Queen of the Dark Things (34 page)

Somewhere, deep in the murk, the glowing eyes of an animal peered out at him, and a chill took to his bones.

He swallowed hard, steadied himself, and pulled the chalk from his pocket.

Colby began to draw arcane symbols on the cold, dark, antediluvian stone of a sundered domicile—each by memory, esoteric though they were. Then he outlined the entire thing with a large, perfect equilateral triangle, five feet on each side. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his salt shaker. He unscrewed the cap, sprinkling it liberally over the chalk. The chalk and the salt sizzled, the triangle lighting up for a second like magnesium set ablaze.

At once the ancient city came alive, bright as day, severe shadows cast out into the glowing jungle. And there they were, a hundred devilish animals staring at him from the boughs of trees and beneath the cover of bushes. None moved; they only stared.

He was watching.

As the image burned into his eyes, Colby saw blackened mounds sprinkled across the city. Twisted, curled, charred, it was at once apparent that these were no mere mounds, but bodies, burned beyond recognition, carbonized by Hell's flames. All victims of Bune's wrath, trophies left out with no wall to hang on, their message crystal clear.

Colby stepped forward, his arms spread wide, palms to the heavens, and once again he belted out a flurry of unrepeatable demonic jargon. The triangle grew bright, a thousand megawatt spotlight pointed straight down into it, not a single ray spilling past the chalk. Then he yelled, “Bune, I summon thee. Appear and speak.”

And then the form appeared—a shadow at first, melting into place. A man, hunched over, long Herculean arms, sharpened claws dancing at the end of wispy fingers. Fur, black and sleek, gray leopard spots flaring out from its chest along its back. A cat's face, pointed ears, whiskers, a snout laced with razor fangs. Bune, the Leopard, scowled, his eyes lighting on fire, the lambent flames burning cold, trickling toward the sky.

“You chose me,” he said, his voice heavy, proud, the notes lingering on the air.

“I did,” said Colby.

Bune looked down at the triangle, then cast a sneering grin back at Colby. “I don't suppose that we could do away with the formalities?”

“The triangle?”

“Yes.”

“Not on your life.”

The demon nodded, the flames of his eyes dimming to a febrile smolder. He leered at the jungle around him and with a nod sent the beasts scampering silently back into the dark.

Bune cracked his neck, adjusted his posture. He no longer hunched, but stood, dignified, like a visiting professor at a symposium, a poised hand tickling the fur of his chest. “I've waited a long time for this conversation,” he said. “You were due.”

Colby shook his head. “Let's get on with this. I have a long night ahead of me.”

“The longest. But that's not how this works.
You
summoned
me
. You have entered a bargain for my boon. My boons, my rules. You should know this.”

“I was hoping we could skip all that.”

Bune turned, wagging a disapproving academic finger. Though his visage was terrible and alien, his expression was statesmanlike, majestic, profoundly arrogant. “We could skip all that, I guess, if you were to erase a corner of this triangle and let me walk out, so we could talk as men. I mean, if we're skipping things.”

“You know I can't do that.”

“No, I know you
won't
do that. So we're going to talk until I'm satisfied.”

“Then talk.”

The demon's leopard snout curled back into a wicked smile, daggerlike fangs piercing through the snarl. “Once, not so long ago, you sat atop a tower with Bertrand, the angel.”

“You know Bertrand?”

“I know all of the fallen. It is my task to keep track of them. To bring those worthy into the fold of Hell.”

“That's not Bertrand.”

“No. He has too much pride, even for Hell.”

“What about him?” asked Colby.

“What, indeed. He spoke to you, at length, about sacrifice. Selflessness.”

“Yeah.”

“And I'm here now to undo the damage of that night.”

“And just how do you plan on doing that?”

Bune looked down at the chalk triangle keeping him in check. “By telling you the truth about him. He told you he jumped, didn't he?”

“He implied it.”

“He only thinks he jumped. It's why he can't go back. Bertrand questioned his plan. He questioned the way things worked. And he thought, if he jumped, he could do more good down here, on the ground, in the thick of it, than he could elsewhere. But it was pride. From the beginning, it was pride. He stepped to the edge to jump only instead to fall. All because he thought he knew better. And once he was here, he couldn't find his way back, because he never realized it was his pride chaining him here. At any moment he could free himself, fall onto his knees, and cry out to the heavens, begging for forgiveness, forgiving himself. But his pride looms so large, that its shadow keeps him from ever seeing it.

“Now he's spent too much time down here. Clouded his mind with too much drink. This world, the physical world, it takes its toll on you if you let it. You begin to become part of its chaos, its mundanities. You forget the things of the spirit and worry only about those you can see, touch. And that's what he did. He began to see the world from this point of view and lost sight of what real morality is.”

“And that is?”

“Perspective.”

“That's not exactly news.”

“Oh, but it is. You see, Bertrand explains goodness as if it is a single point on a line. Black on one end, white on the other. In the middle are the things you paint gray.”

“You're not wowing me here, demon. Come to your point or—”

“There is no gray, Colby. That's the point. It's a flawed model. The idea that ethics and morality can be summed up two dimensionally, as a binary system riddled with aberrations, is primitive. The aberrations are the proof that the model doesn't work. Morality isn't a line; it is a series of spheres, beginning first at a point in the center. That point is the singular person against whom any action is made. You have to ask yourself
what is best for that person
. That decision is binary.”

Colby shook his head, pursing his lips. “No. There's not always a right and a wrong.”

“There is!” Bune spoke excitedly now, eyes a searing blue flame, the passion of his point bubbling into froth. His lecture was in full swing and Colby was playing right along, ever the eager student. “The gray areas you're thinking of only happen when you flatten the spheres to a line. We leave the point now for the first sphere—the actors. Those performing the action. We have to ask now
what is best for them
? If the action against the person in the center is not in the center's best interest, it is wrong . . . from the point of view of the center. But from the sphere outside it, that decision may be what's best for them. In this case, it could be right.”

“Yeah, yeah. What's right for one—”

“There's more than one sphere, Colby. There are several. The next sphere is the community. Then the state. Then the world. And just beyond that is civilization. History itself. Is an action right or wrong for the state of history? For the human race? And finally, the universe?”

“You want me to ask myself whether something is right or wrong for the universe?”

“No. The question is never whether or not something is right or wrong. It can be both right and wrong, alternating between the spheres. Something that could be inarguably just in all of the lower spheres—like caring for the sick—can be morally wrong in the wider spheres as history becomes replete with the descendants of the weak and sickly, dooming mankind to extinction for its inability to cope with its own poor selection. The question must never be about right and wrong but whose perspective we are choosing to value most. This is how so many people argue with one another with absolute certainty. It is not always because one is ignorant; it is most often because they both are. They refuse to argue and form a consensus on the perspective while they babble about the minutiae of their own.

“Bertrand was wrong because he believes that doing a thing wrong in one sphere because it is right in another can damn a man. Because Bertrand has already chosen his point in the spheres and judges them all from there. And that point is in the center. He's caught up in the idea of the individual and his pride makes that point of view unshakable. That pride has rubbed off on you. You think yourself in some sort of gray area, that your choices are somehow nebulous and murky. You weren't damned because you let in the Wild Hunt. You were damned because the point you chose to defend, which seems so right, is so wrong in all the others.” Bune paused for a moment, as if choosing his next words very carefully. “Colby, why did you save Ewan? The first time, when you were children.”

“Because he was my friend.”

“So you did it for yourself?”

“I did it for him.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Because killing an innocent child was wrong.”

“Yes.”

“Despite all the death and violence that surround that rescue and the subsequent massacre it led to?”

“Those things had it coming.”

“They were a menace? They were going to cause more harm?”

“Exactly.”

“To the community. The children of Austin. The third sphere.” Bune leaned forward as far as he could without coming into contact with the barrier of the triangle. His eyes narrowed, flames glinting, a self-satisfied smile on his face, baring his fangs once more. “Colby, you're not lost because you find yourself in the gray area; you're lost because you can't reconcile your priorities. You're scared to ask yourself who is more important because you might not like the answer. Your ethics are arbitrary. You want to be good and just. You just don't know for whom.”

“And what do you know about
the good
? What, exactly, would happen if I scuffed away that triangle and let you out? Could I expect you to be good then?”

“I wouldn't kill you, Colby. I can't. We need you. However, since I have to be honest, I probably would hurt you a bit. Scare you. Get inside that head of yours and dig out some true terror just so you know who you're dealing with.”

“And that's good?”

“No. But is it really bad? I have outlived empires, Colby. I watched man crawl out of the caves and erect temples to gods who were dead and forgotten before the days of Babylon. I judge my actions based on the good of the farthest spheres. I play a long game. That means, in the short run, little that I do for my own amusement has any real impact. Who cares if I consume the soul of someone who was never going to amount to anything?” He leaned back and stroked his dark fur with his long, clawed fingers, delighting in memories. “Only others who don't matter. I can't kill you because, in the long run, that might actually be bad. At least until you've served your purpose. So I stay my more loathsome desires for the Seventy-two, because we, ultimately, serve a purpose of our own. One far greater than yours. And what's good for me, and good for my fellow fallen angels, is that you see this night through. No matter how much I would enjoy tearing you apart and feasting on your innards.”

“Do you feel better? Getting that off your chest?”

“Hardly. You're not listening. You're just waiting for me to spin myself out so you can ask me what we both know you're going to ask me, without caring that I might be preparing you for the weight of your decision.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Then what am I going to ask you?”

“The same thing every sorcerer of your ilk asks for. The one reason to summon me over all the other demons you could have asked for. You want my one great boon. You want my rain of fire.”

“I don't.”

“Oh, but you do. I can do it. Just say the words and fire will rain from the heavens upon those who have wronged you, those who stand against you now. I may not be able to bring my holocaust upon the girl making her way here, but the shadows she brings with her? The beasts in her legion? All gone in a single gout of flame. But why stop there? The Limestone Kingdom is full of those who deserve to roast alive.”

“No. That's not why you're here.”

“You can smell it, can't you? The scent of their immolation. You can hear the sound of their wings popping as they curl into ash. The sound of their terrified, confused screams. That's my favorite part. Make no mistake. What you ask me to do, I do willingly. Have me collect their souls, Colby. Say the words.”

“No,” said Colby, shaking his head defiantly.

“Say the words. Tell me what to do.”

“Okay. Great Duke Bune, master of thirty-six legions, bearer of the rain of fire. I ask of you a boon, your offering in exchange for one of the souls of the five dukes.”

“I agree to this bargain. What is it you would have me do?”

“Bestow upon me the gift of an iron will, that I may see through the lies and temptations of spirits and be not by them corrupted.”

Bune's smile disappeared, the flames in his eyes smoldering with contempt. “That's not the bargain.”

“But it is. We have a deal. And you, as I understand it, have more than one boon to bestow. Do you not?”

“I do,” he growled.

“Then please, spirit, grant me the boon.”

Bune took a step back, unballing his fists, the slow, deliberate smile of understanding creeping back into place. “Ahhhh. You are indeed craftier than anyone has given you credit for, boy. I see what you're doing. You face five spirits, and you hope a protection from their lies and temptations will see you through to their more powerful gifts. Clever.”

“Sometimes it's wiser to pick up a shield before bothering with the sword.”