you!” Azazel leapt at me, aiming his M27 IAR automatic rifle.
Just as the bullets began to fly, I slammed Drowslayer into the rifle, effectively cutting the barrel from the stock. Sharp, painful stabs smacked me around as the bullets hit and penetrated my body armor. I gasped and doubled over as the bullets penetrated my lungs and who-knows-what else. My body shook with agony. All I knew was that I couldn’t breathe.
As I grayed out, I heard Ulf whine as Samyaza spoke. “You move, Fenrir, and your Frost Giant gets it.”
“Go ahead.” Vetr’s voice did not waver. “I am ready to meet my ancestors.”
I felt strong hands on my back, trying to get me to stand up. I tried desperately to ward them off, but I grew weaker and dizzier. Sometime I had dropped the Vorpal/Hellfire blade. So much for immortality.
“Ironspell, stay awake.” Elryn whispered in my ear. “Stay with us. Use your powers from Muspelheim.”
“Muspelheim,” I sort of repeated. It probably just sounded like mumbles. Muspelheim. What was so important about that place? I felt myself slowly slip into unconsciousness.
~ * ~
“What are you doing here?” Evrardin demanded.
I found myself sitting in a comfortable chair with a gray and white Malamute puppy nestled in my lap. I was in a dimly lit room with a fireplace that crackled with a fire. There were two chairs facing the fire, each with their own end table. A large, brindle Great Dane lay beside the fire snoozing. Bookshelves filled with books lined the wall.
My father stood up from his chair, holding a Kindle reader in his hand and setting it on the end table beside him. I stroked the puppy as I tried to get my bearings and remember what had happened. “I was in a fight…with…with…Azazel?”
“And you lost?” Evrardin facepalmed.
“Uh, something hit me.” I looked down at my body armor. It had two holes neatly punched in the left side of my abdomen, just below my chest. Blood poured out of the wound. “Fuck.”
My father shook his head. “You’re not supposed to die. Go back and heal yourself.”
For a split second I was about to say something snarky. Then, I remembered. “Part of the immortality pact was that I’d heal fast.”
Evrardin nodded. “You can’t die—that’s the agreement. Use the powers Surtr gave you.”
I blinked. “How do I get back?”
“Same way you came.”
I tried to breathe and found it hurt. A lot. So, I focused on that. Pain. Pain told me that I was alive. Maybe the damned dealt with pain too, but here in Gladsheim I was in no pain unless I focused on breathing and my wounds. As I did, the room with my father in it began to fade.
“Ironspell! Stay with us.” Elryn spoke from somewhere.
Muspelheim. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth against the pain. Fuck the Watchers—I wasn’t going to let any lousy excuse for an angel kill me. I mentally grasped at my link to Muspelheim and immediately grew warmer. I could feel an uncontrollable urge to scratch where the bullets had entered my body. At the same time, my lungs labored as I grew in one breath after another. I spat out blood.
I looked up, still feeling queasy, but less so. Tuzren had grown to mega-daemon size and was between me and the Watchers. Samyaza held Vetr with a knife pressed against his throat. Dagon held another M27 IAR automatic rifle and had it pointed at Tuzren. He fired a burst, deafening us all, and causing more bullets to ricochet throughout the hall as they bounced off Tuzren’s thick hide. Elryn stood behind, pouring what healing magic she had into me while still defending me with her short sword. Ulf stood beside Tuzren; the wolf’s teeth bared in an epic snarl.
In other words, we were fucked.
“Okay, everybody stand down,” I rasped as I felt my wounds heal. I picked up Drowslayer and struggled to my feet. I sheathed the sword and looked up, to see everyone staring at me in astonishment.
“What are you doing?” Elryn hissed in my ear. “You’re wounded.”
“Got better.” I shrugged.
Elryn rolled her eyes. “Monty Python? Seriously?”
I met Azazel’s gaze. “Tell Sammy to let Vetr go. We’ll come with you under one condition. No treachery with my mom. You do anything, and the deal is off. Got it?”
Azazel nodded and motioned to Samyaza to release Vetr. The other Watcher looked chagrined as he lowered his knife and Vetr moved away. “Put Gleipnir on the wolf.”
Are you sure you want to do this? I heard the daemon’s mental voice inside my head.
You know the plan, let’s stick with it. Despite being able to use mindspeak, it gave me a Hel of a headache. It was a bit easier to use packspeak with the werewolves, even though both were similar. I closed my eyes and told him what I needed him to do.
Tuzren returned to normal size and Gleipnir appeared in his hands once more. He flew over to Vetr and handed him the light cords. Vetr looked at them, and then gazed at me with a puzzled expression. “We don’t need to tie up Fenrir. He’ll come willingly.” Vetr glanced down at Ulf.
“Tie him up.” Azazel pointed at Vetr. “We don’t want any tricks.”
“Says the demon who won’t swear on his power,” Vetr grumbled. He held up the light cords. Ulf snarled and snapped at him. “I’ll need help.”
Azazel pointed to Samyaza and Dagon. “Hold the Wolf down.”
“No way. He’ll bite me.” Dagon stared fearfully at Ulf.
“Coward.” Azazel walked over and smacked the Watcher with the end of the damaged rifle. Dagon’s head snapped up. Black blood flowed from his mouth and nose. Dagon vanished. Azazel turned to Samyaza. “Obey me.”
“Fuck you.” Samyaza disappeared, leaving Azazel alone with us.
“Apparently you inspire loyalty.” I grinned. “You sure you don’t want to swear on your power?”
“Fuck you,” Azazel growled. “Bind the Wolf, or you’ll never see your mother again.”
“You’re going to have to help.” Vetr looked helplessly at Ulf, who remained snarling.
Azazel sighed and shoved the ruined rifle toward Ulf. Ulf latched onto it and the weapon crunched in his jaws, snapping it into pieces. The fallen angel used that moment to tackle the wolf while Vetr slipped the bonds around his legs. Gleipnir tightened magically, and Ulf tripped and dropped to the ground. But not before biting hard into Azazel’s arm and tearing out a chunk of his bicep. The Watcher screamed in pain, clutching at his injury and pulling back before Ulf could take another piece out of him. “Fucking, mangy mutt!” He glared at us all. “Control him!” He stared at me.
“This is the Wolf of Ragnarok. There’s no way I can control him outside of my home.” I shrugged. “If I didn’t have Vetr with me, he’d kill me.”
I could see the thoughts churn behind the fallen angel’s eyes. “You can’t control him?”
I shook my head. “Nobody can, as far as I know. But you’re welcome to try.”
Azazel looked at his still bleeding arm. “Why aren’t I healing?”
“Why didn’t Tyr grow his hand back?” I replied.
“Come on, all of you.” He snarled as the elevators’ doors opened. “Let’s get this done.”
Chapter Twelve
The elevator to Hell had the worst music ever. Imagine disco and grunge rock sung in a country and western twang, and then done by people who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, and maybe, maybe, you’d get close to the pain my ears endured. Oh, sometimes it would switch to heavy metal polka. In ancient Egyptian. Just because.
I was pretty sure my ears were bleeding after hearing “Dancing Queen” in German Death Metal. By the end of the ride—which felt like an eternity because some wanker had pushed all the buttons, so we stopped at every floor—I was ready to gnaw my leg off. But, I digress.
When the elevator opened up to each Circle of Hell, we got a quick glimpse out the building’s windows. With Circle 2, which had contained the windstorm that tossed around people who committed carnal sins, people were no longer floating around, but were instead using hang gliders and other vehicles to take advantage of the lift. A crowd stood in line to go on rides. They looked extraordinarily long, which probably made it Hell to wait for one’s turn.
The next several Circles featured various putrid areas that had been marked as Superfund sites and OSHA signs mentioned that they were under cleanup. I glanced at Azazel, who shook his head. “Engineers,” he said. “There’s a bunch of government bureaucrats here too, so they’ve taken to cleaning up the worst parts. They’ve already put lots of buildings up, all with air conditioning.”
“Air conditioning,” I repeated.
“Yeah, because the engineers and infrastructure technicians got tired of it being so hot. They’re using the lakes of fire for barbeques now.”
At last, we arrived at the Eighth Circle of Hell. The door opened and we walked into the lobby of another office building. I looked outside. Just beyond the corridor stood glass windows which enabled us to look out a what appeared to be a rather ordinary city. I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t this where wizards and fortune tellers go?”
“Yes.” Azazel looked down at Ulf, who was lying at our feet with his legs trussed up. It had taken us forever to get the wolf into the elevator, to the point where the elevator sounded its annoying alarm while we tugged Ulf into it. “Sabine insisted she stay here.”
I glanced at Vetr, who shrugged. “Why would she insist on staying down here?”
Azazel looked pained. “She wanted to be with other magic users. Only, here in the Christian Hell, they’re rare. Most other pantheons have accepted them. Here, they were supposed to walk with their heads on backwards.”
I blinked. “Is that even possible?”
“Christian wizards, or walking with your head on backwards?” He led us out of the elevator. Tuzren took flight to scan the area. Vetr picked up Ulf—not a mean feat with a wolf that big—and began to half drag, half carry him out. The elevator gave its displeased buzz to let us know we were holding it up from going to the next floor. Those few people who were standing in the lobby turned and looked at us.
“Oww!” I snapped as the doors tried to shut. They succeeded in pinching my hand as they closed and bounced open again.
“Walking with your head on backwards.” Elryn shoved the elevator doors apart when they threatened to close again.
“I could use some help.” Vetr looked at me.
I sighed and grasped the wolf’s lower legs as they started slipping from Vetr’s grasp. “Ugh. Do you ever put him on a diet?” I grumbled so only Vetr, Ulf, and Elryn heard.
Ulf growled.
“Well, you are heavy.” The Jotun looked down in chagrin. “Of course, you weighed a lot less when you were a puppy.”
I am the perfect weight. Ulf looked incredibly annoyed. When can I take these cords off? This is stupid.
No, the Watchers are stupid. Vetr looked at me. Can you hear us?
Yeah, it must be the packspeak frequency. I looked at Azazel. “Okay, we brought Fenrir. Where’s my mom?”
Before Azazel could reply, Samyaza appeared from a Gateway. The Watcher looked twice as bad as when I last saw him, with a bloodied lip and a black eye similar to the one Dagon had. He also looked half scorched. “We have a problem Ass-Gel,” Samyaza said.
“The name is Azazel.” Hell turned downright frosty as the lead fallen angel glared at his subordinate. “What do you want?”
“The bitch is gone.” Samyaza stepped back, just out of arm’s reach.
“What! How?” Azazel loomed over his second-in-command.
“I don’t know!” Samyaza wailed pitifully. “She was supposed to stay where she was, but she ambushed Dagon and I when we returned. The other Watchers are obeying her orders…”
“What?” Ass…I mean, Azazel shouted. “They’re obeying that cunt?”
“Hey! Watch your language, Ass-wipe!” I snarled. “You’re talking about my mom.”
Ulf snarled for good measure.
Azazel turned on me. “Why couldn’t you just give me the Wolf of Ragnarok instead of making it so hard?”
“Uh, because I don’t want Ragnarok to happen.” I crossed my arms.
“Why do you think that starting Ragnarok will go any better for your side?” Elryn asked the Watchers. “I mean, I don’t know your pantheon’s legends that well, but I seem to recall hearing something along the lines of the Good Guys win.”
“Yeah,” Tuzren said. “And in Ragnarok, good and evil cancel each other out, only to be reborn again. You don’t win with Ragnarok. If anything, everyone loses.”
“I don’t have to justify why I want Fenrir.” Azazel sounded defensive. “But since your bitch mother escaped, I’ll just take Fenrir now.”
“I don’t think so.” I replied.
“You don’t have a choice.” With that, he snapped his fingers and Ulf disappeared.
My mouth dropped open. I didn’t think the fallen angel would be as brazen as to take Ulf from us with magic. I mean, both Vetr and I had put some pretty amazing wards on the wolf before we came down here to prevent that type of thing, only to have it circumvented somehow by a prick of a demon. I drew my sword, but I was nowhere as fast as Vetr.
Historians talk about writings about the Viking berserkers. You know, the ones who would go charging into battle wearing nothing but a bearskin and attacking both friend and foe, alike? I got an inkling of what they were like right then. “NO!” screamed Vetr, and the Jotun charged, wielding his war axe with frightening speed. Azazel disappeared right before Vetr made contact and he swung around and buried his axe right in Samyaza’s skull. The Watcher shrieked as the axe cleaved his head like a ripe melon. Blood and brains sprayed everywhere and the Watcher vanished like smoke.
Vetr rounded on me. “WHERE IS ULF?”
Now, most people would panic or freeze. I looked up at the crazed Jotun and said, Use packspeak.
The Frost Giant almost dropped his axe. Ulf? His mental voice sounded tentative.
I’m fine, Ulf’s voice came through clearly.
“What’s happening?” Elryn asked.
“Packspeak,” I said quickly. Ulf, do you know where you are?
I think they brought me to the Ninth Circle of Hell. It’s nice here.
Nice? Vetr shot me a confused look.
Ice, I explained. The Ninth Circle of Hell is made of ice. A lot of traitors and evildoers are damned to be there. That’s also where Lucifer resides.
Yeah, it’s nice and cold. The wolf’s voice confirmed. I don’t know what they hope to do with me, but they’re in for a nasty surprise if they try anything. I’m really tired of these bonds.
Don’t remove them just yet, I said. Not unless they give you no choice.
I’m hungry and all they have to eat are humans. Nasty meat. Tastes like monkey. Don’t worry, Vetr, I’ll be fine. I’m not a puppy anymore.
“Where is he?” Tuzren asked.
“Ninth Circle.” I sighed. “We’ve got to get him before looking for Sabine. They figure out he’s not Fenrir, we could have them both killed.”
“But they won’t need your mom.” Elryn looked around. “And they might kill her.”
“I doubt it.” Vetr shook his head. “I saw genuine fear in their eyes. Your mom must be one badass mama-jama.”
“Well, she did help Ironspell’s dad and me close the Gateway to Svartalfheim.” Elryn nodded. “Even though she claims to just be a hedge witch, I’ve suspected she’s mage level.”
“But even a mage would have a tough time here.” I frowned. “I wish there were some way to track her.”
They all turned to me and looked at me like I was an idiot.
“Is he always this dense?” Vetr asked.
“Yes, yes, he is.” Elryn shook her head in disbelief.
“Hey! I don’t think that’s fair.” I stared back at them.
“Moron, you can track her easily. With your blood.” Tuzren landed on my shoulder.
My lips formed an “O” but no sound came out. I was halfway tempted to slap Tuzren off my shoulder, but I was being so thick headed, I was surprise that no one bothered to smack me hard. I hadn’t used a tracking spell when we suspected she was really in Hell because tracking spells don’t work across universes. Plus, when I went into the Magic Forest, Spaz wouldn’t have known about tracking spells. But there was another reason I didn’t think to use a tracking spell: I didn’t really know how to cast one.
Sure, I had the grimoire from the goddess Eir, who gave it to me when I had to destroy the Elfshot, but I never really looked for a tracking spell in it. Not for a person. But now, I had access to three different types of magicks—not just run-of-the-mill, wizard magic. I had my Dark Elven magic and my Muspelheim magic.
If I were just a wizard, I’d have to worry about making a circle and come up with the proper elements to track something. But my Dark Elven magic and my Muspelheim magic had no such restrictions. So, I focused on my blood, and formed a spell around it in my mind. I thought about Sabine. Her crazy-ass ways and her plaited silver and brown hair that went wild if she didn’t braid it. Her less than doting love and practical advice. And yeah, her weird tie-dyed hippie clothing.
She actually brought me to a Rolling Stones concert when I was three. She said I didn’t cry once, which I kind of doubt. After all, who’d hear a toddler crying over “Painted Black” and “Heartbreaker?” She did, however, mention that she turned people down who wanted to offer me cannabis-laced brownies to calm me down. Good parenting skills, I guess. She never bothered to mention whether she accepted a joint from them, though.
