God's Demon

deftly sliced the few remaining ropes of skin that had kept the arm attached to the torso.

“Eligor, if you would,” she said, pointing to another larger knife with a blackened finger.

Silently, they worked off the scab and immediately saw the black fluid begin to seep quickly, dangerously, from Hannibal. Lilith put the knife down and picked up a needle she had also brought from her chambers and quickly threaded the thinnest sinew into it. As Eligor pulled the gray skin taut, she began to carefully stitch the two flaps together. She knew that this was less than an ideal solution and that she would have to seek out someone with more knowledge of soul anatomy and the Arts Curative than herself.

Her stitches were very fine, close, and tight, and it took longer than she wanted to work her way up to Hannibal’s neck. As she worked she realized just how much she had invested in this soul; not only was he a capable general, but he also had a profound potential to govern his kind. In fact, she would do whatever she could to help him do just that.

Eligor was told that as she closed the gaping wound he could gradually release Hannibal’s skin. When Eligor could completely let go he stood back and admired Lilith’s deft finger-work; he commented that her stitches were so precise that he could barely see the sinew, and when she finally tied the tiny knot at the soul’s neck and straightened to look at her handiwork she was smiling faintly. No fluids seeped from any point, but just to be sure she uttered a single word and traced her finger lightly over the seam. It vanished completely.

“Now, that should do. I can do nothing for the damaged organs. We shall have to see how they affect him.”

Eligor nodded and turned and saw Mago, the hope written upon his face.

“He will mend, Mago,” Eligor said fluently and convincingly in the souls’ tongue. “The loss of his arm will be a problem only for a short time. Considering what souls are used to here, his problems will seem insignificant.”

Lilith was looking at Eligor with a raised eyebrow. “That is a skill I did not know you had, Eligor.”

“What? Lying?”

“No, Eligor,” she said gently. “From what I could tell, you were reassuring. I meant speaking their tongue. It is very difficult.”

Eligor looked pleased. “I have made them a focus of study, my lady.”

“So I have heard. Once again it is clear to me that Lord Sargatanas has chosen his staff with great care.” Lilith replaced her knives and rolled her tool-blanket, carefully tying the skin ribbons that held it together. She looked once more at the soul. His features were as strong as his will. He must have been quite a force to reckon with in his Life, she thought. And then, in an odd way, she realized that she was proud of him. In Hell, he was her finest creation.

Lilith turned to Eligor and looked up at him. For a moment she looked deep into his silvered eyes.

“I want to go to Sargatanas, but I am sure that I cannot find the way. Will you take me?”

There was the briefest of hesitations.

“But, my lady, he is certainly in his chambers.”

Whether Eligor knew his lord’s whereabouts and was simply protecting him as was his duty or truly did not know Lilith could not be sure.

“No, Eligor, he most certainly is not.”

Eligor’s chin went up a fraction. Again she could not tell if he was being intractable or was merely found out. Does he know where Sargatanas is or am I revealing something to him that he had not considered? The demon’s wings twitched slightly as he slowly looked down at his feet, either considering the situation he was in or realizing just what she was suggesting. Both paths led to the same door, and either way, she knew that he would have to obey her; she was Lilith and there was no way to deny her.

When he looked up again he said, “I know the way.”

“I knew you would.”

* * * * *

She dreamt of green trees heavy with scent and brightly colored fruits and streams of diamond-glittering water and yielding, fertile earth beneath her feet, and those feet were like the feet of souls. And she dreamt, too, of a sun’s golden light upon her naked body, bathing it in sensual warmth, as she wandered the Garden heaven she had once known. In her dream she knew she was dreaming, but it did not make the turquoise sky any less blue.

The distant soft scuffing of Eligor’s approaching footsteps drew her away from her lost, short-lived heaven, pulling her back down into the darkness of reality. She awoke fully, and as frequently happened when she had this dream, the bitterness washed away from her any pleasure she might have derived. She missed that place and the freedom that had gone with it, missed it even more than her equally short life with Lucifer. But it was gone forever and she had vowed that even if all of the seraphim of the Above came on bended knees to beg her to join them she would refuse. The Throne had cast her away and here she would stay. She knew this was nothing more than an idle fantasy; her anger, wreaked quite purposefully on the souls, had lasted a dozen of their generations—a moment really in the Above, but it had been enough.

Lilith rose from the hard bench, her skin robes falling in some disarray, and stretched unselfconsciously. But as he came closer she could see Eligor’s eyes avert, and she quickly covered herself. She often forgot the effect she had on those around her.

A sound from behind the thick door of Sargatanas’ shrine caught her attention and she nodded to Eligor, who, apparently, had not heard it; his eyesight, so keen when he was airborne, was far better than his average hearing. Lilith watched him step close to the door and press his ear to it. She smiled, for each tiny sound from within confirmed her certitude that he was within.

Eligor pulled away from the door and shrugged.

“My lady, I beg your forgiveness that I did not tell you immediately that he was here. You were wise to understand him so well.”

“He doubts himself, Eligor,” Lilith said. “And now he has lost his one true friend. This is where he would have to come.”

“Only a handful of us know of the Shrine. I should have—”

Lilith put a sharp-nailed finger to her lips.

“He is repeating the same phrases over and over,” she whispered. “He has been doing that since you left me here. I cannot make out what he is saying, but it is as if he were praying. In the old language, no less.”

“No, you must be mistaken. It is forbidden. Even he would not…”

“He, especially, would.”

Eligor smiled and then said, “We are, indeed, in a new world.”

A low keening moan could be heard, loud enough even for Eligor to discern. The pain, more like something that might spring from the throat of an animal, was unmistakable.

Lilith sucked in her breath.

And then the floor trembled.

Eligor and Lilith looked at the heavy stones beneath their feet and then at each other and the bewilderment was clearly written upon their faces, but be-fore they could speak they felt another, heavier tremor vibrate under their feet.

A sudden deafening blast like the crashing together of a thousand crystal cymbals accompanied a brilliant flash of purest white light that limned the door of the Shrine from within. Lilith fell to her knees and Eligor staggered, holding himself up with both hands upon the bench. Where the sound abated, the light persisted, and suddenly the broad door, once locked but now seemingly loosened by the tremors, parted slightly, shedding the moving light from within upon the two figures.

Lilith found herself trembling uncontrollably. Shakily she rose to her feet. Something was terribly wrong; a strange light still lingered in the glowing, living embers that danced upon the floor of the Shrine, even as the clangorous echoes of that fantastically powerful peal rang in her ears. Springing forward, concerned only for the well-being of his lord, Eligor pushed the door open and entered the Shrine. As they made their way hurriedly deeper into the chamber the only sound that met their ears was the now-diminishing sizzle of the embers. Both gasped as they came upon the inert form of Sargatanas lying beneath the frieze of the Throne, dotted in hundreds of dissolving specks of light.

Eligor and Lilith stood over him, dumbstruck, for he was entirely white, from spiked head to shod toe. Every detail of his demonic form, every spine, every armored scute, every fold of his flesh, and even his robes stood out in