Hellforged (21 page)
Authors: Nancy Holzner
Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Demonology
“They’re connected? The Destroyer and Pryce?” Somehow that didn’t surprise me. Something about Pryce—his dead eyes, maybe—suggested he’d be at home with Hellions.
Mab nodded.
“What is he, a sorcerer? Because my bond with the Destroyer takes precedence over any sorcerer who tries to command it.” That was how I’d stopped a power-crazed lunatic from flattening Boston last October.
“Pryce is no mere sorcerer, child.”
“Okay, so he’s not a sorcerer. He’s not my cousin. That’s two things he isn’t, but I still don’t know what he
is
.”
is
.”
“You will, and soon. Today.” Something in her tone, something almost like pity, hinted that I’d end up wishing I’d stayed ignorant. “Our enemies have had three months to prepare. We must work quickly. Your first lesson will be to understand who those enemies are.” She stood and pushed her chair back from the table. “And that lesson begins now.”
17
I FOLLOWED MAB DOWN THE HALLWAY, THROUGH THE DINING room, and into the library. More than any room in this house, the library had “Mab” stamped all over it. Bookcases, full to overflowing, lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Four rolling ladders, one on each wall, were mounted on tracks, making it easier to retrieve books from the upper shelves. To my right, wing chairs flanked a huge fireplace, and in the far wall, French doors opened to the garden. A desk, chair, and sofa completed the furniture. Otherwise, everything was books, books, books.
“Sit, child.” Mab nodded toward the wing chairs as she went to a bookcase.
I paused in the doorway, reluctant to cross the threshold. In ten years, I’d never been able to shake the dread that gripped me whenever I entered this room. A particular spot on the Persian carpet drew my reluctant gaze. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t stop myself. I never could. Through a watery veil of sudden tears, I looked at the place where my father had fallen the night he died.
That had been my fault, too. Damn it, how many would die before I defeated that Hellion?
I squared my shoulders and crossed the room, making a detour to avoid walking over the site of my father’s last moments on Earth. I went to the fireplace and sat in the chair across from Mab’s.
I miss you, Dad. If you were here, we’d fight this thing together.
I miss you, Dad. If you were here, we’d fight this thing together.
But I had Mab on my side, and you couldn’t ask for a better demon fighter. I turned around to see what my aunt was doing.
She’d taken down a book, and she clasped it to her chest with both arms as she came toward me. Instead of taking her seat, she knelt beside my chair. She moved easily, no stiffness to betray her age, and for a moment I remembered Pryce’s words:
Don’t you ever wonder about dear Aunt Mab? Who is she, exactly?
Don’t you ever wonder about dear Aunt Mab? Who is she, exactly?
Mab’s eyes bored into mine. How many times had I searched those eyes for some glimmer of approval? Now, they showed worry. But I could see my father in them, and myself. Whatever doubts Pryce wanted to raise, I
knew
this woman. She was family. I trusted her with my life.
knew
this woman. She was family. I trusted her with my life.
Mab cleared her throat, like she was searching for the right place to begin. “When we spoke on the telephone, I said it was time to start your next level of training. After this morning’s conversation, I’m certain of it.”
I nodded. That’s why I’d dropped everything and flown across the Atlantic.
Clutching the book with her left arm, she laid her right hand on my knee. “The trouble is, I’m not quite as certain you’re ready for it. But I’m afraid we have no choice. The situation has outpaced us.” She took a deep breath, and something flickered in her eyes. “This book will be the basis of your training.” She held the book toward me so I could see its cover.
“No!”
I was out of my chair and halfway across the room before I realized I’d moved. My heart pounded against my ribs like it wanted to escape from my body every bit as much as I wanted to get out of that room.
That book. It was evil. I couldn’t bear to look at it. It was the book my aunt had told me never to touch. The one I’d taken down in spite of—no,
because
of—her prohibition and used to summon Difethwr. I was just acting out; I hadn’t meant to call the Hellion. But Difethwr came anyway. And it killed my father.
because
of—her prohibition and used to summon Difethwr. I was just acting out; I hadn’t meant to call the Hellion. But Difethwr came anyway. And it killed my father.
In ten years, I’d never stopped regretting I’d ever seen the damn book. And now it was going to be the basis of my training?
No.
No no no.
Mab appeared beside me. She took my hand, her grasp cool and calming. “I know you’re afraid,” she said, her voice gentle. “I know this feels like something you cannot do. But please sit down so I can explain.”
I let her lead me back to the fireplace. I stopped at a chair. My knees bent. I settled on the seat. My body did these things automatically, puppetlike. My mind, fogged by grief and shock, couldn’t be bothered with things like walking and sitting.
That book had caused the greatest tragedy of my life. I’d vowed never to touch it again. And now Mab wanted to assign me homework from it.
She sat opposite me, the book resting on her lap. Its cover was leather, an odd, pale shade that had always set it apart from the other books on the shelf.
“Is it really bound in human skin?” It was the only question I could formulate. The other questions, the essential ones, refused to be put into words.
“Yes, but that’s not important. What’s important, Victory, is that you understand why it’s necessary to do this now.”
“Necessary? How could it be necessary? You told me so many times that I was never, ever to touch that book. Never means
never
, Mab. It doesn’t mean, ‘We’ll wait until you’re in need of a little light reading.’ ”
never
, Mab. It doesn’t mean, ‘We’ll wait until you’re in need of a little light reading.’ ”
“Enough of your cheek, young lady.” Mab’s voice was sharp. She took a deep breath and made an effort to soften it. “I always knew the book would become necessary to your training. But you were such a headstrong child that had I said, ‘Someday,’ you’d have insisted, ‘Now,’ and peeked into the book long before you did.”
“Maybe that would have been a good thing!” I was shouting, but I couldn’t help it. “Maybe I would have gotten
myself
killed, and Dad would be alive.” The book sat on my aunt’s lap, a malevolent presence. I could feel evil emanating from it like radioactive waves. “I won’t touch it, Mab. I won’t!”
myself
killed, and Dad would be alive.” The book sat on my aunt’s lap, a malevolent presence. I could feel evil emanating from it like radioactive waves. “I won’t touch it, Mab. I won’t!”
“Victory, child, hush. Just for a few minutes, just so I can explain. This book tells the long history of the struggle between our kind and demons. It also prophesies how that struggle will end. The events you’ve described suggest its prophecies are coming to pass. For that reason, you must now familiarize yourself with its contents.”
“Why? So I can sit back and watch the end of the world happen? If it’s a prophecy, there’s nothing I can do to change it. It’s fate.” My clammy hands were clenched into fists, so tight my nails cut into my palms. Forcing them open and wiping them on my jeans, I wondered whether the book foretold my own death.
“A prophecy is not a script, child. It can be interpreted in many ways.”
“How am I supposed to interpret anything? The night I took that book down, I didn’t recognize its language. I can’t read it.” Even if I wanted to—which I didn’t.
“I believe that has changed. Look.”
She lifted the book from her lap and held its cover toward me. The title, stamped in gold and outlined in crimson, was an unintelligible jumble of letters. I shook my head. “No, I—” Then something altered. As I stared at the letters, words formed in my mind.
The Book of Utter Darkness.
The Book of Utter Darkness.
I blinked. I rubbed my eyes and blinked again. I couldn’t read the words, but I could understand them.
Confused, I looked at Mab. She nodded. “When you bound that Hellion to yourself, you gained the ability to understand the language of this book.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Your desires are beside the point. You
need
this book. It has information to help you battle the Destroyer.”
need
this book. It has information to help you battle the Destroyer.”
“Can you read it?”
“Parts of it. Certain parts remain hidden to me.”
“But you’ve never bound a Hellion to yourself.”
Don’t you ever wonder about dear Aunt Mab?
“Have you?”
Don’t you ever wonder about dear Aunt Mab?
“Have you?”
“Don’t be silly. There are other ways to gain understanding of the language of Hell.”
The language of Hell. Great. “Like what?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
She ignored my question. “This book does not easily yield its secrets. You will find it frustrating to work with. You might stare at a passage for hours to no avail. Then, as you look away, understanding floods your mind. Or you may return to a passage you understood yesterday and find it closed to you. The book will also try to trick you. You must be vigilant.”
“What do you mean? How can a book trick someone?”
“You’ll see.” She leaned closer, holding out the book. “Take it, child. We need to find out what you can understand.”
Even from a foot away, the book gave off a stinging heat. I shrank back in my chair. I didn’t want it near me. Then I looked at my aunt. Her eyes blazed with an urgency that lit up her face. Mab believed it was important—
necessary,
she’d said. She wouldn’t put me through this if she didn’t have to. Mab was stern, she was tough, but she’d never been cruel.
necessary,
she’d said. She wouldn’t put me through this if she didn’t have to. Mab was stern, she was tough, but she’d never been cruel.
Feeling like I was reaching into a pit of vipers, I took the book from my aunt’s hand.
A high-voltage shock zapped my arm. A bolt of lightning shot from my demon mark and scorched the ceiling. I shrieked and tried to hurl the book away. But it stuck to my hand like it was glued there.
I jumped up. Mab leaned away from me in her chair, her features round with surprise. I shook my hand, trying to shake the book away. My fingers gripped it like a vise, so hard they hurt. I couldn’t let go.
Something in my peripheral vision glowed red. That lightning bolt—was there a fire? I turned. No flames, but the place where my father fell glowed with red, misty light. The light brightened until it blazed as vivid as a sunset at its peak, the red shot through with streaks of purple and green—Dad’s colors. Then, like a sunset but faster, the light faded. Tears welled as I watched the glow disappear. When it was gone, the tears spilled over, wetting my cheeks.
My father had been dead for ten years. Yet he’d just told me he wanted me to do this.
I still held the book, although my fingers had relaxed their death grip. A residual tingle and odors of sulfur and charred flesh lingered, but otherwise I felt normal. I was standing in my aunt’s library, holding a book, something I’d done hundreds of times.
I sat down and turned to the first page.
IT WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE TO RECORD WHAT THE BOOK ACTUALLY said. It wasn’t like normal reading, where you run your eyes over the page, noticing how letters form words and words are arranged into sentences. Instead, I stared at the jumble of odd-shaped letters until my vision blurred. And then—sometimes sooner, sometimes later—a block of knowledge appeared in my mind.
Later, I tried to decipher the language by matching bits of that knowledge to groups of letters and symbols, but it always fell apart. Understanding receded and the letters closed ranks, moving around on the page to hide what I’d thought were divisions between words.
Mab had said it was the language of Hell. She said the book would try to trick me. To someone who got straight Cs in English, this wasn’t great news.
The book’s first chapter, and the only part I could read that day, was a history: the origins of the Cerddorion and demons we oppose. In that sense, it was like the Cerddorion history I’d studied at the start of my training, including the
Mabinogion
, a group of medieval Welsh stories, poems, and myths. Dad was a scholar of Old Welsh literature, and he loved the
Mabinogion
, but I’d never been all that interested. Mostly, it narrated endless battles and knights performing impossible tasks. The little bit about the origins of my race was written by a norm who clearly didn’t approve of magic or believe in shapeshifting. For starters, the
Mabinogion
demoted Ceridwen, the mother of my race, from a goddess to a witch. I’ve known some perfectly nice witches, but a goddess is a goddess.
Mabinogion
, a group of medieval Welsh stories, poems, and myths. Dad was a scholar of Old Welsh literature, and he loved the
Mabinogion
, but I’d never been all that interested. Mostly, it narrated endless battles and knights performing impossible tasks. The little bit about the origins of my race was written by a norm who clearly didn’t approve of magic or believe in shapeshifting. For starters, the
Mabinogion
demoted Ceridwen, the mother of my race, from a goddess to a witch. I’ve known some perfectly nice witches, but a goddess is a goddess.
The Book of Utter Darkness
told the story from the demons’ point of view. It began like other histories, with the birth of Ceridwen’s first child, a son. Traditionally, Ceridwen’s baby was described as ugly, even hideous, but not here. According to
The Book of Utter Darkness
, the child had a noble bearing. He was also hungry, insatiably so. The moment his mother stopped feeding him, he screamed and howled. And each time he opened his mouth, the spirit of his hunger emerged—the Morfran. And so the essence of demons was created.
told the story from the demons’ point of view. It began like other histories, with the birth of Ceridwen’s first child, a son. Traditionally, Ceridwen’s baby was described as ugly, even hideous, but not here. According to
The Book of Utter Darkness
, the child had a noble bearing. He was also hungry, insatiably so. The moment his mother stopped feeding him, he screamed and howled. And each time he opened his mouth, the spirit of his hunger emerged—the Morfran. And so the essence of demons was created.
That’s why
Morfran
had sounded familiar: I’d seen the word in the
Mabinogion
. There, though, “Morfran” was a nickname for Ceridwen’s baby, who was so ugly his own mother called him “Great Crow.” Maybe the author of that account didn’t want to believe a newborn baby could be the source of all demons.
Morfran
had sounded familiar: I’d seen the word in the
Mabinogion
. There, though, “Morfran” was a nickname for Ceridwen’s baby, who was so ugly his own mother called him “Great Crow.” Maybe the author of that account didn’t want to believe a newborn baby could be the source of all demons.
I turned the page to a hand-drawn illustration: A naked infant lay on the ground, arms and legs waving. From his wide-open mouth emerged a huge black bird—the Morfran, the great crow, created by the child’s hunger. I studied the picture for several minutes, then stared at the incomprehensible words until the story continued in my mind.
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