Jack L. Chalker God inc 3 The Maze in the Mirror
Adams Douglas 02 Restauracja na koĹcu wszechĹwiata
Juanita Coulson The Death God's Citadel
Hard to Be a God Boris Strugatski
Douglas Arthur ZĹoto z Porto Bello
Samson_Hanna_ _Pulapka_na_motyla
Ardath Mayhar The Crystal Skull (pdf)
Diana Palmer Najlepsze wcić śź przed nami
Magazine Beneath Ceaseless Skies 167 (pdf)
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
penalty would be if Beelzebub even thought there was any competition. His paranoia was
matched only by his wrath.
The buzzing started as she drew nearer.
Adramalik did not bother to look for the origin of the sound. He knew from past
experience that this was futile; even if he could pierce the gloom, the sound's
pervasiveness told him that there was no single point of its origin. His master was up
there, he knew. Up there amidst the densely packed hanging skins and floating chunks of
meat, watching Adramalik and Lilith as she crossed the Rotunda. Navigating the moist
columns and islands of rotten flesh was slow work.
The buzzing grew more intense, more localized. Now, if he concentrated, Adramalik was
sure he could see movement, see them take wing, the first of the tens of thousands of flies
that he knew were coming. He had long ago grown used to Beelzebub's entrances. But in
that Adramalik was somewhat unique.
Lilith was close; he could see the red sclera of her eyes, the tiny nostrils, the thick, tight
curls of her snowy mane. And, brought on perhaps by the stagnant, hot air, the thin sheen
of perspiration that glazed her perfectly sculpted body.
Above them a wavering dark cloud of flies was growing and coalescing, rotating like a
slow tornado in the debris-laden air. The buzzing rose and fell arrhythmically, an
insectile threnody that almost sounded like words. Beelzebub's Voice never failed to
bring a crooked smile to Adramalik's hard features.
He thought of it as a miracle, a miracle that only Lucifer could explain, for solid rumor
had it that it had been he who had created Beelzebub. Adramalik had heard that Lucifer,
just before the War, had wanted a fearless and unquestioning lieutenant, a being so
different from his angels as to answer to none but himself. Secretly, and against the will
of the Throne, he had created such a being, had dipped into the stuff of the Above and
imbued the motes he found there with a loyal soul. It was not called Beelzebub then; no
one but Lucifer knew its original name, and that was now lost.
After the Fall and after Lucifer's disappearance, Beelzebub, in a hate-filled rage, had
crushed those original motes that were himself into rapacious flies. Upon them he
impressed grotesque caricatures of the faces of those seraphim still in the Above. His
transformation was a grand gesture of self-mutilation, an event so incomprehensible that
Demons Major still spoke of it with whispered awe.
This was all nearly forgotten history to Adramalik. His thoughts were almost always of
the here and now and rarely of those chaotic days immediately after the Fall.
Above the persistent buzzing he heard the faint delicate splash of Lilith's footsteps as she
crossed the final few puddles of blood. She stopped at the base of the throne, head down.
Above her the flies swarmed, winged atoms of her master's body. From what court-spies
had related, he was sure that she wished she could tread upon each one, crushing them
until he no longer existed. He was also sure that she would willingly sacrifice nearly
everything just to accomplish this.
When he spoke it was in the Voice of the flies, a layered and droning Voice that
emanated from a thousand tiny throats.
"Fleurety tells me of a growing cult among the souls. A cult of ... you?" The ambient
Voice paused, but a buzzing wheeze continued for a moment. "What do you know of this,
dear Lilith?"
Adramalik thought, from where he stood, that he saw Lilith wince when her name was
pronounced.
"I have heard rumors, but nothing more, my Prince," she said, still looking down. Her
voice was strong, husky. And not particularly contrite.
"You are mine, Consort. Not Hell's at large. I would find it most distressing if Fleurety's
tales about you proved true. He is convinced that you are, in some way, fostering these
cults. Just as you once did with the living humans."
"The Duke has his own designs, my Prince," she said plainly. "Perhaps you might ask
him why he takes any interest in me at all."
"I have. For once, his suspicions outweigh his obvious urges toward you."
The Chancellor General reflected on that with mild amusement. Duke Fleurety's carnal
interests were extraordinary, his imagination nearly unmatched, his resources boundless.
He must be very sure indeed, thought Adramalik.
Lilith tilted her head up.
"He suggested that I have Lord Agaliarept minister to you that, perhaps, only he is
capable of gaining the truth from you. I found that suggestion ... disagreeable. What are
your feelings about this?"
That had an effect, thought Adramalik, pleased. Her slight movement backward had been
unmistakable. She was too proud, too unaffected by the Prince's presence.
Ten thousand faceted eyes were fixed upon her.
"My feelings?" Her voice broke ever so slightly. "I ... I have done nothing." Adramalik
saw a tear well up and glisten down her ivory cheek. It stopped for a moment on her jaw
and then dropped onto her clawed foot where a few black and green flies had gathered.
One sizzled briefly from the moisture and vanished, and Adramalik could not be sure that
he had heard a momentary sigh mingled with the low buzz of Beelzebub's breath.
"Nothing. That is good, Lilith," the Voice buzzed with no inflection. "I will not share
you, not with Fleurety, not with Agaliarept, and certainly not with the dirt of humanity."
There it is again, thought Adramalik, that incredible possessiveness. And who can blame
him?
"Thank you, my Prince," Lilith said quietly.
"And keep that handmaiden of yours at heel. Her many trips away are at an end." His
Voice trailed off into a prolonged buzz, losing all semblance to language. The faintest
whirring of wings could be heard from atop the throne, growing in volume as more and
more of the flies of his body grew agitated. Lilith stood her ground, her red eyes focused
somewhere beyond him, somewhere in the dark recesses of the dome, searching the
gloom above for the first signs of movement.
The buzzing increased and Lilith's eyes betrayed her. The Chancellor General could see
the weight of her resignation in how she held her head, the way her hands hung by her
sides.
Adramalik always wondered if when Beelzebub broke apart or came together it started
with a single fly, one who gathered all the rest about himself. One with that particular
spark that was Beelzebub. He would never know. As the Prince took wing, his garments
tumbled and floated toward the ground and Adramalik caught them with practiced hands.
He watched, fascinated, every time his master approached. The already-thick air around
the throne grew dense with a shimmering cloud of flies, each trailing a tiny flame of
green. They circled the dome's interior, fading in and out of the murky light, growing in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
