Hunting in Hell (32 page)

Unlike Veles, Golden never attempted re-entry.
 
After all, what would be the point of a Heaven without God?

The faces in the crowd were starting to glaze over, and he released his hold upon them slightly.
 
Instantly, many of them perked up, more refreshed and alert.
 
In his reverie, he had been pulling too much, and he chastised himself.
 
Instead of his
kevra,
it was his intelligence that he depended on today.

Golden had informed almost every angel he encountered of the death of Nemain, and to each, he gave instructions that the escape of the prisoner was to be kept a secret.
 
He expected their disobedience.

He knew the pressure each Consortium member would face upon learning of Nemain's sacrifice.
 
Bound by a promise to guard the privileged information, but unable to act, they could only seethe.
 
Secrecy would pressurize the rage until a single spark would send the entire thing into an explosion - a spark which Golden was about to provide.

"The fault for her senseless death lies with a demon we were holding for various crimes, including the murder of an Enforcer."
 
A murmur began reverberating through the audience, and he further pulled back his influence as he pressed on.
 

"His name was Laufeyson.
 
Some of you may have heard of him; some may even know him personally.
 
He is a madman, a traitor, and a terrorist."
 
With each word, faces tightened, eyes squinted and teeth were bared.

"He has escaped from a Consortium Prison.
 
He is responsible, not only for Nemain's death, but for her
wings
"-

The crowd erupted in a collective gasp.
 
He raised his hands over his head, stemming off the angry roar, and they fell back into line.
 
The power he suckled flowed back to them in a giant circle, changed by his
kevra
into an influence he knew they could not break.
 
He was pulling enough from them to taste the mosaic of their essences, a thousand kinds of lifeblood, each one captivating and unique.
 
He lessened his influence again, this time with some sadness as the energies faded.

"My subjects," he said, feeling them dangle from his hook, "Laufeyson is still in Hell.
 
He must be found and punished, he and every other member of the Damned.
 
We will root them out!"

He threw his hands into the air, and a rumble ran through the crowd.
 
A thousands swords clanged as they were drawn and readied.
 
Golden threw his torch, and as it streaked towards the pyre, the other three members of the Pentarch followed suit.
 
Within seconds, the explosive liquid had lit with a loud
whump
, the flames as tall as a man.
 

The chant began as a murmur in the center.
 
Golden heard and sent a sliver of power towards those nearest.
 
It caught like the pyre's flames, the chant growing with its own life.
 
"
Golden!
 
Golden! Death to the Damned!
 
Golden!
 
Golden!
 
Death to the Damned!"

He had loved Nemain.
 
The sight of her body, bathed in fire, filled his mind with the memory of Cleopia and her betrayal.
 
His throat grew tight, and he pushed his emotions away, his resolve steadying his breath.

Goodbye, Nemain
.
 
Dead, you do more for our cause than you could ever do alive.

#

Laufeyson wanted …
what?

The fuzziness in his mind warded off coherent thought.

He didn't
want
to think, either.
 
He wanted to keep drifting on the calm waves of the dark water around him, lit only by the gently bobbing light of …
what was this thing
?
 
Its name itched beneath the surface, but after a few minutes of trying to uncover it, he lost it completely and drifted away.

TWENTY-ONE

G
hosts sparkled in front of De la Roca's eyes, the constant darkness causing her optic nerves to fire randomly.
 
The visions first appeared as balls or flecks of light, but soon, she was seeing ornate, detailed images - people, animals, beasts.
 
Once, Laufeyson appeared, and she had
Bluot
raised and cocked before she remembered that he wasn't real.
 
It reminded her of her time spent on the Mademoiselle's dark plane, waiting for the monster that was Thyrsus.
 

I almost lost Alsvior then.
 
Have I lost him now?

The floor beneath the villi followed a downward slope that slowed their progress.
 
She was forced to place her toes down with utmost caution, only following through when she had compressed enough of the finger-like tentacles to be sure of the lay of the surface beneath them.

Finally, they rounded a bend, and a light came into view.
 
It could have been the lantern of a giant anglerfish, waiting to tear them apart - De la Roca didn't care, so long as she could actually see where they were going.

As they progressed, the light grew brighter, and she broke into a run.
 
The feeling of being able to stretch her legs and push herself, to draw air into burning lungs again - it made her giddy.

She glanced over her shoulder.
 
Alsvior was falling behind.
 
Briefly, she considered slowing down, but he was a part of this prison, as heavy a weight around her neck as the walls that surrounded her.
 
She broke into a sprint, fully intent on leaving both it and him behind.

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.