And so I bound a daemon to honesty, and asked it a question, hoping to catch it without its schemes. "Daemon," I said, "what are your goals here on earth? Why do you make deals with me? What does the cursed Morningstar want out of the future?" It seemed then to sigh, and to compose itself, and declined to answer, but I pressed, and bound to answer one question, it replied as such: "Human, our goals are your goals in that we wish for the betterment of the human race. Are you satisfied?" I said that I was not, and that it's answer was no answer at all so, bound as it was, the daemon said "Mortals die. Those that go above live in bliss, but perfect bliss is not compatible with free will, and ambition needs free will to work. Without ambition, what innovation is there? What creation? Those who go to my place when they die though, get no bliss, and so, they innovate and create, and we daemons grow stronger, while angels above remain the same and perhaps, one day, we might hope to challenge them." When I heard this, I feel that my face lost its color, and I despaired, for I could think of no way which we might grow strong enough to avert our fate without strengthening those damned creatures in the same breath. In that moment, I gave in to my despair. What use is there fighting against a fate unable to be averted? Is it not better to throw in your lot with those fated to be the victor and in so doing, perhaps to give yourself a brighter future than you might otherwise see though you must unbend your pride and beg for scraps? Weeping, I turned to the daemon, and said, "Daemon, your plans are filled with terrible purpose, and I see no avenue to a bright future and so, despairing, must throw myself upon your mercy. What do you require of your wicked and faithless servant?" And hearing my words, a terrible look came over the daemon's fair face and it said to me, "John the so-called Baptist, you are to teach others what you know about daemonology, and the method by which we may be summoned and contracted with, for such knowledge has long been hidden, and it is time for legends to return."
-Excerpt from the Deathbed Confessions, the Heretic Apostle, unnamed by order of the holy inquisition
Anna is woken by the sound of distant screams. At first, as she claws her way to bleary consciousness, she thinks its jeering. Some kind of twisted crowd mocking… something or other. Then she realizes, not jeering but cheering.
"Elsa?" She groans, glancing at the clock. She has to move a pair of panties to get to the digital display. There is no reply. Anna looks around quickly. A small, folded note sits conspicuously in the center of one of her crudely painted summoning circles. She retrieves it quickly, and almost tears it in her haste to open it.
"Anna," the writing is well practiced calligraphy, the letters cleanly formed crimson. "Though I want nothing more than to be there when you wake, work calls, and I must leave you. Tonight was wonderful, and if the offer of another date still stands, please call me. Love, Elsa-" Anna scowles and turns the letter over, but the back is blank. She sighs. Her phone chimes. She glances at it, and is surprised to see dozens of missed messages.
"ANNA," the most recent reads, "turn on the news, freaking now!" it's from her cousin. Anna scrolls quickly through them, but they're all variants of the same. Anna flips on the television numbly- it's something to focus on other than the conspicuous absence of Elsa.
"...completely gone," the news anchor is saying. Anna checks the channel- cartoons. Why is a cartoon channel running a news story? "The federal government recommends that all previously infected individuals go in to their nearest clinic for emergency bloodwork. So far, some twelve thousand infected individuals have been tested, and all have come up negative. Truly it is a joyous day for the human race; it appears that the HIV AIDS virus has disappeared completely overnight. Jenna, I believe you have an interview with a spokesman for the Golgotha Corporation?" The view switches to a buxom young woman in a tastefully upholstered office. A man sits across from her, distinguished salt-and-pepper hair and a cheery white suit. Anna watches dumbfounded.
"Of course Jeff," the woman says brightly. "Mister Johnson, do you have anything to say on the matter?"
"Thank you Jenna," the man replies. "The Golgotha Corporation denies any responsibility for the eradication of the HIV virus. We at the Golgotha Corporation are, of course, delighted that yet another terrible disease exists only in the shadows of history, but according to our records, no certified daemonologist has summoned anything with the amount of power it would take to do such a thing at any time within the last seventy-two hours. While the Golgotha Corporation cannot condone any unsanctioned daemonology, we are forced to recognize the selflessness of whomever contracted a daemon to remove the disease outright. We believe that the individual was not, himself, infected, or else he would likely have bargained only for a personal cure, though we cannot say with any certainty given the available information. We at the Golgotha Corporation again feel the need to stress that we do not in any way condone rogue daemonologists, and, despite the obvious nobility of the action, request that others do not attempt the same. Daemons are very dangerous, and it is all too easy for seemingly minor concessions to end in catastrophe. We at the Golgotha Corporation, of course, dedicate enormous resources to the eradication of infectious diseases, and wish to remind the public that interactions with daemons are best left to trained professionals."
"Well said," the woman says. "I'm sure we all share that sentiment. Do you have any information as to which daemon might have been called?"
"We believe that nothing less than a greater daemon would have access to the required amount of power," the man replies. "More probably, we think it was a daemon baron or above; we think it's unlikely that a greater daemon would be willing to use such a high percentage of their power on any single request. We have machines scattered about the globe to detect the thaumaturgic surge whenever a daemon prince is summoned though, and none of those have registered anything of the appropriate magnitude. Of course, it is possible that there was a malfunction, but it is the opinion of the Golgotha Corporation that the daemon summoned was most probably a daemon baron, probably under ambition. The Golgotha Corporation would like to stress that daemons affiliated with ambition are widely considered to be the most dangerous, and would like to remind the rogue daemonologist that there are many regulations targeted specifically at daemons under ambition, and that those regulations exist for a number of very good reasons."
Anna turns off the television and moves to the window. There are people in the streets, milling about with little regard for traffic. Near the intersection, a car idles, occasionally honking its horn with a sort of mournful resignation. There's a knock at the door.
Anna answers without glancing through the peephole. She doesn't immediately recognize the couple standing there- her next door neighbors maybe?
"Howdy neighbor," the say. "Just wanted to wish you a happy day," one continues. Anna blinks.
"So, we made cookies," the other says, holding out a foil packet proudly. "We're giving them to everyone in the building."
"Thanks," Anna smiles blearily. "You have a nice day too." She accepts the gift, goes to close the door, but before she does, there's Kristoff's disheveled blond hair bobbing up the stairs, then the rest of him. "Kristoff!" Anna greets, and waves him inside. She smiles at her neighbors as she closes the door.
"Tell me you didn't do it," Kristoff demands the moment he hears the latch click.
"Didn't do what?" Anna frowns. She notices his hands clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing over and over.
"Did you make the contract," Kristoff demands.
"For… AIDS?" Anna frowns. "Um, no? I didn't even think of it much, to be honest. Before, I mean. Why?"
"Because they're saying it was a daemon baron under ambition," Kristoff sighs. "Anna, isn't yours a daemon baron under ambition?"
"There's six of them, aren't there?" Anna shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe it was my daemon, but… I'm sure loads of people contract with it."
"I'm sure they do," Kristoff huffs. "I want to know if you did."
"For the AIDS cure?" Anna asks. "I already told you I didn't."
"And you didn't say anything that it could construe that way?" Kristoff cocks his brow.
"Nothin I can think of," Anna drops heavily into the couch. It complains loudly. Anna frowns and reaches under herself, fishes out the other pair of panties. She wonders briefly what Elsa wore when she left?
"Just," Kristoff sighs. "Just be careful, all right? Like, don't summon it, don't… look there's this church I've been going to. You should think of coming."
"I…" Anna sighs. "Let's just not do this, all right? Not right now. Let's… I've got cookies." She gestures with the weighty foil packet. "Let's share them, put on something, just sit and watch movies like we used to. No… whatever this is."
"Alright," Kristoff sighs.
Elsa sighs and rubs her eyes. The ash is grey and endless around her, mountains looming behind her. The titanic air conditioning towers hum distantly, buried within the colorless shale of the mountainside. There's a road, a broad dark line in the ash, and an arch, great and ancient. She steps up, mounts a vast stage. "Ladies and gentlemen," she says. There's a small crowd gathered, milling nervously before the stage. Their restless hubbub dies down. "Ladies and gentlemen," she repeats. She's as close to her original appearance as she gets these days; porcelain face, white wings- dove white, someone had told her, so many years ago. She makes sure to keep the radiance down. "Welcome, welcome. I'm sorry to inform you, that you are dead. All of you."
"Are we in heaven?" One of the men asks hopefully.
"That would be a no mister Davis, you're in the other place," Elsa says. "You remember what you did twelve years three months ago?" He nods sheepishly, so Elsa continues, "I bet you do. If there won't be any more interruptions, welcome to Hell. You'll be here a while, so I recommend you get comfortable. I'm called Elsa. I'm a daemon baron under ambition, and I will be orienting you today. To preempt a few questions, no, there is no torture. No eternal suffering. It's awful hard to rule someone who has nothing to lose." She chuckles, just to make sure the crowd knows it's a joke. There are a few scattered laughs. "Yes, we usually leave orientation to the imps, but you'll be living in my part of hell- unless you decide to move, that is- so I figured, what the hell?" There are a few more laughs this time. "There we go," she smiles. "Loosening up a little. I don't really have a routine for this; usually leave it to the imps, like I said." She shrugs with her wings, and sits on the edge of the stage. It's a tactic she's used for millennium; it's worked then, and it works now- the crowd shuffles closer. "Let's not make this a formal thing, hmm? Who has questions?" Every hand goes up. "Yes? Mrs. Weatherbe?"
"Are my cats going to be alright?" The woman asks.
"They're cats," Elsa replies. "They'll be fine. Let's wait on the personal questions though, shall we? I'm sure everyone has concerns, but let's try to keep this orientation to things that affect everyone. You can ask your personal questions later, and you can contract with someone to fix some of it if you need. Alright. Lin?"
"It's not warm here?" She says it like a question. "I thought there would be fire… we're speaking English?"
"Tower of babble, sweetheart," Elsa smiles. "You humans used to all speak the same language. You do again now that you've croaked. As for the temperature… hellfire is bad for PR. Humans have known how to build air conditioning for a while now and humans die. Did you think the knowledge wouldn't leak down here? Before that even, humans innovate. In a place filled with fire and brimstone, did you think no one here would come up with a solution? Good questions Lin. Yes? Borja?" She was a doctor, worked on the sabbath. She never repented, because how could saving lives be wrong? Sure, there are some bad people in Hell, but most are like Lin.
"What do we do here?" The big Russian asks. "I mean…"
"You're fine," Elsa says. "Believe me, you're handling it better than some. You do whatever you want. We provide complimentary housing and electricity. You won't need food, so you don't really need to do anything. If you want anything beyond what we provide you, there are many jobs you can get. Many people choose to join the armies of Hell, once they hear our purpose, but that's a speech for later. If you need supernatural assistance, there is no shortage of daemons, and you're lucky enough to come from a culture that is already familiar with the concept of the contract. I function similarly to a mayor or maybe more like an eternal senator. No, you don't get to vote me out, but inasmuch as your concerns are affected by other jurisdictions, I try to represent you. If you think I'm doing a bad job, you can go to any other daemon baronies."
Some hours after the orientation, Elsa is back at the great basalt arch, wings folded gracefully behind her. Someone on Earth tries to summon her, but it's not Anna, so she refuses the call. It's probably someone with the Golgotha Corporation, she thinks. They've been trying to summon everyone all day. A polite cough interrupts the distracted wandering of her ancient mind.
The reaper stands stoically in front of her, voluminous black robes waving in an unfelt breeze. Elsa can't see under its hood; she's heard that only mortals can look upon the face of death, but she's always been curious. The reaper carries its scythe in the crook of one arm, and a peacefully slumbering babe in the other.
"Yes," Elsa sighs. "I thought so. It's sad…" Elsa sighs again.
The reaper tilts its hood as if to ask why- they don't speak, or if they do, never around Elsa.
"Because the child will never grow up," Elsa explains. "Won't ever learn to talk, won't ever be who it could have been."
The reaper inclines its head politely and Elsa wonders if it agrees. She holds out her arms, and the reaper passes over the child. It doesn't sting her arms the way that touching a baptized human might. The child wakes as she takes it, looks up curiously into her face. It looks like it's screwing up its face to cry, so Elsa lets her radiance show. The babe looks in wonder at the sourceless white light sheeting off of her. It smiles contentedly, reaches up. Elsa smiles back, and then it's tiny hand has caught hold of her hair, and the child is pulling. Hard. Elsa cries out, but she doesn't drop the child.
"I hate children," Elsa murmurs. The reaper turns to go. "Wait," Elsa calls. She grimaces as the child pulls again. "Will there be more for me?" The reaper shrugs, and then it's gone.
Ages ago, Elsa had asked a reaper who's side they would take if there were another war. It had only shaken its head, as if to say that they don't get involved. They hadn't fought in the last one, but Elsa isn't sure they properly existed before there were mortals to give them purpose.
Elsa sighs as the reaper leaves, and transports the baby to one of the titanic nurseries. There have been a great many unbaptized babies over the long eons. Some, their parents died soon after and claimed them gratefully. Others, their parents never came to Hell, or else, wanted nothing to do with their child.
AN: there was a very unkind review to the last chapter. Something to the effects of me needing therapy and being destined to burn in hellfire. Funny thing is, oh brave anonymous reviewer, it's a review not dissimilar to that one which inspired this story in the first place. Was there really any expected outcome other than an expedited next chapter? Anyway, follows and favorites are love. Reviews which are critical of my writing style/characters/plot/storytelling are greatly appreciated.
On the topic of reviews though, mad props to DarthVaderIsNotMe who leaves comments after each chapter; its very encouraging to get such consistent comments, and your criticism is always helpful. Yay! Celebration noise! Confetti pwoof! Ahem. See ya'll next chapter I guess...