Hell's Songbird - 10

Ilya’s silvery song shivers with awful notes when we reappear above the next tower, and her rage erupts. A piercing hurricane slices down the staircase before dust clouds spray from every opening, carrying bone and shattered metal. The building sings like an off-key flute, a shrill deafening sound that stirs the grim music of the undead to life. Their chorus is louder than the last one we’d tackled, signalling the denser groupings here.

[Combat Summary:

Skeletons: 52 (x50%)

Total experience gained: 3,900

Erinys: +1,950

Glinnel: +1,950 ]

I’d done nothing but listen to her spell’s song, but the message chimes before anything more arrives. The very thought of trying to sing the chords invoked has me wary of what damage I’d do to myself. Yet, despite the rage and pain in Ilya’s song, the wind’s music had been clean.

The clatter of feet draws my attention towards the curved lines of the promenade below, and through the dust, I see skeletons. Stumbling forth from buildings all along the street, they don’t hesitate in their course towards the tower.

“Lots of things are stirring, easily as far as the outer circle of this loop. I think you attracted attention from close to the last tower,” I say, and a moment of focus has my bow in hand.

“In that case, hitting every second is all we’ll need if I make enough noise to start.”

Trying not to snicker at her words messes up my release. My first arrow skips along a building’s side instead of taking out a skeleton stepping into the street. A spray of cracking stones causes a reaction from the trees’ lively notes, but I focus on the undead’s grim music instead. The mingling with the city’s music are ‌opposites, so much plant life contrasting to the ravenous void that sings through the undead.

My bow’s music shivers through a strange skipping beat alternating between the notes of the living and the dead. An arrow aimed at a skeleton’s foot the moment it shifts its weight is faster than it can step, and a sharp crack sounds out—leg and flagstone, both broken by the impact. When a new arrow forms within my fingers, it’s a strange song that thrums through me; despite the Power’s name, its music is so different from mine. I’ve barely started the draw, and Ilya grabs my wrist.

“Don’t jerk your fingers open. The release needs to be repeatable with minimal effort. You’re drawing the arrow right, now relax your fingers and let the string slip away.”

When I nod, she motions to the street below and I fumble the draw, immediately earning a jab with the end of Ilya’s bow. “Stop poking me.”

“Get in the right position, and I’ll be gentle on your delicate hide.”

“That’s what he said,” I mutter.

Ilya’s growling music sets me laughing until her tone gains a dangerous edge, and I swallow the next outburst. With my laughter still trying to escape, I snort and focus on my posture to try and still it. Regardless, I earn more taps and a few whacks before she’s content. The crawling skeleton hasn’t travelled far, but more undead are filling the gaps between trees.

“That’s right, finally. Now, don’t raise or lower your arm; tilt from the hips and focus on one target at a time,” says Ilya. “I don’t want to see you rushing; speed will come with practice. Focus on good habits until they become a reflex.”

The next arrow strikes true, removing the crawling skeleton’s head in an explosion of bone, but its missing leg had it barely moving at full crawling speed.

When the first of those approaching reach the tower’s base, Ilya casts something different. The silvery notes swirl into life but keep singing out instead of fading like the other ones she used.

A glance at Ilya makes me frown, and she jabs her bow’s end into my side. “I didn’t say stop; it’s just a Wind Wall at the tower’s door. They’ll likely try to climb the sides, so keep destroying them.”

More of Ilya’s razor-sharp gusts slice through branches, exposing the pathways between the trees but creating a littered obstacle course for the undead. The bottlenecks between fallen trees slow the undead, and the blazing light of my arrows shred bone. Those that tire of waiting to get through make themselves clear targets by climbing up on fallen trunks.

“How many am I supposed to kill?”

She waves towards the crowded streets, and I hear her restrained laughter. “Pretty sure they’re already dead, but everyone you see. Isn’t target practise fun?”

“You’re still getting energy from this, aren’t you?”

“I’ll get some sure, but it will hardly be a rush,” Ilya retorts playfully before her tone dries. “I’ve told you wiping out this city solo wouldn’t help me much. However, even half of that will mean a lot to you, and I am contributing. Or do you think I shouldn’t get a share?”

A miss on my next target earns me a hard poke with her bow. Using the tempo of their grim music, I pace my draw and let the string slip across my fingertips. The arrow’s burning arc goes through one skeleton’s head and shatters another’s spine.

“Do it again, or that’s a fluke,” proclaims Ilya.

“Meanie.”

“Stop making those stupid noises and do it again. You’re starting to get consistent with your releases.”

By the time the last skeleton falls, the sun is well past noon, and a natural wind whistling through the tower plays a lament for those long dead.

[Combat Summary:

Skeletons: 1,265 (x50%)

Total experience gained: 94,875

Erinys: +23,718

Erinys Level Up!

Archer: +23,718

Archer Level Up! x3

Fighter: +23,718

Fighter Level Up! x3

Priest: +23,718

Priest Level Up! x2

Soul Bow [Ap](2 -> 10)

Snipe (1->10)

Perception (13->18)

Recurve Bow [Ap](20) -> [J](1)]

At the notification, Ilya’s attention focuses on her wrist bracer, and it sings with the music I’d heard from mine. “That makes no sense.”

“What?”

“There was nothing special about those skeletons, but I felt a rush from increasing Erinys and Wizard.”

Though puzzled by how shocked she is, I give a cheer. “Congratulations!”

“That Profile thing you said you can see. What level do you have now?”

“Level 10 Erinys, 7 in Archer, Fighter, and Priest, but Spell Singer didn’t progress.”

Ilya blinks slowly, and her orchestra sounds suddenly soften, and I wait her out. “A least you didn’t ‌give the other name, but it makes no sense.”

“What?”

“You’re gaining levels too quickly. There is no way under two thousand skeletons could provide enough to increase your levels so fast; you’re gaining levels at a Mortal’s pace. I shouldn’t have gained a level in Erinys and Wizard.”

“Maybe we’ve been lucky, and they were extra strong skeletons?”

“No, they weren’t,” Ilya’s tone is sharp, and she holds up a hand to still the objection on my lips. “I destroyed far more skeletons in another city here and barely levelled back then. I’ve never heard of your ‘Profile’ or ‘Experience’ that you’ve mentioned, so, until it’s proven otherwise, I’ll assume the cause is you. You’re even more of a target than I thought.”

Swallowing nervously at the strain in her song, I blurt out the first question that comes to mind. “What do you mean?”

The words twist her music into knots of confusion and concern.

“I figured out why I didn’t want to kill you like all the other devils I’ve seen. I’ve seen the disorientation in your gaze in others, but that confusion spiked a killing rage you still don’t have. When I pushed you around, twisted your ear, and even stabbed you, it didn’t earn an ounce of hate from you.”

“I’m way over my head, but I’m not in Hell. Your training isn’t pleasant, but my wounds heal fast. Were you mean just to test me?”

Ilya doesn’t even frown at my rush of words but stores her bow. “If I say yes?”

An undertone of sneaky notes in her music grabs my attention, and I can’t help but smile. “I get to hear what lying sounds like in your music. You were lying just then, weren’t you? Your music sounded like you had a hand in the cookie jar.”

“You say things like you are trying to make sense, but your words become nonsense noise. Like the look in your eyes, confused instead of angry or hateful, and while you’re frequently odd, I’ve caught sadness. Given all the other oddities about you and whatever this ability is that lets you and me level too fast, you’ve got a bigger target on your back than I thought,” declares Ilya, her music roiling with sharp, stressful notes.

“Why do you say that?”

“Name one Devil that doesn’t want to increase their power faster, and I’ll call you a liar. If the hierarchy catches word of this, you’ll find yourself permanently joined with one at the hip. Don’t think your oddities won’t go unnoticed.”

“What do we do?”

Ilya’s shoulders slumping isn’t the response I was looking for, and she shakes her head. “I don’t know. We’ll have to figure something out.”

“Already we?”

Her music jumps skittishly about, but her expression gives nothing away. “If they ask when I noticed something off...”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re going to drag me back there.”

My observation doesn’t even get a rise out of Ilya’s song. “We both have something to gain and everything to lose. I know what will happen to you if you tell anyone about this ability. So let me ask you, do you think it will end well for you? You’d end up in a gilded cage, regardless of which Arch Devil gains control of you.”

The firmness in her song makes it clear the answer she expects, and the attitude of the other devils whose songs I’d heard was clear enough. “No.”

“Then, since neither of us wants to be in Hell, I propose an alliance,” says Ilya. “I’ve been in Hell for millennia now; being on patrol is the closest I’ve come to freedom. You’ve got more weirdness going on than I’ve ever seen, but you also don’t belong there.”

“What happens if things go wrong?”

“Then I’ll hope I can destroy myself before they take even that option away.”

The grim, fatalistic music that comes from her doesn’t require any explanation. With the memory of the river Dis scratching at the back of my mind, ending everything makes complete sense.

“What do we do first?” I ask, no longer questioning her use of the plural.

Ilya’s bow reappears in her hand. “You aim for whatever my arrows hit. Worry about your form more than your speed. We need to push your skills higher.”

Her draw and release are a single motion, and a burning arrow’s arc cuts across the afternoon sky. Fortunately, her arrow’s strike leaves the stone spike jutting from the building blackened, making it easy to spot despite being almost a hundred metres away.

“This is going to be a long afternoon, isn’t it?”

“Especially if you stand there talking without even an arrow notched.”

I don’t fumble the draw, but the arrow blazes past too low, and Ilya’s hand suddenly contains a dagger. “Do you need encouragement?”

The next hits, and Ilya’s dagger disappears only long enough for another target to be marked by a blazing arrow.

“Remember, establish good habits. Don’t rush,” prompts Ilya.

My fourth arrow hits, and Mr Message signals his approval.

[Recurve Bow [J](1->2)]

The next target is another stone spike, half again further out, but this time on the building’s outer curve, making it even harder to judge the range. Before the afternoon sun fades, Mr Message has repeatedly chimed. Ilya is picking targets up to a kilometre out, and all the wounds inflicted during the lesson have healed.

When night fell, new and ravenous music stirred within the city, the first hint of flitting shadows has Ilya signal us to leave.

An intermingling of music fought momentarily within Ilya before one won out. “We need to get you into Adept rank with all your weapons for the levels you’ve gained. Though we can handle that anywhere, we’ll spend another night training before we move on. Tomorrow I’ll take you to some key locations along the routes demonic armies ‌use. We can use scenery as target practice during those outings, train you with blades, and educate you while here.”

“Where do we start then?”

“With a bit of Planar Lore. Many beings refer to the planes as the Great Wheel. While it’s a crooked wheel if it is one, it’s composed of three primary regions. The hub is the Outlands which is supposedly infinite. It contains gates connecting it to every world, as well as connections to inner and outer planes. However, even if you find the Gate you want, passage requires meeting some conditions.”

“Like this world being just undead, is that why we’re allowed to come here?”

Waving a warning finger, Ilya is quick to correct me. “Mostly undead; after all, I’ve heard bird and animal calls. Worlds with civilisations below a certain point seem unrestricted. The inner section of the wheel area the elemental planes. There are six main ones-”

“But aren’t there only four elements?”

My interruption earns me a flat stare and an unimpressed snort. “What do you think those are?”

“Earth, Water, Air, and Fire,” I offer and get a half-smile from Ilya.

“Those are four of the six; negative and positive are the other two. The rest of the planes are regions where the forces between those six elements interact. Depending on the interaction, we refer to these as para or quasi elemental planes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Unlike outer planes, which are frequently infinite, the elemental planes, while massive, have known boundaries. At the boundary regions, one plane's energy transitions into the next, but the transition is a mingling of energies. The para-elemental term should only refer to mingling between the base elemental energies of Fire, Earth, Air, and Water; the opposites can’t mingle. Wizards use the term quasi when the elemental region interacts with the positive or negative planes.”

[Planar Lore  [B](6->8)]

“I think I get it,”

“Different cultures refer to the mingling regions by different names,” Ilya admits before adding a shrug. “Erinys don’t normally have much to do with the elemental planes, but we need to be aware of them to understand how to fight some foes. Simple rule: if something seems focused around one energy type, the opposing one will normally injure them.”

“Where do they normally send us?”

“Within the Hierarchy of Sin, we’ve got three, hmm no, four, roles: messengers, scouts, aerial support and breeders.”

“Messenger isn’t just working the mail room, I take it,” I offer, guessing from the lack of bile in her tone for all except the last role.

[Infernal Lore [B](6->7)]

“No! Lucky us, the Erinys are the only devils allowed on the Material Plane unsummoned, provided we’re delivering contracts. Though we’re supposed to deliver contracts between Hell and mortals directly, we can sometimes get away with loitering, especially if you can trick the recipient of the contract.”

“What are we doing tonight?”

“Blade work. Ready?”

Looking down for my dagger triggers her motion. Her blade is through my armour and buried in my guts in an eye-blink. I scramble for a grip, hardened leather greaves slip away under my fingertips, but she slips away too quickly for me.

“Never take your eyes from your opponent unless you know they are dead. Now again.”

The warm rush of blood from her yanking her blade free coats my pants and pools inside the armour. “I thought you didn’t want us to practice in armour to save repairs?”

“The armour will repair itself within limits,” Ilya says with a smile. “I’d been trying to embarrass you to get you angry.”

“Really? Or did you want to get an eyeful of skin?”

The striking, heated notes my question receives almost prompt an eye roll, but I ‌focus on her. Drawing both daggers, I at least get into the guard properly, but must keep turning while she prowls around me. “Like that, is it?”

It’s a long night, and only one Mr Message seems impressed by it. He chimes happily away about various improvements, but usually for Improved Regeneration and Short Blades—mostly the former. Eventually, Ilya lets me rest, more to allow the armour time to repair itself and me to scrub it clean than as respite for me.

Laying out the armour to dry, I hear the heated notes in her music again and debate bringing them up.

“I was supposed to be getting married.”

The words cause a jangling sound within her but also kill the heated music like a block of ice dropped into a fire. Hissing and coughing, the song within her shifts but settles quickly. The cuts and stabs in the armour are long sealed, but I trace my fingers over where they’d landed while I wait for her to settle. There is no longer true silence, even the ground beneath me sings out its story into the night. Will it be that way everywhere now?

She clears her throat and speaks up only after the silence has grown uncomfortable for her. “My mother wanted to arrange a marriage for me.”

The thought of mum expecting me to let her pick a husband has me snickering. “No, David and I were getting married because we wanted to. Some groups still did things that way where I came from, but not among our families.”

Memories of cuddling together seem so far away, the inferno of the Dis a barrier between this existence and my old life. I can’t even tell how long I was in there, and thinking about it has the molten song searing its way through my flesh. Its grim pressure grinds against my bones and has me swaying in time to its remembered beat.

“You wanted to marry him?”

Ilya’s question hides surprise and regret, but neither relates to my loss. Her music snaps me back into the moment, and I try to cling to the shifting musical sands of her emotions. They run and skip away, evading my mental grip, sand-like through my fingers, impossible to hold on to—though I get a vote of approval for my attempt.

[Resonance [Ap](23->24)]

The sudden piercing notes, carrying heated desire and hollow loneliness, are still enough to paint a picture of her interest. Her cravings stir my memories of David and hollows my chest with a sudden thump of a collapsing bonfire.

A surge of pain leaves the taste of searing ashes gagging me. It’s a faint echo of the pain the river Dis had put me through, clawing its way up, digging through the ashen pain to wrap its hands around my throat. Choking back the leaden sensation, I let the music of the surrounding plants battle it with life. When I sway and nearly drop, Ilya reaches out, but I wave her and her question away.

“That river… can we talk about something else? Ask me more questions about the night’s lessons or anything?”

“Dis?”

My nod draws a grimace, and Ilya tilts her head back to watch the pre-dawn sky. “I told you I had to drag myself from the lake’s depths. Time loses all meaning within the agony inflicted by its waters.”

She stays quiet while I pull on the still wet armour, not liking the vulnerability of being naked at present.

“We need to get you to practise with Planar Shift, but it will be risky. Until you get some practice with it, you can end up anywhere unshielded from its effect, including in the middle of foes. Normally it’s within 500 kilometres of your target, but if you mess up, you can be a long way off,” offers Ilya quietly.

“What’s your suggestion?”

“I’ll handle shifting us to the key locations on other planes. Then we’ll shift back to the Portal to Hell; aim your arrival point for the mountain’s peak. The wards will recognise your nature and let you through, so no ward stone to worry about in that respect.”

The memory of the peak’s cold, with its chill air and the grim, steady music of Hades around me, stills the remembered pain. “The only risk I take is ending too close to an assault on the outer wall?”

“Exactly, which is why you should aim for the peak. You should still be within the walls unless you get incredibly unlucky.”

“You had to say that, didn’t you,” I grumble and get a brief look of confusion from Ilya. A gesture towards my medallion’s cord draws a sudden burst of laughter.

“Listen to my surface thoughts when we arrive. I don’t know why I can’t speak into yours, but we don’t want to broadcast our presence with unnecessary noise.”

Ilya’s bow appears in her hand, and when I copy her, the surrounding plants vanish. The music of her Power quickly fades as I take in our new surroundings. Cruelly-edged notes bite and scramble across my mind, pitched like nails scratching at an old-school blackboard, a brutal distraction from the new vista stretching before me.

We’re on rocky, ice-covered ground emitting a dull red glow that is a mockery of warmth, even if it produces any, it doesn’t make it through the ice. As quickly as I look around, the moisture left on my armour has frozen and flaked away. Thousands of kilometres away, the closest floating ‌planetoid would have been invisible to me when human. Now, I can see it glowing with the same red hue and beyond it, another, and another, endlessly until I can’t make out more.

Ilya points to herself, and I try to focus on listening to her thoughts. “We’re on Agathys, the sixth layer of Tartus, though some scholars call it Carceri—the Plane that is, not this layer. It’s the deepest known layer, and some of its planetoids hold gates to frozen locations within the Abyss.”

[Telepathy [Ap](4->5)

The contact linking our minds carries her words to me along with an image of a string of balls spiralling through an empty void. Their similarity to the vaginal beads Sarah gave me last Christmas almost earns a laugh, but the music about me kills the humour.

After scanning the horizon, Ilya motions towards a distant mountain range. “The closest Gate should be beyond those peaks. Demonic factions maintain an active staging post there and rent out their services to other groups. We can sometimes catch an increase in activity there to warn us of a new expedition.”

“Where does the Gate lead?”

“A Plane called Hrz’Styrn, controlled by the same factions that run the staging post. They’ve got a fixed Portal near the Gate that lets them move troops to Porphatys. I won’t show you that layer yet—it’s filled with mountainous planetoids that sit closer together than here, each covered in acid clouds—their rain would eat your issued armour before it flayed your skin.”

“Then why do they move troops there?”

“The standard demonic troops that use this route don’t have an issue with the acid. They use it to access another Gate that lets them cross into a lower layer of Hades. After that, they progress upwards through the layers of Hades.”

“If you know about points like these, why don’t you break them? And what, the inhabitants of Hades just let them wander through?”

My questions have Ilya snorting before she gives into the humour bubbling away inside her. Only when her laughter settles that she gives me a wry smile. “Oh, Isa. There are battlefields around the biggest gates that have been ongoing for millions of years. They don’t just wander through. The forces that make it to Hell’s Gate are the minority of attackers that avoided the bigger battles.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, Oh,” snorts Ilya. “The Blood Wars between Hell and the Abyss involve trillions of combatants. Some of the largest battlefields in Hades have billions involved in the fighting.”

Her mind shows an image of a blood-soaked battlefield on the slopes of an active volcano larger than Australia, its billowing smoke licking at the crimson sky. Across the vast expanse, piled mounds of dead feed the thorns and bristles that grow on the fields of carnage. Her offered memory shows her endlessly picking off targets attempting to flank ordered lines of the green, spiked-hide devils wielding hooked bardiches.

“Now pay attention here. We’ll have to be careful approaching the Gate if you’re spotted immediately. Teleport back here, and we’ll re-plan our approach. The closer you get, the more sentries we’ll have to avoid; the risk of getting attacked might help you pay attention to being sneaky.”

Her statement has me scratching my head, and with no idea how to proceed, I wave at my wings. “How can I sneak with these on my back?”

“You need to learn to manage, not complain.”