Hunting in Hell Read online

  Another bend, and sudden brightness blinded her. She stopped abruptly, blinking as a large cavern came into view.

  Every interior surface of the cavern was gilded in gold - including the massive throne in the center. It shuddered in time with the serpent's pulse, and she pictured the heart contained within, cardiac muscle straining out against the metal.

  As she approached, she could see that the throne was covered in a sort of three-dimensional collage. A collection of glittering items had been stuck to its form, none with any discernable connection between them. With each throb of the chair, they moved, light exploding off of their varied surfaces. Curious, she edged closer, until she stood only an arm's length away.

  Her sharp eyes picked out all manner of jewelry, including a large number of lockets and wedding rings. There was an entire armory of blades - from tiny daggers and shivs, all the way to massive, curved swords. There were items usually not made of metal - teddy bears and baby dolls, clothing, including boots and sashes and quite a few cloaks, and a few ragged bundles that she could not identify. An odd assemblage of staves and balls of all sizes stuck out from the center mass at random angles. On close inspection, she even noticed various body parts - a finger, an eye, a heart - all of them gilt.

  What manner of riddle is this?

  She heard footsteps behind her, and she whirled to face Alsvior, her face begging for explanation.

  It wasn't him.

  Instead, her new companion was female. She too, was gold, from her shoes to the elaborate headband and veil that covered her burning, flaxen hair. Even her irises were tinged with the metal, although that could have been more from reflecting the surfaces in the room than a true coloring.

  "Welcome," she said, her voice silkier than the robe of a king. "I have been waiting for you with much anticipation, De la Roca."

  She smiled, and her teeth were like moonstones, cocooned by full crimson lips. "And welcome back, Alsvior. It seems that some never learn."

  #

  De la Roca paused, her hands resting in the air above her gun holsters. This woman was too perfect, too beautiful, a creature from every man's wildest erotic fantasies. From her aureate skin to her shining hair, every part screamed of an enchantment, of a creature of great and dangerous power. As if in response to her thoughts, she could feel Bluot hum beneath her hand.

  At the same time, the Oracle was her only option for finding Laufeyson, and with the darkness, the villi, the steep drop of the throat and the serpent's solidly locked fangs, it wasn't like De la Roca could just turn back.

  "Alsvior and I," she announced, sending him the briefest of glances, "have come for information."

  "Yes." The Oracle drew out the "s" into a long hiss. "I had assumed as much, of course. But before we do business-"

  She waved her hands gently, and De la Roca's jacket began to flutter, as if caught in a strong wind. The edges stretched towards the floor, the cloth expanding into a full, black robe that covered Alsvior from neck to toe.

  "That's better," said the Oracle. "I never was a fan of the male form." She smiled. "Alsvior has told you of the price?"

  "He may have mentioned something of it, but I would hear the cost from your own lips."

  "Wise. Fair enough," she replied, her lips turning up in a coy half-smile. "The price is simple. It is whatever you hold most dear."

  The mercenary's brow scrunched slightly. "Whatever I hold dear? Or whatever he holds dear?"

  "Why, both of you, of course."

  De la Roca turned back to look at Alsvior. He had migrated along the wall to the opposite corner, until he stood in front of a skeletal rectangle of a man's height. Through the unpolished wooden frame, she could see the gold of the cavern's back walls.

  Noticing her eyes, he froze and cast his glance at the floor. A velvety sensation tickled in the back of her mind, but before she could take hold of it, it escaped.

  "Do you agree to the terms?" De la Roca thought she caught a hint of frost in the question, but the Oracle's eyes were two calm, honeyed pools.

  "Yes," said De la Roca.

  "No," whispered Alsvior. And then, a moment later, "Yes."

  "Very good!" Her eyes danced and her voice sang with merriment. "De la Roca, you may be first. Ask your question."

  "Where is Laufeyson?" Even though she steeled herself, she could feel suppressed rage bubbling to the surface. She would have vengeance for his betrayal.

  "Not only do I know where the man is, but I think you will meet him soon. I will tell you after I get my payment."

  "And what do you want?"

  The Oracle smiled and waved her arm gently. Bluot, possessed with sudden animation, flew out of the holster and floated through the air. De la Roca tried to lunge for the gun, but her muscles had locked into stone, and it gracefully landed in the Oracle's hand.

  "And you?" she said, her grin widening. "I assume you are here for your knife."

  Knife? De la Roca felt a tingling, like an itch she couldn't reach. What did he say about a knife?

  Alsvior nodded, his face impassive.

  "And what would you trade me for it?"

  "I think you know. You already have it."

  The Oracle smiled again. "Yes, you value the mercenary over anything else, and you were good to bring her to me. But what if I don't want her? I can't turn a person into part of my throne."

  Alsvior's cheek twitched with the force of his grinding teeth. "Stop your games, demon. She is wanted by the Pentarch. You would be able to trade with them for almost anything."

  No! I am not for sale! De la Roca gasped for air, but they continued to converse as if she were not present, uncaring of her struggle.

  "That is true, that is true. Very well then." The Oracle flicked her wrist again, and a golden sliver near the ceiling separated off and flew to her hand. She caught the tiny knife and tossed it lazily. It spun through the air towards Alsvior, the gold leaf melting off as the chain spiraled behind. He snatched at it with trembling hands.

  And then, he vanished.

  De la Roca screamed, but her paralysis afforded her no more than a garbled moan.

  I have been betrayed. Anger bubbled within her, white-hot rage that had her hands trembling, her throat pounding, and her vision swimming with blood and tears.

  No wonder he has been so strange - he was plotting my sacrifice.

  The Oracle paused, her forehead creased by a single, faint line. "I knew the dagger gave one speed. I didn't know, though, that it worked so well. Maybe I shouldn't have given it up."

  She turned to the mercenary and shot her a quick smile, her hair springing into place. "Then again, I couldn't have used it. That magic is keyed to him, somehow. Even if I hadn't been warned that you were coming, even if I hadn't been able to see it, I would have known. It sang of his arrival long before you set foot on my mountain. It felt him.

  "And now, mercenary, I give you your end of the bargain. After all, I do so like mine." The Oracle stroked De la Roca's gun and threw it lightly into the air. It sailed gracefully to a spot low on the throne and stuck, as if magnetized. With a series of popping groans, the gold that covered the rest of the Oracle's prizes began to bubble. Small, shiny tendrils stretched across Bluot's surface, imprisoning the revolver like the bars of a cage. Within seconds, the gold had engulfed the gun completely, until it was indistinguishable from the rest of the cavern's prizes.

  "There is only one door in my lair. So few have seen it; so few know where it goes. But you, my friend, you are about to find out."

  TWENTY-TWO

  You have what you came for, he thought.

  Alsvior twirled the knife once in his hands, letting it play over his fingers. It had been so long, long enough to make De la Roca's time on earth look short, and yet, he had remembered its heft and weight perfectly.

  Your weakness almost ended you.

  How could he have known, though, that standing in front of the Oracle, his heart would betray him, that he would know of his error too late?
The pain that had ripped through him as he saw De la Roca's face - as he finally realized both of their sacrifices.

  Why didn't you learn the first time? Why wasn't Cleopia enough?

  Guilty or not, he didn't stay. Before either of them could see him, he had harnessed the power of the knife and was through the door. He wanted to pause on the other side and get his bearings, but he could feel a warm mass of bodies around him. If he stopped, they would be able to see him, and that was a risk he couldn't take. So instead, he continued on, moving so quickly that the air around him hummed. He knew what he was looking for, at least for the moment - somewhere deserted, with good visibility.

  That was why he had chosen the turret. Although fortress was in the middle of the Valley of the Winged, it went largely unguarded and unused - save for Golden, his advisors, and their prisoners. Even those that visited at Golden's command took care to stay only as long as was necessary. Save for the forest of Diaspar - which was a place that death itself could not make Alsvior enter - there was no place safer, or where he was less likely to run into an errant angel.

  No place, at least, that offered any kind of access to Golden.

  He raced through the halls, his spicy scent lingering behind him. He knew from experience that very few angels would notice it, and the ones that did would most likely think nothing of it. And if they did? That was fine - it would fade before they could track him.

  It was but the work of a moment to ascend the stairs. From his position in the turret, he could see the entire north side of the Valley of the Winged.

  Surprisingly, it was deserted. He felt his stomach sink as he looked over the empty valley - if the angels had all congregated somewhere, then something was happening - something important.

  He ran to the west turret, and then the east - and each time, he was met by nothing. Then he ran to the south turret, which overlooked, not only the south side of the Valley of the Winged, but part of the much smaller Valley of Ascension, including the platform from which he had entered. There, at least, he had felt warmth, the presence of the spark of life within bodies.

  Yet what he saw astounded him. The angels were amassed there, so many that he could not count them, yet he knew somehow that it was the entire Consortium. It was a sea of bodies so large, it overflowed the boundaries of the Valley of Ascension.

  You'll never get her back. The truth in that statement pierced his heart like an arrow.

  #

  Golden had just finished giving his speech to the crowd below the pyre. In each member's face, he could see the stamp of their energy circle, the sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks of an angel whose lifeblood had been pumped through his kevra and returned changed. Their collective need to please him, to obey, buoyed him up and away from the scene with startling power. The entire crowd was intent on only one purpose, his purpose, to find the mercenary and the traitor, and punish them both.

  I am the brain, and I am the heart.

  And then, it was as if the atoms in the atmosphere around him had decided to alter their path and bounce in different directions. He could almost taste a manic excitation, the strange crackle of a new energy.

  The Oracle, he thought, and before he could warn his followers, she appeared. The chanting crowd gasped and fell into silence.

  Golden would have liked more time to plot his next steps; the creature was crafty, powerful. Worse, he could sense the crowd watching him, hanging on to his every word. As their brains were shoved away from the decision-making process, those affected by his kevra often became more excitable - possibly even violent. He would need to act quickly if he wanted to control the situation.

  "To what," he sneered, "do we owe the pleasure of a visit from the Oracle? Especially at such an auspicious moment?"

  "I have something that you want," said the Oracle.

  He could feel the pull of her dulcet tones, sweeter than the drops of nectar in a honeysuckle vine. He knew that the crowd would react in the same way, lulled by the magic in the melodic voice. He steeled himself and pumped out an extra burst of power to safeguard them.

  "Well, come here then," he said, his finger waggling back and forth in a flippant gesture. He knew what would follow, and his skin prickled. Was it wise to push her too far?

  He growled inwardly. You are in control here. Be careful, but remember, she is powerless to leave her cave, and while she must always tell the truth, truth can be a twisted thing indeed.

  An errant thought sprang up, unbidden. What being was powerful enough to bind the Oracle to her lair, and where had the creature gone? For what archaic purpose was this door, a floating invisibility that led straight onto the platform in the Valley of Ascension?

  He took a deep breath. These were questions that did not concern him now, and he pulled his focus back to where it needed to be.

  The Oracle's beautiful face contorted as indignant anger and disbelief vied for the right of occupation. Then she snarled, her canines glinting in the firelight. Her spell momentarily broken, the crowd rocked back on its heels. "For that, I should rend the flesh from your back, you spineless fool!"

  Her anger spurred the transformation. The golden locks fell out in clumps and shriveled into piles of dust. Her robes followed suit, blessing the Consortium with one moment of her perfect nakedness, and then her bones began to twist. Her spine bent like the arc of a bow, and her knees inverted themselves with violent popping noises, until her stance was that of an animal on its hind legs. At the same time, her skin darkened to ash, and an odd mixture of boils and sores opened up across its surface.

  "Gaze upon the true face of the Oracle!" she screamed. She threw her head back and howled at the sky. The firelight glinted off of her bald head and danced in her savage eyes. Her tongue lolled so far out of her mouth that it rested on her chest. It was a fearsome display, but Golden had been expecting it.

  He yawned, as if tired. "Well, what is it? What do you have for us?"

  She lunged. The crowd reeled backwards, but of course, her attack never came. Instead, at the last moment, she slid sideways, and her body suddenly disappeared from view.

  A muffled scraping echoed onto the platform. It died abruptly, and then a black-clad form, head-lolling sideways at an alarming angle, appeared on the other side of the door. Recognition froze Golden's blood and forced a gasp into his lungs.

  Cleopia?

  "Gaze upon your mercenary," intoned the Oracle, and she dropped De la Roca facedown.

  When Volos leapt forward, a battle cry in his throat, Golden barely noticed. His body, like his mind, was rooted to the spot by the split second-image of Cleopia's face.

  Instead, it was Veles, twin of Volos, that caught up to his identical brother, steps before they reached the doorframe. Tackled, his face pressed into the ground, Volos did not see the Oracle reappear, jumping on the mercenary's back. He didn't see the clawed arm whip through the doorway and slash his twin across the face. Instead, he heard his brother howl as the wound blazed with sudden, fiery pain. Within seconds, Veles had rolled over, away from the doorway, desperately clawing at the slash.

  His anguished screams finally kicked Golden out of stasis. He ran forward, grabbed Veles by the arms, and hauled him back to his original position. He left Volos on the ground as he inspected the injury, uncaring as to whether or not the Oracle would choose to strike twice.

  That wound will never heal, thought Golden. One brother's folly scars the other, forever.

  No, it was your own folly that did this. You should have been ready for the Oracle's trickery, and instead, in your weakness, you saw something impossible, something you wanted to see. Cleopia is most likely dead by now.

  If he could have, he would have howled like Veles. Did he not have his own wound, one that festered forever? But the eyes of the Consortium were upon him, eyes that needed him, even as they waited for him to make a mistake. And what of this mistake? Was it not enough?

  You need to fix this, and that starts with the mercenary.

  His a
nger sat heavy in his mouth, but when he spoke, the crowd heard only ice and steel.

  "We see your prize, Oracle, and perhaps we wish to make a trade. But what would be your end of the bargain?"

  The creature cackled. "The wings," she laughed. Golden felt his stomach sink towards the ground.

  The wings. She means Nemain's wings.

  What made you think you could bargain with this creature?

  "Too late!" His voice was a desperate half-laugh, the pitch slightly higher than before. "They are already on the pyre!" Yet even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew that it was a child's ploy, and one the Oracle would see through instantly.

  She waved her hand in front of her face, and gusts of smoky wind whipped across the valley. Like strands in a spinning wheel, they spooled together on the platform, swirling into a funnel cloud. Like the smoke, pieces of debris flew into the mass, drawn by its suction. It spun faster, until the angels of the Consortium scrabbled to hold onto the dirt like rats.

  She waved a hand again, and the cloud knocked into the pyre, snuffing it with such suddenness that even the smoke disappeared.

  The fire had only begun its work. While Nemain's body was hairless and soot-stained, it was mostly intact - as were her wings.

  The Oracle smiled. "Give me Nemain's wings, and you may have your prisoner."

  #

  From his position in the south turret, Alsvior could hear the mass of angels cheering, could see their conglomeration shifting as they all moved as one.

  Something is happening.

  I have to get closer, he thought.

  He descended the turret.

  TWENTY-THREE

  There are moments where even Time herself waits with bated breath. The Consortium, the Pentarch, the Oracle - all of them were caught, ensnared in tense confusion.

  It was the last member of the Pentarch, Minoa, that finally snapped. Her feet skimmed lightly as she ran to the pyre, her hair trailing behind her gazelle-like form. It was not until she leaped that they realized her intent. Ten feet above them, she scooped up the wings and threw them both at once. They sailed through the air, charred half moons arcing across the sky.