Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

his many hunting expeditions into the Wastes. Lilith had met him in Dis about as frequently as she had Sargatanas, and her impression of him was not dissimilar from that of her lord's with one exception: where Sargatanas was appealingly earnest, even serious, Satanachia's nature bordered on self-absorption. But because he was a true friend of her lord's she recognized Satanachia's importance to him and had, so far, been especially attentive. However, as her sadness deepened she listened only halfheartedly.

'... and once we got past the volcanoes that border the western edge of my realm,' Satanachia continued, his voice mellow, 'we were suddenly confronted by the Salamandrines who had been gathering in great numbers in hopes of streaming down toward my outlying cities. We slaughtered them all easily enough and then skinned their scrawny bodies for the hides. One of my tribunes knew enough of their tongue and was inventive enough to suggest that we leave them on the flesh-fields splayed out to spell a warning in the creatures' own language. They have not troubled us since.' He paused for a moment, then added wryly, 'Apparently they can read!'

A murmur of approval ran up and down the table and Lilith smiled perfunctorily. At her side, Sargatanas grinned without looking up while slicing his silvery meat with his clawed fingers.

'Satanachia, you must have spoken with Eligor by now,' he said, indicating his Captain. 'He is the scholar among us and is actually quite well versed in the Waste primitives. He finds them ...'

'Fascinating, actually,' Eligor said with genuine enthusiasm, remembering Faraii's many stories. 'They were here for eons before us, surviving in the harshest environments, almost, it would seem, preferring them to the more moderate ones. They believe ... or so I have been told ... that this toughens them and that if they can make do with Hell's worst then the other areas become effortless. It seems to work ... they are very nearly as tough as the Abyssals they live among.'

'Not so tough as to dull a skinning blade,' Pruslas remarked archly.

Eligor persisted. 'True, I suppose. But I have been considering the idea of capturing a few of them alive and bringing them back here to study. They are much brighter than we give them credit for. We all might learn something from them.'

'Just how primitive they are is my guess,' added Satanachia.

An enormous bowl of blackened, chopped finger-fan was placed before Lilith, and she looked at it dubiously. She squeezed Sargatanas' arm and then rose from the table. For a moment all eyes were upon her; she supposed that they thought she was preparing to make some kind of speech, but instead she turned and headed for the balcony just off the feasting hall.

As she approached the leaded doors she could hear the sound of innumerable tiny taps upon their thick, obsidian panes; frequent gusts laden with hot cinders almost made her regret her decision to come outside. Stepping out onto the balcony, she drew her whipping robes about her. Brushing away the coating of cinders, she put her elbows upon the balustrade and squinted out into the smoky-brown night of Hell. As cinder-storms went, this was a mild one, but even so, she frequently had to close her eyes.

This place is all that I will ever know. It's Lucifer all over again. Sargatanas will go on and I will be left here. How can I have found him only to lose him after so short a time? How can I love him so much and yet not wish him to attain what he wants?

Lilith saw, through the curling currents of ash and cinders, the broad carpet of lights outside the walls that were the joined fires and sigils of the legions' and souls' encampments and imagined the legionaries preparing for war, yet again. His war. They must be numbering in the millions by now. And he commands them all. Such power! All of which he is so willing to give up—and me as well. For a dream.

From below, the tiny, distant screams of buildings coming apart reached her ears, almost inaudible against the noise of the feasting hall and the wind. Eventually, as the demons retired, the sounds from inside diminished and she heard only the soughing of the hot wind through the sculpted eaves above her.

The cinder-storm was passing. And just as she thought to go back inside, she felt a hand placed gently upon her back and she turned and looked up into Sargatanas' face. Compassion was written upon his even features, and she almost could not bear to look at him. He returned her gaze, staring deeply, probingly into her eyes. She knew what he was doing, what he was capable of.

He took a deep breath and said, 'I know.'

'Can you?'

'Yes. I know what you're feeling. ... I feel it as well. I know how unfair this all seems. The irony of finding you after all those millennia, only to ...'

He looked out toward the legions.

'Only ... what?'

'Only to lose you because of a ... vision.'

She said nothing.

'Lilith, my heart,' he said softly, 'my mind was made up long before you came here. I'm too far along in this to stop now.'

'I know.' She was neither bitter nor angry. 'Yours is the greatest vision anyone in Hell could have. I could never ask you to betray it, Sargatanas. Never. Especially not for me.'

'You are the only reason I would consider giving it up. And knowing that you would never want to go to Heaven ... it's one of the hardest truths I've had to accept. I know how much resentment you have inside you ... it's understandable ... but will you not reconsider?'

If anyone other than Sargatanas had asked, anger would have been her first response. But she knew just how serious he was and responded with equal seriousness, as firm in her mind as he was in his.

'Hell is where I will stay, my love.'

'Would that I could give you Heaven instead.'

'You have.'

She reached up and pulled him down and they kissed, their emotions fanned by their awareness that now all things between them were, in all likelihood, transitory. How tightly must I hold him to make this a