THIRTY - FIVE
The thud of his body hitting something solid was heard, but not felt by any other part of his anatomy. Devlin wondered why. With tremendous effort at first, he began to rise to his feet. Finally he was standing. The darkness was still too deep to allow him to examine his body for injuries. Moving his hands parallel to the surface upon which he stood, he felt for some form of walls or other indication of confinement. Only empty space surrounded him in the total vastness of the stygian blackness. A slight movement of his left foot told him that the surface on which he stood sloped gently downward. He began to walk, following the surface down. The idea that he should turn and walk upward never entered his mind.
Gradually, the darkness gave way to shapes and forms. Barely recognizable but enough to allow him to regain some of his lost confidence. Noises began to encroach upon his ears. Soft slithering sounds interspersed with scratching and high pitched squeaks. Although he was unable to attach any visible forms to the noises.
He walked in a limping gait favoring his right leg. He could not understand what was the matter with his left foot. For what seemed like hours upon hours he continued to walk downward. For some unknown reason he never considered stopping or turning in a different direction.
It was still growing lighter. Now a dry searing heat tinted the air, like summer in Phoenix. To the noise, shifting shapes, downward slope and heat, the putrid odor of rotting flesh could now be added. The sensations of movement off to his side, just out of peripheral vision, became stronger the deeper he walked. A chattering noise was added to the music of the other noises. Thin wispy forms of light, similar to clouds, moved rapidly high overhead. The plethora of noises grew with the addition of soft groans, low grunts, pleading wails of pain, hollow peals of laughter, and high pitched squeals.
Abruptly the ground flattened. Shortly he found himself standing in the center of a vast cavern. Shadowy stalactites could be seen hundreds of yards above his head. The vast height of the ceiling gives a small indication of the ponderous lengths of stone hung above his head like so many icicles at home in the winter. To his left and right inverted sheets of
fire ignited, defying the laws of physics as they burned downward, like crazy auroras over the black pits. Low mournful wails came from the pits off to the fringes of the vast cavern. Now there were soft vague movements just barely discernible. Realization of where he was caused a cold sweat to break out around his body.
Somehow he had passed through the Dark Gate. It is said that once through there is no way back to his physical world.
Calm yourself Devlin, he told himself. You’re just about ready to piss your pants. You’re still Devlin McGuier, master sorcerer. You control the dienes of the Dark Gate. They do not control you. All but one.
To prove this fact to himself, he mentally commanded himself to rise, and he did, hovering a foot over the floor of the great cavern. He commanded cold refreshing air, and was rewarded with a blanket of pure soft air. Driving back the putrid odors and searing heat. Gone too were any doubts and insecurities. They were replaced with the sure arrogance that he was the supreme authority of his own destiny. A gloating smirk twisted the edges of his mouth and he continued across the cavern. No longer walking but floating across the surface.
Three quarters of the way across the cavern, Devlin saw the gaping maw of a tunnel, dark and forbidding. At his approach he saw a sudden flurry of shadowy activity. Distinct sounds accompanied the activities, but he was still too far away to make any sense of the sounds. Abruptly, a form detached itself from the shadows and stepped out onto the path leading across the cavern.
The form was recognizable as one of the creatures who stood guard at the Gate. Devlin surmised that these creatures must be like the Royal Guard to the Dark One Himself. It approached in a bent tilted fashion, its balance leaning first to the right and then to the left, and then forward as if centering itself before taking the next step. This bobbing form of motion did not hinder the speed at which the creature moved. Within a minute it was standing before Devlin.
“I bear welcome, O Great One, from his Supreme Darkness. He is expecting you and I am to escort you to his Hall,” said the creature, his voice a hissing reedy sound, drool dripping from one corner of its lopsided mouth.
“Your name?” came the demanding voice of Devlin.
“Philiquist, your Greatness,” and it made a gesture over its hunched shoulder to something waiting just inside the darkness of the tunnel. From the darkness appeared four men, huge muscles flexing beneath raw torn skin, their vacant eyes staring straight ahead, and upon their shoulders they carried a palanquin of gold. The size of the palanquin was immense, capable of carrying two in lavish comfort, adorned with gems that glittered brilliantly from the fury aurora burning down from the ceiling. It had to weigh tons, but they carried it effortlessly, setting it down before Devlin and his guide.
“You must be tired, your Greatness,” and he indicated that Devlin was to be seated in the palanquin. “We would be honored to bare you to His Holy Darkness,” Philiquist hissed, spewing more drool from his mouth.
They moved with amazing speed through the dark tunnels, navigating the twists and turns without error. Only the occasional barked commands from Philiquist followed by the wet slapping sound of tearing flesh from a whip. The accompanying grunt of pain broke the silence of the journey. Time was lost. Distance did not matter. His greatness and talents were recognized even here. Devlin was about to meet the Dark One, and that was all that mattered. He was where he belonged. Resting comfortably amid the piles of silk pillows, and acknowledged as the greatest wizard in his world.
The journey ended in another cavern larger than Devlin had ever seen. Bigger than any arena he had ever seen or read about in his world during the swift journey to the center. Illumination was provided by another fiery aurora, which cut the arena in half when it was met by the leaping flames from the crack in the floor creating a curtain of impenetrable fire. Except for a thin bridge of stone which transversed the flaming pit. Tens of thousands of people and creatures of various shapes and sizes packed the vast arena or cavern on both sides of the curtain wall of fire. Their bodies swayed from side to side. A low piteous wail of torment and pain filled the air with a palatable texture of suffering.
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Their bodies were a mixture of flesh coated skeletons, or bloated puffiness, the skin festering and oozing pus. Even through the blanket of cold fresh air which surrounded the palanquine, the putrefying stench of the
amassed bodies penetrated and caused Devlin to gag. He turned his eyes away and stared at the tattered and bleeding backs of the two lead men bearing him on his way to see his Dark Master.
Once on the other side of the curtain of flames, the piteous wail of the people was cut off. Blissful silence inhabited the other side of the monstrous arena. Up the sides of the cavern , great galleries of seats had been carved, curving back to the huge distance of the flames. In front of Devlin stood a dozen giant thrones hewn from the living rock and adorned with skulls and heads. In the center was a mammoth throne overpowering the smaller thrones. The seats were empty, but Devlin knew it would not stay that way for long.
The palanquin was lowered and Devlin automatically stepped out and moved around to stand before the dark empty thrones. ‘Wait’ was the last word from Philiquist before he made a hasty retreat with the four giant men. He stood alone on the vast expanse of the floor waiting. Minute by minute, the wait tore away the newfound arrogance that had been restored.
A deep rumbling sound issued from some place outside the cavern. From hidden passages on each side of the thrones, poured dienzes of the pit and dark to fill the remaining seats. With the galleries full, thousands of red, green, yellow and black eyes stared down upon Devlin. And still he waited. Devlin refused to acknowledge any of the staring eyes and just stared straight ahead at the mammoth Onyx throne.
A strange trumpeting sound blasted throughout the arena and the crowd came to an abrupt silence. The Lords of the Pit marched out of the passageways and took their place before the smaller thrones. Devlin correctly assumed that the mammoth center throne belonged to none other than the Dark Lord.
Judging from their proximity to the Onyx throne Devlin figured out who was who among the lesser gods. To the right, closest to the Dark One’s throne would be Lord Baal, then Forras, Buer, Marchocias, Belial and Asmodeus. On the left would have to be Beelzebub, the highest counselor to the Dark One, then came Astaroth, Meririm, Abaddon, Apollyon and Mammon. They controlled the Pit and everything behind the Dark Gate, only answering to the Dark One. By rights, Devlin should have been terrified by their presence, prostrating himself before them. He assured
himself that like them he was only answerable to the Dark One. He felt their stare. He felt their hate. He just ignored them and did not acknowledge their presence and governance. After all, he was a master sorcerer. When he needed, he summoned them to his world and they did his bidding. Devlin failed to recognize that he was in their world, now.
Drums reverberated through the great cavern, echoing their base vibration deep inside his body. Suddenly the fanfare of trumpets joined the drums, and from his peripheral vision he could see all eyes were turned towards the mammoth throne of Onyx. the trumpets and drums just stopped, the sound not even fading away, just gone from all senses. Darkness engulfed the onyx throne obliterating it from view. Two red glowing orbs, each about the size of a human skull winked into existence in the blackness veiling the throne.
They hovered in space staring down at him. Cold sweat again broke out over his body. Dread filled his being and the certain knowledge that he was being viewed by the Dark One, almost drove him to his knees to plead for mercy.
“You have been called here because you have failed,” and the voice filled the cavern, rolling from wall to wall washing over his body and enfolding him in the sound.
“Who says that I have failed?” and the confidence and arrogance of his own voice startled Devlin.
“Why, my learned councilors,” and Devlin was not sure if the Dark One was mocking him or his councilors. The Dark One’s tone was truly surprised that anybody or thing would dare question his word. “Am I alive or dead?” Devlin demanded.
“Alive, but close enough to death, that I could call you forth with very little effort.”
“Has the configuration of the stars for the pattern of the opening occurred?” and his arrogance increased.
“No,” and the flat sound told Devlin all he needed to know. “Has one of your learned councilors learned how to open the Gate from the inside?”
“No!”
“How, then, could I have failed? By summoning me here on the advice of your learned councilors the possibility may have become real. I, like them, can not open the Gate from the inside. I demand to know how I have failed you, my gracious Dark Lord.”
“You have caused the destruction of one of my faithful,” yelled Lord Baal.
“I Take it that I have the honor of addressing Lord Baal,” Devlin said in a silky soft voice, with a touch of menace edging the tone. “What is the sacrifice of one or a thousand and one, if in the end the Gate is opened. Is the reign of the Dark Lord clearly established in my world? If this sacrifice is the cause for your accusation of my failure, then I stand guilty before you, with the certain knowledge that the Gate will never be opened because you and possibly other counselors lack the courage and fortitude to do what is necessary to accomplish the greatest task in millennials.”
“I lack courage?” Lord Baal thundered in a rage as he jumped to a standing position. “My courage and readiness to use and sacrifice whatever is necessary is well known in this court. How dare you, you contemptuous little mortal? I could and should crush you where you stand…”
“Enough,” and the booming voice silenced Lord Baal and forced him to return to his throne. “You have erred.”
“I may have erred but I did not fail my Great Dark Lord.”
“Silence! I will tell you when you may speak. You have erred in your estimation of this one. I sent you word of his power, and that I desired it to join with your power. Rather than entice and share your world, you choose to try and kill him. I told you that he is the Chosen One and you decided to just anger him. You did not listen or obey. Are you listening now?”
“Yes, my Lord,” and his voice was soft and meek, like a chastised child.
“Then hear my words well, master sorcerer,” and the mocking tone was now easy to hear as the voice rang out through all of the vastness of the cavern. “I say that you have failed, in that you failed to heed my words and do my bidding. However, I am a generous Lord, and will give you another chance. I will return you to your body, and I will heal your wounds, for I am kind and the time grows short. Open the Gate on the appointed night and you will reign beside me in your world. Fail and shall join that mass of offal on the other side of my curtain to wait a millennium or two for my forgiveness. I have spoken, so let it be. Devlin McGuire is to be returned to his world fully restored. The aid of all of my counselors and their minions is to be given to accomplish the task at hand. Open the Gate and bring me the Chosen One. I MUST HAVE THE CHOSEN ONE ABOVE ALL ELSE!”
The burning orbs of red light flashed and were gone. So too was the cavern of the Great Hall.