 
DEMONWORLD

Book One

by Kyle B. Stiff

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, 2014 Kyle B. Stiff

Updates for Kyle B. Stiff's writing projects, including Demonworld and Heavy Metal Thunder, can be found here, here, and here:

www.kylebstiff.wordpress.com

@KyleBStiff on twitter

primeentertainer@gmail.com

Demonworld is a series of ten books that takes place in the distant future, during the Age of Capricorn.

Other books in Kyle B. Stiff's Demonworld series:

Demonworld

The Pig Devils

The Floyd Street Massacre

Shepherd of Wolves

Lords of the Black Valley

For the world is Hell,

and men are on the one hand the tormented souls

and on the other

the devils in it.

\- Arthur Schopenhauer

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Land Under the Black Sun

Chapter 2: Through the Door of the Black Valley

Chapter 3: Genesis Unbound

Chapter 4: A Human Sacrifice

Chapter 5: The Tree of Life and the Cave of Harsh Enlightenment

Chapter 6: River Crossing

Chapter 7: Child of Destruction

Chapter 8: Saul's Amazing Journey

Chapter 9: The Sacrifice on the Hill

Chapter 10: The Eye of the Black Storm

Chapter 11: Saints of the Sacred Oasis

Chapter 12: Escape from the Black Valley

Chapter 13: In the Beginning...

Chapter 14: The Wasteland

Chapter 15: Scar of the Ugly

Chapter 16: The Inquisition

Chapter 17: No Compromise Between Life and Death

Chapter 18: The Monster

Chapter 19: See the Monkeys Dance

Chapter 20: Soul Selling

Chapter 21: An Island in the Sea of Tranquility

Chapter 22: Storming the Gates of Heaven

# Chapter One

The Land Under the Black Sun

Before he became a god and chose to destroy the world, my Lord was just a boy living in the city-state of Haven.

But to understand my Lord and the terrible path he walked, you have to understand my world. I did not grow up within the gentle confines of Haven. I was born in the wasteland, where endless miles of arid, scorched earth lie between scattered city-states. Mankind is no longer an apex predator with the earth in his grip. We have become prey, and it is our habit to offer prayer to the very creatures that hunt us – the living gods we call flesh demons.

Flesh demons are the dominant species. They shape our nightmares, they dictate our morality, and they set the limits of our existence. They were most certainly the end of the Ancients, and it was the flesh demons who gave us our inheritance of barbarism and superstition.

In some lands they build great walls to keep out flesh demons, and the people who live inside those walls become like demons in order to get ahead. In other places they worship the demons as gods and make sacrifices of their children in order to survive. Most places are run by an awkward combination of these two methods.

But Haven, the home of my Lord, is different. Haven was founded in secret nearly six hundred years ago on a remote island, where it lies in the center of a ring of great black mountains. They hold the arts in high regard. They democratically elect their leaders. They embrace science, public education, and technological development. They do not hold public executions and they do not keep slaves and nobody was ever imprisoned for speaking against a public figure.

Of course, in order to live in safety, certain concessions had to be made. This is the story of one such concession.

\- from The Entertainers: Chapter Jarl: 28:1

* * *

At the age of five, little Wodi stood with other children his age, their right hands upraised. They stood in a square room lit by sickening fluorescent light that cast shadows in the eyes of each child, like the animated dead. Garish posters and optimistic signs covered the walls, but where the paint was chipped they could see that the wall was a solid block of gray stone colored with veins of milk and ash.

The needle-sharp voices of the children repeated a litany that came from a box that carried the voice of an unseen speaker:

I swear an oath of fealty

To the flag

Of the free city-state of Haven

I swear my loyalty to the republic

Of the Founding Fathers

To never reveal our sanctuary to outsiders

Or sell our Haven to demons

They were the children of laborers, born in the northern laborers' area of Haven, and it was the closest thing to poetry that some of them had ever heard.

This was the first day of their official education. Here they would learn about the scientific pioneers and political revolutionaries who cleared away the cobwebs of demon worship and child sacrifice. Here they would learn about the freedoms they enjoyed and the lives of ease they had to look forward to, and they would learn all this in caverns deep underground on an island which they were forbidden to ever leave.

"You may be seated!" ordered the teacher, and little Wodi and all the other children obeyed.

* * *

At the age of seven, little Wodi was terrible at sports. He was small for his age and uncoordinated, and he was notorious for wandering away in the middle of games. There was only one sport that Wodi enjoyed, and that was the chaotic, violent free-for-all called battle ball.

Four balls were tossed into a crowd of children. The balls were immediately snatched up by the four biggest louts, and while the others screamed and ran to the center of the gymnasium, the four bullies set to throwing the balls against the heads and asses of their classmates, calling them "out" or "dead" so that they had to stand on the sidelines while the slaughter continued. Some children took the game quite seriously, dodging balls or even grabbing balls so that the throwers themselves "died", while other children pleaded and cut deals with the bullies so they wouldn't be hit as hard as those who foolishly played by the rules.

Wodi's small size made him a difficult target. And the rules of battle ball, unlike in toss ball and ball-by-ball, were quite simple: Don't get hit. Survive.

The balls flew and smacked into faces and soft limbs. Classmates fell all around Wodi, crying out to a gym teacher who was completely oblivious to their existence. The ranks of the dead grew and formed a ring around the arena. Wodi called out encouragement to a few classmates that he liked, and used others as cover if he did not like them. Brown hair clung to his head, matted with sweat; a great contrast to the last time he was in the gym, when he stood as still as stone and refused to move for the entire period.

Finally, only Wodi and four throwers remained. The four who stood against him were brutes of legendary strength and cruelty. Some laughed at Wodi and others glared at him doggedly. They knew that Wodi would be trouble, so they formed uneasy alliances, surrounded him, and took turns trying to sandwich him between speeding balls. As the spectators on the sidelines either moped about impatiently or shouted at him to give up so they could move on to something else, Wodi imagined them as fallen warriors cheering him on from Valhalla, a host of shining dead demanding heroism, just like in the comic books he read. Wodi's lungs burned. He turned about in an unending circle, his eyes on the killers.

Wodi could never catch a speeding ball and out a thrower, so his only option was to endure. But the temptation for one of the bullies to grab an ally's ball and make an easy kill was powerful, and soon two bullies killed one another in quick succession. Wodi laughed, and just as he thought that he had a real chance at victory, the gym teacher realized that the children were becoming bored and would soon make trouble, so he blew his whistle and declared everyone a loser. Wodi beamed with pride.

Some of his classmates approached, and one said, "Wodi! Let's play slaves and raiders."

But Wodi was tired of the company of others, and wanted only to be alone. "Not now," said Wodi, his green eyes clear and unyielding. "There's a sick rat behind the bleachers. I'm going to cut it open and see if anyone ever finds it."

The children scurried away, shrieking. None considered that Wodi lied in order to make them leave so that he could wander alone in his imagination. In fact, when some looked back and saw him disappearing behind the bleachers, they even felt their grip on reality coming loose.

So it always was with Wodi. One never knew what he would say or do. He was an outsider who could not be understood, both a wonder and a horror.

* * *

At the age of twelve, Wodi and the other "gifted" children of the northern laborers' section were allowed to attend special classes one day out of every week. Theoretically, the children were supposed to be encouraged to pursue independent study and craft-making in a dullard-free environment conducive to creativity. In practice, the special classes were directed by teachers who came from the very same culture of labor, discipline through drudgery, and abject tedium from which the gifted children were meant to be freed. The teachers were incapable of understanding why the supposedly gifted children showed reluctance to produce extra work when given the opportunity. They struggled with the riddle as if alien to their own species.

Once every year the children were forced to produce some sort of exhibit for the Advanced Studies Project Fair, where slower children and teachers from all across the district could see various exhibits concerning science and the arts while trying to hide any obvious signs of boredom. So it was that little Wodi's own presentation stood in between "The Bob-Tailed Jumping Rat: Pest or Pet?" and "How Clouds Get Formed" and across from "Gerrold 'Champ' Beauchamp, Ninth Prime Minister of Haven". Wodi's exhibit bore a sign that read

Gaze Upon the Demonic Overlords

Who Rule the World!

and even included hideous dioramas sculpted out of colored paper and clay: Winged beasts feeding on human children, horned monstrosities limping about on uneven, non-uniform legs, and one giant humanoid beast hunched over, with tentacles arching up from its back to gingerly accept the sacrifice of a screaming maiden from a gang of half-naked primitives.

He had even drawn a vivid sketch of Haven in flames, with the dead trampled underfoot by demonic forces. Over the picture hung a sign that read, "The City-State of Haven: Celebrating Nearly Six Hundred Years of Demon-Free Living!" Still another sketch showed primitive wastelanders dancing and bowing before devils. A nearby caption read, "Mankind: Is Second Best Good Enough?"

One devoutly religious teacher stared at the piece for a long time, feeling out the nature of his repulsion towards the garish display. He knew, from various historical documents, that the flesh demons of the outside world were capable of communicating with one another over vast distances through a power that, for lack of scientific explanation, was sometimes referred to as telepathy \- and so the teacher wondered if the mind of a child could be remotely influenced by psychic domination. He moved along before the smiling boy could say something carefully calculated to ruin his spiritual well-being.

Another teacher was drawn to the carnival air of Wodi's display, but could not help but feel that the young mind that could dream up such grotesqueries was itself demented. Not to mention irrelevant: What did it matter if some beasts with the power of reason harassed the inhabitants of the wasteland? If they were outside of Haven, was it not the same as if they did not exist at all?

One teacher felt magnanimous enough to warm-heartedly berate the boy. But Wodi stubbornly clung to his simple reasoning, which was: The flesh demons do not live as they do because we influence them, but we live as we do because they influence us. So it was that the flesh demons ruled the wasteland and took humans as sacrifice; so it was that the most popular idea in the world was the idea that that which stands out puts the tribe at risk, thus making it the duty of the tribe to stifle that which is not the norm; so it was that other city-states in the wasteland hid behind walls and guns and rarely venture out; so it was that the people of Haven, despite their science and their democracy, never thought to expand beyond their hidden land, and always kept their heads down, and always knew their limits. According to Wodi, the morality and the values of the cultural elite and the naked savage were exactly the same.

By coincidence, Professor Korliss Matri overheard the debate. He alone saw something beautiful and rare in the exhibit. The colors, the madness, the inspiration! He was not fazed by the macabre nature of the display. What truly inspired him was how the inarticulate child dug in his heels, even against authority figures.

Professor Korliss Matri did not approach Wodi, but took note of him. Though he was technically a teacher, he really had no business being at such a dull, provincial event. He had come because he was intensely interested in the new generation - and he was interested because he knew, for a fact, that one child in Haven had had his fate altered. One child had the book of his life rewritten, and was not like the others.

And he had dedicated his life to finding that child.

* * *

At the age of fifteen, Wodi's class went on a field trip to a large nutrimilk production facility. It was underground, dark, gray, and filled with vibrating machinery that resonated with a dull grinding OMMM sound, like the birth-cry of a new and sterile world. There were pipes and vats everywhere, all of them gushing with a tide of white nutrimilk. The miraculous foodstuff was incredibly healthy, was offered in a variety of flavors for laborers, and was even used as an ingredient in upper class cuisine.

Wodi's classmates were bored beyond belief to be there, and either took turns annoying one another or simply lurched forward when their elders demanded. Wodi stood out from the others, and not just from his excitement at the ridiculous field trip. Though he had the plain brown hair common to the northern laborers' genotype, he was quite a bit smaller than the others, and had finer features, and his green eyes shone with piercing clarity.

Wodi listened as the tour guide rambled on about the scientist who invented nutrimilk and the "bovine plant" which produced it: Didi, head of the Department of Science and founder of the Department of Research. Didi was a strange man, a genius and a polymath afflicted with a host of diseases, a man so eccentric that normal communication with him was considered impossible. He was the so-called "mad monk" of science who, despite his reclusive nature, was somehow a brilliant leader and organizer.

The tour had yet to reach its exciting climax at the nutrimilk-themed gift shop, but the penultimate stop proved to be Wodi's favorite by far.

"And here you have it," said the tour guide, "the amazing bovine plant. It -"

The tour guide could barely finish as a gasp went through the students. Some were so disturbed by the thing that only a visit with their local spiritual counselor could allay their fears.

The bovine plant was hideous. It was a huge, round orb of white, ribbed flesh suspended in a large vat of clear fluid. A host of tubes punctured the thing, some carrying a compound of vitamins and minerals mixed with sawdust for the plant's consumption, others carrying out waste, and still others carrying out the precious nutrimilk which the living plant produced. It was a genetic work of art, a re-engineering of nature in the service of mankind. And there were rows of the giant vats, each filled with a bovine plant, and the rows extended as far as the eye could see.

"Please, if you'll be quiet," said the tour guide, leaving off from his script, "I assure you the plant feels no pain. It doesn't even have a proper nervous system!"

"Well I think it's just awful," said someone near the back. "It's all kinds of blasphemous."

"We'll have to have this discussion later," one of the chaperoning teachers said in an effort to stop the discussion entirely.

To Wodi, the un-living creature was truly a wonder.

Though it was illegal for young children to work, he had been working in his father's grocery store for a year. He had seen raw meat that was still in the shape of a once-living animal. When he looked up at the ceiling of the nutrimilk production facility, he could imagine row upon row of cows and goats hung on hooks, skinned and hopefully dead, and could imagine the cries of others down below as they were packed in, suffocating against one another, an endless wellspring of misery, a terrible black hole from which no hope could emerge.

And now, because of the bovine plant, nearly all of that suffering was over.

"Didi created this," said Wodi, almost to himself.

"Yes," said the flustered tour guide. "Yes he did."

"Then he is truly a hero."

"Hero?" said the tour guide. "I don't know if I'd go that far."

That night, Wodi lay awake and thought about the obvious analogy of the bovine plant and the vats: The people of Haven also spent time in amniotic vats. And not in some metaphorical sense, either, in which a person's job or school or neighborhood or family or social circle acted as his protection against a harsh and uncaring world; no, the people of Haven quite literally spent several of their first few months growing in warm, protective glass wombs within the halls of the Makers of Mothers, which was a very old branch of the Department of Science. If they did not, then they ran the risk of contracting a fatal disease commonly called Pharaoh's Curse.

Some children were planned and conceived artificially, the sperm and egg handled entirely by the Makers of Mothers. Some were conceived naturally, then removed from their mothers and given time with the Makers during those first few critical months. Some children were born straight from the vats. Some children were transported back into their mothers so that they could have a "natural" birth, which was fairly common among religious types.

Pharaoh's Curse had nearly destroyed the first few generations of Haven. Only Haven's early scientific pioneers were able to save the people. Only the unnatural had saved them.

Wodi thought it was strange that the people were used to the idea of growing up in vats themselves, but were quick to feel horror at the sight of the bovine plant in its own warm, comfortable vat.

* * *

At the age of seventeen, young Wodi took part in what was called an "act of nerd terrorism," and would have achieved great notoriety in his homeland if not for the common sense, and fear of shame, of the local representatives.

The Baiame Wiradjuri Festival, held every year in the underground tunnels of the northern laborers section, was a chaotic mix of market fair, religious celebration, costume parade, public "feats of strength" competition, science and invention exhibit, and outsider art fair with a special emphasis on artists suffering from dementia caused by the advanced stages of Neural Carbon Accretion, a dreadful neurological disease. Its attendees were usually laborers from the north, west and even the far south end of the island. Because of the garish nature of the festival, and the class of those who attended it, the festival was usually ridiculed by any outsider that bothered to notice it.

So one day Wodi made a poster advertising a fictional scientist showcasing a newly-created airborne strain of SKAD-V, a sexually transmitted, fatal disease usually referred to as the "Skav virus" among laborers. The poster even showcased a doctored photo of Wodi, with a lab coat and fake beard, as he accepted a prize from some suited official, for his alleged role in the previous year's festival. "Last year I was able to infect over a dozen individuals with the airborne Skav virus!" the poster advertised. "This year, with your help, we'll try to infect more!" The poster concluded with the comically ominous statement, "Come and see the exhibit next to the air intake chute which leads to an air conditioning plant which will unknowingly take part in my 'widespread dispersal' experiment."

Quite proud of his poster, Wodi made a few copies, then posted them alongside other garish advertisements for exhibits and stalls and events at the festival. On his walk home, Wodi was again struck by inspiration, ran the rest of the way home, then made a new poster which protested the fictional event in his previous poster. He styled the new poster to read like one of the sensationalist news tabloids so popular in his neighborhood. Beside a picture of a randomly selected politician he printed in bold typeface, "KILLER MAD SCIENCE ON THE LOOSE!" and "SCIENCE RUN AMOK - LETS GET HIM."

He returned to the wide, heavily-trafficked tunnel. Many, many people surrounded his "mad scientist" poster. A few Guardians were there as well. Wodi would later wonder why he did not simply drop his new stack of posters in the garbage and continue walking. Instead, he calmly began posting on the other side of the tunnel. Did he want to be caught? Did he want the people he was targeting to see him at work, right under their noses? Of course, within minutes he was picked up by the Guardians and taken in for questioning.

None could understand why he did what he did, why he wanted to potentially ruin a very important festival, or why he thought the act of terror was humorous. When questioned, Wodi's defense was that anyone who actually believed that his poster contained a single grain of truth should be taken in for questioning and forced to give an account of their own simple-mindedness. Anyone with any sense, said Wodi, would see the posters for what they were and either laugh or ignore them. Many long-time, battle-tested Guardians felt a chill run through them when dealing with the easy-going sociopath; dealing with bookish youths rebelling against an environment that stifled creativity was not a part of their training.

Despite his demeanor, Wodi was quite nervous during the questioning. He knew he would face no serious punishment, as the entire affair was too ludicrous to warrant any real justice. But he was afraid that his parents would worry. He did not want to disappoint them by being different, and he certainly did not want his mother to be angry with him.

In the end, the entire affair was hushed up. Before charges of "terroristic threatening" and "incitement to revolt" were laid on Wodi, several higher-ups within the community heard about the incident and, not wanting to scare away potential tourism dollars, counseled the local Guardians to release Wodi after giving him a good scare.

The Guardians laughed aloud when Wodi's mother picked him up and screamed at him like a madwoman, his cool demeanor breaking as he struggled to explain the situation, stuttering and near tears.

As fate would have it, the next time Wodi was taken in by Guardians, he would be arrested with multiple charges of murder against him.

* * *

At the age of eighteen, Wodi enrolled in a publicly-funded civilian self-defense course that was taught by none other than Sevrik Clash, the Head of Guard of Haven. Sevrik was in charge of two-thirds of Haven's military police force, the Guardians, and answered only to the senate; not even the Prime Minister himself could command him.

At the time, Wodi was going quietly insane doing heavy lifting and cleaning for his father in a series of side jobs, and was finally nearing the end of his mandatory public education. He needed something to jar him, to wake him up inside, and so when he heard that such an important man was teaching combat tactics to anyone capable of leaving their couch, he jumped at the offer. He did not care if the event was some sort of ridiculous publicity stunt.

The class was held in the eastern end of Haven, a wooded and sparsely populated area near the Guardian training grounds. Anyone with a camera was turned away. Wodi and a few others who seemed serious about the class were escorted by a Guardian in uniform. White plastic armor highlighted with deep blue and yellow ochre dust covered his shoulders, chest, and thighs. Wodi could not take his eyes off the heavy handgun that hung at the Guardian's side. Other Guardians, some helmeted and in full armor, marched by with heavy black rifles slung over their shoulders.

Wodi gathered with the others in a dimly-lit basement covered with drab military propaganda. One Guardian sat and smoked in the corner; he had orders to shoot anyone who made moves against the Head of Guard.

Sevrik Clash entered and told everyone to form up into a line. Wodi was not the only one to feel himself shrink when the man strode in. He was a giant, both tall and wide, and his shining white uniform was topped by a wild mane of red hair and beard. The energy radiating from him was palpable. The line had barely formed when he marched up to one stooping male with a caved-in chest. With his head tilted downward and eyes burning fiercely, he said, "Look at me. Look at me. Do you see how my head is tilted? Why am I doing that? Why?"

"Because... it's intimidating?" said the youth.

"No! It's so you don't jam the side of your palm into my throat and crush my windpipe!" A few laughed uneasily. "If anyone here finds themselves in a violent situation, I want to read in the paper that you ended the fight quickly by jamming the bottom of your palm into the perpetrator's throat. LIKE THIS. See? And then I want to be able to turn to the obituary section and read about how the perpetrator didn't fare so well because his wind pipe was crushed. Understand? Let's go over it."

Wodi was thrilled and returned to the class again and again. Sevrik Clash was filled with a violent charisma, and espoused a philosophy of mystic chivalry meets barbaric pragmatism with dashes of trivia about ancient, dead civilizations that once practiced the art of beating ass. In between showing his students how to snap a kneecap out of place with a swift kick or how to conceal one's intentions before exploding violently, he often reeled off helpful reminders on how to destroy one's opponents both in and out of the training room.

"If you're smaller than the other guy, don't let it come down to a grapple. Strike, keep him back! Eyes! Nose! Throat! A guy with raw hamburger for a face won't want to wrestle with you."

"Be mindful of openings. If the fight lasts for longer than a few seconds, find or make faults in the opponent's rhythm, so you can slip in and disable something vital."

"If you're in a fight, and you're constantly on the defense, you can never hope to win."

"Did you break your thumb on the opponent's chin? Don't let the pain sap your resolve; switch to your elbows. You'd be surprised how much destructive force Mother Nature put in that one joint. It's almost like she hates your opponent as much as you do!"

But the man was no drill sergeant. He did not call anyone a maggot or a shit-for-brains. He took an active interest in his students, almost as if he was searching for something among them, and was surprisingly patient for one who bore such authority. If the thing was purely a publicity stunt, it was carried out with exceeding tenderness.

Once, when Wodi ended up on the mat after an awkward grapple, Sevrik stood over him and spoke directly to him. "Combat is like an entire life squeezed into the span of a few seconds," said Sevrik, not bothering to help Wodi up. "If you're not focused, if you're not fully devoted to victory or to survival, then your first impulse is going to be to run or give up. Because it's just too painful otherwise. You're going to be amazed at how quickly you tire, how quickly you run out of air. That means... you have to make your will stronger than your body. If your mind keeps moving ahead, your body will follow."

Wodi remained flat on the mat. Sevrik continued. "Rhythm, momentum, and will are everything in battle. See the enemy's rhythm, then disrupt it; feel the enemy's momentum, then redirect it; ignore your enemy's will, and crush his with your own."

"How can I crush another person's will?" Wodi asked.

Without missing a beat, Sevrik said, "Show him you don't fight to lose. Let him know he buried himself when he set his will against yours."

Wodi felt that he learned a great deal, but his strength never became very impressive. If he stood at a certain angle in his bathroom and the light hit him just so, then with a little imagination he could almost make out the curves of a few muscles. He decided he was not destined to become Haven's most dangerous badass. Though the civilian self-defense classes were expanded, Sevrik eventually passed the duties on to other less impressive underlings. Wodi dropped the class around the same time.

Wodi wondered if Sevrik had been a little disappointed in all of them. No doubt he was a busy man. If he had been searching for something among the citizens of Haven, he had not found it.

Not yet.

* * *

At the age of nineteen Wodi attended the University in Central Haven. His long incarceration in public school had been so dull and demeaning and traumatizing that he wanted to take a year off, to be away from people if only for a while. But his father pressured him to immediately enroll, and it was a good thing that he did, for Wodi loved the University. He made no friends, he did not party, and he lived in a small single-room apartment which he rarely left because he took nearly half of his classes on the datanet. Still, his time at the University was the most thrilling in all his short life.

He took classes on the history of Haven, on post-structural biology, on "remnant philosophies" which was the second-hand record of the ancient philosophies of dead cultures, on psychology and the history of the perverse misuse of sociology, and several classes on literature and film. Wodi was a sponge. He stood out, and for the first time in his life, standing out and being noteworthy were admirable traits. Even in mathematics, which was Wodi's weakest subject by far, he still outshone his peers because he got a hot tip on an introductory economics course that half-wits and athletes often took because it was exceedingly easy.

Wodi's favorite teacher was Professor Korliss Matri, a long-haired, aging firebrand who taught classes on comparative mythology, the literature of Haven, and an advanced class on the philosophies that helped shape the founding of Haven. Professor Matri was obsessed with the subject of heroism: heroic characters in literature, heroic philosophies, heroic decades, heroic historical figures. He also spoke of philosophies which sidetracked nations and mired the intellectual elite in pointless, masturbatory arguments for decades, even centuries; he also gave accounts of history's little villains, small men who sold what was human in them, or even gave away their humanity, for a goal that was not even worth the advertised price.

Wodi began to get a real sense of Haven's Founding Fathers. Some were noblemen, some came from poverty, some were fighters, some were writers and inventors, but all of them were born and lived in the wasteland. They had seen demons, disease, superstition and the cruelty of barbaric kings first-hand. They protested and fought against tyranny, then secretly founded a haven for humanity, the last bastion of reason – Wodi's homeland. Wodi began to overcome the dull and confining nature of his upbringing as Professor Matri fostered in him a new admiration for the human species. Wodi wondered if he would ever be able to inspire his species in the undertaking of something grand, something heroic, that would change the world.

So it was that the last paper Wodi wrote for Professor Matri, a short piece which he had greatly enjoyed writing, was titled "Human Potential: The Great Untapped Resource". He turned it in, Matri greeted him by name and wished him a good winter break, Wodi thanked him nervously, and then he left the University never to return again.

Wodi learned a great many things in that year and a half, but his time at the University did little to prepare him for the nightmare that followed.

* * *

At the age of twenty, Wodi woke in a strange forest.

With cold earth against his back, he stared through a jagged canopy of black branches and tried to reconstruct the tattered web of his memory. It was nighttime, his blanket and backpack were nowhere in sight, and even though he had come into the forest just to see what it was like to sleep under the stars, something deep inside told him that this was not the forest he had originally entered.

Wodi propped himself up and swallowed his rising panic. He planned to get his bearings as soon as the sun rose, head northwest, take the rail back to his University apartment near Central Haven, fix something hot to eat, forget about ever going on hikes without good reason, and then he would -

A bushel of flowers caught Wodi's eye. In the deep blue of early morning he could clearly make out white petals against black tree bark. The flowers were strange; some of their whiteness had splashed onto the black tree bark, as if they were thickly painted and then clumsily handled. Wodi carefully crawled over to the bushel, peered inside the flowers, and saw something like purple spirals nestled against fleshy pink folds. He pulled away quickly.

The alien flowers were not native to Haven.

Wodi rose and looked around. Though the idea was difficult to grasp, he was truly beginning to believe that he was no longer in Haven. In the growing light he could dimly make out a complicated spiderweb high in a tree, looping from branch to branch, patterns repeating like some kind of equation. He saw a cluster of white trees with holes gnawed through their centers, with thick syrup the color of blood running down to the forest floor.

Wodi had heard of such places before. Though most of the world was baked dry and hostile to life, this place was an oasis \- a dreadful and forbidding place deep in the wasteland. If he was correct, then he was nowhere near Haven. An oasis was a place of genetic wildness, a dark land where life was crowded and hemmed in on all sides. A place of vicious and unending competition where living things developed savage defenses, facing a grim choice between death and an unhappy existence.

And oases were always, always inhabited by flesh demons.

* * *

Wodi waited on the edge of a nearby clearing and watched the sky unravel into white and pink. The stars grew dim. As long as he stood still, he could almost imagine that he was the first man in an alien world, standing by as the first garden gave birth to itself. Eventually he could make out black leaves against twisted trunks, then he could see that the forest stretched in all directions. When he got a hint of where the sun would rise, he knew that soon the day would begin and he would have to bottle up the chaos in his heart and come up with a plan.

He checked his pockets for anything that might help. All of his usual possessions were gone; they had been replaced by a small, folded, hand-drawn map.

Surely he was dreaming. The map was drawn with a spidery thin script, more representative than practical. There were hints of imagination in the controlled flourishes of the pen.

The Island of Haven was at the top, in the middle of the Sea of Tranquility, with Sunport on the far shore south of Haven. Below that lay hundreds of miles of arid wasteland, home to lone demons and the burning sun. At the bottom of the map Wodi could see a horseshoe formation of mountains that enclosed a forest. A prominent X was placed in the middle of the forest. A river ran through the forest, disappeared under the mountains, wound through more arid waste, and cut through the center of the city of Pontius far to the west. Wodi could only assume that he was standing on the X, thousands of miles from Haven, trapped in a world he was not equipped to deal with.

As confusing as it was, the existence of the map confirmed that he was a fly trapped in the web of a sadist with access to resources. The situation was not as dreamlike and nonsensical when he reasoned that someone, a person, a human like himself, was behind it all.

Had he pissed off someone dangerous? Or been mistaken for the child of someone important, kidnapped for ransom, and then dumped far away when the deal fell through? Neither option seemed likely. All the same, here he was.

Because the map was nothing but confusing, he put it away, climbed a low-hanging branch, and watched the sun rise. The sky was pale and blue, the same blue he had known his whole life. He could now orient himself north. Again and again he swallowed the fear that he would soon be eaten alive by monstrous gods. Again and again he told himself that if he was going to die anyway, then he could at least die on the long walk home.

* * *

Deep, deep underground, Sevrik Clash, Head of Guard in Haven, stalked down the dark halls underneath the Department of Science. His massive frame nearly filled the hall. A grizzled red beard, streaked with gray, shot out from his face and covered his chest. His heavy footfalls echoed against the hum of distant generators. He came to a black door, said, "Potential," and the door hissed and swung open mechanically.

He entered a great dark room lit with a few dim purple lights. Computer terminals flickered all around.

"Didi," he said.

A squat man with ink-black skin hobbled towards him, his dark shiny head and features swimming up slowly from the darkness. His leg brace rasped and sighed like a mechanical familiar, servant to a wizard of black science. He squinted his large, bloodshot eyes because they were sensitive to light, making his face a web of wrinkles. He was Head of the Departments of Science and Research, and perhaps the most intelligent man in all of Haven; though many of his opinions were unpopular, his creations were enjoyed by all. His leg brace groaned as he leaned against it. He said nothing.

Towering over him, Sevrik said, "Didi, Korliss says our Project is gone."

Didi nodded slowly.

"Alive, but gone," added Sevrik.

Didi turned away.

"Didi, that thing is the ultimate weapon. If it should fall into the hands of the enemy..." He trailed off, unable to articulate his fear.

Didi looked at the far end of the room. A large red panel and its single button twinkled in the darkness. "I am prepared," Didi's voice croaked. "I am prepared to sacrifice everything. Are you, Sevrik?"

"Prepared to destroy decades of work? Decades of waiting and cultivating? With the push of a button? All of it gone, Didi, just like that?"

"Yes," said Didi, and Sevrik knew that his will was set firm. "We took a vow, the three of us. We knew the risk. Fate has dealt us a terrible card... but let us wait before doing anything rash."

Didi hobbled over to the terrible red button and sat down beside it. "I am in no rush to push the button. We will yet find our Project."

"Are you that confident?" said Sevrik, knowing that he would be doing much of the work.

"I am. It is only the world and all the fates who stand against us. When has that ever stopped us? When has anything ever stopped us? We are men for whom morality is merely a hindrance... not a limit."

"Are you losing it, Didi?" Sevrik blurted out suddenly.

"I am only staying true to our plan," said Didi. "I feel fine. Thank you."

#  Chapter Two

Through the Door of the Black Valley

Wodi spent the morning trekking through dense woods. At first he tried to be as stealthy as possible, but gave that up as the woods eventually filled with horrid cries, the squealing of unseen animals killing one another, and the shrill song of insects calling out, robotic and unending. He came to a grass-covered hill and, wanting to be out of the gloom of the valley, walked to the top.

The woods were sparse near the crest. He saw great gray mountains to the west, north, and east, with treetops stretching out on all sides. Wodi consulted the ridiculous map, feeling foolish and tired from the walk. If the X on the map was any sort of indicator, then he was south of the river. If he followed the river under the mountain, or made the effort to travel south and around the forbidding mountains, then perhaps he could make his way west to the city of Pontius.

But Wodi knew that the foreign city was probably no better than the wasteland itself. He had no illusions about the hospitality of such people. Not only that, but he noticed places marked at the top of the horseshoe ring of mountains - they were tunnels of some sort, and were labeled as abandoned mines. If Wodi could avoid being eaten long enough to get some water at the river, and possibly something to eat, it was not inconceivable that he could reach the mines and even travel through them. If he could make it very far north to the wasteland city of Sunport, perhaps he could even convince someone to sail with him across the sea to Haven. Unfortunately there was a long stretch of wasteland between the wooded valley and Sunport, which was no small problem.

Still, it was the shortest possible stretch between here and home. While the plan might be unrealistic, it gave him hope. Perhaps that was plan enough.

He put the map away, looked to the mountains, oriented himself north by the sun, and thought to himself I want to go home. He set off down the hill. Tree branches soon closed overhead, swallowing the light. He hesitated before reentering the woods, thinking that he could see the glowing eyes of creatures, watching and waiting. He took a deep breath, then entered the dark.

* * *

Wodi walked the unwelcoming paths in the dark wood, picking his way through narrow trails that cut through dense grass and brush. He saw strange and twisted plants. Sticky vines crossed the ground, their orifices clogged shut with the corpses of rats. Tall towers of black flowers rose up to meet thin strands of green-filtered light. Matted wreaths of milk-blooded flowers choked at one another, thorn and stem cutting and growing as one. A garish neon plant offered a bowl of honey in its mouth; hungry insects came to lap at this prize, and were caught by a malicious tongue that hid within the sap. Another flower's blossom looked exactly like a cat's head, a defense mechanism devised to keep away the mice that would chew at its stem. Yet another plant blossomed and withered in the time that it took Wodi to walk by, obeying some inscrutable pattern in its genetic blueprint. Wodi's hunger was not so great that he felt comfortable eating any of the strange plants, nor did he find any water to drink.

He stopped near a dark, cold stretch of woods. The canopy of leaves overhead was so dense that it completely blocked out the sun, creating a stifling world of eternal night. He peered inside. The dark was quiet and still, and eventually he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He could make out places where the light cut through in yellow shards, but those places were far and few between. The dark woods lay as far to his left and right as he could see; if he tried to go around so he could keep his eye on the sun and not lose his way, it could take a very long time.

He went in.

The paths were wide in the black forest; the undergrowth was stifled where the light was snuffed out. The place smelled like the dark insides of a refrigerator long dead. Phantom lights played in his eyes. Wodi kept his hands stretched out before him, continually bumping into smooth trees whose branches were so high and distant that he never felt them. The greedy trees were like wrinkled columns of marble, implacable tyrants willing to choke out all life below to guarantee a sip of sunlight far above.

Finally he came to a narrow break filled with yellow light. The little haven was no warmer than the rest of the dark wood, and Wodi was half convinced that he could see stars shining in the little opening far above. In the pale light he could see that the tree trunks were deathly white, a skeletal forest as quiet as the void. Wodi was no longer sure that being able to see the light was any better than fumbling in the dark, so he pressed on.

He picked his way from one clearing to the next. It was impossible to tell which direction he was going in; his only consolation was that the place could not go on forever. Finally he came upon a terrible sight, and he began to understand why some creatures would choose to live blind in the darkness forever.

A pale creature about the size of a cat hung suspended in the air, one of its hind legs tied to a rope that was attached to a faraway branch. Its eyes were closed, but Wodi could see it taking in shallow breaths. The poor creature turned slowly. A sharp stick of white wood lay propped up on a nearby tree. Wodi felt his eyes burning hot, for the first sign of life he encountered was a scene of torture. He knew then that it had been a very bad idea to enter the dark woods. He should have skirted around it, even if it had taken days or weeks to do so. Even if death waited in the entire valley, it would be a terrible thing to die in darkness, especially at the hands of some thing that lived in darkness.

There was only one thing to do. Wodi was not so hungry that his values had changed, so he cast about for a sharp stone. He found one, then set to work grinding it against the rope. The thing was made of thin, dry vines. Wodi tried to stifle his imagination concerning who or what could have made the rope.

The poor creature lay still the entire time, as if dead. The rope snapped apart and Wodi laid the animal on the ground. After a few long moments, the thing worked its jaw, sucked in a few great breaths, then licked its face and worked its way onto its belly. It ignored Wodi entirely and shambled off into the dark, the rope of vines dangling from its foot as a reminder that the cord of its spirit remained intact. Having grown up around bullies intent on shoring up their weak egos with minor acts of brutality, Wodi felt a disproportionate sense of accomplishment in freeing the creature. He only hoped he would be extended the same mercy if he ended up in a similar state.

Wodi examined the white stick. No doubt the thing had been used to beat the poor animal. It was smooth, a little longer than he was tall, sharp on one end with a hook near the point, and it was just heavy enough to feel dangerous. He claimed the torturer's spear as his own, then decided that in a worst-case scenario he could always jam the point through his own eye and into his brain in order to escape an inescapable situation.

* * *

Disaster struck just when Wodi began to let his attention wander. One moment he was stumbling along, gently waving the spear of the torturer before him so as not to bump into anything, and then suddenly a harsh purple light flickered on and he found himself staring down at something like a crumpled mound of gray-white flesh. Wodi's senses jolted in horror as the thing shifted its weight - he saw something like a large skull turn and look in his direction, then it opened its mouth and seemed to retch on its own tongue, and then Wodi's legs carried him away from the awful thing.

Demon. The thing was a flesh demon - he did not have to see it in detail to know.

The purple light waved and bounced behind him, throwing white tree trunks in sharp detail. For the first time Wodi saw the pale trees stretching into the distance, forever and endless, marble columns holding up the black roof of the world. Wodi's terror was so great that only a small part of his conscious mind was aware of what was going on around him; he knew only that he had to run faster than he'd ever run before, faster than any human had ever run. He heard the thing loping heavily behind him, the clatter of hooves punctuated by inhuman grunting.

A fallen tree lay ahead, black leaves shivering in the hellish light. Wodi made straight for the tangled treetop, leaped over and flew under branches, then at once the earth disappeared beneath him and he was rolling through slime, mud, decaying leaves. There was no pain, nor any emotion at all, only the hammer and anvil in his chest, the need for safety, and so when he stopped rolling he immediately crawled to his knees, saw the hollowed-out base of another fallen tree, and crawled inside. Just then he heard the beast crash through the same fallen treetop he had. He could not see it, but the thing fell down the same edge as he, though with a great deal more violence. The thing grunted and gagged like a choking pig. The light swung violently, then dimmed.

Wodi sat perfectly still, straining to hold his breath in the stifling dark. He had retained the spear of the torturer, and clutched it fiercely even though it seemed completely inadequate.

He heard the demon rise and moan, an awful sound like a human throat, only bent and changed into something perverse. The purple light swayed left and right. He heard the thing loping about the lowlands. It knew that he was hiding nearby. Time dragged on, stretched out by the horror of the thing and its hunger, and finally the fear bore into Wodi. He saw his own life, only it wasn't the life he had lived but the life he wanted to live - the desperate fantasy of a dying man. Wodi saw himself return to Haven. He entered a mansion, he saw a faceless man and knew it was the bastard who had exiled him. Some rich sociopath who preyed on the weak. Wodi went up to him, shook his hand, let a concealed hammer drop through his sleeve and into his hand, then swung the thing into the man's mouth.

Wodi tore himself away from the unbelievable fantasy and saw the demon loping along the hillside. As strange as it seemed, the hellish light seemed to be coming from the thing's chest or belly. Wodi saw the thing's black profile. It was shaped like a man, but bent over, with legs that were too long. It might have been eight or nine feet tall if standing straight. It had a grotesque bulbous head, and might have had long sharp ears. The thing was circling around, and would tighten its circle as it went. Wodi saw the misshapen beast lift its head to smell the air.

Wodi knew that he would never escape, would never be able to kill the evil person responsible for this nightmare, so he summoned up his resolve and stood from his hiding place. His legs shook terribly and he had to lean against the fallen trunk. He was plainly out in the open. He planned to shout at the thing but his mouth was completely dry. Now that he was ready for the thing to put him out of his misery, the demon seemed content to shift its head about aimlessly, with its back turned to him.

On a whim Wodi picked up a stone, cradled it in his hand, then chucked it in the distance. It landed with a dull thud and the demon's head immediately whipped around. It tore across the lowlands, throwing up a tide of dead black leaves. Without waiting for it to get far, Wodi turned and walked away. His legs soon found their strength again and he broke into a jog. The light grew dim. When he found himself in darkness, he ran with the spear waving in front of him.

The demon moaned long and pitiful, again sounding like a perversion of a human in agony, and Wodi redoubled his speed. The idea of running into a tree was not so terrible. He thought of large knuckles on his legs, his knees breaking, he thought of teeth stabbing into his stomach, he thought of the awful moan in his ears, and he ran harder.

But his spear did smack into the trunks of white trees, and the sound of wood against wood was like a siren through the deathly calm forest. Just when Wodi began to feel his legs and lungs burning their last, the purple light returned once again. Then the moaning redoubled, a grunting, sexual sound, a monster in love with its own hunger.

There was a terrible cry. Wodi thought thunder had struck; he leaped and fell and rolled onto his back. Behind him, two beasts fought, clawing and snapping their jaws at one another, one shrieking desperately, the other hissing and spitting. In the flashing purple light, Wodi saw the demon fighting with some kind of reptilian horror. The second creature could not have been a demon, for demons did not fight one another - it was simply another of Mother Nature's abominations, an aborted child left to fend for itself in this nightmare world.

The reptilian creature was shorter than the demon, but bulkier, and covered in black scales. The fight moved so quickly that Wodi could not tell who was causing greater pain. He forced himself up and ran. The violent cries receded into the darkness far behind. He ran and ran until his mind turned to jelly. Eventually he came upon one clearing, then another, then he no longer had to rely on the torturer's spear to find his way.

Wodi broke through the darkest region of the forest and entered a clearing lit by violent white light. The sun was directly overhead, and was baking hot, and Wodi fell on his back and the scent of the grass was heavenly and sweet.

* * *

Wodi continued on. He stuck to the shade as much as possible, for the clearings were stifling hot in the noontime sun. The cries of insects were incessant. Eventually he found a pile of flat stones with a trickle of water running over them. The trickle descended into a shallow, green-topped, stinking pool. Wodi got near the opening and drank up the water near its source. It tasted like licking a dirty coin, but it was a great relief. It sharpened his mind more than anything that ever came out of a faucet back home.

He rarely let his attention wander, ever fearful of how he had practically walked on top of a demon earlier. The cries of insects, the slope of the land, moving shadows, the nagging thought of when he would break and eat some of the strange fruit - that was his world now.

The cries of the insects broke and shifted momentarily, and Wodi heard snapping twigs and a groan nearby. He froze perfectly still, then quickly whirled and knelt behind a tree. He gripped the torturer's spear in both hands. The entire world was frozen and still.

A shrill voice said, "Is someone there?"

Now Wodi's heart pounded and he took in a long, quiet breath. His hands were shaking, and he prepared to stab something, to stab it until it was dead.

"I know someone's there!" came the cry. "Please come out!" A long pause, then, "I'm not from here!"

Wodi felt the panic in the cry and great relief washed over him. He rose and stepped out. Every leaf stood out in sharp detail, crisp and green, because of all the adrenaline that was washing through his system.

Wodi rounded a tree and saw a young man about his age, with long red hair and clothes that were undeniably made in Haven. Wodi raised his hands and the youth relaxed. He was taller than Wodi, but seemed a little softer - no doubt from Central Haven. In fact...

"I recognize you," said Wodi.

The youth nodded, then said, "University. We take modern lit together." The youth showed his teeth in imitation of a smile, then said, "I'm Saul. Saul Hargis."

"Wodi Kyner." Wodi approached and extended his hand to shake, and immediately realized that the gesture was a very "labor class" thing to do. Saul laughed a little, then placed his limp hand in Wodi's, no doubt thinking the greeting was absurdly old-fashioned. In fact, Wodi caught Saul's eyes narrowing, saw his jaw tightening, and he knew that Saul did not trust him.

Neither had any idea where to begin. "Did you wake up here as well?" said Wodi.

"I never really went to sleep," said Saul. "I -"

"How did you carve that spear?" Wodi cut him off. He had just realized that Saul was holding a spear much like his own, except the thing was freshly cut. Its tip was a series of beveled planes with the occasional deep groove from a misplaced cut.

"Oh..." said Saul. "The thing is... when they left me here, they gave me this."

Saul reached behind his back and pulled out a large, jagged combat knife. Wodi stepped back; it was the kind of blade that a professional soldier might keep, or even a civilian if he was into morbid knick-knacks and revenge fantasies.

Saul started to put the thing behind his back once more, but Wodi said, "Can I look at the knife?"

Saul looked him up and down, paused for a long time, then smiled and said, "Of course." Saul held the knife forward, his palm open but his thumb against the hilt, ready to grasp the thing if Wodi made a move for it.

Wodi looked closely at the precious gleaming steel, and he wanted it badly. No doubt it was hard enough to hack wood, but also sharp enough to open flesh. The thing was fashioned with wicked grooves near its base and a curved black handle such that the sight alone might be intimidating enough to scare off any attacker who valued his life. Wodi saw his own green eyes staring back at him through the mirror of the blade's surface.

But if there was one thing that Wodi truly despised, it was bickering over small things. In his youth he had seen his peers throw all dignity out the window over fights concerning the smallest things. He knew of two thick-headed simpletons who had not spoken in years because of the outcome of a sports game that neither one had even attended. He remembered shrinking into himself as a child when his parents would fight, doors slamming, words running in circles. What if Wodi had had the knife earlier in the day? Would he have stood his ground against the great demon, wrestled it to the ground, and stabbed it through the forehead? Not likely.

He had a decent spear now. It was given to him completely by accident, and it would do fine in all kinds of situations. "What a blade!" said Wodi, nodding and backing away.

The effect was instantaneous. Saul's face opened into a wide grin, for he had finally encountered a potential ally in this hostile world. "It looks dangerous," said Saul. "Fortunately I haven't had to use it yet."

"And you say it was on you when you woke?"

"That's the thing," said Saul. "I was never unconscious like the others. Maybe my tolerance to the drug was higher, or maybe-"

"Woah, wait!" said Wodi, mind reeling. "Do you know how we got here?"

"I do," said Saul. "Guardians brought us here by airship."

Wodi sat down heavily. Guardians! he thought. Our protectors!

Saul sat beside him and continued. "I was out on the town, and I remember feeling like I'd been stung by something. I got weak and groggy, and I remember someone helping me \- except he wasn't helping me. I was being kidnapped. I passed out, but I don't think it was for very long. When I woke up, I was tied up and gagged in a van. There were others tied up as well. I saw Guardians bringing more people, all of them unconscious. They never spoke, and they kept their masks and helms on the entire time. When there were seven of us, they drove us to an airship. It was in the middle of the night. You guys were all out cold, and since there was nothing I could do anyway... I just pretended to be unconscious."

"So they flew us out here...?"

"And dumped us out, one by one."

Wodi looked at Saul closely. He considered that there was a small chance that Saul was actually a rich playboy who was paying a lot of money to hunt down live human prey, and right now he was playing a mind game with Wodi in order to distract him before killing him. But Saul did not seem like the type of person who could hunt down anything, except maybe a bag of greenweed. He seemed just as lost as Wodi, so a little trust seemed in order.

"Well, don't laugh, because this is going to sound absurd," said Wodi, reaching into his back pocket, "but our captors were kind enough to leave me with a map."

"Bullshit!" said Saul.

"Of course not!" said Wodi. "You expect anything less from Haven's fine defenders?"

Saul shook his head as the two pored over the map. Wodi began to bring up his plan for heading north towards the old mines, but Saul cut him off quickly, saying, "So they dump us out in the middle of Hell, but they give us these fun little clues and tools to give us an "edge" over the competition out here. Doesn't it seem really contrived to you?"

"Yeah," said Wodi, "but most things are pretty contrived. The entire world is like that. Some idiot makes an arbitrary statement, or an arbitrary rule, and after a while everyone forgets that it was just an idiot like themselves who made the thing up. We forget to laugh at the bullshit and start to take it seriously. And of course it's usually the dullest, dimmest, loudest people who set the rules... but, you know, that's what we have to work with."

Wodi rose and determined north by the sun, but Saul sat with his head in his hands.

He's never had to stay up late with a mop bucket and a big store to clean, thought Wodi, or had to deal with an unending line of angry customers.

"Come on," said Wodi. "We're already twice as well off as we were an hour before. If we head this way, maybe we'll reach the river and we can get something to drink. And who knows, maybe we'll find some of the others along the way!"

Saul nodded and rose unsteadily, then followed Wodi along the dark path.

#  Chapter Three

Genesis Unbound

Afternoon dragged on until the shafts of light that cut through the canopy of leaves bent and dulled around the edges. Wodi and Saul made a game of trying to convince one another not to eat any strange fruit they came across, each describing a scene more morbid than the last. Unless they came upon some godlike madman who tended the oasis and knew everything about it, they would never know which plants were healthy, which were poisonous, and which were crawling with microbes that their immune systems would not be able to handle.

Wodi tried to concentrate on the path ahead, but his mind was slipping with hunger. So it was that he was caught completely unawares when they entered a clearing and a large, young man with a club sprang out at them, screaming for blood. Wodi leaped into the air, both knees tucked into his chest, then scampered away in time to see Saul's spear spin through the air away from the attacker as he fell ass-first into a bush.

"Got ya now!" bellowed the attacker, his voice a perfect imitation of someone from eastern Haven. "On the ground, or I cave your heads in!"

"Wait, Marlon, wait!" someone cried from the woods. Wodi could hear the second speaker tearing through the brush to reach them. Wodi's mind was jarred with fright, but he quickly read their attacker and saw that it was indeed another exile from Haven, a stout young man with dark hair. His face was pumping like a bellows, drawing in air, itching for a battle. He had thick arms, and Wodi did not doubt that the youth could easily club them both to death.

Saul struggled up from the bush, hair full of leaves, shirt twisted about and bunched up in his arm pits. He held the combat knife in both hands, shaking like the thing was a chainsaw, and shouted, "Wodi get back!"

The attacker shouted, "Hermann he's got a knife!" and swung his club at Saul, who twisted out of the way. "Gimme the knife! Gimme the goddamn knife!" he shouted, swinging the club again and again. Saul backed away through the clearing, then ran in a circle, the knife extended behind him. The pair ended up trampling through thick underbrush, huffing and wheezing. Saul screamed for Wodi to run while he held off the assailant, but the newcomer had such a fight with the underbrush that he seemed to forget Saul entirely.

Finally the second newcomer - the one who had shouted from the woods earlier - arrived panting, sweating, leaning on his knees. He was an older man, perhaps in his forties, thin and with a short black beard. He nodded at Wodi but could not speak.

"You're from Haven?" said Wodi.

The man nodded, panting savagely.

"So are we," said Wodi. "Listen, can you get your friend to calm down?"

The man wheezed, then managed to say, "I'm sorry about this."

"These things happen," said Wodi. "But we've got to break them up before someone gets hurt."

"Yes," said the other. "You're absolutely right." He considered the situation as the pair stumbled back into the clearing, weapons raised. The older man clapped his hands, said, "Marlon! Hey, Marlon! Marlon. Marlon. Marlon! Marlon, don't you think we should stop and talk to them for a minute? Marlon? Marlon. Hey, Marlon. Hey, Marlon!"

"Kill you!" said Marlon. He jammed the end of the club into Saul's chest, driving the air from him. Wodi ran and forced himself between the pair.

"That's enough!" said Wodi. "We're all Havenders here!"

"Bullshit!" shouted Marlon. "Where did he get a knife if he's one of us? He's one of... one of them!"

"We'll settle that later," said Wodi. "Right now-"

"I'm a trained Guardian," said Marlon, "and I demand you hand the knife over so-"

"Guardian?" screamed Saul. "Wodi - he's one of them! One of the guys who brought us here!"

"We don't know that!" snapped Wodi. "You said they wore their masks and helms!"

"Guardians brought us here?" Marlon laughed derisively. "Like any real Guardian would ever hurt a civilian!"

"You've been trying to kill me!" Saul shrieked, his voice an icepick in Wodi's ears.

"I would've made it painless," said Marlon, reaching across Wodi to grab Saul's bunched-up shirt. He pulled him close and Wodi was crushed in a sweating, stinking sandwich of limbs. The older man stood nearby, one hand on his head, brow knotted up with worry.

"Alright," hissed Wodi, pushing against the pair. He saw only one way out, and said, "Saul... give him the knife."

"Are you crazy?" gasped Saul. He pushed against Wodi and Marlon with the knife extended far behind him.

"It's like this," said Wodi. "He's a trained Guardian. I know you want to hang on to it, but if we're going to survive this, then the knife needs to be with the one who's trained to use it."

"Damn straight!" said Marlon.

"Besides, that knife is a close-combat weapon. Guys like us who don't know how to fight, we need to stick with spears so we can keep our distance." He waited in silence for a while, then said, "You see what I mean, Saul?"

Saul stood in silence for a long time. Wodi waited, still pressed uncomfortably close to the pair. On the one hand, he felt like a traitor, like he'd sold out his companion. On the other hand, he remembered the awful encounter with the demon, and he knew that the line that divided "us" and "them" was much wider than what neighborhood in Haven one happened to be born in. The enemies here did not vote differently or bet on a different sports team - they were sadistic monsters that would suck out a victim's eyeballs, chew off his tongue, then bury him in the dirt up to the neck so they could eat the rest later.

"Fine," said Saul. He extended the knife, but held the blade outward so that Marlon had to fumble Saul's hand away from the grip.

"Oh thank goodness," said the older man, smiling with relief. "Let's have some proper introductions, right? I'm Doctor Mercule Hermann, and this is Marlon. And you-"

"You weren't given anything?" said Wodi. "An object, a clue?"

"We didn't get shit," said Marlon. "Why would we?"

"I need to show you the map," said Wodi. "There's a lot to discuss."

* * *

The newcomers pored over the map and Wodi spoke of his plan to return to Haven. He went over his points for why his plan was, perhaps, improbable and overwhelming - but not impossible. Hermann shook his head over and over, left the map, walked in a circle, returned to the map, left again. Marlon said nothing, only glared at the map, gripping it in both hands. Saul was still too angry to add anything, nor even look directly at anyone.

Finally Marlon handed back the map and said, "You're right. Staying put and waiting for help isn't an option. Probably the only people who know we're here are the ones that brought us."

Wodi smiled as the mood shifted. They were going back home, and with Marlon's weight behind the plan, that was the end of it. Wodi took back the map. As he tucked it into his pocket, he could not help but think of himself as the group's official seer. The Keeper of the Map. He Who Gives Direction.

"Making the journey will at least occupy us," said Hermann. "It's something to keep us from turning against one another."

Marlon scrunched his face up at Hermann. "This isn't about dicking around with some busywork so we can pass the time, my man." He set to work hacking at a long branch with the knife. "I aim to make it out of here alive."

They rested while Marlon worked on the branch. Wodi waited for Saul to speak, but he did not, so Wodi said, "There should be three more of us out there."

"What do you mean?" said Marlon, hands pausing. A shrill bird cried out far away.

"Saul says he saw seven of us brought here," said Wodi. "Isn't that right, Saul?"

"Mmn," said Saul. He paused, then blurted out, "And it was Guardians who flew us here."

"Doubt it," said Marlon, suddenly uninterested in the details.

"I say it was," said Saul. "They wore Guardian armor. And they had access to an airplane."

"Fakes," said Marlon, eyes burning into the branch.

"These other three people," said Hermann. "We need them to hear us, so we can find one another. If we can all get together, then-"

"Can't," said Wodi. "I've already run into one demon, and there's probably plenty more out there. Anything we do to attract attention is going to bring more bad than good."

"You ran into a demon?" said Marlon. "Bullshit..."

Wodi told Marlon and Hermann of his encounter with the demon, and how he escaped when the demon fought another creature, and also how he came by the white spear of the torturer. While Marlon did not seem to believe the story, he did agree that moving quietly was best.

"But that spear of yours," said Marlon, "I don't think it belonged to a demon. As far as I know, they don't use tools, not like we do. That spear probably belonged to a ghoul."

"Ghoul?" said Hermann.

"It's a little humanoid creature," said Marlon. "They're stupid, they're mean, and they usually carry disease. They use simple tools. They travel in packs, but they're not exactly cooperative with one another. They're not related to demonkind."

"I didn't realize you were an expert in this sort of thing," said Hermann.

Marlon winked, said, "Guardians have to take classes in hostile zoology. But I only passed 'cause I cheated off someone else, so don't press me for details."

With that, he finished carving the spear, blew on it, jammed the point into his palm to test it, then handed it to Hermann. "There. If you see something that isn't human, stick this thing in it."

"Right..." said the doctor. Wodi laughed at his limp-wristed stance.

Marlon stood and suddenly turned towards Wodi. "So you saw a demon. Alright. But... did it speak?"

Wodi swallowed his great discomfort, then said, "No. I'm not sure it was capable of speech. It did... sound kind of human, though."

Marlon nodded thoughtfully. "Cause I've heard some of them can do that. And they communicate over distance somehow. You're lucky you didn't run into more than one."

"This one was bad enough, just as it was. Let's move on."

* * *

Night set in without warning. For a moment Wodi realized he could see only black silhouettes and fragments of a red sky through the black leafy canopy. The effect was like staring up into forbidding stained glass windows in a cathedral dedicated to telling the history of the world through the record of its nightmares. But the effect soon faded, and then there was darkness and they could no longer even guess at which direction they were headed.

"I can hear a stream ahead," said Marlon. "Let's head there and see about stopping for the night."

They crept and stumbled along. Wodi took his eyes off the path and stared into the darkness. The black night sucked up everything until only the phantom lights in his eyes seemed real. It would be a terrible thing to be alone in that, he thought. He did not have much hope for the exiles they had not found.

Suddenly they came upon a thin stream glittering with faint starlight from a break in the canopy above. They clattered over a bed of stones and lined up beside one another. Wodi watched a strip of mist following the stream. It was like a dim mirror image of the water, a shadow cast by the world of the living onto a world beyond.

"What is it?" said Marlon.

"Nothing," said Wodi, torn from his thoughts.

"Looked like you were thinking of something," said Marlon. The air was getting cold and the stream was frigid, but Marlon stuck his entire head in and rose up spluttering and spewing.

"This is as good a place to stop as any," said Hermann, but he gave no reason and only let the statement hang in the air. Wodi saw Saul turn to Marlon, and Wodi knew then that Marlon was indeed the closest thing they had to a leader.

"Should we build a fire?" said Saul.

"No way," said Marlon. "But let's fan out for a minute and see if there's anything in the area we should be mindful of." He thought for a moment, then added, "God damn I'm starving."

The four split up and fanned out. Wodi could hear Saul stabbing noisily at bushes. "I can't see shit out here," Saul mumbled, then, much louder, "Marlon, I can't see shit out here man."

Wodi reasoned that there might be more going on along the stream, so he followed it. He spied an overhanging lip of stone near the bank. He poked the spear of the torturer inside the dark crevice, hoping there might be something alive that they could eat, but also half hoping there would be nothing inside.

The spear clattered against stone. There was nothing to be found. Wodi sighed, leaned his head against the stone to rest for a moment, then rose. It was then that something like a leathery vice clamped down on his spear arm, spun him around, then wrapped around his neck and jaw.

Horrified, unable to breathe, he saw only darkness but felt hot, rotting breath singe his face. Then purple light, the terrible purple light that he could never forget, blazed to life before him. It was the demon from before, hunched over him. Long spidery fingers were wrapped around his throat while the other hand held his spear arm to the side. He was trapped in its grip; his blood pounded so hard that his heart had a better chance of escaping his chest than he would have of fighting free from the demon's grip.

Because the light was coming from its chest, Wodi could only make out the dark outline of its face. It was like a huge, distended human skull with flesh stretched around it. Long jagged wounds, still fresh and open, covered the demon's face and shoulders. Wodi could not see the eyes, but from the shadows he could feel the thing's rage.

That was what truly terrified Wodi: The thing knew him, it remembered him. Wodi could not open his mouth to call for help, but his lips peeled back in an involuntary grinding hiss. The thing's hand clamped down, soft as a coffin lid, then Wodi could no longer breathe, but could only choke on the building pressure.

Something clattered against the stones, the demon's head jerked - suddenly Marlon crashed into the demon's legs and all three tumbled into the ground. Wodi skidded along the ground, face and hands raking against hard stone before he splashed into the thin stream. The beast was on its back and he saw long black limbs flapping in the air. Then he saw Marlon running back the way he had come, shouting, "Run! Run!" Wodi had not dropped his spear the entire time, but he also did not think to use it, either - he rose and ran, desperate to be away from the vengeful monster.

Wodi and Marlon tore through the woods, tripping, panting, mad with fear. Soon Saul joined them.

"What was it!?" shouted Saul, falling behind.

"Demon!" said Marlon. "A demon!"

"Where's Hermann?" said Saul. The others ignored him. "Where is Hermann?"

There was a long, terrible scream behind them. Silence, then the scream redoubled. Wodi slowed, then stopped. Saul stopped, then Marlon as well.

Wodi listened, then said, "God's death, man, he's screaming for help."

"It's Hermann," said Saul. "That demon, it's..."

"Keep running!" shouted Marlon. "That'll be us screaming, too, if we stay."

None moved. As they caught their breath, the cries for help were unmistakable. Hermann was in terrible agony, his nerves played like an instrument.

"Why doesn't it just kill him?" Saul hissed. "I can't stand this!"

Though the idea of confronting the thing was unthinkable, Wodi was more scared of the idea of leaving the man to whatever torture the flesh demon could dream up. He thought for a moment, then said, "Marlon, Hermann's a doctor. We're going to need him."

Wodi watched Marlon's silhouette in the darkness, immobile, silent.

"First wound we get," said Wodi, "first broken bone, first deep cut that's dirty, we'll wish we had him."

Marlon's black silhouette said nothing. Wodi felt him slipping away. "Marlon, that's the same demon that attacked me. It remembered me. And now it knows you, too. If we leave, this won't end here."

"Alright," Marlon said finally. "You two on either side of me. Keep it hemmed in with those spears. I'll try to get in close and... finish it off."

No more words were said after that. Slowly the three trudged through the woods towards the flickering light. The screams mixed with panting, ragged breathing, as Hermann was either dying, or losing his mind, or both. They returned to the stream, then passed by the area where the demon had ambushed them. The stream snaked around a rise of stones. Over the rise, they could see the light flickering, shadows shifting behind a line of trees like the gates of Hell opening. The screams died into ragged sobs. Wodi gripped his spear, the only thing that felt real in this waking nightmare. Their bodies could not move any faster than a walk. They only trudged forward, weapons held before them, a ritual hunt enacted in a world frozen stiff.

They rounded the hill of stones and came to the meeting place. The demon stood in the middle of a black pond fed by the cold stream. The thing stood still as a statue, water up to its waist, with Hermann held in its arms. Now Wodi could see the mystery of the purple light: The flesh of the monster's overhanging gut was thin, and the strange organs within cast the hellish glow. There were twisted coils of shadowy, black intestines pushing up against the glowing stomach, eating up some of the light.

Hermann seemed asleep in the arms of the demon. His legs hung limp and one foot touched the surface of the water, an infant soon to be baptized into the one true religion. Wodi looked at the twisted, knobby cords of the demon's long arms and saw that one hand was latched onto Hermann's head, a hooked thumb in his ear and a bony, segmented ring finger in his mouth. Suddenly the thumb and finger rotated, grinding slightly, Hermann jerked with a piercing shriek, then Wodi also seemed to come awake - he realized that Saul had been mumbling while Marlon cursed violently, each dealing with his encounter with a god in his own way.

"That's enough!" cried Marlon. He raised his club and knife at the thing, shouting, "Get out of here, or we'll kill you!"

The monster seemed in no hurry. Its face was impossible to read, for the light down below only served to stretch shadows across its bony contours. The monster acknowledged them by turning about in the water and slowly making for the far bank.

The three youths stepped up to the water's edge. They took turns hurling insults at the monster. Wodi shouted at it so hard that his head shook with impotent fury. Finally the monster reached the bank, set Hermann down on the far edge, then turned back to the three. It slowly waded back into the pond, then opened wide its awful mouth and shrieked one long scream that danced in and out of the human range of hearing. The shriek drowned out their cries and hammered at their skulls; Wodi felt terrible waves of nausea crippling his resolve. As if trapped in a nightmare, he saw his hands go limp, saw the spear of the torturer clatter along the ground and then disappear into the black water. Saul's entire body went limp and smacked into the ground, a boneless sack of meat.

It was difficult to tell when the demon stopped screaming, for a dull buzzing sound was all that remained of their hearing. Wodi watched the demon tilt its head and gaze upwards, suddenly still. It seemed to be listening to some distant voice. There was nothing left in Wodi, neither resolve nor fear; he merely watched the demon's unnatural, stretched-out frame, like a morbid sculpture shaped by an alien, degenerate culture. The demon turned its shadowy face back to the three. Wodi stared back at the black orbs lodged in its head. The eyes were not mirrors to the creature's soul, but were instead holes that led to an empty, black abyss, a void without morality or identity.

The monster gave a long, tired sigh. Slowly it turned away from the three, casting them into darkness, and then trudged through the water, long arms dangling uselessly at its side. The creature rose onto the far shore and ignored Hermann as it disappeared into the dark forest. The three boys stood still for a long time, listening to the labored breathing of the beast as it shuffled through the undergrowth. Finally there was silence, and they were alone.

Hermann stirred, rose onto his elbows, and stared at the others on the far shore. Everyone knew that they should be dead, and seemed more confused than relieved at the mercy of the demon.

* * *

The four rested for a while, then Marlon sprang up suddenly. "Others will be coming," he said. "If that demon wanted reinforcements, it'll send a signal to others that -"

He was cut off by the sound of rustling nearby. They froze. Just then two people emerged from the woods, a thin, pale woman with brown hair, and a short, beefy, balding man with fierce eyes. They smiled, and the four companions instantly knew the newcomers were fellow citizens of Haven.

"So there are others!" said the man. "We thought sure we heard some kind of slaughter."

"There was a slaughter," said Marlon, still crouching, ill at ease.

"Peter," said the woman, "give them some of my milk."

The man furrowed his brow, bristling at being ordered around, but he dutifully dropped a heavy backpack and opened it. Inside there was a treasure trove of shining nutrimilk packets. The four companions instantly dropped their guard and gathered around the bag, happy to sip from packets that tasted like home.

As they drank, they passed around introductions. Iduna was the woman's name. Because she and Peter were the oldest, Wodi had the distinct impression that "mom and dad" had just come home to feed the kids.

"You woke with this nutrimilk?" said Wodi. "It was yours?"

Iduna nodded, said, "But it's ours now. We share it."

"And you?" Wodi said to Peter.

"I was given nothing," he said. "I came by Iduna because she was calling for help. She had all the food, but couldn't manage to carry it all!"

Peter laughed, and for one second, and one second only, a wave of pure hatred flashed through Iduna's face. None saw it but Wodi.

"We have to move," said Marlon, tossing a stack of empty packets on the ground.

"Further up the stream," said Iduna, "there's a place where we might stay the night."

"Fine, fine, let's go."

As they turned to leave, Wodi felt naked. Unwilling to enter the black forest empty-handed, he looked about the area for a weapon. By some strange and meaningful accident, the white spear of the torturer had washed up on the bank and was pointed directly at Wodi, and none other, as if it was ready to be taken up by its master once again. Wodi retrieved the weapon and held it aloft. He watched water streaming from the thing and he imagined that it was blood.

# Chapter Four

A Human Sacrifice

Sevrik entered the apartment and saw Professor Korliss Matri smoking near the balcony. Only a single light shone from the kitchen so that Korliss's eyes were covered in darkness. He was tall and thin, his long black hair was tied in a bun, and he wore dark clothes. He seemed worn and hollow. His mouth was wide, his lips almost effeminate, but there was something sharp and militant on the other side of his soft features. Sevrik knew that in many ways, he and Korliss were opposites.

"Were you followed?" said Korliss.

Sevrik found a chair and sat down heavily. "I've got three aides waiting in the car and a guard detail of half a dozen men, one of which is waiting just outside the door. You don't often see Guardians in their armor this close to the University, so every kid on the block is sitting at his window right now wondering what exactly is going on. Yes, I was followed." Korliss moved but Sevrik stopped him with a dismissive wave. "It's too late for caution. Too late, old friend."

Korliss burned his eyes into Sevrik, then jerked his head upward – and expression that no doubt meant "Out with it!"

"Listen, Korliss," said Sevrik. "It's not just our Project that's missing. I think there may be at least seven Havenders missing."

Korliss's face froze as if dead, then he sighed and stumbled to a chair near Sevrik. "Who?" he whispered.

"A young Guardian. A judge. A University professor, a doctor, two students... a laborer. In total, three youths, four adults. And those are just the ones that we know about. Who knows how many more will prove to be missing tomorrow?"

Korliss ignored the question, so Sevrik plowed ahead, saying, "Korliss, how did you know that our Project was missing in the first place? After you contacted me, I went to Didi. He already knew as well. I had to wait until reports came in for missing persons before I could officially make any moves - and even then it made things very difficult for me, Korliss. Imagine my morning! Imagine the Head of Guard of Haven trying to explain to his soldiers that three or four people missing from work for a handful of hours constitutes reason to sound the alarm and scour the entire island!"

Korliss turned slowly to Sevrik and said, "So Didi hasn't shown you his NeuSen Array?" Sevrik said nothing, only glared. Korliss smiled cynically, then said, "The Neuron Sensor Array. Take a look, friend – it's really something!"

Korliss punched in the keypad near his chair and a black table nearby crackled to life. Blurred images played on the surface as Korliss navigated through various programs, then a holographic image unfolded above the table. In the darkness of the living room, Sevrik was bathed in the light of an image of a glowing human brain. Green folds twisted like a labyrinth inside of which thoughts whirled as bright orange fireflies, a visual representation of synapses firing.

"It's... beautiful," said Sevrik.

"It's Project," said Korliss. "This is the mind of our ultimate weapon."

Sevrik tore his eyes away, then said, "But Korliss, we made a conscious decision to never track our Project! He was to remain free, always free, so that –"

"Oh, Sevrik, you know Didi. All that he tells us and all that he shows us are nothing compared to the secrets he keeps. I've no doubt he's ashamed of the NeuSen; he never made it, he found it. It's Ancient technology."

Sevrik leaned back, overwhelmed by the notion. People rarely spoke of it, but it was no secret that humans once covered the earth. The Ancients lived in great cities of stone and glass built so high that they blotted out the stars in the sky, they consumed forests and gutted mountains the likes of which no longer existed anymore, and their sciences bordered on something like magic. No one knew for sure what happened to them; the only truth now was that demons ruled and the remnants of mankind lived in the shadow of the demon.

"The NeuSen Array," said Korliss, "was keyed to resonate with the mind of our Project and with the minds of a few dozen random citizens of Haven. Didi was able to figure out that much of the strange device. Apparently the process can be done by touch alone, so Didi probably used scientists that he works with –"

"So he could have projections of their minds as well?" Sevrik interrupted. "Why bother?"

"Because the NeuSen can't track the location of a mind. It lacks the proper points of reference. But if you key a mind and place it within the web of other living minds that are keyed into the system..."

"Then you can tell when one mind has left the web of reference," said Sevrik. "So we know Project has gone from Haven, and is still alive, but we just don't know where."

"Exactly. But there's one more thing: Anything that leaves the web of reference has a three day shelf life. Once it stays outside the web that long, the NeuSen assumes the information is irrelevant and... discards it."

The two sat in silence. Sevrik watched the lights play upon Korliss's lean features as he lit another cigarette. "Three days," said Sevrik. "So we have three days to find Project... or else we practically never will. It's now the end of the first day, and I have no clues whatsoever."

"Clues," said Professor Korliss. "Let's think on that for a moment. Citizens usually don't go missing from Haven. If only Project was missing, we might be able visit the morgue, make an examination of the bodies, and assume that one of them was our Project. Because multiple people are missing, we can assume that there is a conspiracy. What would be the point of such a conspiracy?"

"Let's look at those who are missing," said Sevrik, nodding to the table computer.

Korliss already had image files and rough biographies open for the seven victims. "Marlon Ziello, young Guardian," Sevrik muttered, scanning the files. "I know the boy. Saul Hargis, young student, outstanding record. Romana W. Kyner, young student... police record, expunged. Mercule Hermann, doctor, Iduna Deira, professor, writer... both politically left-leaning. Salem Jules, laborer... in bad health, police record, list of jobs held goes on and on..."

"And Peter Remus," said Korliss. "A Judge and former Guardian with an unimpressive record."

"I know him," said Sevrik.

"Look here. This is where things get interesting." He brought up a short article on the datanet. There was a photograph of Peter Remus shaking hands with a heavy man in a fine suit. "A few months ago, the conservative Stone Warren party named him as their running man in the next election."

"So, we have three youths whose political opinions are still unformed," said Sevrik, "and one old man who seems to be wholly apolitical. However, we also have two people, a doctor and a University professor, who are politically active –"

"Iduna Deira may be left-leaning," said Korliss, "but she's written opinion pieces against the current administration, too. She is, at heart, a political radical."

"Most importantly," said Sevrik, "among all those who disappeared, the most politically important one is Peter Remus – a staunch conservative who could jeopardize the position of the current Prime Minister."

Korliss tapped his controls idly, then said, "You think this conspiracy is political in nature? Why kidnap two liberals and a conservative, then?"

Sevrik stood and circled the room suddenly, saying, "Korliss, I know you see the Stone Warren Party as a backwards, repressive clan of religious nuts who want to stifle our society, and I know you see the Running Wind Party as the only progressive force that has any chance of shaping Haven into some kind of enlightened society of education and equality –"

"That's not really the truth of the matter," Professor Korliss interjected loudly.

"Fine, fine, I may have spoken too broadly, but Korliss, I work with these people. I deal with them every day. Believe me, those issues that the common citizen worries about and debates over... those issues have nothing to do with the everyday reality of the political elite. What matters to them – is power. Stone Warren, Running Wind, minority party... it doesn't matter. They bicker during the day, shake hands and eat with one another in the evening, then they plot against one another over drinks before bedtime."

"So you believe this conspiracy is political in nature," Korliss repeated.

"Seven people have disappeared, and we have no witnesses. Who else could pull this off?" Sevrik stopped his pacing, then said, "But what I don't understand is... why were the three youths taken as well?"

Korliss stood as well, cracked his neck loudly, then said, "As long as we're looking for patterns, think on this: Those three youths have nothing in common except for the fact that they are from the same generation. They're quite close in age, actually. Now, there is only one Project, Sevrik, only one in all of Haven... and our enemy, whoever he is, was able to pluck him out of the entire population and make him disappear."

"You think the chances of Project disappearing from a random sampling of the population are..."

"Next to zero, yes."

"Then Project is gone," said Sevrik, chewing on the words, "because he is our special Project."

Korliss nodded slowly. "Someone knows about us, friend," said Korliss. "Someone knows what we did twenty years ago. Someone very powerful removed a possible threat to their power."

The two stood in silence, feeling like hunted animals. They went and stood at the balcony and saw people in the streets of Haven below. Low gray buildings lined the avenue, speckled and rough. Korliss lived on the edge of the student neighborhoods – the tightly packed "learning slums" – and an affluent neighborhood full of green-veined granite houses. They saw students bent under the weight of stress weaving around older couples dressed in fine linens, tall hats and flowered dresses. A Guardian in full armor stared up at the pair; he saw Sevrik's white uniform gleaming in the moonlight and Korliss, lean and angular, covered in black and wreathed in the smoke of his cigarette.

Both stared across the University grounds to the great structures of Central Haven, the oldest buildings in Haven, the seat of power and order, the ultimate flowering of the dreams of the Founding Fathers.

"You, me, and Didi," said Korliss, "we three made a pact, and took action, because we were the only three men in Haven who understood that humanity is at war with a monstrous race. We knew that the Founders didn't come here to create an island resort. They came here to gain a foothold, to devise a strategy, to..."

Korliss stopped. "I hear guilt in your tone," said Sevrik.

"We sacrificed someone," said Korliss. "We... we killed someone, Sev. We erased their life."

"We killed no one. We gave someone the potential to –"

"And what do you think Didi will do?" Korliss spat. "When those three days are up, when we can no longer be sure that our Project's genetic potential hasn't been stolen by the demons to use against us, what do you think Didi will do with his Killswitch?" Sevrik fell silent. "He'll kill him, Sevrik. He'll do it. You know what Didi is capable of."

Sevrik turned away. After a moment he nodded to the dome of the Prime Minister's mansion in Central Haven. "It's unrealistic for me to send patrols outside of Haven to find Project or the other missing persons. What I can do is intensify my investigation and increase my patrols here. I can flush out our enemy."

"Prime Minister Vachs will become suspicious. Questions will be asked."

"I don't work for Aegis Vachs. I answer to the Senate. And a thousand gunmen answer to me, so I'll worry about stepping on toes later. Aegis Vachs and Shem Udo, Secundus of the Guard, control a third of the Guardians, and as of now they are both under suspicion. If they try to stop me, and I see guilt in their eyes, they're done. I'm a soldier, a man of action, and I have two more days to find Project before Didi pushes the button and ends it. We pick up the pieces later."

"Fine, then." Korliss turned away from the open sky and entered his dark living room. "As for me, I'm going to take a heroic dose of this psilocybin I've been saving for a special occasion and take this opportunity to contemplate our species sliding into extinction. And while you shake your head and balk at the very idea that there's guilt in my tone of voice, old friend, just you remember, as you throw politicians into prison cells and reawaken old methods of torture so you can keep the dream of a bright future alive, just you remember that it's our fault that the politicians operate the way they do because we taught them how the game of power is played. We taught them the lust for power, Sevrik. All three of us did."

Korliss stood under the glowing green idol of the mind they had engineered and he thought to himself, Not once during our conversation did he bring up the fact that only the Guardians could have kidnapped seven people and shipped them out of Haven without anyone stopping them. It either never entered his mind, or he never wanted it to enter my mind.

Do you still lust for power, Sevrik? Are you still the wild animal you once were?

# Chapter Five

The Tree of Life and the Cave of Harsh Enlightenment

The six made their way through the darkness, worn out, emotionally empty, aware only of the stream chattering beside them. Hermann had said nothing since the torture. He lagged behind and no one looked at him. A creeping wave of mist rolled over them with cold tongues.

"You're taking us somewhere?" said Wodi to Iduna, who was in the lead.

"Yes, a place I saw earlier."

"What place?"

"It's just up this hill."

Through the haze of his exhaustion, Wodi only dimly realized that they had been walking uphill beside the stream for quite some time.

Suddenly the frenzied whispering of the stream grew calm and quiet and Wodi lifted his eyes and saw that they stood in a wide clearing on the side of a hill wreathed in fog. The top of the hill was open, dark with green grass, and it was crowned by a single wide, twisted tree. Wodi saw moonlight peering through gray leaves and, because the mist below was so thick, he had the impression that the hilltop was an island floating in the clouds. The great tree dominated Wodi's awareness; it was an old god, a guardian of a sanctuary, a keeper of mysteries far older than the nightmare horrors and chaos that ran shrieking throughout the rest of the valley.

As they neared the great tree Wodi was hit by the scent of honeysuckle mixed with old batteries and his awareness shifted. Saul's head jerked upwards and he felt of his own fingers; he was experienced in the use of strange substances and he knew what was happening. He touched Wodi's shoulder thinking to tell him that the tree's leaves contained a potent drug, but as he watched Wodi turn to him slowly, slowly, and then smile, then laugh, Saul knew that he already understood.

They climbed the tree to sleep for the night. Wodi felt electricity running from the rough bark into his hands and, as he looked up, he saw stars shining through the branches and he felt that the branches of the great tree were dark channels than ran throughout the cosmos. It was a labyrinth of connections, a sustaining force that held all things aloft. Why life or matter or dreams existed was no longer a mystery to him. Awe-inspiring and terrible, as if reality itself was a mask removed and a shining face was revealed beneath the brute forms. As they settled into little nooks between the wide branches many fireflies came out to dance, landing on twigs, leaves, fingers, hair.

Wodi turned and looked at Peter Remus. The elder looked both pig-like and delicate, his face slack, his eyes scanning something visible only to him. Wodi considered that the man spent most of his time dealing with poor people who had run afoul of the law as well as judges and lawyers and politicians who aspired to positions of power. Peter's brow furrowed and the spots and lines of the man's brow sent Wodi into a vision: He saw men in brown, fur-lined jackets meeting in a cold basement to argue the finer points of philosophy, science, belief. Wodi knew that these were the great Founders of Haven who had conspired against the monarchy and the religious leaders of Sunport six hundred years ago.

Sunport, thought Wodi. That's where we're going! The coast, the edge of the wasteland... we're looking for Haven, just as they were.

The men debated violently. He saw a portly, wizened old man with dancing words and a mind like a blade; he saw another who spoke softly but looked barbaric, like an animal; he saw another with flaming red hair who took notes to codify their beliefs and debates in writing so that their ideas would live on if they should be found out and killed between this meeting and the next. Wodi laughed violently, for he realized that the faces of the men were those of actors who had played the Founding Fathers in various recorded dramas he had seen in his youth.

He was shocked again as the men left off from their debate to take part in a ritual. Candles were lit and the men wore robes and masks. This was not taught in schools and there was something perverse about the movements and lengthy, monotonous invocations. Wodi saw the dark branches of the great tree connecting him and his companions to the men of old.

"Damn the demon!" cried one of the Founders.

"The demon is death!" the others repeated.

Did Peter mouth those very words just now? Wodi wondered.

Even as the men turned and stepped in rhythm with the fireflies, Wodi saw the subtle disagreements that drew lines of conflict among the Founders. He saw that many of them believed that man was made in the image of a great creator, an architect who hid behind the form of things, and it was their sacred duty to free mankind from the chains of demonic ideology so that a vast, wild, and inconceivable creative force could be unleashed upon the universe. He saw that some worshipped the sun, and dreamed of creating a new world fit for a new type of man, and they were willing to kill for their peaceful ideals. Others were obsessed with stories that included a pantheon of gods and heroes. Over and over throughout history they looked for stories and created new ones; just as many times their records were thrown into fires stoked by rulers, pontiffs, hatchetmen. Some observed and recorded and worshipped a world of natural laws and order, while others prayed to dark forces that lived in a world beyond reason. The only thing the Founders had in common was that they hated the flesh demons and hated the line of kings who sacrificed humans to demons in order to survive. But even in that, Wodi could see that some of the men only hated the demons and demon-kings because they hungered for power themselves.

As the men turned about, hands clasping and unclasping, he saw a large tapestry hanging over them. Many great, round gears all intertwined in three sets of ten and then three more, and if one should turn, they all would turn...

Wodi returned and saw the gray leaves of the tree curling and un-curling in the light of the moon.

Even in Haven, thought Wodi. They built a land of egalitarianism free of demons and free of brutality. But even in Haven there was an old cancer that bided its time and is now making its presence known.

"A cave," said Saul. Wodi turned to him slowly. "There's a cave down there. Among the stones at the foot of the hill, where the creek turns."

Wodi thought about it and realized that the tree must have a mirror image of itself that went down into the earth, into darkness. He looked and saw that Marlon was snoring loudly, his head thrown back into a crushed bird's nest. Hermann was lost in his own world while Iduna and Peter discussed something among themselves.

"Let's go," said Wodi, and the two scampered down the tree.

* * *

The purple light of the flesh demon's belly made dancing shadows of the tree trunks as he made his pilgrimage to the eastern end of the valley. He was in a pit of frustration. Just hours ago he'd had the chance to grab several strange men, swing them by their ankles, and dash their heads against wood, stone, a bed of sharp pebbles – anything he could imagine – but he had been ordered to leave the men alive and come to the nephew's lair. He did not know why. If he had not been taken from his duties, he could have picked through the organs and wiry veins and plumbed their mysteries. He could have made a mound of their intestines and kicked it and watched the scattering in awe. He could have been in his nest smelling their hair, thick with sweat and the musk of fear, at this very moment. But no, he had been ordered to go on this long, cold walk. He wanted answers!

He came to a large clearing filled with tall, twisting spires of glowing pink crystals, living sculptures, frozen blood. His hooved feet clattered against the glass floor and glowing liquid beneath the surface followed his steps. Something like eyes blinked at him in the crystal spires, orbs dim and twisted behind the glass. This was the lair of the children of God in the oasis; it was alive, a sleeping god.

He felt a brother in his mind, then saw Bilatzailea resting on an altar of crystal between two tall towers. She was pale and small and had long pitch-black hair and, because she was a master of pheromonal influence, her victims considered her beautiful. They always fell for her red lips and round hips; under her hypnotic influence, they never noticed the grime under her long yellow nails and the stench of old meat on her breath. In order to further her mimicry of the female form, she had even carved scar tissue into her breasts. She had no nipples of her own, for she could not produce milk and she could not produce progeny. Bilatzailea was like him – an "it" that was free of sex. She had been made into the shape of a human female so that she could procure seed for Mother. That was why her name meant seeker in a tongue that died with the Ancients.

She sat still, like an empty husk. Her eyes did not follow him, but he soon felt a connection crackling to life. Bilatzailea, like all of their kind, were capable of communion. There was no possibility for miscommunication, as with the humans who were cut off from one another. He sent his anger to Bilatzailea in waves of heat and pinpricks.

Most of the Mother's children communicated through images and passions, but Bilatzailea could speak in the language of men. It was one of the many weapons in her arsenal. He saw his name thrown up before his eyes: Eragileak. Eragileak, the executor. Eragileak, the strength. Eragileak, the hand of the little master, the nephew. He stopped and considered his role. Bilatzailea, no doubt, was reminding him that their nephew's ways might be strange, that he might be in exile from heaven below, but it was still their sacred duty to obey him and to help in his eventual salvation. But the way was difficult: Because the will of their little master was often violent, and because Eragileak was chosen specifically for that purpose, Eragileak was not a creature of subtle means or great patience.

Eragileak felt a great channel open wide. A rush of images, hopes, various physical pains. Their nephew, the little master, was awake. He was called Blindness because he had no eyes of his own, but because he could see through the eyes of others and because he hated the sight of himself, Bilatzailea politely turned away. Eragileak saw a great shadow cast on the side of one pillar. He could see shifting tentacles, a bulbous mass, something like horns protruding from the front... he watched the shadow twitch and writhe in the light of the crystals, but did not cross the space to see his master's form.

Blindness opened the channel wide enough to flood Eragileak with innumerable instances of the treachery of men. Kill a handful of them now and face a hundred of them tomorrow. Break their knives today and face guns tomorrow. They may be lost and hungry today only to return later with weapons, fire, plans. Blindness showed him that they did not need a handful of dead men – they needed information, they needed answers to variables that would help them solve the equation of mankind.

They must be watched. They must be followed. Bilatzailea perked up as the communion shifted to include her. They saw that Blindness was using his subtle fingers to probe at the eyes and the mind of one of the men, but it was difficult, so difficult, to remotely probe an alien mind and attain any sort of results. Blindness needed a physical sample. Bilatzailea must sniff them out. Force of arms would not give the Mother victory. Not this early, not this day.

They saw images of the little ones who inhabited the valley, the ones the humans called "ghouls". Twisted, loathsome things made in the image of man, their streamlined brains could at least be remotely used by Blindness to find the invaders. Once that happened – Bilatzailea must strike!

Eragileak whined into the channel. Was his strength of no use at all?

Blindness cast an image of one of their hated foes: Serpens Rex. He, too, was made in the image of man long ago when there was no end to the pride and means and cruel artifice of man. Eragileak hissed, blood boiling. How many times had he faced that scaly monster, that living blasphemy-made-flesh? Even earlier today Serpens Rex had ruined his game of chasing some human child through the cold woods. Gods, what a fighter he was!

He, too, must be tracked. Eragileak must do the thing himself. It was bad timing, to be sure, what with human invaders running loose in the oasis, but when winter came Serpens Rex would surely bury himself and they would not see him again for months. And if these humans were only the beginning of a major incursion, they could be sure that they would need progeny based on the seed of Serpens Rex. He must be found and dealt with now.

Dealt with? Eragileak imagined finding the lizard-thing sleeping, his belly fat with kill. He imagined bringing a rock down and crushing the monster's head with it. He saw its eyes pop out under the pressure of a deflated skull. He wondered if Blindness truly meant for such an amazing thing to come to pass.

Blindness sighed, his shadow shivered, Eragileak saw the mist of his breath in the cold air, then Blindness said into his mind: Yes, but first... we need a little squirt of that seed, dear uncle!

Eragileak nodded at the wisdom of it, then turned and loped back into the forest. Bilatzailea slid down from the altar, her little naked feet tapping on the glass, then she went her own way.

That seed, said the voice of Blindness through the broadcast. I tell you, an ounce of that slime, with all its many gifts, will open the door of the coming Coagulation.

The great Coagulation! Blindness thought for a moment on the Final Ritual Sacrifice, the Holy Glutting, the worldwide act of violence that would end the age of man and usher in a new aeon of love and eternal peace. Man had been a blight upon the earth and a scar in the vision of heaven for so very long. But now, at last, the Great Mother, the Queen of All Flesh, had her house in order. In a few short years all the children of God would bubble up from the homes down below in three beautiful hosts of the holy and they would speak to mankind face to face in the only language that mankind understood. They would crush the bodies of men and women and pile them up like a mountain of agony. Blindness could see the twisted limbs, the runes of blood written on soft flesh, and in their eyes...

Those eyes would be open, and they would finally see a vision of a universe black and beautiful and eternal.

# Chapter Six

River Crossing

Marlon woke in the morning feeling famished but ready to tackle the day. He saw a sharp, blue sky through the network of black limbs. He saw Peter lying in a hollow above him, mouth open, snoring like a pig on its back. Iduna was curled up beside him, a disturbing sight. Marlon plucked a handful of the gray leaves, stuffed them in his pocket, then realized the rest of their group was nowhere near.

Startled, he looked down. He saw Hermann standing and staring at the base of the tree.

"Hermann!" he hissed. "What is it?"

Silence. Annoyed, Marlon climbed down, huffing and catching on tree limbs. He dropped to the ground, then gasped in alarm – Hermann was watching a strange man sleeping at the base of the tree. Marlon turned about, fumbled for his club, realized he had left it in the tree, then quickly dug through all of his pockets and pulled out the combat knife.

"Who are you?" he shouted. The old man did not stir, so Marlon turned to Hermann. "Who is he?" Hermann continued to stare, a look of dull hatred on his face. Marlon turned back to the old man, kicked his leg, shouted, "Where's Wodi and Saul? And why is Hermann acting like a retard? Answer me!"

"We're down here."

Marlon turned and saw Wodi strolling up the hill. Saul sat down below, near the base, where the stream turned about a pile of wide, jumbled stones. Saul looked distant and exhausted. Even Wodi, who usually seemed alert, looked deeply disturbed by something.

"Where the hell did you and Saul get off to?" said Marlon. "You know we need to stick together! I thought this old guy killed you!"

"Last night, we..." Wodi paused and looked at the sleeping old man. "Me and Saul, we went into this... old cave." Marlon looked at the rocks. One large stone jutted up near the stream and Marlon decided that it probably could conceal the entrance to a cave.

"Without telling us?" said Marlon.

Wodi paused, unsure of himself.

"Wodi!" said Saul. "Just shut up!"

Wodi lowered his face. He seemed to have aged.

"Alright, whatever," said Marlon. "Whatever you guys did in that cave, I don't really care. Right now, we gotta interrogate this old guy."

"He's probably the seventh," said Wodi. "Remember? Saul said there were seven of us thrown into this mess."

Marlon bore his eyes into the stranger. The old man was small and thin, with skin like beefy jerky. He had a sparse beard that was stained yellow. He wore tattered laborer's coveralls that were worn threadbare at the knees. He came awake and blinked in the light. Marlon stepped back, ready to plunge the knife into him should he reveal himself to be the true mastermind behind their exile.

"Ughhh," said the old man. "Hoof!"

"Talk!" said Marlon. "Now!"

The old man looked about, deeply disappointed, and said, "So this bullshit is real after all."

Wodi knelt beside him and said, "What's your name?"

"Salem Jules," said the old man.

"Are you a Havender?"

The old man nodded.

"And you found yourself out here yesterday morning?"

Again he nodded.

"Were you given anything?" said Wodi. "A tool? A weapon? A clue?"

"Nothing," said the old man. "I woke up and didn't even have a bit of leaf on me to burn."

"Looks like we're all in the same fix," said Wodi. "You can try chewing on one of the leaves on this tree, if you like. It's some sort of psychedelic."

Jules immediately screwed up his face with distrust and crawled away from the tree. Wodi laughed. As if hurt by the sound of laughter, Hermann winced and said, "Another man about to die!"

Marlon grabbed Hermann by the shirt, then said, "You need to get your head on straight and stop acting like a weirdo, or you're gonna make me regret going back for your ass!"

"I... sorry, Marlon!" said the doctor. "I don't, uh, quite know why that came out of me."

Peter huffed and made his way down the tree with his eyes glued to the backpack full of nutrimilk. Iduna stared into the distance, forlorn and unhappy and on the verge of complaining about something. Hermann wandered about with a confused look on his face. Marlon watched Saul and Wodi wander away and heard Saul mutter, "Don't tell anyone about... that place." He saw the old man, Jules, watching his own hand shaking, in need of some kind of intoxicant.

"Gods be-e-e-low," said Marlon. "I'm the only normal one in this whole bunch." He stood in wonder at the idea of dragging such a collection of knuckleheads all the way back to Haven. Then he thrust his fears into the back of his mind and set about the work of making sure everyone had a spear.

* * *

Just before noon the seven came to a wide river. They sat in a huddled group, their spears jutting out from them like a porcupine squatting. Marlon, Wodi, and Peter moved to stand on the bank. Sunlight shone down on them where the river broke the forest canopy in half. Marlon tested the river's depth with his spear. As far as he could tell, it was bottomless.

"That map," said Peter. "If this is the river on that map, and I'm willing to bet that it is, then that means we're about halfway through the forest. But there's no way we can cross here. It's too fast and too deep."

"Not to mention what might be in there," said Marlon. He looked back. Hermann sat against a tree trunk, pale, sweating.

"Can we make a raft?" said Wodi.

Marlon cast his eyes about the forest. The trees that could be made into rafts or bridges were far too big to cut down with their tools, and none were strong enough to throw a weighted vine to the other side that could be used to pull them across. "We'll have to move along the river," said Marlon, "and see if there's a better place further down."

Wodi nodded.

"Hey, listen," said Peter, suddenly speaking loud enough for the others to hear. "I don't mean to speak out of turn, but we've gone through two-thirds of the nutrimilk already. If we keep going at this rate-"

"We'll worry about that later," said Marlon. He drained a nutrimilk packet and threw it into the river. It sped away from them, and Peter and Iduna exchanged a look with one another.

They walked downstream for over an hour. Marlon was hampered, for while he carried a new spear and knife, he also refused to get rid of his club. Because it had proven effective against Saul, he felt it would be a shame to abandon it when it might prove useful later. It hung on his belt and knocked against his boots.

Eventually, they smelled decay.

They quietly skirted around the stench. However, their route took them far from the river, and the darkness of the forest in that area prevented them from seeing the sun.

"Stop for a minute," said Marlon. "We can't tell east from west. We're going to lose our way."

"Can I scout it out?" said Wodi.

Marlon nodded quickly.

"You be careful!" Peter said gruffly, and it was not obvious whose safety he was more concerned about.

"Hell," said Marlon. "I bet this kid could sneak up on a cat and take the milk from its titties. We'll be okay. Just yell if you need someone's head bashed in, alright Wodi?"

Wodi flashed a toothy grin and darted into the darkness.

* * *

Long minutes passed before Wodi emerged from the black to join the six. "The hell took you so long?" said Marlon.

"An army of ghouls," said Wodi.

Everyone choked on their surprise, then gathered close.

"There's a large clearing ahead," said Wodi. "It's full of them. I couldn't get an exact number, because they all look the same, but I think there's over thirty ghouls there."

"A community?" said Saul.

"Ehh..." the boy shook his head. "They're all armed. Spears, knives. I think they were males. It was like a hunting party or something like that. There was a big one with them, as big as you, Marlon, but twice as ugly, and I think he was their leader."

"So, we go around them," said Peter, and Marlon nodded.

"Wait. There's also... there's a ferry there. It was sitting on this side of the river."

"Doesn't matter," said Peter. "We'll keep going and find a better place to cross downriver. Right?" He looked at Marlon, said, "Right?"

"Let me think," said Marlon.

"What's there to think about?"

"Tell me about the layout," Marlon said to Wodi.

"The clearing went right up to the river, but there was dense wood all around the clearing. The trees went... I think they went pretty much all the way to the river, plus there was a high bank over the water." Marlon said nothing, but stared at the ground. The boy said, "I think we could... I mean, it's possible we could sneak to the ferry. If we go around the clearing."

"What were the ghouls doing?" said Marlon.

"Goofing off. Eating, chasing each other, like that."

"Draw it for me in the dirt. The area."

"Marlon," said Peter. "What's there to think about?"

"You said it yourself, we don't have much food left. We need to cross the river sooner rather than later."

Marlon bent over Wodi as he traced lines in the dirt. Peter opened his mouth to say something but, seeing the others discretely move away, he moved to join them.

Wodi finished his map, and Marlon stared at it and nodded occasionally.

"Okay," he said. "We take the ferry."

Now the others rejoined the pair, slowly, with Peter in the lead. "Ah, not so fast, son," he said. "We took a vote a second ago and decided unanimously to skirt around the area and find a better place to cross the river."

"That's great," said Marlon, without missing a beat. "Been nice traveling with you. Best of luck to you all."

"Wait, what?" said Peter.

"I said I'll see you dumbasses on the flip side o' tomorrow. As for me, I'm takin' that ferry. If you guys wanna wander around here for another day, don't let me slow you down. As for me, I've got a plan and I'm goin' home."

"But we have to stick together!" said Peter.

"Says who? You? I don't have to stick by anybody." Marlon stared at Peter for a minute. The man worked his jaw up and down, then looked at those behind him.

"You all with me?" said Marlon.

Peter walked a short distance away. The others said nothing.

"Anyway," said Marlon, "here's the plan, if you're interested." He pointed to the map in the dirt.

The group hesitated, then gathered.

"Looks like the woods go all around this clearing on both sides," said Marlon, "and the ferry is at the far end of the clearing, about in the middle." He looked at Wodi, who nodded.

"Wonder who built the ferry?" said Saul. "Could the ghouls...?"

"Prob'ly some podunk wage slave," said Jules. "Somebody busted their ass to build that thing, then these ghouls or some demon just chucked his ass in the river."

"Anyway," said Marlon, "I want us to break into groups. Each group will sneak through the woods on either side of the clearing. That way... if, in a worst case scenario, one group gets spotted, maybe the other group can still make the ferry and get across before they get spotted, too. Ghouls aren't that tough, but thirty of 'em, armed... well, we have to be quiet."

"How does the ferry work?" Iduna asked.

Wodi looked at her, said, "I... couldn't see it that well. It was small, just a bunch of logs tied together, barely big enough for all of us. The bank went over most of it. I could see it was attached to a rope that went across the river, and the rope was attached to posts on either side. But..."

"Don't worry about the particulars," said Marlon. "Wodi, you're going to be your own team of one. I want you to sneak ahead of my group and get close to that ferry. If there's a problem, you come back to me, and we'll get out of there and find another way."

Iduna sighed heavily and shook. Jules shook his head and spat.

"Who's on teams?" said Peter.

"You, Iduna, and Hermann," said Marlon. "Saul and Jules with me. Any objections?"

Peter snorted.

"Okay," said Marlon. "Let's go about it."

* * *

Peter, Hermann, and Iduna crept through the woods, on their bellies in slime and sharp brambles. Peter's breathing was harsh and ragged, and he often looked behind at the others, angrily, as though they were holding him back. Even over the roar of the river Iduna could hear the shrieking of the ghouls nearby. She tried to ignore them, tried to concentrate on moving as silently as possible.

The stench of death hit her and she gagged. Marlon had warned her about the stench, but knowing that something could be alive and smell of such rot fascinated some part of her. She had to see them. She stopped and raised her head slowly.

The sight of them was like ice cast into her eyes. She saw a host of small, pale, sickly bodies running about, slapping at each other with short spears and waving flint knives. Their heads were bald and their eyes were black and coated with dried mucus. They were horribly diseased, covered in sores and patches rubbed raw. Many of them were naked, their ulcerous members displayed for all to see. They hissed at one another with mouths full of jagged, rotten, misplaced nubs. Some of them were bent over a bovine corpse, mostly skeleton and fly-covered gray meat. Her gag reflex surged and tightened once again.

She was about to turn away, then heard a violent yelp in the clearing and craned her head. She saw a large ghoul, fat and clothed in wolfskin and other strange leathers. The twisted face of the thing was covered in sores and exposed veins, and it held high a black, barbed spear. A smaller ghoul cowered beneath the leader and gripped its head. The leader whacked its head with the butt-end of the spear and gurgled happily while a few others laughed at the spectacle.

"They even hate their own kind," she whispered.

"Human... bitch!"

Someone pulled her ear painfully. Iduna turned and saw Hermann beside her, his face twisted with hatred. She slapped him and he fell back. He looked shocked, numb with confusion.

"I'm sorry!" he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "Iduna, I... I don't know... why..."

He covered his face and sobbed. Iduna looked once more to make sure they had not been seen, then knelt and patted the man. "Listen, we're all under a lot of stress. Okay? We can talk about this later, but right now let's try to keep quiet and get around these monsters."

Hermann wiped his eyes and cast about for his spear. Iduna studied him, wondering how it was that the loss of his reliable social constructs could so easily undermine his masks and churn up shadows from his psyche that could not be kept in check without great duress. Would he find his balance? Or would Peter and Marlon be forced to do something drastic in order for the group to survive?

* * *

Marlon was grateful for the sounds of the river and the ghouls because his own team sounded as if they were clearing brush to make a bonfire. He often had to stop and wait for the others to catch up, annoyed at the look of panic on Saul's face and Jules continually freeing his spear from the undergrowth. He looked ahead but could not see Wodi.

If it wasn't for Wodi, he thought, I would have had to scout the area myself. He imagined the others getting into an argument, wandering away from each other, and simply disappearing into the forest without him there to beat them back into line.

While he waited for Saul and Jules to catch up, he watched the ghouls. Individually they were frail and not a serious threat. The biggest danger would be getting an infection from a bite. But there were at least thirty of them and, worst of all, their leader was somehow just as big as Marlon himself. He'd never heard about any ghouls built like that in his Guardian training courses, but he was positive that it would be impossible for his own small team to bully the ghouls if it came down to a confrontation.

Marlon turned back to the others and, as if in a nightmare, he saw something white and spidery fall from a tree and land in a bush behind Saul.

"Hell!" said Saul, startled by the noise.

The thing bounded from the undergrowth and Marlon saw that it was a ghoul, much like the others except that it bounded on all fours and had a long, sloping forehead. It darted around Saul and ran for the clearing.

"The hell was that?" Jules croaked.

"Scout!" said Marlon. "It was a scout!"

The three sat as still as statues and watched as the scout ran through the pack of ghouls, then squatted before the leader, grunted, and pointed in their direction.

"Oh, shit," said Marlon. "Oh, shit no! Shit no!"

The fat leader bellowed in alarm, then shouted guttural commands. The ghouls in the clearing ran about, tripped over one another, and picked up their spears and knives. The leader slapped at butts and legs with his spear to beat order into the frenzied pack.

"We gotta go!" Marlon shouted. "We gotta go now!"

While the majority of the pack seemed disorganized and mostly worried that their leader was about to hit them, five ghouls broke off and gained the leader's attention with high-pitched barking. The leader nodded and pointed to the woods in Marlon's direction. The five eagerly took off, grunting with spears held before them.

"Too late!" Marlon shouted. He shook Saul's arm to wake him from his terror, then said, "We have to kill these guys or we'll never make it! Stick together!"

"Right!" said Saul, his voice cracking. Jules looked at his spear shaking uncontrollably, then backed away.

The five ghouls crashed through the woods in a wild frenzy. Marlon braced himself, hypnotized by the thrashing white limbs and empty black eyes. He gripped his spear in one hand and his club in the other. The five drew near, Saul screamed in abject terror, then Marlon beat his spear against a slim tree trunk and shouted at the ghouls. All five bunched up and fell against one another as Marlon herded them near Saul. Saul fell on his ass but, at the last moment, raised his spear and jabbed it toward the tripping ghouls, further confusing them. Marlon raised his club and swung it into them – once, twice – then the ghouls extricated their limbs from one another and retreated as two fell to the ground, twitching and gagging. Saul screamed once more as Marlon clubbed the two ghouls until they laid still.

Marlon grabbed Saul's shirt and hauled him to his feet. "We don't have much time before they get organized and come back for more!" he bellowed. "Find that old man and drag his ass to the ferry! You hear me?"

"Y-yeah!" said Saul. "But what are you -"

"Just shut up and do it!" said Marlon. Saul nodded, then dropped his spear and stumbled away.

* * *

Wodi crouched on a narrow strip of mud at the edge of the river. He was covered by a high section of the bank, and could listen to the ghouls and watch the ferry safely. The others were taking a long time to sneak past the ghouls and he had plenty of time to think. The river rushed past only a few inches from his feet, and he wondered idly if it would be possible to dive in and somehow make it to the other side.

He admitted to himself that he was tempted to leave the others.

He did not consider taking the ferry for himself and leaving them behind; he shuddered at the thought because he had nothing against them. Still, he was an introvert, and he was beginning to wonder if it might actually be easier to make the journey alone. He knew that he could not confront any monsters on his own. He was too weak for that. But the arguing? The endless accusations they made against one another? Wodi knew there had to be a better way. If only he was capable of inspiring the others... but he was no leader.

Wodi's thoughts were interrupted by harsh cries and a frenzied clamor of feet and weapons in the clearing behind him. He grasped a handful of thick grass and pulled himself up the high bank, then peeked over the edge into the clearing.

His heart pounded and he nearly lost his hold, for he saw the large ghoul directing all the others and pointing to the woods. They knew! They knew about the others! Wodi saw five ghouls dash into the woods and he knew it was the beginning of the end. His friends would be hounded and either killed or driven off. The others would not survive if they did not have each other to depend on. Before Wodi could stop himself, he climbed over the rise and stood for all to see.

The spear was slick with sweat from his hands and his knees threatened to buckle. He took in great panic breaths and watched as the fat ghoul finally got the rest of his minions in order, then prepared to march them into the woods.

I have to distract them! he thought. I can do this!

We're going to be killed!

No we won't! Those ghouls are cowards, if I can keep them disorganized then it'll give the others time to reach the ferry.

There's too many! One misstep and they'll all be on you!

"I won't make any missteps," Wodi said aloud, then forced one foot in front of the other.

Then, suddenly, there was a scream of shrill violence, a cry from a human throat, and all eyes turned to the woods.

* * *

Marlon's battle cry rocked the clearing. He burst into the open, spear and club on either side of him. He strode forward, face red and breath superheated, eyes on fire and footfalls steady as death. The ghouls glared at him, raised their weapons slowly, and the fat one called out.

The large ghoul bit his lip and spat out blood. As the three runners clustered at his feet, mewling and pleading forgiveness, he lashed out with a series of kicks and ear-splitting squawks. He grunted and pointed to either side of Marlon. The ghouls divided, bodies bent low and teeth chattering as they moved to surround him.

"You're not sticking to the plan," said Wodi, smiling from the high bank. Now some ghouls turned to him, alarmed.

"Get on that god damn ferry," said Marlon, through gritted teeth.

"I will when you do," the boy said, then raised his spear.

At nearly the same time Peter and his teammates ran along the bank from one side of the woods while Saul ran from the other. The ghouls craned their heads on all sides. Marlon felt the opportunity surge, and with another cry he ran at the ghouls on one side, swung his club in a vicious arc, and smashed it into the face of a ghoul that tumbled into some of its brothers. The ghouls behind Marlon dashed forward and he swung around, keeping them at bay with the point of his spear. As he swung around to stop another group from attacking his back, one brave ghoul climbed atop another and leaped at him; Marlon swung his club upwards into the ghoul's path, smashed the thing's jaw and drove shattered teeth into its brain. Marlon turned about wildly, holding back the waves of howling, slobbering ghouls.

Peter fell into the shallows and hauled himself onto the ferry. While Iduna dragged Hermann onboard, Peter studied the ferry. It was a simple construct of logs and rope with a post in the middle; a length of thick rope stretched between two poles on either side of the river and went through a hoop in the ferry's post so that it could be pulled from one side to the other. A second rope kept the ferry tied to the pole on the nearby bank. Peter set about untying this rope, hands shaking uncontrollably.

Soon Saul stumbled onboard, wild-eyed and fear-crazed.

"Why are you alone?" Peter shouted.

"Marlon, he's –"

"I can see what Marlon's doing, nitwit! Where's the old man?"

Saul stuttered in the throes of idiotic glossolalia and Peter only vaguely understood that Saul had somehow lost track of Jules. Before he could reprimand the boy, Iduna shouted, "What are you doing with that rope? Use your spear to loosen it up, if you have to!"

"I don't take orders from you!" Peter shrieked like a madman, hands twitching on the uncooperative knot.

Wodi watched the battle and was unsure how to help a raging giant against so many. Over and over the pack would retreat from Marlon's front and surge towards his back; over and over Marlon turned, pointed his spear, cried out. He was a force to be reckoned with but could not last forever. Suddenly Wodi saw one ghoul crouch and dart ahead of the others, his knife held low in both hands. Wodi knew that if it stabbed Marlon's back, he would falter and the entire pack would bring him down. Without thinking Wodi ran into the whirlwind of stinking bodies, his eyes locked onto the runner. He felt time slow down, felt his body taking into account every detail of the scene. He raised the spear of the torturer. The ghoul stood before him, frozen in space, then Wodi forced all of his strength into one small point –

He jammed the spear into the ghoul's mouth, slicing through tongue and jawbone with a hideous crunch. Time moved once again and Wodi felt the white bodies dancing and heard them shrieking all around him. Wodi held onto the spear as the ghoul jerked about, spitting black blood, head shaking like mad; as Wodi turned about with his dance partner, he felt his soul come alight, a terrible fire burning in every limb.

I've killed him! Wodi thought. I've done it! I am a god of death! I am a god of destruction!

With a terrible cry Wodi jerked the spear free and sent the thrashing ghoul tumbling into the dirt. Marlon shouted something incoherent and the two formed up back-to-back, weapons extended, turning about crab-like so that the furious pack could not overwhelm them. Wodi felt no fear. His eyes burned into the barking, misshapen faces.

Marlon glanced at the leader in the distance. The large ghoul hefted his heavy black spear for a killing throw. Marlon shifted his weight and threw his own spear; stumbling to avoid it, the leader tossed his own spear wide of the mark, sending several ghouls scampering away.

Seeing that the pack's rhythm was thrown off, Marlon shouted, "Haul ass, kid!" He tore through the crowd, swinging his club and sending limp bodies flying through the air with broken skulls and shattered torsos. So great were Marlon's blows that black blood splashed onto Wodi, baptizing him into a world of pain and noise and the burning lungs that are the bride of battle. Several ghouls retreated and shrieked at the leader, who kicked and pointed back at the retreating humans.

Wodi could see the others at the ferry and he felt the rush of freedom. We're going to make it! he thought. We're going to survive!

Then he saw Jules.

* * *

Marlon ran toward the ferry with a pack of ghouls not far behind. He saw Peter fumbling with the rope that tied the ferry to a post nearby; brandishing his knife, he slashed the rope in one smooth motion, then continued on while Peter wondered why his rope had suddenly gone limp. Marlon splashed into the shallows and stumbled onto the ferry. "Saul! Peter!" he cried. "Keep your spears up! Don't let them onto the ferry!"

"What are you going to do?" said Peter.

Marlon sawed at the rope that spanned the river and passed through the hoop in the post in the middle of the ferry.

"No, Marlon!" said Peter. "We need to start pulling this thing across!"

"No time!" said Marlon. Already several ghouls gathered in the shallows while others clambered onto the post that held the river-spanning rope aloft. Like spiders they crawled down the length of it, intending to drop down on the humans in the ferry below.

"I don't think you should cut the rope!" Hermann shouted. "Marlon, let's just pull the ferry across!"

"We can't pull the ferry and keep those ghouls off of us at the same time, the river's too rough for only one or two people to pull the ferry!"

"But if you cut it - Marlon, stop and listen to me! - if you cut it, the river's just going to whip this thing right down the river!"

"That's why we've got to hold onto the rope with everything we got!"

Iduna grasped the rope, eyes intent on the far shore. Hermann grimaced, then did the same. Peter and Saul shouted and stabbed at the ghouls massing nearby. Their movements and Marlon's sawing set the ferry rocking wildly, and Marlon knew they could not trust the ferry to remain stable – especially outside of the shallows, where the river ran wild.

"Wodi!" he shouted hoarsely. "You got about ten seconds to get on here, buddy!"

* * *

Jules had smelled danger as soon as the first ghoul had spotted them and run to the leader. He took off deeper into the woods, intent on being as far away from both groups of idiots as possible. But he had taken numerous wrong turns and, completely out of breath, he somehow ended up stumbling into the clearing and froze at the sight of the pack of ravening ghouls.

Suddenly Wodi was beside him. "Let's go!" Wodi shouted. "Nobody gets left behind!"

Wodi dragged the old man behind him, but the way to the ferry was blocked by shrieking ghouls. Wodi saw the others looking at him, fending off ghouls and unsure what to do. Wodi looked back and saw the leader pull his black spear from the ground. He might have been smiling, but his mouth was twisted with scar tissue and unreadable. Wodi's thoughts were interrupted when many ghouls, smelling his predicament, broke away from the bank and hounded them. Wodi cried out and swung his spear, knocking their knives and sticks away – but still they pressed on.

"Come on!" said Wodi, pulling the old man up the rise over the bank under which he had originally hidden. He could hear feet slapping the ground behind him. He staggered up the bank, exhausted, but the old man felt a burst of energy and ran ahead of Wodi. He teetered at the top, arms swinging as if he planned on flying to safety, then he fell over the side into the rushing river. Wodi fell to his knees at the top. Ghouls clambered up on all sides.

Wodi heard screams, then saw the ferry come loose and swing about in a wide arc through the raging torrent. While his companions held tight to their end of the rope and the post in the middle of the ferry, Wodi saw a handful of ghouls spill from the shorn rope and tumble into others on the shore. As Wodi's friends rocketed through the river and crashed safely on the other side, no less than six ghouls spilled into the river, shrieking and bobbing as they were whisked away.

Wodi laughed. "At least they made it. At least they made it!"

He stood. The large ghoul glared at him and lifted high the black spear. Wodi extended his middle finger, sucked in one last breath of air, then fell backwards from the bank. He was swallowed by the freezing tide and spirited away from the killing grounds.

# Chapter Seven

Child of Destruction

Excerpts from Karli Grego's introduction to Dogman: Son of the Wasteland, published in Haven in 191 FH:

It is no small thorn in the side of rational humanity that homo canis, or the "dogmen," thrive in a world where we could not. While they do have sharp canine teeth and are exceedingly hairy, forget the cartoonish depiction of dog-headed men found in popular media. According to our Founders, the reality of these bestial subhumans is far worse. This feral offshoot of our family tree earned their name because of their haggard appearance, their willingness to fight and die, and the slavish devotion given to their superiors.

...

We know that dogman culture tends toward extreme misogyny, an inability to consider consequences beyond the moment of action, and a powerful drive to prove oneself to figures of authority. They organize themselves through a patriarchal mishmash of bickering oligarchic tribes ruled by warmongers and witch-doctors. They prefer to fight with or flee from flesh demons rather than make sacrifices; unfortunately, having a common foe does not mean they would ever form an alliance with humans, for they consider us their weaker cousin.

...

They cannot crossbreed with humans, but they consider human women to be highly desirable. A chief gains much merit among the tribes if he has a large harem of human sex slaves.

...

Be it known that a pack of dogmen can decimate entire settlements of well-armed men.

* * *

The ghoul pack-leader urinated uncontrollably as he watched the humans scramble off the stolen ferry and disappear into the woods on the far shore. What a clan of powerful warlords! No doubt their magic was potent as well. He moaned until he choked on a great wad of mucus, wondering what he could have possibly done to stop them.

Slowly the others gathered around and prostrated themselves at his feet, white heads shaking with sorrow. After the river had done its terrible work, his party was now reduced to half its size. Pathetic! The pack leader kicked one white head, looked about for someone to blame, then kicked another white head.

He stamped his spear and considered their options. Staying here was out of the question, for there was no longer any ferry to guard. Following the humans and attacking their warrior, who could scream magic words capable of breaking their resolve, was also out of the question.

Or was it? He found his best scout, the slope-headed ghoul who had first spotted the invaders, and slapped his side with the butt of his spear. He bent his fingers and made the sign of the great lord of the forest, then pointed to the East. The runner must go, he must tell the lord what had happened. The pack-leader knew that the lord of the forest was capable of influencing those who had faith in him. He could give them strength in battle – strength enough to kill the invaders!

The runner squawked and made a sign at his throat. He had not the words to tell the forest lord what had happened.

The pack-leader whistled, stupefied at the runner's ignorance. He made the sign of faith and touched it to his forehead. Did the runner not know that the great lord had his ways of getting what information he needed, even from a simpleton such as him? The runner nodded and took off, loping through the forest.

The leader looked at his pack. Their beady black eyes were filled with devotion. He knew the time for kicking them and whacking them with his spear was over. Now, they must hunt. He made the sign of revenge and tapped it against his chest. Many of the ghouls understood and nodded, and the others saw their companions nodding, so they nodded as well.

They would have their revenge! The leader howled and ran along the shore. The others followed, their cold eyes full of death-lust. Soon, the lord of the forest would possess them with his spirit. With his power, they would find the humans and make them envy the dead!

* * *

Wodi was sucked into the river, a rushing black void flinging him to the end of the world, a violent hurricane with no air to breathe. He saw dark motes buzzing in his vision like flies gathering on a corpse. He knew that his life could be snuffed out at any moment. Crushing cold, endless black, movement without end – just when he realized that his will was nothing compared to this force of nature, he was flung upward to the surface. Bright light pierced his eyes and he sucked in air.

He heard shrieking, then realized that at least five ghouls were with him. They flung their limbs about, mouths wide with panic.

Calm, stay calm! Wodi thought, rhythmically beating his hands and feet against the unending wave. He watched one ghoul waste the last reserves of its strength, then its head disappeared beneath the water with a delicate plop.

The river passed beneath a curving roof of tree limbs. All was dark inside the ribcage of the giant, but the hideous shrieking of the ghouls echoed in layers of agony, a prayer screamed during torture. One voice choked, gasped, then was absorbed by the endless river.

Once more the river took them into light, blinding and brilliant, then flashing through broken webs far above. Wodi watched as two ghouls silently wrestled in a contest to use one another as a raft. It was an awkward embrace with gritted teeth and greedy fingers. Both sank beneath the surface.

Wodi was exhausted from treading, but all at once the river picked up speed once more, then he was sucked beneath the surface. There was no air, only crushing weight. A hideous white limb slid against his leg and he jerked away from it. It was the limp body of a dead ghoul and, as he watched it, it set to dancing in tune to the river's whim, then it disappeared into darkness. Wodi was full of revulsion – then another form came near and Wodi grasped its skull, determined to jam his thumbs into its eye sockets.

It was an old man. It was Salem Jules! Wodi grasped the limp old man's arm, then decided there was nothing he could do to help and released the old man. At that moment the river flung him back to the surface once again and he could breathe.

The river widened, and slowed, and went into a great wall of mist. Milky white became all.

Tall boulders were interspersed throughout the mist, black islands that towered above the boy. The river was exhausted and offered no struggle. Wodi heard a startled groan near him, turned, and saw the head of the old man nearby.

"You're alive?" said Wodi.

"Not if you don't gimme a hand," said Jules.

Wodi drifted towards the man, checked himself, then said, "I can see a place to rest just ahead." Then he pushed away from Jules.

"I don't see nothin'," said Jules.

"Well, I do," said Wodi, casting about in the mist.

After a few moments the old man said, "I'm drownin'."

Wodi ignored him and paddled on. They came to a niche of glistening clay among the rocks. They drifted into the shallows, rose, and stumbled into the crevice. There was a broken path nestled among the towers and the mist, and they climbed through it. The old man sat on a step to rest, and Wodi climbed to a rocky aerie, where he sat and watched. He was in a cloud where the sound of rushing water beat like a memory. The tops of black rocks cut into the cloud, and white birds with crusted eyes slept like statues. They did not fly, but waited patiently to eat the worms that infested their own bodies. The worms tunneled even into the flesh, and the birds had to be careful not to eat the worms that held shut various veins and capillary ducts, for a great feast could unstop a plug and allow death to enter.

Sometimes the mist parted, and Wodi saw that he was directly below the sheer mountains that guarded the western end of the valley. The river opened into wide pool down below and drifted into a great cavern at the base of the mountains. An echo of the river's descent flowed out, and the boy wondered how deep into the world he would have fallen if he had not surfaced when he did.

The old man sneezed below, and Wodi said, "Jules, you gonna make it?"

A tired voice down below said, "I'm about half dead."

"We'll rest a while, then."

Something like a pig's sigh came from the old man, and Wodi heard him turning, moving stones for a pillow, and the boy leaned forward to rest, too, but did not sleep in that place.

* * *

The ghoul runner dashed through the woods on all fours. He leaped over creeks and twisted around thorny oaks, unmindful of ancient clan piss-markers because he was on the lord's business.

He came to the highlands where the trees were bent and cracked, weighed down by a crystalline plague that sent shafts of light winking at the ghoul. He heard a flute playing, the shifting senseless melody of the wind dancing through the distant towers. Suddenly the forest ended and his feet clattered against a floor of glass. A field of pink crystal towers stretched far above him at all angles. He could dimly make out the pulsing of soft, dark membranes behind the glass. The hollow, lonely song shrieked at the edge of his awareness.

Something large moved far above the ghoul, like the shadow of a great spider without joints, and the ghoul immediately shut his eyes and bowed low. A dark shadow hovered over him and he felt cold. Something like fingers moved inside his mind, sorting through memories. The hiss of soft static rang in his ears and hot breath tickled his spine. Rivulets of mucus poured onto the ground and ran between his fingers. He dared not move, dared not breathe.

The static turned into a violent hiss as the connection was forced deeper. The ghoul saw images behind his own eyes. He saw the place where the invaders had crossed the river, saw eyes opening wherever they went – eyes, eyes, eyes – opening everywhere as the shadow of the lord of the forest passed over little animals and insects. He saw the two humans who had fallen in the river, then saw them consigned to oblivion for they were irrelevant, chomped up in the mouth of the water and swallowed. Finally he saw his own comrades running, then stumbling along the bank. By their faith their minds were like open doorways, and he saw their thoughts becoming still and their steps becoming sure as they ran. They no longer felt exhaustion, worry, sorrow, hunger, thirst, or anything beyond a grinding death-lust as the currents of their thought were shifted and molded like buzzing, living clay.

As the vision receded, the ghoul was left with the impression that he would soon be freed from the shackles of the flesh. He would join with something immortal. Something wet and powerful hugged his neck and the back of his head. There was a violent, sucking, jarring motion, then warmth and the sensation of gliding through a long tunnel. His extremities were gone, his body left far behind. As he travelled through the dark tunnel he heard a multitude of voices greeting him, singing from the belly in the skull of the lord called Blindness.

* * *

The old man woke and saw the boy kneeling over him.

"We should go," said Wodi.

"You're in charge, eh?" said Jules, grimacing. He sat up painfully and wiped condensation from his hair.

The two looked at one another. Their clothes, made of Haven-gray moth web and wool, were soaked and shredded. Wodi helped Jules up and said, "You look like a flutter-fly coming out of its cocoon!"

"Feel like a dead dog gettin' rolled in a grave," said Jules. "Well, boss, you find any restaurants in the area?"

Wodi reached behind him and produced two long, heavy branches he had found. He gave one staff to Jules, then said, "We might find one up the road a bit." Wodi paused as he regarded the narrow path that led up through the stones, then said, "Listen, I didn't mean to boss you around earlier. It's just... the others have the nutrimilk, you know? If we don't find them soon, our options for food are going to get stranger and stranger by the minute."

"I wouldn't eat a goddamn thing I found in this hellhole!" said Jules.

"Yeah, you say that now," said Wodi, smiling. "It's hard enough putting up with you as it is! I don't want to deal with you when you're hungry."

"The mouth on you!" said Jules. "In my time, I used to make life hell for pencil-necks like you. I'm a mess o' trouble. You know that?"

Wodi walked along the tiered path of stones and said, "When we get back to Haven, and if I've got a few hours to spare, you can tell me all about it."

"Listen, pipsqueak. I once tied a hungry dog to the front of a car and ran it into a guy so the dog could bite his ass," Jules said proudly. "I'm like a gun or somethin', I don't look dangerous 'til I go off in your ass. If anybody messes with me, they better leave the whole planet, cause it's his ass otherwise."

The two clambered over the wet boulders that lined the river basin. The sun shone like a dim, gray star through the mist. The hum of the water died far below. They heard a sharp cracking ahead, as if two stones were struck against one another, over and over. They approached the sound cautiously. The old man leaned against a boulder while Wodi moved ahead, low, his staff clutched in both hands. Suddenly a fierce wind rode by and carried the fog away with it. On a wide plateau, beneath a rise of stone, stooped a lone boy with his back to the pair. He was a wiry, hairy boy of Wodi's stature. He wore crude leather jerkins and had red, arcane tattoos along his arms and back. A sword in a rough sheath was strapped to his back. The boy pounded one rock with another, then grunted in satisfaction when he produced a particularly loud sound.

The boy stopped suddenly, sniffed the air, and whirled towards the pair. Wodi recoiled in shock, for the boy's face was covered in ragged fur, his eyes were uneven black dots set under a sloping brow, and two long, blunt fangs punctuated his horribly uneven teeth.

A dogman! Wodi thought. So those things are real!

The pup tilted his head and said, through clenched teeth, "Who're you? What you do?"

Jules shrieked, and Wodi heard him clambering up a rocky rise nearby.

Wodi breathed deep, then leaned against his staff. "Hello," he said. "My name is Romana Kyner. My friends call me Wodi." He spoke with a casual tone, but his hands shook, and he blinked often. "What's your name?"

"I not give you my name," the pup said, "or I become yours. Only my people know my name. I go on journey, finally become warrior." He dropped the stones he held, and said, "But I get tired, play game of Hit Rock. It an alright game, sometimes."

The dogman pup sniffed and eyed Wodi up and down with hungry eyes.

"A warrior?" Wodi said. "I bet you know a lot about this valley. My friends would surely like to ally with someone like you." Sweat beaded on his forehead. The boy seemed dull-witted and bestial, a thing of pure kinetic energy. He wanted nothing to do with the pup, and he hated himself because he knew he would say anything to placate the savage.

The pup slapped his chest, said, "Believe it! I be great warrior soon. I journey long. I stomp a kitten yesterday, I throw a donkey off cliff day before that, and day before that I head-butt something so hard I forget what it was."

Wodi thought of the poor, whipped animal he had freed yesterday. He swallowed painfully, then said, "Sounds noble. I'm sure your people are proud of you."

The pup sniffed loudly, and his lips turned into a snarl. "I smell you," he said. "Full of lying! You have smooth skin, soft like a bitch-pup." The pup slowly reached behind him and grasped the hilt of his sword. "I take wicked tongue from you head, skin you and eat you meat while you scream!"

The pup unsheathed his sword and charged forward. He swung the blade out in a wide killing arc. Wodi yelped, stumbled to the side, and scrambled away. The pup barked and swung his heavy blade while Wodi stumbled in a circle around the plateau. The pup was a terrifying ball of fury, wholly unlike the cowardly ghouls. Wodi thought of leaping from the arena to escape, but there was nothing but sharp rocks far below. The heavy blade sliced the air inches from his head as he turned about, and he saw a vision of sitting in his warm room near the University. The blue lights were on, his cat laid on an open book and Wodi moved one of his paws so that he could continue studying – and he knew that he would never have a happy moment like that, not ever again, because of one barking psychotic freak of nature.

I don't want to die! Wodi thought. Not like this!

At once he saw the face of Sevrik Clash. Crush his will with yours! said Sevrik. Your ancestors didn't find Haven by begging for mercy!

Wodi's heart burned and he felt strength blasting through his awareness. He stopped running, dug a foot in behind himself, and threw himself forward. As the pup swung his blade Wodi brought up his staff and blocked it. The blade dug into the wood and Wodi pushed himself against the beast. The pup pushed back and they stood face to face, eyes burning inches from one another.

"Stop this now!" said Wodi. "Or I'll kill you."

The pup whined with rage and jerked his blade free. He swung again; Wodi twisted the staff and blocked once more. He stepped back slowly, blocking each of the pup's swings and gauging his rhythm. Mucus streamed from the pup's nose and his tongue lolled out at the side. Wodi's arms ached with the effort of blocking the heavy cleaver. He became adept at turning the staff so that he would not have to meet the blade head-on, but the pup was wearing deep gouges into the staff.

Sensing that the staff would soon break, the pup bore all of his weight into one great blow – but Wodi felt the opening and swung around in a wild arc, smacking the pup in the back of the head, wielding the staff as if it was a long bat. The pup stumbled and Wodi swung again, this time slapping the pup across his eyes, nose, and mouth. The pup bit off part of his tongue and fell to the side.

The pup knelt, covered his face with one hand, and let his sword rest on the ground. Wodi backed away, panting, his chipped staff held at the ready. "Stop this," he said. "We're both tired, and while you might beat me, you have nothing to gain from it." A thick line of red-stained mucus hung down from the pup's face and hand. Wodi continued, said, "Plus you're predictable, and I... I don't think you can win."

Suddenly the pup lifted his face to his enemy, his muzzle smeared with red foam. He barked and sprayed red on the stone floor. He staggered to his feet, blind with rage and deaf to reason, and swung his sword once more. Wodi blocked the attack easily – but the attack was a feint, for the pup quickly reached out with his free hand and grasped one end of the staff. Wodi pulled away but the pup held tightly, laughing and spitting flecks of blood. He raised his sword and brought it crashing through the middle of the staff, shearing it in half and sending splinters through the air.

"Ha!" said the pup. "Now you-"

The pup was cut short as Wodi's shortened baton came to rest in the middle of his face. Stars blinded his vision and when he raised his end of the staff to guard himself, another blow numbed his knuckles and sent the wood clattering to the stone floor. He staggered away and wiped tears from his eyes. When he opened them again he saw Wodi running at him, one wooden baton in each hand, his face disturbingly serene.

Now Wodi's rage truly blossomed. Without pause he beat the pup about the face, ears, arms, and when the pup shielded himself his batons licked at the pup's knees and feet. Unable to raise an effective defense, the pup backed away, then knelt in the shadow of a high rock.

Wodi approached, out of breath but unwilling to spend another moment with the savage. All at once Wodi felt the hairs on his neck rise and the pup's ears twitched. Someone grunted above them – then a large stone dropped from above. Wodi and the dogman pup scampered away from one another as the stone crashed violently into the ground. Even as it rolled away Jules began shouting apologies, one laid on top of another.

Wodi staggered, felt wind at his back, then fell to his knees so that he would not fall into the abyss directly behind him. The savage pup saw an opening and, bellowing in victory, raised his sword and threw it. Wodi watched it swing end over end through the air, an executioner's axe with the pup running full-tilt behind it. Wodi dropped his weapons and fell to the ground, locked eyes on the pup, and ignored the metal that slammed into his shoulder. The blade made a strange whooping sound, then fell into the mist far below. The pup leaped at Wodi. Wodi grabbed the pup's torso and arm, felt the momentum, then twisted and fell sideways as he cast the psychotic beast into the sea of mist over the abyss. Wodi hit the stone floor, hard, and heard the pup bark once below. Wodi ignored the pain, grabbed one stick, and peered over the edge. The mist shifted and there was silence.

Wodi lowered himself onto a narrow ledge. He leaped down a series of rocky steps, his stick held high. The wind parted the mist and he saw the form of the pup below, lying in a bed of stone, his neck bent oddly and his head resting in a pool of bubbling red. Wodi leaned against a rock and breathed deep. It was a wonder to him that the little dogman's set of experiences were gone forever, blotted out in the sea of decay, and only Wodi remained. He heard Jules apologizing far above.

* * *

Jules clambered down from the high rock and ran to the edge. "Boy!" he said. "You down there?"

He heard the boy panting, then saw him crawl out of the mist. The sword of the dogman pup was sheathed and strapped to his back, and his left arm was covered in blood. Wodi pulled himself over the wide ledge, glared at Jules for a moment, then offered him a weak smile.

"You okay?" said Jules, staring at the red arm.

"Yeah," Wodi said quickly, then followed the old man's eyes to his arm. He hissed as he saw the blood for the first time. He looked at the old man.

"You got hit with that sword," said Jules.

"When?"

"When he throwed it at you. You don't remember?"

"Oh," said Wodi, pausing. "I thought the handle hit me."

The old man scratched his neck and eyed him sideways.

"It doesn't hurt that much," said Wodi.

"You can't feel it?"

"Part of me can," said Wodi.

Jules leaned over the edge and looked for the pup. Wodi unsheathed the sword and studied it. It was a short blade made of dirty brown metal. The handle was smooth wood and the edge of the blade was very wide, like a cleaver made for swinging with one hand. Wodi winced and removed his shirt, then held one end in his mouth as he tied it around the deep black gash at his shoulder.

"Good thing the blade wasn't sharper," said Wodi.

Jules frowned at his optimism. He shook his head and said, "He was a tough li'l spit."

"He was a fool."

There was silence between them, then they heard grunting and commotion far away. The two looked at one another, then clambered up the high stone where Jules had hidden. There was something dreadfully familiar in the approaching sound. Jules covered his ears.

Wodi lay flat atop the stone and watched the low pool, far below, from which they had come. White forms ran around on the far shore and dove into the pool, their cries echoing on the ancient stones. Wodi saw their leader carrying a long black spear.

Ghouls.

They swam the wide, calm pool, then rose onto the rocky shore shaking and growling. Wodi recognized them from before, but their cowardice was replaced with bloodlust. Wodi watched until they disappeared from sight.

"They ran all the way down the river to cross here," Wodi said. "I don't know what's changed in them, but they know exactly where they're going."

# Chapter Eight

Saul's Amazing Journey

An excerpt from The Book of the Red:

In those days the fury of the Lord was sweeping over the face of the earth. In the city of Meket they had armed themselves with a great ring of clockwork soldiers, and the people of the land gathered in the city while the children of God gathered outside. The people of Meket drank and were full of sin because they believed that judgment could not find them. (This was even after the people of Vatica had made sacrifice in order to spare themselves from the wrath of the Lord.)

Now Mordecai lived in Meket and was a great man, but all were against him. He was a diligent man of learning but the entire world set themselves against him for no reason. Mordecai had been passed over for several promotions. Many people spit on him as he walked down the street, and they said, "No one is lower than Mordecai, for he does not even deserve a promotion!" But Mordecai prayed, and heard a voice, and the voice commanded him to turn off the clockwork soldiers. Mordecai pleaded that the city be spared, but the voice said that it would not. Mordecai pleaded for the Lord to spare him and his family, and the voice responded that he and his family would be spared. So Mordecai waited until the entire city was drunk, even the king and his ministers, and he pushed a secret button that played a song and sent the clockwork soldiers into a deep slumber.

Then the children of God came into the city. They felled any who stood against them. They dashed the children upon the ground, they killed every woman they found and cast them into a great mound, they took many men down into the secret places with them and those men were not, but the rest of the men they snapped in half and cast them onto the mound with the others. A cloud of smoke could be seen over the city for miles around, but Mordecai and six others were allowed to pass through the land unharmed. In that way Mordecai became a saint because he saved lives that would otherwise have faced judgment.

That is why to this very day in the Valley of Ebon people say, "Mordecai is a stand up man, for his ways are right with the Lord of hosts."

* * *

Marlon stared into the eyes of the monkey. The creature was like a little man covered in blazing red tufts of fur. It returned the stare, eyes fixed and body rigid.

"I don't trust it," said Iduna.

"He's like a little robot," said Marlon. "Except we can eat him. And we might have to, since Peter went and lost all our milk."

Peter grunted as Iduna tightened a strip of cloth around a gash on his knee that he'd earned while running from the ferry. "It was all I could do to not get killed," said Peter. "As if you weren't drinking it all up, anyway."

Marlon turned to him but Iduna said, "Gentlemen, please. Peter has a point. We're all lucky to be alive."

"All of us?" said Marlon.

Iduna winced, said, "I meant... all of us present."

The monkey rose and walked among them. Marlon shook his head, then laid down. Saul said, quietly, "Marlon, what about the others?"

"What others?"

"You know, Wodi and Jules."

Marlon sighed heavily, said, "Saul, man." He paused, then laid his arm across his eyes to block out the light. Iduna and Peter laid down near him. Saul looked at Hermann. The doctor idly rolled in his hands a few strips of cloth that Iduna had cut to use as bandages. He had not helped in cleaning the wound, and even now he was distant and ignored Saul. He suddenly laid back against a patch of moss and closed his eyes. In a minute, all were still and silent. Saul looked at the monkey, who turned about in a slow circle, then resumed its rigid pose, legs angled wide. Saul moved away from the others. He looked back, saw that Marlon made no move to stop him, then continued on.

He found a small glade and sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. The sun had just begun its descent into the West and was still bright. He saw a patch of pink berries clinging to a creeper vine, picked one and licked it, then thought better of it and threw it away. He scratched a pattern into the dirt with his spear. He strolled back to the others and sighed loudly, waited, then sighed again. Seeing that everyone but the monkey was fast asleep, he turned and left them again.

He was shocked to find a brown-robed girl sitting on the fallen trunk. He gasped and backed away, and the other did the same.

They looked at one another in silence. The hooded girl slid from her seat and pressed her back to a tree. She gripped the trunk, and Saul saw that her hands were pale and delicate.

"You're... human!" he said.

The girl slowly raised her hands and dropped her hood. Her features were rounded, soft. Her green eyes were full of mistrust, and she eyed the spear in Saul's hands.

"I won't hurt you," he said. He lowered the spear and opened his palms to her. Her lips parted in a slight smile. "Can you understand me?" he said. She shook her head slowly.

Saul sat on the fallen trunk and eyed her calmly. She waited, then sat down beside him. "That's it," he said. "I'm nothing to be scared of. Do you live here? Do you have friends here?"

She looked at him, then looked down and smoothed the folds in her black robe. She repeated the movement a moment later.

Saul started to rise, said, "You want to meet my friends?"

The girl backed away, eyes wide. Saul thought of Marlon throwing a fit if he was woken prematurely, thought of Hermann eyeing her like a creep and saying nothing, thought of Peter probing her with questions – then pawing at her with his beefy, greasy hands. He said, "Okay, it's okay, we'll just sit here, then. Just you and me."

They sat for a while, then the girl produced a long red pipe which she packed with one large, unbroken black leaf. She held the pipe in her mouth, then parted her robe a little to remove a necklace that hung low between her breasts. The necklace held a rounded stone, which the girl rubbed vigorously. After a time she touched the stone to the pipe and inhaled deeply. She dropped the necklace to the forest floor, where it smoldered and died.

"That's a nice trick," said Saul. The girl flashed a smile of crooked teeth and handed the pipe to her new friend.

He sucked the pipe and the leaf hit him quickly. The world became a series of broken images, and his hundred aches melted into a warm butter that ran gently under his skin. The girl studied his hands in hers. He was content. She rose, and Saul followed her.

* * *

Where they walked, time did not follow. The light dying in the treetops and the chirp of insects – both were one, and Saul felt them for the first time. He was hypnotized by the sway of the girl's hips, the way her roundness pressed against the robe. There was fog and the light dimmed but occasionally the girl would turn and flash burning green eyes at him. A wink, a promise. They came to a river. It was sluggish and so wide that he could not see the far side through the mist. Stars revealed themselves overhead.

Another robed figure stood nearby and the girl took Saul's hand and led him onto a ferry that bobbed under their feet. They sat on a bench in the middle of the ferry. The robed ferryman joined them and stooped over to work a long paddle with his thin arms. Saul leaned over to see his face but the girl took his hand and placed it on her hip. She was plump and warm and Saul ignored the gurgling ferryman and forgot about the terrible battle that had already taken him over this same river once before.

The night was dark as they made their long, slow journey to the distant shore. The girl moved Saul's hand to her inner thigh and giggled against his neck and he looked up at the stars in the night sky. He remembered the great, ancient tree, he remembered the cave he had explored with Wodi, he remembered running through a field with his brother back home wearing cat masks and laughing when the stars were the same as tonight. All of it mingled in the smoke of burnt memory and he wondered what he would do with the girl once they reached her dwelling.

They reached the shore and soon came to a grove lit by an ethereal pink light. Crystals grew from twisted trees and Saul heard a flute that the girl hummed along with. They came to the end of the forest and he saw the thick intestines of a leviathan rising from the earth and stretching far overhead. Blood ran up and down the living sculpture. The girl stepped into a great pool of blood and walked across the surface – then the scene changed and the intestines were replaced with towers and arches of crystal glowing like a grand cathedral of light.

He saw the girl sitting on a squat crystal altar with her robe pulled down to her waist. The red light and shadow danced on her as if filtered through water. She laid one hand over her face. Aching to see her once more, he approached. Drawing near, he saw her breasts were peaked with scarred flesh. She was not a creature that could ever suckle life. Something in the air changed. The drug receded and fear crept to the surface. A shadow passed over Saul. Before he could turn, the girl removed her hand – Saul saw a distorted, bony brow, jutting cheekbones, a horrid overbite, and soulless black eyes. He gasped and stepped back, then something heavy slammed into his back and pressed him against the ground like a vice. Saul lifted his head and saw a shadow stretching away from him; his mind referenced something like bull's horns, something like a twitching octopus, before his head was jerked and his face was pressed flat against the warm glass floor.

Wild panic crashed through Saul's mind, throwing open doorway after doorway that led to terrible illumination. Worst of all was the feeling that his people had betrayed him. How could the people of Haven go about their lives when there were monsters that ruled the world? How could they not churn out guns and planes and bombs and rush out in a frenzy and blast them all to smithereens? How could they take someone like him and rip him away from his carefree life and abandon him in this nightmare world? How could –

Saul's thoughts were interrupted by something like a hand forcing its way into his mind and sifting through its contents. He heard something like static from an open radio channel, then a pig's nose sniffing and snorting. Images were dragged from him. He saw his friends confronting the large demon with the glowing belly and the ghouls on the riverbank, and the other presence hissed in anger and flung the thoughts aside. He saw the monkey that followed his friends; the image froze and, for an instant, Saul saw a strange black eye open behind the monkey's forehead. He saw the girl leading him here, her true face masked by a cloud of pheromones, and the other presence laughed at his pornographic fantasies. The name Bilatzailea flashed in his mind, then these thoughts were tossed aside as well. He saw Marlon and Wodi speak of their plan to escape the valley through the mines in the north, which brought a smile from the other presence.

Saul felt the monstrous girl jerking his pants free behind him. Her strength was incredible. He felt frigid hands grasping at him, then his attention was pulled away when another image was torn from him: Haven.

He saw the University, saw students gathering around uneven rows of gray-stone buildings and the flowers in the green pentangle at the beginning of spring. He saw the tall tower of the Senate, saw blue-robed and blue-painted men in masks blowing horns to announce the death of old senators and coronation of new senators. He saw the gray cobblestones of Gear Street, the shops and open vendor stalls, the smell of greasy carnival food and his favorite... rich cinnamon sweet peetle-pie! He saw posters hanging up in his childhood school, several propaganda pieces idolizing armored Guardians and urging the youth to join them when they were of age.

The other presence in Saul's mind gave the impression of its jaw hanging open. Overcome with shock, it sifted through the memories, one after another, horrified and entranced. After what seemed like hours, Saul felt the fingers and snouts work themselves into a frenzy, probing and digging for some ultimate answer. Where? Where was this awful, unspeakably evil hive of monstrous humans? Saul felt the memories of his capture and plane ride ripped from him, examined from all angles, then tossed back at him in frustration. It wasn't enough! Over the sea to the north, possibly, most likely, maybe – but where?! Where, exactly, now!

Saul shook his head and felt wet limbs tighten, constricting his air. Saul felt the blind other-presence communicate something to the un-woman thing grasping him from behind. She was to finish what she was doing. Saul felt that the other-presence wanted to swallow Saul's very soul and, somehow, become one with him. Saul renewed his struggle but the hot glass floor and wet limbs of iron were without mercy. In horror Saul felt the thing that was not a girl take his member into her mouth from behind. He felt a tongue and sharp, uneven teeth. Something like fingers at the back of its throat. There was a sharp jerk, one instant of powerful suction, and then an awful blast of pain. Bilatzailea crawled backwards, swallowing and sorting Saul's seed and a great deal of his flesh within herself.

Then Saul felt something like oversized, blubbery lips attach to the back of his skull and neck. Little tongues crawled through his hair, probing and latching on. Saul felt the other-presence of Blindness promise that he would make him a god, make him immortal. Saul refused violently, but still the lord Blindness secured himself. There was one more blast of suction, the back of his head opened wide and his body danced senselessly, freed of its mind. He felt himself travelling through a long, black tunnel. He spiraled upward to a distant point of light. He heard a host of voices, ghoul and human and even animal, singing to him, screaming at him, welcoming him to his new home, his new body.

* * *

Blindness secured the brain inside his holding sac. His inner fingers attached to the thing, securing and reading and merging this identity with all his others. He reacted violently. This brain was wholly unlike any other in the valley! Sharpened by education, not weighed down by a lifetime of fears, not streamlined by disciple, not limited by a broken ego... this brain was a prize beyond measure.

Blindness coughed and flung the empty body aside, then shot an order at Bilatzailea. She saw a carefully ordered plan, a whirlwind of chaos and violence. In a flash she knew what Blindness wanted. She squatted on all fours and ran to the north, to brother Eragileak and the monster Serpens Rex.

# Chapter Nine

The Sacrifice on the Hill

Before Saul's journey to the eastern end of the valley and his ascension into the mouth of Blindness, Wodi watched the ghouls from his perch while Jules crouched below.

"Where you think them sons of bitches is goin'?" said Jules.

"The only thing I can imagine," said Wodi, "is that they know where the others are. How, I don't know. But they're out for blood."

Jules muttered something inaudible.

"This might sound crazy," said Wodi, "but I think we could follow those ghouls and find the others."

"That's not crazy," said Jules. "It's downright stupid."

"No, listen," Wodi said, leaning over the rock. He saw the old man look up from a shadowy niche. "If those things are on the trail of our friends, then we should help them, right?" A pause while the old man considered. "Don't you think we'll need the others to get out of here? We need Marlon in a fight, we need Hermann when we get hurt. Peter's got our food. And if we make it all the way back, Iduna and Saul might be pretty useful when it comes to getting to the bottom of why we were put here in the first place."

Jules shook his head, said, "They'd kill us, too."

Wodi rose and tightened the leather cord that held the sword of the dogman pup sheathed and secure on his back. "We fought them before, when there were a lot more of them. And we can follow them because they're making so much noise that we can hear them, but they won't be able to hear us."

Wodi clambered down the high rock. Jules poked his head from the crevice, said, "They'll find you, boy! Get back here!" Wodi ran down a stony slope that descended into green. Jules shouted behind him, "And what if they aren't after the others? What if they're out looking for more o' their kind?"

"Then at least starving to death will be the least of our worries!" said Wodi. He laughed and disappeared into the woods.

"Damn you," said Jules, scrambling from his hiding place. "Don't leave me behind!"

* * *

The four came to a hill of broken, twisted mounds that looked like mud giants huddled next to one another. The sky burned deeper and deeper orange. Their eyes followed high rock walls that jutted from the spine of the hill and cast long shadows on the black moss that padded the entire hill.

"Let's keep moving as long as there's light," said Marlon. He picked a path up the hill and continued on.

"Maybe we should stay up here tonight," said Peter. "You know, make our stand against that... that thing, if we have to."

"You didn't see it good enough," said Marlon. "We don't want to tangle with it if we don't have to."

Iduna pulled Hermann behind her as she walked up the steep hill. "Thank goodness for that monkey," she said. "It saved our lives!"

"I saved our lives," said Marlon. "The monkey was an unwilling participant, believe me."

"Do you think that thing you saw was the demon that took Saul?" she asked.

"Probably," said Marlon. His fingers nervously played with the handle of his club and knife.

They stopped at the top of the hill. Formerly obscured by the dying light, it was now clear that the ruined structures had been raised by human hands. The leaning walls of cut stone were riddled with bullet holes and a plague of black moss. Small stones marked dirt mounds, the beds where cold bones slept forever. Marlon's eyes locked on a chipped yellow helmet that rested in the dirt.

"Peter, look," he said. He dug out the discolored helm and brushed it clean. The eye guard was shattered, the lining rotted out. "It's an old model, but definitely one of ours."

Peter sighed, then nodded slowly. "Guardians were here."

"It's from your day?" said Marlon.

Peter nodded.

"You know anything about this?" Marlon said loudly.

Peter shook his head quickly.

"What the shit," said Marlon. He threw the helmet into the dirt.

"I mean," said Peter, "there were times in the past when the Guardians... ranged out into the wasteland... but that's all a matter of public record!"

"I knew the Guardians were involved," said Iduna. "There's probably more out here, waiting to kill us."

"Uh, for one thing," said Marlon, "those weren't Guardians that sent us here, and for another thing, I think it's pretty obvious that they made some kind of stand out here, a stand against demons." Marlon stood, then said, "So shut your goddamn mouth already!"

Hermann laughed and scratched his ear raw.

Peter stepped forward, said, "Now, Marlon-"

"No!" Marlon shouted. "I see you guys sending dirty looks when you think my back's turned! You think I had something to do with this mess, but then when it comes down to a fight, who do you depend on to get you out alive?" Hermann began laughing. Marlon continued, said, "You think Peter's gonna help you, Iduna? He can't even hold onto a bag of food that's already strapped to his back! And that psycho doctor over there? Why not point a finger at him, if you want to accuse someone of being worthless?"

"You can't bully us!" said Iduna. "Your brash attitude got Wodi and Jules killed! And you didn't do much to that lizard monster that probably took Saul. We're not children, Marlon, and we don't recognize the authority of the badges and ribbons you have hanging up back home!"

Marlon started forward. Iduna backed away, but her voice rose and she shouted, "You're a trained brute! A thick-headed goon! You don't have any authority in this place and we-"

"This is my authority," Marlon said, raising his club.

Hermann whooped loudly and said, "Is he gonna bash her brains out! Ha ha! Hey Peter, look! Is he gonna bash her brains out or what?"

"Good lord!" said Peter. "Shut up, Hermann!" Peter grabbed Marlon's shoulder and said, "Easy boy! Easy! Look, you're the leader, alright, kid? We're just a little stressed out, so-"

"I'm not stressed out," said Iduna.

"Me neither!" said Marlon.

"Alright, alright," said Peter. He ignored Hermann, who was either sobbing or laughing, and said, "Whatever the case, let's just take a second and remember what it means to be a Guardian, alright? Control yourself. We depend on you, boy. You know? We depend on you."

They fumed in silence for a moment, then Marlon said, "I... I wasn't going to..." He lifted his head, then said, "What's that smell?"

The sun fell over the edge of the mountains. All was red and black in hard angles. The wind was full of rot, as if the gates to a world of decay were opened wide. They heard a screaming chorus, soft at first, then louder, then saw a great shivering shadow in the woods below. Then the ghouls burst forth, fifteen freaks running on three or four limbs with knives held in their teeth or spears held high, and with their black spear leader in the middle. Their throats were torn by their unending scream, minds lost to some god of destruction.

"Don't move, any of you!" Marlon shouted. "We've got the high ground!"

At once Iduna ran and grabbed Hermann, who sat against a stone and watched the ghouls with vacant disinterest. "Come on!" she said, hauling him to his feet.

"Peter, hold this spot!" Marlon continued. "We've gotta hold the high ground or–"

His words were drowned out in the tide of white berserkers leaping up the hill. Peter barely had a chance to raise his spear before the storm of limbs was upon him. He swung wildly, felt sharp blows and hot breath, then his defense became a wild backpedaling rush. He turned to run further up the hill but several ghouls leaped upon his back, biting and slashing, and he fell sideways and rolled heavily down the hill with seven white devils behind him.

One savage leaped at Marlon and he swung his club, knocking teeth and eyeballs and brain matter across the sky. As the body fell into the others, Marlon scrambled backwards up the hill, fearful because he knew something had changed in the ghouls. Something had erased their cowardice and turned them rabid. The leader urged the seven others to follow Marlon, then crept around the side of the hill, unwilling to run into a fight when his spear could fly for him.

* * *

Hermann regained control of himself in the woods at the base of the hill and pulled his arm from Iduna's grasp.

"We have to go!" said Iduna. "Don't you see? The others, they're already-"

Hermann pulled away when she reached for him. Ever since he'd been tortured on that first terrible night, his will had been broken. He knew something had crawled into the space in his mind that had been left vacant, and the endless fight against that other presence was exhausting, utterly exhausting. He did not believe in supernatural forces, but he had been forced to watch himself say and do terrible things, and he hated what he'd become. A burden, something less than human.

But now he had breathing room. Whatever was in him was now in the ghouls. He saw the spear in Iduna's hands and jerked it away from her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry about everything!"

He turned and ran back to the hill.

* * *

Marlon stumbled between two tall stones at the top of the hill. He'd planned on using the stones to help break up the pack, but the seven poured through the opening behind him so fast that he only ended up swinging his club, knocking it against the stones on either side, then falling over as the ghouls spread out. As he scrambled backwards on his ass, one ghoul flew in from the side and bit down on his wrist. He screamed as his hand went numb and the club bounced away. Others bounded around the stones, growling like dogs. Marlon pulled free his combat knife and jammed it into the skull of the ghoul on his wrist, then pried the thing off and tossed both knife and ghoul to the side.

Marlon staggered to his feet before the circle of white bodies could close on him. He ran to the club as one ghoul knelt over it. Marlon lashed out with a vicious kick that sent the creature soaring. He grasped the club with his off-hand just as another ghoul leaped at him from the stones overhead; in one smooth motion he batted the thing, crumbled its torso into a sack of bones, and splattered it against a stone wall.

Five ghouls surrounded him, jabbing and hissing. Marlon was exhausted and knew that his options were disappearing with the dying sun.

* * *

The ghoul leader circled the hill. Because his god was in his mind, he knew how the fight on the hilltop was going without seeing it. He was charged, alive, free of all doubts. Finally he reached his vantage point – he saw Marlon with his back exposed as the others herded him into the leader's kill zone. Marlon began to move and would have disappeared behind a stone, but one of the ghouls threw himself into Marlon's path. Marlon clubbed the creature to death – and remained perfectly positioned for the black spear.

The ghoul leader smiled, then kissed the spear. He raised his weapon and bent his body back –

At that moment he heard a whistling in the wind. He turned and saw a small spear gliding toward him. The thing struck the ground nowhere near him, but by some awful turn of luck the thing bounced off a stone and the butt of it struck him under his jaw. Pain grinded all across his face and tears welled in his eyes. Rage blasted through him.

In the distance he saw Hermann. The doctor bellowed in triumph and, even though he was weaponless, he ran toward the lead ghoul. Overcome with fury, the ghoul ignored the inner voice that told him to ignore the small doctor; instead, he dug in his feet and threw the vicious black spear with all his might. The spear tore through the sky like a lightning bolt, then passed through Hermann's body, tearing ribcage and heart to pieces and flinging him down the hill. The ghoul spit, cursing the man as he rubbed his jaw.

He looked at the hilltop and saw Marlon staring directly at him, mouth hanging open.

"You son of a bitch," Marlon hissed.

Marlon dashed through the circle of ghouls, braining one with his club as he tore through them. The others dashed around to stop him from getting to their leader. Marlon tossed his club into them, tripping and scattering them. One moved too slowly and, as Marlon picked up speed, he leaped and fell upon the thing, crushing organs as he landed and sending great coils of sausage flying on either side.

"Son of a bitch!" cried Marlon, eyes burning into the leader as he ran still faster. "You'll pay for that! You'll pay for everything!"

Before the large ghoul could decide whether to move or dig in his feet, Marlon crashed into him. The two hit the ground and rolled down the hill in a sickening tumult of limbs and senseless caterwauling. Marlon gagged on the creature's rotting breath. As they neared the bottom the ghoul tucked his head against Marlon's shoulder, then they crashed into a bed of stone. Marlon's face took the full force of the collision. The ghoul's head bounced painfully, but as he crawled away from Marlon he was entranced by the sight of his foe's broken teeth and pool of blood spreading from sliced mouth and tongue. He saw something magical and overwhelming in the vision of agony, and was able to ignore his own nausea.

Finally the spirit of the lord of the forest that was in the ghoul was able to pull himself from the sight and the ghoul was urged to bring more pain to the human. He lifted himself up and prepared to finish the slaughter.

They killed Hermann! Marlon thought. They killed Wodi and Jules! They killed Saul, they're probably killing Peter, and they'll kill Iduna next! He lifted his heavy, aching head, then thought, I can't let them get away with this!

The ghoul lashed out with a kick and, still on his knees, Marlon grabbed the monster's scab-covered limb and pulled him forward. He grasped the ghoul's waist, howled like an animal, then stood and fell backwards, smashing the ghoul's head on the rocks behind him. He staggered away from the ghoul, who gagged and spat a thick wad of black blood.

"Doesn't feel so good when it's happening to you, does it?" said Marlon.

The two stood and faced one another in the shadow of the graveyard hill.

* * *

Peter flew down the hill like a legless pig and rolled into a stinking bog choked with black reeds. He rose up spluttering and waving his arms, then pushed deeper into the sea of mud in hopes that he would be left alone. To his horror, the seven little fiends leaped in after him. Pond scum clung to their bodies like robes and Peter thought of priests marching toward their sacrifice.

He was unarmed. Any moment he expected the ghouls to throw their spears. To his surprise, those armed with spears simply let them drop.

Why aren't they throwing spears at me? he wondered, casting about for some kind of weapon. In a flash he understood: Their small spears could not guarantee a kill. He could potentially arm himself with a thrown spear. They aimed to drag him down into the muck, even if they died themselves.

He looked up at the darkening red sky. The monsters were almost upon him, trudging slowly, eyes dead and hungry. I can't die here! he thought. At once he saw a vision of thirty-three interlocking gears turning, turning, turning, and he wondered, Is it my fault that we're here? Founders, Fathers, forgive me!

A shadow passed over Peter, swift and silent. He saw something like a ghoul hanging over him, arms and legs raised, armed with a wide earth-colored blade. He thought for a moment that it was a hyper-evolved ghoul come to claim his soul. But it was the boy, Wodi, shirtless and pale and shining with a halo of sweat. Wodi crashed into the bog behind Peter and brought the sword of the dogman pup crashing into the skull of the nearest ghoul. The ghoul's head split and the blade continued down, scattering black teeth and shattering jawbone.

Peter was dumbfounded at the whirlwind of violence. Wodi jerked the blade free with a twist of his arm and swung it into another ghoul. With one pass the blade severed fingers, cleaved a flint blade in half, splattered eyeballs, and even tore the ghoul's nose free from its face. The ghoul screamed as rotting ooze spurted down its face, then it fell back among its brothers, scattering them.

"That way!" cried Wodi, pointing back the way he'd come. Peter scrambled towards the bank as best he could while Wodi covered him.

One clever ghoul rose up from the scum beside Wodi and the boy instantly grasped the thing's neck. Black teeth chomping, filthy nails raking the air. Wodi lifted the shivering bundle and, with his sword arm, hacked once, twice, three times at the ghoul's side. The spine stopped the third chop, but when Wodi freed the sword from the ghoul's innards a great rush of black came spilling out with a tide of vomit-colored organs and coils.

Covered in sweat and filth, hair clinging to his head, Wodi dropped the dead thing and turned to Peter. "I'm right behind you!" said Wodi. "Get on dry ground and we'll be fine!"

"Gods, you're a savior, boy!" said Peter.

The two reached the bank and dragged themselves over the side. Wodi stood over the ghouls that now seemed to move in slow motion through the sludge below. Their barks were weak with exhaustion. He felt the weight of the dripping blade in his hand.

"They're already dead," said Wodi.

* * *

The domination of the lord of the valley abandoned the minor ghouls. While Wodi finished off the creatures trapped in the bog, the remnants of those who'd been on the hilltop were free to fight over the combat knife, then take it and scatter into the surrounding woods.

But the lord of the black valley, the demon called Blindness, only left them so that he could concentrate all of his powers into the ghoul pack-leader. He and Marlon fought like maddened beasts – grappling, throwing one another, bellowing, punching, rock-throwing. Covered in blood, blinded by blood in their eyes. Marlon was exhausted, but the ghoul's demonic guardian forced his exhaustion into a deep well in a forgotten corner of his mind – eventually the ghoul elbowed Marlon in his throat and tossed him to the ground. As the ghoul climbed atop Marlon, the Havender curled into a fetal position. The ghoul rained blow after blow on top of his arms. Laceration upon laceration, bruises spreading like a sick rainbow, accents of black blood spraying from the ghoul's mouth and nose. The violence was intoxicating and the ghoul moaned with glee – he would be triumphant!

But after several long minutes the ghoul's body very nearly gave out. His heart would soon explode, so the possessing demon relaxed its grip. The ghoul leaned forward, breathing, spitting occasionally, and looked for a stone that he could use to finish off the human...

In a flash Marlon upended the ghoul and was on top of him. The ghoul might have been a powerful brute, but every young Guardian was trained in the art of wrestling, which included an understanding of the "full guard" position – in which a fighter could lie on his back, cover himself, and build up his strength once more. In a panic the ghoul felt fists turning his face into hamburger, elbows turning his throat into mush, knees driving the air from him.

Keep fighting, degenerate! Keep fighting! screamed the voice of Blindness, but the ghoul's limbs could no longer respond. The floodgates cracked and slipped from his control as pain and exhaustion flooded the host. The beating slowed and the ghoul opened one throbbing eyelid. He saw Marlon, then saw a boot descending on his face, then he used the last ounce of his strength to close his eye.

* * *

Iduna walked up the hill. Already a gang of vultures stalked about on stiff legs and cast their lean heads from side to side. The graves and walls were covered in shivering, oily-feathered crows. She heard wheezing, then saw Peter leaning on Wodi as they ascended from the opposite side. Both were covered in mud but Wodi looked like a terrifying savage covered in black and red paint.

"Alive!" she said. Wodi smiled at her and waved, eyes and teeth shining through.

Wodi stopped, said, "Who's that down there?"

"It's me," said Marlon.

Wodi released Peter, who groaned and fell on his side, and ran down the hill to join Marlon. He stopped short when he drew near. Marlon's arms were covered in bruises, his teeth were a checkerboard of clotted blood, and his hair was spiked with coagulation. Iduna joined Wodi, then gagged when she saw the ruined corpse of the ghoul leader.

"Wow," said Wodi. "Marlon, you really turned that scumbag into a work of art!"

Marlon whirled suddenly and cried out, "Wodi? I didn't realize that was you! Oh, man... oh, man!"

Wodi smiled and clapped Marlon's shoulder. Marlon patted his hand and rose slowly.

* * *

They stood over Hermann's body as night fell. Marlon looked to Peter, who refused to look at the body or at anyone else. Marlon sighed, then said, "Well, I'm not sure what to say. I guess being here kind of turned him into a psychopath, or somethin'." Iduna glared at him and he quickly added, "But he, ah, he sure saved my life, so, you know... I guess that made him a pretty good doctor in the end."

He bent over the body and pulled at the black spear. The thing was stuck, and he ended up tugging on it sharply enough to thrash the body. Iduna stopped sobbing, her eyes wide and still. As Marlon put his foot on Hermann's back to pull more effectively, she said, "Marlon!" He yanked, hard, and freed the spear.

He looked from the spear to Iduna, back to the spear, then to Hermann, and said, "Uh... sorry."

* * *

Wodi wiped the sword of the dogman pup on the grass. He saw Iduna pick up the spear of the doctor and study it. He could tell that she found some meaning in the fact that it had been used to save a life. Marlon hefted the heavy black spear in his hands, then turned to Peter, who sat and refused to arm himself.

"Peter," said Marlon. "You want this spear? I was gonna keep it as a trophy, you know, but my hand hurts so freakin' bad I'm not even sure I could use this thing."

"I don't want it," said Peter.

"You okay, man?"

Peter sighed loudly, then said, "I could go for some pain killers right about now. Something to eat, a warm bed. My family. Home. Anything but this place."

"Well, you're not dead yet, so I guess you're not doing too bad."

"You the doctor now?" said Peter, laughing weakly. He looked at Marlon's mouth, said, "Too bad you're not a dentist."

"We should bury Hermann," said Iduna.

A long pause, then Marlon said, "We're too tired. We gotta get away from here, soon. It's dark and we gotta sleep someplace safe."

"I have to rest first," said Peter.

"That's fine," said Marlon, "but we gotta move soon. Don't forget about that thing that got Saul."

"What thing?" said Wodi.

"This lizard thing," said Marlon.

"The one I saw yesterday? It got Saul?"

"I think. It almost got us, but there was a monkey..."

"What monkey?"

Marlon shook his head, said, "I'll explain later."

They heard leaves crackling, then suddenly Jules was with them.

"Hey!" said Marlon. "Where'd you come from, fish-food?"

Jules shrugged slowly, said, "They was about fifteen ghouls runnin' in these parts, and that big spear-chuckin' bastard was with 'em. I... well, I figured I'd warn y'all."

Marlon shook his head, said, "Thanks, asshole. We'll keep an eye out for 'em."

# Chapter Ten

The Eye of the Black Storm

Darkness ate the world and the night came alive with the sound of wild beasts killing and mating. Insects crackling with green flame lit their path. They passed by smooth, ash-gray trees with branches weighed down by heavy amber berries. Whenever a glowing insect landed on the amber, they could often see the still, frightened eyes of birds and squirrels trapped within, their bodies visibly stripped in various stages of digestion.

The five walked in single file until Wodi quietly moved ahead and paced himself beside Marlon. Finally Marlon said, "So after we lost you and Jules in the river, we ran into these animals. A pack of them... these little rat things, but they were kind of monkey-shaped."

"They were monkeys," said Iduna.

Marlon exhaled loudly, said, "We were on them before either of us knew it, and they all ran away, except for one. He was creepy. He just stared at us. Very robotic. When we moved on, he followed. Saul liked him, and I told him not to touch the damn thing, but... I'm pretty sure he did."

"What did it do?" said Wodi.

"Didn't do anything. It followed us, and I let it. Figured we'd eat it later."

"Well, what happened to Saul, then?"

"We took a nap. When we got up, he was gone."

"Nobody saw anything?"

"No, but I could feel something around us. We didn't have to wait long to find out what got Saul. We started to spread out, to look for him, and pretty soon I hear Peter screaming like a bitch."

"I was not," said Peter.

"I go toward him," said Marlon, "and I see him running as fast as he can, like really hauling ass."

"It wasn't like that," said Peter.

"So he runs right by me. And now the monkey starts looking around, like fast, like this is something he didn't expect. Then I see what was chasing Peter. It was..."

"A flesh demon?" said Wodi.

"Well... I thought it was. It might be. I dunno. It was... it was like a huge lizard, but shaped like a man."

"That's the one!" said Wodi. "That's the thing I saw! Did it have black scales?"

Marlon nodded slowly.

"That's the very creature that got into a fight with that white flesh demon, the one that nearly killed all of us on that first night. If it wasn't for that reptile creature, I'd be dead. Or worse."

Marlon smiled, then said, "I gotta admit, I... I thought you were lying about most of that stuff."

"I don't blame you. So what happened?"

"Anyway, so Peter is running and flailing and I see this humanoid lizard-monster barreling through the woods right behind him. It stopped when it saw me. It was awful. It was covered in scars, man. Its eyes were pure rage. I could tell it was ready to pounce on me. Of course, Peter was long gone by this point –"

"I was going for help!" said Peter.

"So then," Marlon chuckled, "I grabbed the monkey by the back of the head and chucked it at him. It ate him right up."

"The monkey ate the lizard thing? No way! So it did save you!"

"No, numbnuts, the giant lizard ate the monkey! I saved us with my quick-thinking and reflexes." Marlon shot a look at Iduna. "The lizard ate the monkey, gave me a hard-assed look, and slithered away."

"Why didn't he attack you, I wonder?"

"That's why I don't think it was a flesh demon," said Marlon, furrowing his brow. "A demon will fight and fight until its dead. They don't care about their lives any more than ours. But this thing, once it filled its belly, it was ready to go home. Plus, you already said this lizard fought with that demon that chased you. Demons don't fight their own kind."

"You think it got Saul, though?"

"Well, I guess, maybe. It's the prime candidate. Maybe that thing's in league with the demons, or it's some kind of cousin, or somethin'. Who knows? We need a place to sleep, I know that, but I want to put a lot of distance between us and that thing." They walked in silence for a while, but Marlon's breathing heated, and suddenly he said, "But that monkey. For some reason, I never trusted that goddamn monkey."

* * *

A light flickered in the wood. Marlon tapped Wodi on the shoulder, tilted his head, and Wodi crept forward. He returned a few minutes later.

"S'up?" said Marlon.

"Some old man," said Wodi. "And a hut."

"Think he might be a demon?" said Marlon. "Some of them can look kind of human, you know."

Wodi shrugged.

Peter sighed loudly, said, "At this point, I don't care. We have to rest."

"Okay," said Marlon. "But if he makes a move – we beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Got it?"

"Sure, sure," said Peter.

They walked and came to a clearing. An old man knelt before a fire. He had a long, ragged beard, and dogskin clothes hung from his bony frame. He scratched at his bald scalp, over and over, and left furrows of scabs behind his grime-encrusted nails. He was not alarmed at their approach. They could see the light of several squat, misshapen candles burning through the doorway of his slanting hut.

The five stood over him. "Hail, human," said Wodi.

The hermit cleared his throat, thought about it, then cleared it again. "You're demons?" he said. His voice was cracked and weathered.

"We're not," said Wodi.

The hermit looked away, then said, "I can see it. You mean to kill me and take my things."

"That's not so," said Wodi. "We're lost and we're hungry."

The hermit tugged at his ear for a long time, then said, "Stay here tonight, then, and move on in the morning." He coughed lightly, then followed it with a whimper. The hermit rotated a heavy bowl of boiling water that sat directly in the flames.

He rose and the five followed him inside. The hut was filthy, a dumpster where all manner of refuse filled the floor, crawled up the walls, and was stacked to the ceiling. Candles on the floor burned close to piles of rags, bedding that was more grease and grime than cloth. Spike-haired mice ignored the man when he entered and chewed on the crushed roaches that lined the floor. A mutilated pig was splayed out on a table near the door. The pig had been drained of blood by a series of wild gashes that laid open its neck and belly, and its skin glowed in the candlelight like wrinkled, white marble. The five entered and stood uncomfortably, each finding a place to sit or lean or stand in his own fashion.

In awful silence the old man loosed pieces of meat from the pig with a series of squat knives, face screwing up with agitation as he never seemed to find the right blade or the right cut of meat. He went back and forth between the pig and the water boiling outside. Marlon scowled and studied him from the doorway, ready to grab the man by his ankles and wishbone him to death if necessary. Marlon leaned against the doorway and the entire hut groaned and tilted; only the great stacks of dusty garbage saved them from a complete collapse. Peter studied the old man's collection, then gasped in alarm – one shelf was lined with betel-nut and silver clove, among other herbs. Back in Haven, he had helped pass laws to crack down on those very same illicit substances. He did not doubt that the old hermit was an addict. He positioned himself in a way that Marlon and Wodi would not see the drugs, reasoning that the young men could be destroyed if they got their hands on the stuff.

After a time, the old man left with a small bowl, filled it from the larger, returned, and picked from it with his fingers. Marlon stared at the soup, sighed angrily, and left. He came back with the steaming cauldron and heaved it noisily onto the ground.

"You forget about us?" he asked.

The old man stuck his face into his bowl and did not answer.

Wodi found a collection of spoons, handed them out, and the five gathered around the cauldron. The soup was little more than oily meat and a few herbs, but they slurped it up and scraped the cauldron clean within minutes. Marlon grunted painfully with each bite.

The silence was broken. The five sat back to rest. Iduna watched Wodi shift restlessly, wrestling with something, then he said, "Peter, I think you know something about why we're here."

"I do not," said Peter. "Son, I'm in the same predicament you are."

"Those graves on the hill were for Guardians from your generation, weren't they? Saul was pretty sure that Guardians brought us here. Guardians, or perhaps people with resources posing as Guardians."

"I don't know anything about it, I tell you!"

"But you're a politician!" said Wodi. "If anybody might know something about people with access to wealth and power, and who might harbor a grudge, it would be you." Peter said nothing, so Wodi added, "I saved your life. You owe me something."

"Yes, I owe you," said Peter, "and it's a good thing you did save my life, son, and I'll tell you why. When we get back to Haven, I'll repay my debt to you by using my position to find the criminals responsible for this outrage. That's a promise. Where are you from, son?"

Wodi hesitated, eyes cast downward. "The North," he said.

"Ah, laborers – good people there. It's not my district, but I'd bargain your parents voted for a Stone Warren man just like myself. I've got a lot of allies, son. When I get back, believe you me, I'll have every Stone Warren senator beating the drum about this business. That, you can count on!"

"Couldn't any of us do the same?" said Wodi. "The media would be all over a story like this... as long as at least one of us survived and made it back home."

Peter's head wobbled. "We-e-e-ell now, that's true, and it's not true, if you understand. Sure, we're all equal in the eyes of the law, that's a fact and no doubt about it. But with a senator on the job, now, that's another matter – a lot of doors that wouldn't budge before just might come flying open. When we stand before a Judge in court, sure, we're equal alright, but the real trick is in getting someone before a Judge in court. It's plain to me that there's a cabal in Haven who thinks they're above the law. If they've done this to us, then they're no friend of the Stone Warren, or the University, or to hard-working laborers, or to your entire generation for that matter. This is a tricky affair, son. It's not like fighting ghouls, and you'll find that out sure enough. I appreciate your help in that matter earlier today, but when it comes to hunting down this insane cabal of criminals, I think you'll find me to be a most helpful ally."

Before Wodi could reply, the old hermit cackled uncontrollably. "What a fine sort you all are!" he spat, wiping tears from his eyes. "You come in here judging me, looking down on me, laughing at me when you think I don't see it just because I don't have the fine things you all did wherever you come from! But where you come from, it sounds like they won't hesitate to stab you in the back!"

"We haven't been laughing at you!" Wodi shot back. "We're grateful for the food and the roof, alright?" The hermit looked away and Wodi studied him. "Where did you come from, old man?"

The hermit sighed, then muttered, "Same hole every man crawls out of..."

Fear crept into Wodi, but he could not place the man's accent. He looked to Iduna who shook her head quickly. She tapped her ear and mouthed the words, "Not Haven." Wodi sighed in relief, because he'd begun to suspect that the old man was an exile like themselves – a victim of some secret program that dumped unwanted citizens into this green hell.

Wodi turned back to the old man and said, "We've been hounded by devils and ghouls ever since we arrived. We've already lost two of our friends. Is there something special about this place where you live? Why haven't the demons killed you?"

The hermit's scratched his ear and would not look at him.

"Well?" Wodi continued. "Are you some great warrior? Is that it?"

Finally the old man said, "They never bothered me. You can't come in here with guns and push the demon around. The people wanted the wood, they wanted the metal, they wanted the land... I knew better, though. I told them we were fools. But I needed the money. I needed the money. I saw awful things, just awful things... but the devils never bothered me." He shook his head and forced it deeper into his empty bowl.

"What people?" said Marlon. "Who wanted the land?" He glanced at Wodi. Haven had plenty of wood and iron ore and land.

"The ferry," said Wodi. "Did you come here with the people who built the ferry? What happened to them?"

The old man waved his hand around impatiently, as if the valley itself were explanation enough.

"The mines, then. Did they dig the mines, too? Tell me, old man, is it true that we can use the mines to walk right through the mountains in the north?"

"Oh, sure!" said the hermit, laughing without humor. "You can do that and just walk right out... as easy as that. Just walk right out of here, you know? Anyone could do it. Anyone could just... just walk right out of here..." The old man curled his fingers into tiny fists. "And go where!" he said suddenly. "Where would you go? Sounds to me like your people don't even want you. They wanted you gone, erased, out of sight, out of memory..."

"That's not true," said Wodi. "Haven's a place of peace and... and... justice. If we can just get there, we'll get help and find the people who did this to us. We're not barbarians. There's no masters and no slaves in Haven. Everyone is equal – do you even understand that? We have a rule of law, we aren't ruled by the whims of kings or demon-kings! Do you –"

The old man laughed long and loud, a dry cackle that stabbed the ears. He ground up a chunk of phlegm in his throat, then said, "Total bullshit! Beautiful, boy! Beautiful frothy wads of pig-shit!"

"No it's not! Someone there has done something evil to us, that's true, but you believe me, old man – if there's one place, one haven in the entire world where a man has a chance of living more than a slave's life, then that place is our homeland."

"Maybe! Oh, maybe! But!" The old hermit forced out one more laugh, then said, "Even if it is as perfect as you say, it will only exist until the demon finds it. Yes? No? Thank the devil's mercy, boy! Be grateful you live in his blind spot! But the eye's always turning, yes, isn't it? His eye is always turning. And one day..."

Wodi glared at the old man, then said, "If it's possible to make a weapon that will turn the tide in the war against the demon, it will come from Haven."

The old man was taken aback. "War? Against the demon? Oh boy, boy, this isn't a war. Not by a long shot. If it ever was a war, then it ended long ago. We're the scum on the surface of the pond, my boy. The baking sun is up above and the freezing depths are down below. We are but pond scum. I know – I've seen it." Before Wodi could continue, the old man said, "It doesn't matter anyway. None of that matters. In the end, you just... die. Nothing is worth doing, when you think about it. It all ends in failure and death."

A violent stillness stopped Wodi. He opened his mouth, but could say nothing. The old man lowered his head once more and a drop of soup traveled partway down his beard, then stopped. A palpable sense of entropy gelled in the air, thick and unmoving. Wodi knew that this sad collection of filth was the true heart of the valley. He looked at the old man as if he were an alien device, confusing and beyond comprehension.

* * *

The uneven orb of the moon shone overhead. Wodi and Marlon sat outside and watched the fire die slowly.

"What do you think about that guy?" said Marlon.

Wodi rubbed a hand against his chin.

"You don't think he's a demon, do you?"

"No, no," said Wodi. "I think he's just a pathetic old man."

Marlon thought for a second, said, "Seems like it, but... why haven't the demons killed him? Sounds like he came here with some people a long time ago. I know he didn't come with the Guardians buried on the hill. He'd never make it through the training, not with his attitude. Plus his accent is all wrong for any Havender. I guess the people he came with are all dead now. But why not him? He's going senile and he's got one foot in the grave already. How is he... well, how is he doing better than we are?"

"His mind is like an open sore," said Wodi, glancing back at the hut. "I think his brain short-circuited from an overload of suffering. Look at him; he has no direction, no emotion but self-pity, regret, and annoyance. He's got only a shell of a normal human's rational faculty, just enough to continue going through the motions of a survival."

"Yeah, but shouldn't all those things count against his survival?"

Wodi relaxed and let the pieces fall into place. "You know what I'm thinking? We've already seen one demon torture one person when it had the chance to kill and eat four. I'm starting to think that the monsters of this place aren't interested in killing and survival as much as they're interested in... pain. This place is a mirror image of Haven. Here, if you're strong, it attracts attention and it gets you killed. If you're smart, or a good leader, it arouses envy and invites punishment. But that... that man in there is insane. He lives in a foggy world of self-hatred with no purpose, no goal. The powers that control this evil world probably consider him to be a human fully fit to inhabit their vision of a perfect world."

"That's sick," said Marlon. "How could you even think of something like that?"

Wodi continued as he stared into the fire. "I don't think they really want to exterminate us. Not entirely. I think they define their strength by our weakness, and they pick us apart by stripping away the best of us – the fighters and the pioneers who branch out. In the end, they want a caged animal, something in the shape of what we once were. A thing they can torture without end."

"How can a world like that sustain itself?" said Marlon, disgusted.

"It can't."

"Then why hasn't it ended yet? If the good guys are strong and the bad guys are weak, then, well, why haven't the good guys won yet?"

"I haven't figured that part out yet," said Wodi, looking at Marlon and smiling once again. "Maybe it's just... a question of numbers? I don't know."

"Well, buddy, I think we'll reach those mines tomorrow. After that we'll hit the wasteland, and you'll have plenty of time to figure all that crap out!"

Marlon clapped a hand on Wodi's shoulder and they returned to the hut.

* * *

While Wodi and Marlon were at the fire, Jules and the old man laid around and scowled at one another and Iduna and Peter searched the hut. They found no change of clothes and no supply of dry edibles. They found bones, feathers, strange sporous growths, a rat skull with leaves jammed into it. Iduna found a black-bound book that detailed the edicts of some wasteland religion with broken sentences and gruesome pictures.

Peter stopped and grunted. Iduna approached, said, "What is it?"

They saw a leaflet faded with years, a hand-drawn advertisement for a wasteland carnival. It promised grotesque sideshows that would make the viewer forget the horrors of the everyday. There were dirge-singers, illusionists, fire eaters and skin carvers that conquered pain, collections of ancient gadgets, and bards who told of atrocities in far-off lands. Captured cousins of flesh demons, no less hideous than the real thing, would be held on display. There was a woodcut illustration of one such monstrosity, a small lizard-shaped boy who throttled the carcass of a chicken over his head. Around the picture were the words:

SEE HIM FIGHT, DOG AND RAZOR FOOT ROOSTER!!!

YES THE PRINCE OF LIZARD TAKE ON ALL COMERS!!!

"What is that thing?" said Iduna.

"If you look close," said Peter, "you can see where somebody's carved letters into its body."

"Poor thing. It's almost like a little boy, but caricatured to look 'tough'."

Peter paused, and darkened.

"Is it...?" said Iduna, prodding him.

"It doesn't look anything like the monster that chased me. That thing was more dragon than lizard, believe me."

They bent close. Beneath the drawing, in smaller print, the poster read

THE SINFUL OFFSPRING OF SNAKE AND TIGHT YOUNG GIRL

CAIN IS A KILLER!! AND FIGHTS FOR THRONE OF HELL ON EARTH

BRING YOUR TOUGHEST DOG AND ROOSTER TO FIGHT

ALL BETS, ARE FINAL AND NO GUNS ALLOWED IN TENT

"Old man," said Peter, "what is this thing?"

The old man looked, then turned quickly and pretended to sleep.

Marlon and Wodi entered.

Iduna winced at Marlon's bruised face. "Don't worry," he said, rubbing his jaw. "It hurts even worse than it looks!"

Jules laughed from his corner, said, "I don't know if it looked worse before or after that thing got a hold o' you."

"Alright, alright, whatever," said Marlon. Turning to the old hermit, he shouted, "Hey, old man, wake up! You got a mirror in here?"

"No," said the hermit.

"Are you sure?" said Marlon. "I mean, if I need a bunch of feathers or a big bundle of sticks covered in dust, I know I can look on the third shelf from the left. I can see your wad of cat guts on top of this pile here, but I don't really need those right now. You sure you don't got a mirror anywhere in here?"

"Ain't no mirrors in this place," the old man said quietly.

"You could stand to look in one yourself," said Marlon. He fell noisily into a pile of rags and leaves. "Guess this is the bed," he said. "Or is it the dining room table? Or the trash can? I can't tell in this dump."

"Don't mess with my stuff!" said the hermit, perking up suddenly. "If you... if you mess with my stuff..."

"Don't worry," said Marlon. "We're not gonna take any of your embroidered towels or fine china, if that's what you're worried about. In fact, if you need any help with your interior decorating, I could take a dump in the middle of the room. I don't think it would clash with the theme you've got goin'."

Wodi laughed loudly. The old man rolled over in his nest, reached into a bundle beneath him, and pulled out a shotgun.

Wodi's laugh stopped short. Marlon pushed away quickly.

"Well, g'night then," said the old man, curling up with his shotgun held close.

The five Havenders looked to one another, eyes wide, jaws loose.

Soon the old man snored, then Jules followed him into sleep. Iduna and Peter laid close. Wodi and Marlon looked at one another. Marlon's fingers twitched and Wodi smiled. As the last candle flickered and died, Marlon whispered, "That thing is ours, buddy."

# Chapter Eleven

Saints of the Sacred Oasis

Eragileak, the guardian demon of the valley, knelt among the bushes and watched his hated foe. In the clearing ahead, the great black-scaled lizard, Serpens Rex, was grinding against Bilatzailea, the succubus who had taken Saul's seed only hours before. Even though built for this sort of work, she still found it difficult to accept the reptile's obscenely powerful thrusting. Releasing the right balance of pheromones was also incredibly difficult, because her people had next to no knowledge of his genetic makeup. One wrong scent, one imbalanced secretion, could cause the horny monster to realize he was making love to a potential enemy and send him into a murderous rampage. Bilatzailea knew this was her greatest performance ever and treated it with great care; because Serpens Rex had an unreasonably voracious metabolism, an inability to handle extremes of temperature, and only marked his territory with mating signals once every decade, it would be no surprise to her if she found out that this "king of the reptiles" was the last of his kind.

But what a powerhouse! Blindness was right – his seed could provide unstoppable storm troopers for the great Ritual of Sacrifice that was to come...

Finally the great lizard stared into the distance, mouth open, and gave one last powerful thrust that threatened to drive her pelvis up into her spine. He gushed into her and produced a sound like a rooster deflating.

Bilatzailea was filled with joy. She had it... she had it! Now if she could only get away with her life intact!

It was Eragileak's turn. He lifted a heavy stone and crept from his hiding place. It had sapped a lot of his strength to hide the light of his soul – the purple light that shone from his belly – but knowing that he would soon kill his greatest enemy gave him power. Carefully, carefully, he crept into the clearing.

Bilatzailea did not have to look to the side to know that her brother was near. Slowly she edged herself away from the black lizard. The monster's enormous phallus slid out of her with a wrenching sound of violent suction that woke him from his post-coital paralysis. Bilatzailea froze – then the lizard sighed and collapsed on top of her. Hundreds of pounds of dead weight crushed her and thousands of sharp scales dug into her. She was trapped under the behemoth.

Eragileak lifted the heavy stone, then paused. Crushing the lizard's head could potentially kill Bilatzailea, too. The seed she carried was far more important than his personal grudge. He studied the monster, unsure of what to do. The small of his back – perhaps crushing that would immobilize the beast long enough to find another opening. Eragileak shifted his weight, lifted the stone, then...

He heard a cry in his mind. An order to stop. Once again, Blindness, the lord of the oasis, jerked Eragileak's leash.

He was told to watch.

Serpens Rex shook. His arms shuddered and his head lolled from side to side. His tongue leaped and shivered as if trying to flee a sinking vessel. The great lizard pushed away from Bilatzailea, then stood on weak legs. With lurching movements he approached Eragileak, then stood before him, arms at his sides. Eragileak dropped the heavy stone and was dumbfounded. The mighty Serpens Rex... now, a puppet!

Eragileak probed the channels and found his uncle Blindness. Far away in the world but right beside him in the landscape of their mental space, Eragileak saw Blindness as a dark mote ringed by a halo of dazzling brilliance. With a thousand sharp fingers he had probed the brain of the human he'd recently taken into himself. He had hundreds of brains packed into his sac – animals, ghouls, primitive humans – but none could match this new one. Most brains he consumed were shaped by fear, limited by environment, starved by poor diet, and crippled by a thousand bad habits necessitated by the wasteland. But not this brain. This brain did not know fear! Moments of anxiety, a few quick surprises, that was all. But true fear, the fear of living under brutal masters in an uncaring environment day after day, was alien to this brain. It knew only the hunger for more information and the joy of continually seeking out stimulating interactions, thus its potential was...

Amazing, said the voice of Blindness from the ring of fire.

For hours he had dug, prodded, fed and starved, threatened and rewarded, and used all the old tricks he knew to open up minds and make them his own. And now, he had even been able to slip into the doorway that sexual release had opened in the simple mind of Serpens Rex.

Now, said Blindness, he is one of us.

Eragileak approached the great lizard. He put his face against the monster's. No response. He slapped him lightly across the face, waited, then slapped him again with enough force to send a man's head spinning like a top on a neck full of shattered vertebrae. Serpens Rex staggered, then resumed his obedient pose.

Eragileak was torn. He still wanted to see his old enemy dead. He traced long, dirty nails lightly across the lizard's face, delicately pried his mouth open, felt the warm tongue all the way to the back, then dug one of his claws into the thick meat. Eragileak's claws were not sharp, but still he dug in, then tore a long line of broken flesh down the middle of the lizard's tongue all the way to the very tip. Blood ran out in hot channels and pooled in at the base of the mouth, filling the cracks between yellow teeth.

Eragileak watched, fascinated, then nodded. He wanted Serpens Rex dead... but perhaps this was better.

Bilatzailea stood, groaning and hissing in pain. Her skin was imprinted in red fish scale patterns and she clutched at the opening to her primary incubation crevice, fearful that Serpens Rex had damaged the apparatus beyond repair. "I'm going back home now," she said aloud. Eragileak was startled at the sound, then reasoned she must be limiting her open channels in order to spare him an awareness of her physical pain. "Those invaders... it's up to you now." She paused, then said, "Up to you and your new friend!" She lashed out with a sharp kick at the back of Rex's knee, staggering him. Eragileak laid a hand atop the lizard's head, then watched Bilatzailea disappear into the forest.

Eragileak felt Blindness tugging at his awareness. Once more the light about the dark mote flared as more of the new brain's defensive layers were stripped and its potential was unleashed. Eragileak gazed in wonder, for the lord of the forest was summoning an army.

* * *

The mind of the lord passed over the forest, and the tribes were called.

First, the Tongue Eaters. They squatted in a moist, narrow canyon, their bodies little white mounds unmoving in the mist. Their leader woke in the night and gave a hollow cry. Then the angry males, plagued by throat infection and painful venereal leakage, also felt some god pass through them for one moment. They rose from their dark crevice and went into the night. As they marched they grunted the hollow tone that was theirs and theirs alone, a tone that no other tribe envied the use of, for this clan did not earn their name by eating the tongues of others, but by chewing off their own.

Now the Stone Skins. Tough and dull-witted even by ghoul standards, and prone to rashes that scabbed over like the flesh of the mountain on which they lived, this tribe felt the call and left off from the ritual torture they were inflicting on one of their own. Better prey had been promised them, soft prey free of callouses and unused to pain. The hunters left their clansmen, feet bound by vine, skin torn and bones chipped from thrown rocks, suspended from the cold stone of the mountain.

The Rot Gnawers felt the call. Pale and allergic to sunlight, these bulb-eyed ghouls coated their greasy skin in soot and dust and crawled in dark tunnels. They only ate what was already dead, and their favorite game was to hold down one member and drop maggots into his eyes and nose and laugh while the maggots slowly burrowed into meat and brain. Because they spent their lives in darkness, they ceased to use facial expression. As they flowed smoothly out of their dank tunnels, it seemed as if the blank-faced dead were rising to consume the world of the living. The blind god promised them a place of hiding far to the north, cold tunnels untouched by morning, and there they would find warm, fresh game.

The Chanters of Prayer were gathered around their sacrificial pit when the lord interrupted them. Their tribe was short and had spindly limbs and, since they could not compete with the other tribes in the hunt for food and mates, they had decided to rule in the secret realm where the gods dwelled. To this end they dug pits in the ground and caught the beasts that fell within, killed them, then the butchers would descend and divide the meat while the leaders fell on the ground and rapidly chanted the maddening gibberish that would trap the souls of the beasts. Their leaders often listened to the bones of the dead; just as the sounds of the sea could be heard in seashells, so too could the demands of the dead be heard from the other side through the cold bones. Now when the lord came to them and spoke in their minds, their leaders threw their bones and danced in fear, terrified that their own system of rule might have some basis in reality. After much confusion, they took up their knives and clubs and ran to the mountains in the north, where they would find their ultimate test, their greatest sacrifice.

The God Feeders also heard the call. Their tribe was greatly feared throughout the valley. For years they had abused the other tribes before the lord of the forest came to them. They were patient hunters with grim faces, and they often laid their excess kills at the entrance of the crystalline world where the lord dwelled. Many feared them, but few envied them: Because of their diet of raw meat, they left trails of writhing worms and maggots wherever they squatted. And they were quick, very quick, to turn on their own. Now the God Feeders saw visions of mountains, they saw caverns and a trap made of numbers, and they ran north on all fours to make the vision real.

The lord of the black valley touched one mind after another. These tribes and others gathered for the ritual of human sacrifice. It would be a test to prove their worthiness to the god called Blindness. The vision showed the morning sun rising on a day of blood. They would be victims no longer. They would be tools of justice in the hands of something infinitely beautiful and endlessly hungry.

# Chapter Twelve

Escape from the Black Valley

On the morning of their third day in the valley, Wodi and Marlon woke at the same time, locked eyes, and rose at once. In the gentle blue light that seeped through the cracks in the hut, Wodi crept over sleeping forms until he was perched over the old hermit. Marlon joined him and raised the black spear over the old man's head. Marlon nodded to Wodi.

I have to do this right, he thought, exhaling slowly.

Not only was the shotgun cradled under the old man's bony forearm, but Wodi saw a piece of twisted black metal peeking out from under a pillow. Wodi probed with his fingers, then pulled the thing free. He smiled at Marlon: The old man, in his paranoia, had slept with a revolver under his head. He held the thing up to the light for Marlon to see. The handgrip fit him perfectly, and its weight was reassuring. He passed the gun to Marlon, then looked about some more. Sure enough, two unopened plastic bags full of bullets sat hiding in the corner. Wodi stretched over the old man, paused while the old man muttered in his sleep, then slowly handed the bags over to Marlon.

Now, the shotgun. Wodi watched. He saw no easy way to do the thing, so he breathed deep and quickly lifted the old man's bony arm and placed it to the side. The old man muttered once more, then laid still. Wodi grasped the shotgun and was awed by the thing, a complicated black metal weapon that would spit death to anyone who stood in their way. He nodded, then they quietly slipped out of the hut.

Outside, all was blue and mist with great gray trees reaching far overhead. The two laughed nervously as Marlon tore open the plastic bags.

"This stuff's never been used!" Marlon exclaimed. "How long you think that old fart's been sitting on this stuff?"

"It probably belonged to the people he came here with, way back in the day," said Wodi, examining the heavy shotgun. "I wonder if..." He stopped. Inlaid in the black metal was a small, silver insignia of a gear. "Marlon, where have I seen this before?"

Marlon studied the thing, then said, "It's from some wasteland cult. I think they're called Smiths. They worship machines and make guns and stuff like that."

"Is that a fact?" said Wodi, searching his memory but finding nothing.

Marlon took the shotgun from him and said, "Double barrel. Too bad it's not a pump-action from Haven! Looks like the shells are all buckshot, so they'll spread out. Pretty good for distance, but murder up close." He popped the gun open, then said, "Dirty as can be! Was he using this thing to dig holes with?"

"Will it still work?"

"Yeah," said Marlon, blowing into the end. "But no pawn shop in Haven would take this old girl, that's for sure." He studied the revolver in his other hand, then said, "This is a snub nosed little guy. Not sure of the caliber, we don't use this type in Haven. A good up-close gun. Can't fit more than six bullets, but that's the problem with revolvers. Not that I would trust any automatics outside of Haven, you know? They're too tricky to make."

Marlon showed Wodi how the guns were loaded. Soon Iduna came to them bearing two stained cloth bags.

"What are you boys doing?" she said, staring at the guns.

"We decided to pack some heat for the rest of the trip," said Marlon. "Is that all right with you?"

"You're just going to end up shooting yourselves," she said.

"Really? Do the bullets on these things not come out the front, or what?"

"What've you got there?" said Wodi.

"I took some of the pig meat," she said. "He had a lot of it, and I thought it might go bad before he ate it all, so... I..."

"Good idea. We'll need it if we want to get through the wasteland."

Next came Peter, hobbling and scowling. He carried several sticks and a large bundle of greasy clothes.

"You doin' the old man's laundry?" said Marlon. He scanned the woods for demonic hordes, one gun in each hand. There was no doubt in his mind how intimidating he appeared.

Peter's eyes locked onto the guns and he answered the question as if reading from memorized notes. "We can tie these rags to the sticks and make torches, for the mine. I've got a flint and some tinder, too. Now, son, how'd you come by those firearms?"

Marlon pretend-fired the revolver five times into an invisible demon, then aimed the gun at the ground and executed the monster with his final shot. "Oh, it's no big deal," he said. "That old man was sittin' on 'em. Figured I'd borrow 'em."

"Best you hand them over, son," said Peter.

"To you?"

Peter nodded.

"Well, the shotgun is definitely mine. That's not even up for debate. And I was going to give the revolver to Wodi."

"Ah, boy," said Peter, shaking his head slowly. "You forget, I used to carry the shield and wave the banner, as they say. We're a part of the same brotherhood - it's only right that we keep the arms to ourselves. We've had the training. The boy hasn't. It would be better for the group as a whole."

Marlon had no quick reply. Peter felt an opening and said, "Remember: 'Fraternity before mischief!' 'Honor above sleep!' 'Invigoration through discipline!' Remember?"

Marlon said, slowly, "Yeah but, you know, he's proven himself, hasn't he? If he can do what he's done with a rusty piece of metal, then..."

"You've forgotten, then! Forgotten your oath, now, have you? Is that it, son? How could you forget... 'Will no one help the widow's great-uncle?' It's the second line to the chorus of "Fraternite, Fraternite", the musical version of the oath of every Guardian of –"

"Alright, alright!" said Marlon. "God's death, man!" He tossed the loaded revolver at Peter, then threw the bag of bullets at his feet. "If you remember all that crap, then you better remember how to shoot, too. Sorry, Wodi."

"That's fine," said Wodi, hiding his disappointment. "I already stole it once. I can do it again!"

Marlon laughed, then said, "I only gave it to Peter so the demons would at least have a chance against us. Here, Wodi – you can have this." Marlon handed Wodi the black spear, then said, "That is, unless anyone wants to argue about that, too."

"I don't want it," said Iduna. "I'll just keep... the doctor's spear."

Wodi handled the heavy spear. With it, and the sword of the dogman pup sheathed on his back, he felt ready for anything.

The door of the hut banged open and shut, and Jules walked out with short steps.

"Careful!" said Marlon. "You'll wake the old man!"

"All the old men are awake," said Jules.

"All of 'em?" said Wodi.

"Yes sir."

"He didn't say anything?" said Marlon. "About his guns?"

"No. We talked a little, ate a biscuit. He says the mines are only a little piece away, that way."

"Uh, did he say anything about us stealing his meat and clothes?"

"No," said Jules. "He's old, crazy. He'll notice his stuff gone, later, and not all at once, and he'll assume that he lost his things one at a time, and not all together. That's the way we are."

"Is that true?" said Wodi.

"For a lot of us, yes."

* * *

The five sat in the middle of the clearing and tied the old man's rags to the stout sticks. Iduna had her pants rolled up and suddenly noticed her legs. They were covered in black nubs. She touched her legs and felt the prickly hairs.

"I need a razor," she said.

"I think we already robbed that old man blind," said Marlon. "You could use Wodi's rusty old sword."

Peter huffed loudly, then said, "Pure vanity!"

Iduna glared at him.

"As for me," said Peter, "I wouldn't let my wife lay hands on a razor. Of that, you can be sure! Why, I find a little natural hair does wonders for a woman's appearance. What do you boys think?"

Iduna felt her stomach do a backflip. She rolled her pant legs down.

"It's getting on midday of the third day we've been here," said Marlon. "You can see the mountains over the treetops. We've made pretty good time. If it's true that those mines go all the way through those mountains, and if we get lucky and don't get lost and starve to death, and if we manage to find water and figure out a way to carry water with us, and if we don't manage to get eaten by something while we're in those mines, then we should reach the wasteland soon. Things'll be different out in the world. I'm not even sure how we're going to cross all that distance." He thought for a moment, then said, "We might meet other people. Primitives, you know, on the far side of the mountains."

"That would be interesting," said Iduna.

"Interesting, ha! Sure. I'm just glad I'm packin' heat."

While Wodi tied off another torch, he studied the sharp blue sky over the circle of tall treetops. He felt as if he was struck by the beauty of the valley for the very first time. "You know," he said, "we're lucky, in a way."

"What!" said Peter. "Don't tell me you're losing it, son."

"I'm not saying it's been enjoyable. But we've been given a very special opportunity... a very special insight into the world. The world beyond the veil of what we've been taught."

"How you figure?" said Jules.

"Nobody talks about demons," said Wodi. "All my life, it was like pulling teeth to get anything out of anyone. That includes teachers, too. And when anyone did talk, it was to say that our only hope of survival was to hide in Haven. To bide our time and wait for the rest of the world to slowly die off. But look at us! There were seven of us armed with sticks. Only two of us have fallen. Now, imagine how we would have done if there had been more of us, and we'd been armed with the best guns and the best armor that Haven could produce."

Wodi was still entranced by the piercing blue sky as he continued. "And imagine if we had artillery and air support. Imagine if we could go into those communities that hide from demons, or worship them, or sacrifice to them, and send them our best teachers. And we wouldn't just be converting the world, turning others into us... we could even learn from these people! Imagine what might happen to our own culture if we brought this world together and learned how to not live in fear! Don't you think it's strange that the most powerful civilization in the world lives in fear of the outside world?"

Wodi thought for a moment, then added, "Maybe we could convince our leaders that that is Haven's destiny. And if we did, then maybe in a few generations, this world –"

"Shhh!" said Marlon. "Quiet! Listen!"

They heard nothing. Slowly the realization dawned that the entire forest had become utterly silent, as if thousands of scampering, screeching, living things now hid deep, deep down, waiting for some great horror to pass over and claim another.

"Saul?" Wodi said quietly.

Marlon covered the boy's mouth.

There was a humming drone, a low vibration almost below the level of awareness. The hum grew deeper, then individual cries rose from the abyss.

"Run," said Marlon, rising. "Run! Don't stop 'til we reach-"

His words were drowned out by the approaching wave of sound, the endless aural hurricane of a multitude of stampeding monsters charging through the forest. The five abandoned the hut and ran to the north, tearing through vine and over streams, the ground shaking beneath them. The cry behind them built into a swirling mass of solid thunder that battered at the ears and threatened to tear down their sanity. Iduna chanced a look behind and saw a seething white mass of ghouls pouring forth behind them, then she saw them dashing along on either side, threatening to drown them in putrid flesh and rotting fang.

Peter fired the revolver behind him as he ran. The others heard six tiny pops, high-pitched wheezes that fell into and were absorbed by the impenetrable wall of sound. Any of the hundreds of ghouls that were hit were consumed like droplets of water in the sea of doom.

Jules lagged behind, and everyone was too intent on their own panic-stricken flight to help him. Abandoned, his mind raced into dark places and he saw that the thing that came at them was like a god, a god born at the end of all worlds, a crushing weight of irrational hunger intent on senseless annihilation. He saw the others draw ahead of him. He cried out, but his voice was lost in the endless scream, the pounding feet. First a sharp finger touched his back, then a thousand pounds of entropy slammed into him, pushed him down, then the rushing legion crushed his body and passed over him.

The four saw light ahead. They burst out of the forest and came to a wide, rocky flatland nestled between the arms of tiered gray stone that lay at the feet of the mountains. The frozen sun was suspended overhead in the blindingly blue sky of another world. A wide, rectangular tunnel lay far ahead.

Between them and the entrance to the mines, a cold, shallow pool sliced across the flatland. Six ghouls and their chieftain stood in the pool like decaying statues, waiting for the humans. The four humans ran straight for them, more from fear of the horde behind them than from bravery. Marlon stood at the edge of the water, aimed down the barrel of the shotgun, then blasted thunder into the large chieftain; in a violent explosion the ghoul's face and neck disappeared and his body fell into the water. Marlon aimed again and, in one blast, obliterated two ghouls and crippled a third. While he reloaded, Wodi leaped into the water and ran the black spear through the guts of one ghoul. To his surprise the ghoul clutched the spear and twisted away. Wodi could not free the spear before another ghoul was upon him. He unsheathed the sword of the dogman pup and brought it up into the newcomer's jaw, shattering the chin and roof of the mouth. By the time he dispatched the newcomer, the other one had already splashed and staggered its way into the deep end of the pool, taking the black spear with it.

It threw its life away and took the spear! Wodi thought. They're possessed! This is some kind of trap!

Wodi turned back and saw Iduna standing over the last ghoul's body, out of breath, the bloody spear of the doctor shaking in her hand. Peter stood behind her reloading his revolver, fingers twitching uncontrollably. From the corner of his eye he caught movement at the base of the mountains. There was no time to warn anyone, for just then the horde broke through the forest. The horrible drone of their screaming echoed from the stone so that a high, cold whine rang out, breaking and echoing in a thousand layers of ululating madness.

The four slogged through the pool, then pulled themselves onto the stone floor. They raced to the tunnel entrance. Lone ghouls ran from either side to slow them down; Marlon bashed them aside with the butt of his gun and Wodi chopped them down with his sword. Only Iduna looked back to see the horde crashing into the pool behind them, sometimes even trampling their own.

"God dammit!" Marlon shouted suddenly, and pushed Peter to sway their path off to the right. Wodi looked at the entrance and saw another wave of white heads pouring out of the tunnel entrance, white limbs shivering, intent on crushing the humans between the other wave. The four ran between slabs of cut stone. Marlon saw other, smaller entrances cut along tiered paths that led up the face of the mountain.

Marlon led them through the path of stones, then Wodi dashed ahead, intent on cutting a path if necessary. As he rounded a bend he saw a clan of crouching ghouls guarding one of the rising paths, their smiling heads nearly touching the ground beneath their bent knees. They rose and Wodi fell back, choking on a warning to the others. Marlon crashed into him and nearly knocked him over, then raised the shotgun.

"Eat this!" he cried. Hell poured from the barrel, the deafening blast like a thunder god giving birth, sending up skin and bone and gallons of black blood into the air and against the rock wall. Marlon swung about and blasted again, smearing the remainder of the pack in a brilliant shower. As he reloaded, Wodi raced ahead again, executing the crippled survivors with his sword. "Keep moving!" Marlon shouted, and they raced up the narrow, gore-drenched path cut into the mountainside.

They raced up the side of the mountain until they came to a sharp bend ahead of them. On the flatlands far below they could see an endless throng of white monsters, a sea of white heads packed in tight, mouths wide in adrenalin-ecstasy. Just as Marlon chanced a look behind to see if any were gaining on them, a trap was sprung: While a dozen or more ghouls came around the bend ahead of them, others rose up from hiding places on ledges above them and slid down to meet them, scrambling and cackling.

Marlon turned to the slathering pack ahead of them and unleashed a blast from the shotgun that liquefied the lead killers. Peter shot dead one of the ghouls above, who fell and rolled into the path, then toppled into the throng below, but the other ghouls fell on them rapidly. Wodi became a slow, brutal whirlwind, hacking and chopping limbs on all sides. Peter watched, looked for an opening to shoot, and just then a ghoul collided with him and sent him spinning. He hit the ground and watched in horror as both ghoul and gun toppled over the side. He crawled to the edge and stared into the writhing mass, wishing that he had fallen with the gun.

Marlon emptied round after round into the bend as ghouls poured out before them. His bag of ammo became lighter and, as he fought to reload the gun as quickly as possible, three rounds spilled out. Peter crouched on his hands and knees, unable to move, and watched as Wodi tore away from his attackers and dived after the fallen shotgun shells. That action saved his life: Peter watched as one last ghoul slid from the mountainside, leaped over the space where Wodi had been, and then crashed directly into Iduna. Both Iduna and the ghoul flew from the narrow path.

Peter was overcome with horror as he watched the throng below. Iduna disappeared among them. He saw only thrashing limbs coated in red. He felt a struggle on his back, turned, and saw a ghoul with teeth clattering mere inches from his face. In a flash the boy Wodi was on them both. Smeared with blood and face twisted by rage, the boy jerked the ghoul from Peter's back and chopped over and over again with his heavy, dull blade. Peter could only watch, deafened by shotgun round after round, as Wodi's blade became hung up in the ghoul's thick skull. Both ghoul and blade fell over the side. Though he could see that Wodi was exhausted, the boy still grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

Wodi pulled the three shotgun shells from his pocket and gripped them in his fist, knuckles turning white. Peter knew that the boy would die before he would drop the precious rounds, and he hated himself for losing his only weapon.

Marlon finally stopped firing and they could see that the bend in the path ahead was coated in steaming gore, as if the earth itself had been fatally wounded. Wodi tapped Marlon's back and they stumbled through the slippery path of twisted limbs and open stomachs. Ahead, on a broad terrace, they saw a small opening into the mountain. They knew that ghouls must be filling up the path behind them and so, when a handful of ghouls crept from the opening before them, Marlon blasted them and they filed inside without pause.

Marlon crouched and leaned against the wall and, as Wodi and Peter filed past, he shouted something. Wodi was deaf but watched Marlon's lips repeat, "Light those torches! Light those torches!"

Wodi pulled the torches from Peter's back and they knelt and Peter struck the flint to light a mass of them. Ghouls streamed into the entrance behind them; Marlon fired, limbs bounced and blood splattered. Again and again Peter struck the flint. Again and again Marlon fired at the ghouls that crawled over the dead. Again and again the spark of the shotgun blinded them, then darkness enveloped them as the dead clogged up the narrow entrance and shut out the light. Wodi saw a nightmarish scene of the narrow entrance packed with biting heads, red limbs twitching, reaching out, then he felt heat beside him. The torches were lit.

Wodi took one, then tapped Marlon's shoulder. With one final blast that opened up several maggot-eaten heads into a spray of broken eggs, Marlon rose, took one of the torches, then the three survivors ran deeper into the dark earth.

* * *

For a long time the three descended a man-made tunnel supported by thick wooden arches. The torchlight danced along cold black walls and soon they could see their own breath in the freezing air. No words were spoken. Each was locked in his own thoughts, unwilling to confront the nightmare they had just come through. They found no sign of ghouls in the earth, only branching tunnels and endless darkness. Still, they felt as if they had not yet woken up, and that the nightmare was not over.

They came to a low, wide natural cavern that looked like a great mouth punctuated by teeth of stone. Cold droplets of water clung to their skin and dropped from the ceiling, sputtering in their torches. They saw that it was a nexus where many smaller tunnels met, each marked by a sign. Entering, they saw a simple wooden bridge spanning a dark gorge in the middle of the cavern. Wodi took the lead, thinking to scout out the place, and something brittle cracked underfoot. They held their torches low to examine, then pulled back in horror.

One great field of bones stretched before them.

Ribs and femurs pointed towards the black sky. Grinning, black-eyed skulls, all twins in death, collected dust and bat droppings. Tiny finger bones crunched underfoot as they walked. They saw that heads and spines had been lined along either side of the bridge, a sign that the unbelievable nightmare that had claimed so many of their kind had not been without an intelligence of its own. But the fact that many bins of coal and glinting metal were overturned and laid unclaimed among the bones proved that the nightmare intelligence was utterly alien and uninterested in the affairs that drove humans. Wodi felt nauseous and his own words earlier in the day came back to haunt him. Standing among the bones and imagining their endless night opened his eyes: His species already was at war, at war against something black and soulless, cold and hungry, and if the people of Haven hid behind their ring of mountains and lived in a fantasy then surely they could not be blamed.

They stepped onto the aging wooden bridge. It was no more than a dozen feet long, a few feet wide, and it buckled in the middle. Wodi stopped in the middle and looked over the side. A pool of black water glimmered below. Something splashed within, then there was a spark of phosphorescence. Wodi saw a school of pale, glowing fish. Drifting through the black, they seemed like outcast stars floating free in a lawless cosmos.

Just then, purple light shone from a tunnel up ahead. Marlon aimed the shotgun, but the source was still too distant. His vision was speckled with tracers of light, but as he peered into the dark he thought he could see two empty black eyes peering back at him, unmoving. Peter's hands shook and his torch cast maddening, dancing shadows.

At that moment, as Wodi realized that Marlon was staring into a purple light in the tunnel ahead, the bridge bucked and a vicious reptilian head rose at Wodi. Scared witless, Wodi leaped back and stumbled as Serpens Rex climbed over the side. Wodi waved his arms about and fell over the side. He heard a scuffle, shouting, saw a torch fly free, the shotgun roared, then he hit the cold water and his torch died beside him. The water was not deep and Wodi's back hit hard earth; always he kept his left hand upraised, kept the shotgun shells dry, the ammunition that he'd clutched desperately the entire time.

As he struggled to rise he heard a terrible roar, then saw a body fall from the bridge and hit the water on the far side. More scuffling, then the shotgun flew over his head and slapped into the water. He slogged away from the bridge, desperate for speed that would not come, then grasped the shotgun. He was filled with confusion, awful and wrenching. He did not know if the others were alive or dead and, in a moment of soul-crushing cowardice, he turned away from the bridge and ran through the freezing water deeper into the tunnel.

He was lost in darkness and raked his knuckles against the wall to his left as he ran. He felt a ledge and climbed up. His knuckles hit wood and he knew that he was in another man-made tunnel. He staggered to his feet, then heard splashing and the agonized hiss of Serpens Rex not far behind. With shaking hands he fumbled at the shotgun, popped it open, then withdrew two spent shells. He placed two of his shells inside, then clutched the other in his left hand. He took in deep panic breaths as the reptilian horror slogged through the water behind him.

He knew that he would have to get close if his shots were going to count, but the idea of approaching either one of the horrors was unthinkable. For one moment he thought of turning the gun, of escaping the nightmare as quickly as possible –

At that moment the purple light flared far ahead of him. He saw the bulbous white face, the empty black eyes, the long and twisted limbs. It was the demon he'd met so long ago, the demon who stood at the doorway of his nightmare since the nightmare had first begun. Without thinking he aimed and fired. The gun bucked wildly in his hands and the demon staggered backwards and bumped into a wall.

He's too far away! Wodi thought. That wasn't a fatal shot!

Five little jets of glowing stomach juices delicately oozed from pinpricks made by the buckshot. The white demon stared at its own glowing stomach, fascinated by the sight, then passed a hand under the gentle stream. Wodi turned, fearful that the reptilian monster would be behind him – and it was. The giant behemoth of glittering black scales lurched awkwardly, mouth hanging open in a silent hiss. Wodi stumbled backwards and, blind with terror, dropped his shotgun shell and held the gun limply in front of him as if to ward off the monster. The thing reached out and grasped the end of the shotgun. Wodi's legs buckled as he held on – then pulled the trigger. In a deafening roar the monster's hand disappeared in a pink cloud and it gave vent to a skull-splitting shriek of agony. Wodi sat on the ground and backed away, flinging his arm out to the side to find his last shotgun shell.

Wodi had no idea if Eragileak, the purple-glowing demon, was directly behind him or not. He only felt about in a panic, unable to find the shell, and watched as Serpens Rex sat down heavily on his ass. The monster held its shattered wrist before it, watching as two lines of blood gushed out and gathered on the stone floor.

Why isn't it attacking? Wodi thought. Why doesn't it kill me?

Finally Wodi found the last shell and popped open the shotgun. The reptilian horror turned its glazed eyes onto him, then worked its mouth strangely. Wodi loaded the gun with the last shell, heart pounding, sure at any moment that Eragileak would be on top of him.

It's the cold! he thought suddenly. That reptile can't handle the cold... and it's been sitting in here for no telling how long, waiting to ambush us!

Finally the reptile opened its mouth wide and its tongue jerked back strangely. "Wodi," it said. "Wodi, it's me! Help me... don't kill me..."

Wodi loaded the shotgun, then shouted, "What!"

"It's me... Saul," said the monster. "Don't... kill... me..."

Wodi felt something like an icicle slicing through his awareness. "You monsters," he said. "You... you somehow took Saul into yourselves! You monsters!"

Wodi's fear was replaced with burning rage. He leaped to his feet, fell upon the reptilian monster, jammed the shotgun into its mouth, then blasted the back of its head off. In a gushing wet thunderclap the monster was slain.

Sucking in ragged breaths, Wodi turned back to Eragileak. He was shocked. The flesh demon had not been waiting to strike – instead, its stomach had been eaten away by the acidic juices flowing out of it. The monster held one arm in the air, the hand replaced by a smoking stump, while the other hand pushed at the guts in an effort to hold them in. Steam rose as its other hand was slowly eaten through. The ground hissed where juices dripped down beneath its feet. Wodi stood and watched, then slowly approached.

Suddenly the monster's other hand fell apart and the guts spilled out in a rushing torrent. Hot coils splattered onto the ground and steaming juices rolled down the demon's legs. Eragileak gave vent to a pathetic, bird-like squawk. It turned its eyes onto Wodi.

"One day," said Wodi, "we're going to do this to all of you."

Eragileak hissed and tried to approach, but its legs buckled and it fell to the floor, splashing into its burning stomach juices. It waved its stubs and glared at Wodi with dying, vengeful eyes. Wodi watched the monster smoke and writhe until it finally laid still. Wodi turned away from the slain demon, then stepped over the body of the dead serpent without fear.

He returned to the cold stream and picked his way back, fumbling in the dark. One torch remained on the bridge and lit his path. He quickened his pace when he saw a body propped up in the stream. It was too late – Peter was dead, his body already cold, head hanging loosely from a shattered neck. Filled with dread, Wodi found a series of handholds and climbed back up to the bridge.

There, he found Marlon.

Wodi knelt over him. He still breathed, but he was badly beaten. Both eyes were sealed shut.

"Marlon," he said. "It's just us now. We're the only two left."

He waited, then pushed on his friend. The oppressive silence was a roar in his ears.

"Get up, Marlon," he said, and his voice cracked. "Get up, Marlon, please! We have to go. Let's get out of here. Marlon. Let's get out of here."

He shook Marlon.

"God dammit Marlon, please get up! Let's get out of here!"

He pushed against him violently. His face burned. Still Marlon did not move.

"Marlon, we still have so far to go!" Wodi screamed. "I NEED YOU TO SURVIVE!"

Marlon stirred, exhaled, then spit red across his cheek. "I'm up, kid," he said, his words slurred. "Now shut up before you get us killed."

Wodi laughed hysterically, lifted Marlon's arm and pulled him to his shoulder. Marlon leaned on him heavily and nearly brought them both down. Wodi handed the empty shotgun to Marlon and waited a few awkward moments before he took it and leaned on it. Wodi picked up the last torch. The two rose and crossed the bridge. They crossed the remainder of the cavern, read a sign that promised a northern exit, then passed into another man-made tunnel.

Minutes dragged into hours in the darkness. Marlon leaned on him and Wodi was dwarfed by the broken, bleeding giant. Time did not move but ticked back and forth, each slow step a new eternity, each step forward more difficult than the last, each step after the next proving to be the most difficult thing that both had ever accomplished. They did not rest. Wodi knew that his friend did not need a few moments of rest; he needed weeks in a modern hospital and care from trained professionals. He pushed the thought from his mind.

The torch withered to a glowing ember, then died. Wodi cast it aside and they continued on in darkness.

Marlon entered a black dream-state and conversed with a host of distracting thoughts, images, people. He spoke to them and through his slurred soliloquy Wodi gathered that Marlon was painfully aware of his own shortcomings. He had turned his interests to the Guardians in order to prove his worth. Wodi tried to offer consolation but his friend could not hear him, and was lost in a world of desperate negotiations with internal forces. Wodi carried on in silence.

Marlon's weight bore down on him. Wodi was beyond exhaustion and his thoughts began to sink down into a black well of hopelessness. If he could just lie down and sleep, sleep forever in the dark, cold earth... Immediately his mind went back to his childhood home. He saw his mother cooking dinner and he sat at the table, brooding and complaining about the hours his father had him working in their grocery store. How insurmountable his problems seemed! The fate of the universe depended on him having an extra day off work. He remembered that his mother kindly listened, then said, "Well, you know, Wodi, it's a new store. There's a lot that needs to be done. I don't like doing it either, but, well... you just have to hang in there, son! Your father needs you now. I know he's unreasonable at times, and it seems like you just can't go on, but if there's anyone who knows how to dig in their heels and get something done, it's you. You're as hard-headed as he is, Wodi. I just know you can get through this!"

I just know you can get through this. Wodi laughed once in the dark, freezing tunnel. Now, after what he'd been through, after what he'd done, he knew that he would pay any price to be back in that shitty grocery store on the other side of the world. Even if it meant taking one more step... then one more step... then another...

The tunnel ascended. Hope grinded against their feet as they fought their way upwards. Eventually Marlon dropped the empty shotgun and bore his weight onto little Wodi. Wodi breathed in great, ragged sobs.

Wodi banged into a wall. If he dropped Marlon, he would not be able to pick him up again. There was nothing left in him, so he simply rested his forehead against the wall and breathed. Eventually he turned his head and saw that a starscape greeted them in the distance.

"Marlon," he said. "We've made it! One last push, that's all..." With great difficulty he turned Marlon about. "One last push..."

Marlon stirred and, with an unexpected surge of strength, pulled Wodi off his feet. "S'okay, kid," he muttered. "I get you... out of here..."

"Marlon, you dummy, I'm the one carrying you!"

"Just follow... me..." said Marlon, then he stumbled and fell against the side of the tunnel.

The sight of the stars filled Wodi. "Get back up, Marlon," he said quietly. "Tonight, we sleep under the stars."

The two stumbled, crawled, and dragged one another through the last steps. They cleared the entrance. They stood on a sloping precipice under a thousand-mile canopy of shining stars. The pitted cradle of the moon shone overhead, impossibly bright, and the blue wasteland of earth stretched before them.

The two stumbled again and fell against a wide, squat rock. Wodi pried himself away, and Marlon rested against the rock.

"We did it," said Wodi. "We made it out of the valley."

Marlon exhaled slowly, then closed his eyes.

Wodi laid his head on the ground and rested.

He heard voices.

He lifted his head, saw two shapes moving below. "Marlon," he said, smiling, "there's people here! Good... human... people!"

He rose and heard Marlon grunt behind him. Wodi ran down the hill, swaying from side to side.

There were two men below, one tall and wide, another short, among a scattering of wide boulders. Wodi thought he heard one say, "If we don't find anything, we're gonna get it bad."

"Hey!" cried Wodi. "Hey! We need help! We fought demons, and... and my friend... he's..." He tripped and fell against a squat boulder. The two figures jumped, turned to him, and stepped back.

"Don't be afraid," said Wodi.

Wodi crawled nearer the two. He saw their motley armor and leather, the wild blond beard of the tall figure, the rifle he carried. They said nothing.

Wodi stood and, as he approached, he saw that their faces and arms were covered in black tattoos and scar tissue. Their noses were bent, their ears in shreds. They smiled strangely. Wodi stopped.

"Wait, Wodi!" Marlon shouted behind. "Wodi, get back!"

Something heavy slammed into Wodi's back, then something crashed into the side of his head. Pain and stars. Spinning, falling. He shifted into black.

# Chapter Thirteen

In the Beginning...

My first impression of Didi was that he was autistic. That would certainly explain his ability to absorb all the data that every scientist must know, and at such a young age. I also had the distinct impression that he may have been answering my questions, but he was never really talking with me. It was as if he was not really there. Then his insistence that he be allowed to take and send messages to his colleagues while still answering my questions made me think that he was some kind of multi-tasking savant, a polymath of the "here and now". Any company would have paid, and paid well, to have him manage their affairs! When I asked him why he chose science as his career path, he upset my image of him once again by speaking of the "invisible world" behind the "veil", of gods and demigods that man can only see by evidence of the "shadows" they cast in our world. This prompted me to ask him about his religion. He answered that he was an atheist.

\- Barry Klapperman, Hey There, Haven!: Interviews from Top to Bottom and In-between

* * *

Thirty-Eight Years Ago

It was a cool summer night and Didi leaned over the side of the stone bridge overlooking an avenue filled with revelers. Blue lights shone from the bars down below, and Didi watched the lights dancing along gossamer dresses and sequined jackets.

"Are you ready to get twisted?" said Korliss Matri, opening a bottle as he approached.

"A terrible thing to say to someone suffering from scoliosis," said Didi. "Not to mention severe allergies to alcohol."

The two laughed and shook hands. Korliss studied the crowd below, then took a long drink. Didi could see the University graduate ring that his friend had recently earned. It looked impressive as the light glittered along its many facets, but Didi knew the ring was made of polished salt-stone; within a month, the body's moisture would dissolve the ring, a reminder that one's education was never complete.

"Congratulations, my friend," said Didi.

"Head of my class!" said Korliss, wiping his mouth. "The dean's already offered me a position to teach philosophy, literature... and mythology. I'll relight the fire, Didi. I'm finally going to do it. For years now Haven's system of education has been about making students overcome unrealistic hurdles of memorization and cramming for lengthy exams so we can differentiate the iron from the slag metal. It's not education, it's a stress test. Those who survive are rubber-stamped and handed a diploma that allows them to mingle with the elite workaholics who uphold our fantasy world. But I passed their test."

"That you did," said Didi. "And what will you do now?"

"You know the answer to that one. My students won't memorize a long list of the names and dates that make up the foundation of Haven. No. I'm going to show them how our Founders changed the world by fighting against the status quo. I'm going to show them what it meant to stand up to the demon-kings, what it meant to cross the Sea of Tranquility and create a new world in this place that was once wilderness." Korliss laughed, then said, "I'm going to show them all that learning... is fun!"

Didi laughed as well, then said, "Will you be able to get me an honorary degree?"

"Didi! I've already explained again and again that by joining the Department of Science with absolutely no formal education, you have completely upended every one of Haven's golden idols!"

"Yes, but Korliss, you must understand that for me, it was never about ideology. Graduate or no, I only care about what leverage could be gained."

"The fact that you did it naturally and without forethought makes it that much more of an insult to those who uphold a system long past its expiration date!"

Didi laughed again, throwing his small head back, and Korliss realized that once again his friend had prodded an emotional outburst from him with little effort. Didi was an endless mystery to him. He wondered what it must have been like for him growing up with a host of diseases and deformations that kept him from going out in public. Years spent in bed due to brittle bones, years with the window shades closed due to light sensitivity, years with next to no contact with others due to a weak, or sometimes hyper-aggressive, immune system. All those years of reading, learning, absorbing, dreaming, creating.

He is a techno-shaman, thought Korliss. He wasn't even twenty years old when he bridged the gap between the Barabbas School of physics and Keplinger's A plus non-B debate, and even used it to shed light on our tattered historical documents concerning the Ancients and their constant attempts at interstellar travel! Didi comes from a long line of true scientists who were never a part of any standard system of education, but were instead touched by something divine. And now he's...

"And now your two years of assistant research are complete," said Korliss. "The mystery of the human building block, the "spiraling stairway" as they say, is no longer such a mystery to you. What will you do now?"

"We've opened the book and catalogued its contents," said Didi, "but the content, the script, is still a great mystery. I know that some sections of the Department of Science will develop drugs that inhibit some systems and help trigger others. We'll be able to track the diseases that ride piggyback on certain genetic weaknesses and, eventually, eliminate them. But the mystery, Korliss... the mystery only deepens." Didi stared into the distance. Before Korliss could press him for more details, Didi said, "You mentioned mythology earlier. What will you do in that field?"

He's trying to distract me, thought Korliss. He's hiding something.

"I've already found recurring heroic themes in stories unique to Haven," said Korliss, "but I want to study myths from the wasteland, too. Can't understand ourselves without understanding the Other, can we? It's easy to judge wasteland mythology as... well, pretty pathetic. There's the Sufferer, whose tears made the salty seas and whose blood birthed the demon gods who keep man from being proud. There's Jacobo the Dice Thrower, whose idiocy could never get him into a situation so dire that his luck couldn't get him out of it. There's the Conqueror Worm, whose favorite meal is a fat human who 'bit off more than he could chew.' And so on and so on, the lesson being that what is human... is bad. The Founders gave us new stories, stories based on their pro-strength philosophy and the transvaluation of the values of the meek-yet-brutal wastelanders. But if you read closely, Didi, there's evidence that even the wastelanders have heroes, heroes that go against the grain of nihilism. I would love to study those leftover heroes rotting in the primitive world."

"Strange that you should mention the old world and an attempt at understanding the Other," said Didi. "I'm going to the wasteland."

"You... what!" Korliss nearly dropped his bottle, then took a long drink. "Are you serious, Didi?"

"I wanted to study human DNA, and I've done that. What's done with the results of our work, I'll leave for other scientists to decide. As for me, there's a team heading into the wilderness, just like in the old days. A team of scientists and Guardians are going to an oasis, you see... and I'm going with them."

"What for, Didi? We need you here! You're a genius, my friend - almost as smart as I am! But no one is smart enough to dodge a bullet from some primitive waving a gun around, or from a demon that sees you as its next meal!"

"I'm going to study the demon, actually. I've helped map human DNA. Now I want to see the code that makes up our enemy." Korliss shook his head sadly, and Didi said, "You've often spoken of heroes, but I think this has become a purely abstract concept in modern Haven, has it not? Something we talk about, something we read about... but something we do not understand. Can we hide forever, Korliss? Or don't we need to venture out and see what it is that makes the flesh demons our mortal enemies?"

"You're turning the assumed human condition on its end, you know. The hunted victim who survives by hiding doesn't wander out of his hole to learn about his killer."

Korliss turned away and watched the crowd below. Didi sees Haven as a fantasy world, too. He's always been the type to see through the veil... and tear it aside. Violently, if he has to.

"Didi. Be careful out there."

"There'll be more Guardians than scientists, I'm told."

"That's not what I mean," said Korliss, eyes locked on the revelers. "There are myths, wasteland myths, about seekers who tried to understand the demons. Others may have tried before. There's one in particular about... Ezek was his name, I believe."

"Oh?" said Didi, smiling. "And did he live happily ever after?"

"Not quite. Ezek met a demon once, and even though he was scared and disgusted, he wanted to understand the demon. He tried thinking about the matter, but that wasn't enough. He thought about speaking with the demon, but that was too much for him. He realized that there were too many things holding him back from understanding the demon. He had to remove his personal impediments, you see. First, he gave up his legs so that his own fear could not carry him away from his demon. Then he gave up his arms so that he would not instinctively fight back and thus invite retribution. Then he gave up his tongue so that he could not scream and drown out whatever the demon might have to tell him about itself. So finally the demon approached and was able to speak with Ezek, but then the demon told Ezek that one thing still held him back from an understanding between their people..."

"Go on," said Didi.

"The demon had to pluck out Ezek's eyes. Ezek had to look beyond the demon's flesh, you see? He had to see beyond the demon's appearance. Then he understood. But by then... it was too late."

* * *

While the six exiles sat in the sacred moonleaf tree, Saul knew that his mind had been pushed into a state where he might, just might, achieve a greater understanding of the Other Side than ever before. He had already experienced many, many drugs in Haven. Some that muddled the mind, others that pushed the mind into new territories. This went beyond all the others – if not in potency, then at least in its ability to allow the user to retain his sense of self while still shifting his awareness far, far from the everyday.

He realized that he had been staring at the cave down among the stones for a long time. He had achieved no greater understanding yet. He knew he would have to force himself. He would need help. He looked at the others. Marlon was passed out. Peter and Iduna were lost in conversation. He could see that Iduna was clearly disgusted by Peter and everything he stood for, but at the same time, it seemed important for her to build some sort of rapport, a bridge for validation. Peter was clearly too high to speak coherently, but it was obvious to Saul that Peter saw Iduna as a possible "ally" to use against Marlon. The doctor would come with him, no doubt about that, but there was something off about the doctor. Saul watched him and he could tell that the man was staring into oblivion. Only the darkest parts of his psyche had any sort of hold on him now.

He turned to Wodi. Wodi watched the glowing bugs flying through the branches of the tree and Saul could tell that the boy was in awe, shocked to his very core. How child-like he was! How open to all the possibilities of existence! Yes, it would have to be Wodi. He was surely the one!

"A cave," said Saul. A thousand associations with the idea "cave" danced in his mind and Saul had to push them back. Finally Wodi turned to him, slowly, slowly, then peered through his mask and into his mind. With great difficulty Saul was able to say, "There's a cave down there. Among the stones at the foot of the hill, where the creek turns."

Wodi looked at the others and realized they could not come with them. Not to that place.

"Let's go," said Wodi.

The two slipped down from the tree, then made their way down the hill. The entrance of the cave beckoned.

* * *

Thirty-Seven Years Ago

Three massive airships coasted over the Sea of Tranquility under cover of night. From a window in the passenger section, Didi could see the blinking lights of small fighter escorts that surrounded them. They cast many broken lines of red tracers across the sky, and among them blinked a few sets of orange and yellow lights, slow and long, the lights of the bombers ready to incinerate wide areas at a moment's notice.

Scientists sat lost in thought or talked quietly with one another to calm themselves. Laborers played cards or tried to sleep, both tasks made nearly impossible by the raucous laughing and boasting of the Guardians that filled the ship. They never seemed to tire of arm wrestling, head-butting, and mixing their ridiculous mottos with crass homemade rhymes. But it was the quiet ones, those who cleaned their guns and polished their armor long into the night, that caused many of the scientists to fear their protectors.

"Mind if I sit with you a minute?"

Didi turned and saw a young Guardian beside him, kneeling on one knee. The young man was lean, muscular, with a shock of short red hair that came down in long sideburns on his square face. His armor was polished white, but his blue and yellow jacket was unbuttoned casually. Didi nodded slowly, and the man unslung a large rifle from his back and fell into a seat near him.

The intercom buzzed, then a female voice repeated pieces from their earlier briefing. "No scientist or worker will go into the field without Guardian backup and radio," said the voice. "Radio silence is to be maintained if possible."

The young man studied Didi for a long moment, his eyes impassive, his face cold but without cunning. "You're a scientist?" he said.

Didi felt dread and wondered if the Guardian would put on a friendly act in order to trick him into saying something that he and his friends could laugh at. He nodded, said, "I'm Didi, a junior scientist." He waited.

"You're maybe one of the youngest scientists here."

Didi hummed a note in the affirmative.

"I'm young, too," said the Guardian. "Eighteen, and been in the Guardians for two years. When I heard about this trip a few months ago, I hauled ass so I could go. I just got promoted to Lieutenant, got my own unit."

Now Didi smiled and said, "What's your hurry? Shouldn't you be enjoying life?"

The young man smiled a red-cheeked smile and said, "This is how I enjoy life." The two laughed, and the soldier reached into a small pouch at his side and stuffed part of his mouth with moist tobacco chew.

The two regarded one another. Overhead the voiced chimed, "The demons live individually. This is to our advantage, in that we can overwhelm one, kill it, and take its body. No demon is to be abducted alive."

The young man worked his chew for a moment, then spit on the floor. He extended his hand, said, "I'm Sevrik Clash, Lieutenant of the Guardians of Haven and head of AD7 Rifle Unit."

Now Didi suspected no trickery, and shook Sevrik's hand warmly.

Speaking around the thick chew in his mouth, Sevrik said, "I often wonder about the nature of you scientists. The ethos of the Guardians was written in stone long ago. It attracts an individual of a certain nature. I see this every day. But I don't see scientists every day, which is odd, because the scientist and his work is the reason why all other Havenders exist. That's why I..." Didi looked away. "It's true!" said Sevrik. "Fighters, laborers, merchants, politicians - they all have their place in the outside world. With my rifle and my mindset I could find a niche in the wasteland. I could find weak people to do my bidding and patch up the insecurities of my ego, no problem. Not you. Not any scientist. The closest comparable thing that the wasteland has are shamans and the like. So tell me, Didi. What is the difference between you and a wasteland shaman?"

"Very little," said Didi. "It's a matter of degrees."

Sevrik froze. He had not expected such an answer. After a moment he turned and pointed at a man in a neat little sweater who was obviously ill at ease in his environment. "But, Didi, how can you say... I mean, what does that little man have in common with some charlatan with a bone through his nose who runs around and screams at invisible phantoms?"

"I know what you've heard," said Didi. "It's a popular assumption in Haven, and we believe it was with the Ancients as well, that a scientist empties himself of all assumptions and objectively studies the world. The world is A, and the scientist studies the world that is A. A shaman, on the other hand, believes that he world is B. He throws around a pile of chicken bones, dances around, makes a big show of invoking a few spirits in order to impress the crowd... and then they feed him and give him whatever he wants."

"That isn't so?" said Sevrik.

"It is... to a point. But many cultures before ours have rested on that point and been split asunder on that point. We employ logic and we look at matters with some amount of objectivity, Lieutenant Clash, but science only advances with the help of intuitive leaps. There are limits to what can be measured and tested and quantified. The mind has functions which cannot be understood even by our finest neuroscientists. But not all scientists have this intuitive capacity – at least, not to a degree that they can reliably employ in their everyday work. So, in order to maintain the fantasy of control – that is, our assumption that the world is B - and shake hands and congratulate one another on what a fine job we are doing at advancing beyond the level of the primitives, we must believe that true science occurs by men in lab coats wielding test tubes and electron microscopes. Priests depend on prophets, you know, even as they hunt down the prophets to protect the status quo... which was, in its day, built on the corpses of yesterday's prophets. And so on. Lieutenant Clash, I tell you I have seen some incredibly childish arguments among my peers; battles which would make the old priests of the wasteland churches blush."

"But," said Sevrik, "you do believe that Haven has... ah, come further than your average wasteland community, do you not?"

"I do," said Didi. "Our freedom and our peace have given us a perfect environment for intuitive visionaries to do their strange work, and has allowed our scientists to make something practical out of the legacy of those visionaries."

Sevrik thought for a long moment, then turned his head and spat loudly. Long minutes passed as he sat in thought. The voice on the intercom spoke again. "Past observation shows that if one demon is attacked or slain, others will eventually come. How demons communicate across distance is unknown. After a lone demon is found and killed, our forces will take the corpse and fly en masse to another location where the corpse will be scanned.

"No demon is to be abducted alive. Radio communication should be strictly limited while moving a demon's body."

"I like what I've heard, Didi," said Sevrik. "I feel as if I've made the right choice in being a Guardian."

"How so?" said Didi. "Why did you become a Guardian?"

"I'm a violent soul," said Sevrik, "and there's no doubt in my mind that, if I were born outside of Haven, I would have been the worst sort of parasite."

"I don't believe that," said Didi. "You obviously have the ability to express yourself and to consider your situation. That's a sign of intelligence."

"I'm no dumbass, but... even that can turn to evil in the wasteland. I thought of other fields, but it's the sword and shield that I love. I'm grateful to Haven for giving me something noble to focus my animal instincts on."

"And why did you want to come here?"

"It's all well and good to train all day, to bully some men and obey others, work my way up in the ranks, you know, but I want to see the real enemy. I want to know what it is that I'm supposed to be protecting my people from."

"You might die."

"I might live, too, and when it comes time to hand out promotions and power, those who were strong enough to face the outside world will be the ones favored." Sevrik shook his head, then said, "This might sound phony, but I really do care about protecting my people from the outside world."

"It doesn't sound phony to me," said Didi. "When I hear someone speak of their ideals, I don't automatically conclude that they're trying to con me. That's a habit picked up from hanging around the wrong sorts of people. Anyway, please do not be insulted, but I didn't realize any Guardians were... self-aware."

Sevrik laughed, knowing that it took a brave man indeed to put him in his place. The voice on the intercom said, "No demon, dead or alive, is to be brought into Haven. Ships pursued by aerial demons must not return to Haven. Scanning of demonic corpses should be done quickly. Once scanned, all forces will move again once demonic corpses have been incinerated."

A Guardian leaned over a scientist and spoke with insincere joviality. The pair watched, but could not hear, as the scientist tried to laugh at the situation and humor the menacing Guardian. Sevrik leaned forward, shouted, "Basau! I don't think that guy's down for any heavy petting. Why don't you go clean something?"

The Guardian turned away from the scientist, glared at Sevrik, then said, "Shi-i-i-i-it," and stalked away. The scientist gave Sevrik a nervous smile, then looked down at notes that he had already memorized.

"Not many of them are self-aware," said Sevrik, quietly. "Sometimes I think I really am alone in a world of dumbasses preoccupied with boosting their weak egos."

"I feel the same way," said Didi, and tapped his hands together quickly. "But there are people out there interested in something more."

"Something more?"

"Yes. I know of at least one person I'd like you to meet, if... when we get back to Haven."

Sevrik stood up, and the leather of his armor creaked loudly as he stretched into his full stature. He slung his rifle over one shoulder and said, "I want to keep in touch. I'm on a defense unit, so I'll be close to you."

Sevrik looked Didi up and down quickly, as if noticing his leg brace, squinting eyes, and unnatural varicose veins for the very first time.

"We will stay in touch," said Didi, nodding once.

Sevrik turned to the dark fore of the airship. Didi leaned happily against the window, and the intercom voice spoke against the hum of the bridge. "We are approaching the valley. Scouts have met no resistance at landing zone one. Fighter escort will now break and wait for our call at mountain landing zone two.

"When we land: Laborers, put up camp as quickly as possible. Do not horse around. Keep your thoughts focused on the quiet grandeur of Haven. Do not wander away from camp. Guardian defense units, set up shop with little small-talk. Guardian offense units, get in the dark and off a demon.

"E.T.A. is ten minutes. Strap in until you see the green lights."

* * *

Controlling so many ghouls at once was equal parts thrilling and draining. To bring the pawns together, to see the humans stumble into the trap, to smell their panic and watch them flee – what a rush! Through the ghouls, Blindness had hundreds of mouths, a thousand hands. He was legion! Puny bullets and blades could not stop him! But he could not lose himself in an act of gluttony; he had to hold back and allow the humans to flee into the mines.

The humans ran into the mines. Blindness was satisfied to relinquish control of the ghouls. Disoriented, they fell to squabbling amongst themselves. Blindness watched a little of the drama, then concentrated on testing his next weapon.

Serpens Rex was another matter. It was easy to unleash the monster's pent-up rage against the humans, but forcing him to sit and wait in the cold had been taxing for both of them. He was convinced that Serpens was capable of better response times than he was putting out! Was it the cold?

The boy got away – down that watercourse! Eragileak knew a shortcut. Blindness could take Serpens Rex the other way. Could they drive the boy to insanity, or should they just pick him up and shake every bone loose until he was nothing more than a wet, sopping bag? What fun it was to coordinate with Eragileak in hunting down a wounded, whipped, demoralized foe!

The cold water sucked the last bit of warmth out of the serpent. He was almost completely unresponsive. What a disappointment! With wild lashes Blindness drove him on.

Eragileak had the boy. Through his eyes, Blindness saw. That face... Blindness remembered him. They went into the cave together. That forbidden place. One last secret memory that the brain of Saul had not given up...

Gunshot! Eragileak staggered.

That's strange, it's leaking. The glow is leaking...

Serpens Rex was finally on the boy. Blindness drove him to kill.

Watch out for the gun! Grab it!

... Not like that!

The hand disappeared and pain overwhelmed Blindness. In horror, Blindness realized that he might actually lose Serpens Rex. He forced Saul to help.

Look, Saul! That boy is going to kill you! He was against you the entire time... he's loading a gun to kill you! Make him stop!

It was over. Serpens Rex was erased. A great weapon... wasted.

With great sadness, Blindness saw that Eragileak was also dying. The boy turned to him.

That face! What arrogance! What insufferable cruelty!

"One day," said the boy, "we're going to do this to all of you."

Eragileak faded into nonexistence and Blindness was torn from the mines. He was alone again.

No matter, he consoled himself. Even if the boy fumbles his way out of the mines, he'll either starve to death in the wasteland, or be taken and punished by one of my uncles.

The consolation did not work. Blindness was overcome by a black rage. Who was to blame? In the depths of his psyche, he turned to Saul. His awareness flittered about, scared and desperate.

Now, said Blindness. You will make up for this. The cave. I want the cave. You will tell me what happened in that place where I cannot go...

Or I will strip you layer by layer until only agony remains.

* * *

Thirty-Six Years Ago

"All of the elements are already in place, Korliss!" said Sevrik. "Haven has airpower. Artillery and a ring of mountains provide an impenetrable defense, although there are a few choke points where we might add security measures. We are impregnable! All that remains now is to send agents out into the world. Teach others... no, train others. The demon's hold is based purely on fear, and –"

"No, Sevrik, no, no. We have the tools and the weapons, yes, but the will is not there yet. Don't you understand? No, of course, how could you understand. Sevrik, you spend all day with military-types who stake their reputations on shows of bravado or looking for direction from a top-down structure. You're surrounded by those people and you no longer see that the average citizen of Haven is simply not psychologically built to handle a long, drawn out war against the very monsters and demon-kings who chased our Founders here in the first place."

"But that's all cultural, Korliss. Built from the bottom-up, isn't it? Which means we could, in theory–"

Sevrik was interrupted when Didi entered the apartment without knocking. Korliss quickly turned and dimmed the lights.

Didi was glad to see that, if you ignored the constant arguments and diametrically opposed personalities, Korliss and Sevrik actually got along quite well.

"Things aren't going so well for the Department of Science, are they, Didi?" said Korliss.

Korliss had done well as a professor. His ideas and energy had students talking, the older professors respected his work, and he had plans for a detailed work that would possibly fill in the gaps of the historical record of the rise and fall of the Ancients using the transformation of the hero archetype, much of which had been dutifully recorded and protected by scholars among the Entertainers for thousands of years. Included in the work would be a detailed critique of the "post-humor" genre of comedy that was currently popular in Haven. Korliss had moved out of his free quarters provided by the University and moved into an apartment of his own, a roomy studio filled with art pieces made by University students that Korliss wanted to keep an eye on. The three friends often gathered there.

In the dimly-lit room, Didi removed his dark glasses and cleaned them with his eyes closed, then said, "No, things are not going well in the DoS. Funding has been cut back. We can't pay for all the projects that should have followed the human genome map. And... many people blame the scientists for the deaths in the valley."

"That's foolish," said Sevrik, fiercely. "We did what we set out to do. How could the senate blame anybody for what happened?" He drained his beer and slammed the empty bottle onto the table between them.

Korliss looked out the window at the buildings of Haven. He knew that if he looked out into the street, he would see the lights of rooms, bars, shops. But from his seat, he could only dimly make out the silhouettes of buildings. No lights shine upward in Haven, he thought. We are hiding, always hiding.

"Keep in mind," said Korliss, "it's been several generations since anyone headed into the wasteland. Memories are short and fantasy is powerful. The incident at the oasis is a painful reminder of who really rules the world. It reminds us that if a single demon found us out, then our way of life, our collective dream-state, would come to an end."

"Not without a fight," Sevrik said darkly.

"Which reminds me!" said Korliss. "Congratulations on your promotion, Captain."

Sevrik saluted with two fingers, then said, "I must admit, I think they only awarded me the Silver Sword and the Rose Heart because I was the only man in my unit who didn't require extensive post-traumatic stress rehabilitation. They'll be moving me from Rifle into Rangers soon enough. Did I mention that I'm the youngest Guardian to ever make Captain in Haven? Ever?"

"Didi mentioned that you've mentioned that four or five times, yes. But tell me now, Sev, why is it that you didn't need a complete psychological overhaul after all that business?"

Sevrik laughed loudly, then said, "A little power and responsibility can go a long way toward making a man forget that he unloaded no less than seventeen clips into the worst monsters that Hell has to offer. Three of which were emptied while lying down in some monster's guts, I might add. I do remember the smell in my dreams, though..."

"Gods!" said Korliss. "You're disgusting, man!"

Didi spoke up, saying, "Don't fault him for the pride we all feel in this circle, Korliss. You've also been up to something in the name of extending your influence."

"I was going to bring that up," said Korliss, smiling as he refilled his glass. "It involves your budget cuts - and empowering our circle in general."

"Our circle?" said Sevrik. "You make our gatherings seem so... conspiratorial."

"Let's be honest," said Professor Korliss. "They are. We three are young, we're ambitious, and we're skilled in our fields beyond anyone in our generation. Even the old generation, the power elite, are discussing us. We have little competition among our peers, and it's my firm belief that someday Haven will be ours."

"Our weakness," said Sevrik, "is that none of us are politicians."

"Which brings me to the topic I've been skirting around," said Korliss, "and to which Didi referred. The twelve-year elections are coming up in a couple of years."

"From what I hear at the training grounds, it sounds like the old men are already sweating."

"It's early, but they're sweating for a reason," said Korliss. "So far the prime minister and the senators have been thought of as individuals, people with their own agendas and their own constituency that they have to pander to. There's a young man, a University graduate, who is popularizing the idea of party-rule."

The others perked up, and Korliss continued. "An individual can only do so much, and an individual senator can do even less... especially when he's dealing with other individuals posed against him, who shut down his ideas because there's only so much of the pie to go around for only so many ideas. This man is gathering a group around him called the Rabbit Party, and they're all going to run for office. If any of them take office, and the chances of that are good, then they will work together to promote similar far-reaching programs."

"But the government of Haven has always been weak," said Didi. "I thought we kept it weak for a reason - so that less-parasitic systems could flourish."

"And how can you say that, Didi, when your own system is being withheld its lifeblood by petty men pandering to a group of people afraid of what science can do?"

Didi and Sevrik were silent. "I've already spoken with some of the Rabbits. Didi, if they take office, we can get the Department of Science more funding than it has ever seen before. No one will be able to fight them, because the Rabbits will be a unified front. And if the DoS gets more funding, then that means nothing will be withheld from your scientific ambitions. It also means there could be more trips into the wasteland - and, Sevrik, that means more opportunities for you to show the system that you're a powerful man who deserves responsibility and reward."

They debated long into the night. Sevrik instinctively distrusted political change, or even meddling in politics in general. But he could not argue that his own organization was not parasitical, especially in times of peace; eventually he agreed that he could not fault the Rabbits so long as he was allowed to continue to protect peace with violence – especially if the men who ran Haven knew his name. Didi was unused to thinking in political terms, and even admitted that he believed politicians and their games of power were a silly remnant of a bygone era. But the DoS needed greater funding if his own dreams were ever going to be anything more than stillborn, and his own life and work over before it began. He agreed that he would support a change in the ruling format so long as it secured funding for the DoS, and would speak to his colleagues about the matter.

Korliss agreed to speak with the Rabbits, and would keep in mind the interests of their circle. Eventually Didi parted from them, and they heard the creaking of his metal brace as he crossed the stone avenue below.
Korliss and Sevrik sat in an open window and looked at the scarred moon. Korliss took a long drag from his cigarette, said, "Sevrik, you and Didi have been back from the wasteland for a long time now, and Didi finished his follow-up experiments months ago. We used to talk about everything, but it's like pulling teeth to get anything out of him about what happened in the valley."

Sevrik turned his head about, an animal shackled with discomfort. "It's not that the mission was botched," he said. "And it's not that he saw people die. Didi's strong enough to cope with that. You're right, though. He's withdrawing. I think it might have something to do with... with the results of his studies."

"His examination of the demonic genome?"

Sevrik nodded, then tilted his head.

"But there's more?" said Korliss.

"There was... this place," said Sevrik. He laughed. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Please, try. What kind of place was it?"

Sevrik focused his eye on the moon, then said, "It was... a cave."

* * *

Blindness pulled the memory out of Saul like strands of slippery innards.

Show me, he said. Show me the place where my kind cannot go.

The stream collected into a shallow pool around an outcropping of upended flat stones. Saul and Wodi picked their way over the pool and knelt down to peer into a dark niche. The cave exuded an overpowering aura of fear and repulsion. The land was silent, as if holding its breath in dread and expectation. The two boys looked at one another, then climbed down into the hole.

They crouched in the dark and let their hands guide them along a damp, cold wall. Neither was brave enough to turn back for fear of looking like a coward in the other's eyes.

Saul's head began to ache. The pain spread from a needlepoint in his forehead to a burning coal that rested at the base of his skull, then turned into an ache in his jaw and teeth. Like a dull, persistent electric shock. He heard Wodi hissing beside him and knew that he felt the same.

Saul closed his eyes for a long time. Wodi touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes and saw that they had crawled into a square tunnel lit by a dull, red blood-light that radiated not from a single source but seemed to ooze from the chamber itself. The tunnel stretched straight before them, and they rose and walked the red path together. Their pain grew with each step. Wodi gritted his teeth and took the lead. They did not know how far they walked. As in the tree, time and distance lost their meaning. There was only bleeding red, an endless corridor, and a feeling that rooted under the skin: Go away.

Eventually they reached what appeared to be a dead end. Saul watched Wodi turn and enter a cleverly concealed turn. He gasped and stepped back suddenly. Saul went to him, looked, and saw

What? said Blindness, riding atop the experience. What was it?

The tunnel turned into a chamber of red rock. A large, feral, almost bovine skull hung upon the far wall, and chaotic wreaths of long-dead honeysuckle and lilac were laid about the thing. Darkness stared out from the jagged, empty eye-sockets. A powerful, malevolent forced radiated from the skull, and Saul felt his ears hum with deep discord as he looked upon it. The room shivered, and the blood-light clotted in Saul's eyes. He thought he saw Wodi falling into a pool of blood, then realized that he was slowly approaching the skull. Saul fell against the wall for a moment and closed his eyes against the sickness. He opened them suddenly and saw that Wodi's hand was stretched out to touch the skull.

"Don't do it!" Saul rasped. "Don't! We shouldn't be here! That thing is the king of the dead!"

He felt dizziness seize his guts and vision, and fell to his knees. He stared down at Wodi's feet, heard him yelp and back away from the...

What did he do? Why couldn't you watch him?

"It's going to eat your soul!" Saul screamed, but could not hear himself over the skull-shaking hum that jarred inside his head. "It's bigger than we are, it's going to eat us and change us!"

Saul away crawled on the stone floor. He was half blind and felt the floor turn soft in his hands. He forced his eyes open and saw that his own intestines were streaming out all around him in thick, wadded cords. He crawled through himself, breathing in his own blood, choking on it, drowning in it. He felt Wodi move away from him. He knew that Wodi had disappeared into a great and unimaginable darkness, a place that should not exist.

He was alone. He crawled with his eyes closed until he was in darkness. The pain receded. He rose onto his knees and crawled upwards. His body was whole and intact. When he felt the cool mist of the stream and the kiss of the night sky on his cheeks, he laid down to sleep.

* * *

Thirty-Four Years Ago

"Oh, please don't tell me you're writing science fiction," said Didi.

He shook his head and chuckled, and Sevrik threw his head back and thundered laughter, but Korliss beamed with patronizing pride. "It's a misunderstood art," he said, "and besides, I'd go insane if I didn't work on a steady stream of multiple creative projects."

Men in fine suits cheered and laughed in the ballroom, and Rabbits popped open an unending battery of Champaign bottles. They cheered and sang old Guardian songs of victory, and red-faced they chased one another while the ladies laughed. Even the Rabbit who had lost his bid for Prime Minister shook with the thrill of conquest and slurred a rousing speech into a microphone he had snatched from the live band.

"But Korliss," said Didi, "that's the stuff the laborers read so they can forget the tedium of their lives."

"Like I said, it's misunderstood. It's only become escapist because even artists neglect it! Look at it like this. I want to popularize the idea of the hero, but can I do that by teaching students who're worried about cramming for exams, or by writing papers seen only by my over-the-hill colleagues? Take yourselves, for example. You, Sevrik, have put your life on the line for your people and our way of life, but this goes unnoticed by many because of their misconception of the Guardian as a brute, shallow man. And you, Didi, work diligently to add quality to our lives through the advancement of knowledge and technology, but you work so quietly in your underground lab that nobody really understands where those life-enhancing drugs and gadgets come from. And I've worked to spread a pro-human ethos that the Founding Fathers would be proud of, but while I influence a life here and a life there, the majority of Haven doesn't know and doesn't care. But when I hide my philosophy within an action-packed novel, the common man who reads them will absorb a strong ideology - even if it's on a level that he doesn't consciously understand." The two thought for a moment, and Korliss said, "I want to raise us above the level of the demon and the demonic culture of fear and obedience. Art may be the best way to do that. I can't help it if it's not boring!"

Sevrik said, "You've got a quicksilver tongue, professor."

"But still, it's fiction," said Didi. "It's made-up. Real life is exciting enough."

"Art is real life," said Korliss. "Art is entertainment, entertainment is culture, and culture is a facet of the human experience. And we can all agree that the advancement of the human is the agenda of our circle."

Sevrik nodded vigorously. Before Didi could respond, a Rabbit stumbled into the friends and said, "I just wanted to thank you all most rightly!" He grabbed Korliss's hand and shook it, shook Sevrik's hand, shook Korliss's again, then hung an arm around Didi. "We couldn'a done it without you guys!"

He leaned his face into Didi's as he spoke, and Didi moved away, for he smelled an entire distillery inside the Rabbit. "I thank you, too," said Didi.

"And I thank you too, too! You just wait, Dada, we're gonna reinjuvinate the sciences! We're gonna, you're gonna have so much to do with, you'll... head'll spin!"

Sevrik pulled the Rabbit away from Didi, then crushed him in a bear hug and said, "Just make some changes, boy!" and pushed the man into the crowd. The Rabbit ran and plowed into a group of drunks, cheering even as they slid across the floor.

Korliss and Sevrik laughed. "Even though they didn't win the prime seat," said Korliss, "they took nearly half the senate. And since their opponents aren't unified, that means they control the government. Thanks to our help."

"Thanks to your help," said Sevrik.

"I spoke to many groups," said Korliss, "but you two got my foot in the door with the scientists and the Guardians. And now that we've helped the rulers come to power, they, too, will help us."

The three were silent for a time, then Sevrik said, "We've always watched after one another. We've never made a move without the counsel of one another, and we've never been in a pinch that the others couldn't help with. That's... true friendship."

"And more importantly," said Didi, "we've never dragged one another down."

"That's what separates us from normal friends," said Korliss. "We have strong egos; I've heard Sevrik say this many times, and it's true. Our egos don't need to be supported. They don't need to be patched up. We're strong, and we help each other become stronger."

Sevrik laughed and put his arm around the two. They watched the politicians dance and sing like children.

"An alliance," said Didi.

"What?" said Korliss.

"It's called an alliance. Comparable to friendship. Different from friendship. More than friendship."

They looked at one another. Though the revelers danced and the horns and drums of the band blared around them, they seemed to sit within a shell of silent stillness.

"Let's make a solemn vow," said Sevrik. "We've done well so far. You two have added more to my life than any other - and I want to do the same for you. Let's make a vow of brotherhood, a sacred pact. An alliance."

"We've done a lot to help each other in our search for power and understanding," said Korliss. "We need something more, though, in order to escape corruption. We need... an ideal. Something to live for, all three of us, as one."

"But all three of us are already idealists," said Didi. "We always speak of our ideals."

"And what are they?" said Korliss. Didi and Sevrik knew that he was asking so that they could state them as well as he.

Sevrik's eyes hardened, and he said, "Pro-human. Didi advances human mastery of the world. You educate. I defend. We're pro-human."

"But what does it mean, to be 'pro-human'?"

"To be strong at your core," said Sevrik, "and to live as an example of good ideals that will strengthen your species."

"Not far from the ideals of the Founding Fathers," said Didi.

"And what keeps humans crawling on their knees?" said Korliss. "Why are we here, at all, discussing these things that should be self-evident?"

"Weak ideals," said Sevrik. "Weak ideals that lead to bad actions. And, also... the demon."

"We would not be hiding here at all," said Didi, "were it not for the demon. And we would not be talking about this at all, were it not for the weak ideals that surround us."

"On this, we all agree," said Korliss.

"Let's do it, then, god dammit!" said Sevrik, and he faced the others. "An alliance! Right here, right now - we think, we do, we speak, we make... pro-human!"

"Okay," said Korliss. "An alliance!"

They both looked to Didi. He nodded once, sharply, and that was vow enough.

The three allies knew they had stepped off the edge of some precipice. The world was now a blank slate, raw and unfocused, pure potential.

Didi looked at the crowd once more. "The thing that strikes me as absurd," said Didi, "is that we needed these undeveloped, buffoonish, power-hungry children in the first place."

* * *

At the end of the red hallway, the skull of the goat dominated Wodi's field of vision. The black, empty eyes grew and grew. The icon of death was overpowering, a warning that endless darkness would take the life of any living creature that set foot near the forbidden place. The warning pulsed in his mind, hateful and evil.

Wodi wanted to turn back. He knew that he would not have come at all if Saul had not pushed him to do so. But now Saul lay in a heap on the floor, and Wodi knew, beyond the pain and sickness he felt, that the thing before him was not evil. It was a mindless guardian, a protector of some kind of mystery. And on the other side of that mystery, there was...

Power, Wodi thought.

Wodi left Saul behind and took one step forward. Broken glass tore upward through his foot. He took another step and the air was full of fire, burning his lungs. He took another step and molten rock dripped from the ceiling, burning the flesh from his back, stinging his nostrils with the stench of burnt hair and meat.

It's not real, Wodi thought, closing his eyes to narrow slits. The flowers on the wreath aren't burning. It's playing with my nerves, my body... just like the tree up above!

The mystery gave him power to walk through the gauntlet of fire and glass. When he finally drew near the skull, he saw that it was larger than the head of any living animal. The great horns of the skull stretched on either side of him. He reached forward...

"Don't do it!" a tiny voice rasped behind him. "Don't! We shouldn't be here! That thing is the king of the dead!"

He stuck his right hand into the empty eye socket.

It was cold inside, unnaturally cold. He laid his hand on a round, steel orb, and in that moment an incredible surge of biting power shot into him. He saw stars and smelled ozone. He stumbled back and held his burning hand to his stomach.

"It's going to eat your soul!" screamed the tiny voice. "It's bigger than we are, it's going to eat us and change us!"

"Then crawl away and stay the same forever!" said Wodi. Frustrated, he reached in once more and grabbed the steel orb. Cold electricity shot through him; he winced and held tight, forcing the pain into the back of his awareness. As his knees buckled, the need to let go and the inability to give up wrestled in his heart. As if leaping from a great height, he gathered his resolve and jammed his free hand into the other empty eye socket. For one terrible moment he felt something mechanical sucking at his fingers, threatening to jerk the skin free and grind the bones to a pulp. Another orb lay inside and, because his legs gave out completely, he clutched the second orb so that he would not fall.

The pain lessened as he held the two orbs. His body completed some kind of circuit and, while the orbs still radiated strange forces, they no longer had any wounding power. Soon the pain disappeared completely. Exhausted, Wodi leaned against the skull and breathed deep. Wodi felt as if someone were speaking to him, but he was deaf and felt only the breath of a whisper near his ear.

Wodi felt the whir of unseen gears and the hidden door behind the skull slowly swung open. Harsh, white light streamed through the crack, and Wodi pulled his hands free to shield his eyes. The door opened onto a chamber of pure white light; there were no shadows and Wodi could not tell if there were any walls or if the door opened onto an infinitely vast chamber. He looked back and saw Saul crawling back the way they had come. Wodi stepped into the room of light.

Complete silence. He felt the floor under his feet, smooth and solid, but no sound of footsteps ever left its surface. He cast no shadow on any surface. He looked at his hands; the details of dirt, blue veins, and networks of red fiber were jarring on the background of perfect milky nothingness. He moved his mouth to speak, but he had either forgotten speech or the sound was swallowed up by the white.

Then something shattered. He heard the thunder of brittle steel snapping, and the white turned to darkness, and the silence fell before the howling of something like atoms rent asunder. Wodi tasted metal on his tongue, felt something rushing into the pores of his skin, and he knew in the depth of his being that evil existed, and replicated itself, and did not change. He saw nightmares. His mind was a screen on which some mad god's delirium was broadcast directly. He saw something like gears turning, gears of stars, gears of metal, gears of flesh. He heard the march of men armed for war. He saw the process of individuation come to a grinding halt as millions of minds were taken over by a virus, an ideology that unloosed a hatred that had lain pregnant within life for untold aeons. He saw one age come to an end, but there was not enough strength left in the world to begin a new age. He saw a black sun rising. The yellow sun died and fell into a sea of blood. Darkness triumphant. He saw animals born with flawed genes, animals with backwards elbows, animals with no skin and nerves punctured by thorns of bone, animals with painfully large eyes in their mouths, animals born pregnant and with lungs like oatmeal that could not handle air. He saw these animals form into humans, men and women piled on top of one another, writhing in pain and doomed to be erased by death for nothing. He did not know that the horrible cacophony of unnatural moans was the sound of his own voice, screaming and cracking in inhuman notes drawn out by insanity.

There was thunder, a raging sound that warbled in chaos. There was a pattern in the crushing static. The thunder spoke.

WAS THE FIRE IN THE PHILOSOPHER'S CAVE

THE ONLY BRIGHT SPOT IN THE UNIVERSE?

WAS THE ONLY LIGHT THE WARMTH OF HOPE

AND THEN A SHIVERING SHADOW

SOME FOOL MASTURBATING IN THE PALE LIGHT?

DID OUR FIRST STEP

CONTAIN THE DOOM OF OUR FINAL STUMBLE?

HOW MANY LIE IN THE GRAVE ETERNAL?

HOW MANY CORPSES LIE ABOUT HEAVEN?

Wodi crawled backwards across the floor, swung an arm back, and it slammed into a wall. He felt about for cracks, for any way to pry open the door that had allowed him entrance. He found nothing.

NOW YOU STAY AND PAY THE PRICE

WHETHER YOU CAN AFFORD IT OR NOT

SHOULD YOU PASS THE FIRST TEST BY WILL

NO CHOICE BUT TO CONTINUE

AND ENDURE THE SECOND!

Wodi sat with his back to the wall and gritted his teeth. For one moment the white room returned but Wodi saw that the walls were made of glistening white snakes intertwined about one another. His stomach lurched, then darkness returned and visions of the world's death came so mercilessly that he was no longer sure which time and place were a part of his reality. The thunder spoke again.

I KILL WITH A MIRROR

I REVEAL SHADOW WITH LIGHT

I GIVE NIGHTMARES BY OPENING EYES

I PROPHESY WITH HISTORY'S RECORD

LOOK AT YOUR WORLD

INCREDIBLE A MIRACLE WONDERFUL

FROM GLORIOUS GEARS A THING WAS MADE

TO SAVE IT

DERAIL IT

The thunder shifted into a low rumble. The room brightened once more and Wodi could make out white pillars spaced in a gently curving pattern. Colors flickered within the pillars, moving as a pattern, then fell back into white. Wodi sat and recovered for a long time, heart racing and aching. Within the thunder he could dimly make out a range of quiet voices too numerous and spread out over too many ranges of pitch for any single voice to be understood.

Finally Wodi said to himself, "Where am I?"

Immediately one voice in the thunder answered.

WE MOVE, WE DO NOT KNOW THE RULES

WE DANCE, WE DO NOT HEAR THE MUSIC

ARE WE NATURE'S MISTAKE?

BORN TO FEED THE DEMON?

ARE WE THE LARVAE OF GOD, THE ANSWER TO WHY?

"Is this place," said Wodi, slowly, "the insides... of some sort of god?"

THE NAME OF GOD

IS GCTA

AND THE DARK ONE'S NAME

IS SPELLED THE SAME

The pillars flickered and shifting patterns turned into moving images, a record of something that had happened in this very room. Wodi saw a short, bald black man walking. The man hobbled on a metal leg brace, and at once Wodi recognized him. Though he looked young in the record, Wodi knew him as the stooped and wrinkled Head of the Departments of Science and Research. Didi. The man moved and looked about, a different movement from a different angle in every pillar. In one pillar he even shouted in silent terror, then fell onto the floor and covered his face in his arms.

"Why him?" Wodi shouted. "Why here, in this place?"

A THOUSAND ROADS

A THOUSAND WAYS TO WALK

THE ONE PATH

The scenes in the pillars changed. Now another man walked about. He wore the black and white jacket of a junior scientist of Haven, his skin was pale and his hair white, and his face was twisted in a hard scowl. Wodi did not recognize the man.

"Why do you show me this?" said Wodi.

CARPE DIEM IS A NIHILIST TREADMILL

THE IDEAL THAT DOES NOT FLOW INTO TOMORROW,

TOMORROW,

TOMORROW,

IS A CLOSED SYSTEM STATIC IN A SHUT GRAVE

"I don't understand," he said.

GOD IS UNBORN

THERE IS ONLY SEED

ONE AGE CLOSES, ONE AGE OPENS

I WAS THERE WHEN SEED WAS MADE

NOW SEED IS PLANTED

BUT THE GARDEN IS IN RUIN

"I still don't understand."

ARE WE THE LARVAE OF GOD, THE ANSWER TO WHY

Wodi rose and walked among the pillars. He wondered if there were eyes watching him, recording him. He stopped at the far wall. He saw the cracks of another door set within the wall.

"May I pass?" he asked.

THE UNIVERSE DOES NOT REWARD POTENTIAL

Wodi pushed against the door, knocked on it. "Open, please," he said. "Open, door."

The voices in the thunder were only chaotic rumbling.

"How do I open the door?" said Wodi.

Now the voices dimmed altogether. Wodi wondered if they still spoke, but so quietly that he could not understand, or if the hushed rumbling was only his memory replaying the sound.

"Is this the third test?" said Wodi. "To open this door?"

Silence. Wodi turned away from the door. Then his blood chilled, for he saw that the entrance had reopened without his knowing. The red chamber and the wreathed skull stood before him. It took a long time before he could gather his nerves to step toward the red room. Finally his anger and frustration boiled over, and he said, "The demon take you!"

The voice of the thunder returned with violent force.

THE DEMON IS GENETIC BLASPHEMY

IF EVER ONE ENTERS MY PURITY

BURN I WILL, AND

BURN... YOU... TOO!

Terrified, Wodi shrieked and ran from the flashing white room, through the door of the skull, through the red room, and back into the natural cave. He ended up shuffling on his hands and knees. Back in the darkness, going through the motions of survival, his memory of the chamber in the cave seemed unreal, a nightmare, a side effect of the tree's drug, and it began to slip away from his conscious awareness. He began the work of forgetting.

Strangely enough, despite his terrible fear, some small part of him wanted to return. He laughed, and did not understand why he laughed.

* * *

Thirty Years Ago: The Birth of Project

"Behold!" said Korliss. "The greatest video game every made!"

Didi held the controller and stared intently at the monitor. The two watched as a rugged, long-haired young man raced across a frozen wasteland with black, forbidding mountains on the horizon.

"Don't try to sway me," said Didi. "I'm not one of your wide-eyed students that can be bullied with a word." Didi gasped, then put his character into a defensive posture as a rider on a giant wolf drew near, watching him with red glowing eyes. Korliss wondered what his friend would do next. Gods of Thunder was marketed toward the thirty-to-forty-something gaming elite, with a deep story and a punishing learning curve that did not reward bravery until the third act, when the player finally unlocked his character's potential as a reborn god with fantastic powers of creation and destruction at his disposal.

"I'll admit, this is fun," said Didi, cycling through his character's inventory. "I'm just glad that you were able to balance your University duties alongside your work with the Entertainers on this game."

"Boredom is hell," said Korliss. "For me, it's a lot easier to stay busy than to relax."

"Still," said Didi, "after a hard day's work in the lab, it's nice to relax with about seventeen hours of solid gaming."

The door to Korliss's apartment swung open and Sevrik stomped inside. "What are you boys up to?" he said.

Korliss glanced at Didi, then said, "Didi's playing a new game. Come and see."

Sevrik watched the hero charge at the wolf-riding fiend. "Graphics look dated, color palette is uninspired," he said. "Let's play Dome Cleaver. I've just put together a combination that arms the Mad Monk with the philosophy of Amor Fati that I can guarantee will whip the tar out of anything you can throw at it."

"You knucklehead!" said Korliss. "This is my game that I've been working on for months, and all you can say is 'the graphics look dated'?"

Sevrik gritted his teeth and Korliss studied his face intently. Didi's character staggered under the assault of the wolf rider, then rolled to the side just as the enemy flung his spear out in a killing blow. "Now, you know," said Sevrik, "that judgment was in my brain only a millisecond before it left my mouth. But, Korliss, why go for the scaled progression model of character development? Games that use that tactic can be really slow, really tedious."

"I wanted the player to constantly upgrade his character along multiple lines of power. His body, his items, his status – all increase through hard work. That way he gets the feeling that development comes through overcoming difficulties. Isn't happiness a result of challenges overcome and the feeling that power is increasing? Not only that, but giving the player a character who's fairly weak early on can only add to the joy of wielding power later on."

Sevrik laughed, then said, "Perhaps, but it could also reinforce the idea that autistic focus along clearly defined paths can result in victory. Shouldn't the people be reminded that overspecialization and weakness go hand in hand?"

"I wanted to plant the idea of growth into the player's experience," said Korliss. "I don't know if spending my time like this with the Entertainers is the best method of helping our species... but it's... certainly... one method."

They watched Didi's battle in uncomfortable silence.

Finally Korliss said, "Your child, how's he doing?"

"Got all his arms and legs and no serious diseases," said Sevrik. "He'll be taking gene therapy for tanner's hide, which would have gone undiscovered a few years ago."

"Hm. And you, Didi?"

While Didi's character backtracked and lured the wolf rider into a cluster of boulders that would limit his maneuverability, Didi said, "I've been toying with the idea of creating a new department. It would work alongside the DoS, but with greater focus and an emphasis on results. I would call it the Department of Research. I believe it would hasten our progress and introduce a little more competition and vitality into the system. I would be the de facto Head of the DoR, since I made it. I don't think I have the political savvy to be Head of the DoS \- but it would be results that count in the DoR, and that I can do."

"And what results have you been producing lately?" said Korliss.

"I've been doing a lot of work studying the human and demonic genome. There are still a lot of puzzles. A lot of things we don't understand." He sighed, then said, "There's a lot to do. The work continues."

Korliss turned away. His expression hardened. "Are you moving into law enforcement?" he said to Sevrik.

Sevrik shook his head slowly. "As a Colonel with combat experience, I could do that, easily, and get a pretty cushy position. But the power-potential tapers off too quickly. I'd be working around tenured officers and defective humans all day long. I want to stay in training and work around people with potential. Even though..."

"What?"

"I don't know," said Sevrik. "Nevermind."

Finally Didi trapped the wolf rider in a narrow ravine, then climbed atop a boulder and lopped off the rider's head. The wolf frenzied and fled from the area, leaving Didi with a bag of loot to sort through. There was little fanfare in the victory, only the lonely sound of the wind across the frozen earth.

"It seems as if we are all doing well," said Didi, turning to his friends. "We are advancing in our fields. We are 'growing in power', I guess. But. But."

"But the excitement is gone," said Sevrik.

Korliss's head snapped in Sevrik's direction. The Guardian returned his look. Finally Korliss turned away, his face to the window, his breathing labored.

"We did something wrong," Korliss said quickly.

"What do you mean?" said Didi. "We're doing everything we set out to do. Some days are just... a continuation of the day before. Sometimes the work is just that: Work. We're getting older, Korli. Sometimes-"

"No," said Professor Korliss, "there was a time in our lives when everything felt right, and because it was right, it was exciting. We were exploring our potential in a way that few humans ever do."

"Aren't we still doing that?" said Didi.

"Didi, we have to admit that we don't yet understand the true nature of reality, the true nature of the human experience. We grasped a few of the rules, and we followed them, we stayed true to our original intent... but we did a lot of it unconsciously."

"But we discussed everything," said Sevrik. "I don't see that we did anything unconsciously."

"Then let's discuss this now!" said Korliss. "Why are we not happy?"

Masks of surprise clung to the other two for a moment, then fell away. Didi nodded and set down his controller. Sevrik pumped his fists at his sides.

Korliss turned away and paced the room for a moment. "We never allowed a politician into our circle," he said.

"Of course not," said Sevrik. "They're simpletons! They crave power for the sake of power itself. You were just talking last week about your colleague who's gotten into trouble for his idea that a surprising number of politicians lack qualities that most would consider innately human."

"Exactly!" said Korliss. "We've always respected power, and the pursuit of power, but we never sought power for the sake of power. The three of us are too intelligent and too self-aware for anything like that."

"Then, Korliss," said Didi, "what do you think we should be doing?"

"Look at what we're doing now," said Korliss. "In addition to my teaching and studying, I helped make a game with my philosophical ideals at its core. Sevrik made a child, a human in his own image. Didi, you're about to create a new department with a new focus." He paused, then said, "You see? We three have all made something. We've given vent to some creative drive within ourselves!"

"We couldn't have made anything," said Sevrik, "if we didn't have power. I couldn't afford a child, Didi wouldn't have a chance at changing the system, and you couldn't have gotten into bed with the Entertainers if we didn't have power in the first place."

"That's true," said Korliss. "Don't think that I'm attacking our struggle for power. I'm just trying to get our minds around this idea of creation. I'm beginning to think that it's just as important as our... our quest for power. In fact, it may even be the very reason for that quest."

"The alliance," said Didi, almost under his breath. When the others looked to him, he said, "We've created little things, on our own. But the very thing that's made us happiest in life... is our alliance with one another."

"And we've ignored our alliance," said Professor Korliss. "Our alliance is stronger than the individual parts we contribute to it - but we unconsciously followed our creative principle and created little things on our own."

Immediately the three drew up chairs close to one another. They felt the fire of the old days coming back.

"It seems so obvious," said Didi. "We dreamed of power in our fields when we were young and unconscious, then figured out the rules consciously. We walked the paths of power as few men have. Now, we must do the same thing with the creative principle."

"So, we create something," said Sevrik. "All of us, as one. But that begs the question... what do we make?"

"That's easy," said Korliss. "What is our highest value?"

"Pro-human!" said the others.

"That settles it, then. We make a person who... I mean, we shape a human being into our ultimate ideal. In essence, we create... a hero."

"Amazing," said Sevrik. "I can't imagine what this means. But then again, I couldn't imagine where the road would lead before, when I first set out on it. Let's do it. Whatever it means, let's do it!"

"But, what does it mean?" said Didi.

"It means," said Sevrik, "that we each contribute to the making of a heroic human being!"

"Yes," said Korliss, smiling. He could almost see tomorrow stretching out before him. "Yes. That's exactly what it means."

"It was no easy thing," said Sevrik. "Fighting for power, acknowledging a feeling of emptiness, then stumbling onto the idea of creation. If things had gone differently, it might never have happened. We could have failed at a thousand points along the way. The important thing, I say, is to shape a human into the kind of person who is fully fit for... fit for power and creation."

"I still don't see how such a thing could be done practically," said Didi, scratching his bald head.

"We teach him, uh, first, about strength," said Sevrik, slapping a fist into his hand. "That's it, that's the very thing. Does it need any elaboration? We make a human being who's a boon to his species, who shuns any sort of parasitism and generates creative energy on his own."

"For my part," said Korliss, "I could shape his mind into a self-aware program that constantly analyzes the games he plays, and make sure that his demeanor is truly noble. Our project won't be a sneak or a weasel. He won't know how to crawl. But, Sev, he won't be some kind of brute, either!"

"He's got to be able to handle bullies," said Sevrik. "I mean, dealing with Havenders and inspiring them is all well and good, but it'd be nice if our ideal human could actually go into the wasteland and help others by... you know, stomping the hell out of bullies and parasites."

"We can figure out the details later," said Korliss.

"For my part," said Didi, "I could help alter his genetic coding."

The others leaned back, jaws slack. "What do you mean?" said Korliss.

"Think about those stories you study and teach," said Didi. "Think about that hero archetype that you love. The hero is always very strong, and can endure more than any normal human ever could. Would our ideal human not have to be... super-human?"

"I never thought of that," said Korliss. "I mean, solid ideals can give a person an inner strength that can move mountains, really..."

"But what good are ideals," said Didi, "when the body isn't strong enough to be anything more than food for the flesh demons?"

"The demon," said Sevrik. "Do you think... I mean, could we actually enhance a human so that he could take the fight to the demon?"

"It almost seems blasphemous," said Korliss. "We've been living in the shadow of the demon for so long that you have to look at recorded history in the form of mythology to find any accounts of pre-demonic human civilization."

"Bit this is all speculation," said Didi. "We can't really change a human being's genetic code."

"Oh."

"That is... not yet."

"Oh!"

Didi rose suddenly. "Sevrik!" he said. "Figure out the way your ideal human would move. Codify the limits of the human body which can no longer be tolerated. Korliss, figure out the way your ideal human would think. Codify his ideals. As for me, I'm going back to the labs. I've got a lot of work to do."

That night Korliss and Sevrik talked long into the night. They ordered wine. When Didi walked back to the apartment early the next morning, bleary-eyed and happily exhausted, he saw the two arguing loudly on the balcony. Complaints had been made and the Guardians had been called, but no one had enough authority to silence a Colonel of the Guardians and his drunk philosopher friend.

* * *

Thirty to Twenty-Eight Years Ago

They did not discuss the moral implications of genetic manipulation. How could they? Once they overcame the initial embarrassment of seriously discussing an idea fit for pulp periodicals, they could not turn their backs on the excitement that the idea produced. They were ambitious men coming close to the apex of their careers; what more was left to them, except to repeat what they had already done? For them, power was a means, not an end. To gain power and then enjoy the use of power was not an option for them.

The plan to create a hero gave purpose to their lives and their work. The Project consumed all of their spare time. On more than one occasion Colonel Sevrik Clash emptied his office of important personnel to take a call from a University professor who had absolutely no importance in the eyes of the Guardians. Strangely enough, their new obsession did not negatively affect any of their careers. Far from it. All three were extremely competent men who knew that details fell into place when the mind was focused on the future. Time and again, smaller men with less vision who focused on their careers and hammered away at minor details often tried to sway others against the three men; time and again the conspirators ended up developing reputations as jealous, petty ladder-climbers unable to compete through achievement. Speaking out against a certain Guardian colonel, the Head of the DoS/DoR, or the University professor soon proved to be an unhealthy career move.

One night, when Didi seemed flustered and distant due to his work with the flesh demon genome, Korliss asked to see the thing itself. Sevrik insisted on joining. Instead of explaining to his friends that they could not possibly understand the code just by looking at it, he immediately called for a car to take them to his underground office at the Department of Research. They sat in the darkness and stared at a large monitor which displayed bars of white, gray, dark gray, and black, all in sequence. Didi rifled through the endless string, sifted through electronic annotations, and forgot his companions. It was true that Korliss and Sevrik could not understand anything about the code, but still, they stood in awe to see the thing itself: The undecipherable story written by the mad god that created their world and designated humans as slaves, playthings, and food.

Professor Korliss watched his friend Didi gazing up at the monitor. He looked as if a great weight laid on him, and Korliss knew that Didi had already learned things about the flesh demons by studying their genome – and was keeping the information to himself.

He doesn't want us to give in to despair, thought Korliss. He wants our minds active, unshackled!

"Didi," said Korliss, "have you studied the Ancient idea of evolution?"

"Oh, yes," Didi muttered. "I've studied every facet of the Ancients to which we have access. It's still discussed in the DoS."

"I don't know about that one," said Sevrik.

"Back when the Ancients ruled the earth," said Didi, "their church and their scientific establishment were locked in ideological conflict with one another. Their church fought for a literal interpretation of their doctrine on the creation of the world. They fought and killed and tortured others to secure their power base and promulgate their official story that the world was created within a few days by their pantheon of gods. One theory that the scientists tried to popularize was their theory of evolution: The idea that life changed over time based on the survivability of random mutations in genetic code."

"Which story won out?" said Sevrik.

"Neither. The church story was a direct insult to a species that enjoys the search for answers, and the theory of evolution became incredibly unpopular once it became obvious that mankind was no longer Mother Nature's favored child. There had always been problems with it, anyway. It ignored the fact that death as a feedback mechanism cannot account for a conscious mind when an unconscious mind is far more fit when it comes to survival and reproduction. It ignored countless gaps in the fossil record. It ignored the "mutation as cancer" argument. It ignored the utterly mind-boggling complexity of the first step of life creating itself by relying on a miracle of its own. Neither idea can help us now. If we ask, where does rain come from?, then the Ancient scientists would answer that it comes from condensed moisture. Where do clouds of condensed moisture come from? From water on the earth that has evaporated. Where does the water on the earth come from? From rain. Each answer is completely correct; each answer is utterly blind to the mystery of the cycle itself. Not that we can return to a state of childhood and believe in creator gods. Their answer to the question would be like saying, 'Rain comes from the concept of weather.' You see?"

Korliss and Sevrik glanced at one another. "But we must find the answer," Didi continued. "We must go further than anyone else has ever gone before, or we will face extinction."

"Or we go just far enough," said Sevrik, "to create someone who can answer that question."

"One who is the answer," added Korliss.

Didi turned to the two, then said, "Sevrik. Let's go back to the valley. I need more answers. If the story of humankind is to continue beyond the demon's, then I must devise a way to alter our story. I must rewrite our genetic code. It is the only path open to us."

* * *

Twenty-Five Years Ago: The Makers of Mothers

In the dead of winter, Korliss and Sevrik watched Didi's approach. They stood on an empty balcony overlooking a vacant shopping center. Cold wind whipped through a world of gray and black.

"We've come to a problem," said Didi. "When we went back to the valley, I found that I couldn't rewrite the genes of a mature, complex being. There are simply too many cells to change, and no way to change even a fraction of them fast enough. The changed genes become "damaged" cells in relation to the rest of the body. They become a cancer, and the body rebels against itself. I also found... that I can't create a new being from the ground up. To write code from scratch is too difficult. To create a medium that the code can grow within is nearly impossible, as well. If I move the work of the DoR in that direction, questions too hard to answer are going to be asked."

"There's something else that I've been thinking of," said Sevrik, "and I think this applies to our work. Within the Guardians, I set a precedent for men going up in ranks at a young age. This worked for me; I was ready for the responsibility. However, many boys of late have put the Guardians in a rather awkward position. There have been scandals, abuses of power. Too much power has been given to those not ready for the responsibility required, and we've had to let several young men take a fall in order to save the institution."

"What are you getting at?" said Didi.

"Just this: What if we create a superbeing that has no idea of his own responsibility toward others? What if he wields his power for petty reasons? What if he abuses the species that made him? What if... what if we create a monster worse than the demon?"

"I may have an answer for both problems," said Korliss. "Didi, is there any way to control the development of an animal's body by way of its genetic code?"

"Of course," said Didi. "In a way, that's all the coding is: Instructions that say which proteins are released at what time. There is no "muscle" or "speed" gene that is set to a certain level. There are only a series of proteins produced at certain times and under certain conditions. Some of these induce development in certain areas... areas like strength, speed, and such."

"That's perfect," said Korliss. "That means we set up our Project so that it matures slowly. It starts out weak, as weak as a normal human. Only over time, and only through the rigor of experience, will it grow and mature into a powerful being. This way, Project may remember what it is to be weak. It will learn to sympathize with its frail brothers and sisters, and may be more likely to protect rather than abuse them. To abuse us, I mean."

"But, Korliss," said Sevrik, "even though Project may be physically weak, we still run the risk of spoiling him. Not consciously, of course, but on some level Project is going to be raised as a prince. He'll be mindful of the fact that we're treating him better than a normal human being."

Korliss considered this, then said, "If only there was some way... that we didn't know who Project was."

"What do you mean?" said Didi.

"Imagine if we had a school of youngsters, all from the same generation, and one of them was our Project. If we didn't know who Project was, then he or she would be treated the same as the others. You see? I mean, it's a purely hypothetical construct, but still-"

"The Makers of Mothers," said Didi, suddenly.

"What about them?" said Korliss.

"When a woman's egg is inseminated by her mate's sperm, through the DoS, the zygote is quarantined in a disease-free environment for a few days. That way the cells can safely divide, and attain some hardiness, before they are placed back in the mother."

"Pharaoh's Curse can't set in if the baby spends those first vulnerable days outside of its mother," said Sevrik, nodding.

"That means," said Didi, "that if I could get into the area where the zygotes are kept, it's conceivable that I could... that I could change one of those children."

Silence. Korliss felt a knot in his gut. Sevrik could not seem to wrap his mind around the idea. "What does that mean?" he said slowly.

"It means we could rewrite a child's genes, and we wouldn't know which child it was. If the zygote is one, three, or even a hundred cells in size, I could do it. And I could set it up so that I didn't know which child was... modified."

"I don't know about this!" said Korliss, shaking. "Didi - this feels wrong."

"The philosopher speaks of feelings?" said Didi. "Korliss, we're giving someone the potential to be a champion."

"We're erasing someone's destiny!"

"We're enhancing someone's life so that they don't have to live in fear," said Didi. "Look at me, Korliss. If I could change a fully grown animal into something more, do you think I'd hobble about like a cripple all the time? Do you think I'd take scores of drugs to deal with Gravedigger's Bones, clinical depression and social anxiety, chronic bronchitis, gouge-eye, diabetes, allergies to light and a hundred different foods? Who erased my destiny, I wonder, Korliss? What sort of person would I have been, if someone had given me the opportunity to live a higher quality life?"

"You were given one of the most powerful minds in Haven," said Korliss, "and the will to never complain about your condition, until now."

"Two good qualities that were slowly cultivated over a thousand generations," said Didi, "and which could be wiped out within the next two or three. We don't have a choice, Korliss."

"There's always a choice."

"We could choose to stay in the moral right and leave this next generation untampered - and face possible extinction, but with a clean record of conduct. Or we could do that which survival demands." The two allies looked eye to eye, and Didi said, "I choose survival. Whether this is immoral, or the greatest deed ever done, I'll leave to future generations to decide - generations that have the time and luxury to debate because they no longer have to worry about extinction."

Korliss stared at the ground for a long time, then said quietly, "How would we keep track of him? What if he dies when young, and we don't even know it?"

"The NeuSen Array. I was going to eventually make one for every child in Haven. It keeps track of brain activity without infringing on the privacy of the individual. I was going to use it to find potential scientists more easily. If we tuned the one I already have to our Project, it would tell us when his brain is going through great change, or when it ceases to function. When the Array goes black on Project... we start over again."

"What do you think?" said Sevrik, eyes burning. "Korliss, are you in?"

"Yes," he said, almost before Sevrik could finish.

"In terms of our duty to the species," said Sevrik, "there never really was a choice, anyway."

"And if we do make a monster?" said Professor Korliss. "What will we do if we create something utterly wicked, but too powerful to kill?"

"For every problem, a solution," said Didi. "And for that problem, I have a final solution. I can place tiny, regenerative machines the size of cells inside the zygote's mass. The Department of Research hasn't developed a working nanomachine yet, but we've made great strides. These machines are much bigger than theoretical nanomachines, but still too small to detect if you don't know exactly what you're trying to find. They will be tuned to a frequency that will be broadcast when and if we choose, and when the machines pick up that frequency, they will utterly annihilate their host. If our champion turns into a monster, or even if he's captured and his modified genes run the risk of mixing with the demon's, we can flip the Killswitch and end the gamble before we lose."

"And then," said Korliss, "the child's destiny truly will be erased."

"We have to consider every possibility, no matter how grim," said Didi. "And we must be prepared to make any sacrifice."

* * *

Today

On the night of the third day since the disappearance of Project, Korliss watched the lights of the NeuSen Array toss and burn over his table monitor. The colors shifted violently, erratically, as he had never seen before. He was stricken with utter horror, completely immobilized. "What is happening?" he said under his breath. "What is..."

The lights shifted into red, then purple, then flashed out, one by one, until the apartment was cast into darkness.

* * *

Project is dead, thought Didi. Or, at best, lost to us beyond any hope of recovery.

He switched off the empty, hollow monitor of the NeuSen Array. He turned slowly and looked at the Killswitch. The button glowed red, ominous and hateful. Patronizing. Didi rose slowly, his brace creaking one long, tortuous note.

It is finished, he thought. Pushing the button is a formality at this point.

Didi took three steps toward the Killswitch. Just then he saw movement on his monitors. The camera feed showed white-armored Guardians rushing through the halls. They were in the Department of Science, armed with black rifles, stomping down stairs and rushing through darkened hallways.

Coming here? Didi stopped, heart pounding.

Doesn't matter, he thought, continuing on. They don't know the pass to get in.

There was a hiss of air and the whir of small gears as the door to Didi's inner chamber opened. Didi turned.

Sevrik's black silhouette stood in the doorway, framed by the flashlights of a troop of armored Guardians.

"What are you doing, Sev?" shouted Didi.

"Stay right there," said Sevrik, his voice torn and raw.

Didi turned away and hobbled toward the button.

"Stop him!" Sevrik commanded.

Guardian Rangers rushed into the chamber and grabbed Didi by the arms, holding him easily as his legs gave out from under him.

"Don't harm him," said Sevrik. "Hold him, don't let him move another step." He stepped in front of Didi and said, "Treat him with the respect that the Head of the DoS/DoR deserves."

"Sevrik, you traitor!" shouted Didi. "What is this!"

"I'm no traitor," said Sevrik. "I can't let you do what you were about to do. There's too much at stake."

"You have no idea what's at stake!" said Didi.

"I'm putting you under arrest," said Sevrik.

"Under what charges?"

"I'm arresting you for tampering with the genes of the unborn, Didi."

The blood pounded in Didi's head and his eyesight collapsed into tunnel vision. In a haze of panic he heard a Guardian nearby hissing, "We trusted the DoS to keep us clean."

Sevrik moved as if help Didi steady himself, then whispered, "I couldn't let you push that button, Didi. I have my reasons. I need more time to-"

"You fool!" said Didi. "If they knew about Project, don't you think they knew about the Killswitch, too?"

"Shut up," said Sevrik. Many of the Rangers looked at one another.

"You think you've bought time to look for Project. How much do you trust your men, Sevrik? They heard you say the pass-phrase to get in!"

Sevrik stood silent.

"If you don't want anyone hitting the Killswitch," said Didi, "then you're going to have to set up camp right beside it! When will you sleep, what will you eat, who will you trust?"

Sevrik gritted his teeth, said, "Take him away."

As the Guardians pulled at him, Didi said, "You've damned yourself to rot in here, you traitor! I hope you trust the demon not to steal Project's genes while he's too immature to protect them himself!"

Didi looked back as they dragged him away. Sevrik stared at the Killswitch. "You don't understand!" shouted Didi. "We have to kill him! You don't understand what the demon is, not like I do! You don't know what will happen if they suck him into themselves!"

Sevrik leaned over, slowly, and picked up a small chair. He heard Didi shouting from the hallway. A few Guardians remained nearby, straight and alert.

Sevrik dragged the chair across the floor to the Killswitch.

"We've damned creation!" shouted Didi, from far away. "Genetic apocalypse! The devil turned deity! Genetic... apocalypse!"

Sevrik adjusted the chair, then sat down. In darkness he waited.

# Chapter Fourteen

The Wasteland

He awoke. His body was sore, his senses chained to a world of pain. The sun was full and white and burning directly overhead. He heard the low hum of voices all around. He clenched his fingers, felt hot sand, and he knew that he was alive.

A shadow covered his face. His vision was blurred, but he could see the face of a young man directly overhead, wide and with dark hair.

"Marlon!" he said, rising quickly.

The young man moved away, crouching in the sand. The blur sharpened into someone unfamiliar. They stared at one another. He looked around and saw dozens of people crouching all around him on a wide desert plain under the blue dome of the sky. The people were unkempt, the grime on their faces mixed with cracked, yellow tribal skin paint. Some cried softly, others wailed and beat their fists in the dirt, some stared back at him with empty faces, but most of the people simply sat and waited to see what the fates would decide for them.

He lifted up on his knees and looked further out. He saw men with scars and black tattoos wearing heavy boots, leather jackets, and motley armor. They were armed with rifles and handguns. He saw them leading other groups of ragged people to sit with the main group, using whips and heavy sticks when their captives did not move quickly enough. Some slavers rode on the backs of lean horses and shouted orders to their scarred enforcers.

They heard gunshots in the distances, layer upon layer, and the primitives clung to the ground. An old man began praying, "Omne Padre, oh, oh, Omne Padre. We stand before the valley, we must not fear. He leads me to green pastures, he lets me drink untainted water. Oh, Omne Padre..."

As the old man continued, the dark-haired young man sighed loudly and covered his ears. Finally the slaves lifted their heads and resumed their hushed conversations, their eyes always on their captors. The old man turned to him and said, "Just who are you?"

"I am..." he said, then cleared his throat painfully. He knew that he looked different from the others, the enslaved primitives. "I come from a place far from here. It's difficult to explain. Listen, there was someone else with me. A young man, very strong. He was hurt. His name is Marlon. Have you seen him?"

The old man stared at him for a long time, then shook his head. Now others were watching him, trying to place his strange accent, staring at his strange pants and shoes and pale skin. "Are you a demon?" the old man said suddenly.

At that moment more slavers on horseback led another group of primitives to sit with them. One scarred slaver led his horse near the new slaves, then kicked a girl from behind, knocking her into the others. The slavers laughed, their voices guttural and inhuman, then left to continue their work. The slaves remained quiet for a while, then the old man repeated, "Are you a demon?"

"Of course not!" he replied. "I come from far away, that's why I look different. But please, listen, are you sure you haven't seen my friend? He's–"

"No one else like you is here," said the old man. He glanced at the dark-haired young man, who also shook his head. Finally satisfied, the old man said, "My name's Agmar. I'm a slave – just like you." He let that sink in, then said, "I've lived in the villages of the so-called primitives for most of my life. Deep in the hills... away from raiders and other scum from the cities. Now it seems they've found us. Only Omne Padre knows what will happen to us."

"Tend the sheep!" cried a raider, his voice harsh and rasping.

"Mi-i-i-i-i-inding the sheep!" came the answer. In the distance they saw two armed slavers laugh and pass a bottle between them.

"They're called the Ugly," said Agmar. "They come from Pontius, west of here. They're a gang of human garbage. They make deals with demons when they have to. They specialize in the flesh trade."

"Slavers?" he said.

"Slavers," said Agmar. He pushed a bony hand from his robe. They shook hands.

They heard more gunshots far away, then screams followed by laughter.

Frustration welled up in the boy and he said, "I fought demons... just to end up here."

"Fought demons?" said Agmar, laughing without humor. "These monsters are worse, believe me. But tell me... what's your name?"

The boy opened his mouth, then stopped. He almost gave his nickname, the name he'd gone by since birth, but something seemed wrong about doing that. That old life was over.

"Wodan," he said. "My name is Wodan."

* * *

All day long the Ugly brought more captives down from the hills. One hundred slaves, two hundred, three hundred... then they could not be easily counted. That night the raiders drove them into a circle, waving torches and cursing, while others aimed at them with rifles, ready to kill at a moment's notice. Wodan, Agmar, and the black-haired young man stayed near one another. Eventually the slaves were ringed by raiders on horseback, then made to face north. Wodan could see the faces of the raiders in the torchlight; they were hideous, mutilated, noses missing and ears shredded, like inhuman masks. In the shivering red torchlight they appeared demonic.

More raiders approached on horseback. They wore black furred cloaks to guard against the cold night, and the torchlight glittered on the rings on their fingers, ears, noses, lips, eyebrows. Wodan recognized two of them immediately: A tall man with a blond beard and dyed checkerboard facial scarring, and a short man with dark hair and runic scarring. He felt dread, for they were the men he'd seen on the mountainside, the men he'd gone to for help.

One man rode ahead of the others, then stopped before the gathered slaves. He rode a tall vanilla horse with dead ruby eyes. The man's long black cape nearly trailed in the dust behind him. Wild red hair and a red beard framed a black sun tattoo that was carved in the middle of his pale face. His dark silk shirt hung open and showed, among a nest of scars, a large rat's skull stitched into his chest. Two large handguns hung low on his hips. He radiated power and authority. Most unnerving of all was his smile, immobile and unnatural, which revealed yellow teeth peeking through his thick mustache. As he looked over the slaves, two raiders on foot moved to stand on either side of him, illuminating him with their flaming staves.

He cleared his throat and, still smiling, said loudly, "My name is Barkus, leader of the Right Arm of the Ugly. I would like to speak truth to you, as none ever will, never in all your life. I hope that you will listen to me."

The smile never left his face. The slaves looked to one another, then averted their eyes.

"You are now a slave and, until we reach civilization, I am your master. But since I, too, am a slave, I feel it is my special duty to explain to you the rules of this game. I do this because I want you to be winners, not losers. I want you to overcome what seems to be a cruel fate and succeed at life."

Wodan studied the faces around him. He studied the scarred faces of the Ugly in the torchlight.

Barkus continued. "To start, let me tell you of the nature of your new life as a slave. When we reach civilization, I will sell you to your new masters. You will work for them, and the work will be difficult at first. In exchange, your masters will clothe you, feed you, and give you a place to sleep at night. Your masters have further duties in your care, which I will explain later. I will not tell you where we are going, and I cannot tell you where you will end up, but do not worry: In most cities, it is illegal for a master to kill his slave. As long as you obey your master, and do your work well, your life will not be bad. This is not to say that life will be easy. If you disobey your master, you can be punished. But, as tribals living outside of civilization, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that life is never easy.

"I am not speaking down to you. I know you are afraid; you see all these armed men I have at my disposal and, of course, you expect the worst. I am their master, just as I am your master, but what I say to you now comes from my long experience of living as a slave. My mastery and my power come from understanding my own enslavement. Let me explain. When I was twelve, and my brothers were eleven and fourteen, we ambushed our father while he was taking a bath and we killed him. On the one hand, we wanted to be free from his rule; on the other hand, we wanted his power and we wanted the loyalty of the organization that he led. This was very foolish. My younger brother and I got scared, and we denied that we were murderers. Our lives were spared. My older brother proudly admitted his guilt, but when he demanded power, he was killed.

"Do you see? My brothers and I did not bother to understand the nature of power and duty - how it works, how things balance out, how one moves and how one thinks at certain times - and because we did not understand, we acted foolishly, violently, and we were very nearly crushed by a game that we did not understand.

"So, here are things as I understand them. I am a slave. Someone more powerful than me tells me to come here, go there, do this, do that. And because I am a good slave, because I do not react violently towards those more powerful than me, I am rewarded. I am given food, a home, horses, guns, drink and tobacco, other slaves that I can be master of, women that I can do whatever I want with, even time to myself that I can use to think and enjoy various pursuits... and the same applies to all of you. If I lashed out at my master, I would become a hunted creature, a criminal with no friends to trust, nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep \- no longer a human being, but an object marked for death.

"This is life. And it is not just so in the civilized world; every animal in the world has another animal that it fears, and another animal that it commands and can destroy. Only the demon sits at the top of the pyramid, and destroys but cannot be destroyed. But since he is a god, he is above criticism.

"But I know what you're thinking. You think that I am trying to fool you into giving up, that I'm trying to sugarcoat the fact that you have been enslaved. Well, let me now speak to you of your former situation, the "freedom" that I have taken you from, and we shall see who is trying to fool who.

"How you miss your home! Waking to the sound of birds singing, cooking bread with the grain you picked yourself, singing the songs of your forefathers, making love to that special cousin, praying to the spirits of your ancestors... and sacrificing a few unlucky members to the demon, if he should find you out.

"Do you think I don't know about your rituals? I've seen how you sacrifice the strongest men, the most beautiful women, the most intelligent souls. I've seen how you spy on one another, how you gossip and pick who will live and who will die. And then your leaders crawl to the gods in their caves, they grovel on their bellies and beg and plead. And then a few disappear, while the majority is spared. You call that freedom?

"I know you tell stories to your children about the 'bad men' who live behind city walls. I know you fear civilization. You cover your children to protect them from my men, but you can't protect them from winter, from disease, from the spears of rival tribes, can you? Demons come to you and take your children by force or by negotiation... and you don't have the tools to produce the guns you'd need to repel them, do you?

"Freedom has its price, doesn't it? You pay for it and you pay for it, but you never really get what you wanted, do you? All you've done is run away from reality. By refusing to be responsible adults and work within civilized society, you've truly chosen to be slaves to the forces of nature.

"In the years to come, if you're smart and play by the rules, you'll see the true irony of your situation. You see, now that you are "slaves" in the common sense of the word, you will enjoy more freedom from worry than you ever knew in your former life. Your master will be the true puppet, spending his time worrying about your comfort, your needs, and all you have to do is obey his word. And, if you like, you can gain authority, responsibility, freedom and slaves of your own. Then you will have earned the right to worry, and worry as much as you want, about finances and other pedestrian nonsense.

"Also, there is the demon to consider. How you people can live among predators and pander to their needs is beyond me. The demon does not come into civilization. As long as we stick together, and show that we have guns - but do not use them \- then, nine times out of ten, the demon leaves us alone. Can you say the same? Or do you have to teach your children how to hide when they hear the beating of wings, the sound of movement in the dark, whispered promises from dark caves spoken by inhuman mouths? Do you have to teach your children to wear a social mask of simplicity, imbecility, and ugliness, so that others will not notice them and suggest their name when it comes time to sacrifice?

"That is not our way. Powerful men live behind strong city walls, and they have armed men at their side, and they do not travel in small, vulnerable groups. Your master will protect you from the flesh demons, as well as from starvation, frostbite, sunburn, disease, and so on. Your master will care for you as he would any of his personal belongings. You cannot say the same of Mother Nature! Indeed, you should make the interests of your master your own, for without his protection, what are you?

"You are what you have been until now: A plaything that lives at the whims of an uncaring universe. You cannot fight the entire world, my friends. You cannot fight the world.

"My younger brother and I were smarter than that, and I thank my mother for giving us counsel similar to that which I give you. My brother and I kept silent. We kept our heads down and did what powerful men wanted us to do. We worked, and worked hard. A simple accountant took over the leadership of my father's organization. A man with no vision, a calculating, cold, reserved schemer. We sat on his knee and learned how the system works, and because of that, we are alive today. No, not just alive - because we learned, and did not rebel, because we worked within the system and did not dig our own graves, we became masters of slaves. My younger brother, Boris, who is called the Living Scar, became leader of the Ugly... and as for me, I became leader of the Right Arm of the Ugly, and have more guns at my beck and call than any man can ever destroy."

Barkus finished his speech. His smile never wavered. A wind picked up, and his long cloak flew around him. He nudged his horse, turned, and rode. The other riders kicked their horses and followed him into the darkness far away, echoing like dying thunder. The slaves looked about lamely, their jaws slack. The Ugly that ringed them smoked and seemed lost in thought. The slaves remained silent, fearful of the mood of their captors. When the ring of Ugly finally moved about and spoke to one another, the slaves did the same. Wodan listened while Agmar spoke with another.

"The thing is," said Agmar, "what he said is essentially true. Clever for him to say, you know? I hate to admit it, but that seems to be the reality of the situation."

"So you think it's best to go along?" said the other.

"I don't see what else we can do," said Agmar.

The young man with dark hair was near them, and said, "We outnumber them, old man."

"Let's just say that their guns outnumber our guns," said Agmar, opening his empty hands.

Several slaves nodded slowly, their heads drooping.

"Then again," said Wodan, "what he said is true... but only to a certain point."

The slaves turned to him, some hopeful, others irritated.

"What do you mean?" said Agmar.

"Barkus said that, within the system, you have to live like a slave or not live at all," said Wodan. "But he made the assumption that human systems are the same everywhere."

"You're saying he was wrong?" said Agmar. "I don't like it any more than you, son. But where exactly did he speak untruthfully?"

"Even if a person gives you a premise, or two premises, or even ten, they can all be true without any logical flaws in them, but his conclusion can still be wrong."

The dark-haired young man said, "Huh?"

"It's because all of his premises come from a certain mindset," said Wodan. "His mindset, you could say, is his first premise. He's been to the cities around here, seen how things worked, learned how to con people and get his way by watching some other goons do it and get ahead, and then he made the conclusion that the he understood how the entire world works because he's seen a few parts of it. But he hasn't seen my home."

"Your home?" said Agmar. "And where is that?"

"Compared to this place, it's a paradise," said Wodan. He became aware that many eyes were on him. "It's far north of here."

"Sunport?" said one man.

"Farther north, across the sea. We live on a rocky island."

"Life there can't be that good," said Agmar. "Anyone who lives near demons has to-"

"There are no demons where I come from," said Wodan. "No demons and no slavers." Now every slave in the area was watching him and listening, and he said, "We have all the good of civilization and little of the bad. We have food, medicine, education. In fact, every child is educated and taken care of, and every adult has a chance to make something of him or herself!"

"Aah!" said someone. "You're making this up."

"Do I look like I come from this area?" Wodan said loudly. At some strange impulse, he lifted his pale arm high into the air. It was evident that he did not come from the mountains or from Pontius.

The slaves began speaking excitedly among themselves. "Quiet, quiet!" said Agmar. "We don't need any attention! We can't risk being noticed... for now, at least."

"Fine," said Wodan. "But my point is that Barkus is trying to con us with reasonable words. He's trying to scare us into buying into his version of the world. Where I come from, people like him have no power. I tell you, there is another, better world, and-"

"Do you come from heaven?" a girl near him said.

"No!" said Wodan, and Agmar quieted him again. "No," he whispered harshly, "I'm flesh and blood, just like you, and the people of my land are flesh and blood, too. There is a better world here on earth. And we could get there, if we wanted."

"I want to go there!" said the girl. Wodan looked at her. She was younger than he, plump, with tanned skin and auburn hair around a wide face and slightly crooked teeth. She was pretty, and Wodan knew that in time the wasteland would drain out and suck dry everything that was good in her.

"I mean to get back there," said Wodan. "I didn't fight demons and lose all my friends just so I could become a slave. What's your name?"

"I'm Rachek," said the girl, smiling. Then a shadow passed over her face, and she said, "But you're so young. Can you really... I mean, is it possible to..."

"Aye, young!" said someone further away. "Brash, stupid, like a kid. We've got to... look, we can't just..."

The dark-haired young man finally spoke up, shaking with rage. "Shut up back there! I ain't no bitch, and never gonna be! This little guy might not look like much, but anyone who says anything against him..." He flexed the huge biceps on his arms, and said, "They get these cannons fired in their face!"

Several people laughed, including Wodan. Agmar looked down, then said, "Okay. They'll have us moving early tomorrow. Let's keep our eyes open, and see if we can-"

"We should jump 'em now," said the young man.

"Brad, we'd just get slaughtered," said Agmar. "We have to wait and watch. Watch for opportunities."

"Why wait?" said Brad.

"Because I've been all over and, believe me, you can't understand this world when you're fifteen years old. I've seen violence done well, and I've seen it fouled up from the start by losing your head and not having a plan."

"But-"

"I have to agree," said Wodan, clapping a hand on Agmar's back. "We wait. Let's get an idea of what we're up against."

Brad fumed in silence for a moment, then nodded.

The slaves talked long into night. Rachek and Brad stayed near Wodan, huddling against the cold. Agmar debated with others but kept an eye on Wodan. He was impressed that the boy had turned what could have been the longest night that any of them had ever faced into something with a glimmer of hope in it. But he also knew what drove men, and he knew that their nightmare would not end when morning came. It would begin.

# Chapter Fifteen

Scar of the Ugly

In the icy hills of the holy land, his guide led him to the House of Ages. The door opened before him. "Come and see," said the guide.

He entered and saw a man holding a jar of water over a wide basin. The man looked up and said, "The jar is empty. Go into the next room." Before he had a chance to ask the man about a time when the jar was full of water, he found himself in another room. He did not remember passing any threshold.

The dingy, dark room was flooded with salty water up to his ankles. A hideous monster shaped almost like a round cage, with twisted bars of pale flesh, dominated the room. Its long limbs were filled with eyes and he could almost make out a head near the ceiling. The guide prompted him and he tore his eyes away from the beast. He saw men sitting in the corners and along the walls, hunched up with little room to sit because of the size of the beast. In one corner he saw a man of Haven sitting in the water with his face in a book. In a nearby corner sat four men of Pontius. Each held a gun to one another's head.

"The four gangs," said the guide. "The Ugly, their hated foe the Law, their hated foe the Coil, and their hated foe the Smiths. Such a delicate balance! They've held their guns so long that some of them do not even remember if they loaded them with ammunition."

He looked about the room again. He saw a man of Hargis organizing his affairs. He saw a man of Sunport looking about at the others, sure that an attack would come from another human at any moment. He saw a man of Greeley in the distance but it was difficult to make him out. On the very furthest edge of the room he could just barely see, through the bars of the demon's flesh, many men of San Ktari wrestling with several other men. The men of San Ktari were strange and foreign looking, but numerous.

"There's so many of them!" he said to the guide. "Why don't they turn on the monster and clean this room up?"

He turned and saw the guide pointing upwards. He looked at the beast once again and saw that its head bore a great crown of horns.

"This is the Age of Capricorn," said the guide, "and the one who bears the crown numbers the days."

"Could anyone take that crown?" he asked.

"Anyone," said the guide.

He decided he would climb the monstrous, living cage and take the crown and make the room a decent place for everyone. He made as if to climb, then noticed that the monster's limbs were slimy and covered with sharp thorns.

"Anyone," said the guide. "But only with great difficulty."

"Get up, pups! Get up, fools! Wake up, get up, on your feet!"

The dream slipped away and Wodan saw the Ugly walking among them, sticks and whips swinging and smacking flesh. The slaves rose awkwardly, eyes bleary, heads hunched into shoulders. The sun was only a faint glimmering in distant blue. Agmar shook people awake. Wodan exchanged glances with Rachek and Brad, then they stood together.

Voices called out the names of girls. There was confusion. Raiders shot their guns into the air, said, "Walk! Walk! Follow the riders!" and they walked. They heard wailing in the distance. Through fragments of conversation that spread through the crowd, they heard talk of young girls that had disappeared, daughters that had slept beside their mothers and fathers but had not woken with them. Some of the raiders, too, were gone. The unlucky mothers and fathers wailed or walked with dead faces like masks, and with each step across the dead earth they realized more and more what it was to be a slave.

There were sixty or seventy Ugly raiders altogether, and none of them walked. Each had a horse of his own. A large truck trudged through the sand some distance away, a diesel burning engine that spewed black into the air. Since none of the horses were burdened by supplies of any kind, the slaves looked at the truck and hoped that it had some food and water that would be given to them. The raiders hemmed them in on all sides and herded them like cattle. The raiders smoked and passed bottles back and forth to one another, then threw the empty bottles into the mass of slaves. They often showed jewelry or bits of food to any women who wandered near, laughing and boasting to one another. Fathers and brothers hated the Ugly for what they were doing, but they also came to resent the women for drawing attention.

It was the advance guard, the elite among the Ugly, that Wodan feared most. These black-caped riders often rode ahead, perched on hills and scanned the distance with binoculars, and called out to one another on hand-held radios in a strange, short-hand tongue. Wodan knew they were looking for demons or for others too close to their kind to be trusted. These men did not drink all day long as the men who guarded the slaves. Wodan feared them the most because when he caught glimpses of their faces, he saw nothing but ice behind their eyes.

Always the slaves were prodded from behind and watched from the sides. Even though the press of one's neighbors was unbearable, Wodan, Brad, Rachek, and Agmar stayed close to one another. As the hours dragged on and the heat of the blinding sun melted their awareness, speech became impossible. Sometimes they held hands in order to stay near one another, and this was communication enough.

Because of the press of flesh and heat, the only relief anyone could find was to press ahead to the front. There, Wodan saw the wasteland. He had thought that it would be an endless stretch of sand. It was not. The land was hard and cracked in places, a checkerboard of red dust. Ornate hills carved by the eternal wind divided the horizon. Scrub brush choked the earth; the Ugly took no care to avoid anything, so many times the mass simply plowed over dry bushes and thorns and steep, empty creek beds, protesting all the while. It took great endurance to remain at the front, and the herd eventually swallowed any who led.

The muscles in Wodan's legs were worn raw, the nerves ground into pulp. He did not want to disappoint his new friends, so he did not complain, and neither did they. He often wondered if he would feel a tap at his shoulder, then see Marlon ready with a plan of escape. As the hours dragged on, the oppressive heat and hard-baked earth beat this hope out of him.

The skies darkened and turned cold. The moon was full and frozen high overhead. They came to a wide, sandy plain. Riders cried ahead of them, then the truck honked its horn. The riders around the slaves cried, "Stop! Stop! Lie down!" and for a minute there was gossip that a demon lay ahead of them. But the Ugly shot their guns in the air, cried, "Lie down! Sleep! Sleep!" and so the slaves stopped, bumped into one another, then sat in the hard sand.

Some of the Ugly formed a ring that stretched loosely, far away, around the entire camp. The slaves watched some of the Ugly as they pulled a tarp from the back of the truck and raised a large, green tent. Several of the elite riders dismounted and went to the tent. Their capes billowed in the wind, and Wodan thought that he saw Barkus among them. Even the heavily armed elite deferred to him, and Wodan wondered where his power came from.

"Did you notice the sun?" said Agmar.

"I did," said Wodan. "It went from right to left."

"We're going north, then."

"I thought you said the Ugly were from Pontius, in the west."

"They are," said Agmar. "They may be taking us to Sunport, to ship us elsewhere."

Wodan said nothing, so Rachek said, "You said your home was to the north, across the sea. That's how you were able to do all that walking on those skinny legs of yours!"

Wodan nodded, but before he could speak, Agmar said, "Were you lying about that home of yours?"

"Of course not!" said Wodan. "I mean to make it back there."

"I understand, son, I know what you mean. Still... it would be a shame if you tried and failed, and the Ugly ended up finding out where this hidden paradise is located."

"It wouldn't matter," said Wodan. "Haven could repel the likes of them. Easily."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

Agmar thought for a minute, then said, "It wouldn't do to underestimate the Ugly. They're an old society, boy, very old. Their roots stretch back to the dawn of time, some say. To the time when the demons first rose and shaped the earth."

"They're a gang of bullies," said Wodan.

"In the beginning," said Agmar, "when the demon was reshaping the world in its own image, there was a group called the Vatica. From one city, it's said, they ruled the entire world. They had a vast storehouse of holy books and records. They worshipped a god of suffering, a god of mutilation who created heaven on the other side of agony. When the demons began glutting themselves on the Ancients, the Vatica struck a deal. They fed the demon, and the demon allowed them to continue their work. When the seas rose and swallowed most of the earth, the prophet Sade led the people of Vatica to the place that would eventually be called Pontius. Sade was a prophet who had a vision of the world; he saw a circle of animals, each eating the other, for all eternity. He saw men doing the same."

"That's awful!" said Rachek. "If he was a holy man, he should have prayed to God to stop such a thing."

"I think he did, at first," said Agmar. "But they say that not only did God not stop any of it, He gave Sade visions that explained that He made it that way because He wanted it that way. Cain's murder of Abel was a supreme act of creation that happened over and over again, continuing the world and feeding blood to the gods that upheld the world. Because of Sade, the new Vatica dusted off some of their tools that they'd put away in times of peace. Tools of torture, you see. And they didn't just use them on their enemies. Oh, no. They used them on one another. They wanted visions from God, you know, but all they saw were demons. Those were the new gods, so they started emulating their new gods.

"That's how they came to be Ugly," Agmar finished. "That's how they came to be one of the gangs that control Pontius, the hellhole where I grew up... and left, as soon as I was able."

"They may seem scary out here in the wilderness," said Wodan, "but I'm telling you, even if there were ten thousand of them armed to the teeth, they wouldn't amount to anything up against the Guardians of my homeland."

Everyone was tired and Agmar's account had only driven them deeper into exhaustion, but as soon as Wodan spoke about Haven, many of the slaves turned to listen.

"Tell us about your home," said Rachek.

"I live on an island far from here, away from raiders," said Wodan. "Many of my people live underground, or in buildings the same color as the mountains, so no demon can find us even if they flew over us. People work and live their lives in peace."

"But if they're peaceful," said Brad, "then they probably wouldn't last too long against demons or Ugly!"

"Don't think that they're weak," said Wodan. "Far from it. Someone told me, not long ago, that the design for guns has been copied generation after generation, but that it's hardly ever been improved upon. Isn't that right?"

"It is," says Agmar. "If it wasn't for the Smiths protecting the blueprints, we might be fighting with sticks and stones now. And we'd have a much better chance against these Ugly!"

"It's the opposite in my homeland," said Wodan. "We don't have gangs or secret societies protecting the designs for guns, radios, vehicles – or any piece of technology. It's all out in the open. Anyone can access that information. And anyone can improve on the design, too, if they're able. From what I've seen, I think one of our armed and armored Guardians could take out a dozen Ugly. And that's not even taking into account our air power and heavy artillery!"

Wodan stopped. If someone asked "Why don't they?" then he would have to answer that Haven was an isolationist state. In short, they didn't care that these tribals were being pushed around by raiders. And worse than that, what if someone asked him why he was several thousand miles from home? Would they accept his explanation that Haven was the most peaceful place in the world... except for a shadowy cabal of evil men that nobody knew anything about, and that had the ability to exile citizens at random? Or maybe not an entire cabal; perhaps there was one sinister mastermind pulling the strings from a hidden location. Would they like that explanation? They would laugh in his face!

"Is there decent farmland there?" said one man, a skinny creature with a face lined with worry. "Can they grow enough to last through winter, or do some folk have to go hungry?"

The question struck Wodan at his core. He looked over their heads and saw the torchlight of the Ugly surrounding the camp. He knew that even if he gave them a list of every injustice that ever occurred in Haven, it would add up to nothing compared to the situation they were in now. So he spoke. He told them of Haven's technology, its medicine, its system of electing leaders, the free time people had to devote to art and leisure, the justice system where people who broke the law were judged by their peers and then sentenced by respected officials, the freedom of religion, the military force that didn't turn on its civilian populace at every opportunity, and the opportunities for education that were available for everyone. Though he was exhausted, speaking of Haven gave him strength.

Finally Wodan paused. At once, he heard his own words echoing from multiple sources.

They repeat what I say! he thought. It's not just a few dozen listening to me. They're all listening!

There was a disturbance. Voices cut short. The slaves looked up, saw torchlight above them, saw scarred faces, heavy boots, bare tattooed arms of the Ugly walking among them. They did not carry sticks or whips, only black guns.

There were several groups of them, and the same scene was repeated. "That one," one among them would say. "That one, that one, that one." Then others, delighting in their work, would wrap their arms around one girl, then another. Eyes wide, screaming, and any time a mother or young man rose to stop them – gunshots put them down and silenced any opposition. Wodan kept his head down in the sand, along with all the others. He could see the smoke from the guns hanging over them, drifting around the raiders like demons from Hell.

Rachek was jerked into the air. Wodan saw a pack of black clad killers towering over him. A fat Ugly held Rachek by her neck and waist. His face was a hideous mass of pockmarked cigarette burns. The Ugly stood casually with their guns, watching and waiting for any disturbance.

"Brad! Brad!" Agmar shouted, holding onto the young man's arm. Wodan saw the youth's muscles writhing like snakes. His face burned with rage. "Brad! Brad! Brad!" Agmar continued, a litany of control, a desperate plea that the boy not throw his life away. Wodan stared at Rachek while they dragged her and several other young women away, impotent to do anything.

Wodan felt eyes on him and turned. A tall, skinny Ugly stared at him.

The man was bald, pale and sickly, and the line of scars across his bare scalp were so deep that the skull beneath shone brightly. Black-dyed scars spiraled around his eyes. He smiled and showed gaps between yellow teeth.

Wodan sat on his knees and glared.

The sick gland in the Ugly's throat bobbed once, twice, and he croaked before he said, "I remember you, little mountain flower. And probably your head remember me. Eh? Sit tight, relax, we bring your whore back to you."

The Ugly stared at him for a moment, then turned and followed those who carried women with them.

When the slaves were alone, they occupied themselves by tending to the dead. One old man fumbled with a dead woman's arms and Wodan mechanically picked up her legs. Together he and others carried them outside the circle. The corpse's legs were still warm and Wodan thought for a moment about his mother standing to protect his sisters if the Ugly... Wodan pushed the thought from his mind, then found himself helping to dig graves with his bare hands. He saw Brad working beside him. He saw the muscles in the young man's arms, then heard laughter from the faraway tent and knew that physical strength could not help them on that black night. They dug harder to blot out the distant noise.

By the time the bodies were laid in the earth, the entrance to the large tent opened and a bright light from within cut across the sand. Wodan was reminded of a story from wasteland myth where some monstrous god was carried across the desert by refugees; the god was placed in a tent at night and fed blood, and in return the divine creature washed the world in a sea of violence, a slaughter to feed the hunger of the people. The young women were led from the tent, stumbling and crying, escorted by a few smoking Ugly. Wodan could hear Agmar praying loudly. Wodan could not look down on him for what seemed like superstition in the eyes of many Havenders, for it was a fact that they were in the hands of terrible, godlike forces.

The slaves parted for the women, who covered their faces as they walked to an empty spot on the sand. Wodan went and sat near Rachek, then noticed that many of the slaves turned away from the women.

The Ugly stood and watched for a while. "Food's tomorrow," said one, then they left to return to the tent. Wodan watched the backs of the shuffling apes and he wanted more than anything to wipe them from the face of the earth. What did they lack in them, he wondered, that freed them from any sense of remorse? Did they really have no sense of empathy? Could they be that empty inside and still be considered human?

"I can't wait," Rachek said suddenly. Wodan turned to her and she looked at him fully. "I can't wait to get a gun and kill one of those sons of bitches."

# Chapter Sixteen

The Inquisition

Days passed. Every morning the slaves woke up sore and hungry and the Ugly woke up hung over, cursing at the sun. Large bowls of gruel were passed around that the slaves dipped into with their hands. Wodan saw the older slaves counseling the young during breakfast, and he was always surprised that no one took more than their fill. He saw not one single squabble during breakfast, even though the young watched the bowls intently as they were passed around to others who were hungry.

The younger Ugly drank all day as they rode. At night, when the slaves were finally allowed to collapse, all the Ugly partied. Though the Ugly rationed the gruel like a supremely precious commodity, it seemed the truck would never run out of alcohol or bullets that the Ugly fired blindly into the air, howling and shrieking their strange prayers.

The slaves watched their oppressors. There were less than eighty Ugly and over five hundred slaves. There was one horse for every Ugly and the diesel truck was filled with guns, bullets, food, water, alcohol, and tobacco. The elite Ugly stayed around the large tent at night while the younger Ugly, or those who had lost at games of chance, were made to stand in a wide ring that stretched all around the camp. It was their job to watch for demons coming in and slaves coming out while they nursed hangovers years in the making.

No demon ever bothered them. This was a continual shock to the slaves, for they spent their lives either running from demons or feeding them. A few believed that the Ugly were part-demon themselves. Based on their appearance and behavior, this was a difficult thing to disprove.

Wodan lost weight. His feet were wrapped in rags. He went through an awful stage of blisters and sores and, as the days passed, his feet turned into cracked, red rocks that could pass over anything. He walked through ages and miles of pain that could cripple anyone in Haven. He simply learned how to shunt the awareness of pain into closets of the mind that went unused back home.

One night they gathered a group of men, then the Ugly formed two lines armed with clubs and chains. Laughing and boasting they prepared to send the men through a gauntlet while the others watched, praying and near panic. Then one of the elite Ugly came and chastised the others violently. Wodan recognized him as the great blond beast he'd seen on the mountainside. He sent the male slaves back to the others, then ordered the Ugly youths into the tent. "You think we're in the business of hurting people?" he shouted. He turned to the slaves, then said, "Nobody is trying to hurt you. Soon you'll be given warm beds and good food. I know you might be sore at what goes on with the girls, but just you remember that we feed them when they come to the tent. They probably never told you that, did they?"

The Ugly left them. The males that had avoided running the gauntlet shook their heads and laughed nervously, grateful that they had been spared.

"You hear that?" said one slave.

"Yeah!" said another. "We must be close to the end!"

A few others smiled, then Wodan said, "It was staged."

"What?" said Agmar.

"They know we're getting tired," said Wodan, "and they know that a few people are reaching their breaking point. They rape the women continually, then force them to walk the next day. Haven't we left several old people behind to die in the wasteland? Haven't they shot anyone strong enough to stand up to them? None of the Ugly cares if some of the young punks want to hold a gauntlet and knock any of us around. Believe me – they staged that so we would feel relief and come away from the breaking point."

"Come on," said Agmar. "You said it yourself, they're brutes, they're bullies. That's way too clever for the likes of them!"

"And you said yourself that they've been doing this for a long, long time. They're full of all kinds of tricks. Aren't they?"

Agmar turned away, then Brad said, "I bet he's right. Look at you dumbasses! We just got threatened with a beating, and now two minutes later you guys are feeling grateful!"

Debate began in earnest, then Rachek said, "You heard what he said about them giving food to some of us girls. He did that so you guys would look down us! They try to get us drunk every time we go in there so we won't fight back, but I sure don't remember getting any free meals. That's for damn sure!"

Fuel was thrown on the flame and scores of slaves argued back and forth. Some wanted to rise up immediately and kill their captors, others wanted to continue the hellish trek in peace and see what the fates had in store for them at their destination. Some argued that they outnumbered their captors so much that a fight might not even be necessary, others argued that as soon as they were sold at Sunport they would no longer have to worry about the Ugly anyway. Some argued that it was shameful for their ancestors to look down from the heavens and see their sons killed and their daughters defiled, others argued that this was their fate and it was their lot in life to endure it. Wodan said nothing; his new friends Brad and Rachek argued for him. Agmar stayed close to Wodan, but he argued against violence.

A whistle blew and everyone fell silent, then backed away on their hands and knees as a troop of Ugly walked through them. They were led by the tall, bald, sickly Ugly that called Wodan a "mountain flower" earlier. He picked Wodan out from the crowd, smiled as if recognizing an old friend, then approached. The troop remained behind, smoking and watching for trouble. One of them angrily tossed his cigarette onto a crouching slave, who backed away on his knees.

"You!" said the sickly Ugly. "You've been invited to speak with our lord Barkus." He waited for a while, then said, "Isn't that wonderful?"

Wodan sat in silence. Everyone but Brad and Rachek backed away from him.

"Well?" said the Ugly. "Would you like to meet our master?"

Just as Rachek gripped Wodan's arm, he rose and said, "That's fine, I will."

He moved to leave but Rachek gripped his arm fiercely. "I'll be back," he whispered to her. "I promise!"

She released his arm and he approached the Ugly, who put an arm around him and led him through the crouching bodies. Wodan stared into the eyes of the young goons that waited for them.

Suddenly the sickly Ugly leaned into his ear and whispered, "You are surely the most beautiful young boy here! Do you know that? Is that why they like you?" His mouth smelled like a rotting corpse and his blackened teeth were filed down to sharp nubs. Wodan's face was a mask but he felt panic coursing through him. Even in the valley, fighting against hundreds of monsters, he had never felt fear as on the quiet walk toward the tent.

The night was dark and torchlight glinted off the green tent. It was large, much larger than it seemed from the slave area. The racket of Ugly laughing and drinking grew so loud that when Wodan's captor leaned on him again and whispered something, Wodan could not hear him. A large group of Ugly stood outside guarding the entrance, swaying and spitting. One of Wodan's escort approached these with a strange jig and produced a handful of dice, then the rest of Wodan's escort broke off and joined the guards outside, already arguing about the possibility of cheating during their games. The bald Ugly raised the heavy tent flap. Light and smoke poured forth, and Wodan entered.

Many Ugly stood about, smoking and playing scarring games with knives and cigarettes. Several black capes were near the door, and one of them was saying, "... like to just keep one of them with us, all the time, tied and gagged. Just shit on 'em, screw 'em, cut an eye out. We did it before, but you can't sell em after that..." Boxes of ammunition were stacked in piles and used for tables. He saw an Ugly's knife dance about his hand on one table, gouging chunks of flesh and wood, while others played cards and took shots of black juice. A wide, thin table dominated the center, and Barkus sat in the middle of it. He wore a black silk shirt unbuttoned to show the rat's skull stitched to his chest. He leaned over a pale brown map etched with red and black, and two Ugly stood over his shoulders. Wodan grew cold when he saw them, for it was the short dark-haired man and the tall blond-bearded man, whom he hated.

The bald Ugly led him gently by the elbow, and Barkus lifted his head when they neared. Wodan choked when he saw the black sun ground into his face and the upturned smile beneath his beard. The man's charisma was overpowering. Wodan stood before him and, even though he was elevated above Barkus, he felt very small.

"There's the boy I wanted to see," said Barkus. Wodan could hear him clearly even in the constant noise of overlapping conversations; in fact, he could hear nothing but Barkus. "I have a question to ask you." He paused as he looked Wodan up and down, then said, "Have you been saying anything bad about me to your little friends?"

Wodan breathed deep, then said, "Never. We all speak well of you, even when we're squatting and crapping side by side every morning."

Barkus laughed loudly and leaned back in his seat. The two Ugly beside him chuckled.

"I'd like you to meet my teammates," said Barkus. He paused again. His aura and charisma were so intense that Wodan had the sense that the entire world waited for him to speak. In his presence, every breath only came by great effort. Barkus pointed to the short, dark man whose eyes were surrounded by runes, and said, "This is Adem. He's a strangler. He was born under a Skull Moon." Adem tilted his head back. Wodan recognized the gesture as the result of a cultivation of an image of toughness. Barkus threw his thumb to the tall blond. "This is Wallach. Brick Hands Wallach. He's my strategist." The giant with a checkerboard face stared at Wodan, unmoving, full of malice. Wodan looked away.

Adem cleared his throat with a sound like gravel being churned, then said, "You've met us before."

Barkus ignored him and pointed to the bald Ugly, said, "That's Fachimundi. He's a snake."

Fachimundi smiled by licking his lips and parting them to reveal his black stubs. There was something shy and childish in the gesture, as if the man was an undeveloped, gross shadow of a human.

"Fachimundi is a faggot," said Barkus, "but we don't allow sodomites into the Ugly. Show him what a team player you are, Fachi."

Still smiling, the man pulled down his pants. A small, scarred flap of skin flopped about under a mass of pale tattoos in the shape of a smiling beast. Several of the younger Ugly laughed, and one stumbled up to him drunkenly. Without concealing himself, Fachimundi hissed and spat at him. The Ugly stumbled away and his friends laughed at him.

"This is our family," said Barkus. "Now I want to know about yours."

He paused, and Wodan said tentatively, "You want to know about me?"

Barkus nodded amiably, said, "Please. Speak! In the spirit of brotherhood."

Some of the Ugly laughed into their bottles. The menace in the air was palpable. Though Barkus tried to appear friendly, Wodan knew that they were crossing swords. Wodan decided to hide the truth in a web of deceit so that he would not be caught lying outright.

"My people live in the earth, away from demons and... raiders. I was cast out with some others. None of us know why."

Barkus glanced back at Adem, then said to Wodan, "Why were you in the mountains?"

"We were trying to get back home," said Wodan. "We made our way into an abandoned mine. We were attacked, and many of us were killed."

Adem smirked, then said, "They looked like the mountain shit them out."

Wodan's heart raced. If anyone knew what happened to Marlon, it was Adem and Wallach. Wodan gathered his resolve as if he was about to leap from a great height, then said, "What did-"

"The slaves speak of you," said Barkus, loudly, so that all attention gelled around him again. "They speak of the little pale flower that puts a smile on their face. They speak of the cute monkey whose dances and antics make them laugh. My clansmen watch them all day long, and they tell me that the primitives constantly scramble to get close to you, if only for a moment. Did you know that?"

"They have no reason to dislike me," said Wodan. "You could be a leader among them, if you wanted."

Barkus chuckled. Though his smile never left, his eyes were hard. "Why would I sell my dignity for the friendship of a primitive?" he said. "Why would you?"

"Because they're human beings," said Wodan, "with human dignity. Sure, they're superstitious, coarse, uncultured, they live in constant fear, they abandon their individuality to find safety in groups, and they smell bad... but how are you any different? How am I?"

"Be honest. The spineless fops you used to live with kicked you out, and now you're trying to make the best of a bad situation. Right? Why else would you speak to any of those natives? It's obvious that you're not like them, boy."

"Each one of them is more unique than you imagine," said Wodan. He summoned up his will, then said, "You've been thinking in terms of masters and slaves, and putting people into boxes and defining them for so long that you've forgotten how to connect with people. You've learned tactics for how to deal with people, but you haven't learned how to look at an individual person and really see who they are. Every individual human being defies definition. They're... they..."

"Don't stop, this is great!" said Barkus. "It's not every day you get to hear utter bullshit of this caliber!"

The tent exploded with laughter.

"Okay, okay," said Barkus, waiting for the laughter to die down. "That's all very interesting, but I think you have a lot to learn about the human condition."

Wodan did not respond, so Barkus continued. "All life is ugly, but human life is a noxious puddle of stinking, vile waste. History is a record of atrocities, the present moment is insufferably boring, and tomorrow does not exist. It's plain to any honest individual that the state we are in - is what we have chosen. Humans are pathetic, boy. You aren't going to save anyone."

Wodan wondered just how much Barkus knew about his plans. He felt like a rodent perched on the end of a trap. He stubbornly summoned his resolve once more. "Humans might not look powerful or impressive," said Wodan, "but I think we all have an unlimited potential to find joy... and joy is unique to everyone who has the will to seek it."

His voice grew quieter as he spoke. Barkus let his words shrivel and fall in the gloomy, smoke-filled tent. The Ugly laughed quietly and shook their heads, and the worst of it was that Wodan sounded like a fool even to himself.

"You're just a naive idealist," said Barkus, slowly, so that each word massaged a little blade into Wodan. "You are not special. Every other kid that hates pain and dreams of something better thinks he's going to change the world. But, you know what? He's not. No one ever has. No one ever will."

"How did you become so jaded?" said Wodan, and he wondered if he only said it to break the terrible silence.

"Because I was honest enough with myself to realize that people are self-serving and lazy. Myself included." He lit a cigarette, sucked it by pursing his lips awkwardly, then said, "I guess you think it's horrible that I've enslaved these people."

"I do," said Wodan.

"You know what's worse than that? The fact that those hill-people are going to complain for a while - and then get used to their slavery. Many of them will actually like it. I have, at least, provided them with safety. When we get where we're going, you'll be sold to rich masters who can protect you from flesh demons, the wasteland, starvation... everything."

"I heard that before," said Wodan. "But I don't understand how we can ever overcome the monsters that rule this world if we don't face them. We can't hide forever."

"Overcome? Life is not about overcoming pain. That's impossible. Life is pain. Life is about accepting pain. Watch this."

Barkus signaled to an Ugly. He was squat, built from chunks of thick meat and with a face like a smudged, greasy afterthought. The Ugly sucked on the cigarette in his mouth, took it out, extended an arm, and mashed the burning end into the back of his hand. His skin sizzled and a thin ribbon of smoke shivered along his arm. Wodan noticed that the man's arms were full of pinkish-white pockmarks, and he looked away.

"Do you see the strength in that?" Barkus asked.

"All I see is sadness," said Wodan, "and someone who thinks that taking charge means giving up of their own free will."

"And yet he does not cry when disease or the demon takes his family from him, because he's in tune with the true nature of reality. You, on the other hand, chafe against the gears that turn the world. And you will be ground up. In fact, I could kill you now, just to prove that the world does not want or need your existence. Do you understand that I could kill you, boy? And the world would keep turning. You only live now because you interest me."

"The world made me," said Wodan. "Even if you erased me now, the world must have made me because it wants some variety. It must be interested in something more complex than masters and slaves."

"The Grand Scheme of the universe did not produce you. Your mother and your father sweated on each other like any dumb animal does and then you were shitted out. Same as me. Same as every other dumbass waiting for the hangman."

He's not like the old man in the valley, Wodan thought. That tired old fool was crushed under the weight of nothingness - but this man here has actually blossomed under the black sun of this hate-philosophy that's choking the world. He's a king with a back scarred by the whip.

"Barkus, you're powerful," Wodan said suddenly. "Why not use that power to benefit your species? Why not... why not challenge the demon? If you showed that it was possible, and got other people to join you-"

"God's death!" said Barkus, slapping a hand to his forehead. "It's obvious you're no regular primitive of the wasteland. Your idealism is naive to a degree that it would require a community full of secluded jackasses to reinforce it. We're out here starving in the wasteland, and yet there's a group of idealists somewhere in the world producing pompous fools like yourself. If all it took was violence and pride to slay the demon, man would have done it long ago."

"These men look to you for direction, Barkus, but you're looking at history for direction! If history is nothing but a collection of stories about people who sold out for less than they were worth, then why not take a risk and try something different?" Even though Wodan felt like a fool, he plunged ahead. He was not even sure that he was right, but he knew that Barkus was wrong. There had to be a different way of life; beating and starving a group of people because you need them to do labor, and then negotiating with one of those enslaved people with threats because you want to avoid a riot, simply could not be the best way to live one's life. "What I'm talking about is will," Wodan continued. "The kind of will that only crops up in a few humans in any generation."

"Will?" Barkus said slowly. The Ugly that were laughing grew quiet.

Wodan felt as if he had only just now begun to walk on truly dangerous ground.

"You've been a master of slaves for a long time now," said Wodan, fighting against his fear. "When you want food or drugs or sex, you only have to snap your fingers to dominate something. You've achieved some power, but I think... that you've become... soft."

"And you think that you have a will stronger than mine? You think that you have enough will to challenge my clan?"

"I try," said Wodan. His body would let him say no more.

"You dare fault us for living in the shadow of the devil, while you hide in the ground and cultivate philosophy. You speak of will! You, a child who has never truly been tested by the world. And you think that we should oppose the demon with our force of will?"

"I meant -"

"Do not speak," said Barkus, "but show us! We have brute strength, and you have will - so let's just see which is the superior of the two!"

The Ugly nodded darkly and murmured curses among themselves. Fachimundi smiled, turned on by the idea of a dangerous game, but Adem paced about, bored and annoyed.

"Wallach," said Barkus, "you're my most powerful man. I want you to fight this boy. But be careful – according to him, his will is very powerful!"

Wodan almost denied that he ever said such a thing, then he realized that he probably carried himself in a way that was insulting to anyone from a culture of domination and brute violence. Where the primitives saw friendliness and nobility, his oppressors saw willful defiance. Every time he did not lower his eyes to them, every time he did not laugh at himself for their benefit, he was essentially spitting on them and their culture of brutality.

Wallach flexed his wide hands and stretched out his arms. He towered over all, and his long, ratty beard was like the mane of a dead lion. "You want me to fight this little runt?" he said. His voice was an explosion. "He's no good to sell if I have to scrape him off my boots."

The Ugly laughed loudly, but the laughter was forced, each man competing to show his devotion to his masters.

"Yes, I want you to fight him," said Barkus. "If he wins, we let him go. Him... and ten other slaves of his choice."

"Why not all of them?" said Wodan. "Are you afraid I'll win?"

"If the price is high for me," said Barkus, "then it will be the same for you. I'm the master here. I name the prizes and penalties of the game."

Wallach strode around the desk, and the Ugly scampered to give him room. The man was a mountain of scars and muscles, a terrifying sight. He wore heavy boots, jeans, a belt laden with knives. Wodan keenly felt his own weakness, his smallness, his boyish thinness. But he glared at the man, for he hated him.

"Aren't you going to ask what happens if you lose?" said Barkus.

Wodan shook his head.

"It won't be nice."

"Losing never is," said Wodan.

The two squared off. The Ugly snickered around them. Wodan raised his small fists and dug his feet into the sand. He could hear the laughter and see his ridiculous stance from their eyes. Wallach's face hardened, a slab of pale granite. He took no stance, only stared down at the boy.

In the heavy silence that followed, Wodan fought with himself. He felt the humiliation of his situation. He remembered beating the dogman pup even after he was sure that he would be killed. He knew that Wallach was one of the biggest men he'd ever seen, but he remembered that even when he was outnumbered by ghouls, he'd found a way to survive. He wondered if he could gouge out his opponent's eyes, and wondered if the Ugly would kill him if he won the battle that way. He knew that he surely could not win; he knew that he could not give up, or he would be broken.

"NOW!" shouted Adem. Wallach screamed and the younger Ugly fell back. Wodan blinked for a split second, and before he could move the giant man was before him. His back hit the sand and a million pounds of muscle fell on top of him. Wodan felt the air gush from him, felt Wallach's hands crushing his face and stomach. He fought for air as the giant pushed down on him. Wodan lashed out at the giant's arms, at his elbows and hands, but it was like fighting stone with soft noodles. Without haste and without mercy Wallach ground his weight into him, occasionally snorting hot air in his face.

Barkus's eyes danced, then stopped. Adem sighed, the only Ugly willing to show his boredom, then said loudly, "Looks like the fight's about... woah!"

Wallach felt a prick at his side, then looked down. Wodan held one of his own knives against his gut. Though the boy seemed nearly dead, the point of the knife tapped regularly, a clock keeping time.

"You idiot!" Adem screamed. The Ugly stopped laughing and fell silent. "Did you just lose the fight?"

A bead of sweat trickled down Wallach's face, then dropped onto Wodan. The boy did not blink, but stared back at him. Both of them were thinking of the impossibility of surviving a gut-wound in the wasteland. Wallach looked at the blade, then back at the boy.

I could show you what it's like to be one of those slave girls! Wodan thought, hanging onto consciousness. Show you what it's like to get stuck and bleed and want to die!

Wallach considered the humiliation of dying from such a small wound over the course of weeks, then rage pushed all doubt from his mind. "A nice move, welp," he said, "but you have not been underestimated. You can't win just by having a good plan; you have to follow through with it. Bluffs are worthless out here in the world."

Wodan's eyes went wide and Wallach's lips pulled back to reveal cracked teeth, the spines of a monster. He tightened his palm against Wodan's mouth and nose, then shouted, "Go ahead and do it! If you can!"

Wallach did not remove his hand from Wodan's gut to block the knife. Instead he bore down on him and waited, waited for Wodan to turn red, then purple, then waited for his eyes to roll back.

"FIGHT'S OVER!" said Wallach. He rose quickly and, as Wodan coughed and gagged, he swung his foot out and slammed it into Wodan's stomach. The boy rolled away, too stunned to breathe, and curled into a ball of pain.

Wallach bent and picked up his knife, but hesitated to put it away.

"Leave him be," said Barkus. "I think we just got ourselves a new slave tonight. That is, if you didn't break his spine."

"I broke his back alright," said Wallach. He pushed through the crowd and sucked directly from a keg's metal teat. The younger Ugly laughed with the release of tension.

Barkus rose from the desk, laughed through his smile, said, "You alive, boy?"

Wodan groaned.

"Looks like I get to keep my slaves," said Barkus. "You gave us a good show, but I proved my point: Will is nothing compared to brute strength. You want out of here, boy? You hate being a slave? Well, too bad. You're property, same as the rest of us. The only reason it's painful is because of your perspective."

Wodan groaned, rolled on the ground, clutched his poor stomach and gritted his teeth, but could not reply.

"I'm going to let you live because I want to make a work of art out of you. You're going to become a living monument of disintegration. And first, I'm going to punish you. I'm going to punish you by telling you something. Telling you something about the world."

Wodan could see only darkness and a halo of light. He blinked, sucking at each breath as if it was his last. Barkus stood over him with Adem and Wallach on either side. Barkus looked at Adem, who smiled and crouched over him.

"I remember you," said Adem, "and I remember your friend. You remember your friend?"

Wodan's eyes shot wide open.

"When we caught you on the mountainside..." said Adem, and his voice rose with sick, childish glee. "When we caught you, you were stumbling around like a madman. Me and Wallach saw you, and you saw us. But you didn't see Fachimundi taking a piss on the other side of a rock just behind you. He got you over the head with a stick, and you went down like a sack of shit. Your friend tried to stop you, but he looked like he got chewed up by the devil himself, he could barely talk or move or keep his dumb eyes open."

Wodan coughed sandpaper from his throat, said, "What... happened... to... Marlon?"

"He was too heavy to carry and too beat-up to walk," said Adem, laughing, "so we took turns kicking the guts out of him. We killed him."

Wodan screamed and lunged at the man's leg. Adem jumped back, cackling like mad, and a gang of Ugly grabbed Wodan and held him off the ground. Wodan screamed and spit all around, overcome with hatred, overcome by the unfair universe ruled by inhuman men.

As they gathered around him, laughing and jeering, Barkus ran up to the boy with childish footwork. "What are you smiling at!" Wodan screamed. "What do you have to smile about, you monster!"

In a moment of sadistic glee Barkus showed him the secret of his smile, and Wodan's soul fled into a dark corner of himself. He could hear someone screaming, he could feel someone held tight by a dozen hands, he could feel someone being led back to the other slaves and then dumped on the ground like an empty bag of bones, but it was no longer him. A legion of nerves reported pain to a switchboard that was turned off.

All that was left in him was a vision that repeated again and again, over and over, the image of a red-bearded man who, when he pulled back his mustache, showed that he had hacked off the sides of his mouth into the shape of an eternal smile, a death's head grin of bare teeth proper for a graveyard world rotting under the black sun.

# Chapter Seventeen

No Compromise Between Life and Death

The night was black, with no moon and only a few stars hanging on the distant horizon under thick cloud cover. A terrible feeling of anxiety hung over the crouching slaves because they could hear the Ugly in the distance celebrating the Feast of the Eclipse, laughing, chanting, bullets fired in the air coupled with twitching shadows dancing in torchlight.

Brad sat beside Rachek. He was desperate to get his mind off food. He searched his mind for every subject of conversation he could think of, then said, "You remember those winter pies you said your people made? How do you think they'd taste with some fresh tigo berries sprinkled on top?"

Rachek's chin was jammed between her knees. She sat in silence for a long time, then said, "I don't know, Brad. Probably pretty good, I guess."

He nodded, said, "Yeah... yeah." He glanced at Agmar. Besides mumbling an occasional prayer, the old man sat in silence. Wodan was even worse, sitting like a statue in the distance, not saying a word or acknowledging anyone since the Ugly had taken him into the tent. Brad shook his head, then said, "Well what if you cooked a big hunk of venison covered in pepper, and you cooked some corn on the same spit right beside it? You think that'd be pretty good?"

Rachek sighed, said, "Listen, Brad, I can't really think about that stuff right now." She was almost sure she could hear screams in the distance. She'd been passed over when the Ugly picked girls to attend the Feast with them, but she did not feel fortunate. She felt only tired and desperate.

"Fine! I didn't wanna talk about food with you anyhow!" He got up, made a big show of brushing sand from his legs, then said, "I'll just go and see what Wodan's up to."

"Don't you bother him!" said Rachek. "He's-" She almost said he's broken, but Brad was gone before she could stop him. She knew that whatever had been good and alive in him was simply no more, and she wanted him to be able to rest and deal with things as best he could.

Brad could feel everyone's eyes on him as he bumped into them and disturbed the huddled mass. He sat in the area that everyone had cleared around Wodan. He whispered a greeting, then Wodan turned to him – and his world exploded.

* * *

"He didn't say that!" said Agmar. "Brad, you're just going to stir up some foolishness with all this talk."

Many slaves gathered around. "It's true!" said Brad. "He says tonight's the night!"

"Tonight's the night?" said Agmar, screwing up his face. "For what?"

"For some shit that's been a long time comin'!" said Brad.

"I didn't hear him say nothin'," said an older slave. "He's been done for, ever since they took him and did whatever they did. Just look at him now – he's still starin' off at nothin'!"

"Everyone shut up!" said Rachek. "Let's go straight to the source."

A large group approached Wodan while others looked on. He sat like a still pool, calm as the vacuum. Rachek knelt down in his field of vision. "Is it true?" she said quietly.

Wodan's eyes stared through her. She thought at first that he seemed like an inanimate object, a husk. She remembered a story from her childhood about a saint who left the world to gain enlightenment; he left, one thought at a time, until only his shining, empty body remained.

But then Wodan blinked and his smile spread slowly. He was alive!

"We kill them tonight," said Wodan. "We kill them all tonight, or this nightmare will never end."

Brad smiled like a madman and clapped the nearest man on the back, almost tossing him to the ground. Shouts and exclamations spread through the mass of slaves and Agmar tried to shush anyone who would listen. Rachek slowly exhaled and felt a thousand pounds of crushing weight lift from her shoulders. She knew in her heart that if Wodan told her to take his hand and walk into a hail of bullets, she would do it. She would die as a human being rather than live on as an object.

Agmar saw that things were getting out of hand. "Quiet, all of you!" he hissed. "We're going to be shot before we can make a move if you apes don't quiet down!" He turned to Wodan, then said, "Boy, what happened to you? I thought they broke you the other night!"

"I was broken," said Wodan, smiling. "But as long as we're still alive, we can put ourselves back together. Entropy doesn't apply to living things." He laughed strangely and Agmar was terrified of the sound. In his mind's eye he saw hundreds of dead and dying, covered in blood, crying in anguish... and much, much worse awaited the living. Torn between two impulses, he said, "Boy, listen, we... we need a plan... but even with a plan, it's not..."

"Tonight's the night!" said Wodan, mania rippling just beneath his words. "We take to the darkness, then smash their world!"

A few shook their heads at the idea, but Agmar could see that the boy's words were having a powerful effect, a maddening of the blood that overpowered their forced starvation and crippling march. Finally someone came near Agmar and they nodded to one another; he was very old, with a gray robe and a bushy gray beard like funeral plumage. He had an inconspicuous aura and gave the impression of having always been there, safe and unworthy of attention. Agmar and the older man sat across from Wodan. Brad and Rachek sat on either side of Wodan, looking like bodyguards or personal aides.

Finally the debate settled and all eyes rested on their circle. Wodan said loudly, "How many of us are there, Agmar?"

"Almost four hundred," said Agmar, "with an even mix of male and female, young and old."

"And how many Ugly have you counted?" said Wodan.

"About seventy-five," he said. There was a rush of whispers from the crowd. "There are more than enough horses and guns for all of them. About fifteen of them are black-cloaked veterans, the rest are fairly young."

"And what are they doing tonight?" said Wodan.

"A lot of them have formed a ring around the camp," said Agmar. "How many exactly, I don't know. Enough to watch for slaves getting out and demons coming in. The rest of them... are getting drunk, even more so than usual, to celebrate their Feast of the Eclipse of Worry."

"Even more drunk than usual, then," said Wodan. "Interesting. But how many of them are actively watching us?"

"I can only see... about five."

"That's it? Why haven't they made us be silent yet?"

"They're drinking heavily."

"Interesting," Wodan repeated. "One cannot serve two masters. And what about the lighting? Does the weather favor us?"

Agmar looked down rather than up, then said, "It's a masked moon. The night is almost completely dark."

"Perfect for going unseen," said Wodan. "Especially when your enemy is either holding a torch in the outer ring, or dancing like a savage around a bonfire."

Agmar nodded slowly, but his mouth melted down into a slow frown.

Wodan grew silent. He knew that he stood on a great precipice. He could not see the bottom, but he felt absolutely no fear. When the slaves began to talk again, Rachek said loudly, "Everything is in our favor. We can't lose!"

Suddenly the bearded old man who sat beside Agmar coughed, or gave the impression of having coughed, and Agmar patted him and sat back. "Okay, Wodan," the old man said. "I hope you've got some kind of a plan, son, 'cause if you're not careful, you're going to get a lot of people killed."

"Here's what I think," said Wodan. "We've all been scared because the Ugly are armed - but I think that they are actually over-armed. Our captors sometimes have two, even three guns apiece. I even saw guns lying unattended in the tent! We know for a fact they keep ammunition in the truck, boxes of it, and I bet there are probably extra guns in there as well. Not a single demon has attacked us this whole time, but the Ugly still pose and act as if they were moving through a battlezone. So here's what we do: We move as one body, jump the five or so guards watching us, then take the truck and get the guns, then blast through every drunk that stumbles in our way until we get to the horses that are tied on the far side of the camp. And since we outnumber our captors more than four-to-one, I think the most difficult battle will be standing up in the first place. The battle itself will be easy."

Agmar's eyes moved from the ground to the bearded old man. The man cleared his throat, then said, "I don't know. I just don't know. What if we rush the truck, and there's nothing but food for the horses stored inside? What will you do then?"

"The Ugly are drunk, disorganized, and outnumbered," said Wodan. "If we rush the truck and the guns are all in circulation, then we take the big crates that they keep the "horse food" in, and we rush the area where the others are dancing like idiots and we bash their skulls in. Even in a worst-case scenario, we still have strength of numbers. What's your name anyway?"

"My name's Hari. I've been watching you... and I think you're trouble."

"I am trouble," Wodan shot back. "Now you can either help, or get out of the way." Wodan could tell that Hari was dangerous, and he knew exactly what he was after. Wodan tried to end the debate with a killing stroke, and said, "There will be an uprising tonight. You can't stop it. Everyone must choose a side, and when the smoke settles, we'll remember which side you chose."

Hari's eyes narrowed into pinpricks.

"Besides," continued Wodan, "if even half of the Ugly watched over us while the other half rested nearby, sober, then we might have a problem. But the Ugly camp is spread out. There are only a handful of guards watching us, and even those depend on our fear to keep us in line. A lot of the Ugly are spread out in a ring around the camp, and we have the devil to thank for that. Our captors are an incompetent lot of bullies, and are completely unprepared for a large, coordinated, internal revolution."

"Think about it like this," said the old man. "It doesn't matter if there are five or five hundred of them watching over us, because those watchers have guns. If we rush the few watching us, some of us are going to be killed. That's a fact, boy. We can't cover the few feet between us and them before they can shoot. The flaw in your plan is that you think of us in terms of numbers! You aren't considering the fact that every number in your plan is a living, breathing human being. None of us wants to die. And while you might rile up the kids by waving your pecker around and saying, "Die free or live a slave," you have to remember that every elder in this group has children here. What father is going to throw his boy in front of a gun just so he can breathe "free" air? What mother is going to convince her daughter not to get raped by some killer when, in some sense, a woman is going to be oppressed no matter where she goes in this awful world? You're young, you're naïve, and worst of all, you're an individual with no connection to a community that has to be protected by realistic means."

Wodan thought for a moment, then said, "Now I see how you've lived for so long, and why I never noticed you before. You've always crawled under the eyes of your oppressors, haven't you, Hari? Never gambled your neck to free your mind. You say that there's no place in this "awful world" where a man can escape senseless death and a woman can avoid rape, but I tell you that there is. It's in the north, across the sea and away from these mad men that live like demons. We've been walking through the waste for so long that I know we must be close to the coast, and if we can just shake our oppressors now I know I can lead us there! You just have to believe!"

Hari bowed his head, and debate raged among the slaves. Many slaves understood the rationale behind Hari's argument, and they shook their heads and chastised foolish behavior that could only lead to an early grave. But many young people were drawn to Wodan's words. They were not used to speaking out against their elders and making decisions that would determine their fate, but they had lost all patience with timidity and the mindset that had gotten them enslaved in the first place.

A long time passed and Wodan could see no end to the arguing. "Alright, Hari," he said. "You've stated your point. Neither logic nor heartfelt words are going to sway either party, but if we sit here and debate all night then the Ugly will have us marching again in a few hours, and you will have won. I know you fear the few guarding us because they have guns and we don't, so let me make you a deal. If I go out, alone, and bring back a few guns, will you convince the others to move, all at once, and overrun the Ugly?"

"Depends," said Hari. He paused and scratched his cheek for a long time. "If you sneak away to get some guns, I certainly wouldn't do anything more to convince the others to stay..."

"And you probably wouldn't mind if I was caught and killed, right?" said Wodan, laughing harshly. Wodan looked at the others, then stood up. "I'm going out. When I come back with guns, I want everyone to be ready."

Brad stood up immediately, said, "I'll go with you. I'm ready to rock out with my-"

"No," said Wodan. "I need you to stay here. While I'm gone, people like Hari are going to start spreading fear. A few might even think about going over to the Ugly and alerting them. I need you to make sure none of that happens! Besides, I'll need stealth for something like this. Nobody's going to see me out there if I'm alone."

He patted Brad on the shoulder, then Rachek grabbed his free arm. "Just come back alive," she said. "Don't worry about the guns if it looks too dangerous!"

He laughed and thought, It's too late for that. He gripped her hand on his arm, then saw the concern in her face and turned away so she would not see him blush.

An object passed from hand to hand, a small thing wrapped in rags. The thing passed to Wodan. He took it and removed its covering. It was a short, narrow piece of sharpened steel attached to a wooden handle. Wodan looked at the slaves and nodded respectfully.

What they must have gone through to hide this thing! he thought. This blade is the will of the people, and it's in my hands now.

"Boy," said Agmar.

"Yeah?" said Wodan. "You got some advice for me?"

"I've got more words of wisdom than you could ever stomach," said Agmar. "You know I think this is a bad idea, but I guess that's the last thing you want to hear."

"Pretty much," said Wodan. He laid a hand on Agmar's shoulder and shook him, then extricated Rachek's hand from his arm. He looked at the fires in the distance, gave one last look to his friends, then walked in a crouch through the mass of slaves.

* * *

The night swallowed him. He slunk towards the five sentries, low to the ground, heart racing. When Wodan drew near he clung to the ground and watched. Their eyes were glazed and they passed around several bottles, each man speaking over the other. They had radios clipped to their waists or jackets and Wodan could hear the static and voices of the men in the outer ring either checking in or arguing over whose turn it was to check in. Wodan cursed Hari under his breath, for the drunks were completely engaged in their gossip and their weapons were slung on their backs or holstered securely. They did not see the pale, skinny, half-naked outlander creeping past them.

Eventually he could no longer hear the hum of the slaves talking. The large tent lay ahead, ringed by scattered torches on tall stakes. Wodan knelt and looked around. The outer ring of torch-bearing guards were still very distant; Wodan was grateful that even though the Ugly thought the demons were some kind of gods, it was a fact that the flesh demons were not their friends and would raid them in an instant if they had the opportunity to do so. Wodan reasoned that the outer ring must be spread out so that aggressive demons could be shot before they came near the camp so that the slaves could not take advantage of the distraction and turn on any guards nearby.

He could just barely make out the truck in the distance, for only one torch stood with it. Though it was isolated, he reasoned that it would be securely locked, and so he pushed it to the background of his thoughts. He could not see or hear the horses, but reasoned that they were in the far north of the camp, as usual. To his left, some distance away, he saw a great fire, and it winked as bodies passed around it, dancing and chanting for the Feast. He closed his eyes and listened, and heard a voice, far away, above the din. The speaker read from some kind of ancient text. Wodan could hear the pride in the voice of the speaker.

So Barkus can read, thought Wodan. Quite a feat out here in the wasteland.

"In the beginning," read the voice, "the Demon dreamed of the hells and of the earth. The field of earth was without substance, was void, and unbroken light was on the face of the deep. The flesh of the Demon trudged through the sludge of the waters. The perfect light was hostile, and burned His flesh. So the Demon plucked out his eye, said, 'Fiat Noctis,' and then there was night."

A group of shadows staggered about the light near the tent and Wodan withdrew deeper into the night, heart racing, mouth dry. There were five of them guarding the tent. Like the other group of guards they were each speaking and none listening, a jukebox full of quarters and no one in the bar to listen. They had rifles slung on their shoulders. Unsure of what to do, Wodan crossed to the far side of the tent.

Wodan could still hear the voice of Barkus reading.

"On the sixth day the Demon said, 'Let us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness. Let him try to count the grains of sand on the earth, let him build his castles in the sky. Let him have suffering on the one shoulder, nothingness on the other, and a crown of boredom to rule the hours.' So the Demon shaped his excretions into a hunch-backed idol in his own image; Seed and Egg he formed them."

At that moment a group of Ugly chanted for someone to drink, drink, drink, then guns were fired in the air.

Drunks and religious fanatics, thought Wodan. Do they really think that demonkind made man? We'll never be free if people believe they're nothing more than food for monsters!

There was a slow, uneven scraping that vibrated along the tent. Wodan figured that a man was walking and leaning against it. He ran further into the dark.

The Ugly rounded a corner, and Wodan could see that his entire body was pressed against the tent, which buckled against him and helped him travel in a strange, bouncing motion. He had an arm laid against his head to block the torchlight from his eyes, and a thick string of mucus hung from his mouth and jiggled like diamond jelly as he moved.

The man stopped, then used his free hand to work at the laces of his pants for one minute, then two. Finally a torrent of piss splashed against the tent. The Ugly sighed with relief.

He's alone. This is my chance. I have to do it. I have to kill him!

Wodan crept forward slowly. The knife in his hand was heavy, reassuring. He nervously ran a finger along the cool metal to assure himself. His heart beat a thousand gallons of rushing fear. He tried to swallow but his mouth and tongue were sandpaper.

Wodan stopped and crouched for a moment because he felt like he would soon pass out. A full minute passed and the Ugly's stream of urine only gushed harder. He moved his hand to adjust the rifle on his shoulder and urine sprayed onto his crusted jeans. The Ugly was small, perhaps Wodan's size, a rock worn thin by the cruel desert wind.

I can take him! Wodan thought. I have to!

He lifted the knife and felt it shaking uncontrollably.

At that moment the man stopped urinating, then the arm about his face tightened. The man shuddered violently, then bent forward and planted his knees into the ground. His body was racked by sobs.

He's crying, thought Wodan. My God, he's a human being.

Wodan dropped the knife and shook his head.

This is madness. How much of the demon's rule depends on man killing man?

Wodan knew that he could not do it. He simply could not kill another human being.

Just then the Ugly lurched and puked in a raging gush. He uncovered his face and dug his hands into the sand as another wave of puke rolled out of him.

Wodan saw the face of the Ugly. It was Adem, one of Barkus's lieutenants.

"When we caught you, you were stumbling around like a madman..." Adem said so long ago.

"Your friend tried to stop you..."

Lightning coursed through Wodan's veins.

"... so we took turns kicking the guts out of him."

Wodan picked up the knife. It felt like a part of him.

"We killed him," said the voice in his mind, smiling. "We killed him."

* * *

Adem breathed deep. He felt like a king now that the poison was out. The world wobbled and he took great care to squat and lean his head back in such a way that everything would remain perfectly still. He didn't care if the others came and saw him sitting in a pile of his own puke. He knew he could whoop any of them! After puking, he was a king, a god of ass-whipping! Hell, after he got his bearings, he could even go to the Feast and see what was being done to the slave girls. Those dumb sluts had no idea what was in store for them...

The wind shifted. He heard a jackrabbit.

Cold laid against his throat. There was a kiss and a bite, something icy and hard parting flesh and vital tubing. He raised a hand to his throat and felt hot liquid gushing out. He opened his mouth to mimic breathing, but he was drowning.

He looked down at the sand. Black rain. He thought blood was coming up from the earth, the devil pissing red all over him. He looked up and saw the child. His face was like marble, diamond, unmoving, a mask of cruelty. He had a rifle in one hand and a short, red-spotted knife in the other. Adem felt about for his own rifle. It was gone! He felt weak and soon his hands were caked with thick, black wads of sand. He laid down.

Black spots gelled in his vision. The world grew distant. He heard soft footsteps. He blinked. The boy stood directly over him, looking down. He slung the rifle onto his back. Adem hated him, hated himself, hated everything. He was dying, but instead of the wonderful world he was promised, all he saw was an awful killer angel staring down at him, unblinking, needing nothing from him but waiting for him to fall into that final darkness.

* * *

Wodan grabbed the ankle of the dead man and dragged him to darker places. The ankle flexed and spasmed in his grip.

I've done it now, he thought. I've killed someone. There's no going back now.

His doubts were gone. He stripped the dead man naked, then took off his own filthy, tattered clothes. The crusty jeans fit him well. He removed the old bandage from his shoulder, noting the vivid red scar as he donned the stinking shirt. The denim jacket was covered in dark blood and vomit, but he barely noticed. He felt as if he were donning armor for a great battle.

The dead man's boots were boxy and ill-made, but felt wonderful once he stuffed his old clothes into them for makeshift socks. The new clothes sent a rush through him. Fully dressed, he felt less like a slave or an animal and more like a human being.

There was a bulky walkie-talkie radio attached to the man's belt. Wodan listened to it, heard occasional check-ins from the perimeter ring, then turned it off and fastened it to his side. He found keys in the pockets, as well as a greasy rabbit-skin condom, which he threw onto the man's body so that he might use it in his afterlife. He weighed the rifle in his hands. It was well-worn, and the letters WIDOMAKR were etched into its side. He took a few moments to look at the thing and figure out how to release the clip and work the safety. He checked that there were bullets in the clip, then messed around until he figured out how to chamber a round. Once he'd done that, the rifle felt like coiled lightning in his hand, death and justice ready to be released whenever he commanded. He strapped the weapon to his back, wiped his knife on the dead man's chest hair, then lifted part of the tent and crawled inside.

A single oil lamp cast a greasy light on boxes, a handful of guns and clips, and a table with a map laid out like a tablecloth, as if its owners were preparing to devour the world. Wodan studied it. The encampments of primitives and dogmen were marked on the mountains surrounding the valley. Pontius lay to the west, a whore with her legs spread to the river that ran through her; the purple skull-and-scar flag of the Ugly flew above it, and below it flew the green standard of the Coil, the black and gold standard of the Smiths, and the blue standard of the Law. He glanced at Sunport, far from Pontius, in the north. A nail was tacked into the desert closer to the port city than to the valley from which he had come. He laid his hand on the map, dug his nails into it, and clenched his hand, tearing the world apart.

Wodan could hear the other four guards rambling outside. As he gathered up a handful of guns and kept his eyes on the entrance, he could hear Barkus reading far away. "In the evening they heard the Ghost walking in the garden, so they hid themselves among the trees. The Ghost called to the man, 'Where are you?' He replied, 'I heard you coming, so I hid. I was afraid because I was naked.' 'How did you know that you were naked?' the Ghost asked. 'Have you eaten the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge that I commanded you not to take?' When the Ghost questioned them, the man blamed the woman, and the woman blamed the trickery of the Worm.

"So the Ghost cursed them, saying to the woman, 'You will bear children with intense pain and suffering. Since you have lusted after knowledge, your children will have large skulls full of trivia; their heads will tear your hole as you squeeze their bones into the world. Further, you will desire for nothing but the love of your man, but he will love only his dreams, and the possibility of more, and so he will be your master, now and forever.' And to the man he said, 'Because you listened to your wife and ate the fruit I told you not to eat, I have placed a curse on your world. You will be blind to the world, the sky will be gray compared to the light of your dreams, and your dreams will torture you just as you have hurt me. All your life you will struggle to squeeze a living from the dying earth. The dirt will grow thorns and weeds for you, and you will eat it. All your life you will sweat to produce food, planting seed every day until the final harvest when you plant your own dead bones in the field. For you were made from dust, and to dust you will return.'

"Then the Ghost returned to its kin, and said, 'The people have become as We are, knowing everything, both good and evil. Now what if they eat the fruit from the Tree of Life? If they do that, they will live forever.' So the Ghost banished the man and his wife from the garden, and sent them out to cultivate the ground from which they had been made. And so was woman made a slave of man, and man a slave of his dreams. The fruit of the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge make war upon one another even to this day. The human puppet, subject to whims beyond reason, will dance in darkness for all eternity."

Suddenly the four Ugly guards just outside the entrance fired their guns into the air, laughing and screaming. Wodan shook his head in disgust. He had a pile of rifles and handguns and a few small boxes of ammunition gathered. As he prepared to tie a rag about them to take them to the others, he wondered what would happen. Would they stand up and fight? Would fear get the best of them? Would the Ugly realize that Adem was dead and sound the alarm?

Suddenly the four Ugly outside the entrance went silent. Wodan quickly crouched behind a large box, then saw that they were staring off to the side. One of the Ugly, with cross-bones carved into his face, shouted, "Hey! What are you doin' walkin' around, slut?"

Wodan's heart raced. He craned his neck and saw Rachek approach the guards.

"Sorry to bother you boys," she said, smiling. She held her arms behind her back and pushed her breasts out, smiling shyly. "I just had something that I wanted to tell you."

The guards gathered around her. Wodan could see that she had tightened her shirt to accentuate her breasts, hiked her skirt up so that her legs were exposed, and rolled her waistband down so that the curve of her belly was visible.

"Tell us?" said one of the Ugly, chuckling. "Mmm, I remember this one. Fight like a kitty, she do!"

"Sorry about that!" said Rachek, eyes fluttering as the goons towered over her. "Sometimes I get shy when the other girls are around, you know? But I thought maybe I could give you some news, and maybe you could get me some food in exchange, you know? And of course... you can do whatever else you want with me."

News? Wodan thought. His heart hammered uncontrollably. She wouldn't! She can't!

"Aaaaaw boah," said another goon. "Yeah, I got somethin' to feed ya, don't worry 'bout that!"

Wodan's eyes narrowed and he raised the rifle, jamming the butt into his shoulder.

The Ugly nearest her, a fat pig carved up with the names of the souls he had snuffed out, grabbed the back of her head and whipped out his belt in one swift motion. His pants dropped. "Alright, sweetie," he said. "We listenin'. What's this news you reckon's so important?"

Wodan's rifle drifted from the Ugly to Rachek's neck.

Just then he heard the sound of feet pounding the ground. Rachek brought one up arm, fast and hard – and Wodan saw her twisting the handle of a long knife that was jammed into the base of the man's skull, grinding it under his jaw and into his brains.

"You're dead!" she screamed.

The other three cried out and, as they moved to clasp their pants shut and lift their guns, a crowd of tribals crashed into them, a torrent of brown fists and flashing teeth. Two Ugly fell immediately, crushed under the weight of stomping feet; one crawled away and a primitive leaped on him, biting his face like a wild animal. The last Ugly stumbled away, cursing and crying. With his pants around his ankles he raised his rifle and prepared to fire into the crowd. Wodan dashed through the door flap, moving faster than he ever thought possible, and fired his rifle from the hip. In a flash of sparks and smoke the Ugly spun, clutching his gut. Wodan ran straight for him and when the man's eyes locked onto him for a moment, body bent over awkwardly, Wodan fired once more and sent a trail of destruction through the man's jaw, neck, torso. The dead man sat down heavily, legs out straight and body slumped over and bouncing.

Wodan turned and saw the primitives standing before him, covered in blood, eyes shining, a terrifying sight. Rachek pushed herself to the forefront, adjusting her clothes. "We couldn't let you do everything yourself!" she said. Wodan was so jacked up on adrenaline that he could not speak, only nod.

Brad ran up to Wodan, his face and hair slick with blood. "You shoulda seen it, buddy!" he said. "Some of the old heads were causing so much trouble, everyone was arguing. Then the dicks watching us decided they were gonna have some fun with our girls, and everyone was already heated as it was. They came right up to us and were pissin' us off, so we jumped up and beat the shit out of 'em proper! They didn't even fire a shot! I mean, that was it. The ones ready to get out just got up and left right then. I guess Hari convinced most of the others to stay put."

Wodan guessed that they were about forty in number. The Ugly outnumbered them, but he knew that the ones who stood before him had laid their lives on the line and were willing to fight to the death. "Don't think about the others from here on out," said Wodan. "Your families are dead. Even if you went back to them now, you would only be separated once they sold you on the market. Don't ever look back!"

The mob nodded grimly.

Wodan turned to Brad, said, "You took the guns from the ones guarding you?"

Brad nodded, tilting his head toward the mob.

"Why didn't you use them?" said Wodan.

Agmar came to the front. "Rachek told them not to. Said we might hit you." He smiled, said, "She was confident that you were in the area, hiding and just waiting to strike."

Wodan grabbed her arm, then said, "Listen everyone! There's a few guns in the tent, go and grab them! The end point is the horses, if we get split up, make for them. I've got keys that might go to the truck, we'll hit it next. After that, we hit their feast and kill 'em all and save those girls!"

The mob grabbed the weapons on the ground and filled the tent and looted what guns they could find. Wodan turned and ran toward the torch that lit the truck. The desert wind raked across his skin, waking up his soul. The revolution had begun!

The heavy truck loomed over him. He yanked the staked torch from the ground and propped it against the truck so he could see the lock that shut the rear. As he fumbled with the keys, Brad ran to the truck and leaped on something. Wodan saw that he was strangling a man who laid on the ground. Brad looked up, said, "Bitch was passed out like a li'l ho." The body flailed weakly and Wodan knew that he could have been killed by the unseen man if he had been fighting alone.

Wodan unlocked the rear door of the truck and it raised loudly. A mass of men and women ran up to him. He grabbed the torch and leaped inside.

Guns!

Wodan sighed with relief. He kicked and tore open boxes of ammunition and threw them at the mob below, laughing with bloodthirsty glee, and others poured inside and armed themselves. Wodan saw a few of the tribals giving impromptu lessons on how to load and shoot and he laughed, teetering on the brink of mania. He noticed Agmar hanging on the periphery. He carried a dour expression, a witness to madness with no will to take part.

"What are you doing, Ag?" said Wodan. "Come to stack up some bodies and earn your freedom?"

"I'm just here to make sure you don't do anything too stupid," he said.

"This is no time to baby-sit, old man!" Wodan shouted.

Before Agmar could reply, Brad swung his heavy rifle about and shouted, "We're the biggest badass killers they ever was!"

"That's right, Brad!" said Wodan. "Let's go save those girls! Show no sympathy, none whatsoever! Kill anyone who gets in your way!"

The slaves tumbled out of the back and Brad led the way. Wodan and Agmar looked at one another. They knew that the thing that was unleashed would not go back into its cage unless it was dead – and it would tear the whole world to pieces before that could ever happen.

* * *

A great bonfire burned where the Ugly celebrated the Feast of the Eclipse. Many scarred, naked men were gathered to take part in a ritual that would invoke the black sun. They held down the women and, through rape and learning to ignore screams of protest, they hoped that the symbol of the black sun would eclipse the conscience that had hamstrung them since birth and replace it with something more powerful. The high priests of the Ugly taught that man was born with one soul, and that soul was the soul of a sheep; he was born to be food for demonkind, his natural superior. Now several Ugly youths, who had already passed the test of self-mutilation, gathered with the elite and cut their victims and burned them and raped them repeatedly so that the old soul, the old way of thinking, would die and they could be reborn as creatures more fit to inhabit the world of the demons.

No longer sheep, but wolves. Not quite demon, but also no longer quite human.

Barkus, leader of the Right Arm of the Ugly, sixth level initiate in the Rite of the Demon Theory and accomplished reader of the Leather Book, also called the Book of the Red, stood atop a crate and looked down at the tableau of misery that played before him. He wore the long, shimmering robe of the Theorist, which was open at the chest to display his rat's skull. His two massive handguns hung low on his belt. In one hand he held a whip that was tied to the neck of a girl who sat in the sand below him. In the other hand he held the Red Book, a leather-bound tome filled with arcane lore, a priceless thing made over the course of years by artists initiated in that society. Barkus watched Wallach, shaped like a shaved pink bear, as he groaned atop a small girl suspended in the air by two laughing Ugly. He turned to the book and read from it.

"Now the earth had one language and one flag. And the people said, 'Let us build ourselves a city, and a tower whose top is in the black and milk of the heavens. Let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be scattered abroad over the face of the universe.' "

Barkus tugged on the whip so that the girl choked. He read on, saying, "But the Ghost came down to see the city and the tower which the sons of men had built. And the Ghost said, 'Indeed, the people are one and they all have one language, and this is what they begin to do. Now nothing that they propose to do will be withheld from them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language, that they may not understand one another's ideas.'

"So the Ghost, in his jealousy, scattered their thoughts over the face of all the earth, and cut them off from one another. And they ceased building the city."

Barkus raised his eyes and saw the engine of suffering before him. "The demon lashes out at what is beautiful!" he said. "To be Ugly is to be his friend. We listen to the book and sacrifice our flesh to submit ourselves to the demon's will. The flesh is nothing - cut it! burn it! rape it! scar it! Be as the Holy Ghost, without flesh or will or hope, and survive. The sun is rising on a new world."

Barkus closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He smelled the stench of sex and burnt flesh. He could hear the girl beneath him muttering quietly to herself. How proud, those complicated little minds stuck in the same flesh as any animal! He had to smile. How laughable was the human condition! How perfectly illustrated it was in the very fact that over and over he and his men could gather hundreds of slaves, who would then sit and wait for their next order, perfectly content to...

He heard a stampede. He turned his eyes to the night and saw some kind of giant beast thrashing, limbs flailing, covered in awful, terrible eyes. Then he saw that it was dozens of primitives racing toward them, guns raised! Without a moment's hesitation Barkus leaped from his pedestal and sped across the sand. He did not waste a moment to warn anyone. Like a thunderclap guns fired, he saw rapists hit the ground, saw their eyes and mouths wide open in shock.

A steel hornet whizzed by his ear, then the hand that held the Leather Book was stung, and he saw his long index finger bounce in the path ahead of him. He cried out, stumbled, dropped his priceless book, then rose and ran faster. Nearby, Wallach dropped his victim and turned to flee as well. Barkus unsheathed one of his massive guns and fired blindly behind him, not caring whether he hit friend or foe. The two ran together, away from the bonfire and into the safety of darkness.

* * *

"Kill!" Wodan screamed. "Kill them all!"

Again and again they fired, their bullets charging forth and stampeding anyone who ran, tearing bodies apart and erasing their awful ritual. Soon a great cloud of smoke hung over the rebels and they could no longer aim. The victims of the ritual clung to the ground, unsure what was happening, then the naked rapists had the idea of crouching among the victims to save their own skin. The rebels poured out from the wall of smoke, found the scarred bodies and guilty faces, then beat them savagely with the butts of their rifles or shot them at point blank.

The poor victims of the ritual realized they were being saved and tears streamed down their faces. They fell into the arms of their sweaty, stinking saviors. Wodan saw many of them lashing out at the corpses of their oppressors. "Don't worry about them!" shouted Wodan. "Get the guns! Get the guns, all of them! Don't pick up those torches, we need darkness!"

They looted the battlefield, their feet and ankles covered in wet clumps of black sand. Wodan saw Agmar lift a heavy book from the sand and stick it into the folds of his robe. Before he could question him, Brad rushed to his side and said, "What do we do now?"

"Let's get the truck. We can't all fit in it, but we can use it for cover. There's probably some Ugly guarding the horses, and it would be better if we had something to hide behind."

"They'll take out the tires," someone said.

"That's fine. We'll want it disabled, anyway. If they don't do it, we will." When Wodan saw that the battlefield was looted and the victims of the ritual were either supported by others or had armed themselves, he took off running from the direction they had come.

Clansmen cried out in the night. Gongs were beaten madly. They saw torches flare far behind them. The Ugly were gathering. Wodan turned on the radio at his side and heard Wallach's static-choked voice say, "- to the horses, west-east-and-south, close in on the slaves, north to the horses, west-east-south to the slaves, close in on the slaves, north line to the horses, west-east -" and he left the radio on and smiled, for he had the enemy's tactician hanging on his own belt.

He changed direction when he saw the single torch that hovered near the truck. He could see the line of far torches shifting slightly. He skidded to a stop near the truck and ripped the keys from his pocket. "Anyone know how to drive this thing?" he said.

A wiry man with a handlebar mustache stumbled from the mass, panting heavily. "I kin," he said. "Use'ta drive one o' these when-"

"Great!" said Wodan, throwing the keys to him. "Tell me all about it when we're free. I'll be on top of the cab. Turn this way, the horses should be in that direction. I'll be your eyes, so keep those lights off!"

The man nodded and hauled himself into the driver's seat.

"Listen to me," Wodan shouted. "Any of you that can't walk, or are wounded, climb into the back. I need a bunch of you to climb up top. You'll be our lookouts, so shoot to kill if you see any Ugly! Hurry, that's it, get up there! The rest of you, walk along both sides. Keep your eyes peeled, they're going to be organized soon!"

Like angry ants they covered the truck. The engine shrieked, then smoke poured from its exhaust pipe and the thing lurched forward and back. Sand gathered around its massive tires, then it lumbered ahead slowly. Wodan climbed on top of the cab, giddy and lightheaded. He heard the primitives whooping with glee and his blood sang to know that he'd released this wild force into the world. He looked back and saw Brad bellowing and pumping his fist, then saw others imitate the motion, raising their guns like conquerors. A lady with a deep gash across her forehead held his arm and smiled through a mask of blood.

Wodan listened for the horses, but could hear nothing over the roar of the engine and the shouting. He leaned forward, decided it would be a good idea to run ahead of the truck and see what he could find, and at that moment the sharp report of gunfire rang out. He heard the whistle of metal piercing the side of the truck, then several men and women fell.

"Get down!" Wodan shouted. Everyone crouched low, then Agmar shouted and pointed off to the right. Wodan could only just make out the glint of light on steel stirrups and rifles flashing in the dark.

"Fire!" shouted Wodan. "Fire! Fire!" Rifles blasted all along the truck. They heard the panicked neighing and collision of two or more of the beasts. The enemy returned fire, the rifles blinking white as the riders sped ahead of them. Wodan heard men fall and rifles clanging heavily against the truck. A heavy weight fell onto his back. Wodan recoiled as a dead man with wide eyes tumbled over him and slid across the windshield, then came to a rest on the vibrating cab of the truck.

"Can't see a goddamn thing!" shouted Brad. "Getting slaughtered shitless, man!"

"They can't see us, either!" said Wodan, realizing that it was a mistake to take the truck. "Just stay low and keep firing!"

"We should get off this thing," said Agmar, scanning the darkness. "We could at least hear them if-"

Lights and sharp reports, now on the left. There was a dull thud below. The truck hunkered down on one side as its full weight bore into a crippled tire. "Over there!" screamed a wild-eyed primitive, and they turned and fired blindly into the night. Wodan aimed and fired at the racing fireflies until his body shook and his clip ran dry. As he reloaded, he saw several walkers only a few feet from him stumble, clutching open necks and bellies filled with metal.

The truck sat still. Wodan leaned over the windshield and saw the driver sitting in eternal repose, hands still gripping the steering wheel, head leaned back.

"Off the truck!" said Wodan, scrambling to the ground and jerking the key from the ignition. "We run from here!"

The primitives clambered down and Wodan saw that they had not fared well, but Brad, Rachek, and Agmar were still among the living. He saw bodies lying in the sand and felt his will weakening. In the stillness that followed, he could hear many horses crying out just ahead; he felt panic, thinking that they would be overrun, then realized that it must surely be the horses they sought, not the riders hunting them down.

While the others gathered near Wodan, he picked up the radio set, pushed a button along its side, and said in as deep a voice as he could, "They're leaving the truck, they're heading back to the rest of the slaves."

Almost immediately the thing crackled to life and Wallach said, "That wasn't me or Barkus, continue with orders, maintain radio silence."

They heard the beating of hooves on all sides. Suddenly several riders flew from the ink-black darkness, but their riders were just as surprised as the primitives. Most flew past as quickly as they came, but one leaned over to change his course and raised his rifle. The primitives saw him immediately and blasted, tearing up the ground and churning horse and rider into a flailing red mush.

Another rider, now wise to his enemy's position, rode past them and, without slowing, raised a thick piece of dull metal. Smoke poured from the rear, then something bounced off the side of the truck. The primitives fired but the rider returned to the darkness.

"Run!" Agmar shouted. "That thing is –"

As the primitives dispersed, Wodan saw a flash of light and a heavy blast picked him up, pushed the air from him and deafened him, then flung him to the ground. Wodan saw the sides of the truck cave inward like paper in a storm, then saw two legs tumble through the air as if fleeing the scene without their owner.

Wodan's mind was dull and numb. He lifted himself on his elbows and felt an awful wave of nausea overtake him. Bodies and limbs lay all around. Then, amidst the rush of dust and smoke, he felt a terrible drum pounding the earth.

They're coming, he thought. They're going to finish us now.

His rifle was nowhere to be found, but a dead man lay nearby with a handgun held straight out at Wodan like an offering. Wodan took it and pulled back the cold barrel to load a bullet into the chamber. He felt rather than heard the satisfying click and knew that his neck was on the razor's edge.

Two riders charged out of the black hell before him, one in front of the other, their bodies covered in red scars and thick leather, and they moved slow and heavy as if in a dream. The rider in the fore carried a rifle, and took both hands from the reins so that he might aim into the victims that lay in the sand, and the killer in the rear bore a heavy rocket pregnant with the same kind of grenade that had laid waste to the primitives earlier. Wodan clutched the automatic in both hands, raised it in front of him so that the line of the barrel lay between his eye and his enemy. The rider scanned the ground, swung his rifle towards a fallen man - then shifted his eye in response to some primal instinct and saw Wodan. The rider's eyes widened. Wodan pulled the trigger, the gun jumped in his hand, and Wodan could feel the empty shell spin in the air. The horse jerked under the rider as a flap of skin swung under its eye and slapped into its ear. Wodan shot again and a hose loosened from the horse's neck and sprayed red into the air. The horse locked its knees and stumbled forward, and the second rider jerked his mount to the side but still slammed into his companion. Eight legs buckled and the sands rose to accept the flailing limbs of the riders. The dust settled with nightmare slowness. The rifleman laid against his horse, raised his rifle and fired immediately – but Wodan was gone. He looked about, then his eyes shattered as Wodan approached from the side, firing again and again, dissolving the raider's face into glistening shards.

The second rider crawled away from his horse, holding his broken arm and casting his face about in panic. Wodan's gun clicked empty. The raider mumbled something that Wodan could not hear, tears streaming down his face. Wodan glared at the man as he felt about for a spare clip, then remembered he'd taken the gun from a dead man. Suddenly the man's neck and body jerked about, spouting leaks. For a split-second Wodan believed that the man must have exploded due to his hateful stare, then turned and saw several rebels standing and firing. They remembered the mercy that the Ugly had shown them when they were enslaved, and returned it in kind.

There were about thirty of them, shaken and weak but still alive. Twisted shrapnel and pale limbs smoldered in the sand. Agmar twisted a finger in his ear and worked his jaw, looking more annoyed than traumatized. Rachek helped others to their feet, constantly glancing over her shoulder. Wodan saw Brad pointing and shouting silently. Since his rifle hung limp, Wodan gathered that he must be able to hear the horses kept nearby. Wodan nodded, shouted for Brad to help gather the survivors, then ran ahead.

* * *

The mass of slaves huddled against one another, more terrified of their captors than ever. The Ugly circled them, cursing and spitting like madmen. When mothers cried out for lack of their children, the gunmen lashed out with insane oaths that often were not even intelligible.

Because the perimeter had drawn in, the outside world was utterly dark. The tent, the truck, and even most of the horses had been abandoned. If the bodies of their brothers were being eaten by demons in the night, then that was the concern of the dead.

A handful of horsemen stood about, some drooping so low in the saddle that they appeared to be asleep. Others complained loudly, so loudly that Barkus himself had to listen to every ding-bat who'd never been on a successful slave run explain in great detail exactly how he would have run the operation.

"Shut up!" Barkus bellowed, sending a nervous twitch through his horse.

"Shooting in the dark, ridiculous!" said an Ugly. "Ridiculous!"

"I said shut up, god damn you!"

Wallach, still naked atop his horse, edged his mount alongside his master's as he spoke into his radio unit. "Anyone not with the slaves, report," said Wallach.

There was silence while the beaten killers waited. Wallach finally turned to his master and said, "I count forty-seven of us. Goddammit, that's all I can count. All I can make out."

"Fachimundi!" Barkus yelled, the veins in his neck standing out like wounds. "Fachimundi, what have you got?"

The skinny accountant among the slaves rose up straight. "I count less than three-fifty," said Fachimundi. "That leaves fifty gone, including the girls that were in the Feast."

Barkus shook his head, his permanent smile now obscenely out of place.

"Devil's balls," said Wallach. "Gotta be more of us!" He laid his teeth against the radio, said, "If you're not with the slaves, report! Now! I don't care how drunk you are!"

Almost immediately the radio crackled, said, "I'm not with the slaves."

"Who is this?" said Wallach.

"Not a slave," said the voice.

He heard neighing through the radio.

"Is that the horses?" said Wallach. "Is this -"

Barkus snatched the radio from Wallach, ignoring the one on his own belt. "Who is this?" he said, grating the words through his fierce smile. "What have you done?"

"Just stepping out for a walk," said the voice. "That's the right of every free man, isn't it?"

Barkus hesitated for a long time, wondering if another gang had snuck weapons to the slaves. Had the Coil planned this to humiliate him?

"What's the matter, Barkus? Did you cut off your tongue to show the Ugly your team spirit?" Barkus heard laughter on the other end of the radio, then the voice said, "How's your smile look now?"

"It's that little bitch-pup!" said Wallach. "The boy we had in the tent!"

Barkus's eyes widened. "What are you trying to do?" he said quietly.

"Live my life on my own terms," said Wodan. "Same as every human being does, or should do."

Again Barkus hesitated. He gripped his saddle as if the world was disappearing beneath him.

Wodan continued. "Did you really think we would follow the path of least resistance? Why, Barkus? Is it because your own path through life is a steady downhill slide?"

Wallach jumped violently and leaned sideways in his saddle such that his horse buckled and wobbled under him. Wallach fell against Barkus, grasped the wrist that held his radio, and said, "The horses! Don't you dare-"

"Ye-e-e-es," said Wodan. "That's right! We're only taking a few for ourselves, but I did notice that you have quite a surplus. Nice job defending them, by the way."

"Don't you do it, you little bitch!" Wallach spat into the radio.

"You only gave us a handful of rice every day," said Wodan, "but when you wake up, you're going to find an entire banquet of fresh meat laid out for you."

"You!"

"Wait," said Barkus. He leaned his head against Wallach so that they were both crowded around the radio. "If you shoot the horses, we'll kill some of the slaves."

The radio crackled quietly.

"I'll do it," said Barkus. He felt his control coming back. "The old don't fetch a great price anyway." He waited.

"I can't very well have you chasing after us," said Wodan.

"Be that as it may," said Barkus, "all I have to do is give the word, and we start shooting. Parents and grandparents, boy! Ha. Probably brothers and sisters, too!"

"Okay," said Wodan. "But they won't be easy to find."

Wallach blinked as a little idea formed, and said, "Hey, come back now, or we'll shoot some of the slaves anyway." Barkus hissed in annoyance.

"Don't be stupid," said Wodan. "They had their chance to leave, and they didn't."

Barkus shot Wallach an annoyed glare, then pushed him away.

Into the radio he said, "You're just going to get eaten by demons. You know that, right?"

Wodan laughed, then said, "We're ready for them. If you need help tracking us, just follow the trail of dead we leave behind."

Before Barkus could reply, they heard gunshots and the clamor of horses running and spreading in all directions. Barkus was almost convinced that he could hear singing. The radio on the other end turned off.

Barkus and Wallach sat in silence for a long time, then Wallach said, "Do you think the Coil snuck some weapons among the slaves, and that's how they got out?"

Barkus paused for a long time, then said, "That's not the dumbest thing I've heard all day, but it certainly comes close."

* * *

"Stay away from those," said Sevrik, and Professor Korliss jerked his hand away from the node of keys.

"Now you talk," said Korliss.

Several bright white lights hung over Didi's inner sanctum, casting stark shadows on the half-naked Guardians that lazed about drinking nutrimilk or polishing armor that was already shining brightly.

Sevrik rubbed his face with shaking hands racked by chemicals. His eyes did not bounce lightly from point to point but glided along with inhuman smoothness, and while Korliss did fall inside their path from time to time, his old friend began to doubt that Sevrik saw him at all. Most of Didi's monitors were shut down, and Sevrik had his own monitors and automated feeds apprising him of the hunt for Haven's missing citizens.

"You've beaten any record ever set for staying awake, even with drugs," said Korliss. "You know, friend, if the body does not sleep, it does not heal. If the mind cannot shut off its conscious apparatus, then the garbage of experience piles up, and systematic thought breaks apart, and eventually you will go mad."

There was silence. Korliss watched Sevrik's head loll back and forth like an animal worn ragged with deprivation and abuse.

"I admit I don't know what you're doing," said Korliss.

"If you move rational," said Sevrik, "then they figure you out."

"But why did you have him arrested, man?!" said Korliss.

"You don't understand because you're a rational man. Sometimes crazy beats rational. It upsets plans."

"A fancy way of saying that you've done something incredibly irresponsible and unbelievably stupid. Is Didi the enemy now?"

"We allied for the Project," said Sevrik. "I keep Project alive." But when he said this, his face screwed up, and he seemed to wince utterly, at the bottom of his soul.

"Listen," said Korliss. "Didi's under house arrest, but now that it's out that he tampered with the unborn, he's... Sev, he's looking at the death penalty or a hundred years at least. No one's died under the law in Haven since either of us has been alive, and when it did happen long ago, it certainly wasn't because two friends had a misunderstanding."

Sevrik raised his face, eyes closed in corpse-like repose.

Korliss leaned in close, whispered, "Do you think he could even begin to make the common man understand the importance of Project, even if he had to do it to save his life?"

"Looks like the strong will have to come into the light," said Sevrik coolly.

"Looks like all three of us could go down for this!" shrieked Korliss. "I'm the only one that could possibly articulate his motives, you're the only one with connections to the Guardians of the law - and we're all well-known friends, we're all implicated, this stupid thing you've done could... it could end us all, you giant fool!"

Sevrik turned away from Korliss. Korliss felt eyes on him, then sensed a Guardian approaching to politely force him out. Korliss turned and left on his own. He wondered which of them would come out best: The one who was executed, the one who ended up in an insane asylum, or the one who committed suicide?

# Chapter Eighteen

The Monster

They rode through the night, freezing cold and terrified of dropping into a ravine at any moment. When so many hours passed that it felt like they had lived in darkness forever, they stopped and lit the torches they'd taken from the camp. They looked like skeletons to one another. Now that they could ride faster with torch-bearers in the front, those that knew how to ride showed others the finer points of equestrianism. Wodan had never ridden a horse, but his shaggy blond mare seemed to like him from the start. The sides of the mare were covered in bruises; Wodan scratched her ears.

Red and blue seeped through a blanket of thick clouds and they could see distant rises and jutting contours on the black earth. The miles of rock rattled their bones. Now that the stream of panic and bloodlust ran dry, exhaustion and hunger and thirst caught up with them. They slowly came to a stop. The horses blew thick reams of steam into the chill air.

"We gotta eat one of these horses," said one among them.

"They'll see our smoke," said another.

"Didn't say cook it," said the first.

No one moved. Some curled against their horses, as if to sleep atop those long legs.

"If we eat we sleep, and if we sleep we die," said Wodan, his face buried in his horse's mane. After the words were absorbed he lifted his face. "We have to assume they're right behind us."

"But we scattered their horses," said a tired voice.

"All they need is a few," said Wodan, "and we're too tired to fight. We have to figure out where we are, then figure out where we're going."

"I know the area," said Agmar. Wodan perk up. "Know it well," he finished, nodding.

"Been all around, have you?" said Wodan.

Agmar nodded, said, "We ran off course a little, no fault of ours, but... I could get us to Sunport."

"How long?" said Wodan.

"Half a day, a day," said Agmar. He smiled cynically, said, "But we're tired, we're hungry, and these horses are gonna start dropping if they don't get watered. Only a day to the city, but I reckon it'll be the longest day of your life."

"Damn, we were lucky," said Wodan. "To be that close to the city!"

"You're right." Agmar scanned the dark roof overhead, then said, "If we'd stayed just one more night with the Ugly..."

"We might have gotten to Sunport by nightfall tonight," said Brad, "and then we never would have been able to escape."

The thought was sobering and terrifying, a reminder that they should be grateful for what little they had.

Wodan turned to Agmar, then said, "Thanks. For coming with us, I mean. We wouldn't be able to find Sunport without you." Wodan looked the old man up and down, remembering his words of caution and wondering exactly why the old man had risked his life to come with them.

"You're quite welcome!" said Agmar, bowing with a forced flourish. "Welcome to the land of freedom! I've no doubt that all our needs will be met out here in the wilderness. Well, except the need for food, water, sleep, shelter, or even a bare minimum of safety. But other than that, it feels great to be here, doesn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" said Wodan. "You wanted to escape from the Ugly just as much as we did."

"We're alike in some ways, but we're a little different in others."

"Is that so?"

"For instance," Agmar continued, "do you feel any guilt about the lives you took?"

In truth, Wodan did not. He had read books and seen films in his youth that showed normal, average people pick up a weapon to defend their life from some criminal; inevitably the person's hands would be shaking so hard that it never proved difficult for the criminal to disarm them. He'd also seen stories that showed crime-fighting vigilantes taking lives, but later moping about with a conscience weighed down by guilt. There was always a scary aura of darkness that hung over such so-called "superheroes" who took the law into their own hands. Strangely enough, Wodan felt no guilt at all. While aiming a gun and pulling the trigger and watching his enemies fall, his only concern had been about accuracy. He wondered if perhaps he was some sort of monster. If all the slaves had risen up and overpowered the Ugly without killing them, would he have been capable of arguing against the idea of torturing their captors to death?

"No answer?" said Agmar. "Maybe that's why I came along. Maybe I was afraid that these people were being led by an immoral little boy with no sense of remorse or compassion or... humanity."

"Humanity?" said Wodan. "That's where you're wrong, Agmar. Those men we killed – they crossed a line and left their humanity behind. I know it was your sense of compassion that kept you from using a weapon earlier, but you have to understand that you were raised and programmed to obey a morality that they made. Do you think the demon and the Ugly would be the masters of this world if they couldn't depend on the passivity and meekness and selflessness of popular morality? I saw you take the book that Barkus dropped. I don't have to see it to guess what's inside; I saw it written on the faces of the old ones who refused to fight back. Is it full of stories about idealized hardships suffered by victims? Are the bad guys magically defeated in the end? Is there a concluding chapter where all the evil in the world is conquered by some outside force that finally rewards all the poor suckers who endured their suffering with a smile?

"Agmar, we had to kill the Ugly because they were confident. They were confident in their strength and our weakness. They were confident that we would live in fear. And if you and the other old ones hadn't held back, we would have outnumbered our enemies four-to-one. Less of us would have died, the people we left behind wouldn't be living in hell right now, and the Ugly, well... it would be their turn to endure the suffering that they seem to love so much."

Agmar was about to reply, then he noticed that all the others were sitting straight in their mounts. They held their guns with confidence and their eyes were alive. They were not in the mood for self-deprecating introspection.

"He's right," said Brad. "Let's ride the hell outta here."

"All the way to Haven!" said Rachek, smiling. "Right, Wodan?"

"Right!" said Wodan, laughing.

Wodan was about to ask Agmar of the route they must take, but at that moment a cry broke out. A man with sharp eyes pointed into the distance. In the rising light of the dawn they saw a large figure in the distance.

They watched the black, featureless thing. There was nothing natural about its movements. The dark shape churned against the earth, leaping oddly with the help of membranes that flapped at its side. It was far away, but moving toward them very quickly. Soon they could make out horns and quivering limbs.

"Demon!" shouted one. "A demon!"

Screams broke out and everyone kicked their horses in a blind panic.

"Stop!" yelled Wodan. "Wait! Stay where you are!"

The riders broke into small groups and stumbled in odd directions, and some crashed into one another and clung to the sides of their bucking horses. Wodan turned about, stabbing the people with his eyes but unable to stop the panic. It was a cold slap in the face to realize that even though the Ugly had posted guards to watch for demons, not a single demon had come near them; now that they were alone and on their own for just a few hours, a demon had already found them out and was ready to kill them.

A shotgun blasted. The people stopped and saw Brad holding the smoking barrel of a gun, a deafening reminder of the power they wielded. "Quit actin' like a bunch of whipped bitches," said Brad.

"But it's a demon!" said one man. "It's a destroyer! We can't..."

"Can't what?" said Wodan. "Can't outrun it? Can't wrestle it to the ground? Look at you. You're bigger and stronger than I am." Wodan produced a handgun and leveled it at the man's face. "Just remember, no matter how big or how strong anyone is, one between the eyes is the greatest equalizer in the whole world." Wodan lowered his gun, then said, "It's time for people to stop killing people. It's time to form up in a line and start killing these dumb animals that think they rule the world."

"He's right!" Rachek shouted. "Form a line, now! No more sacrifices, no more running!"

Brad and Rachek drove their mounts in a wide circle and gathered everyone up. Wodan stood and faced the monster, and the line formed on either side of him. Wodan glared at the approaching monster and exchanged his handgun for a heavy rifle. The others were terrified, but more than a little ashamed at their cowardice. Even though their bowels threatened to burst, they spat on the ground in disgust and aimed their weapons.

"Do not be afraid," shouted Wodan, and he raised his rifle high. "DO NOT BE AFRAID!"

* * *

"What do you mean to do?" asked Fachimundi, biting his lip and wringing his hands. He watched the elite leaving the tent and they seemed dead-set on some plan of action.

"We're going to find them," said Barkus, striding past. Fachimundi ran to keep up. "We're going to find them before the demon does. We're going to kill them before the wasteland does."

"Can we, ah... move that fast?"

"No, we can't," said Barkus. "The larger the group, the slower it moves. That's why we're splitting up. You're in charge."

Fachimundi stopped as if he'd run into an invisible wall. He stared at his master's back, then realized he'd been drooling and wiped his chin. He ran to catch up again.

"Eighteen horses have come back," Barkus continued. "That'll be enough for us. You and the rest of the boys will continue walking the slaves to Sunport."

"But... there's so many of them left," said Fachimundi. "We'll be outnumbered more than ten-to-one. They'll be quicker to rebel next time."

"Won't be a next time."

"They're already complaining!" whined Fachimundi.

Barkus stopped suddenly and gripped Fachimundi's shoulder. "When the sun comes up, you fire your guns into them. You beat them, whip them, scream at them. Give them no rest until they stagger into Sunport half dead. You hear me?"

Fachimundi stared at the ground and shook his head slightly. Barkus knew that it was not because he pitied the wretches; the accountant's shriveled heart held so many sadistic fantasies that Barkus rarely felt comfortable alone with him. He grabbed Fachimundi's ear and shook his head.

"This won't happen again!" Barkus hissed. "We're going to teach them a lesson. You beat those dogs until they pray some demon takes their lives. By the time you reach Sunport, you'll see the hides of those criminals baking on the city walls."

"How many," said Fachimundi, slowly. "How many can I kill... before the job is no longer profitable?"

"Profits!" said Barkus. "Forget the gold. This isn't about slaves for money anymore, you pup. There's a lot more at stake here than living nice or living nicer. Kill as many as you want to see dead. Kill one every minute just to count time, if you like. But mark this: You leave enough of them alive so they can spread the tale. We will show the world what happens when the dogs step out of line."

Fachimundi lifted his eyes and saw the black-clad killers mounting up on their horses. Two Ugly youths approached and one buckled Barkus's gun belt about his waist while the other placed his heavy fur cape on his shoulders. Wallach rode up slowly, armored in greasy leather, a shaggy mane of bison fur framing his thick face and neck. Fachimundi swallowed, terrified by the sight of the grim-faced hunters.

The eighteen killers waited for the sun to peek over the horizon, then they invoked a curse and rode off without another word. The ground shook with their departure.

"They will make the Living Scar proud," said Fachimundi. He turned to the slaves and fingered the sawed-off shotgun hanging at his side, then said, "Now I have my own work to attend to. We must all do our part."

# Chapter Nineteen

See the Monkeys Dance

On the coast at the edge of the world stood ancient walls of stone with gun towers leaning at odd angles. The sun withered orange overhead and great cloud pyres burned in the moments before darkening. A gaggle of lean, exhausted horses stumbled over the southern horizon and the famished riders wondered if they would be able to guess the signs and words that would gain them admittance into a hard world that could exist just as well without them.

As the riders drew near they could see dozens of weathered crosses standing before the gates of the city. A few bore the upper halves of mummified corpses, but most were empty.

Wodan turned to the others, said, "What are those?"

"Execution crosses," said Agmar. "Long ago, Sunport was ruled by demon-kings... humans who made deals with demons in order to assure the safety of the city. At the time, noble houses feeding commoners to demons was the only way they knew how to get by. Fortunately, Sunport got rid of those guys. I'm not sure who rules now. I don't think anybody knows for sure. It's not like Pontius, where the lines were drawn hundreds of years ago. Here, whoever can take power gets to keep it as long as nobody else wants it. Of course, somebody else always wants it..."

"So they don't make sacrifices to demons," said Wodan. "That's great and all, but what are those bodies doing up there?"

"Ah! Right. Sacrificing to demons is against the law in Sunport, but they still have criminals, you know? I guess they figure they might as well hang them up here and, well, if a demon should happen to come by with a powerful hunger..."

Wodan shook his head. "So do they crucify murderers and rapists, or do they tend to target political dissidents?"

"You're getting it already!" said Agmar, laughing. "You sure you weren't born in the wasteland after all?"

Wodan eyed the heavy gate that stood before them. From the gun towers he could see small black silhouettes of men watching them. "Are they going to let us in with all these guns we're carrying?" said Wodan.

"Son," said Agmar, shaking his head, "we'll be lucky if they let us in at all. As for the particulars, it depends on who's in charge, what kind of mood the guards are in, stuff like that."

When the riders drew near enough, the guards swiveled machineguns toward them, slowly, and said nothing. Wodan stopped and the others followed suit. He looked around and cleared his throat, unsure of his next move. He could see the guards above smoking, waiting.

Agmar waved to one tower, said, "Hey, Machek! It's me, Agmar. Agmar Epemi!"

"Ah," said a guard with gray bristles on his face. His voice was high-pitched and, though he did not raise it, it carried from the stone walls and bounced to the petitioners. "Ah, Agmar, good times, right! You come to trade and such?"

"Trade, eat, rest," said Agmar, "like that."

"Come up to me, right, later," said the guard. He waved behind him, said, "Open up, it's friends. It's friends!"

The door cracked in the middle and dust and sand fell in a slow torrent. They saw younger guards pushing from the other side, torchlight gleaming on their motley armor. The riders nudged their horses forward. The guards did not take any notice of their guns, nor even any notice of them at all as they returned to their card games.

The city was wild with human life. Lights burned in multi-colored paper lanterns hanging between rainbow-bricked apartments and temples, and sweat-drenched revelers danced in green and orange and blue. Fat merchants in bright robes, covered in gold and silver on their throats, ears, fingers, haggled with stern customers; exotic fruit, wineskins, and coins were gripped in white-knuckled hands, and while it was customary for financial matters to end with hugs, the people often looked furious as they awkwardly embraced. Beggars with crooked legs and open hands crowded around the riders almost immediately; Brad shouted "Git!" and "G'on!" and kicked at the hungry throng, most of whom looked better off than the riders. Men in black robes, with beards cut into long strips that they tied over their heads and across their eyes, carried thick sleeves full of scrolls, and they argued the finer points of theology with one another as they pulled a group of small children and cats on leashes. Slender prostitutes in garnished dresses called out to them, their Adam's apples bobbing rhythmically with their deep voices. Farmers shouted in guttural, outland dialects as they rode heavy horses that pulled carts piled high with greens; tanned, thick-browed children rode atop the food and stared open-mouthed at the ceaseless chaos.

An overpowering aroma of roasting meat and spices slapped them in the face. A burly, shirtless man waved to them from a balcony where rows of skinned, browned squirrels hung splayed out on a line dangling above a smoking oven. The man smiled warmly and scratched off a thick patch of his dead skin with a spatula. Agmar drooled uncontrollably, then realized what was happening and spent the next few minutes wiping his beard on his robe.

Penitents lined the avenues between temples and whipped at one another with rubbery sticks attached to whips, and monks with fat jowls and purple robes cried, "Give up the wealth that ties you to this world! Cut off the lust that produces endless generations of suffering! Give, and give up! Serve, and sever desire! Death to the world!" The armed guards of the city, in uniform gray cloth and thick leather, ignored the riders as they rolled dice and called out to the women in the streets. Mercenaries guarding merchants or leaning over the balconies of crowded palaces glared at the riders as they passed by, just waiting for trouble.

Revelers and Bacchan cultists danced among their horses bearing peacock feathers or ribbons that glittered in the lamplight. Their clothes disappeared as they whirled in time to the drummers and stick-beaters prowling the sidewalks. One spry dancer with breasts like melons whirled next to Brad, who reached down with his tongue hanging out. When she danced away, he cried, "I felt a nipple! I think I definitely felt a nipple!"

"What a sight!" said Wodan. "This place is amazing!"

"Every few months," said Agmar, "trade ships will come in from Xi'Pang and Kurgheim in the east or Tulla in the west. That's one of the benefits of living on the coast: The sea is free of demons as far as I know."

"How did you know the guard that let us in?"

"I told you, I've been all over! Listen, you let me take care of things now that we're here. I'll go see some old friends. See if I can get us some supplies for the trip to Haven."

"So you mean to come all the way with us, then?"

"I do," said Agmar, frowning, "but we're going to plan this out and do it right. We're going to figure things out this time, not go off half-cocked. Understand?"

"Fine by me!" Wodan said, laughing.

Agmar turned to see where they should go, then saw that Brad had ridden away from the group. A street dealer waved at the sealed jars of beer and wine on his stand. Brad leaned out of his saddle and shouted, "How many! How many for this horse!"

"Brad!" shouted Agmar. "Get away from there! Stupid child!"

Other primitives began to wander, some to beer and food vendors, some to chesty prostitutes.

"Oh, come on," said Agmar. "You primitives!"

"We have to stick together," said Wodan. "Agmar, do you know of a place where we can get food and rest, all together?"

"Sure," said Agmar, shaking his head irritably. "Guess I'll have to stick around you kids for a while."

Wodan and Rachek helped gather the others with promises of food and drink, then Agmar led them through side streets to a large building that had grown in uneven patchwork stages of development. Many warm lamps hung over a crowd of dancers and smokers outside the establishment. A bright blue sign over the doorway read:

ANIMAL'S PART PUB AND MEAL

WARMING YOU SINCE LONG AGO

SLEEPERS WELCOME

NO NO NO VIOLENCE INSIDE!

A fat man with a wild mane of black hair stomped through the doorway. A young man surrounded by a group of friends called out to the man, "Hey, Ferge! Good times, always, yeah!"

"Oh, git off," said the fat man. "I'll be glad when you're all dead."

The fat man suddenly turned to the riders. His black eyes cut into them.

"Ferge," said Agmar. "Hey, now."

The man smiled by lifting his upper lip into a sneer. "Right, Agmar," he said, after an awkward moment. "Been a long one, and I still haven't been sent an invite to your funeral."

Agmar climbed down from his horse and the two men hugged.

Agmar drew away and, still clasping Ferge, said, "How you been?"

"Every day sucks worse than the last," said Ferge, still smiling, "though it has been nice having you away. Going to be around for long? Need rooms?"

"We do," said Agmar. "It'll be nice to catch up. Er, you take a few horses for trade, right?"

"Take horses," said Ferge, "but not donkeyed-out mules what've been buried a year and dug up again. These're all bones and sick." He let disappointment sink in for a moment, then said, "But for you, Ag, I'll take a loss. Food, drink, smoke, bed, and we'll figure out the difference later."

"Good man!" said Agmar, clapping Ferge about his shoulders.

Many of the primitives dismounted, then looked about wild-eyed. Many of them were still covered in cracked tribal paint. None of them wore anything but handmade leather clothes and a few stolen shoes and other bullet-ridden articles. In a city filled with people wearing festive, motley attire, they were the only ones who truly stood out.

"God's bones," said Ferge, "what a lot of mob! Agmar, now, you know, I don't want any trouble in my place."

Agmar looked back at the primitives, said, "Of course, no trouble, Ferge."

"Hear?"

"Of course!"

"Right," said Ferge. "That's a plan." He waved for them to follow him into the pub.

* * *

The bar was dark and lit with dense blue lamps. Tables on one side, a dance floor on the other, and the slow, grinding chaos of limbs everywhere. Pigs and ears of corn were roasted right beside the dance floor where armed mercenaries put aside their differences to hunt young women with jerky but strangely effective dance moves. A band of tattooed women played instruments Wodan had never seen; heavy wooden pipes beaten like drums, stringed instruments attached to batteries and sound amplifiers, and flutes some six or seven feet in length that ground up the air with long, low notes. The singer was enormously overweight and growled in a dead language.

Ferge showed them to a long table against the wall and the primitives spent nearly fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to stack their rifles against the wall before realizing that there were pegs and shelves designed for just such a purpose. As soon as they finished, many slaves, all branded and bow-tied, arrived with plates piled high. The centerpiece was a rich-smelling roasted pig with a glazed head and milky eyeballs, the innards replaced with spiced sugar-corn, raw cinnamon-powdered apples, and thick noodles laced with green herbs and stuffed with dripping yellow and red cheeses. Jugs and bottles were slammed onto the table, and they were filled with grapes floating on amber mead, frothy cold drinks, coffee thick with gritty cocoa sludge, and chilled water served with chunks of red melon and crushed lemons.

For a long time they stuffed themselves, wordless, a month of enforced starvation reaching its climax in a frenzied, robotic ritual, utensils sitting untouched. Finally they looked at one another, someone pointed at Agmar's beard dripping with sauce like a mop used to clean up a murder and everyone laughed, giddy and overcome with joy. A hard-assed mercenary who required shaded glasses even inside the dark bar sauntered by and Brad immediately leaped from his seat and walked directly behind the man, caricaturing his walk with simian mannerisms while tugging at his crotch, and the youths pounded the table with glee. Rachek smeared red sauce on her cheeks and held her hair up in imitation of one of the bar's prostitutes, calling to Agmar and offering to let him sniff her behind for a handful of money. Tears rolled down their faces as they laughed at the strange world they found themselves in.

We're alive! Wodan thought, his face aching from laughter. We're really going to make it!

While the others talked and laughed, Wodan looked at the people mixing in the bar. How shocked the people of Haven would be to see this! Even in Hell the people laughed and danced. If he hadn't made it through the valley or escaped from his enslavement, he would have died thinking there was no hope for his species, no joy to be found in the outside world. He still knew that joy was fleeting and hope required a bedside nurse and constant supervision, but Haven's idea that the outside world should be written off was wrong. Humanity still lived, but it was in desperate need of help. On the far wall he saw a large man armed with guns that had seen much use sobbing bitterly as he leaned against a dartboard, and he was patted on the back by men who looked like beasts. He saw a young girl standing outside the dance floor, staring at the dancers with bleak eyes, her jaw set hard and clashing against her wild makeup and revealing apparel; Wodan knew immediately that her family had dolled her up in a desperate attempt to find someone with money, someone who would take care of them. The girl sighed, forced herself to smile, then approached the dance floor.

They need a world that's made for them, thought Wodan. They don't deserve to live on the fringes of a world made for and by monsters!

Just then Rachek leaned over the table and stared at Brad and Wodan. "Aren't either one of you boys going to ask me for a dance?"

"Oh! Uh!" said Wodan. "I don't, uh, know anything about... d-dancing!"

Brad stared down at his hands, head shaking, mumbling, "I've been... you know, tired from... fighting raiders... you know..."

"Just boys!" she shot back, full of venom. "Nothing but boys!" She turned and stalked off, and the two boys stared at her butt as she walked away.

"So embarrassing for you," said Brad, shaking his head. "You were so scared of her, man."

Agmar tapped Wodan, said, "There's someone I want you to meet." Grateful to be taken out of the situation, Wodan joined him.

They made their way across the bar. Agmar looked back, saw Wodan doing some kind of strange jig as he walked, and flashed him an annoyed look. They arrived at a table where three men sat staring at a pitcher. One man was tall, with long, greasy brown silk-hair that hung down his cloak. The other two wore red, neat uniforms under roughly patched cloaks. Even among the mix of people he'd seen in Sunport, he could tell the two were foreigners by their straight black hair and slitted eyes. One of the two had pomaded hair that was divided down the middle, and he ignored all around him. The other was smaller, lean, sitting like a coiled spring and staring intently at Wodan. He had the look of a fighter, or a soldier that had grown wild away from civilization.

The long-haired man saw them approach and waved. "Agmar!" he said. "That really you? Come and sit! How's your family?"

Agmar glanced nervously at Wodan, then said, "They're fine, they're fine, good to see you too – hey listen, I wanted you to meet this young man. His name's Wodan. Wodan, this is my old friend, Jarl. He's... something of an artist, you might say."

Jarl shook his hand, then said, "I'm on a mission these days, if you can believe it. But I never expected to see you here! Didn't you retire from-"

"I've been living with the tribals south of here. City life didn't suit me. Listen, right now me and my friends are trying to find a ship that can get us out of here. You're welcome to come, of course..."

"Ship?" said the smaller foreigner. "You go to east? Why you have the business east? You speak now!"

"We're not going east." Agmar stared at the foreigner, then said, "Jarl, who are these jokers?"

"They're my travelling companions," said Jarl. "Don't mind them, they're quite civil. They're scouts for the Empire of San Ktari. They've been checking out our walls, our fighters, our weapons – and our bars – for the past few weeks so they can make a report on whether or not Sunport is worth invading."

"Not spy," said the fighter, his voice high-pitched. "We diplomacy!"

Jarl and Agmar laughed. "Jarl, why would you trust two rats from a society that exists solely to feed a military infrastructure? And what about demons, what are you going to do about them?"

"That reminds me," said Jarl. "I wanted to ask you a question about the flesh demons."

Wodan leaned forward.

"I've been doing some studying," said Jarl. "The old men... I've been listening to their stories. They lived back when there was much less communication between city-states. What strikes me is that the world seemed a lot more dangerous back in their day."

"Old men are like that," said Agmar. "They run from one demon when they were young, then the tale changes through the years until they were fighting a pack of a hundred."

"Maybe," said Jarl, "but think about your own experience. You've told me about how you hid from them when you were young, all the things you did to avoid them in the wasteland."

"Yeah..."

"How come they never caught up with you? How could you keep gambling your life without running into serious trouble?"

"As I got older, I, you know, I tended to travel with groups, I guess."

"Oh? And are those groups seeing constant harassment?"

"We only met one demon on the way here," said Wodan.

"You yourself told me," said Jarl, "that traveling with groups isn't that smart. They're loud, they stink - they draw the demon out, and they get killed if they're not armed to the teeth and more than a day's ride from any city. You see? I think that something's changed in the wasteland, something that we don't quite understand. Agmar, I think that the presence of the demon is waning."

They sat in silence as they considered this, then Wodan said, "That thought has been in the back of my mind these past few days. Where I'm from, we stay hidden. Most of us have never seen a demon. We have stories, we have some recorded history, but the history I've heard makes it seem like the demon is everywhere in the wasteland. Now that I've been out in the world, I'm left with the feeling that history's version of the demon's presence is a little different from my own experience."

"Exactly!" said Jarl. "That's what I'm saying! There are less demons than there used to be, and I'm going to take this chance to go to San Ktari... and do my work."

"What kind of work?" said Wodan.

Jarl looked about, then said quietly, "I've joined a secret society. A very secret secret society. I'm not allowed to speak about it, but it's the reason I'm making this journey to the East."

"I see. I won't ask about it, then." Jarl nodded, seemingly disappointed. "But you might want to consider giving your old friend Agmar some idea of what you're getting yourself into."

"Very well, if you're going to twist my arm about it," said Jarl, nearly cutting him off. "I've joined... the Entertainers."

Agmar leaned back in his seat. "My... God."

"Oh..." said Wodan, nodding slowly, confused.

"Dear God in Heaven," said Agmar, closing his eyes slowly.

"And they've given me a mission," said Jarl.

"You've abandoned your humanity for those weirdos!" Agmar screamed. Wodan, whose attention had been drifting, jerked as if stung by a bee.

"It had to be done!" said Jarl. "For the same reason you used to wander the world, looking for something, looking for an answer to a question you couldn't put into words. I had to do it. My mission is to go to San Ktari and investigate their gods."

This is so weird, said Wodan. In Haven, the Entertainers are just a guild of artists looking after one another.

"Their gods!" said Agmar. "They're savages, Jarl. You should have just asked me before you hooked up with these two nut-balls. All their gods are war gods. Their entire pantheon is composed of psychotic, blood-drinking lunatics. Messer the Reaver, Fat Brahmut, the Red Sisters – they're all the same!"

The scout with the pomade in his hair, who had been making a great show of ignoring everyone, turned his head even further away to make it clear that he was not listening. Wodan saw him scratch his ear idly, but as he did so he cupped his hand behind his ear so that he would not miss a word.

Before Agmar could say anything else, the fighter slapped his chest and said, "We have new gods! Gods with skin."

"You idiot!" said Agmar, his voice shrill. "I don't doubt that at all! You probably have some demon in league with your leaders, telling your people what to do and who to kill. It wouldn't be the first time something like that's happened."

"No!" said the fighter. "We serve Die Engelen. Is much beauty!"

"And that," said Jarl, leaning forward to stop the two from arguing, "is exactly what I need to see. I've been charged with a holy duty. And I mean to do it."

"So you're going to cross the waste with just these two?" said Agmar. He looked at the two scouts, said, "How exactly do you plan to do that?"

"Have big balls," said the fighter, "and big ass guns." His eyes closed tightly as he smiled, beaming with pride.

"This is so strange," said Wodan. "Do the Entertainers have to work in secret? Because where I come from–"

"Boy, what are you listening at?" said Agmar, craning his head. Wodan turned and saw a young boy with black hair. He was dressed in rough clothes and wore a collar.

"Sorry," he said, leaving them quickly.

They said nothing for a moment.

"I should have kept my mouth shut," Jarl said through gritted teeth. "I'm a dead man. A dead man, for sure!" He turned to the scouts, said, "Tomorrow, leave tomorrow? Haul ass?"

"Yah," said the fighter. "Tomorrow, haul ass, we go. Another pitcher, now."

"Fine, another pitcher," said Jarl, signaling a waiter.

Agmar watched the boy until he disappeared in the crowd, then said, "Jarl, you sure you don't have any connections that could hook us up with passage on a ship?"

"I don't even have connections that could get me on a ship," said Jarl. "You have money?"

"We've got horses."

"If you have several then I'm sure you could buy passage for all your people, depending on how far you want to go."

"Thing is," said Wodan, "we need to buy a ship. We can't have people finding out about my homeland. I can get us in the general direction, I think, but we need to..."

"What?" said Agmar.

"Shit!" said Wodan, slapping his forehead. "Damn, I forgot. Agmar, unless you know how to pilot a ship on top of everything else you know, then we need some kind of navigator!"

"That's true," said Agmar. "I was thinking we would just book passage with a few of the horses."

"No!" said Wodan. "Agmar, my homeland is a secret place! No one but us can know about its location. We have to buy a ship... and, damn, even a captain who will promise to live with us, I guess."

Agmar frowned and pulled his face into his beard.

"I can't believe I didn't think about that," said Wodan. "I feel like an idiot."

"Talk to Filius Bilch," said Jarl. "The dwarf over there. He's a slave dealer, owns some ships. He might sell you a ship, even a slave crew. But ships and crews cost a right fortune, Ag. I hope your horses piss whiskey and shit silver."

"What a mess," said Agmar. "We might as well try."

Wodan and Agmar left Jarl and crossed the dance floor. An announcer frantically narrated an event happening onstage which included a competition between a musician trying to complete a piece of well-known music on his banjo – without mistakes – while a famous drunk attempted to fill a large glass jar with his own urine before the piece of music ended. "Who will drink the golden elixir!" the announcer shrieked. "The master of music or the master of drinking? Place your bets, the table's still open until the glass is half full – or half empty, depending on your point of view!"

"Don't fail me now!" screamed the man pissing into the jar. "Relax! Don't fail me now!"

We should get out of here sooner rather than later, thought Wodan.

* * *

The dwarf sat in a high seat at his favorite table, not so near the band and dance floor that he would be jostled rudely, and not so far away that the other merchants would miss the size of his jewels and fat-breasted escorts. His bald head was cracked and scarred, full of shingles and psoriasis and even some eczema; he had poured several small rivulets of molten gold into many open sores to cover his sickness, and scratched at his shining crown constantly. He wore robes of alternating strips of pink silk and purple velvet. He had two half-wits on either side of him, men with bloated muscles and lopsided heads and mouths perpetually hanging open. Pregnant slave girls fanned him and passed around his golden cup, milking their breasts into it for him to drink. It was known that he made the girls consume a quart of strong liquor every night so that he might father a generation of slaves incapable of outwitting or overpowering him.

Agmar and Wodan stood before him.

"Are you Filius Bilch, sir?" said Wodan.

The dwarf's face was lined with trenches, and when he narrowed his eyes at them his skin bulged as the wrinkles deepened into serpentine runes of age.

"You see before you the most powerful man in the universe," said the dwarf in a high, croaking voice, "a thing of wonder whom an entire city calls 'master,' a god whose single word can destroy families and whose friendship can be the sun in all your days - and then you wonder if it is truly the Filius Bilch upon whom you gaze in awe?"

The two worked their mouths.

"Dumbstruck," said the dwarf. "Not the first time I have seen the mighty laid low, and, because my greatness is everlasting, probably not the last. Worry not, sweet children, you have found the living treasure that you seek."

Wodan felt something bump into his legs. He moved, began to apologize, and saw that two armed men were moving chairs under them. He thanked them and sat beside Agmar. One man bent down to Wodan's ear and whispered, "He likes you. Watch yourself. One quick move, one false word, and I'll make you wish the demon had you instead of me." Wodan nodded.

Agmar cleared his throat politely, said, "If I may introduce ourselves-"

"You may," Filius said magnanimously.

"My name is Agmar Epemi, and this is my associate, Wodan. We have heard of your reputation for kindness, and though we wish to do business, we have little to offer in the face of your greatness."

Wodan wanted to laugh. As exhaustion overtook his awareness, the dwarf and his ridiculous entourage became surreal beyond belief. He had difficulty following Agmar's plea for a ship and a slave crew. To see a man who, until now, had never been anything but paternal and hyper-rational turn into a raging sycophant only added to the dreamlike unreality of the situation. Wodan suppressed a yawn, then smiled at one of the slave girls. She had a mound under her dress, rich black hair, and purple eye makeup that concealed a great bruise. She looked away quickly.

The black-haired boy that Agmar had chased away earlier wandered up to the group. The group paid him no mind. Wodan noticed the boy's collar again, then saw that Filius's half-wits and slave girls also wore dog collars. The boy stared directly at Wodan.

"A ship," said Filius, "and a captain and crew? Not a problem, my friend, and I would be more than happy to oblige. But, you ask for so little - I must insist that you take my entire fortune as well, and perhaps even myself, as your devoted slave."

There was a long delay, then the slave girls and armed men laughed weakly. Agmar looked downcast.

The crowd exploded with applause. Wodan saw the musician curse wildly, then he turned up the jar of urine. The narrator pointed and said, "The winner! The winner!" and the crowd laughed. The famous drunk cut a neat jig as he held his pants up with one hand.

"You joke, sir," said Agmar.

"Funny," said Filius, "I thought that you were the one playing me for a fool. Listen, mortal: Ships are worth a small fortune. A ship costs far more than the amount of gold you can carry around in your raggedy purse. I'm sure such an amount would stagger your comprehension. Furthermore, each of my ships is a vessel worth ten times any other man's."

"Ah," said Agmar, "then perhaps we should seek business with men who have more affordable vessels."

"Nonsense!" said Filius. "As the richest man in the world – nay, as the richest man in all the history of the world - I have in my fleet ships both expensive and thriftily-priced. Ask any other merchant, and he will hum and haw in indecision, then make fun of your appearance, then refuse to deal with you. I, on the other hand, can offer my wares at a discount, and will gladly get rid of a number of my slaves, who I am sure you will find as worthless as I have."

This is absurd, Wodan thought. Why not state a price and be done with it? Or is he after something more than money?

"Master," said the slave boy, "we do have that one ship, you know, the one you've been wanting to get rid of..."

"Who pulled your string!" the dwarf raged. "God damn you, boy!"

"You said yourself that it was worth nothing to us anymore, it's so old."

"Ten lashes for every impertinent word that slides off your tongue!" said the dwarf. "And ten more for the cost of burying your whore of a mother!"

The boy's face flashed red and he stared at the ground, grinding his jaw.

"Sir," said Wodan, "I'll take that pile of junk off your hands and sink it for you. It probably costs more to keep that thing in port than it's worth, I'm sure."

"Spare me your malicious words," said Filius, turning slowly to Wodan. "That vessel has seen high adventure the likes of which your pale face could not dream of. I will not part with the Hero of Old for less than... well, more than you could ever give."

"Just listen to us, for a moment," said Wodan, and Agmar jerked in his seat, terrified that Wodan would say the wrong thing. "We have no cash at the moment, but we have plenty of goods to barter. Specifically, horses and guns. You could supply a small army with them and knock over one of your competitors. Or start a demolition racing league where every rider is equipped with a gun and a single bullet. By giving up a single ship you don't even want in the first place, you could build a gambling enterprise that would have money constantly pouring out of it."

The dwarf lowered his face and stared at Wodan. He twiddled his thumbs slowly, almost cruelly. "Not! Interested!" he said.

"I didn't think you would be," said Wodan. "That was a feint."

"What!" said the dwarf.

"I can see that people do not understand you because they see only the material evidence of your power. But you, Filius, are interested in the more obscure manifestations of power. I see now why you speak of gods and money in the same breath."

The dwarf's eyes spun around as if he had been caught cheating at a game the rules of which were known only by himself.

"I have something to offer you which no one else has ever offered before," said Wodan, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Filius, for this ship, I offer you my soul."

"You wouldn't!" said the dwarf. His armed men opened their eyes wide. One slave girl covered her mouth while another shielded the child in her belly.

"We'll write up a contract," said Wodan, "and I'll sign it in blood and seal it with my own seed."

"Demon's perineum," the dwarf said, chewing his tongue. "Now that's something no other merchant in this town ever got before."

Wodan stood. "I'll let you iron out the details with my associate," he said, smiling. "I'm going to get a drink."

Wodan rose from his seat and a heavily armed man twice his size nearly tripped as he rushed to give Wodan space to move. Wodan walked away with all the poise and nobility of a fearless master of the dark arts; as soon as he was out of view of the others, he leaned against a chair and regained his breath.

Finally! he thought. I beat them at their own sick game!

He looked about to find his friends, then Jarl the Entertainer walked into him. His eyes were glazed and oblivious. He began to bend his legs as if preparing to sit in a chair, then Wodan realized the man was completely drunk and was in the process of falling down. Wodan grabbed his arm and steadied him.

After a long time Jarl finally noticed Wodan beside him, then said, "There you are! I've been meaning to tell you something, Wigmo. Did you know?"

"Know what?" said Wodan.

"Did you know that the history of the world is the history of the war between secret societies?"

"Is that a fact?" said Wodan. He looked about to see if there was a place where Jarl could be laid down so that he wouldn't hurt himself or puke on any dangerous mercenaries.

"Oh yes," said Jarl. "Oh yes. The people of Pontius hate the Ugly youth who roam the streets, fighting and robbing and running from the Law, but then those same people go to churches funded and staffed by high-ranking Ugly who worship demons and hide hideous mutilations under their clean white robes. The people of Pontius thank the Smiths for guarding technology and making sure that people don't destroy themselves as the Ancients once did, but it's obvious to anyone with their eyes open that every gun wielded by the Ugly and the Coil and even the Law bears the mark of the golden gear of the Smiths. People beg the Law to pass more strict laws year after year even though the legal system is already so labyrinthine and complicated that no single human could ever possibly understand it, much less find an ounce of freedom in that sea of restriction, and yet it's a fact that the Lawmen really only serve the wealthy." Jarl waited a moment, swaying back and forth, then shouted, "Did you know that, boy!"

"I didn't," said Wodan. "It sounds-"

"And my own secret order," said Jarl, interrupting him, "has in its possession numerous historical documents which date back, we believe, to the time of the Ancients. They were obsessed with war and control. Did you know that, boy? I think a lot of people believe that flesh demons were on earth before mankind. A few believe that man came first, and that we should try to recreate the utopian paradise that the Ancients once lived in. But do you know, boy, that the historical records we have from those times contradict one another continually? Wars were fought and were won and lost by both sides, simultaneously. Leaders were murdered in cold blood in one account, and those same leaders were alive and well and quite popular with their people in other accounts. Truth was putty in their hands. We've even had members of our own order, respected researchers mind you, who were convinced that the Ancients were time travelers who fought wars against one another by constantly changing events in order to gain an upper hand. Sounds mad, I know, but that's just how muddled and slippery their historical account is."

Jarl's head began to dip and Wodan knew the man was about to go down. Wodan propped him up, laughing as they danced about awkwardly. Someone bumped into him roughly. Wodan steadied Jarl, then turned to apologize to the other.

His heart clenched on a block of ice.

An Ugly was right beside him, covered in scars and seething with an aura of hatred. Jagged pink flesh stretched out around his eyes, and smoke poured from holes that were punched in his cheeks. He glared down at Wodan and gripped the handle of a knife that was strapped to his chest.

# Chapter Twenty

Soul Bartering

The sun burned directly overhead so that hardly any shadow was cast by the red rocks of the wasteland. Eighteen killers in black clung to a sloping ravine that sat at the base of a wide plateau. Barkus crept to the top of the rise, then waved impatiently to an Ugly crouched beside him. The man handed him a set of binoculars. Barkus took them, exhaled harshly with his eyes closed, then peeked over the top with his binoculars barely clearing the edge.

Wallach crouched on a shelf further down. "Almost rode right on top of 'em," he muttered, shaking his head. The Ugly around him gripped the face of the ravine with white knuckles, as if they feared they would fall at any moment despite the ravine's forgiving and gradual incline. Wallach turned to one and said, "Check the horses again and keep 'em quiet. Don't let them get nervous."

"They good horses," he said.

"Just make sure," said Wallach.

They waited. Barkus did not move.

Wallach saw one Ugly breathing as if running a marathon. This one had killed scores of men and women and never lost a minute of dreamless sleep. He was currently blinking uncontrollably, scratching his nose, tugging on an ear, and probably developing other nervous ticks.

"Hey," said Wallach. "Hey, they're probably okay by us. They probably already heard us, since we nearly ran over them following that trail. Just be still and we'll be fine."

"Demon sometimes draws out a kill," said the man.

"Our kind have been okay by them for a long time," said Wallach. "Be still, we're fine."

Wallach saw fear spreading to the others. Finally he shook his head and made his way further up the rise. He nudged Barkus. Barkus handed over the binoculars, then nodded toward the plain ahead of them.

Wallach looked, said, "God's finger."

"They're a sight, aren't they?" said Barkus. "I counted fifteen, maybe more. It's hard to tell. When they group together like that, it's hard to tell where one demon ends and another begins."

"They're gathered around that one," said Wallach under his breath.

"It's dead," said Barkus. "Feels strange to see one dead like that, doesn't it? Like catching a priest naked."

"The trail the slaves left runs right through here," said Wallach. "Left of the slope and right through that spot where the demons are gathering. What do you think, Barkus?"

"If they don't see us moving slaves, or if they can tell there aren't that many of us, they might attack. We can't trust 'em. They're smart, you have to respect that in the wild. But they're viciously stupid, and you have to respect that, too."

"They had to have heard the horses earlier. They must know we're here."

Barkus suddenly grabbed the side of his own head and scratched roughly.

After a pause, Wallach said, "There might be some that's okay by our kind. Still, I think we should get out of here, go around them, and pick up the trail... you okay?"

Barkus scratched at his head faster now, and hissed through his teeth. "What are you saying?" he said roughly.

"I said we should ride by them," said Wallach, "but first let's-"

"Not you," said Barkus. "Shut up!"

Wallach looked at him angrily. Barkus's hand stopped, but he gripped at his hair and ear. "How do you know my name?" he said, and his voice was low, gravelly.

Wallach moved his jaw, stared his master up and down.

"Why... me?" said Barkus.

Wallach looked through the binoculars, then back to Barkus.

"How can I trust you?" said Barkus.

"The hell, man?" said Wallach. "Who are you talking at?"

Barkus's jaw tightened suddenly, and he said, "I'll come, but I want to bring my men with me." He waited, then nodded.

"What was that about?" said Wallach.

Barkus laughed nervously, said, "Told you I'd show you the world, didn't I, Wally?"

"Shit!" said Wallach.

"Pack your bags," said Barkus, "cause we're about to meet the devil his self."

* * *

The killers bound their faces with shirts and bandannas, then held hands like children. Barkus led them. His men were willing to follow him into Hell. He alone could hear the small voice, and he alone would carry the burden of seeing the place of mystery where they would go.

They stumbled over a field of stones. The heat inside their masks was unbearable. Many thought on their death-vows in order to keep up their courage. My hands belong to the Ugly. I am the weapon of the Living Scar. I am a slave, I am the master of my pain. The sheep will do anything to avoid pain. My master who feeds me is the master of pain. My hands belong to the Ugly...

Wallach trusted his lord, but he knew that he was more sensible than Barkus. Wallach's heart was full of turmoil. They passed into a shadow and the air cooled; they could feel moisture on their skin. Wallach felt something like wings beating, stirring the air.

"Oh, gods," said Barkus. His footsteps faltered and the line shuddered. One man removed his blind. His companions heard him spit a string of nonsensical gibberish and the line grinded to a halt.

"Put it back!" said Barkus. "None of you take your blinds off! Shut your eyes, shut your eyes!"

The line waited while Barkus rushed back, slapped the man and gave his hand back to his companion.

"Do what I tell you," said Barkus, roughly. "We're welcome here. We are... protected. For now."

"Barkus," said Wallach, "what are you seeing? Are they-"

"Nevermind," said Barkus. "Just do as I say." Barkus spoke again, his voice lowered, and they knew that it was not to any of them that he was speaking.

Now cold air gripped them, and their sweat sharpened and stung them. They stumbled down into the dark hole, one after another.

They entered a cold, black hole in the earth. They felt things stirring around them. They heard something wet dripping, dripping, and they trudged through puddles like syrup. A long time passed and the path twisted ever downwards. They lost all sense of direction as they descended into absolute darkness. They heard the whispering of inhuman tongues from strange lips.

Time was lost in that place. There was only endless cold and the growing sense that if they let go of one another's hands, then they would be lost forever in the earth, lost among a race of beings utterly alien and wholly without mercy. They clung to one another because they knew the gods of this place were the universe itself, the darkness beyond the fantasy world of the everyday, the cold at the end of the fire, the emptiness between the stars, the stillness at the end of life.

They heard a clack-clack-clacking sound in the distance, a senseless repetition of something hollow or metallic knocking against something else. The thing grew louder as they approached, then dimmed as they passed it by. More than a few of the men were horrified by the idea that the passages they walked stretched in all directions, an infinite black world lying just beneath the surface of everything they once thought was real, and it was nauseating to know that that world was filled with strange and inscrutable actions repeated endlessly by beings beyond their comprehension. The sound stopped for a moment, then they heard a sliding and senseless bellow, then the sound repeated once more, clack-clack-clack-clack, until they lost it in the distance.

"Oh, no, no," said Barkus, stopping suddenly. "Oh, please, guh-give me a blind, too."

There was silence as they stood about awkwardly, their heads hunched into their shoulders.

"Sit here," said Barkus. "Sit, everyone. Keep your hands pressed to your bodies, don't touch anything."

Something enormous moved nearby, then something wet cracked open, casting droplets of water onto them. They heard deep, labored breathing. Patterns of light flashed against their masks, a sort of visual transmission, but its definition was obscured. The men in front felt Barkus jerk and fall against them, shaking uncontrollably. He spoke but his voice was immediately drowned out by a cacophony of notes blown from organic tubes. They heard a deep, rumbling, barking sound, over and over, and when the sound caught on mucus clogged in the tubes, it was violently cleared by a force that shook the floor and produced a terrible smell of musk and rot. The men fought to keep from throwing up into their masks. The sounds came to resemble human speech, but the voice was deep and came from many sources all working just short of harmony. This went on for a long time before they realized that the sound was the name "Barkus" repeated until it became both a threat and a mantra.

"Barkus! Barkus! Barkus!" the voice made out of many said. "Barkus! You come in three sets of six. You kneel and make a show of obeisance. But even now you hide thoughts from us! You revile the God you worship!"

"N-n-no, Lord!" said Barkus. "We love and fear you! Now and forever, I swear it!" Barkus's voice was full of fear. It was common among the Ugly to always look for weakness in their leaders so that they could be replaced. Now, in that dark place where they could hear strange things slithering about nearby, none envied Barkus's position.

"Forever?" said the voice. "You come to Soul Taker and speak of forever? Your kind live for a moment, alone and lost, then disappear and are forgotten. Only we are forever!"

"Forgive us, Lord," said Barkus, and the others could tell by his voice that his face was near the ground.

"Know you why you come to me?" said the one called Soul Taker.

"We lost some slaves. There was... a revolt. There was a boy. He made the others fight against us. We were taken by surprise."

"You come six, by six, by six, to silence a voice of blasphemy. You come to kill a boy so that the world will be as it once was in your mind. To make all as it should be."

The lights in the room shifted, further disorienting the men blinded by their masks.

"Ah, that's him!" said Barkus. "That's him! This is his fault, he's the one who tricked the slaves into escaping!"

"So we thought."

"We've had slaves sneak away before. Some would end their own life... but they never disobeyed like this! The world doesn't work like that! This is his fault!"

"All of our eyes are one," said Soul Taker. "What one sees, another knows. This boy has killed two children of God. This monster has ended the lives of two sweet children who only wanted to dance and play. They only wanted to touch his bare meat and sing a sweet song with him. But this boy lashed out blindly, with hate in his heart."

"Lord, my men and I are tracking him. We are only a few hours behind him. I swear to you, we will put an end to him!"

"You are just and kind, little saint. We know you want to make the world a good place. You have been discussed among us. You may even have a place in the world to come. But your kind have always been cursed to live in a perpetual fantasy, blind and weak, unable even to do the things you will, much less the things you should."

Barkus stammered, said, "What do-"

"Do not speak!" the terrible voice rumbled. "Think you that we do not know that you track the boy and his cohorts for your own personal ends? You pray and say that we know all things, but then you think the workings of your heart are outside of our reckoning! You have in your mind an image of the world and its workings. You consider yourself a master of that world. Now this boy has upset your image of the world, and thus undermined your mastery of it. You cannot abide his existence. You have left your station as a gentle shepherd to track down this wolf. Oh, saint, do you doubt that we know all? Do you doubt that we could kill this single boy in an instant?"

Barkus stammered a line of nonsense gibberish. The lights in the chamber flashed red and thundered. The voice shouted, "Be still! All of you, grovel! Lose yourself in prayer! I go now to consult the gods themselves. You may yet have a place in this world. Pray that that place is not inside the belly of a child of God!"

* * *

Through the eyes of another he watched the riders panic. How they argued, bickering like little children. He ran at them. How nice it would be to play with them. To smash them, scatter them!

"It's time to form up in a line and start killing these dumb animals that think they rule the world."

Such a wicked thing to say! The boy's face, so cruel. His teeth are straight. The riders form a line. They point their guns. Did they really mean to...?

His body – it hurt! Pain, pain all over, a cry of warning spread out in a ripple to the others, then darkness as one finger of the thousand hands was cut off...

Soul Taker rolled the memory about in his hand once again. Such a strange, strange creature. A hateful creature, a product of bad cultivation. Evidence of a garden, somewhere, overrun with weeds. The boy's face... they had seen that face in another time, another place.

Soul Taker touched the filaments, white threads spanning the ether, branching, looping, pulled taut.

The boy stood before broken Eragileak, miserable Eragileak, in a dark tunnel. He held a gun. "One day," said the boy, "we're going to do this to all of you." That face... pure evil.

No doubt it was a miracle that the Coagulation would soon wipe the world clean of all human dens, for if one boy like this existed, then there must be more. But might they come from one place? Soul Taker touched his face to the fine, slender threads. In a moment he stood before Blindness. A strange combination between those made for thinking and those made for doing, he alone was "nephew", not "brother". Soul Taker saw Blindness playing with a mind, pulling and pushing, stripping some layers and reinforcing others. How hard he worked to become what he already was! What a sad little exile!

Soul Taker stood behind him and grasped the filaments that gave him access. He could smell and see that others greater than himself had already done so. The memories glided along his awareness.

Humans entered the holy valley. Not the first time this had happened... but these could not take flight. These could not disappear. They could be tracked. Soul Taker reached further into the filaments and saw that Blindness had direct access to the mind of one of those very humans! Soul Taker saw the place called Haven and shuddered, horrified to his very core. To think that such a place could exist! By a trace of subtle, knotted threads he could see that the great ones were discussing the placed called Haven even now. Soul Taker was incapable of taking part directly, but he could crane his head and see down into the depths – inversed, at the peak of something like a flaming mountain – where the thing was discussed.

He could hear great voices. The boy, the hateful one, was deemed of little importance. The problem was the land, the terrible womb where such a one was created. A place of indescribable blasphemy. It must be destroyed! Unfortunately, many of Soul Taker's kind were busy gathering for the Coagulation, the great ritual that would end the age of man. Soul Taker saw the discussion move even deeper as still greater voices discussed what could be done to that land. Soul Taker could not visit such a discussion, but he knew, from listening to others, that they agreed that the land of Haven must be found. Even the great ones who participated in the deepest circles only waited for the voice of the one who was greater than they, and whose word was absolute reality.

The boy had been lost, but had reappeared in Soul Taker's own territory. The boy was going north, and was no doubt making his way toward the hated land. He could be tracked. Soul Taker plunged as deeply into the discussion as he could, for he could help. The boy could be followed...

* * *

Barkus led the men in prayer to keep their minds free of the strange place. Their prayers were interrupted by Wallach's cries of "Fiat Noctis!" and "Morte Fidelis!" that strengthened their resolve. One man was near tears because some small, strange creature was licking the drops of sweat as they trickled out from under his mask. The worst part was that the creature hummed as it licked.

After an hour or more of this torture, the tunnel shivered and the voice returned.

"I have gone down to the shining lands," said the voice, "and in a ring of fire we discussed the trouble this boy has given you."

Barkus bowed low and said, "Thank you, Lord!" for he had grown fearful that the demons were going to eat him and his men. Surely this meant they would be spared?

"Listen well, Barkus! This boy was produced in a refuge of pure evil on an island far away. Just as your heart yearns for the destruction of this boy, so do we. But do you know that he has already spirited himself away in a ship? Can you track a man's footsteps in the water?"

Barkus heard Wallach shifting his weight, uncomfortable with the statement. Barkus had worked with Wallach for years, and he knew what he was thinking: That it would be impossible for the boy to have dragged the slaves across the wasteland at a dead run, made directly for Sunport, then procured a ship within the span of a few short hours. It seemed unlikely, but Barkus prayed that his second-in-command would keep his mouth shut.

"We smell your doubt! But, child, what has your doubt gotten you thus far? You doubted the cruelty of this boy. You doubted his rebellious nature. You doubted that he could turn the others against you. You doubted that he could make a fool of you. He proved you wrong."

The light on their masks flashed white, and the blind men winced. One of the Ugly, who had released his hand from another in order to pray, quietly pried away the shirt that covered his face. He blinked to regain his focus.

"This boy is far more clever than you, Barkus. He has taken to the sea. Our eyes have seen his followers eating your horses and laughing at you. Laughing at the smiling fool who thought that his guns were the key to power!"

The lone Ugly was finally able to see. He kept his head still, but glanced about. They were in a small chamber of natural stone. The chamber was dark except for a blinding light before them. Because of the blinding light, he could only just barely make out strange forms nearby, shifting their weight occasionally. Barkus was bowed with his face to the earth, prostrate before the light. The light was a dancing array of colors that played on the surface of a shifting, milky screen that was visible through a wide crack in the wall. Sometimes the screen disappeared quickly, like a giant eyelid blinking, casting them into temporary darkness.

As the voice continued to berate Barkus, the Ugly concentrated on the moving screen of light. Sometimes the light formed into solid, moving images, or even strange letters which the Ugly could only barely read. He saw

FATHER

GOD IRRATIONAL

and then there was an image of a large, powerful Ugly, scarred and black-bearded. Three children, all boys, lined up with their pants down so that the powerful Ugly could whip them with a thin cane. Barkus shook. The light formed the shape

MIDDLE CHILD NOTHING NOBODY

and he saw one of the boys crying bitterly. The small face enlarged to vulgar proportions on the milky screen. The Ugly saw

AS YOU FORMED IN THE WOMB I KNEW YOU

YOU

UNWELCOME EVEN THEN

and then a scarred woman's hand touched the face, then raised a piece of cloth to cover the image.

The Ugly turned to Barkus and saw him staring at the screen, his face covered in tears. He thought he saw Barkus mouth the words, "Mother's goiter?"

"Your hurt pains us, Saint Barkus," said the voice, ignoring him, "but we cannot blind ourselves to the fact that the boy has escaped you, and that you are incapable of catching him ever again.

"Such is the story of your species! Our eyes are everywhere, and our memory is long. How you struggle to gain a little relief, a little comfort from one another. Each of you is keenly aware of your own emptiness, so you run to another. You run to another who is just as empty as yourself, just as desperate as yourself. You are cut off from one another. You play elaborate games of theft with one another. The specter of death hangs over you, a skull in the shape of your father's face, and the skull drives each of you to madness. Your time is short and your understanding is shorter still. In your youth you are full of energy and stupidity. In your old age you are tired and understand just enough to regret your youth. In your heart you know the truth of this, for only the cynical voices among you speak with any authority, and only your stories that end tragically smack of any kind of truth.

"It is not so with our kind. We are one, and we are full of love, the first love this world has ever known. Death cannot touch us. We are free from isolation and insanity. Our days have meaning, our lives serve a grand vision! We will make a beautiful garden from the world that you have turned to decay and rot!

"You, Saint Barkus, know of the shortcomings of your kind. You knew enough to give in. You believed you were on the trail of the boy. You could have bypassed my children. Why did you stop? Why did you begin to hope? With your heart, with your inaction, you asked us for help. We smelled your prayer from afar. On your knees, crying like an infant, you seem to us more noble, more pure, than a thousand others of your kind who stroke their little guns and pray that they be spared the enlightenment that we have to offer. You have prayed that this boy be slain so that the world may be purified. We can grant you the means to do so."

Images played on the moving screen again, and the lone Ugly saw the face of the boy, frozen and hateful, smooth and soft, green eyes stabbing cruelly into Barkus.

"We control the world and can give all things," said the voice. "We can end the torture your dreams give you by fulfilling them. We do not ask for your possessions, your favors, your women, your actions; all this is worthless to us. We ask only for ownership and salvation of that dull, pale light of your soul."

Barkus stammered painfully. The lone Ugly stared at him, fascinated by the lines that creased the flesh of his slack, aging face. "You want us to sell our souls to you?" said Barkus. "In exchange for the boy's death?"

"I do not ask for all of your souls, Saint Barkus, only yours. Until now you have served other men, and served well, but the eye of your soul you have kept shut for all your life - and I know that it yearns to see a light. For if you served the gods, Saint Barkus, all meaninglessness and despair would be washed away. That your race drifts through its days without purpose gives us such sorrow. So it has always been. Still, you stubbornly cling to your spark, and in the end... it is buried with you. Your stubborn will causes it to starve in the earth with your rotting bones, to be snuffed out - to die with you.

"We offer you a chance for meaning in this world and immortality in the next. There is another world, Saint Barkus, warmer, purer, happier than this. But you must have faith to enter it."

"I'm scared," said Barkus. "When your kind gave us distance in the wasteland, I knew that you were not wholly against us. And I always knew that your kind were far superior to us. I am just a man, a lowly animal. Lord, I'm afraid to give away the only thing I truly own. Do you know what you're asking?"

"I understand far better than you can know. You think that you grip the light of your soul so that you can protect it from others of your kind. Even as you serve others and allow your will to be perverted, you rest assured thinking that there is always a part of yourself free from abuse. But it is untrue that you keep it with you, untarnished, all through your life. You actually give your soul away every day. From birth, you allow your parents to mold your thoughts and shape your actions; every day they work to beat your soul out of you and make you into a lifeless automaton in their own shape. In your youth, the teachers that you meet hammer your will on their forges. For fear of their displeasure, you give a little of your light to them, and in exchange they give you lies about the world that instinctively you know are untrue. When you become a man, and the light of your soul has dimmed to a filthy spark, and you no longer believe in anything, you give more of your soul to petty men more powerful than you in exchange for material comfort. You wake when he demands it, you lick his boots and feed his tired, hungry soul with bits of your own. By then you are so soulless that you create children so that you can eat their souls until they become the same vampiric creature as you. The cycle persists. For your race, tomorrow exists only so that the starving present can have some hope of sustenance. The result is that the record of your yesterdays becomes a sickening story of apathy and atrocity.

"How blessed you are, to be able to speak with us! Suffering ends where we begin. We will cleanse the world, Saint Barkus! The only question is whether or not you are brave enough to walk with us into a new world. Are you strong enough to see the fulfillment of your dreams? Or would you rather let the boy slip away and laugh at how he humiliated you? Is failure so desirable to you?"

There was silence. Barkus sat perfectly still.

"I'm not afraid," he said quietly.

The Ugly with his blind out of place saw, on the milky screen, the dim image of the fat, bearded Ugly who had earlier whipped the three boys. He was naked, and lay still in a bath tub full of red water. His eyes were open, his mouth parted. The three boys stood around him, covered in red. They looked up, as one, into the face of the viewer, one black haired, another red-headed, another blond. Their soft faces dripped red. There were letters shaped

FROM THE HANDS OF CHILDREN

BRAVERY UNDILUTED BY UNDERSTANDING

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES

A PUREST SCREAM OF WANTING

"I'm not afraid!" said Barkus. "Give me the power! Give me what I want!"

The light suddenly broke apart and all images shattered. The unmasked Ugly saw the milky screen moving, blinking, and behind the lid he saw a cavern of ridged, white skin that stretched back and curved away from them. The thing exhaled and he saw great stalks of thick, mucus-lined hair follicles, each as thick as a man's wrist, shivering in the stinking wind. The Ugly worked at his blind but his hands shook uncontrollably; the idea that he was looking at a small part of something vast and ancient that lived in the darkness of the earth filled him with a sick madness that was beyond his ability to endure. Something large moved nearby, then a red light shone on them from another chamber. Barkus rose and turned to it. The Ugly lunged and grabbed his master's legs to stop him, then felt a boot kicking his face and arms. He saw his master enter the red chamber. He caught a glimpse of something inside, an immense form that was a mockery of the feminine. He glimpsed a chain attached to the thing's neck, saw exposed muscle and sinew around its many breasts, saw its genitals coated in a solid layer of writhing maggots. The giant creature parted its legs and he smelled something indescribably foul and overpowering and he was immediately overcome by jealousy. He wanted to kill his master and take his place. He heard Barkus call the thing "brother" before the chamber's entrance shut itself.

He turned to warn his brothers, then a hand with too many fingers closed about his face.

* * *

They woke on a rocky plain near the mound that marked the hole in the world. It was night. Wallach was confused because the moon did not appear to be in its proper phase.

Barkus stirred from his seat atop a squat rock and his men turned to him. Barkus rose. He stood straight and tall, and his cloak swept about him. They saw in the width of his shoulders, in the aura he exuded, the powerful leader they had once known. They could not reconcile this image with his fearful whining they had heard in the cavern, so they set about forgetting it. He towered over them; this was the Barkus who rewarded and punished, the Barkus who was master.

Then they noticed that his eyes seemed more gray than before. He had consorted with devils. He no longer looked at men to judge their worth, he looked through them. He had a purpose all his own, and he bore an otherworldly power. The Ugly felt dread.

A tall figure emerged from the hole in the earth. It was wrapped in a gray robe flecked with black dust. It was completely concealed, its face covered by a very long hood. It wore boots that did not quite fit. It stopped, and was completely still, and stared at the ground to one side.

"I have gotten an ally for us," said Barkus. "A tracker capable of finding any man or beast, no matter how far he runs. He is blind, so the material world cannot confuse him. When we find our target, we will unleash this thing upon him and his kind. He is a merciless warrior far stronger than any man could ever hope to be. With him, we will be able to kill without fear of death. We are above the law of man. We are untouchable."

Some of the men smiled weakly. Wallach did not smile.

Though the creature was tall, much of its length belonged to its torso. Its legs were squat, its knees were low, and its arms trailed down too far to be of human proportion. One Ugly noted the creature's boots, then searched about quickly. "Kelley!" he said. "Kelley's gone!"

"Don't worry about that," said Barkus. "We still number eighteen."

Looks were exchanged, but no one spoke up. They feared the world Barkus now represented.

They made their way to where they'd left the horses at the base of the hill. They were still there, waiting patiently. The horses had been conditioned to not show fear for their safety, and would not flinch even at gunfire, but when the creature approached, the horses cried out and skittered away. The creature stopped and turned its head toward the north. It stood perfectly still, devoid of any nervous gestures. The strange demon did not seem interested in mounting Kelley's horse.

While the others mounted, Wallach walked about with his eyes on the ground, face screwing up with frustration. Finally he turned to Barkus and said, "These tracks were just a few hours old before. Now they look to be over a day old!" He paused. "This is no good. We were in there for too long. Barkus-"

"We don't need those tracks anymore," said Barkus. "We have something much better."

As if on cue, the creature bent forward and loped away from them. Its long arms touched the ground as it ran.

"Follow him," said Barkus, "and don't worry about being in a rush. This kill is guaranteed."

They rode slowly through the night while the strange creature bobbed awkwardly ahead of them, sniffing the air, following invisible tracks that hung in the air. Some of the Ugly began to feel immortal. Some of them felt like small players in a game that overshadowed their former lives.

# Chapter Twenty-One

An Island in the Sea of Tranquility

The Ugly towered over Wodan. "You touch me, mustard nuts?" said the Ugly, gripping his knife. "You want yer dome caved in, spit-lick?"

Wodan shook, heart thundering. His mind ran in senseless circles. He had no idea how they'd found him, but he knew that he and his friends were completely unprepared. He was alone and his guns were laid neatly against the far wall. He worked his mouth lamely, unable to speak.

"Sorry I bumped into you, faggot," the Ugly said with false kindness. He patted Wodan on the head. "Guess I thought you were a girl."

The Ugly pushed him and walked towards the bar. Wodan caught his footing. He looked around wildly. Several Ugly approached the bar in a staggered group. Many passed Wodan without noticing him, and one clapped his arm about the Ugly that had threatened him.

They're different Ugly, Wodan thought, even as panic breaths grinded in his lungs. They're a different branch just stopping in for a drink. They don't know us!

While Wodan swallowed a wave of nausea and laughed with relief, Jarl continued to drop nuggets of senses-shattering truth about how the world really worked, completely oblivious to their narrow brush with death. Wodan propped the man up and they made their way to the primitives.

Wodan's friends were loudly singing a song about a father who went up to a red world to die. Mugs and pitchers littered the table, leaping every time the primitives banged the table with their fists. The dwarf's slave boy sat on Rachek's knee, smiling and laughing as Brad tapped his shoulder to keep the beat of the song. Jarl miraculously regained the use of his legs and joined the song with arms spread wide.

"Wait!" said Brad. "Shut up everybody! Look - it's Woooah-dan! Our hero!"

A dozen or more primitives tackled Wodan with hugs; he was overcome with joy even as he could barely breathe. Brad put him in a friendly headlock. "You guys!" Wodan shouted. "Hey, you guys aren't going to believe what I just got out of! There were these Ugly in here-"

"What!" said Brad. His face turned red and a giant vein throbbed in his forehead.

"Don't worry, it's a different group, but they're over there-"

"Where!" said Brad, pushing Wodan and everyone else out of his way. He stalked onto the dance floor, shouted, "What in all damned hell! I'm gonna kill! I'm gonna KILL!"

"Brad, wait!" said Wodan. He chased after him. "Wait! Don't!"

Brad disappeared among a cluster of dancers. Rachek grabbed Wodan's arm, said, "What's happening? What's Brad doing?"

"Something bad!" Wodan shouted back to her. "We gotta stop him!"

Wodan pushed through the dancers, excusing himself. When he broke through, he saw a group of Ugly leaning against the bar. They were laughing. He saw Brad striding up to them. The Ugly that had pushed Wodan looked at him, smiling with condescension. Brad raised his fist, his massive arm flexing obscenely.

Brad's fist flew like a rocket exploding, shattering face and teeth and crumpling the Ugly's body like a soggy accordion. Then things really got bad.

* * *

As seen in the pulp leaflet known as the Sunport News:

UNBELIEVABLE BRAWL AT THE ANIMALS PART PUB!!!!!

The foundations of the world got ROCKED last night when a gang of outland scags locked arms with the Ugly! The writer was there himself and witnessed the brawl first-handed! It began when a group of Ugly gentlemen were discussing in a private conversation over a few drinks! Then a big brawny primitive, no doubt unused to civil law and order and the civil rule of law, went out of control and savagely beat the piss out of one Ugly! The Ugly went out of control like a hornets nest even as a bunch of other primitives climbed all over their out of control friend in an vain attempt to get him under control! Knifes got pulled and it seemed like someone was going to get stuck, someone was like "look out!!!" and they started throwing the chairs! Then the brawny primitive flew into a rage a whirlwind of destruction!!!!! I got under a damn table!!!!!!!!

Then the bouncers jumped in, then every mercenary in the place jumped in, then anyone who ever just wanted to hit someone joined in! Craziest thing I saw was one little outlander get throwed and hit a table, I swear I thought it killed him! Before anyone knew what was going on the primitive peoples just got out of the place, in the end it was just the Ugly and the bouncers yelling and stuff, threats were made, guns got took out but not fired a shot, I hope the Ugly don't firebomb the place because I want to go back again, five stars to this bar and restaurant.

* * *

Wodan and the others ran like hell through the darkened, empty streets. The shouting in the bar died out behind them as the slapping sound of their feet echoed along the stony avenue.

"Stop here," said Wodan. "Let's wait for Ag and Rachek."

They stopped and leaned against the walls, panting and rubbing their wounds. Brad walked in a circle, laughing and hitting the air. Wodan rubbed his back and smiled at him.

"Those bitch-pups!" said Brad. "We rolled 'em over! We showed 'em!"

"Yeah!" said Wodan. "I have to admit that was pretty cool - but keep quiet, Brad!"

"You okay, li'l buddy?" said Brad. "Man, when I saw you hit that table, I thought your neck was broke for sure!"

"I've been better, but I'm okay. Wait, I hear something!"

They heard horse hooves clattering behind them. Wodan ran, peeked around the corner, and saw Agmar and Rachek pulling four heavy-laden horses. The other primitives ran to help.

"Agmar!" said Wodan. "Where the hell do we go now?"

"Hell if I know!" said Agmar, laughing and frowning. "We can't go back to the Part. Last I saw, the Ugly were in a yelling match with Ferge. Lucky for us, he already had our horses packed and ready to go."

"Where are the other horses?"

"You think this stuff was free?" said Agmar. "Damn, after what Brad pulled, we're lucky we're not all in jail. Ferge really put his ass on the line for us. We're lucky to even get this, boy!"

"Alright," said Wodan. "Let's just move and..."

"And what?" said Agmar, narrowing his eyes.

"And move some more," said Wodan.

The two stared at one another. The tension mounted, then broke suddenly as Filius Bilch's slave boy approached. He carried a large tube stuffed to the brim with brown, aged papers.

"You need a ship, eh?" said the boy. "I got you one. Just take me with you."

"More trouble!" said Agmar. "Boy, get back to Filius before you get us killed for kidnapping."

"I'm not a little boy, old man. I'm older than I look! The little master ain't gonna bargain with you now that you've pissed off the Ugly. You need out of here, and I'm the answer to all your problems. So you just shut-"

"Okay," said Wodan, "we're interested. But why are you interested?"

"They told me about you," he said. "They call you a hero. You used to be a slave, but you escaped. Well, I wear a collar, and I'm goddamned sick of it. I want out. I wanna go with you."

Wodan noted that the boy had a glare permanently set into his youthful features. He often tugged at his collar, a nervous and angry tick. He had taken orders his whole life, and resented it.

"My name's Maxil," he said, smiling wickedly, "and I can captain a ship better than anyone else Filthius Bitch owns."

"Okay," said Wodan, "but you can't come back if you go with us. It's a one-way trip. And we need a crew, too..."

"I got nothin' here," said Maxil. "And what crew? These guys here just going to nap the whole trip?"

"You can use us?" said Wodan. "Can you just tell us what... uh, buttons and levers we have to push to make the ship go?"

Maxil laughed, said, "Yeah, I can do all that. Only the captain needs to have any brains. I just need a bunch of monkeys who can follow orders."

"Great, let's go!" said Wodan. "I just hope you have a plan on how to get this ship."

"Leave it to me," said Maxil.

The boy led the troop of thirty-odd primitives down twisting lanes far from the main avenues. In the distance Wodan saw the tall spires of an ancient cathedral bearing purple flags marked by scarred skulls, a branch of the Church of the Ugly. Wodan wondered just how widespread the influence of the life-hating cult had spread across the wasteland.

They reached the docks. Tall-masted ships with folded sails bobbed sleepily, and many guards smoked and dozed in quiet groups.

"Damn, these things look complicated," Wodan said to Agmar.

"Gonna get real complicated when Bilch realizes what's happening," said Agmar. "He was really keen on owning a soul. You should have seen him try to hide his excitement."

"He won't find out what's happening before it's too late," said Wodan.

"To be honest, he probably will," said Maxil. "Bilch is wicked smart. Once he realizes I'm gone and you're gone, he'll put it together. So we gotta move fast."

"What will he do?" said Wodan.

"Probably spank me," said Maxil.

"Oh," said Wodan.

"And kill you after he tortures you."

"Gu-u-uh," said Agmar.

Maxil dashed ahead and snapped his fingers at a group of guards. "Get up, crapheads," he said. "Master wants Hero fitted. Get these horses on there."

Several guards with shotguns and yellow armbands rose sulkily. "What fer?" said one.

The primitives stopped, their bodies tense, ready to run.

"Whud fu-ur," said Maxil, imitating the man. "How should I know? He's drunk as hell and wants me to take these tribals out for a tour, I guess. What does it matter? What do you care?"

Some guards moved to one of the ships while others took the horses from Wodan and his friends. Rachek paced nervously and pretended all was normal. Brad puked noisily, and one guard bounded away to avoid the splash.

Wodan looked at the ship and his heart sank. He had been impressed by the other ships, complex contraptions of wood, rope, and steel - but it seemed as if the guards were loading the horses onto a large mound of driftwood garbage that was already in the process of sinking.

"That's the Hero of Old," said Maxil, with mock pride. "Oldest and luckiest ship in Sunport."

"Lucky it ain't sunk yet," said Brad. "Why can't we take that other thing instead?"

He pointed to a strange, flat ship, made of metal and rimmed with cannons and a long chimney.

"That's one of Bilch's steamer ironclads, a battleship," said Maxil. "He'd come after us for sure if we took that, or any of his better vessels. I'm just hoping he'll write off the Hero and not worry about missing me or these old maps I stole."

"Not miss you?" said Agmar. "Because you're not a good captain?"

"I'm his best, old man," said Maxil. "I've spent most of my life sailing. I just give him a lot of lip, is all, and he hates that. But..." Maxil twitched and scratched at his collar. "He is one mean prick, and after that mess at the Part he won't be in the mood for excuses. Let's just hurry."

They boarded the ship while the guards finished preparations. The boards creaked under them. Vultures flew about the mast, and a sail like dirty underwear unfurled pathetically. The four horses screamed in the hold down below. Brad puked over the side.

"Let's hit it," said Wodan.

"On to high adventure, bitches!" screamed Maxil.

* * *

After a tense night of puking and following Maxil's every command, the primitives woke the next day to find themselves in a strange and wonderful situation: They were free. The sky was sharp and blue with tall white clouds built one on top of another, and they floated in a calm, endless ocean where no one could find them. The horrors of the wasteland fell far, far behind them.

Ferge had given them plenty of food. They passed the days eating and joking and playing games and cleaning the ancient, rickety ship. It rained on the sea as it rarely did in the wasteland, but only small storms that never troubled their captain. They often watched the play of lightning on shadowy clouds hanging in the distance.

Alone on the open sea, it was hard to imagine that the rest of the world was not at peace. There were never any serious arguments among the crew. Wodan saw some tense negotiations for private sleeping areas, but these were easily worked out with a little thought and courtesy. What had gone wrong in the rest of the world? Humans had had so long to figure things out; they even had a common foe that they could unite behind. Why was the earth not yet a paradise?

Wodan preferred to sleep on the deck, directly under the stars, amongst a few others who enjoyed the same. He realized he had never appreciated the sight of them before.

We have so much left to do, he often thought. Even if we made the world a peaceful place, there are still so many challenges and so many mysteries to appreciate.

Many times he woke in the middle of the night and saw Agmar sitting by the side of the ship, gazing into the distance with his strange book in his lap. Wodan was struck by how old the man appeared when he wasn't arguing or butting heads with someone. In the light of the lamp that sometimes burned in the cabin, Agmar looked like an ancient prophet who'd seen his god in the throes of senility. Agmar was empty, sucked dry by the world, and then finally plucked free and sent on some final trip into a new world that he could not possibly imagine.

* * *

One morning Wodan woke and saw Brad and Rachek fishing off the side of the ship. He could smell coffee from the little cabin and heard others stirring inside. He rose from his hay mat and donned his blanket like a hooded cape. When he went to get his coffee, he was embarrassed because his friends deferred to him and would not let him prepare his own coffee.

He made his way to the fore of the deck. He saw Maxil sitting and staring ahead, reading the stars before they disappeared in the waking light.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," said Maxil, not taking his eyes from the stars. "Your people, your homeland... are you absolutely sure they won't mind that I'm runaway goods?"

"That's not even an issue. You'll be a person, same as any other. You work however you can, or you learn whatever you can."

Maxil sighed, reluctant to believe that things could work out that easily. "And if someone came looking for me? Would your people give me back to keep the peace?"

"Nobody will find us."

"If they did?"

"My people wouldn't give you back. You'd be one of us. Besides, you should see the firepower we have. Those thugs in the desert with their rusty pellet-guns and moth-eaten leather vests are nothing compared to our Guardians. Our forces are disciplined, healthy, and sane. They could incinerate Sunport from a mile away."

Maxil laughed, a strangely boyish gesture for one who acted like a tiny old man full of worries and calculations. Wodan was struck by the fact that so many adults were now completely dependent on the competency of a child. Going off the beaten path had taken them to a strange place, indeed.

"Maxil, how did you get to be a captain, when you're so young?"

"I've always spent time on Bilch's ships. I used to sneak away from him and stowaway right before a trading run. I'd hang out with the captain, the crew, and they liked me 'cause I was pretty quick, I'd say mean stuff that everyone thought was funny. I've been to Tulla... I've even been as far east as Kurgheim. The captains always watched out for me, because they knew there'd be trouble with Filius if something happened to me. That's how I learned it all. Learned how to navigate using the stars, learned the secret of longitude, all the uses of a ship's components, and how to not take any shit from any lazy bastards."

Maxil bent to study something on the small table before him. In the warm, pale light from the cabin, Wodan could see several old maps, faded ink on yellowed paper crowded with detailed diagrams.

"How can you make heads or tails of all that?" said Wodan, glancing from the detailed maps to the featureless sea.

"It all makes perfect sense," said Maxil. "Just takes time."

Maxil tapped an island on the map, a wide place ringed with forbidding mountains. Wodan nodded. They had repeated this ritual many times.

"People haven't been this far north in years," said Maxil. "All captains know the coast. They have to, to get slaves and goods back and forth between the towns. It's the only way to travel that the demon doesn't seem to mind. But we never venture too far out. Now, this little island, on this very, very old map..."

"That has to be it," said Wodan. "You'll see how perfect it is. If anyone ever sailed near it, they wouldn't be able to tell that the island was occupied. They wouldn't have even bothered landing; there's nothing of value to see but rock, hard rock, with no value or mercy."

"Sounds great," said Maxil. "I can't wait to see it."

Wodan laughed and clapped the boy on the shoulder. He strolled to the front and sat on the very edge. The sun was rising in a beam of fire and the darkness rolled away.

I've come so far, he thought. Lost so many friends and come so far on a journey I never would have thought possible before.

Then his heart darkened. He knew there was one thing left to do before his journey finally came to its end. He had avoided it until now, but there was not much time left. There was one terrible thing left to confront, and only he could do it.

Tonight, he thought. I'll get it over with tonight.

* * *

That night, the people opened up a few bottles of booze that Ferge had tucked away in their supplies. They danced with lit torches and sang the old songs of their peoples. Many of them ground up whatever they could find for pigment and applied the tribal colors that they had lost during their long trek through the wasteland. They no longer had their shamans or remembered all of the old rites, but the elders directed things as best they could. Soon Brad was covered in blue spirals and Rachek danced with yellow and orange lightning bolts down her arms.

Wodan danced with his friends, but did not drink. After a while he sat apart from his friends for a long time, then finally rose and left them. He went into the dark hold beneath the deck.

Agmar sat on an upturned bucket near one of the empty stalls. Wodan smiled as he approached and said, "Old man, why aren't you at the party with the others?"

"Well, I-"

It was as far as he got before Wodan was on him. Wodan gripped his arm and pushed him into the stall, knocking him off balance. Agmar pushed against him with one bony arm and clung to a low rafter with another. "Hey, now!" Agmar shouted. "What are you, queer or somethin'?"

Wodan's mask of rage silenced him at once. In one motion Wodan jerked open Agmar's robe and tore his shirt – revealing a mound of scar tissue in the shape of a circle with a line through the center.

Agmar leaned against the wall, gulping in panic, while Wodan studied the self-inflicted wound.

"How?" Agmar whispered. "How did you know?"

Agmar looked into Wodan's eyes. Cold, green, merciless diamonds. Agmar had seen traces of cruelty in the boy before. He knew that Wodan could do anything to him and no one would waste a tear for an old, worn-out Ugly.

"How did you know?" Agmar repeated. "Did I counsel against rebelling one time too many? Did I know too many things about the Ugly? Was it when Jarl mentioned my family and I tried to cover it up, was that what gave it away? Was it because I took the book?"

"Shut up," Wodan said quietly. "You know that I could kill you, or have you killed by the others, and that scar would justify my actions in their eyes. And you know I could do it, too, old man." Wodan's face was immobile, a death-mask, terrifying in the darkness of the stall. Agmar choked back tears. "Answer my question. And if you give me anything but complete honesty – it'll be your life. Understand?"

"Okay, okay."

"Why? Why bother coming with us if you were one of them?"

Agmar laughed hysterically, unable to control himself. "I guess you think I planned on lighting a fire in the crow's nest to give away your position! You probably think a thousand Ugly are sailing right behind us, just waiting to catch us, eh? But it's not what you think it-"

Wodan jerked Agmar to the other side of the stall and slammed him into the wall. "Don't tell me what I think!" said Wodan. "Answer me!"

Agmar's laugh ended in a sob. Finally he spoke. "Have you ever heard of a 'Judas goat'? A Judas goat's job is to gain the trust of a herd of sheep and then lead them into the slaughterhouse. That was my job, Wodan. I was supposed to keep everyone calm, keep everyone peaceful, keep everyone walking forward... until we reached Sunport. The Ugly are smart, Wodan, they're so smart. They're manipulators, you know. Masters at getting what they want from people. If you put a chain on someone, they fight back. If you point a gun at someone, they'll back down, and then wait for you to turn your back and then kill you. But if you look clean and knowledgeable and act like you're one of them, and then try to make it look like doing something they wouldn't normally do is actually their own idea, and in their own interest... they'll go along."

"That guy Hari," said Wodan, "the one who convinced so many of the others not to fight back. Was he working with the Ugly, too?"

"No," said Agmar. "He definitely has it in his blood, though. Some people are just natural cowards, Wodan. They don't have to be coerced to give in." Agmar paused, then continued. "I really did travel around a lot, long ago. I know that's rare... but I hated growing up in Pontius. I didn't care about joining in my family's business, not until I was too old for adventuring. Running a business in Pontius is hard, Wodan. It's really hard. It killed my father and then, well, I was in charge. And I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I could never get ahead. Never. I had to pay taxes to the Law but, even worse than that, I had to pay protection money to the Coil.

"You know who the Coil are? They run a protection racket. And they're one of the biggest gangs in Pontius. They extort money out of everyone... everyone, Wodan. Well, I couldn't put up with it. I was barely getting by as it was. So I stood up to them. I stood up to them, Wodan! When nobody else would do it! I gave the Smiths an enormous sum of money and bought a gun. I watched out for those Coil punks and I told them to stay away from my shop.

"Of course, they burned it down. Everything our family had was invested in that place... and they destroyed it. Then they disappeared. I couldn't find them, not anywhere. All I had was a stupid, worthless gun, and I couldn't even find the punks that ruined my life! My family fell apart after that. I haven't seen my wife or my uncles in years. I have no idea if they're alive or dead.

"That's why I did it, boy. That's why I went to the Ugly in the first place. I wanted revenge. At first they told me I had nothing they wanted. Finally I begged, on my hands and knees. I prayed to them on my hands and knees. Finally they said they could use my experience from travelling in the wasteland. They told me I could be their Judas goat. They made me brand myself. That was how they made me one of them. And with my scar, well... not that the Law would have helped in the first place, I wasn't rich or anything, but after that, it was out of the question. So... I did it. I helped the Left Arm of the Ugly haul a bunch of slaves to Pontius. When the slaves thought about revolting, I talked them out of it. I was the voice of reason... I was a traitor.

"The Ugly held true on their end, though, I'll give them that. When I got back to Pontius, they pulled me aside and showed me the heads of the Coil punks that tried to extort my family's money. There they were... six kids, their mouths open, their eyes rolled back. They were dead. One more chapter in the endless war between the Coil and the Ugly."

Agmar was silent for a long time. "Well?" said Wodan. "You got your revenge. You got what you wanted. So then, why did you..."

"Oh, Wodan," said Agmar, his face screwed up in anguish. "Wodan, boy, I did it the second time... with you guys... I did it for money."

Wodan growled and put his hands around the old man's throat. Agmar cried out, "What else was I supposed to do? I was an old man! The Coil took everything I had! Was I gonna be a common laborer at my age? Who would hire me? Was I going to go live in the wasteland? Or go live with some primitive tribe, after what I'd done? I had to do it one more time, Wodan! They promised me... they promised they'd give me enough money to retire! If only I'd do it one more time, I'd never have to do anything like that ever again..."

Agmar fell into a crumpled heap, crying, his body shaking. Wodan stood over him, unmoving.

There was loud movement on the stairs at the far end of the room. "I have to pee!" a woman shouted. "I can tell someone's down there!"

Wodan was silent.

That's Rachek, Agmar thought. This is it, then.

"I'm ready," Agmar said quietly. "You can tell her. You guys can do to me... what I should have done to myself already." He looked up at Wodan, then said, "I don't mind."

"I can't see down there and it's creepy!" Rachek shouted. "Somebody better help me down these stairs!"

"You asked earlier," said Wodan, "how I knew what you were. It wasn't all those things you mentioned. I knew what you were because I could see that you were a decent man, but it was plain to me that you hated yourself. It was written on your face before I saw it on your chest."

Wodan moved to leave the stall, then said quietly, "I'll keep your secret. We're not going to kill you. You had plenty of chances to sell us out to the Ugly, but you didn't. You came with us instead. That's what's important." Wodan turned away from him, then cried out, "It's me, Rachek! I'll help you."

Wodan walked to the stairs and Agmar rushed from the stall, then shouted, "Why show mercy, Wodan? Why leave yourself vulnerable like that? You've already shown you're willing to do anything to get what you want!"

"Because we're not in the wasteland anymore," said Wodan, smiling. "We're free."

"Oh, Wodan!" said Rachek, swaying on the stairs, drunk. "You're going to help me! My hero! You're my hero Wodi!" She leaned on Wodan, then both of them laughed as they made their way to an area suitable for a good piss. "It's so creepy though!"

"Nothing to be scared of down here," said Wodan.

Agmar listened to Rachek ramble on about Wodan being her hero, then left them to rejoin their friends on the deck.

* * *

There came a day when the air crackled with excitement, a shining tension that had everyone smiling uncontrollably. Their little captain walked about winking and laughing, unusually lax in his duties. Occasionally the others saw him consulting the maps with Agmar, both of them giggling like children.

Then it happened. Maxil pointed and screamed. Mop handles clattered to the floor as everyone rushed to join him at the fore. Wild cheering and hysterical weeping broke out, for there in the distance, between shining sea and brilliant sky, lay a tiny black dot – their future home, the Island of Haven.

Wodan leaned against two people, then brought them into double head-locks, then Brad wrapped his giant arms around all three and screamed with joy. Wodan saw tears streaming down Agmar's face; the old man's jaw worked lamely, unable to comprehend that he would soon arrive at a world far better than he had ever known. One large primitive with a Mohawk bore Rachek on his shoulders, and she lifted a fist and gave vent to a triumphant, trilling battle-cry.

Within a few hours they could see sheer rock cliffs stabbing into the heavens. Dark, brooding clouds gathered about the peaks. Its beaches were narrow and completely invisible from this distance. While it seemed imposing, a terrible thing to call home, Wodan assured them all that this only added to the safety and seclusion they would find there.

Once the wild joy settled into a warm buzz, Wodan found Brad sitting on the rear deck, scanning the southern reaches with a pair of binoculars.

"You're not on the lookout for Ugly, are you?" said Wodan.

"We come this far," said Brad, slowly lowering the binoculars. "No sense in slipping up this close to the end, you know?"

"I wouldn't worry about them anymore," Wodan said, laughing gently. "It would make more sense for Barkus to just go back to the mountains, capture some more people, then guard them a little better than he guarded us. At this point, it would cost him too much to follow us. At heart, he's just a businessman. A person like him will follow the course of least resistance. Can you imagine the amount of vindictiveness and hatred it would take to make him throw away all of his old plans and follow us all the way out here? As hard as it is to believe, I think it's safe to say we're now home free!"

Brad nodded, then fixed his eyes on something. He raised a pair of binoculars. His mouth fell open in a slack, dumb O shape. Wodan looked and saw a plume of black smoke. He wrenched the binoculars away from Brad.

There was an ironclad ship. Even at this distance, it seemed to cut through the water at an incredible rate. Cannons protruded from all sides of the small, deadly ship. There was a flag draped across its front, and the sight of it reawakened a hundred old fears in one sickening moment, for the black and purple flag bore in its center a scarred skull. The absurdity of the situation threatened to overwhelm Wodan, for he was looking directly into the face of something utterly stupid and inhumanly savage.

The flag draped across the front of the ironclad ship was the standard of the Ugly.

* * *

A copy of a contract recently recorded and kept in the archives of the legal offices of Sunport:

On this day, the twenty-ninth of Saturna, in the Season of our Lords which is the Dry season, let this deal of business be recognized by the court of Sunport as legal and binding, as guarantee that it be respected and held as binding by its agents and conducting partners.

The deal is as follows: That Filius Bilch, representing himself, gives to Barkus Right-Arm, representing the Ugly, a legally recognized religious and business organization, the property of ONE STEAM-RUN BATTLESHIP and ONE SLAVE CAPTAIN and SOME AMOUNT of FOOD for the purpose of the destruction, or capture, of lost property. In exchange for these goods, Barkus Right-Arm promises the fulfillment of THREE WISHES by the organization which he represents. The nature of these wishes are to be dictated by Filius Bilch, under the condition that these wishes not be destructive to the well-being of the organization represented by Barkus Right-Arm.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Storming the Gates of Heaven

Brad raised the alarm. Agmar heard the wails of frustration and rage as if they were very far away. He stared at the oncoming ironclad ship and he knew that this was how the world ended; years of struggle with nothing to gain but a guilty conscience, a few days to relax and try to sort it all out, then a few moments of unexpected, mind-numbing terror as they were devoured by monsters within sight of the final goal. This time, Agmar did not bother to pray.

Wodan rushed to Maxil and shouted, "Can you make this ship go any faster?"

"It's already going as fast as it can!" he said. "The only thing I can do is take us to our landing point by the most direct route. Other than that..."

Wodan grabbed him by his shirt, dragged him to the front of the ship, and pointed to a bay between two mountains. "There's a pass through the mountains there," he said. "It's only about ten miles from the beach to a checkpoint where we'll be safe."

"Weapons ready!" Brad shouted. "You and you - get the horses!" He ran about pushing people who stared in dumb shock.

"Everybody, strap your guns on tight!" said Agmar. "We might have to swim!"

The island loomed nearer. The dot of the ironclad grew into a black square. Maxil ignored the chaos around him and took the helm to steer. Wodan ground his teeth and tightened the strap of his rifle around his chest. He and Rachek stared at one another grimly.

They felt a dull explosion hundreds of yards away, then another, and watched as plumes of water shot into the air. "They're firing at us!" someone shouted, then another plume of water burst into the air, nearer than the others.

Sheer cliffs towered over the ship and the shadow of the bay laid before them. "Get in there," Maxil groaned, "get in there, hurry, hurry..." The cannons fired again, blast after blast, one on top of another, and the water near them shattered and sprayed them with salt and cold.

The primitives gathered into armed groups and held tight to anything solid. "If only someone would help us!" Agmar shouted in desperation as they passed into the shadowy mouth of the bay.

A single cannon fired, and the shell slapped into the steep side of one mountain with an incredible, high-pitched crack. A cloud of dust fell in a shower.

Someone said, "Maybe the dark in the bay will cover us and-"

The next volley tore through the ship. As in a nightmare, they felt the ground lurch into the air as the deck contorted unnaturally. Wodan felt himself falling upwards, sideways, faces flew by, mouths and eyes stretched wide. He saw the tall mast falling, tearing through the deck. His body collided with wood, sliding and burning. Timber shrieked maddeningly as the entire world collapsed in on itself. He saw a horse burst through a wall or floor and fly through the air, victim of a ritual that would surely destroy the world. Then he saw blue, shifting and radiating light, and he was cast into the sea.

Down he went, falling with spirals of debris and red clouds. People kicked slowly, peacefully; he saw a few drift down into utter darkness. He felt heavy, and floated downward to join the cold, dark peace. Something heavy hit his back, then he saw a shower of many-colored berries and fruits, the remains of an uneaten buffet, tumble all around him. The sight of it stirred something in him. He arched his body, twisted, then raised his arms and kicked upwards.

A great behemoth towered above him. It spun slowly. Shadows ran and danced along the thing as it spun and drifted down. It was the Hero of Old, and it looked much the same in death as it had in life. It fell past him in a great rush, the dead mass tugging at him. He kicked harder and pulled away from the thing, then came into the light.

Wodan broke through the surface. The air was full of the agonized screams of the survivors. Chunks of flesh and wood rode the waves around him. The ominous throbbing of the ironclad's engine echoed off the walls of the rocky bay. Wodan oriented himself towards the beach, fighting for each breath because his rifle was still tightly strapped to his back. A young man with a soaking-wet Mohawk haircut faltered before him. Wodan grabbed the man's shirt before the waves could claim him and dragged him along.

The man came to life and accidentally smacked Wodan in the face. Wodan winced, choked at the water gushing into his mouth, and pulled the man's uncooperative weight with all his might. He saw other swimmers, and they inspired him to fight the urge to inhale. He leaned and pulled himself along with one arm. The man kicked and screamed, elbowed Wodan in the side, and wrapped his legs around Wodan's. The abuse never seemed to end.

Finally a wave slapped Wodan in the back and sent him and his bundle of flailing limbs rocketing toward the beach. He collided with someone's legs, then felt arms grabbing him and pulling him up. Others were already on the shore of the narrow beach. Wodan saw Brad carrying a purple-faced woman in his arms. Rachek hit Agmar's back as he hacked up water. Maxil sat apart from the others, arms around his knees, eyes vacant. Others dragged themselves from the sea and fell in ragged clumps on the beach.

The throbbing of the ironclad's engine deepened, a chant of doom echoing from the sides of the sheer cliffs. The ironclad entered the bay, black and brimming with destructive armaments. A trail of black smoke ringed it and filled the bay, as though the ship were an armored knight from Hell cutting through the water in pursuit of its prey.

Everyone turned to Wodan. They were trapped between his world and that of their old masters, hunted and vulnerable. Wodan counted twenty-three of them, including himself, and many still had their weapons. He was unsure of the path himself, but he trusted that a path was there for them. "This way!" he shouted, pointing to a small copse of trees that separated the beach from the mountains. "We can still make it if we run with everything we've got! Go, go!"

The sand sucked at their feet. They crashed through the trees and bounded up a rocky incline that marked the beginning of a mountain pass. A grotesque grating sound tore the land behind them as the ironclad slammed into the beach.

The earth rose steeply. The path shifted, twisting and turning through a crack in the earth, a scar in the mountains. They ran into shadows and the water soaking them grew cold. The panting of the hunted echoed from black stone. Desolate peaks hung over them.

* * *

The line of runners became more and more ragged and drawn out as the tired lagged behind. Occasionally they heard awful, inhuman shouting behind them, laughter and cries echoing from the walls of the narrow pass, sapping their strength. Wodan looked back and saw people stumbling. He could no longer see Agmar at all. He called for those in front to stop. Whether they had run one mile, two, perhaps even three, when Wodan saw the others stagger and collapse in a circle he knew that this uphill journey was an impossible feat. Even his month-long trek through the wasteland could not have prepared him. He sat on the ground, spitting and breathless.

Finally Agmar came into view, clinging to another who bore his weight. "You're gonna have to leave me behind," he said as they collapsed near the others. "I can't make it."

"Just shut up and breathe," said Wodan. "We have to make it."

Agmar shook his head slowly, said, "Give me a gun and find me a perch. I'll slow them down for the rest of you."

"Shut up already!" said Wodan. He held Agmar's shoulder to soften the blow.

"You know these hills?" said Agmar.

"I've never been here," said Wodan. "But I saw signs where the path was widened, for vehicles and such. That means it's one of the passes that leads all the way through the mountains to Haven."

"The lords in Greeley use devices to monitor others from far away. Does Haven have anything like that, so they can see what we're going through?"

Wodan shook his head, said, "We have that sort of remote surveillance, but as far as I know, Haven doesn't have anything like that out here. This is the first time anyone from the outside has come this close. Surveillance has never been an issue."

Maxil began to cry. Wodan knew the boy had done a fine job hiding his fear, but there was no way he would be able to continue to run. Rachek put her arms around the boy, then said, "Are they... are they going to destroy Haven, too?"

"No, not a chance," said Wodan. "The number of Ugly that could fit inside that ship of theirs wouldn't be able to handle one of our Guardians. The problem is that our Guardians don't patrol this far out. They have no reason to! Haven's first line of defense has always been its seclusion. We're close, we're so close, but as far as I can tell... we're completely alone out here."

"We could be killed," said Brad, grinding his fists into the ground, "and Haven might never even know it!"

Wodan nodded, then said, "That means we have to keep moving. I'm sorry, but it's our only chance. Come on – we have to keep moving!"

Agmar and Maxil offered no complaint, but Wodan could see the defeat in their eyes. The others rose slowly. Wodan started them off at a jog, but his legs felt hard and unresponsive. Their run was more of a frenzied walk.

Then they heard the beating of cloven hooves ringing unmercifully along the walls of the pass. They ran faster, pushing themselves, but the riders drew nearer and nearer until the pounding echoed in their bones.

Wodan knew they would soon be overtaken. He caught Brad's eye and they fell behind. Brad tapped a few other armed people on the shoulders, who joined them at the rear. They rounded a bend in the pass and faced a straight stretch of climbing stone. The beating of hooves was maddening. "Stop! Crouch!" Wodan shouted. "We've got to meet them here! Turn and meet them head on!"

The words were barely out of his mouth before riders charged around the curve – one, two, four riders total, clad in black and with deadly arms drawn. They had no time to find cover before the killers were on top of them, jerking their reins and firing wildly. The lead rider tore through them, knocking people aside, firing a handgun on either side and trampling a slow runner. The riders slowed down to maximize their accuracy but the one in the rear had to jerk his horse about in order to avoid a collision; he glanced at Brad, already intent on a kill even before his mount was calmed down. Wodan aimed his rifle and fired. The rider's knee popped with a sickening sound. The rider leaned his head back and shouted, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" as Brad ran up to him and blasted him with his shotgun. In a thunderclap the rider flew from his mount, wrenched so violently that his boots remained secure in their stirrups. The horse screamed, a strangely human sound, then retreated.

Wodan turned in time to see his friends empty their guns into one rider, bringing both man and beast crashing to the ground in a sputtering red cloud. The two lead riders had already turned about, eager to continue the slaughter, but seeing that their advantage was lost they ducked their heads down and rode through the crowd as quickly as they could. Bullets followed them but they safely rounded the bend. Wodan and Brad followed them, then stopped and aimed. Wodan felt his mind click into place as he leveled his rifle at the rider's back. He pulled the trigger and felt the familiar explosive jerk; the rider flung his arms out wide as if accepting some divine vision, then Brad's shotgun barked and the rider's horse tripped on a shattered leg and collapsed in an amazing tide of meat and shattered bones. The remaining rider hugged his mount and kicked violently until he rounded a bend further down the pass.

The pass was clogged with the stench of gunsmoke. The people regrouped.

"Scouts, those were... just scouts," said Maxil, his voice near panic. He bent over and vomited. Rachek left the boy and began gathering guns to distribute to everyone. She stepped over the dead with nimble feet.

"Just four of them and they went right through us," said Agmar. "We lost five of our people!"

Agmar stopped Rachek as she drew near. "What?" she said.

"I... I mean to help," he said, gesturing to the guns she'd gathered. He glanced at Wodan, as if asking permission. Wodan nodded. Agmar took a long, single shot bolt-action rifle. Agmar hefted the sniper's weapon, then released the magazine and checked it with ease.

After helping arm and gather the survivors and taking a large revolver for herself, Rachek turned to Wodan, then said, "Wodan, what do we do?"

The sky darkened. All eyes were on him. "We can't run all the way to Haven. It's uphill and we're too tired. That place..." He pointed to a narrow plateau that jutted from the base of a mountain further down the pass. "It looks like the pass stretches around the base of that mountain. I think we can make it before they regroup." He looked at everyone, then swallowed his mounting fear and said, "We can't run any more. We'll make our stand there."

* * *

Didi's computer crashed to the floor and he stumbled away from his chair. After weeks of being trapped in his own home under house arrest, the absurdity of his situation finally struck him to the core. He was allowed to work from home, but what did that matter? Whether he could solve the mystery of genetic traits wholly unassociated with mood still having a role in blocking serotonin reuptake inhibition via pharmaceuticals, what did it matter? His work, anyone's work, or anything at all – what did any of it matter now?

He stripped off his clothes, suddenly unable to breathe in the confined space. He fell on his bed and with jerky, panicky motions he unlatched his leg brace and let the metal anchor drop to the floor. He knew that they were all doomed. No matter what he did for the Department of Research, no matter what any Havender did in the pursuit of their own interests, it was a fact that Project was gone. The age of man was over.

Didi stumbled away from the bed and gripped the wall, moving across the darkened room with crab-like gestures. He, Korliss, and Sevrik had irrevocably tampered with the genes of an unborn child in order to create a superhuman being. The other two did not know the truth of how it had been accomplished; he knew his allies, his former friends, would be horrified at the truth behind their accomplishment. But it was a fact that Project was gone. Project was either dead, or the flesh demons had taken him and added his genetic potential to the hideous catalogue of weapons already at their disposal. In either case, the human race was doomed.

Didi reached a tall window and held onto the curtains for support as he bathed in the dying light. If anyone bothered to look up, they would see his twisted, stunted body shifting forward and back as he steadied himself, one malformed leg swinging beneath him. Project is gone, thought Didi, and there is nothing I can do about it. He saw a storm rising in the distance, black and deep, casting the city below into premature night.

"God is dead," he muttered. No other man knew it as he did. "God is dead!"

In the darkness of the growing storm, he could feel something like enlightenment welling up in his soul. Vast, all-encompassing, and darker than the darkest storm, enlightenment hovered just inches over his forehead and threatened to encompass his entire being.

I have to let go, he thought. There is nothing more that I can do. I did what I could. My part is over. I have to let go.

He felt the texture of the curtains gripped in his fingers.

But if I let go, I'll fall, he thought. That would be irrational.

Didi gripped the curtains, then looked back at his leg brace. He knew that his sorrow and desperation and dread and sense of failure were only results of chemical reactions occurring in his brain. That was why his work with the genetic markers associated with counterproductive antidepressant drug tolerance was so important. He had to return to work so that others could live as they wanted to live... even if only for a short time.

He could not let go. If he did not do the work, who would?

* * *

Storm clouds gathered over the mountains. Gusts of wind rushed through the high passes, sending clouds of dust racing through the tortured paths of stone. The face of the sun dimmed pale and white.

The primitives gathered on the back of a wide shelf that overlooked the pass. From their vantage point they could see the pass as it wrapped around and continued on to a Guardian checkpoint miles away. Nearby, several narrow paths continued further up into the mountains. If their ambush worked, the Ugly could be hit from above hard enough to either kill them or force them to retreat so that runners could be sent northwards and the Guardians could be summoned. If their plan did not work, they could use the mountain paths as fallback positions or simply scatter and delay the inevitable.

While the others prepared themselves, Brad and Agmar laid on either side of Wodan, who laid on his belly and watched the pass through their binoculars. "I can see them," Wodan said finally. "They're on foot, but moving fast. I can see a few horses... I think they're using them for cover. I think we outnumber them."

"Good," said Brad.

"Don't underestimate them," said Agmar. "Each one of them is a dangerous killer."

Wodan handed the binoculars off to Agmar, then said, "I saw four really big guys with shotguns gathered around Barkus. He's hard to see, but it's definitely him. Wallach's there, too."

"All our old friends," said Brad. "We must have pissed them off good."

"Humiliated them, more like," said Agmar. "Who the hell is that weirdo with them?"

"The tall guy all covered up?" said Wodan. "No idea."

Agmar handed the binoculars off to Brad, then said, "They're getting close, keep quiet!"

Wodan signaled to the others, who already knew the basic plan: Those with rifles near the ledge, those with small arms stay back and prepare to cover the riflemen as necessary. Brad hissed and nudged Wodan, then whispered to him.

Wodan gritted his teeth, then patted several of the riflemen nearby and whispered, "Apparently they've got two grenade launchers. When you fire, try to hit important targets first – the launchers or Barkus or Wallach. If we can kill those, it could force the others to back down!"

Finally Agmar pulled his head beneath the ledge; if they were seen, the trap would be blown. They waited, clutching their guns, wiping sweat from palms. Heavy footsteps pounded harder, echoing throughout the pass. Wodan wanted to rise and shoot immediately, but he knew they had to let the enemy come close, as close as possible. Anxiety clogged in their veins. A bead of sweat rolled down Wodan's forehead and dripped off his nose. A light rain fell, chilling their backs. Maxil wet his pants quietly.

Wodan waited until the steps seemed nearly upon them. Slowly, he leaned forward and chanced a look over the edge. Brad saw his eyes widen in shock, as if the Ugly were close, much closer than he had thought. He jerked his head back, said, "Now!" and the riflemen leaned over the edge, weapons raised.

The line of marching Ugly and horses were almost directly below them, but few of the experienced killers were caught unawares. They had been eyeing the ledge the entire time and, as soon as they saw movement, many stopped and began to spread out to either side of the pass. Wodan heard rifles blasting on his left and right and saw one Ugly's chest explode; he spun in a shower of his own blood, covering his companions as he fell. Wodan stared down the length of his rifle and felt his eye and trigger finger lock in sync. His mind shut out the sound of the explosions ringing from the walls of stone. He found Barkus immediately. The man stared directly back at him, as still as stone. As Wodan pulled the trigger one of Barkus's fanatical guards leaped backwards upon his master. His chest was run through by the bullet and he fell in a heap at his master's feet. Brad's shotgun sprayed the horses, causing them to panic. One Ugly gripped the reins and was slung about like a rag doll, then another horse threw its back legs in the air and kicked the man's face with such force that the head twisted about completely, the eyes open as if pleading for assistance. One grenadier held his weapon lengthwise, as if to defend himself, then felt his legs disappear in a hail of bullets, sending corpse and grenade launcher clattering along the path. The remainder of the Ugly split in half and hugged the walls of the pass for partial cover, then raised their weapons.

"Back!" shouted Wodan, rolling away. "Back, get back!" The rocks the primitives hid behind chipped and shattered as an incredible shower of bullets tore into their position. Wodan waved them further and further back, for they could not hope to continue the ambush under such a focused assault.

Barkus scanned the ledge and the pass while his men fired round after round, chipping at the stone until the air was thick with dust. He tapped one Ugly on the back and pointed to the launcher lying in the pass. The man nodded, ran low into the middle while his brothers covered him. "Wallach!" Barkus shouted. The blond beast lowered his rifle and cupped a hand to his ear. "Get some horses, take two of my shotgunners and two others. Ride around the pass, hit their position from the other side of that ledge!"

"Right!" barked Wallach. "Keep covering me!"

Barkus unsheathed his two massive handguns, leaned against the wall, and breathed deep. An Ugly returned to his side with the launcher. Barkus nodded, tapped the other grenadier, and said, "Get in the middle of that pass! Watch me!" They nodded.

Barkus, one of his personal guard, and another Ugly left their cover and walked casually to the base of the ledge, firing indiscriminately at the primitives' former position. From the corner of his eye, Barkus saw the robed demon shift his weight, then bound up the sides of the pass. The climb was nearly vertical, but the monster bounded up the side faster than a man running on level ground. Barkus reached the base of the ledge with his men and stopped firing. There was silence as his men stopped firing and reloaded. He heard the hooves of Wallach's horses in the distance. He laid his back against the stone. Rain fell softly, turning the rock from gray to black. He nodded to the two grenadiers in the middle of the pass.

At that moment, Brad tried to stop his friends from bunching up. "They'll be up here soon!" Wodan shouted. "We'll have to go further up the mountain, then try to pick them off as they climb-"

They heard two dull thuds. As everyone scattered or dived, Wodan grabbed someone's arm and ran. There was a flash of light, then the ground shook and tossed his legs into the air. Wodan felt a sledgehammer inside of his lungs. He felt strangely at peace as he drifted through the air. He sensed movement from the person he'd been pulling, then saw that he was only holding an arm, the fingers still flexing in his grasp. Suddenly he slapped into hard stone and skidded along the floor, sharp stone biting into him savagely. Cold stone and hot blood rained on him as he laid against the ground, staring upward. He turned his head slowly and saw a man running; there was a flash of another explosion and the man simply disappeared; only his boots with ankle bones sticking out of them remained and slid along the ground.

He rose. The ledge was littered with dead and wounded, too torn apart to number. He was amazed to see that Brad and three others had reached a safe niche further away along the ledge. Wodan saw a man lying near him. He pulled at the man, slapping him roughly.

"Can't give up!" Wodan shouted, his own voice distant in his ears. "Keep fighting! Die fighting if you have to, but get up!"

The man stirred, nodding and wiping a thick line of drool from his face. A small hand grabbed Wodan's shoulder, hard as a vice grip. Wodan turned and saw Rachek with Maxil and three other primitives. Agmar was nowhere to be seen.

Lightning lit the precarious folds of the mountain above them. "Get up there!" shouted Wodan. "They'll be firing more grenades or coming up the sides themselves! Let's go!"

* * *

The storm poured into the valley and threw its thunder against the mountains. Wind ran shrieking along the black walls. The grenade launchers fired round after round onto the shelf until the southern reaches were demolished, sending clouds of white dust racing past. Barkus waved for them to stop.

"Let's go," he said to the two on either side of him. "They're either dead or further up the mountain. You two launchers - stay down here and wait for my signal to fire or follow."

"Yessir!" said one. He laughed grimly and clapped a hand on his friend's back. "Not a bad job of it!"

"Hope we don't get done too quick," said the other. "Gettin' back on that boat is the last thing I wanna do!"

Suddenly there was a sharp crack, then one Ugly's hand split open. Flecks of blood and bone peppered the face of the other. Two more sharp reports sent the Ugly's vest jumping, then blood flowed out from the bottom. The other Ugly dropped his launcher and ran before the dead man hit the ground. Barkus saw the flash of the gunman's rifle higher up the mountain.

Agmar's back was against the wall, his long rifle perched against a stone. "Get you back to the Hell you came from!" he whispered harshly. He had clambered up onto a lonely crevice just before the explosions started, then ran up a steep pass with all his might to save his skin. But when he saw Wodan and some others scrambling up one of the steep trails before the final devastating wave of grenades, he swore he would do everything in his power to keep them safe.

"Sniper!" shouted one of the Ugly guards.

"Go back and get those launchers!" Barkus shouted to the Ugly.

"Screw you!" said the shaking Ugly. "I'm not dyin' out here, not for you or nobody!"

"We're immortal, you fool," grated Barkus. "Don't you know we have a demon here watching over us?"

"He wasn't watchin' my buddy!" he said. The purple scars on his face twitched with fury.

Agmar eyed the remains of the ledge. Suddenly Barkus rose over the edge, handguns drawn. Agmar swiveled his gun. Several Ugly ran around Barkus, who walked calmly to the place where Wodan and the others had fled. But Agmar had not been ready for them, and cursed himself for a fool as the four killers reached the concealed rise where his friends must still be hiding. Agmar could no longer see anybody from his vantage point, but if he stayed there then he would most likely be found and killed. He left his crevice to climb higher.

Lighting flashed, and for one second he could see a lone figure crouching further up the mountain. Black robes whipped around its body, and in the sudden darkness he could see its yellow eyes glowing faintly. Agmar stumbled and raised his rifle, but the thing disappeared in an instant.

"Flesh demon!" he said. "Oh, no! Gods help us!"

* * *

Brad and his three friends huddled under a narrow stone roof while the area down below was destroyed by seemingly endless grenades. In the silence that followed, they had no idea if their friends were alive or dead. Finally they heard the sharp reports of a rifle, then horse hooves further down the pass.

"Hear that?" said Brad. "That means someone's still fighting the Ugly!"

"Come on!" said another. "We gotta help!"

They crawled from their niche and slid back down to the blasted ledge. They heard hooves clattering up the northern side and knew that the Ugly were trying to sneak around and hit any survivors from behind. They ran straight for the side, their fear drowned out in a typhoon of adrenaline, each one knowing they would risk anything to save their friends. At the edge of the steep incline they saw five mounted warriors with guns drawn cresting the rise with the blond beast Wallach in the lead.

"Surprise, bitches!" Brad screamed, and both groups fired into one another simultaneously.

With deadly precision Wallach aimed his revolver and blasted one primitive in the face, killing him instantly. Without pause he leveled his revolver at Brad, then their horses panicked as bullets tore into their necks and chests; Wallach ended up fighting his mount as it spun about wildly. Brad managed to fire two shots from his shotgun, then a hail of buckshot tore into the side of his face. He stumbled, then gunfire blasted his knee, crippling him. A dead man fell on top of him. As he fought to free himself, he saw horses and riders crash into one another and slide away from view, cursing and blasting anything in sight. The last rider regained control of his mount, saw that he was alone, then turned and followed his brothers back down the side.

Brad felt hands pulling him away from the dead man on top of him. His eyes were covered in blood, but he could dimly make out the man with the Mohawk – the one Wodan had saved from drowning. The man pulled Brad back to their hidden niche, then fell beside him.

Brad cleaned his remaining eye, then felt an awful wave of pain wash through him.

"We didn't do so well," said Mohawk, crying.

"They won't be so quick!" said Brad, choking on each breath. "They won't be so quick to come up that way again!"

Wallach dragged himself away from the horses and the man that had fallen into him. His own horse rose painfully, ready to serve again. "Thanks a lot," said Wallach. He laid his revolver against the horse's head, fired into it, and the animal dropped instantly. One horse bearing a dead man scampered nearby, and Wallach jerked a shotgun from the dead man's clenched hands. He slapped the horse and it continued further up the pass with its ghostly burden.

"We do it without horses this time," said Wallach. Three surviving Ugly nodded to him, visibly shaken. "No need for embarrassment," he said gruffly. "Let's just get some heads for Barkus. Remember, it's the winners who get to say what went down. None of... this... ever happened."

He led them back up the steep ledge, ignoring the pain in his knuckles and knees that disagreed with his statement.

* * *

Spears of lightning flew and stabbed into the black mountains, shrieking and bellowing. Rain turned to razors in the killing wind, howling like the gates of a hateful world thrown wide open. Black, white, black, white, over and over flashed the heavens, all reason rent asunder, pure savagery laid bare, the world burning and drowning all at once.

Wodan, Rachek, Maxil, and four others climbed and ran up the slick paths of the mountain. They did not rest. Tall boulders jutted into the air, concealing them from their killers but also hiding any true path of safety from them. The paths were winding, and often they found they had doubled back and risked their lives to reach a place they had already passed. Sometimes hollow laughter followed them, laughter from a scarred mouth, and they ran harder.

Wodan held Maxil's hand to help him keep up and to comfort him against the black world of fear they ran through. They came to a high place. The sky was black and stretched as far up as down. They knelt and rested without thinking, crouching like animals.

They heard thunder – then bullets. Gunfire smacked into the narrow platform that held them aloft. Hollow laughter rang out. In a flash of lightning, Wodan saw them: Barkus, clothed in black and sopping wet, laughing maniacally, firing with both arms, with three Ugly devils firing at his sides. The seven scattered. A woman covered Maxil, but took a bullet at the base of her skull. She fell over the edge. Maxil moved to grab her – then teetered over the edge and fell. Wodan and Rachek screamed, ran to the edge, and saw the boy clinging to a slender crevice. His face was so small, so deathly pale in all that darkness. Stone came loose under his grip. He slid down, down, down into the hungry black. He disappeared in the darkness. There was a sharp crack and Rachek buckled. Wodan grabbed her, then someone pulled them behind an overhanging stone. The terrible laughter went on, and on, and on.

They crouched under the lee of a flat boulder, where the rain did not fall but ran in thick torrents at their feet. Rachek fell. Wodan gripped her leg. Hot blood gushed between his fingers. Tears burned behind his face.

"Max," she cried softly, "Ma-a-ax."

The fear rushing through them turned into cold dread. "We're going to die," someone said. "We're really going to die."

"Rachek," said Wodan, bitterly, "this is all my fault. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She looked at him, then her eyes lost focus and grew dim. The blood would not stop. She tried to touch his face, but could not. "Don't cry," she said quietly. "I thought it would work, too."

Wodan lowered his face. He could not look at the light dying in her.

"It was beautiful, Wodi," she said. "It was wonderful."

The storm lulled for one moment. They heard heavy footfalls. Near, very near. The storm grew again.

Wodan raised his head. He looked at all of his friends. He knew that they were trapped in a nightmare, and he knew that he was the one who'd brought them there. The horror of that idea was inconceivable to him. He knew that there was only one thing he could do to prevent it from happening.

"I won't let this happen to you," he said. "I'm going to draw them away, higher up the mountain. Barkus wants me. Take Rachek and get back down the mountain. Find a checkpoint. Find the Guardians. Save yourselves."

Wodan nodded to one of them, a strong man who took Rachek's leg and held it tightly. Another grabbed her underneath her shoulders and prepared to carry her. Wodan rose. He squeezed Rachek's blood between his fingers.

"I'll make sure my promises about a better place come true for you," said Wodan. "Even if they don't come true for me."

They were too numb to protest. Quietly he left them and went into the storm.

* * *

Wodan walked slowly through the storm. He scrambled over a steep ravine. He climbed a sharp rise. He reached a tilted land where the rain hit full on, splashing off sharp boulders and running in a thick sheet that soaked his boots. He stood and waited. He had long since lost his rifle, but he was armed with Rachek's heavy revolver, the grip still warm from her hand. He rolled a handful of bullets in his palm, killing time until he could be sure that his friends had fled the area. Finally he raised the gun and fired it into the air.

"Barkus!" he screamed, firing again and again. "Ba-a-a-ar-ku-u-u-us, you son of a bitch! I'm over here! Come and find me, Barkus!" He screamed into the wind until his throat was raw, firing until his hand was numb. When he was down to his last six bullets, he loaded them into the revolver and waited.

Then he heard it. The laughter. It had found him.

* * *

"It's a trap," said one of the Ugly.

"So?" said Barkus. He stood tall, out in the open where the wind lashed at him. He ignored the pain of the cold water beating into him. The other three crouched under a rock.

"I don't wanna walk into some trap," said another. "He's clever. That's how a little pussy like him gets by."

"You fools," said Barkus, without turning. "Don't you know that we can't lose? Don't you know that we have a devil watching over us?"

The others were silent.

"We have the eyes of the gods watching over us, you pups!" said Barkus, grinding his teeth. "That boy's death is guaranteed! We are marked for victory!"

"Knew it!" said an Ugly, peering through binoculars. The others moved to see. "Barkus, I just saw a bunch of 'em movin' back down the mountain. That boy's tryin' to draw us away from the others."

The Ugly glanced at one another, then one said, "If he's guaranteed to die, like you say, then we should pick off the others first, right? I mean, they goin' back down the mountain. We can hit them now, then go after the boy last, since he's, you know, doomed or whatever."

Barkus shook his head in pure frustration. "You shits don't get it at all!" he said.

"But, Barkus -"

"Go and run, then!" said Barkus, turning on him, staring him down. "Kill those others, run home, kill yourselves, do whatever you want, I don't care!"

Wodan's voice rode the storm. Lightning flashed and lit the hollows of Barkus's face.

"As for me," said Barkus, "I'm going to kill that boy. I don't need any of your help. Your doubt is an affront to the gods. My soul belongs to something greater than you can possibly understand."

His personal guard, armed with a shotgun, rose and said, "I'll go with you, lord. You know I'd follow you to Hell."

Barkus spat near the others, reloaded his handguns carefully, then stalked away with his servant. The other two shrugged, then went to find Wallach so they could continue the hunt.

* * *

Wodan screamed once more, then instinct licked at the back of his neck and he knew that his killers were coming. He ran among the tall boulders, crouched, and listened. He could hear nothing through the din of the storm. He moved deeper among the stones.

He caught movement from his peripheral vision, something like a cape flying. He turned quickly, fell, and aimed his gun at emptiness. Lightning flared. Nothing. He rose painfully and stalked among the stones, peering quickly around corners. He stroked the gun.

Relax, he thought, gathering his resolve. I don't even have to accomplish anything. I've probably already bought enough time for the others to escape.

He licked his lips, blinked rain from his eyes.

"Barkus!" he shouted suddenly. "You out there? You hear me, Barkus? I'm not afraid of you!"

He heard laughter in the darkness, so near that his blood clotted around icicles of fear. In another direction he heard feet splashing heavily through the water. He rose and ran, crouching beneath the boulders, trying to get away from the footsteps but nearer to the laughter.

He rounded a wall of jagged rock, then turned with the idea of doubling-back, thinking that it might confuse the killers. Suddenly the rock nearby exploded, shrieking and sparking, as bullets landed inches from his face. He stalled, then ran, leaped, grabbed the top of the wall, and flung himself over the side just as Barkus emptied both barrels into the stone wall. He could feel the impacts from the other side. His chest hurt so bad from his heart pounding that he had to feel himself to be sure he hadn't been shot. He forced himself to breathe, then slogged through the water to run further along the wall. He could hear Barkus tearing through the water, then stop where Wodan had hidden only a moment before.

Wodan hugged the wall, wondering when an Ugly would come around either side. He started to move, but picking his feet up was so loud that...

"I can hear you, boy," said Barkus, on the other side of the stone wall. "I know you're there."

Wodan planted his feet and leaned his back against the natural wall. He knew that Barkus was most likely doing the same thing on the other side.

"How does it feel?" said Barkus. "How does it feel to be hunted?"

"Hunted?" said Wodan. "People don't usually go out on a hunt with two dozen of their friends and then come home with a couple of bloody survivors. This was a battle, Barkus. We threatened your overblown, fragile ego."

"Ego!" Barkus shouted. "You should talk, Your Majesty! I could just look at you and see that you thought you were God's gift to the world. You need to be humbled. And so you will, when you're bleeding out from a gut-shot. Any regrets, little prince?"

"I just wish I'd been stronger," said Wodan.

"Hey, don't get down on yourself now!" said Barkus, laughing. "You didn't do so bad. Got me running halfway across the world just to see you dead, didn't you?"

"No, you don't understand. You've got some potential, Barkus. You're a natural leader. You're just sick, rotten to the core. If I'd been stronger, I could have changed you. Taught you what it takes to be a human being. We could have fought demons together. But I'm too weak to change you. The only option I have is to kill you."

Wodan felt power course through him as he made the decision to let go of his fear, move his feet, and kill Barkus. He turned to move – then saw a large Ugly raider standing before him, a shotgun aimed at his heart.

"Dead," said the Ugly, smiling. Wodan noted clearly the rain dripping down his scarred head, the missing teeth inside his smile. "Looks like I got you."

"You never broke me," said Wodan, his will strangely firm even though he stood on the brink of eternal darkness.

"I can live with that," said the Ugly. He pulled the trigger, then a flame sputtered and died where the stock met the barrel. The killer's jaw dropped as he realized that water had soaked through where plastic and metal joined in the shoddy buckshot shells.

"Can you?" said Wodan. He raised his revolver and fired once. The man's face shook and imploded as the metal round caved in his nose and forehead. The dead body fell backwards with a terrific splash.

On the other side of the wall, Barkus waited, suddenly unable to breathe. The will of the storm faded. The thunder grew weak, then shafts of light pierced the dusty black sky. Suddenly he heard the boy's feet walking through the water, regular, determined. For the first time since he'd sold his soul, a terrible fear pierced his heart. He heard the boy say, "Well, Barkus, you got any more flunkies to send after me?"

"Y-yes!" Barkus shouted. "I've got a reinforcement brigade of... twenty fighters! No, thirty! Coming up the mountain! I can see them now!" He slogged through the water, desperate to be away.

"I don't see anyone," said Wodan, still walking.

"I've got a devil protecting me!" said Barkus, trying to force authority into his voice. Still the footsteps continued. He tripped and fell, casting about for one of his guns. "If you touch me, that devil will kill you!"

Wodan laughed, said, "I don't see him either."

"Do you even know why they kicked you out of your home in the first place?" Barkus shrieked, desperate to make the boy doubt himself. He found his gun and pulled it from the water, then dropped his other gun.

"Maybe I'll never know," said Wodan.

He could not slow the boy down. Barkus felt insanity threatening to engulf him, for he knew the boy would come around the wall at any moment.

"W-wait!" Barkus screamed. "I... I have something incredibly important to tell you!"

"I think I've heard enough out of you, boy," said Wodan.

Just then a scream flew across the open reaches of stone. Wodan turned. In the new light of the day he could see several friends on a lower tier far away. Three primitives stood over Rachek, who was laid on the ground; they raised their hands in surrender as Wallach strode up to them, shotgun raised.

Wodan ran for them. He tore through the water faster than ever before, feet pounding stone, lungs filling with fire. The wind raked across his face. He heard Barkus firing from far away. He rounded a corner. He slid, kneecap biting into hard stone. He rose and ran still faster downhill in a suicidal rush.

* * *

"Go find the others," Brad said weakly. "Go find Wodi."

"You gonna die?" said Mohawk.

"Heck no, 'course not," he said, but his face was pale and bloodless. He handed his friend the shotgun. Mohawk held it alongside his rifle, then turned and ran to find the others.

* * *

Agmar crawled across the rocks. He had followed the sound of gunshots through the darkness until, finally, the light had broken through. He found himself on a narrow ledge that twisted around the face of a sheer rock wall.

"On your knees, slavemeat!" he heard, far below and around a corner. Agmar crawled and peeked around his aerie. There, on the side of the mountain, below a high ledge, he saw three of his friends, hands raised, covering Rachek. The monster Wallach stepped before them, shotgun raised. He was flanked by three Ugly. Agmar wheezed painfully. He caught movement, then saw two more Ugly ambling casually along a narrow path to join their brothers. He did not know it, but these were the two Ugly that abandoned Barkus in order to find the more sensible lieutenant Wallach; besides Barkus and the flesh demon, all of the remaining Ugly were now gathering in one area.

Agmar watched in horror as Wallach and his companions fired point blank on the standing primitives. Their bodies fell, forming a wreath around their sleeping queen.

As he raised his rifle, Agmar knew that he would die. The long trails of his life twisted before his eyes. I'll make up for what the Ugly turned me into, he thought.

Agmar positioned his rifle along the ledge and aimed at Wallach. He breathed deep and slow. At that moment the two Ugly strolling along the path called to their friends, who turned and waved. As they turned, they immediately spotted Agmar. Agmar panicked, fired, and missed. Wallach pointed up at the ledge, shouted, "Sniper! Up there! Kill that bastard!"

Hands shaking terribly, Agmar tried to work the bolt on his rifle to chamber another round, but was forced to roll away as the Ugly fired on the ledge, sending up rock dust into his eyes. Agmar cursed violently, knowing full well he'd never get another chance at killing Wallach. He crawled backwards along the ledge, hoping to at least hit one of the Ugly along the path beneath him. Then, amidst the gunfire, he heard a primitive war-cry.

Peeking over the ledge, he could see a primitive with a Mohawk bounding up the pass bearing a rifle and shotgun. The two Ugly below Agmar looked about in confusion, then raised their guns. Mohawk ran straight at them maniacally, then fired both guns. One raider's chest armor bounced as if struck by a sledge hammer and his neck opened up in an incredible torrent. Before the other could return fire, his ally's corpse flew through the air and crashed into him, pinning him to the ground.

Mohawk threw his rifle to the side and cocked the pump-action shotgun with his free hand. A smoking shell spun in the air. Wallach and his three nearest allies sent a volley of hot lead down the pass, tearing Mohawk's body to shreds. He never slowed in his wild run, but crashed full-speed into the Ugly who was already pinned beneath his friend. The Ugly gasped and flailed like a turtle on its back.

Agmar rose on his knees, determined to use the distraction to get off a shot. But the Ugly were jacked up on adrenaline and immediately turned back to him, blasting his position over and over. Agmar crouched and hugged the ground, then heard an insane shrieking draw near.

Distracted by Agmar and Mohawk, no one saw Wodan racing down the steep ledge above them. In a blur he tore across the incline in a suicidal rush, then screamed, "Wa-a-a-a-allach!" with enough force to strike terror into the hardened killers. Wallach and his allies turned in time to see Wodan leap from the ledge above them, arms extended like some bird of prey dropping on them from a blindingly blue sky. Wallach raised his shotgun, but was too slow; Wodan crashed into the man's chest with his feet planted into him, pushing the giant back with incredible force. As Wallach stumbled backward, they grabbed one another, then Wodan planted Rachek's revolver into his neck and fired round after round, nearly severing Wallach's head as gallons of red gore erupted and covered them both. Wallach's legs jerked about mechanically, dancing on the edge of a sheer cliff, then both of them fell over the side.

The Ugly were dumbstruck. Then they heard someone grunting down below.

"He's hangin' on the side!" one of them shouted. The three Ugly ran to the ledge.

Agmar crawled forward again, raised his rifle, then ducked back as bullets hit the rocks near him. "Ah no, you don't!" shouted the Ugly below him, still buried under the dead.

Barkus reached the point where the stony field met the high ledge. He was completely out of breath, unable to fathom how the boy had flown across the dangerous incline with such selfless abandon. Something bounded on top of a boulder near him. He turned quickly and aimed his two guns.

It was the demon. The thing sat atop a boulder, crouching like an animal.

"You!" said Barkus. "Get down there and make sure that boy's dead!"

The demon tilted its head one way, then another.

"You heard me!" said Barkus. "You haven't done a damn thing this whole fight! Now get down there! Now!"

No response.

"Well, what are you waiting for? I bargained for the devil's help, didn't I? Why don't you do something?"

Underneath its hood, the demon opened some membrane, then cleared the chamber of mucus. "Didn't come here for you," the thing wheezed. "Came here for our business, not yours. Came here to scout, not to fight. Now we know how to find this place. My job is done. Good luck with yours."

"What... the... hell..." said Barkus. He raised his guns at the thing.

"The one you met was named Soul Taker - not Soul Trader," said the demon. "If he lies, that is his right, and his own business." The thing hopped down from the stone and ambled away.

"You mean... you lied, and I went through all that... for nothing?" said Barkus.

No reply.

"Don't you turn your back on me!" said Barkus. He fired both guns into the monster's back. It hopped forward, lost its balance, and fell down on its knees. Barkus walked forward, blasting the thing over and over until ribs and purple organs littered the ground. He emptied his clips and stood over the flesh demon. The thing was a twisted pile of goo.

"Where the hell am I?" thought Barkus. "What have I done to myself?"

Wodan clung to a slim crack in the sheer rock. He ground his boots into the wall, but could find no purchase. He tried to lift himself, then probed with one hand but found nothing to hold on to. He slipped, nearly losing his hold. He cried out in desperation.

Faces peered over the edge. The light caught them, showing scarred heads, grim faces.

"I get to kill this one," said an Ugly with a shotgun. He leered at Wodan.

Wodan glared at him. I have to let go! Wodan thought. I can't let him kill me... I have to let go!

He gave one last look at the Ugly. Something flickered on the man's chest. A red dot of light danced wildly on him, then hovered on his neck. Another dot appeared, then moved to his head. Then another, two, three more. As the Ugly raised his shotgun to fire, a mass of red dots of light covered him.

* * *

When the storm still raged, a horse bearing a dead man scratched at the ground. The boy Maxil, alive but driven by fear, found the horse. He rode the horse, dead man and all. Exhausted and sure that he was dreaming, he found an angel clothed in white and blue armor. The angel took him to a place full of angels. They used their holy machines and contacted God. A proud warrior angel driven mad with sleep deprivation heard the prayer and arrived with a host of shining guardian angels bearing lances of black metal. Together they rode the storm in great machines with wings of steel feathers.

* * *

The raider aiming his shotgun down at Wodan exploded from a thousand points as the bullets of airborne Guardian snipers followed the course of their laser targeting systems. A mass of black helicopters brimming with machineguns bore down on them, their doors open wide revealing dozens of bright, shining white-armored Guardians.

A shower of meat fell past Wodan. He looked at one of the helicopters as it flew by, saw Maxil shouting and pointing, saw him surrounded by armored soldiers.

Barkus saw the helicopters before anyone else. He saw how the clouds were whipped apart by the blades of their wings. He crept back among the stones, far from the others. He felt his control of reality slipping through his fingers like water. Shadow covered him.

How things fall apart, he thought. How the gods betray.

The two Ugly bounded down the pass, nearly driven mad by the sight of the armored dragons. Their friend below waved to them wildly, then threw the bodies off of himself with panic-induced strength. They heard something slam into the ground behind them. One of them turned, a violent prayer of forgiveness pouring from his mouth even as he raised his gun. He saw a giant of a man covered in a psychotic mane of red hair, wearing white and blue rubber-and-steel armor, wielding a massive black automatic rifle.

Sevrik Clash slammed into the Ugly shoulder first, raising his open palm upward in a blow that shattered the man's jaw, sent his teeth flying, then drove his nose deep inside of his skull. Another Ugly turned in time to see Sevrik swing the rifle into his face. The butt of the rifle crushed his skull instantly, spun his head around and broke his neck in thirty-seven different places. Sevrik flipped the rifle around and into his own armpit before the carcass hit the ground. The last Ugly raised his hands. Sevrik fired. The bullets tore through the raider's torso, spilling his heart and lungs and ribs a hundred yards behind him.

Guardians dropped from the helicopters, covered the area in groups, called to one another in their clipped battle language. Sevrik raced to the edge where a group of Guardians were dangling a rope ladder.

Guardian medics grouped around Rachek, felt her pulse, then wrapped a tourniquet around her leg and guided a helicopter to a landing nearby.

Wodan grabbed the rope ladder, then felt it rise. Strong hands touched his shoulders and lifted him. He saw Sevrik bounding towards him, laughing hysterically, eyes bloodshot and creased but filled with life and light. A soft rain patted him. Blue brilliance shone along the mountain. The Guardians held him. He heard Agmar calling to him. Sevrik fell into him, covered him, wrapped him in a crushing bear hug and both of them shook, laughing and crying at once. Wodan shouted senseless words of happiness to his tutor. Sevrik held him close and welcomed him, welcomed him home.

To be continued in

Demonworld Book Two:

The Pig Devils

