Pandæmonium, page 21
“How many times have you rebelled?” she asked Azazel.
“Just this once,” he answered, and Morgan gave him a questioning look. “It is the first time for many of us, Berith was the one that convinced me. He sees much further than Gusion can, and he had never rebelled before. Barbas, he loved to rebel, he did it every couple of cycles, but not Berith.”
“But why now?”
“Because we feel the change. The prophecy compels us. There is a change coming, and you brought it to us. I think this tiny rebellion will be the most important in the history of the underworld, and maybe now it will be the time for us finally to break away from Satan and this Hell.” At those words, Azazel seemed to straighten, and the demons around him did as well.
“I’m sorry. I know we’re in a hurry, but if it’s so important, why aren’t there more demons?”
“The last rebellion was only fifty years ago, and Hades was very harsh with the ones that he caught. None from that attack have returned from Tartarus yet.”
“Hades? Will he be who we fight?”
“Let us hope that he does not join the battle. He is Death itself. But yes, he does control the city in the name of Satan. Some say he has pulled back to Pandæmonium, but that is too much to hope for.”
“One last thing: if we find Abaddon, can you really bring Berith back?” She directed her words to Zephyr, who had just walked up, and it was she who responded.
“I think so, but I am not sure, Morgan. I might be able to reach into the abyss and pull him out, I might not; I might be sucked in myself and lost to the world. But for you and for Berith I would try.”
“Thank you. He did save me a couple of times; and after all of our adventures I was starting to like him, even if he lied to me.”
“We should go,” said Azazel. His face was bright, and she could see he was excited.
“Let’s begin then,” said Zephyr, and raising her voice she shouted to the gathering around her and spoke with a voice that carried over the crowd.
“The time has come! We go to battle! Many will die! But none will be forgotten! When we come back, it will be to a better world! We know the mission; we know the reason; now let us fight!” she put up her fist into the sky and there was a cheer from every throat.
The main force of demons ran towards the city, and the angels flew into the air to attack the wall; Morgan stayed on foot with the demons. They came up from behind a hill and there was the city behind dark parapets and grimly set stone, stone gargoyles looked down at the road while living demons fought on the wall above—the first two parties, Morgan thought, they made it to the wall already. The angels streamed out above them, but they were silent and the demons on the wall did not see them until they were struck with arrows that sped from silver bows.
The demons with Morgan reached the wall and spread out with their backs up beside the gate; Azazel was beside her, and a demon she recognized as Morax ran up. She noticed that he was very fat, definitely fatter than he had been when she had seen him just a few hours ago. He did not stop to talk or take direction. He ran straight for the gate and disappeared for a moment. There was a blast like a cannon and fire shot out from the gateway; the sound of a metal gong split the air.
“That’s the alarm. We need to move!” Azazel shouted, and he was already running as he spoke. Morax was up ahead, stumbling and covered in ash.
“The gates held. That was the best I could give it,” he said in a weak voice. Ash fell from his mouth as he spoke.
“Again!” Azazel yelled. “We have to break through!” Morgan saw that Morax was skinny now, much skinnier than he had been.
“I can cut through the gate!” she said, running past the two. The gates had held indeed, but barely; they were bent inward, away from the blast, and were covered in so much black ash that they seemed to be made of dust. Excalibur gleamed as it whistled through the air. With a clang, Morgan cut through the lock and pushed. The gates began to move slowly against her weight and then more quickly as the demons joined in. The gates swung open.
“Forward, stick together!” Azazel yelled. Morgan’s eyes were roving from side to side, ready to face enemies wherever they were, but the street ahead was clear. Angels jumped down to run beside them or flew above.
“That was easy!” barked a demon close by, and Morgan rolled her eyes—that was not the thing to say at a moment like this. As they moved in deeper, it struck Morgan how normal this city looked. It wasn’t like any city in America, but she thought it would fit in ancient Greece very well: the streets ran in a grid, the buildings were simply made of gray stone, two stories high; there were no windows in any of the houses, only doors.
They saw no one—not demon or dead soul—and everything was deathly quiet. Then, up ahead, a patrol party crossed into their street. Two demons with spears and helms. They caught sight of their army and ran back to where they had come.
“They’ll set the alarm. Stop them!” Azazel yelled, and they ran after the pair down a side street and then onto a main road as they plunged deeper into the city. The rebels were gaining, the demons were looking back, and then the road opened up. They were in a large open square; on either side were wide roads, but they were blocked off with large wooden barriers. In the far corner a group of human souls were corralled behind a make-shift fence, with demons to keep watch over them. Morgan heard the sound of marching feet. It came from in front of them, from the sides, and behind; she whirled and there they were, a hundred demons at least in a loose formation, with shields and spears, marching up the road they had just been on.
The two who had been on patrol were still running, but now they were heading to join another group, just as big. The demons reached the front line and formed into step seamlessly. Then came another noise, quite different from the marching feet; it was low and deep, and it rumbled through Morgan’s body and set her teeth on edge. It was a growl of immense proportion and tracking the noise, Morgan spun right and saw a beast—a dog—three headed and monstrous; it padded up the road towards them. Morgan turned to the left, looking for an escape, but marching up the last of the four streets was the smallest group of demons, and they were wheeling something in front of them: it was shaped sort of like a gun, but it was strange and bulky—it didn’t look like any weapon she had ever seen on earth. Something warm squeeze her hand and Zephyr was there beside her.
“We got you here,” said Zephyr in a tired voice. “My foresight has failed me, but you are all that matters,” she smiled down at Morgan one last time, and then Zephyr raised her sword; and everyone around her raised their weapons too; and those in the air landed and formed a tight group, with Morgan at the center. Azazel was on the side closest to the weapon, and he yelled.
“To me! To me! We die today!” he charged, and Morgan felt herself being pulled that way, so she ran, and felt excitement in her body again. She forgot they were out-numbered, and that if she died here, she would never go back to the world of the living; she only knew the sword in her hand. Ahead the enemy was set, and they had spears out in a tight fence, but still they left space in front of their weapon, and there were demons on top of it, working at something she could not see. Behind them, the thunderous beat of the monster’s paws ran after them.
Zephyr was flying, beating white feathered wings and gaining speed; she was drawing ahead of the runners, and the light that shined down on her shone alone out in front of the charging rebels. She flew like a thunderclap towards the weapon. She’s going to destroy it, whatever it is, Morgan knew. There was nothing in the world that could stop Zephyr now.
There was a sound like the sucking of a great vacuum. The weapon shrunk and then grew and shrunk again. With a boom a beam of light appeared at its tip, and for a split second the light seemed to hang in the air in front of the weapon. Then in an instant it was a bar of light that connected to Zephyr’s chest. Zephyr’s body froze, arms and wings stiffly pointing outward, and then she was gone—vanished into the air as if she had never existed. And Zephyr, who had lived for fourteen billion years, was lost to the universe forever. And chaos fell into the party.
The demons continued to run with Azazel, but angels streaked out ahead. They were on fire; it seemed of their own choosing, and they screamed. They were crazed, frenzied—some near Morgan stopped, and she saw them pulling out their hair and ripping at their feathered wings as they cried.
“She’s not here! She’s not here! She’s gone!” Morgan stopped, for the world had gone mad and her friend Zephyr had vanished. Angels were flying around needlessly, some towards the other armies without aid or thought. Behind, they were attacking the beast. It was snapping them in all three mouths and ripping their bodies apart as the demons threw themselves at it. Morgan grabbed the nearest angel and shouted in her face.
“What happened? Where did she go?”
“I can’t feel her! A billion years and now she’s gone! We—” but she was cut off by the noise of the weapon—another bolt of energy hit another angel and he disappeared as completely as Zephyr had before. The angel Morgan held screamed, and it was such a shock to hear up close that Morgan let her go. The angel crawled away like an animal, bursting into flames as she watched.
The demons were fighting; but they were being pushed back from the weapon; the angels were scattered, mad with fury and grief; and the grief that Morgan felt was near her heart, but she would save it for later because, behind them, the beast had killed another angel. As its jaws snapped down, his body turned to dust and drifted away. Morgan had fallen behind the group. She was alone and was closest to the dog. It was looking at her, all three heads turning, their hungry eyes watching her; and then it ran, paws thudding, and she was running too. Towards the monster—she would not wait—she would be like Zephyr. The massive heads lowered to snap her up, their faces covered in dust.
Morgan dove and slid. Passing under the snapping teeth, Excalibur moved on its own as it had in the cave, catching a leg as it passed and cutting deep into the flesh. The beast howled, all three mouths crying out to the sky; but the dog could still stand. It did not charge again, but padded forward slowly, blood sheeting down to make a river on the ground. Its heads spread out on either side and behind Cerberus, another army of demons stood, watching the battle and blocking off the roads.
Something caught at the corner of her eye, a black shadow flying through the air; it darted behind one of the heads and stabbed a spear down. The spear bounced off the dog’s skull but spinning around, the demon slashed at the animal’s ear and it was cut off; the dog yelped, and its heads looked away from Morgan.
She ran forward and with both hands, swung at the cut she had made on the dog’s thigh; with a clean snick, Excalibur cut through the leg completely. Cerberus flopped over and all three mouths howled so loudly Morgan fell back, stunned. One head bit at the stump viciously, while another picked up the severed leg gently—which had not turned to dust—the third head looked around watchfully as, with three legs, the dog pulled itself backwards down the street.
The demon who had come to her aid helped her up off the floor, and she saw that it was Azazel. Behind gathered the last of the demons who had survived the battle at the weapon; they had retreated to follow Azazel, but the angels could not be controlled, and they were dispersed around the square, fighting in small groups or alone.
The marching demons grew nearer—a moment or an hour later the army and the little group of rebels met. Morgan and Azazel both charged to the front, and Excalibur was a blur as it spun and twisted; darted and dived through the horde of demons; dust flew up and was blown away. The sword had a mind of its own, and it was going to kill every single enemy it could get too; but there were many, many more than the dwindling group around her, and she saw bodies on her own side falling and turning to dust around her. The other demons were taking no quarter, and they were killing with throwing spears from a distance when they could. Some of those same spears flew at her, but Excalibur knocked them away easily, sometimes slicing them in half before she even saw them, catching one straight on and splitting it down the middle.
Most of the demons she faced did try to kill her, Morgan could tell by the way they stabbed and hacked, which surprised her. If she was so important to this prophecy or whatever, wouldn’t they want to capture her? She guessed she was now just a rebel, and she would eventually be killed with all the rest of them. The others armies had arrived, and Berith’s rebels were ringed in by forces ten—twenty times their size.
They fought on, and it seemed like days had passed or maybe just an hour; Morgan was tired, but she did not sweat, and no weapon had been able to touch her through the vigilance of the sword; but now it was protecting her from blows on all sides, and it could not stop all the attacks now raining down on her; finally she felt claws on her arm and turned to see a demon fall back in pain, holding his burned hand. Morgan smiled, and continued to turn her foes to dust, until she looked around and found that she was the last one standing. Azazel had been slain, and all the rest of the demons that had fought with her, and all the angels who had been so proud and beautiful, were gone. Now it was only her and this horde of demons.
Excalibur was quiet in her hand and did not move: the demons had formed a circle around her and were not coming close. She charged at one and he backed up to avoid her swing; they were waiting. Then, out of the circle came the noise of something heavy moving on wheels. The weapon that had killed Zephyr was poking through the line, and it was pointing right at her. Morgan dodged aside, but the ring of demons closed in tighter, and they had shields to push her in. It was only her and the weapon in a closed space; she darted forward, diving back and forth; she was getting close to it; she was going to break it, to cut it up into little pieces, and maybe make her death worth something more than this; but then a voice shouted from above.
“Stop!” it boomed, and there was such a strength of command in the word that everything did stop, including Morgan, who stood frozen, facing the weapon. She looked up to see the person who had such a voice, and there was a demon floating above the square on great bat wings, larger than any she had seen. His black robes billowed out from him like tentacles, and he carried no weapons, but his eyes were flames raging in his head. He turned his head down and she could feel those flames surveying her.
“Take her!” he shouted, and Morgan could not fight—there were too many—Excalibur seemed to know her mind and did not rise from her side as the demons chained her arms and wrapped up her body.
Morgan McCallister was carried from the Battle of Dis in chains—the last members of a failed rebellion.
11
The Betrayal of Barbas
Nathan looked around disquieted—surrounding him were rows of graves marked by rectangular headstones. They were filled with fire, and half-hearted scream echoed from the human souls burned alive.
“Not much further,” Barbas said as they walked through.
“To the city?” Nathan asked.
“Not to the city, no. There is a tunnel that we will use, it is secret.”
“It goes into the city?”
“Into a prison that is in the city,” said Barbas, pulling out a ring of keys. “It was used for escape, but it’s quite useless without these.”
“Why does a city in Hell have a prison?” Nathan asked, and Barbas looked back at him pityingly.
“There are many prisons in Hell—cages to keep people locked away. Humans discovered their usefulness many years ago, but Hell was the first prison, and will be the last.”
“I guess,” Nathan replied. “Are we close? I hate this place.”
“It’s in one of these graves, up ahead,” said Barbas.
“The fire ones?”
“The fire will not hurt us.”
“Will there be a body inside?”
“No, it is empty.”
“What did the people do, anyway? To get here.”
“Liars,” Barbas said carelessly.
“Seems a little harsh—”
“—Here’s the place, it’s this one,” Barbas interrupted as he pulled a headstone off a grave. Barbas hefted the large stone and tossed it aside. The grave blazed merrily, and inside there was no body, but steps that lead down into the darkness. Nathan jumped in after Barbas, ignoring the fire that lapped up his legs, and helped Calypso and Milton climb down with them. With no torch they walked down into the darkness; Nathan counted two hundred steps before the path leveled out and became a passageway. He put his hands out to feel the walls on either side, and they slid across wet stone. Behind were the footsteps of his companions, but ahead Barbas made no noise as he moved along. They spoke not a word until Nathan’s foot hit the bottom of a step.
“There’s a step here,” he shouted back to the others. “Barbas?” he called out, but no reply came. Another fifty steps and Nathan’s hand ran into a ladder; above, there seemed to be a space that was less dark than the hole they were in. The ladder led to a landing, and ahead there was a door which was cracked open with a weak light that split the dark beyond. Nathan stepped forward; he reached the door; he pulled it open.
This place was dark too, and the light that he had seen was coming from a torch on the other side of thick bars; it was indeed a prison as Barbas had said, and there was Barbas on the other side, looking up the hall, as if on look-out. His head twisted back, and he motioned that they should step out. Nathan obeyed warily, walking as quietly as he could. Behind him, Calypso and Milton did like-wise. Barbas signaled for them to shut the door, and Milton complied before Nathan could stop him—he had just looked around the cell and seen someone else, a demon who was chained to the wall; at first he did not recognize the person who was so dirty and beaten, but the second the door thudded shut behind them he did—it was Barbas—it was the same demon that was standing outside waiting for them.
The demon outside the bars smiled and his mouth stretched wide, like a bird molting as he transformed, the long hair receding from his face and head, his features stretching and changing, and Loki grinned at them through the bars of the cell. Nathan locked eyes with the betrayer, and they stood looking at each other.
