The Pulver Chronicles – 49. What’s Waiting On The Other Side

The next morning, food was served in the Occultatum’s great hall, on the first floor. No one was present to serve it to the travelers, it was already on the table when they arrived. The food was simple and nutritious: mushrooms, bread, nuts, and berries, served with water. The Occultatum was beginning to give Jackson the same impression as the tunnels: it looked empty, yet wasn’t. It was actually worse than the tunnels in some ways, given how big it was,  and how Jackson and Sathariel found hints that it actually had been occupied until very recently. Sathariel was particularly intrigued to find absolutely no one. He had heard quite a few stories about the Occultatum -rumors, for the most part-, a great place of knowledge, where students were sent from all over the Hexacracy, the C’fan Leagues, and even allegedly the Eastern Empire to learn the Arcanes. He had been told of the mages that resided there, and of the magical experiments they did, away from prying eyes and out of the Inquisition’s reach. Azazel had mentioned sending both mages and students away, but it was still strange to see the place so deserted. The trio asked her about this when she appeared after the morning meal.

“You said “for the time being”, does that mean they’ll be gone while you send us to the other world?” Sathariel asked.

“That’s right,” Azazel said.

“Can you really open a portal that can carry all of us to another world, all on your own?” The Demon looked skeptical.

“Certainly. I have prepared for this.”

“And who are you going to sacrifice to achieve this?” Alizana inquired, an eyebrow raised.

“What makes you think I will sacrifice anyone at all?”

“You needed that guy’s blood to open a portal just big enough to get some magic out,” Jackson pointed out. “And you said carrying people to another world was more complicated. How else are you going to do this?”

“As I’ve said, I have planned for this.”

“Would you care to tell us how, exactly?” Alizana said. 

“You don’t need to concern yourself with this. For now, focus on preparing for your arrival in the other world.”

“Excuse me, this does concern me,” the Hellhound retorted. “I won’t have anyone die for the sake of my people.”

“Weren’t you willing to kill for them?” Azazel pointedly asked.

“That was different, I killed those who would kill us. But murdering innocents… That is a line I will not cross.”

“Then, rest assured, chieftain Alizana: there will be no innocents being murdered for the sake of this ritual. You have my word.”

For a moment, Alizana looked like she was going to ask what the word of an Archdemon was worth, but then she simply blew air from her nose, and let go of the topic.

“So how long before you open the portal?” she asked instead.

“It is a matter of days,” Azazel said. “A week at the most. Some preparations are still necessary. In fact, I should get back to them. In the meantime, please remain patient. The first five floors of my Occultatum are open to you, but I would ask that you do not venture in the floors above, or the ones below.”

“There are floors below?” Jackson said. Just how big is this place?

The Archmage gave a short bow, and walked away. Sathariel waited until she was gone, then turned to Jackson and said in a low voice:

“Do we believe her? About the sacrifices, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Jackson said. “I don’t think she’s lying. Hard to tell, though.”

“What do you think, Liz? Did she smell like she was lying?”

“I couldn’t tell,” Alizana said. “She wears a lot of perfume.”

“She did? I guess I was too far away to smell it.”

“A lot of perfume,” she said again. “I could barely even smell her real scent.” She hummed.

“The thing is, if she was planning on killing a bunch of people… I mean, where are they?” Jackson said.

“Well, maybe that’s why she doesn’t want us on the other floors,” Sathariel said.

Jackson smiled at his best friend. “You’re gonna take a look, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t officially retired from being the spymaster yet,” Sathariel said, smirking.

“Okay, but be careful. Could be she’s got eyes and ears everywhere, with those Cambions.”

Sathariel promised to do his best, and left. Then, Alizana decided she needed to go outside and breathe the morning air; Jackson suspected she didn’t like the Occultatum much either. Left alone, the young man wondered how he would pass the time in such a place. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of entertainment; there weren’t even any books in the first five floors -not that Jackson was bored enough to try reading one. Eventually, he went to join Alizana.

The crater surrounding the Occultatum didn’t look much different in the day. It didn’t help that the luminosity was low, with the sun being hidden by a cover of thick grey clouds filling the sky. All around the mountain, Jackson could see snow falling. None of the flakes reached the crater’s ground; presumably, they melted long before, on account of the lava that flew up the pillars. Jackson watched those unnatural flows of lava with fascination. Ever since he came to this world, he had observed magic in many forms, some subtle, some less so. But this was perhaps the most spectacular display of this power he had ever witnessed: the Archmage, it seemed, could not only command the elements, but also defy gravity. He did wonder whether there was a point to it, other than warming the place up, or if it was mostly to show off her power. The latter didn’t seem very likely: how many people ever saw this place, remote as it was? Not to mention, Azazel didn’t seem like the kind to brag or boast, more like the kind to keep her cards close to her chest.

Alizana was standing on the edge of the crater, gazing at the landscape. Jackson noticed another person, sitting about a hundred feet from her. He recognized him as the artist who had drawn that village at the beginning of their journey; he now seemed interested in drawing the Occultatum. We certainly won’t need a drawing to remember that place, Jackson thought.

Due to the weather, visibility was limited, giving the impression that the entire world was made out of mountains in every direction. The Occultatum was not seated on the tallest peak, far from it: there was another mountain in the distance that looked to be twice its height; it was perhaps three times taller than the Silver Crown. It was so tall, its peak was hidden in the clouds.

“Taking it all in?” Jackson said to Alizana.

She looked confused, and Jackson had to explain that idiotism.

“I’ve just realized this may be the last time I look upon my- this world,” she said.

“You’re not regretting this, are you?”

“No, no regrets. This world was no good for my people, I know that. Still, a chapter of my life is closing, and that makes me… I don’t know the right word for it. Nostalgic, I suppose.”

She hummed the morning air.

“What about you, Jack? How do you feel about this?”

“Oh, I’m going to miss this place, no doubt,” Jackson said. “There probably won’t be a day where I don’t think back of all the good times I had here. Hell, I won’t even be able to tell people all I’ve seen and did, or they’ll think I’m a nutjob.”

“Are you still sad that you’re going back to your world?”

“No… Well, a little. But I think things are gonna be different this time.”

With a smile, Alizana placed her paw on his head and brushed his hair. They stayed there in silence for a little while, admiring the view. Eventually, the weather grew worse as another snowstorm gathered. While the crater was still protected from the worst of the elements, the visibility became so reduced there wasn’t much left to see, so they decided to go back to the Occultatum.

To keep busy through the rest of the day, Jackson decided to explore the parts of the Occultatum he was allowed in. Unfortunately, as far as he could tell, the second to fifth floors really did contain nothing but dorm rooms as well as a few small rooms used as toilets, while the first floor only contained the great hall, several closets, and a couple of rooms that seemed to serve as living rooms of some kind. A little frustrated, Jackson decided to keep on exploring. The building was gigantic, there had to be something fun or strange hidden somewhere. The corridors, running each floor in a circle, were very long, and had many doors. Maybe there was a secret door or something, somewhere. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do anyway.

He walked for a while along the corridor of the fifth floor -the one he had explored the least, so far-, trying every door he saw. Strangely, he didn’t manage to find any stairs that lead to the upper floors, only down. It was as if those upper floors were completely detached from the rest of the building. Finally, as the day drew to a close, and after uncovering a few more dorm rooms -and bothering the people who had taken residence there-, as well as one more bathroom -which was occupied too-, he found something that looked interesting. A windowless room, plunged in darkness; it looked too long and too narrow to be yet another dorm room. Intrigued, Jackson lit up Lawrence’s lighter, and entered. He walked about twenty paces before he decided something was wrong. This room was located on the outside of the circular corridor, meaning, if his estimation was about right, he should have reached the outer wall by now. Yet, the room kept going on. Also, maybe it was Jackson’s imagination, but it seemed to go up. He considered the darkness before him for a moment, then his lighter’s small flame.

“Yeah, nope, I’m not that curious,” he said out loud.

Jackson turned on his heels, then nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Right behind him, standing maybe three feet away, was a Cambion. A Cambion who definitely hadn’t been there a second ago. Or were they? The creature observed him in silence for a few seconds. Was it just Jackson, or did they look amused at the reaction they had caused?

“Our Lady wishes to speak with you,” they said.

“How long have you been here?” Jackson exclaimed.

“Please follow me.” They gestured at Jackson’s lighter, their head turned away from its flame. “You will need to put that off.”

Jackson grumbled a little at the perspective of walking in the dark again, but followed the instruction. As soon as the flame was out, the Cambion grabbed his arm and guided him. Oddly, they did not turn on their heels, but instead continued moving forward. Then, after walking eight, maybe ten paces, they stopped. Jackson heard the Cambion’s hand manipulating something that sounded to be made out of iron, then there was a squeaking sound, very similar to a door with slightly rusted hinges being opened. Which… was impossible. Jackson’s lighter didn’t give him much visibility, but he was certain there had been no door there. Wait… Suddenly, he remembered that strange dream he had, a few years ago. That dark corridor, that seemed to go on forever, until he put out his torch. Could it be…? Was it the same place? It did look like it, but then Jackson wasn’t sure he remembered that dream right -again, it was years ago.

The Cambion pulled gently on Jackson’s arm, inviting him to go through. Jackson did, and felt something being pushed in his hand, something cold, weighing perhaps a couple of pounds. The door closed behind him. Great, so I’m alone in the dark again. He ran the tip of his fingers along the object he was made to hold, and realized it was a lantern. Using his lighter again, he lit it up, revealing the area he was now in. He was on a landing, facing a spiral staircase. Guess I found the way up. Figures it would be some kind of magic bullshit again. Taking a deep breath, he began walking up the steps.

The climb went on for a while. Four times, Jackson arrived at another landing similar to the one he had started at, with the key difference that there was no door present, only a bare wall. He wondered whether he would need to turn off the light again to get out of this staircase, but happily the fifth landing did include a door, which was actually opened slightly. Clearly, this was where he was meant to go, so he pushed the door open and walked through.

He recognized the new room immediately: it was that large room where he had previously met Azazel, where she had gotten him rid of the curse the Anjramanya priest had placed on him. It was largely the same, except for the table that had been installed on the dais, near the Archmage’s throne, and over which Azazel was leaning, looking over several papers. A tea set was set up on a tray next to them. Jackson was a little surprised that she didn’t make any attempt at hiding the documents as he got closer, but soon understood why as he glanced at them: they were written in a script he was completely unfamiliar with; the whole thing might as well have been Chinese. Azazel stood up, joining her gloved hands in front of her.

“Wanted to see me?” Jackson said.

“I did. Would you care for some brewed stonecress?”

“No thanks.” I drank enough of that stuff for a lifetime.

“Do you mind if I have some then?” Byron said, appearing in front of him, on the other side of the table.

Jackson glanced at him for less than a second before looking away. “Fine. Have at it.”

One switch later, Byron was back in command of Jackson’s body, for what Jackson realized was the first time in a long while.

“I can have some food brought out to you, if you’d like,” Azazel said.

I just ate, Jackson almost said, but then, he decided he was fine with feeling bloated for a little while. A couple of Cambions appeared after some time, carrying food like the one that had been served in the great hall earlier. Byron ate slowly, savoring every bite, and sipped the cup of brewed stonecress Azazel gave him.

“So, you wanted to talk,” Jackson said to the Archmage. “Have you got a timeline for our departure?”

“Yes. It appears we will have to make it happen sooner than I anticipated. Can your people be ready to leave by tomorrow?”

“They’ve been ready to go ever since they’ve got here.” He frowned. “What’s going on?”

“My enemy has made its move. I expected it, but not quite so fast.”

“Your enemy?” Jackson said.

“The Inquisition.”

“Ah, of course,” Byron said. “You’re about to use the First Forbidden Arcane, and in quite a big way, too. It makes sense they would want to do something about that.”

“But how do they even know about this?” Jackson asked. “Don’t tell me they’ve got informants among my people.”

“Very unlikely. No, but they’ve been watching me and my Occultatum for a long while now. I assume they’ve noticed how I sent away my magis, and welcomed numerous exiles, and decided it meant something big was going to happen.”

“Well, shit,” Jackson said. “But hold on. Aren’t the Hexacracy and the Empire supposed to be at peace? Wouldn’t attacking you be, like, an act of war?”

“I would indeed,” Azazel said. “Either the Inquisition is acting on its own, or they have the Emperor’s blessing. From what I’ve heard, it’s the latter.”

“And the Hexacracy won’t do anything about it?” Byron said.

“I’m sure there will be demands for reparations after the fact, but the Hexacracy is currently in a position of weakness. It can’t make any serious demands from the Empire. Though my peers have already helped me in this matter -one of them, at least. Among other favors, they have offered sanctuary for my magis and my students until the crisis is over.”

“That’s it?” Jackson said, incredulous. “What about troops, or weapons?”

“By the time they would get here, it would be too late. I could bring them here the same way I brought you last time, but it would consume a lot of magic, and I need every ounce of it for our affair.”

Jackson muttered a curse under his breath.

“You seem calm and collected about the whole thing,” Byron said. “I assume you have a plan.”

“I do. As I said, I have been expecting this. The Inquisition and I have been playing our game for a long while; it is now time for me to make the final move.”

“I’m not sure I even want to know what that means,” Jackson said. “Just tell me this: will we be gone by the time the Inquisitors get here?”

“Most likely, yes.”

“Most likely?” The young man’s eyes opened wide.

“Again, the Inquisition took me by surprise by acting so quickly. Everything should be ready for their arrival, however.”

“Great.” He shook his head. “So this is what you wanted to talk about? You wanted us to be ready to fight, if it comes to that? Well, that’s gonna be a problem. Outside of the Hellhounds, most of us haven’t even brought any weapons. Hell, I’m all out of ammo for my gun, and I gave my sword and my armor away. This” he tapped Byron’s ax “is all I got.”

“No, I wished to discuss something else: your life back on Earth. Have you given much thought about it?”

Jackson crossed his arms. “ I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“It isn’t, and I’m not asking for details. But you have been gone from Earth for years now. That world may well be foreign to you when you come back. Reinsertion might be difficult, especially since in addition you’ll have your people to worry about. Do you have a plan? Again, I’m not asking for details.”

“We… have some ideas, yeah,” Jackson said noncommittally.

“This will be quite a task. Moving over a thousand people, finding them places to live, especially as I’m sure you’ve figured you’ll have to avoid unwanted attention as well.”

“Sure, yeah. Where are you going with this?” he said, getting impatient.

“While your world is very different from this one, there are certainly some similarities. Including this one: currency makes everything easier.”

“So what, you’re gonna open us a line of credit? Not sure I’ll be good for it. I only ever opened one credit card, and I’ve never paid it back, on account of how I disappeared into another world.”

“Not quite,” Azazel said. “I am not expecting reimbursement, let alone interest.”

“Why would you even have money from our world, anyway?” Byron asked.

The Archmage guided them to a side door, which seemed to open on its own as she approached; Jackson then saw that a Cambion was standing on the other side. They made themselves scarce while Azazel, Byron, and Jackson entered. The new room was almost completely dark at first, only lit by a couple of torches in the hall. Then, Azazel made a negligent gesture with her hand, and more torches lit up, revealing a set of chests of various sizes, occupying half of the room. Jackson let out a whistle as he saw their contents. Many were filled with gold coins, and others contained a variety of jewels, as well as precious stones -mostly rubies, it seemed. While the coins would have no value on Earth -and their spending might raise more than a few questions-, the rest could easily be traded.

“Well, damn,” Jackson said. “Magic seems like a profitable career. Too bad I don’t have the Talent.”

He picked up a gold ring with a ruby mounted on it, and looked at it.

“Some wealthy families in the Hexacracy send me their Talented children for education and training in the ways of the Arcanes,” Azazel explained. “I also regularly contract some of my most gifted magis to different employers: nobles, merchants, mercenaries, sometimes even maliks from C’fa. All of this in exchange for payment, of course.”

“And you would give us some of this wealth?” Byron said.

“More than just some of it. As much as you can carry.”

Both Jackson and Byron frowned and crossed their arms, almost simultaneously.

“What, you’re gonna give away your whole fortune, just like that?” Jackson said with a scoff. “Wait, what am I saying? That ain’t your whole fortune, is it? I bet you’ve got a few other treasure rooms like this one, and maybe this world’s equivalent of a Swiss bank account.”

“What you see is the entirety of my wealth,” Azazel said. “And, yes, I would part with it.”

“Why? You’re confident you can refill your coffers?”

“I’m confident I won’t need it after tomorrow.”

“What does that mean?” Byron said.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Does my offer interest you?”

“You haven’t told us what it is you’re offering exactly,” the veteran pointed out. “What do you want in exchange for all of this?”

“A service. Nothing more.”

“How very charitable,” Jackson said. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you don’t just want your laundry picked up or your car washed. Who do we have to kill for that kind of scrap?”

He meant that as a joke, but then thought that might in fact be close to the truth.

“It’s nothing you can’t do, I assure you.”

She slid her gloved hand inside her robe, in a pocket Jackson hadn’t even seen so far, and retrieved an object bigger than the fist. A cubic box, made out of metal, very similar to the one Jackson had found in the Redthroat’s lair several years ago, but larger in size. It had the exact same kind of lock, as well, though it was evidently made for a different ring. Jackson held out his hand, and she placed the cube in its palm.

“In your world lives someone named Jesse Varley,” Azazel said. “I need you to deliver this to him.”

Jackson didn’t resist the urge to shake it next to his ear, but couldn’t hear anything.

“Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what’s in it,” he said.

The Archmage simply shook her head. “Do this for me, and I’ll consider the debt repaid in full.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Now, Jackson’s curiosity was piqued. He weighed the box. It was light, about one pound, perhaps less. What could the box contain, that was apparently worth all of that money? Was it something inherently valuable, or something which meant more to Azazel than a pile of jewels and precious stones? Jackson felt like this was the latter. Maybe it’s another memory orb thing, like the one I found. Maybe she’s passing some important memories along to that Jesse Varley. Nah… It wouldn’t work in a world without magic, would it?

While Jackson and his people could use the money, he had reservations. The whole thing sounded an awful lot like a deal with the Devil.

“Will this be used to hurt anyone?” he asked.

“Hurt?” Azazel said.

“Yeah, like… Is there a curse or something in here? Or the magic equivalent of a bomb?”

She cleared her throat, with a noise that sounded like a chuckle. “Nothing quite so dramatic, Sir Jackson. No, this will not be used to hurt anyone. However, I insist you keep the box on your person as much as you can, and not give it to anyone else. I entrust it to you.”

“Okay… Fine. Now about that Varley guy… Who is he? Where do I find him?”

“You do not need to know who that person is in order to accomplish this task,” Azazel replied. Jackson could have sworn her voice had grown colder, though her tone was still perfectly cordial. “As to finding him, I know you to be a resourceful person, as are some of your allies.”

“Well, that’s fucking helpful,” Jackson muttered. “You know Earth is kinda big, right? And it’s got, like, five billion people on it? How do you expect me to locate one single guy if I don’t even know where to start? Like, what continent does he live on?”

“Again, you needn’t be concerned about that. The name alone will be enough guidance.”

He shook his head and put the box away in his belt. “Whatever. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I take that to mean we have a deal.”

“Yeah, sure. Do you want me to give him a message, while I’m at it?”

“Just the box,” Azazel said.

“Speaking of locations,” Byron said, “where exactly will you be sending us? I’m assuming everyone will arrive at the same destination.”

Everyone? Jackson thought, looking at Byron, a painful feeling encroaching his stomach.

“Of course. As to the exact location, you are free to choose. I could send you to virtually any place in your world.”

With a little smile, Jackson considered for a second asking if he could be sent inside the White House, or in the vault of a bank. Then, he gave the matter some serious thought. It couldn’t be a settlement, obviously, or someone would notice a thousand people popping out of nowhere. A forest might do. He considered for a moment that part of the Okanogan-Wenatchee forest where he and his unit had unwittingly travelled to a different world. But he didn’t really know that place at all, and it was quite remote, so the risk of getting lost was high. In addition, the woods now carried quite a few bad memories he would rather not relive.

How about Wyoming? he then thought. He remembered the Medicine Bow-Routt National Forest, located not too far from the Dorsetts’ farm, and how the Dorsetts would send him camping every year in the Medecine Bow-Routt National Forest, near Ryan Park, sometimes several times a year -mostly to get rid of him for a few weeks. He still knew the place pretty well. If they were to appear somewhere not too close to that little town, but still near the 130, it would be easy to find their way from there. Yes, that could work. Jackson told Azazel the name of the place, and began to describe it.

“I’ll only need you to focus your mind on it when I’ll open the portal,” she said. “The clearer you can picture it, the more accurate my portal will be. Try thinking of a specific spot.”

He knew just the place: a little clearing, about two miles north of Ryan Park. He could depict it clearly in his mind, from the color of the foliage in summer to the smell of sun-warmed grass. There were memories attached to that place as well, and while they were mostly bittersweet, at least they weren’t haunting.

“I will have my Cambions bring you the stones and the jewels,” the Archmage said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

A Cambion, possibly the same one who had guided Jackson to Azazel, appeared to lead him back out. The two of them went back to the spiral staircase, and descended until they reached a door, leading to the ground floor. Jackson was confused: it didn’t feel like they had descended enough floors to arrive there. As the Cambion left him, he just shrugged it off, guessing that this place didn’t operate on logic; at least, not any logic he was familiar with.

He came back to the great hall in time for lunch. The meal was essentially the same as breakfast, but served with a light alcoholic drink that resembled beer, though Jackson found the texture off. There was also a soup, dark green in color, which was possibly made from the moss found in the caves, but with a piquant taste. The Cambions delivered the food, but didn’t stay during the meal, nor did they answer any questions. Sathariel reappeared during the meal, looking frustrated.

“Didn’t find anything?” Jackson said as his friend sat next to him, with Alizana on the other side.

“Not a damn thing. I couldn’t even find a way to the upper floors, or to the lower ones!”

Unsurprised, Jackson told him what he saw: the impossibly long room, the spiral staircase, and the landings with no doors. Sathariel let out a “ugh!” of futility, and tried the beer-like drink.

“I suppose that’s on me for trying to unearth a magi’s secrets,” he said. “So you’ve met with Azazel again?”

“Yeah, I did. She made me an offer.”

He went on to explain what had transpired a few moments ago, including the strange favor the Archmage had asked of him. Sathariel asked to see the box, and held it in his hand, also trying to guess its contents, but with no more success.

“And all she gave you was that man’s name?”

“Yup. Hopefully, you can work your spy magic on Earth too.”

Sathariel agreed to try, and gave the box back to Jackson. During the meal, the Demon tried to have an entire conversation in English with his friend. He was getting better, even able to mimic Jackson’s American accent. His vocabulary was getting richer, as well. The only issue was the grammar, as his native Hellian quite differed from English in that regard, but he was making a lot of progress on that too. Alizana was also improving, though she lacked Sathariel’s gift for tongues. She still made quite a few mistakes that revealed her as a non-native speaker, but could now make full sentences with little hesitation.

After lunch, Jackson and Alizana informed everyone that their departure was imminent. The treasure was brought by the Cambions, to many an exclamation of awe. Alizana gathered the chieftains, who decided to split the wealth equally between tribes before packing it. The stones and jewels were entrusted to the chieftains and the former war chiefs of every tribe, who, following Jackson and Sathariel’s advice, would do their best to keep them safely hidden.

Byron gave Jackson some advice on what to do with the treasure. To sell it in one go in the same location was a bad idea, he explained, and would likely attract a lot of attention from the authorities. It would be much wiser to do it piecemeal, in different places, and also to not take the first offer made. He also gave Jackson the name and location of some of his old contacts, whom he said could help him get “some things done”.

“What kind of things?” Jackson said, as he wrote their names and last known addresses down.

“The kind that will help your people blend in better in American society.”

“That… doesn’t tell me much.”

Byron cleared his throat, annoyed. “Let’s just say, for instance, they’ll need papers. ID cards, driving licenses, birth certificates… Among other things.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

It figured the former special forces guy would know someone like that. He looked down at the dozen or so names. They were spread out all over the United States; the closest one to where everyone would end up lived -or at least used to live- in Denver, Colorado, while the farthest lived in Hawaii.

Initially, Jackson had wanted to do something special for his very last day in this world. A feast, a party… Or even just getting blackout drunk. But, again, the Occultatum offered very little opportunity for that. There was only some bland food, and no music. Even the “beer” only got him mildly tipsy. Thankfully, Alizana offered to create a lasting memory with him, as she brought him to a balcony she had found on the fifth floor. There, with a great view of the mountains, and the valleys below, they made love. Alizana was particularly passionate that day, going at her mate again and again, and not letting go of him until late in the afternoon.

After they were done, Jackson, leaning heavily against the balcony to relieve his wobbly legs, saw Alizana retrieve a little vial and drink its contents in one gulp.

“Bittermoon juice?” he guessed.

“Yes,” she said in English. “Probably the last time I drink it. I’m assuming bittermoon flowers don’t grow on Earth.”

“No. I mean, we’ve got other stuff for that, if you need.”

The corner of her lips curled up. “I don’t believe I will, no.”

He smiled too, his mind now picturing Alizana with an inflated belly. Then, he thought about what pregnant sex would be like, because… Well, how could he not?

After a bit of cleaning up, they went back in, joined everyone for dinner, and later went to sleep. As Alizana got on top of him once more, Jackson was surprised to find he still had energy for another round. He was sound asleep right after that, however.

Jackson woke up to the sound of distant voices speaking quickly, and footsteps going in different directions. He opened his eyes, and saw Sathariel half-risen from his bed.

“What’s going on?” Jackson said.

“I don’t know. Sounds like we should hurry up, though.”

Good call, Jackson thought as he saw that most everyone else was already out of bed and getting dressed, even though the sun hadn’t quite risen yet. Putting on his dryadelle outfit as quickly as he could, he stormed down the stairs to the great hall, looking for Alizana. She had gathered the chieftains again, and was giving them instructions to get everyone ready to go –now. Cambions were also present, preparing to guide everyone again.

“Liz, what’s happening?”

“The Archmage said the portal was about to open. Actually, she said it had to open.”

“Does that mean…”

“I think her enemies are here,” Alizana said, balling her paw into a fist.

Jackson muttered a “shit” under his breath, then asked: “Where is she?”

“Somewhere in the higher floors.”

Jackson jogged to the stairs, slaloming between several Hellhounds who were also headed somewhere fast. It took him a few minutes to find the dark room again; he had the distinct feeling that it had changed places since the last time. Facing the darkness, this time without his lighter, he raised a hand before him and walked until his fingers jabbed into something hard. Pushing past the door into the staircase, he ran up the steps until he found another door. Opening that one, he was surprised to find neither a room or a corridor, but another flight of stairs. Those led up to a terrace… which Jackson realized was in fact the summit of the Occultatum. As soon as he emerged, a gust of cold wind seized him at the throat. Wrapping his cloak around him, he also noticed a few snowflakes reaching the stone floor. Another snowstorm was gathering, and gaining in intensity, so much so that it could actually reach the tower.

The Archmage was standing near the edge, staring in the distance, her robe seemingly thick enough to protect her from the cold. Jackson approached her and chanced a glance downwards, before taking a brisk step back.

“Hey!” he called out to her. “What’s going on? Is the Inquisition here?”

She jittered, as if he had woken her or pulled her out of a trance. “Yes. It appears my storms have only slowed them down somewhat.”

“Your storms? Wait, you mean you did this?”

“In the absence of armies, nature can be an effective defence against enemy troops. Not as effective as I’d hoped, evidently. The Inquisition, it appears, is able to match my power.”

“Damn. Tell me everything’s ready, at least.”

“Quite ready. What about your people?”

“Yeah, they’re coming.”

“Good. My Cambions will lead them up. Now, focus on that place on Earth.”

Jackson did, his mind going back to that forest, its sights and its smell. Azazel straightened her back and took a deep breath. Then, she raised her hands above her head, fists clenched. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then Jackson heard a strange, continuous rumbling noise coming from down below, accompanied by a high-pitched sound above him. Looking up, he noticed the air was getting weavy, like it did in the summer, only it was much more intense. The weave seemed to grow, forming a barely visible sphere that soon encompassed the entire area above the Occultatum’s roof. The high-pitched sound grew sharper, then stopped abruptly. Then, progressively, the weave in the air changed color, turning a deep shade of black. Soon, a giant black orb appeared, topping the Occultatum. Jackson gulped his saliva. The portal was opening.

“The last portal I went through was invisible,” he pointed out to Azazel.

“The last one you went through was unstable, and lasted just long enough to carry through a few people for a moment. We need something… stronger.”

Below him, the rumble was intensifying, as if something was stirring under the crater. Then, the entire tower shook. It lasted but a second, but that was enough to trigger Jackson’s fight-or-flight response; without thinking, he grabbed his pistol, only remembering a moment later that it was empty. A minute or so after that, the ground shook again; this time, the shake lasted a few seconds, and felt stronger.

A group of people came up the stairs, headed by Alizana. They were carrying a lot of equipment: all of them had a backpack, and some of the Hellhounds even had two.

“What’s going on?” Alizana asked. “The entire tower is trembling!”

“The portal is open,” Azazel said, pointing at the center of the enormous orb. Her voice was strained and throaty. “Go now. Quickly.”

The group looked at the giant black orb with visible apprehension, as if it was a mouth about to devour them whole. Then, a particularly hardy Hellhound stepped towards it, blew air out of her mouth, then ran into it. Loud gasps were heard when she disappeared from sight. Seconds later, her head reappeared, poking through the orb.

“Are you coming, sister?” she said tauntingly to another Hellhound.

That Hellhound, her sister evidently, went to join her with an excited shout. The rest still hesitated, until Alizana decided to lead by example. Before she entered the portal, she turned to Jackson and gestured for him to join her.

“I’ll be there, Liz,” he said. “Gotta make sure everybody makes it through first.”

She looked about to argue, but then went to hold him by the hand, a little roughly. “You had better make it through too, Jack. Promise me you will.”

“I promise.”

Alizana’s paw lingered on his hand, then she stepped through the portal. This was enough to motivate the rest, who soon disappeared from this world. The second group was already getting to the roof, guided by Nari.

“I look forward to trying these tacos you talked about, Mad Jack,” she said. “They better be as “mind-balling” as you described them.”

“Trust me, Nari, the moment you try Tex-Mex cuisine is the moment you kiss your healthy weight goodbye.”

Her group was a lot less apprehensive than the first one; most of them actually looked excited at the prospect of moving to another world. It was the same for the third group, which came right after. The Hellhounds in particular seemed the most enthused. The Humans and the Demons were more worried, even scared, while the Orcs seemed confident, and the Elves remained stoic and impassive as often.

“Can we talk?” Byron asked as the fourth group appeared, led by Yanu.

“What about?” Jackson said, his gaze fixated on the portal as more people entered it.

“About the fact that you’ve been ignoring me for the last few days, for starters.”

Jackson sighed, his shoulders dropping.

“I… Yeah, I have,” he said. “It’s just-” He licked his lip, his throat suddenly feeling tight. “Look, I… Shit. I’ve failed you, Byron. I’m sorry.”

“Failed me?” Byron’s eyebrows jumped in surprise.

“I got you to fight in this war. I told you that, if I won, if the Hellhounds were free, it would make up for the Sakhas, and for Karachaane. Fuck, I even told you I’d bring you back to life!” He passed a hand over his face. “But in the end, I… I failed. I failed you, Byron, and I failed my people. I lost the war, just like you warned me I would. And now, you…”

Unable to finish his sentence, he pointed at Byron, then at the portal. His eyes burned him, and he realized he was near tears.

“I’m sorry, Byron. I’m so sorry.”

Byron looked at him in silence for a little while. Then, he did something Jackson did not see coming: he laughed. Yes, Byron laughed. It wasn’t a raucous laughter, more of a quiet chuckle, but it was laughter. The traits of his face barely changed, yet he seemed like a different man. For a moment, he looked less like Byron, and more like Madison Charles.

“Jack, you did not fail me,” he said, his voice taking on a strange hint of what sounded like kindness. “You did not fail your people.”

“The Empire won the war,” Jackson said. “They won the South.”

“Yes, they did. But that’s not what this was about. Your goal was to give the Hellhounds a chance at freedom.”

“And I failed. I wanted to-”

“No, Jackson, you did not fail,” Byron said vehemently. “The Hellhounds are moving to Earth, a world where they will have a chance to start again, away from the Hexacracy and the Archdemons, away from the Empire, away from their past. Thanks to you, they can find a place of their own, where they can truly be free. You have done what I should have, back in Sakha… What I should have done with Kara. That’s not failure, Jackson. That is a victory.”

“I guess, but…” Jackson rubbed his eyes. “Byron, the moment I pass this portal, you…”

“I will die, yes,” he said softly. “Jack, I’ve been dead for a while now. I’ve certainly felt like it, unable to taste or touch, barely able to smell… You’ve helped me feel more alive, and for this I am grateful, but all the same this second existence was no life for me. I am not saying I’ve wanted this to end, but… The perspective of “living” like this for decades…”

He sighed.

“I get it,” Jackson said. “Still, I just don’t-”

“They’re coming,” Azazel suddenly said.

The Archmage changed her stance, putting one foot back and slightly arching her knees, and raised one of her gloved hands towards the tumultuous sky. The tower shook again, with a deep tremor that almost made Jackson lose his balance. Sathariel, who had just arrived on the roof, stiffened.

“What the Hell is going on?” he yelled. “The whole tower looks like it’s going to collapse!”

“Seth, go through the portal! Now!” Jackson said.

Sathariel was about to say something back, but, sensing the urgency in Jackson’s voice, whistled at his group and led them through the portal in a hurry.

Up above, the clouds grew thicker, as if an invisible hand was gathering them over the Occultatum. Another tremor rocked the tower, strong enough that a few stones dropped from the parapet; a man fell to the ground, spilling the contents of his bag. Within moments, a veritable wall of snow was lifted by the winds, which were growing stronger by the minute, forming an impenetrable rampart encircling the mountaintop, obfuscating the horizon. Anything beyond the edges of the crater disappeared from sight. Jackson suddenly felt very, very small.

On the other side of the storm, there was a rumble, akin to the cracking of thunder, but more… ethereal. A second later, a tear opened through the wind wall, near the bottom. Azazel focused her attention on it, and redoubled her efforts. This caused the ground to shake again. This time, Jackson saw a fissure appear along one of the pillars down below, deep enough that the top half of the pillar collapsed. Cracking sounds were heard in the lower floors of the tower.

The tear appeared to tremble, widening, then thinning, as if it was caught between opposing forces. Which was exactly what was happening, Byron suggested. After a few minutes of conflict, during which two more groups entered the black orb, the tear expanded greatly, opening a hole about fifty wide through the white wall. On the other side, Jackson saw a small army gathered, immediately rushing through the hole, shouting with vigor. From what he could see from the roof, the army was mostly made out of heavy infantry, wearing plate armors and thick fur capes, as well as black and white tabards. Alongside them… no, above them were humanoid creatures, wearing lighter suits of armor. Each had a pair of large, bird-like wings on their back. Jackson’s eyes bugged out; reflexively, he pulled Byron’s ax from his belt.

“Holy shit, Angels are real,” he muttered.

“Very real, unfortunately,” Azazel said.

Jackson observed them, unable to look away. From afar, they looked almost identical to Humans, except for the wings. But, looking more attentively, dissimilarities appeared. Their silhouette was gaunter than Humans, and their limbs longer. In some ways, they looked like Elves, but taller, and without the trademark long ears. They seemed more muscular, also, but perhaps it was because only the strongest had been selected for this battle. Particularly striking were their faces, unnaturally pale, and beautiful -but in a too-perfect, uncanny way that made Jackson ill-at-ease. They all seemed to be female, though Jackson didn’t see any clear indicator of their gender, mostly on account of their heavy armors. As they got closer, he also noticed that their eyes, whose color ranged from an almost-white yellow to a very light blue, seemed to glow.

At a glance, Byron estimated that the enemy numbered around five hundreds on the ground, plus another fifty to sixty in the air. The soldiers charged the Occultatum’s gate, while a dozen of the Angels flew towards its roof.

“Hurry up!” Jackson yelled at his people. “We need to get out of here!”

The next group’s chieftain relayed the order, and everybody started running. The children were sent first, guided by a wet-nurse. A Human veteran who had lost his leg in battle was carried on the back of a Hellhound. Jackson turned his attention back to the incoming flying attackers, firmly gripping his ax. It wouldn’t help him much against the longswords and spears he saw the Angels carry, but it was either that or his fists.

One Angel, heading the rest of his cohort, climbed about high above the Occultatum’s roof, then dived, spear first. Jackson braced himself, ready to jump her if she went for his people. But it seemed her target was Azazel, who surprisingly didn’t make a move to defend herself, instead watching the Angel approach as if she was trying to stare her down. Jackson looked alternatively at the Archmage and the attacker, wondering why the former wasn’t doing anything, and whether he would be able to reach the latter before she could strike.

Before the Angel came within ten feet of Azazel, something resembling a bolt of lightning, but deep black in color, jumped out of the giant orb and seized the Angel at the chest, leaving a scorched mark the size of her head. Her wings immediately stopped moving and, without so much as a shout, she dropped from the skies like a rock. The black lightning had been accompanied by yet another tremor, which had sent Jackson tumbling against the parapet. The rumble down below was getting louder, though it was now partly covered by the battle shouts of the Inquisitors, as well as their ram striking the gates.

“Jesus! Tell me the volcano is not going to erupt,” Jackson said to Azazel, raising his voice to be heard.

Another Angel tried to land on the roof, only to be killed in turn by more of that strange lightning. This time, the tower shook so strongly that an entire pan of the parapet fell, along with a portion of the floor. Several Inquisitors were crushed by the debris. The entire place is gonna fall apart, Jackson thought. To his surprise, Azazel merely glanced at the damage, without reacting in any obvious way, before focusing on her enemies.

Another group had passed the orb. Was it the twelfth or the thirteenth? Jackson had lost count. Before he could ask how many were left, Byron suddenly took control of his body, and made him duck and roll. He understood why a second later, as he regained control and turned to see that an Angel had landed behind him, and almost beheaded him with a swing of her longsword. It seemed the attackers had gotten smarter this time: a dozen of them had made their move at once, attacking the tower from different angles. Azazel had only managed to eliminate two or three of them before they landed.

“Jackson Pulver,” the Angel said, looking down at him like he was mud on the sole of her steel boot. Behind her, her wings folded, then disappeared completely.

She knows my name. Well, that’s a good fucking sign.

The Angel swung her sword again, in a move so fast Jackson barely dodged it by jumping back. She attacked again, and again, her flurry of assaults giving him no respite. Jackson tried counterattacking, but she wouldn’t let him get anywhere near close enough for his ax to reach, moving her sword with truly unnatural speed. Glancing above his shoulders, he saw that Azazel was busy fighting the others; several Hellhounds and one Elf had also joined the party, trying to keep the Angels away from the rest of their people.

“Byron! Any ideas?” he thought-said in a bit of a panic.

“Yes, I do. If defending is not working, then…”

Byron took over again, and with surprising energy, threw himself at the Angel right as she swung her longsword again, which he dodged just in time. He grabbed her armed wrist, his strength only able to contain hers for a few seconds, then struck the unprotected inside of her elbow with his ax twice. He tried to strike a third time, but the Angel freed herself, and kicked him in the chest, hard, pushing him back. The blood that poured from the cuts was light red in color, and seemed thinner than Human blood.

The wound looked deep, but the Angel still held onto her sword, so Byron went back on the offensive immediately, disregarding the pain in his ribs. The Angel attacked with a horizontal slice. Byron didn’t try to avoid the blade this time, instead using the dryadelle to stop it, then blocking it under his shoulder. The material was not entirely sufficient in protecting him, and he felt a long, superficial cut on his skin. His ax slashed into her exposed side, under the arm, weakening her enough that he managed to wrestle the sword out of her hand and grab it. The Angel pushed him back again, then fell back a couple of steps, covering the cut on her side with her palm.

The longsword was heavier than he expected, and he nearly dropped it. The Angel whispered a few words, and her wounds healed in seconds. I suppose I should have expected that, Byron thought. Clutching his ax in his left hand and the sword in the right, he attacked again, aiming for the head. Hopefully, the Angel would not have the power to grow a new one.

She raised her fists, using her gauntlets as shields against the blows. The ax simply bounced off their steel, barely even leaving a mark, but the sword proved astonishingly sharp, cutting into the metal like it was wood. Although unarmed, the Angel didn’t yield or try to flee. She didn’t let Byron push her back on the defensive, either. As she parried each and every of his swings and blows, she also counterattacked, throwing a punch or a kick each time she saw an opening.

Using an old technique he knew, Byron kicked the side of her knee, inflicting little pain through the steel greaves but creating a breach in her staunch defense. Both of his weapons swung, the ax breaking her beaver, and the sword cutting into her neck, deep enough to reach bone. The Angel immediately slapped a hand over the wound and tried to incant another healing spell, but only blood came out of her mouth. Her wings reappeared unfolding wide as if she was about to take off. Before she could, Byron attacked again, striking her neck again with the sword. The blade sliced clean through the neck, killing the Angel instantly and nearly beheading her.

Fuck, thank God they can be killed, Jackson though as he regained control. Also, Jesus Christ! we just killed an Angel. Hope this won’t get me cursed or something. He took a look around. The others were keeping the Angels back, although with considerable effort, and several casualties. As to Azazel, she was using her magic to keep more Angels from landing, striking them with lightning as they got near. One Hellhound managed to sever one Angel’s wing with her claws, taking advantage of the fact that said Angel had lost her balance to another quake, then pushed her enemy off the roof. She fell down without so much as a scream.

On ground level, the gates had been breached, and the Inquisition’s ground forces were pouring in the tower. Jackson had the intuition that their magic would be able to guide them through the stairs and their strange layout, but, with a bit of luck, those would delay them for a while.

Jackson raised his newfound sword, and turned to his nearest foe. He went to assist a Hellhound who was grappling with an Angel. Attacking the latter from behind, he cut into her calf, allowing the Hellhound to go for the kill. The enemy dropped to her knees, then fell backwards. Jackson noticed the Hellhound had suffered injuries on her left arm and leg, and held her back as she was about to attack her next enemy.

“Go through the portal,” he told her. “We’re almost done here.”

She gave a tired nod, and limped into the black orb. Said orb now looked unstable, his outline less defined and more blurry, and Jackson could swear it had shrunk a little. Clearly, it wouldn’t hold for long. Still, Jackson kept on fighting, determined to be the last person to cross to the other side. He was already getting out of breath -damn ribs!-, but thankfully it wouldn’t be much longer: the very last group was arriving at the roof, running to the portal.

As Jackson engaged with another Angel, stopping her from landing a killing blow on an Elf, he and a few people around him were suddenly thrown to the ground, as if blown by a terrible wind -or an explosion. Yet another Angel had landed near them. This one was noticeably taller than the others, and wearing a different armor, thicker and more bulky-looking. It looked to be made of gold and silver, and shone as if the sun could somehow reach it through the storm. The sword she was holding was long enough that it should be a two-handed sword, but she wielded it with only one, her other hand holding a tower shield made out of some sort of glistening white steel. A strange bright aura seemed to surround her, as if her very being generated light.

“An Archangel,” Jackson heard a Human mutter, his eyes opened wide with awe and terror.

Before Jackson had time to ask what an Archangel was, Azazel attacked her with another bolt of black lightning; this time, the portal became noticeably smaller, and a little more transparent. The Archangel raised her shield in a quick second, and the lightning came crashing against it, sending sparks flying in every direction before disappearing. Jackson’s jaw dropped when he saw that the white steel was left completely intact -there was not even a stain.

The Archangel raised her sword and charged at the Archmage, who joined hands before her and prepared another spell. A particularly brave Hellhound took that opportunity to flank the Archangel and attack, but she fended her off, and, with a move so quick Jackson couldn’t comprehend what he witnessed, plunged her sword deep in the Hellhound’s guts. One second later, Azazel casted her spell, creating a red ball of flames about two feet wide. Once again, the Archangel parried with her shield, but this time the impact was such that it pushed her back, her steel boots sliding on the stone floor with an awful grinding noise. 

The Hellhound fell, Jackson rushed to her. She was still alive, but losing a lot of blood; some was dripping out of her mouth. Helping her on her feet, he passed her over to another Hellhound, who guided her to the portal, where the last of their people were finally crossing. Jackson glanced at Azazel, who threw another spell at the Archangel, keeping her at bay but still not making a dent in her defence. She looked back at him and simply said:

“Go.”

Jackson glanced at the orb, which was now only half of its original size and rippling like water in a storm. The last person -a Human woman- had finally crossed. Jackson took a deep breath, then turned to Byron, who held his hand out to him.

“They never fail, who die in a great cause,” he said, a serene smile on his face. “Goodbye, Jackson.”

Their hands joined for a short moment, as Jackson gazed into his friend’s eyes one last time. Then, he let go, and stepped back into the orb. In an instant, the world he once thought could be his was gone.

 

***

 

“It’s over, Archmage,” the Archangel said, raising her sword.

Facing her, Azazel was clearly showing signs of fatigue: her breath was short, and she was vaulted. In addition, her magic was weakening, as was that portal next to her. The Archangel, who drew her power from a source far more powerful than worldly elements, was far from winded.

“Yes,” Azazel said. “I suppose it is.”

Her tone was calm in spite of the hoarseness of her voice. She placed a hand on her mask, which was slightly askew, and fixed it.

“Surrender your Occultatum and all of its contents,” the Archangel said, “and on my oath to the Divine, I promise to give you a quick death.”

Death was too good a fate for such a horrendous creature, the Archangel thought, especially in the light of what she had done -and worse yet, what she intended to do. But her opinion mattered little. The Divine had made Their will clear.

“A very generous offer, I’m sure,” the Archmage said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to humbly reject it, however.”

The Archangel snarled. “So be it.”

She marched on the Archmage, shield raised before her. Azazel bowed her head, closed her eyes, and cast one last spell, calling in every last ounce of magic in her Occultatum. A powerful surge went through her whole body, coursing through her veins, running up her nerves. Under her robe, ripples appeared on her skin, going up her body towards her skull. She could feel parts of her epidermis tearing, unable to contain the raw power she was gathering. The pain was… somewhat worse than she expected. But no matter.

The Archangel sensed what was going to happen mere seconds before it did. With a powerful flap of her wings, she propelled herself in the air. The black orb, now less than the size of a person, suddenly exploded, releasing a terrible burst of magical energy. Immediately, another earthquake shook the entire mountain, far more powerful than the previous ones. This time, large fissures appeared along the crater and down the mountainside, and the foundations of the Occultatum gave out. The tower broke almost clean in half along its height, as the Inquisition troops ran out in a panic, heading towards the edge, trying to dodge falling debris. The stone pillars collapsed as well, almost in unison.

A little more than half of the troops had managed to flee when lava burst through, in an explosion that annihilated the crater and a good fourth of the volcano, filling the skies with a flood of black smoke, and hurling burning rocks in all directions. Within minutes, the snow almost a mile around was covered in black soot and dark grey ashes. The Inquisitors hurriedly found refuge in the caves, while the Angels flew as far as their wings could take them.

Flying high above the scene, the Archangel looked down at the charred remains of the Occultatum, her face marred by a mixture of contempt and cold anger. She should have known the Archmage would try something like this, but she didn’t expect her to be so desperate as to destroy the lair she had built herself, and occupied for so long. Not to mention the wealth of knowledge she had aggregated there.

Oh, but something told the Archangel that knowledge wasn’t completely lost. Her intuition also told her that, as the Inquisition would search through the rubble, they would not find the Archmage’s body, not even that mask of hers.

This was a setback, the Archangel thought as the black smoke barred the destroyed crater from her sight, but this was not the end. Oh no. The Archmage had won a battle, but not the war. It would only end with her destruction, and that of her… ally as well, whoever and wherever they were. And they would be destroyed, the Archangel promised herself. 

In this world and every other, the Divine’s will would be accomplished.

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