Arianna Rose: The Gates of Hell (Part 5) (8 page)

In the past, h
e’d instinctively stepped back, away from the gateway, and waited.  He had not been afraid in the least.  He’d simply recognized the necessity of self-preservation.  But this time, self-preservation needed to be forsaken.  He needed to keep the portal open longer so that more of his brethren could pass through. 

With arms trembling from exertion, Darius managed to plant both feet and keep himself upright when the first wave
of beings began to blast past him. 

Light burst briefly from the shimmering air, along with a
rush of energy that threatened to topple him, and created a phenomenon similar to a camera flash.  The flare, though expected, still made him feel as if his retinas had been scorched.  His eyes refused to adapt to so much light passing through, and spots appeared in his field of vision.  But soon, the dark blobs subsided and he was able to make out face after hideous face flying by. 

Demons in every size
, color and shape tore through the gateway.  Some looked human while others were monstrously disfigured.  But all shared the same purpose: kill at their master’s will.  Darius tried to focus on them, to make out the details of some of them, but the task was too tiring.

Before long, they were just a blur of limbs flickering
.  And then he was barely aware of them, the burden of holding open the portal too taxing to allow his concentration to vacillate.  His strength faltered.  His powers drained.  The tunnel began to spin in lopsided circles, and his hearing alternated between jumbled voices and a shrill ringing. 

All to
o quickly a gush of light exploded and the portal collapsed.

“Dammit!  That wasn’t long enough!” Darius shouted in a rare display of frustration.  Frustration was equated with vulnerability in his mind.  And vulnerability held no place in the role of a leader.  He inhaled and slid a hand through his closely cropped hair then squared his shoulders.  “We need an army, after all,” he added with composure. 

“My lord, when you open the seventh gate, they will all stay open for good,” Naberius commented in his choppy, guttural way of speaking.

Heat licked up Darius’ collar,
his anger nearing a crescendo. 

“You will have your army,” Naberius added.  And something in Darius, overextended seconds earlier, snapped. 

“You think I don’t know that?” he screamed, spittle spraying.  “We need warriors now to ensure that seventh gate opens, Naberius!” 

Though he could not see what he looked like at the moment, Darius had a fair
idea of what his appearance was: wild-eyed, red-faced, veins bulging at his neck as well as one, lightning bolt shaped vein in his forehead, spewing saliva and panting like an animal.  He was certain he didn’t resemble a leader. 

W
orking his jaw from side to side, he inspected the ghouls he’d brought forth through the portal.  “Listen up,” he hissed.  “You are here to do my bidding, to follow my orders until the realm of Earth is ours.  After we have claimed it, you can do what you want.  But until then, no one is to pursue his own agenda.”

Behind the demons, Baal grunted and made a small nodding gesture. Darius immediately waved him forward, to the front of the rows
.  On his back, Baal carried a large package wrapped in heavy-duty plastic.  He set it on the ground with a thump and the bag wiggled.  He unzipped the long zipper that ran lengthwise down the package and yanked its contents into view. 

“Ah!” the
man groaned once he was out, but was promptly thrown back to the ground.  Baal raised a fist and the man immediately shielded himself.  “No! Please don’t!  Darius, my lord, I didn’t mean to.  It won’t happen again, I swear!”

“No, it won’t,” Darius replied coolly. 

With a sweep of Darius’ hand, the man lifted off the ground and floated, hovering for a moment, before careening across the tunnel into the far wall.  As soon as his body hit the curved barrier, Darius held him there, immobile. 

“Please, my lord,” the man pleaded, his voice trembling and cracking.  “I beg of you to spare me.”

But Darius ignored his pleas.  “This is Beau,” he boomed, his voice ringing through the cavernous hollow.  “He didn’t listen when he was told not to pursue his own agendas, to settle old scores.  He felt the need to go and murder his wife and put our objective in jeopardy.”

Murmurs of disapproval were muttered among the demons. 

“I never meant to—” Beau began.

“Silence!” Desmond be
llowed.  “When you are killed,” he addressed Beau directly, “you will not return to Gehenna the same. You will not enjoy the rank you once held.  You will return to eternal suffering, never able to leave again; never able to end the indescribable pain you will endure.  It will be everlasting.”

“No, my lord, please don’t kill me,” Beau begged.

Darius had grown tired of his sniveling.  Such blubbering was unbecoming a member of his army, a soldier.  “I’m not going to kill you, Beau,” he said and made a clucking sound with his tongue. 

“Oh thank you!” Beau said, his relief plain.  “I won’t let you down again.”

“Baal, take care of my friend.  Get him down from there,” he motioned absently. 

Needing no other prompt,
Baal advanced to where Beau was positioned, pinned to the wall.  He balled a massive hand and punched Beau in the chest.  The gut-wrenching sound of bones splintering caused devilish delight to tiptoe down the length of Darius’ spine.  But the thrill did not end with one punch.  Baal struck Beau again and again all about his body, shattering his arms, his pelvis and his legs, every bone in his body.  Tortured screams tore from Beau, frenzying Baal as he began hammering the insubordinate serial killer’s skull.  The first of many blows silenced the cries, and ended Beau’s earthly agony.  But all present knew the real agony had yet to begin.

Silence dominated and nervous shifting ensued. 

“Does everyone understand now the consequences of disobeying me?” Darius asked.

Nodding heads bobbed in
understanding.

“There is only one among you permitted to carry out a deed begun when he walke
d this realm alive,” Darius said and pointed to a cloaked figure.  “You, come forward,” he said.

The cloaked figure acquiesced and stepped from the shadows, pulling his hood from his head. 
Beneath the hood, he was monstrously disfigured.  Deeply pitted flesh in shades of brown, pink, gray and angry red spread out in a horrific network and covered his entire face.  His skin was puckered and charred, his features completely consumed by burns.  His lipless mouth remained in a perpetual snarl and his ears seemed to have melted to his skull.  He stooped to genuflect, and while most would have recoiled in fear, Darius moved closer, enthralled by the being before him. 

“Howard Kane, you are to take a small group of your choosing and begin your hunt once again.  You are to hunt down Arianna Rose, the Sola, and kill her.”

At mention of the Sola’s name, Kane glowered with sunken, slate-colored eyes that had neither eyelashes nor eyebrows, yet managed to convey intensity with their stare.  The hatred he radiated for her was palpable.  “As you wish, my lord,” Kane said, his voice a hoarse whisper.  But within that hoarse whisper was a barely contained mania, a bloodlust that needed sating. 

“Oh I do wish, Kane,” Darius replied with unbridled enthusiasm.

Kane looked up and met his gaze, an act he would have thought insolent had it been another being.  But Howard Kane was different.  Kane shared his desire to end Arianna Rose’s existence. 

“I will not fail you.  I’ve always known it was my
destiny to destroy the Sola.  My only mistake when I walked among the living was that I bowed to the wrong master.  But all is clear now.  You are my one true lord.”

“Good, then we understand each other,” Darius said.
  And as Kane was about to stand, he added, “You know your fate if you fail.”  His gaze traveled to Beau’s mangled form still fastened to the tunnel wall. 

“I will not fail,” Kane promised with unwavering determination. 

A moment passed between them.  “Take a few men with you and find her.  Abdiel will accompany you.  He is one of my most trusted servants.  He can suppress her powers, but not for long.  She is far too powerful.  Hopefully he’ll manage to subdue her energy long enough for you to surprise and kill her.”

Kane selected
his volunteers and, along with Abdiel, sifted from the darkened tunnel beneath the Argentinian monastery.  Now, all Darius needed to do was wait; wait for the calling of the next portal, and wait for the Sola to be brought to him, dead.  Dying with her would be any hope of saving humanity.

Chapter 6

Arianna and Desmond, along with every surviving person who lived at Briathos’ compound returned to the luxury log home just outside Ketchikan, Alaska.  They brought with them the only fallen member of their clan whose remains were intact.  They brought Ramiel, and intended to lay him to rest.

Ramiel, a man with tremendous respect for the planet, for the delicate balance that existed among all living things, wished to be returned to the earth.  But instead of being placed within it and enriching the soil, he wanted to become one with the wind, to merge with the airstream and be carried from place to place, never ceasing, his physical remnants freed and roaming infinitely. 

As a result, he had very specific instructions prepared that outlined his funeral.  Well in advance of his death, he’d written a letter listing specific details about how his mortal body should be handled once it expired.  His body was not to be embalmed and placed in an ostentatious box.  Rather, his remains were to be washed then dressed only in a covering of linen, leaving him as close to how he arrived on this earthly plane as possible, and placed on a flat slab of stone.  Then brush and timber was to be gathered from the surrounding forest he loved so much and arranged for his funeral pyre.  The pyre was to be lit at dusk, when the sun relinquishes its grip on the earth.  Briathos was to speak followed by the Sola. 

How he’d known centuries ago that she would be with him when he passed was beyond Arianna.  But he had.  Her physical characteristic
s were even depicted accurately in a small drawing sketched in the margin of his paper.  His was more than a prediction.  A premonition more aptly described it. 

Premonition or no premonition, prediction or no prediction, Ramiel’s wishes were honored.  The funeral
arrangement requests he’d set forth in life were carried out in death.  Briathos, Leo and Sorath saw to it that each detail was followed to the letter, taking care to personally bathe Ramiel before wrapping him in a length of ivory colored linen.  While they set about that task, trainees, led by Jason, Dane and Desmond, took to the forest and collected enough wood to stack and burn for the pyre. 

Several times, Arianna had asked what she could do to help, and each time she’d been told to rest.  She was unsure why everyone was treating her as if she were injured, or otherwise incapable of participating in preparation rites.  Washing Ramiel’s nude, lifeless body wasn’t near the top of her list of things she wanted to do before she died, but she would have done it for Briathos, for any of the elders.  They were her people.  She felt a deep-seated sense of kinship with them.  But apparently her help was neither wanted nor needed.  So she sat in her cabin and waited until she was informed that the pyre had been
completed. 

When she stepped outside, the sky was an ethereal shade of electric blue as the sun wept salmon breadths that lingered just above the horizon line.  The entire community had gathered around Ramiel’s body positioned at the center of an elaborate network of meticulously stacked lumber. 
Speaking in a voice soft like summer rain, Briathos began the ceremony. 

“My dear friends, we are here with heavy hearts, all of us, to say good-bye to Ramiel and wish him well on his passage to the next realm,” Briathos began.  The woods were still, so silent Arianna swore even the animals were hushed
with heads bowed in reverence.  “The shell that houses his soul, his flesh and bone, will join with the ancient cyclone of nomadic winds that have journeyed across thousands of centuries, witnessing countless births and life of every kind,” he continued.  “And the wind will be better for it, the
world
will be better for it.”  Briathos’ voice caught, a sound that pained her so profoundly her breathing hitched.  Then he reached out a hand to Sorath who stood beside him and accepted a torch.  The torch was lit, and he began an incantation. 

Words Arianna had never heard and in a tongue foreign to her ears were haunting wisps echoing in the clearing.  She found herself lulled by them, calmed physically, yet with heightened awareness, as if her power was mingling with that of the people gathered. 

When Briathos had finished his chant, he shook his head slowly with a sad, bittersweet twist to his lips before gesturing for Arianna to join him. 

Flutters of panic flitted in her belly.  She had no idea what she would say.  She’d only known Rami
el for a short period of time.  But during that time she realized she was connected to him, to each of the elders, by a profound and irrevocable bond. 

Swallowing hard, she walked on trembling legs and stopped beside Briathos. 
He clasped her hand briefly, and the moment his skin touched hers, she felt heat spiral from his fingertips, a warm rush that soothed as it spread up her forearm until it settled throughout her chest.  When she looked to her hand then to Briathos’ face, she saw that his pellucid blue eyes shined with affection, with encouragement, and any fear she’d been feeling, any doubt, vanished.