Hope's Light

Chapter 6

by Erisian

Book 6

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Six - Potatoes

 

“Why does one without need seek passage?”

The grey-cloaked spirit towering over me stood thirty-feet tall. With sandals straddling slowly rocking parallel top decks of a slender felwood boat, the voice boomed out from under a deep and shadowed hood. If the barren expanse behind had any features other than scattered ancient bone, the sound would have echoed mightily - but as things were it simply resounded loudly from above.

And given the message, I’d barely started this undercover investigation and already my cover was blown. Joy.

After having gotten what little information I could out of Krux and Greepa regarding how Dis processes newly arrived souls, I’d gone off with Tsáyidiel to stealthily wing our way to this realm’s boundary - to where fresh souls from Earth end up should this be their final destination. A much larger sack than initially requested had been loaded with coins, clothes, and Camael’s bracers for Tsáyidiel to hold onto, and therefore at the most furthest edge, there under the only gap to be found in the smothering skyfire, I’d re-manifested without wings or even a stitch of cloth.

What with the massive river surrounding the immense city and the roaring fires above, the heat and humidity would have had even folks from Texas exclaiming, ‘Well, daaamn!’

That expression, of course, precisely illustrated the situation.

With some further expert guidance from Tsáyidiel, I’d even concealed the mark on my palm, and expanded the spell which had attempted to disguise my bright self as just an average fallen soul.

Said spell had obviously failed against the boatman who’d stood there and watched for the entire time it had taken my poor bare feet to carefully hike across piles of crunchy bones in order to reach his dock. Most of the calcium deposits were human, but every twenty-yards or so the unique structure of a demon’s skeleton poked upwards.

Yeah, crossing all that had sucked. My soles were slick with the red of various experienced punctures.

With a sigh, I replied to the waiting spirit. “It’s that obvious, eh? Darn. Thought I’d done a good job.” While trying to figure out how to explain things, I noticed that the river under the boat churned and bubbled wildly, the emitted steam spitting an acrid scent into the air. A smell definitely not of water. “Good grief, is that boiling acid?”

“It is.”

Ignoring visions of melting into goo should any of that crap touch anything exposed (which comprised all of me at the moment), I pondered the spirit. He felt like a minor god and also an angel, which wasn’t making much sense. Whatever he’d been originally, his pattern now conformed to the single idea of being just one thing: the Boatman. There wasn’t anything else. Creation had enfolded him within that singular myth as well as that thick yet patchy woolen cloak, so that’s what he was here and now - and all he could be while stuck in this place.

“Can you ferry me across anyway?”

“Not without need. To ferry souls beyond that which they cannot cross is my purpose, for a price. Nothing more.”

“Well, I need to arrive on the other side by virtue of your boat. Otherwise my own reason for being here cannot be met. And similarly I’d need to make sure you don’t tell anyone how else I might have traveled and why. So from my point of view, I cannot cross your river on my own. Are we therefore at an impasse of purposes?”

The pock-marked chin visible from under the hood pursed pale lips in consideration. “No.”

“Awesome. So what’s the price?”

“That which has value.”

“Yeah, that’s usually how it works. But what do you value?”

“Souls.”

“Wait a minute,” I said with a frown. “If a soul arrives here, you expect them to offer themselves to cross? How does that work, you’d just let them go on the other side?”

“More shall arrive. When there are two, one may cross.”

That didn’t make any immediate sense. Except…except the piles of bones were higher closer to the dock.

Oh. Oh crud.

The stomach lurched. “What about coins? Legend has it you’ll take those, right?”

“Long has it been since burial currency held sufficient intent or enchantment to carry value.”

“Huh. So you need souls for their energy? Sounds demonic.”

“Sparks from the Source of All are required: required to maintain vessel, required to maintain self, required for safe passage. Torture to increase intensity of emotion is not. Safe passage applies to those who disembark, and those who remain.”

I nodded, having reached a decision. “Then stretch out your hand, ferryman, and receive payment.”

Without a word, a palm the size of an extra-large pizza extended from a sleeve to reach across the gap between boat and shore. After a moment’s focus, an intense brilliance fell into its center - as a single yet potent drop of light.

Fingers closed to swallow the tiny globe, and a shudder traveled up the arm and through the giant. For a moment, just the quickest of moments, crystalline wings not unlike my own flickered outward behind the cloak.

“You may board, sister. And may your Purpose be fulfilled.”

A plank extended above the three rows of oar-holes lining the side of the boat nearest the deck, and I crossed over. Under the top planks on that side, many souls sat chained to benches vertically and horizontally spaced ready to deploy massive oars resting across their knees.

They were entirely silent, and not a single bound crew member took any notice of my presence.

The spirit of the Boatman shifted size and position on deck, hand taking hold of the rudder in the back. With a lurch oars deployed, which first pushed against the dock until the gap was wide enough for the oars to drop into the acid masquerading as water. The oars, along with every plank, was not made only from incredibly hardy felwood.

No, every piece of wood comprising the ship from stem to stern had been imbued with a soul. Each and every one.

I backed away from the rails overlooking the dangerous liquid - anything needing to be countered with soulforged stability atop of felwood was simply nuts. There were also over a hundred and fifty rowers, but within the boat’s owner I sensed a great many more spirits tucked away. Thousands of them. He truly was a psychopomp - a being who ferried souls not just upon this boat but within his core.

Like what the similarly-hooded Azrael had once done with the remnants of Aradia’s spirit.

The Light I had gifted the Boatman slowly enfolded each of those internally held sparks. Some recoiled, but others - others flickered in eased comfort. But what had been offered would not last, as even now the intensity of the gifted power began to dissipate as it sank into everything.

Entropy held true, perhaps stronger here than anywhere else.

In unison the rowers backed us out into a low fog covering the river, and with a quick turning maneuver we began to float towards the largest city in Hell. Towards demons and devils, and all their bloody regimes.

For many, becoming the Boatman’s fee would have been a kinder fate.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Other than the sulfuric stench of the mist, the crossing was uneventful. At one point something leathery barely visible under the surface’s churn bumped the side, but whatever it was must have decided to go after different prey and swam on.

The Boatman ignored it entirely.

With the souls rowing us forward also remaining silent, the journey was calmly eerie and provided time for contemplation.

Or more precisely, time to stand there wondering just what the heck I was doing standing naked on the deck of a ship faking being a new arrival to Hell, and maybe - just maybe - capable of standing out enough to garner the attention of some kind of priest of a cult formed in my spirit’s honor. All without gaining too much notice by the fallen powers who hopefully would remain too distracted by their own violent games amongst themselves.

The quest was silly, but as the main target couldn’t be sought directly, what else could I do? Short of trying to navigate back to the Rock to regroup with the old team, there weren’t many palatable options. And doing that would leave the Book of Secrets to fall into the hands of anyone in Dis currently searching out a deep enough mystery.

Good times, right?

Meanwhile, constantly pressing firmly against perception was a spear reforged between Chaos and Order, darkly shining within metaphysical reach and humming with a power unlike any I’d felt before.

A recent conversation about the difficulties of manifesting angelic might came to mind: deploying the spear would be akin to launching a nuke to settle a bar-fight. Instinctively I knew that summoning it to hand would be all kinds of problematic, especially since the realm Dis sat upon wasn’t stable. If I wasn’t careful in general I could unravel the entire place, just like I’d come close to doing to a fae realm back when I’d barely started to power up.

So I had that to worry about, which yielded an irritating symmetry between inner mood and the surroundings.

Eventually the boat pulled up to a dock sticking out of a tall cliff made of the same obsidian stone as the city towers beyond. An artificial cave passage had been dug (or blasted) through that cliff which opened onto dark boards the ship slipped next to as oarsmen pulled in their instruments, and the will of the Boatman held the ship still against the dock despite the rushing current underneath.

Handy, that. No need for rope.

A squad of demons, each over seven feet tall and holding electric cattle-prods - sorry, soul-prods - assembled at the end of the dock, effectively blocking the passage into the cave. Behind them sat a pair of wheeled trucks, rear beds lined with benches not unlike those in Krux’s squad ship except for the numerous embedded chains. Their leader, a lady of ridiculous body proportions as if she’d been drawn by a repressed male teenage shut-in, stepped forward holding a tablet expectantly as the plank extended. While her military uniform matched the rest of the squad, the buttons over the overly-endowed chest clearly protested the strained situation as if they’d pop free should she but jump up and down. A slender prehensile tail tipped with a spike wrapping around a leg completed the look.

I, being the newly arrived soul that I was, stood still while taking in the squad and the complete lack of anywhere to run.

The Boatman’s voice echoed off the huge obsidian cliff above us.

“Disembark. Or join boat. Choose.”

Begrudgingly, I stepped off the ship, bare and bloody toes careful to not slip on the acid-washed smoothness of the wood.

The lady demon peered from behind a triple-lensed set of glasses set over a pile of makeup, blinking three painted eyes in disapproval. “Oi, Boatman! One passenger only? You’re supposed to gather at least fifteen per docking!”

Captive oarsmen pushed off the dock as the only reply, and the ship quickly disappeared back into the mist - leaving me alone with the squad of bored demonic guards.

Alright, so most of them weren’t all that bored. As yeah, they were staring in my direction with the usual lustful violence I’d gotten accustomed to before.

Demons, what’re you gonna do?

Crossing arms over the main targets of their stares (which were nowhere near as impressive as the ones adorning the girl with the electric notebook), I glared back at them all, refusing to shrink from the obvious leers.

The lady sergeant - proclaimed as such by the insignia on her lapel - growled. “This inefficiency is going in my report!” Pointing to me she then shouted, “Prisoner! Front and center!”

Having fond thoughts of taking away that tablet and employing it as a club upon her painted face, I stepped forward. “Prisoner? Fuck you.”

Instead of getting angrier, red lips parted with a point-filled smile. “Attitude, eh? Excellent. You’re gonna need it. The Boatman explain where you are?”

“Let’s see: big explosion, pain everywhere, followed by giant dude on a boat surrounded by fucking skeletons. Wasn’t all that hard to figure out.” Deliberately I slid into a better balanced stance.

Three eyes squinted hard. “You gonna give me trouble?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How good are those guards?”

“They’re demons.”

“So?”

That actually confused her. “You’re not afraid?”

“Fear is a tool.”

She put a hand over the pistol buckled to the exaggerated hour-glass waistline. Seriously, the danged holster almost lay sideways clipped to that belt. “Pretending to be some kind of bad-ass only works if the bluff ain’t called.”

I shifted toes again and grinned. “Who’s pretending?”

Whatever she saw got her to nod approvingly. “This realm is indeed not for the weak. But think: you know nothing of where you are or the dangers you face. If you want to be more than a swallowed stone, come quietly and learn. The strong rise in Dis - but true strength is more than raw power and fighting skill.”

Making a show of considering, I finally agreed. “Fine.” I returned to standing neutrally. “Now what?”

“Hands behind your back.” She pulled cuffs from the narrow belt and I allowed her to put them on.

And no, the uncomfortable metal wasn’t lined with felt.

She marched me forward, yanking a wrist as her freshly decorated talons dug into skin. As we approached the guards they turned in unison with synchronized boot stomps, leaving us flanked by two lines.

When we got closer to the trucks a guard - humanoid except for short horns sticking through the helmet - reached gloved fingers out to grope and pinch my exposed chest.

Fuck no.

By the time his squadmates had time to react, the offender’s kneecap had gone sideways and my legs were wrapped tight around his throat - having already used them to slam the jerk the rest of the way to the floor.

I’d also slipped the cuffs under my feet to get arms in front.

With back pressed against stone ground I snarled, “Any closer and I’ll snap his neck!”

A voice called out. “Do it.”

The sergeant had moved to stand over us with pulled pistol. Except she wasn’t aiming at me. The business end held a steady line towards the center of the green-scaled and gasping face of the demon who was probably wishing he’d buckled the straps of the helmet now laying in the dust besides us.

“What?” Thighs tensed further, causing additional gurgles.

A sneer crossed the heavily-lipsticked mouth. “Squad!” she called out. “What is the rule!”

In unison they shouted back. “The strong rise! The weak fall!”

Grunting with the effort of holding the struggling demon getting choked out, I shook my head. “You want me to kill him?!” I was lucky, the guy’s thick gloves were preventing his claws from making a mess of my thighs.

“It is your right.”

“He’s one of yours. That’s crazy!”

“His failure has unearned the privilege.”

It was clear across her many eyes: she was going to kill him if I didn’t. And a single soul dimly glowed within the guy’s chest. Recalled battlefields of slaughter filled mind and sinuses with visions and scents of gore best forgotten - so many demons had been killed by my hand or on my orders.

What was one more?

But was that really what I was supposed to be? Was I meant to deliver divine retribution against beings whose very nature drove them to be the evil that they were?

Hank’s voice sounded from memory: “If men are not potatoes, what are demons?”

I still didn’t have a good answer, but I did suddenly have an idea. To my hidden angelic panther who was but a hairbreadths away from finalizing the entire squad of demons should I but command it, I shot the thought and image of what I needed him to do.

“My Queen! This one is unworthy! Allow me to-”

“No! Beloved Hunter, can you do what I have asked or no?”

“I…I can, my Queen. I shall.”

“Then be ready.”

The lady sergeant’s finger tensed against the trigger. “If you will not end him, then I-”

“Wait!” With metal links clinking around wrists, I grabbed at the shaggy green hair on the back of the groping demon’s head right above the squiggly brand of his current master. Crunching abdominals, I leaned forward to hiss in his ear. “Your life is mine, you hear me demon? You’ve got one chance to live: swear to serve me! Got it? Or that crazed bitch is going to shoot you. Nod if you understand!”

The hair gripped in my fingers tugged once.

“Okay then. When I loosen my thighs from your throat, swear it!” I glared at the lady with the gun, as if daring her to go ahead and piss me off further.

She didn’t. And when air was again allowed to be sucked down the captive demon’s windpipe, he immediately choked out his promise:

“I swear! I’ll serve!”

Familiar pain blossomed across my right palm, and for a brief moment - just barely an instant - the hidden star upon it flashed into view.

And also across the skin under the hair at the back of the demon’s neck.

The golden stars, however, immediately shifted as Tsáyidiel’s camouflage spell covered them - becoming something close but not quite the same: instead of four-pointed stars, what shone forth were a pair of golden daggers, each with a crimson drop hanging from their suspended tips. It was the first image that had flashed into mind and I’d gone with it when sharing it across our link, but now I remembered where I had seen it before.

Alal. Lucifer’s daughter and Archon of Chaos had worn these as ruby-tipped earrings when last we’d met. Someday my subconscious - or higher spirit or whatever - and I were going to have another long talk.

But right now I was busy.

Sergeant Boy's-Wet-Dream frowned, and the gun swung towards me. “Your hand. Open it!”

I did so.

She stared and the glasses reflected what glowed across my skin. “A new mark. The realm truly acknowledges your power as superior to his.” Three eyes shifted to meet mine, filled with caution and potential awe. “Just who are you, girl?”

Untangling legs from the groping demon, I kipped up to my feet - and the move kept the cuffed hands in front. “Someone not to fuck with.”

A cold calculation flickered across the mascaraed face. “He is yours. But the uniform and weapons are not. Blorph! Strip! As she is our prisoner, so now are you!”

Blorph (whose true name was much longer and harder to pronounce) looked to me. I nodded for him to comply, and soon the muscled and scruffy foliage-haired demon was wincing as he sat on the ground besides me in pale boxers, socks, and a black undershirt.

Apparently even the boots had been provided.

The squad gathered what had been his stuff, but their leader kept just staring at me.

“What?” I glared back.

“As a new arrival, we have orders to keep you fed. His feeding is your responsibility.”

I looked at my newest recruit. “Hey Blorph, you got whatever passes for money in this place?”

Keeping eyes downcast, he nodded. “Some.”

“And technically it all belongs now to me, right?”

He went paler - an impressive feat given the green scaled skin - and nodded again.

“Then use it to buy rations for yourself for however long we’re stuck dealing with whatever this is.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Can you walk?”

Trying to stand, he failed to hide a wince as the knee wobbled wrongly. Reaching down, he popped the patella back into place. He didn’t cry out, and after testing his weight the leg looked more stable. With a suppressed shudder he stepped forward and nodded.

“Good.” I ignored the single tear of pain escaping down his cheek and waved towards the waiting truck. “So what’s next? We load up on that thing and then enjoy a hose-down or something before meeting the cellmates?”

The sergeant grinned again and answered. “Procedure is to return to base and perform intake interviews. But if the driver hurries, you’ll join the previous crop’s evaluation demonstration.”

“Didn’t I just demonstrate enough?”

“Enough to know I don’t want you under my watch, woman. Congratulations, you passed the interview.”

“Splendid. Which means what, exactly?”

“It means,” she said with a nasty laugh, “that you’ll go directly to the Harrowing.”

Well didn’t that just sound fun.

Not.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian