Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

When he entered the wide, round room a hot, sulphurous wind whipped at him, drying the sweat upon his skin and ruffling his cloak. Three wide windows opened out onto a vast panorama of the region surrounding the Keep; it would have been an amazing view of Dis in the days when the capital still stood.

The room's interior was proportioned for a demon; the spare furnishings—ledges mostly—were too high for Hannibal to sit upon. He placed his pack down and removed his cape, rubbing his shoulders from the strap's chafing. His new arm—now nearly the proper length—ached less and less and felt very different from his original limb. Its muscles were heavier, denser, and he put this down to its newness and his improved health. Whatever the reason, it seemed almost like a reward for his loss and it pleased him.

Strangely restless, he spotted a pair of rectangular stone structures that rose up, side by side, in the center of the circular room. He moved toward them and noticed the twin runnels that, incised into the darkly stained floor, ran from one side of the chamber and disappeared beneath their bases, clearly some ingenious mechanism for bringing liquid into the troughs. Cages seemed to be visible in the deep shadows. What were they for? he wondered. And whose chambers had these been? He would have to ask some of the imprisoned demons.

He searched the room for clues and found some closed doors. Something kept him from opening them and he moved on, continuing his superficial investigation. There would be time for a more detailed examination, for he had already decided that these would be his quarters while he stayed in the Keep and searched for Imilce. With the Keep coming down his chances of finding her were, at best, fair. But he would try, if for no other reason than to tell her what he had done here in Hell. Between the unparalleled view and the welcome isolation he would endure the climb to occupy them. And anyone who had important news could make the climb themselves to convey it.

His eyes fell upon his pack and he went to it and, kneeling, emptied it out upon the floor. A large object, heavily wrapped, tumbled out with a dull thud and he began to tug at its wrappings until it came free. He started to reach for it with his old hand but changed his mind in midstream. It was too heavy to pick up with that weaker limb and he corrected himself, grasping it with his new hand by its thick handle and lifting it easily to eye level. The Hook looked right in this place, its ten diamond-edged points gleaming menacingly in the low light. Catching a glimpse of the troughs, Hannibal nodded to himself and carried the weapon to them. With some difficulty, he placed it into one of the deep troughs and stood back. It fit perfectly, but something was wrong. He looked at the runnels and frowned; that was a mystery he would have to work out.

Exhaustion finally overtook him and he reclined upon a ledge. As he closed his eyes he thought about Div and La and the other souls he had once known in his existence as a slave and reflected on his amazing rise. It had all been his doing; no one else had been ambitious enough to attempt what he had done; he owed no one. But best of all, in his new chambers, he knew he was where he should be. And he was, for the time being, content.

* * * * *

The little tools were much too delicate and easily lost to be brought in her packs; they would have to be left behind for when she returned. When I return. That is a very odd thought. How many millennia will I be away? I have no idea, nor do I have any true notion of where I'm going. She put the tiny chisel down on the table, alongside its fellow tools. Lilith wondered, as she had for weeks, whether her departure from Adamantinarx was madness, whether her goals were as unclear as they seemed. She only knew that, with Sargatanas gone, she had no real reason to remain in a half-destroyed city. As the region's new governor, Satanachia, was more than capable of administering to the rebuilding process. Someday, when she returned, she would find a beautiful city where souls and demons lived together in some form of equality. That was the dream. Her dream.

She would head out toward the Margins, bringing her tenets of hope to those souls in the smaller, remote cities who knew nothing of the rebellion. She knew that it was a dangerous mission, but she thought that, for the time being, it would take her mind off recent events. She was not bitter, simply tired, and the traveling might rehabilitate her. Hell was an unpredictable place, and as resourceful as she was, she would face its many hazards as a challenge. But she would not be completely unprepared.