Tribute to Hell

Fistus cursed and fired a spell at Greave, who swung in under the god’s arm, pulled close, then thrust again. The god stumbled; Greave’s blood-covered arm slid free and he fell to the ground, convulsing.

The Great God staggered around, crushing shrubs and monks underfoot, then tripped and toppled head-first into the chasm, dead. Fistus clutched at his head and slumped, writhing.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ said Astatine, gathering her skirts and running to Greave.

‘The severing of a Resurrection Spell causes unending agony,’ said Roget. ‘Though less than Fistus deserves.’

The flesh of Greave’s arm was smoking and bubbling, the seething mess creeping towards his heart.

‘Roget?’ she cried. ‘What am I to do?’

‘There’s nothing anyone can do.’

Greave’s arm spasmed and a small white object slipped from his hand. ‘Burn this with the body,’ he said quietly, ‘then scatter the ashes.’

‘What is it?’ said Astatine, laying her hands on him. Her forgiveness seemed to ease his pain.

‘K’nacka gave me two finger bones, but I only used one to open the casket. This is the other.’

‘You thrust it into the Great God’s heart.’

‘He could only die by his own hand.’

‘And now you’re dying as well.’

‘Death feels a lot more comfortable than my empty life.’ His eyes closed. ‘Look after my little sister, won’t you, Roget?’

‘I will,’ said Roget, gripping his hand, and Greave died.

Fistus was bound and gagged, his staff and magical devices broken, then the gods and demons gathered.

‘There must be a reckoning,’ said K’nacka, his eyes glinting. ‘Behemoth has gone too far this time — seducing our cardinal, corrupting the temple, putting Elyssian, Hightspall and Perdition at risk. He must be curbed, forever.’

‘I can cause you more grief than you can me,’ said Behemoth.

‘Isn’t this how it all started?’ said Roget quietly.

How could they prevent the terrible cycle from beginning again? Astatine had thought of a way, though it required her to sit in judgement on two immortals: the god who had been the mainstay of her wretched life, and the father to whom she owed, if nothing else, daughterly respect.

‘How can one so worthless as I presume to pass sentence on my god?’ she mused. ‘Surely that would put me in the same league of wickedness as Fistus?’

‘When our gods fall short,’ said Roget, ‘we can only rely on our own good sense — for good or ill.’

Astatine’s chest tightened until it was hard to breathe, and she felt her panic rising. A thousand times she had been slapped down as an arrogant, ignorant novice, told that she must not think or question, only obey. But unthinking obedience would serve her no longer; for the sake of Hightspall, and the gods, she must take control. If she did not, Greave’s noble sacrifice would be wasted.

Breathing became a little easier. She had to do this, no matter if it cost her life. Astatine raised her voice. ‘Worshipful K’nacka, beloved Father, would you come with me?’

Neither god nor demon looked pleased at the summons, yet they followed her down the hill and out of sight of the others.

Well, mortal? growled K’nacka, perching his plump buttocks on a pointed rock.

Her heart was galloping now. ‘My lord,’ she said, gulping, ‘Your wickedness led to this disgraceful Covenant, and to the torment of thousands of innocent souls you paid in tribute to Perdition. You are unworthy.’

You blasphemous little slut! cried K’nacka, rising into the air and raising a fist to smite her dead.

Behemoth cleared his throat and K’nacka subsided, muttering.

Her father was grinning. ‘Oh, yes, you’re definitely my daughter.’

‘You’re just as bad, Father! No, worse. How could you do this to me?’

The smile became predatory. ‘Make your petty point.’

‘Even when I was a little girl, I never felt I belonged, not even in my own body. And all my life I’ve believed that I carried corruption inside me — that I was responsible for the despair and wickedness in Hightspall.’ She met their eyes, trying not to flinch. ‘But it came from you, Father — you and him.’

‘So?’ said Behemoth.

Astatine stalled, unable to see the way ahead. She had thought to shame K’nacka and Behemoth by telling the gods and demons about the Covenant, but without proof they would ignore her. Besides, that would break her oath to Hildy. She sought for another way.

‘Lord K’nacka,’ she said, ‘you have debauched Elyssian and shamed the gods. Either you abdicate, or I’ll reveal the Covenant.’ She prayed that he would not call her double bluff.

Abdicate! K’nacka’s cry started an avalanche down the slope. Where to?

‘Perdition.’

Show me the Covenant.

Her bluff had been called, and she had lost. Her father was smiling grimly; no help there. The skin of her belly prickled, the dark specks that were always itchy, and Hildy’s dying words, ‘The stigmata — ’ resurfaced.

They struck her like one of the Great God’s thunderbolts — so that’s why she’d always felt that she was corrupting the world. Astatine took a deep breath, praying that her hunch was right, and held out her hand. ‘Father, your enchanted blade.’

He gave it to her. She opened her habit and made a careful scratch across her lower belly with the tip of the knife, then up, across below her breasts and down again.

‘It wasn’t my body I did not belong in, was it, Father?’ she said, feathering up her creamy skin to reveal a dark inner skin beneath. She peeled the pale rectangle off and held it out, displaying the damning words and signatures on the inside.

‘It was my skin! When I was a little girl you covered my dark skin with a second, pale skin onto which you’d copied the Covenant on the inside.’ She took a step towards Behemoth. ‘How could you do this to me? All the ills of the world come from this dreadful Covenant.’

‘Not all the ills,’ said Behemoth, somewhat abashed. ‘I don’t turn good to evil, Daughter. I merely improve on the evil which already flourishes in humanity.’

K’nacka eyed the Covenant, slowly extending his fingers.

‘It’s under my protection,’ hissed Behemoth.

K’nacka drew back, rubbing his chin. To give up Elyssian, he said shrewdly, I need more. What else are you proposing, demon’s daughter?

‘Father will give you back your — ’ Astatine flushed; no virtuous novice would name those body parts. ‘What you’ve lost.’

I lose Elyssian, and all he gives up are the balls he robbed me of with loaded dice, snapped K’nacka. It’s not enough.

‘Father will also abdicate,’ said Astatine, avoiding Behemoth’s furious eye. ‘Perdition must find a new lord.’

Me? breathed K’nacka.

‘Isn’t it better to reign in Perdition than endure eternal mockery in Elyssian?’

‘Damned if I’ll abdicate!’ said Behemoth.

‘Exactly,’ said Astatine, ‘and you will return all the unjustly reaped souls to Elyssian.’

‘Or?’ said her father.

She had not realised how sharp his teeth were, how black his eyes. Astatine swallowed, wavered, but knew she had to go on. ‘Or I’ll tell your fellow demons that you’ve been making deals with the gods.’

‘I could destroy the Covenant.’

It’s under my protection, said K’nacka, raising his fist.

Behemoth turned his way, putting on a patently false smile. ‘K’nacka, my old sparring partner, we don’t have