I’ve pushed too hard. An easy thing to do in Hell’s combined toxic air and crazy heat. I’m dizzy, seeing double, feeling sick in my stomach. My heartbeat hammers in my ears.
Mottle is next to me. I feel a prick on my wrist as he does the weird IV bite. I cool off a little as nutrient and fluid from him flows into my veins. The stuff is cooler than my body temperature. My heartbeat slows down. My vision returns. I feel less queasy. Mottle withdraws. I lever myself up to standing position. Whew. Hell really sucks. Human beings can’t manage it for squat. I’m not even 24 hours in – I’ve got all the support of my magic, a nearly endless water bottle, Mottle is cooling blanket plus emergency food and fluid source – and I’m still falling apart.
Speaking of water bottle… I feel something wet on my side. I look down to find that Perrier is laced with web-like cracks. Shattered but not yet broken. That fireball bullet shot from the devil’s pistol must’ve cracked it. Thing’s leaking through my flannel shirt pocket and down my leg. Duplici exemplari is still refilling it. But it’s pretty fucked up. “Shit!” I exclaim.
I steady myself on the wall and look down at the Poachers. Both are red-skinned devils — decked out in what might be useful gear. I crouch down next to Norg. He’s got a knife, his fireball pistol, and various items hung from his belt. Fuck yeah! There are two metal flasks. I pick up one, open it. Smell of fermentation wafts out. I dump it. Might be fun or interesting to try back home. Out here experimenting with exotic Hell alcohol is a health hazard. I gently pull out the Perrier bottle and pour a bit of the sparkling water into the flask. It fizzes. I use this as rinse, swirling it around, then dumping it. I then upend all the fluid from the Perrier bottle into the metal container. Duplici is acting on the water after all. So I should be good. I take a swig. Yep. Same Perrier. This time with a little hint of taste like liquorish. Must be a remnant of Norg’s booze. I’ll take it.
I remove the Perrier bottle and put it on the ground. The action is almost gentle. It’s a memento of my world – Earth. One that saved my ass. Sure, I’m feeling nostalgic about a friggin glass bottle. “Rest well, Perrier, your heroism will never be forgotten,” I say to the bottle as I give it a mock salute. Stooping, I gather the rest of the devils’ gear. The hell rifle goes over one shoulder, the equipment belts and bullet baldrics over the other. I’m careful to make sure knives and pistol are secure. Mori gave me firearms training in prep for my journey to Hell. Looks like it might come in handy. Though guns aren’t really my thing. I kinda have a fear relationship with them. Too easy to kill something by pulling a trigger. With curses, at least you have to go through the intentional and mentally strenuous exercise of casting a spell first.
I can hear Mori talking in my head now. “People on Earth have said that war is Hell. Well, Hell is war. You’re going into Hell Myra. Best be ready to fight.” Hey, something got past the Memory Draught! Cool deal. Yeah. I remember this cute little Mori aphorism along with his firearms instruction all-right. I lug the guns and gear up to Mottle who is doing his wall-hanging thing. “Where to now?”
As answer, Mottle flaps further into the cave, waiting for me to follow. The passage winds down some natural stairs, around through rock columns, finally coming to a larger chamber. It’s blessedly cooler down here. Water bubbles up from a nearby spring. Doesn’t smell too sulfurous. Might be an actual drinkable source. Will test it later. Right now, I’m looking at a horror of pelts, prepared bones, racks of various smoked flesh, and a table stacked with worbs. Beside this shit-show are cages made of bone. Inside are three devils with blue skin. I remember from my earlier training these blue devils are the devil slave class. Well, there are all kinds of slaves in Hell. But blue devils make up the more numerous subsets of actual devil society. They don’t have any rights and other devils can pretty much do with them as they please. The three blue devils hover about in their cage, looking at us with various curious and plaintiff expressions. Beside their cage is a bloody whipping post whose purpose requires no explanation.
A separate cage contains a green-skinned humanoid creature with insect-like wings and yellow orb eyes. It’s about two and a half feet tall. Looks like a faerie of some sort. Mottle extends his tail. I accept the contact. Vila. Blue devils. His matter-of-fact thoughts identify the creatures. I’m drawing a blank on the Vila.
“What’s a Vila?” I ask.
Tree spirit. Almost extinct. Mottle replies. Rare. Exotic. Valuable to Poachers for trade or body parts. These thoughts make me sick. If I have any lingering doubts taking down the poachers was justified, they’re erased by the spectacle of exploitation before me.
The blue devils are chattering among themselves. They notice I’m carrying the Poacher’s gear. I hear the word “human” uttered a few times in hushed tones. One of them steps forward, extends a hand toward me. “Therivelle,” she says as she pats her chest. She moves with a limp. I can see her back is mostly flayed raw from whipping. “We will serve. Help in exchange for food.” She makes slow hand motions as she talks. I’m pretty sure she thinks I can’t understand what she’s saying.
The whole scene makes me furious. Throwing away caution, I step forward. Opening my left hand, I draw my still active moon-shadow blade from the air. The devils let out cries of anguish. I bring the sword down on the chain holding the bone door to the cage shut. Sparks fly as the chain parts. I kick the door open. “You’re free. Get out.” I say to them in Hell’s tongue – Minosian. In two more steps, I’m beside the Vila’s cage. It has no obvious door. In two slashes, I destroy a wall of the bone cage. “You’re free too Vila.” I say this in Minosian and then in English. Not sure if the Vila can understand either. Mottle hangs back through the whole exchange. He’s not doing anything to stop me. I suppose I’m being careless. I don’t give a shit. This stuff is all just wrong.
The blue devils rush out. One runs past us, pauses for a moment near a rock column, then sprints on toward the entrance. Mottle touches my cheek. Might go warn devils. High reward for human mage. Even for blue devil. Right now, I don’t care. I know it’s stupid-reckless. Sure, the twisted little devil living in Hell since forever is probably going to do me a bad turn. I just can’t bring myself to harm the poor wretch over a mere almost-certitude. The other two devils watch their companion run. Instead of following, they walk over to the drying flesh stretched out on racks and begin devouring chunks of it. I don’t typically eat meat. I have no idea what poor creature the poachers killed for it. My empty stomach grumbles nonetheless. Pretty sure I’m going to end up lowering my standards to survive here. I look at Mottle. Maybe. I hold off for now.
The Vila is hovering in a high corner near the cavern’s rear after a short flight to put space between her and the rest of us. Can’t say I blame her. She doesn’t know me for squat and, if Mottle’s right, her precious parts are a valuable commodity to the devils I just freed. She’s looking down on us – eyes flitting from me to the devils gulping down mouthfuls. I feel a pang of sympathy at their hunger even as I worry over what threats they might pose. No take-backs now. I let them out all-right. Probably going to regret that. Keeping my eyes on them, I move over to the table and start slicing up the worbs. Sparks and wisps fly. Another seventeen — five light, twelve dark — are sheltered behind my protective spiritual enclosures. Forty five souls now. Sixteen light wisps, twenty-nine dark. The energy they’re giving me back is quickly refilling my name curse. I’m up to a third already after being next to empty fifteen minutes ago.
Blue devils pause from their food devouring to watch. Their pink eyes widen in surprise. The boy spouts an infernal curse. Theri — I mentally drop the velle part — drifts forward and looks at my arm dripping sparks. “You keep wisps?” She asks.
“It’s part of my magic. Makes them safe. They help me in turn.” I can tell she’s scared of me. Feeling is fucking mutual. The look she’s giving me is one of open disbelief.
“You don’t enslave them for power? Don’t devour them?” The way she says it sounds like an accusation. Like she’s saying I’m lying with a question.
In answer, I lift my arm, then turn my body so she can see my shadow. “Revelare,” I incant. My name curse and shadow briefly remove their protective shroud — showing the light and dark wisps within. They swarm in my shadow, flicker and dance with the sparks in my name curse. More vital and alive since their removal from Hell’s spiritually caustic environment. For a normal human, this might look like a parlor trick. But devil eyes are specially adapted to see wisps. The entire race has preyed upon and hunted them for thousands of years. Before that… Why can’t I remember what they did before? Oh yeah, damn Memory Draught took it out. But I assume they did something less obnoxious with wisps before Asmodeus took over all those thousands of years ago.
Theri hisses in surprise and disbelief. The other blue devil steps forward, clutching at Theri’s arm. “She’s not lying,” he says to her softly.
She puts her hand over his. “Zel, how can it be real?”
“It’s what you always said, Theri. Try to find another way. Maybe it found us?”
I close my hand, allowing Ignarus’ protective shroud to fall again. My wisps are growing agitated even at the brief Hell contact. The soft, dare I say compassionate, exchange between Zel and Theri gives me a glimmer of hope. I’m conflicted. You’re not supposed to feel hope in Hell. But if not, then why am I here? Seeing how I still don’t know shit about my mission, I decide to improvise. Worked with Mottle after all.
“Look. I can’t even begin to imagine your life here. What you’ve been through. And, yeah, I’m a human mage. So you’re probably looking at me like I’m some combo between fish out of water and big sack of gold. Maybe if you hand me over, you can win what passes for devil freedom here. I’ve an alternate proposition. Join up with me and I’ll show you what real freedom looks like.” I’m totally playing this by ear. Some of what I’m saying I’m sure is pretty much pure bullshit. But if I pull the thread of everything that’s happened, of Mottle and my name curse, I must not be too far off. If I can chip souls out of the typical hell cycle of exploitation. If I can get Mottle out of that harmful loop, then why not the dregs of devil society who’ve been shit on for millennia? Maybe I could help them out? Gods I must be frigging nuts.
Theri and Zel are staring at me. Zel gives a toothy grin as smile. “Well, I didn’t expect to live for more than a few days anyway. Here’s to giving the big stiff middle finger to the man,” Zel replies. I’m translating a bit liberally here. What he really said was more like “give the man the big pointy horn.” But you get the picture. Anyway, it seems my little speech and show of protection for wisps has won them over. At least for now.
There’s a flutter of wings as the Vila flits down closer. Her green face is covered in tears. She touches her chest. “Zaya,” she says. “I’m Zaya. You’ve taken my tree’s wisp. Given it real light and good earth.” She points to my name curse. A green-tinted wisp rises to just below the curse’s whorls as Zaya flutters closer, lifting a hand to touch me. I let her. The hand is tiny, smaller than a child’s but perfectly formed like an adult’s. She’s a frigging faerie. In Hell. “You… I feel… alive again. Can I come? Will you take my wisp if I die? I promise to help you.”
My name curse sparks at her pledge. It seems her good intention and sincere ask for aid has forged a bond with it. “There’s your answer,” I reply softly.
Zaya exhales in relief. She keeps her hand on my name curse. It seems to comfort, so I let her.
The devils’ soul-sensitive eyes see the bond form. Mystified, they watch the sparks fall. Zel tentatively extends a hand.
“It’s OK. Go ahead,” I say.
Zel puts his much larger hand on top of Zaya’s. Theri looks at him. He nods. She places her hand on top of Zel’s.
“Give my wisp your protection and I will help you.” Theri says.
“Me too,” Zel says. His skin becomes kind of purple. It’s a blue devil blush. “I trust you with my spirit.”
Sparks spill out of my name curse beneath their touch. A fountain of lights casting shadows throughout the cave. I feel like a roman candle without the burn. Three lights separate from the rest. Lifting up, they hover before each of my new companions in turn, then slowly descend to alight upon their chests. The sparks melt into them. Zaya giggles. Zel gasps. Theri smiles and says “It’s warm and it tickles.” I’m just as surprised. It’s the most unlikely of scenes I’d ever have imagined taking place in Hell. But here I am in a Poacher’s larder, forming a holy bond of friendship with liberated blue devils and what is probably one of the last remaining Vila in all of this blasted and burned world.
Mottle puts his tail on my shoulder. A spark floats off for him as well. My, my, aren’t we the odd quintet?
(Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)
Scribbler’s Fantastical Workshop 
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