Hail Infernal World: The Hellfire Saga Book 1, page 22
Lilith turned to Schmidt. “Then the Great Mystery centers on this man, whom you yourself sent to Hell. His Judgement to serve you, his appearance in these raiments, the foreknowledge granted him by Minos, his necromancy—this evidence suggests that he is the Librarian of Fate reborn.”
Schmidt was perplexed. “The Librarian of what, Your Grace?”
“The Librarian was counselor to Arturus and his Guardians of Fate,” explained Lilith. “The only mortal soul who could read from the Book of Fate. His names were many, but most called him Myrddin. If you are Myrddin returned, then your presence strongly suggests that Bel Von Beck is Arturus. You might even help him find the Revenant, though he failed to claim the Edensword.”
“How may we know the truth of it?” Von Beck asked.
“Perhaps King Minos granted Bel Schmidt only a glimpse of the book, and he may not see more,” the Queen answered. “We cannot ask Minos, for Minos does not speak. But there is a way to answer the question. A test.”
“Hammer geil!” Schmidt exclaimed. “I would rather be a librarian than a butcher’s apprentice.”
“If you are not the Librarian, the test may destroy you,” Lilith said.
Von Beck frowned. “I cannot ask you to risk it, Butch.”
“I am already dead. How much deader can I be?”
Lilith smiled, and the beauty of it quelled the Longing in Von Beck’s heart. From the golden table, the Queen took up the cup. She led Schmidt to the strange altar and invited him to sit in the gilt chair. Von Beck lingered nearby, feeling useless.
“The fountain to your right holds water from the river Lethe, from which the damned drink to forget their sins,” Lilith said to Schmidt. “The fountain to your left holds water from the Well of Mnemosyne, from which the damned drink to remember those sins again. You, Bel Schmidt, must drink from both fountains. The first drink will help you forget that which clouds your mind. The second will help you recall that which illumines it.”
“My mind has never been illumined, my Queen,” Schmidt said. “It is a dark and dank cavern.”
Lilith filled the cup with water from the Lethe, whispered hellspeech to curse it. Schmidt took it from her, drank uncertainly. Then the Queen repeated the ritual with the water of Mnemosyne. When Schmidt had drank from both cups, Lilith spread her palms to indicate the two crystal orbs flanking his seat.
“‘These spheres are part of the urim-thummim,” Lilith said. “The ancient oracles of the Titans, created for communication and divination. Lucifer gifted one pair each to the High Kings of Hell. Mortals have also been known to possess them on Midgard.”
“The veil behind the altar—where does it lead?” Von Beck asked.
“That is the Veil of Longing,” Lilith answered, “dedicated by Lucifer to Belit Semiramis, the Assyrian queen of Babylon. Souls who step through it are sent to wherever in Hell their hearts most desire to go.”
“My heart most desires a plate of sauerbraten and a Paulaner doppelbock,” said Schmidt. “What must I do now, Your Grace?”
“Place one hand on each sphere,” answered Lilith, “and tell us what you see.”
Gingerly, Schmidt placed a hand on each sphere. The orbs sprang into a fierce glow. The black orb filled with writhing pale smoke, the white one with swirling rainbowed mist. Hands sealed to them, Schmidt’s shadow went rigid: Spine frozen, tendons taut, lips grimacing.
Alarmed, Von Beck took a step toward his friend. Lilith held him back.
“Be still—he does well.”
The orbs glowed like white coals, flung shadows across the temple. To Von Beck’s shock, Schmidt began to laugh. His voice reverberated across the temple.
“I SEE!” Schmidt roared. “I SEE IT ALL! IT IS GLORIOUS!”
Within each orb, dark and light, a figure appeared. At first, the figures were only spectral, indistinct phantoms; then, they resolved into twin figures of a child—a girl with dark hair and green eyes. Von Beck spied her, and his heart nearly burst from his shadow. The child was Beatrice Mabry. Lilith had to restrain him from running to the oracle.
“Who are you?” the two Beas said together, their voices emanating as if from a deep well.
“BEA!” Von Beck cried. “It is your Colonel Von Beck—I am here, child!”
“Colonel Von Beck?” In the two globes, Bea’s two faces searched her surroundings. “Where are you? Where is Mother? The shepherd is nice, but I am scared!”
Schmidt levitated from his seat. Still glued to his hands, the two orbs rose with him.
“I am coming for you, child!” Von Beck answered.
Then, in his head: Two voices, slithering. The sinuous voices of his twin Colts, speaking to him.
He is the Librarian. We claim him. A soul of our choosing, you promised us. Do not be foresworn.
Against his straining will, Von Beck’s hand drifted toward Pride’s handle. The guns were not satisfied with his head; they wanted control of his whole shadow. Before his hand reached the weapon in her holster, another strong hand gripped his wrist.
“Ignore them,” Lilith commanded. “Your Mark holds no power here.”
Beatrice’s two faces filled the orbs. Her gazes searched for Von Beck. He focused on her, tried to forget his guns. They fell into whispers, and then into silence.
“Colonel—do not feed the Black Wolf!” the two Beatrices cried. “It will hurt you!”
The orbs burst into flaming hellfire. The images of Bea vanished. Hands engulfed in the flames, Schmidt was laughing again—only now, the laughter was not his own. It was a deep, rolling laugh, terrifying in its infernal power. Schmidt’s one eye became a black marble.
“YOU’VE BEEN FOOLISH, WHORE OF BABYLON.” Schmidt’s voice was now a mighty baritone. “YOUR FOLLY HAS LEFT THE LIBRARIAN EXPOSED. HE’S MINE, NOW—I CLAIM HIM. I’LL FIND THE REVENANT THROUGH HIM, AND THE THRONES OF HEAVEN WILL FALL. WHAT WILL ASMODAI SAY, WHEN HE LEARNS HOW BADLY YOU FAILED HIM?”
“It is the Magus,” Lilith announced. Instead of answering his threats, she turned to Schmidt. “Bel Schmidt—ask the child for her aid!”
Von Beck shouted at the floating orbs. “Beatrice—help the sergeant! Do as I say!”
Could Beatrice hear him? Von Beck could not say. Then, a high, pure voice shook the temple, a voice as full of glory as the voice of Metatron themselves. It was Beatrice. She spoke directly to the Magus.
“GO AWAY!”
Like candle flames, the flaming orbs were snuffed out. The hovering Schmidt dropped into the chair. The crystal spheres floated back to their stands. Von Beck rushed to Schmidt, lifted him shakily to his feet. The necromancy was broken; only the Veil of Longing remained, a gauzy portal that called to Von Beck. But where would it send him? Where did his heart most desire to go?
Though shaken, Schmidt managed a weak smile. A streak of white now ran through the sergeant’s bushy locks, a memento of the trial he had faced. Von Beck thought of Jenny Mabry, her chestnut hair turned the color of bone. He seemed to have that effect on the people he loved.
“Success, Your Grace,” Schmidt said to Lilith. “I have read from the Book of Fate. The book told me where the Revenant will appear. Three days after the Black Sun next rises, we must be there to meet the child. It is our only chance. If we miss it, then the Magus will claim her.”
Chapter 30
The Arrival of Kings
A return journey down the tower and through Etemenanki found Von Beck and Schmidt reposed with Queen Lilith in her private apartments. The rooms were comfortable and understated, festooned with cushioned divans and lush tapestries. Two lilim stood guard at the door while damned attendants poured wine from brass pitchers. Gazing at his reflection in a hand mirror, a flustered Schmidt marveled at the streak of white in his hair.
“You are the Librarian of Fate, returned,” said Lilith to Schmidt. “You are not Myrddin himself, but rather his avatar—the vessel he has chosen to enact his return to Hell.”
“My head swims, Your Grace.” Schmidt placed the mirror on a table, drained a goblet of wine in one go, invited an attendant to refill it. “If one page of the Book imparts so much knowledge, two would break the mind of Solomon himself.”
“You should confer with the Acolytes of Fate,” Lilith said. “An order of the Black Church dedicated to preserving and interpreting the Book’s knowledge. They may help you plumb the depths of the wisdom you have gained.”
For his part, Von Beck’s mind was filled again with red rage. Beatrice’s appearance had profoundly shaken him; until that moment, he had begun to wonder if he had only dreamed of her. He saw in the child’s eyes a twisted reflection of himself: Instead of a drunk, traitor, and murderer, Bea saw Von Beck as a father, a protector, a man of honor. It was as if her soul held a missing piece of his own. The girl had chosen him to free her from the clutches of the devil who had claimed her. Whether he was Arturus or no, no force in Hell would stop him.
“What happens now?” Von Beck asked.
“You must stand trial still,” Lilith answered. “If the High Kings believe that Bel Schmidt is Myrddin returned, then we may hope for your acquittal.”
Von Beck’s guns were quiet. But he sensed them listening, waiting for their moment.
“At the oracle, you knew that my guns were acting of their own will,” he said to Lilith. “What do you know of them?”
The Queen’s gaze was veiled. “Arturus called them his Mark. In his day, they manifested as a black scythe and shield. Falx Animarum, the Scythe of Souls, known also as Soulreaver. Dolorum Est, the Shield of Sorrow. These weapons have always been with you, and your fate is bound to theirs. They will aid you, but they will demand a dear price in return.”
“So I have found,” said Von Beck. The Shield of Sorrow—that was Pride, shielding him. The Scythe of Souls was Prejudice, enforcing his dark will. Were it not all madness, it would make a twisted sort of sense.
Lilith turned to Schmidt. “Bel Schmidt, what can you tell us of the Revenant? Where will she appear?”
Schmidt scratched absently his knitted brow. “I saw a fiery volcano, over which was constructed a mighty arena. It was filled with a clamoring crowd. Airships of fanciful construction floating overhead. In three black sunrises, an angel of light will appear there, wearing a diamond pendant on her breast. Beatrice will be with her.”
“Tis the Circus Diabolical you saw, in Gehenna,” Lilith said. “The lair of the Autarch of the Games. He is rumored to rank high in the Mysterium. It bodes ill that the Revenant would appear there. Can you see where, exactly? Are there landmarks you can describe?”
“I cannot,” Schmidt answered. “Gott im Himmel, my head feels like an exploded melon.”
“Perhaps the Acolytes can help you remember.” Lilith rose, and her damned attendants rushed to lift the train of her gown from the floor. “In the meanwhile, Bel Von Beck, my lord and husband welcomes you to the Arrival Of Kings, on the morrow.”
“If Bea will appear there in three days, I should make for this Circus Diabolical now,” Von Beck said.
“We must first manage your acquittal,” the Queen responded. “Fortunately, the Black Sun has yet to set—so the race to find your Beatrice has not begun.”
“And each of the three sunrises may come sooner or later than the last,” added Schmidt.
Lilith turned her gaze to Schmidt. “As Librarian of Fate, Bel Schmidt, you may take a new name if you wish. It is tradition. The name you choose will be inscribed on an obelisk outside the Marvel of Mankind.”
Schmidt mulled this offer. “My father was an arsch mit ohren, a cruel man from a long line of cruel men. I will take my Christian name, the name my beloved mother gave to me. I will be called Valentine.”
* * *
Von Beck and Schmidt—or Valentine, as his dead friend now insisted he be called—spent the rest of the day apart. Valentine departed to confer with the so-called Acolytes of Fate, while Von Beck retired to his apartments alone. Because of the Black Sun’s vagaries, the denizens of Shadow Babylon measured the passage of time by counting torches burned, or via the elaborate water clocks that stood in the city’s courtyards and plazas. Though the three days’ window to find Beatrice would begin with the next sunrise, that first dawn might come in one hour or one hundred. In the meanwhile, Von Beck would wait two of those measured days for his trial. Until then, he was free to move about the city. But where would he go?
At both rest and reflection, Von Beck failed dismally. Trepidation clung to his shadow like sweat. When he had tired of pacing his apartment, he closed his balcony drapes, lay on his bed, and slipped into a dark and dreamless sleep. When he woke, it was to the memory of Beatrice, calling to him through the twin orbs of Lilith’s oracle.
Colonel—do not feed the Black Wolf!
The dark threads of this strange tale were connected, Von Beck realized. The black wolf that had stalked him on Mabry Farm. The transformation of the demon Marchosias into that beast’s nightmarish shadow. His twin Navy Colts, transformed by their own sojourn into Hell. They have always been with you, Lilith had told him. How could that be, when it was August Willich himself who had presented the guns to him, resting in their velvet-lined case? Mayhap he had lost them, and they had found their way back.
Resolving then to test himself, Von Beck unstrapped his gun belts and thumped his cursed revolvers on a table. With hypnotic focus, his gaze traveled over their translucent crystal barrels, their bone handles with black hellrunes carved deep. He opened his mind to them, sought their voices in his head. When they spoke, it was not to him. They were conspiring together.
He thinks to be rid of us.
He is weak. We are the masters, not him.
Yes. We will have the soul promised us.
The Librarian. We will take his power.
No, not the Librarian. We will have the child.
The guns giggled together like lunatic schoolgirls. Von Beck snatched them up and shoved them into a drawer. He found the key and locked it.
“Let’s see you get out of there, you bitches,” Von Beck said aloud.
A knock at the door, and Von Beck nearly jumped out of his own shadow. He crossed over, flung it open. It was Mezyss. Her smile askew, the lilim took in Von Beck’s sorry state.
“Talking to yourself again?” Mezyss asked.
Preoccupied with preparations for the Feast of Akitum, Berossus had dispatched the succubus to escort Von Beck to the Arrival of Kings. Von Beck followed Mezyss through the warren of Etemenanki, emerged onto a broad avenue clogged with infernal life. To his relief, the Black Sun was stubbornly fixed in the sky. The clock had yet to start ticking.
They boarded a coach and rode together through the urban labyrinth of Shadow Babylon. After a journey of fits and starts through heavy traffic, they arrived at the Ishtar Gate and climbed the stairs to the battlements. Behind them lay the dreaming city, its sprawling palace and monumental tower looming over all. Beyond the gate, the walled Processional Way shot as an arrow flight across the ashen plain toward the distant mountains. High above their heads floated a grand procession of airships such as Von Beck had never dreamed of in waking life: Great ribbed balloons tattooed with the heraldry of the ten Fallen houses, elegant gondolas of cedar and ebony, masts and rails draped with snapping banners and colorful flags. The battlements were even more crowded than the previous day; every damned and infernal soul in the city, it seemed, had turned out to watch the High Kings of Hell arrive.
“What is the Feast of Akitum?” Von Beck asked as he followed Mezyss through the crowd.
“The most unholy festival in Sheol,” Mezyss answered. “Decreed by Asmodai to celebrate the darkmeal harvest.”
“Those foul black tubers? What is there to celebrate about them?”
On the first of the festival’s four days, Mezyss explained, all of Shadow Babylon gathered to watch the Arrival of Kings. Fallen nobles watched from those moored airships, infernals from reviewing stands, and damned souls from the battlements as the High Kings and their retinues entered the city along the Processional Way. Von Beck was to join King Asmodai and Queen Lilith as guests aboard the Enlil, Asmodai’s royal airship. In Lucifer’s absence, Prince Arioch served the Senate as Imperator of Hell, which meant the King and Queen were bound to host him. As Mezyss spoke of Arioch, her gaze clouded.
“War is brewing,” Mezyss said. “The devils crave it. The Mysterium foments it. Prince Arioch could calm the storm by outlawing the Mysterium and arresting the Magus for sedition. But he won’t do it.”
“Why not?” Von Beck asked.
Mezyss frowned. “Partly because no infernal or damned soul has ever seen the Magus in the flesh. But Arioch claims also that he is bound to follow Lucifer’s doctrine of neutrality between demons and devils. Words are not deeds, the Prince says, and it’s not his place to outlaw the free exchange of ideas. But the Emperor would never allow the Magus to preach his madness uncontested. Why does Arioch allow it? Meänia believes the Prince is secretly allied with the Magus.”
“What do you think?”
“I try not to. I’ve spent my exile rescuing children from the Mysterium. That’s enough for me.”
The pathfinder led Von Beck to the tiered gangway to which the Enlil was moored. Von Beck craned his neck, saw a ribbed hull of ebony planks, brass rivets, golden rails. Ornate apartments stood on the quarterdeck, crystal deck guns fore and aft. Belowdecks, rows of cannon muzzles lurked behind shuttered gunports. Atop the gangway, Mezyss announced their presence to the gallu stationed there, and they were escorted aboard. At the guard station, Mezyss surrendered her revolver and whip. She noted the absence of Von Beck’s own gun belt, raised an eyebrow.
“You aren’t bearing your irons,” Mezyss said.
“Much to their consternation,” Von Beck answered.
On the main deck, another pair of jackal-headed hellspawn led them through knots of excited passengers to a curtained reviewing stand reserved for the king’s guests. Asmodai and Lilith were there, seated beneath a velvet canopy. Von Beck bowed to them, then sought a goblet of wine from a damned footman.
