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Anniversary
21 March 2008 16:27He missed his horns.
It was no secret amongst the minions in this circle that Kartilk had the prettiest horns in Hell, rivaling those of Lucifer himself. The seven sins were in abundance amongst the minions and envy, greed, and pride were mainstays. The other demons coveted his horns. They worshipped them. They were jealous of his horns.
The nine massive horns of Kartilk were shining ebony. They curved out from his head in a majestic flower array like an exit wound poking out from the prow of a battleship.
Two were the wide, flat horns of a water buffalo, arcing out before coming to twin forward points. Two were thick, tractor-tire-sized spirals of the ram. Two were the twisting, corkscrew bloodletters of a desert antelope. The biggest pair were the licorice-coloured antlers of an elk, their many tips filed to points.
And there, in the center of his forehead, was the ninth. A unicorn horn of pure dark magic inlaid with the captured soul of a feral priest.
Kartilk’s head was very, very heavy. His neck started just below his ears and went in a straight line out to his massive shoulders. All of the succubae wanted him.
But he only had eyes for one.
Jezehela.
Even here in Hell, love blossomed. It was the love that lightning has for the ground, the love that a pedophile has for children, the love that wolves have for the crippled, young, and weak. It was a love steeped in centuries of abuse and torture. It was a love baked by the heat of breaths begging for mercy from mouths stuffed with coals. It was a love dyed in the blood of the impure.
But it was love. And Kartilk and Jezehela’s centennial anniversary was coming up.
Jezehela’s soul-catcher trident was left over from the original War. Rumour had it that it was used by the archangel himself. Stolen from Heaven’s warchest and put to use in the Underworld. It was an affront to Upstairs.
It shone with the purity of fresh-polished gold. It was encrusted with the twelve jewels of deceit, each carrying a drop of blood from the first twelve Adams. The handholds had been custom-molded for all four of Jezehela’s large, taloned hands.
Kartilk was looking forward to the look on her face when he presented her with his gift.
They’d spent too much time with each other over the last century and their soul quota had fallen behind. They had no wealth left with which to buy a gift for each other.
That’s why Kartilk had sold his horns. In exchange, he’d had a chip of the unicorn horn inset into the piece de resistance. It was a Dark Opal. There were only seven in all of Hell and the other six were in the belly of the Lethe Serpent. It was very rare.
It would look perfect inset into the base of the middle tine of Jezehela’s trident.
The walk back from the hornsmith had been a long one. People didn’t recognize his small head and when they did, they gasped in astonishment and then open laughter. The nine black circles dotting his head where the horns had once been made his head look a soccer ball.
He met her on the banks of the Styx where they’d met a century before, getting their weekly boatload of souls from Chiron the ferry man.
Her eyes met his and her face froze. She looked at the stumps where his horns had been with a darting, wide-eyed uncertainty.
She held out her quivering hands. There, in the chalice formed by her four claws, were dozens of enchanted horntips, custom-made to fit the tips of his horns and enchanted to give him power. They were priceless beyond measure.
She’d sold her trident to get them.
He showed her the jewel.
They both laughed. It was the best anniversary ever.
tags
It was no secret amongst the minions in this circle that Kartilk had the prettiest horns in Hell, rivaling those of Lucifer himself. The seven sins were in abundance amongst the minions and envy, greed, and pride were mainstays. The other demons coveted his horns. They worshipped them. They were jealous of his horns.
The nine massive horns of Kartilk were shining ebony. They curved out from his head in a majestic flower array like an exit wound poking out from the prow of a battleship.
Two were the wide, flat horns of a water buffalo, arcing out before coming to twin forward points. Two were thick, tractor-tire-sized spirals of the ram. Two were the twisting, corkscrew bloodletters of a desert antelope. The biggest pair were the licorice-coloured antlers of an elk, their many tips filed to points.
And there, in the center of his forehead, was the ninth. A unicorn horn of pure dark magic inlaid with the captured soul of a feral priest.
Kartilk’s head was very, very heavy. His neck started just below his ears and went in a straight line out to his massive shoulders. All of the succubae wanted him.
But he only had eyes for one.
Jezehela.
Even here in Hell, love blossomed. It was the love that lightning has for the ground, the love that a pedophile has for children, the love that wolves have for the crippled, young, and weak. It was a love steeped in centuries of abuse and torture. It was a love baked by the heat of breaths begging for mercy from mouths stuffed with coals. It was a love dyed in the blood of the impure.
But it was love. And Kartilk and Jezehela’s centennial anniversary was coming up.
Jezehela’s soul-catcher trident was left over from the original War. Rumour had it that it was used by the archangel himself. Stolen from Heaven’s warchest and put to use in the Underworld. It was an affront to Upstairs.
It shone with the purity of fresh-polished gold. It was encrusted with the twelve jewels of deceit, each carrying a drop of blood from the first twelve Adams. The handholds had been custom-molded for all four of Jezehela’s large, taloned hands.
Kartilk was looking forward to the look on her face when he presented her with his gift.
They’d spent too much time with each other over the last century and their soul quota had fallen behind. They had no wealth left with which to buy a gift for each other.
That’s why Kartilk had sold his horns. In exchange, he’d had a chip of the unicorn horn inset into the piece de resistance. It was a Dark Opal. There were only seven in all of Hell and the other six were in the belly of the Lethe Serpent. It was very rare.
It would look perfect inset into the base of the middle tine of Jezehela’s trident.
The walk back from the hornsmith had been a long one. People didn’t recognize his small head and when they did, they gasped in astonishment and then open laughter. The nine black circles dotting his head where the horns had once been made his head look a soccer ball.
He met her on the banks of the Styx where they’d met a century before, getting their weekly boatload of souls from Chiron the ferry man.
Her eyes met his and her face froze. She looked at the stumps where his horns had been with a darting, wide-eyed uncertainty.
She held out her quivering hands. There, in the chalice formed by her four claws, were dozens of enchanted horntips, custom-made to fit the tips of his horns and enchanted to give him power. They were priceless beyond measure.
She’d sold her trident to get them.
He showed her the jewel.
They both laughed. It was the best anniversary ever.
tags