Where Gods Dare Not Tread

Daylight reached through the lush canopy above Lorn and the maiden as they walked through the wood. Neither spoke -- there was no need to. She knew where he was taking her, and both knew neither of them had any choice in the matter.

The demon. Malfakar.The pact a long dead king had made kept the kingdom and its people safe. Nothing came without a price, and for the kingdom’s security what price was too high? For centuries, one king after another had answered that question easily: No price.

We shall see, thought Lorn.We shall see.The demon lusted for the noble blood of young maidens. Required it. Let us see how you tolerate different fare, demon. Lorn put his hand on his sword, and his other on his dagger, as if to reassure himself they were still there.

He looked back at the maiden. Her eyes were hidden behind dark hair. The beauty of her gown rivaled the wood. Such a shame, he thought. A whole life ahead she shall never have. His own daughter had wed at her age.

“Not much farther,” he said to her. She looked up at him, then returned her gaze to the ground in front of her. Of course. Would she find the short distance before them a comfort? Did she desire rest? Soon, she would rest forever. With Malfakar.

She must wish there were a thousand leagues before us,he thought. But there was now less than a mile.

The demon was ancient, summoned from the depths long ago. It had a thirst -- an insatiable thirst. If the demon’s thirst was not quenched, the pact which kept the kingdom safe would be broken, and Malfakar and his legions would quench their thirst upon all the people of the kingdom. So the king had everyone believe…

The kingdom -- or the king?Was there any difference?

******

The shade of the grove was cool. At the center were the standing stones: familiar, well-worn by wind and time. Stained rusty brown with blood. Maiden’s blood . How many, Lorn could not say. Too many just in his own lifetime. She was the fifth it had fallen to him to bring here.

The maiden would sacrifice her life, but each time Lorn came here he sacrificed a part of his soul. A part of his essence. How much of him was there left? How many more times would it fall to him to bring a young woman to this place? This place the gods forsook. A place even the gods dared not tread.

The gods. Where were they, those holy ones, in all this?

Lorn cursed himself. He was as much at fault for this as the king, far away in the safety and luxury of his palace. The king, with his pale white hands, soft and free from the calluses and scars which decorated Lorn’s -- but every bit as blood-stained as his own. Every bit as much as the demon’s. More, perhaps…

I cannot let this go on. But I must. There is no choice in it.

The stench filled his nostrils all of a sudden. It stank of blood and bile, sulfur and burnt flesh. Faint moans and screams greeted his ears. The maiden turned as if to run, but then thought better of it. After all, where was there to run to? Lorn grabbed her arm anyway.

“It will all be over very soon,” he said.

“I know,” replied she. It was the first time she had spoken to him. Her voice was an echo of his daughter’s.

“Here at last, my old friend,” said the demon, stepping suddenly out from behind the largest of the standing stones. Malfakar looked like a man, almost. Gray-white skin, taut, revealing angles of sharp bones beneath. Hollow pits for eyes, glints of purple irises flickering now and then. For a garment, it wore a stark robe, its hem frayed and stained. “My thirst is great, indeed, my friend.”

“I am not your friend,” Lorn snapped.

“As you please,” said Malfakar with a mocking bow. “Now, leave me the maiden and scamper back to your king, like the dog you are.” The demon laughed and moved towards the girl.

Before the demon got within reach of the girl, Lorn drew his sword, a simple blade, yet well-polished and sharp enough to behead an ox in a single blow.

“I cannot let you,” said Lorn. “Not this time. Not again.” He spoke just above a whisper. His voice had almost deserted him as he locked his gaze with the demon’s. “Never again, so long as I draw breath.”

“ Let me?” snarled the demon. It laughed. “Don’t be a fool, my friend. Serve your king. Do your duty. Go back to your city, and I shall see you again when the time comes.”

“Piss on the king. Piss on duty.” Lorn readied his sword and put himself between the maiden and the demon.

For a moment the demon stared at him. A sharp flicker of purple lightning flashed in its black eyes.

“Go. NOW,” the demon said with a calm which chilled Lorn’s soul. “Go now, and I shall forget this insolence. You know that blade can do me little harm.”

“Little harm, yes,” said Lorn. Maybe a little harm will be enough… He felt a small hand squeeze his mailed arm.

“Thank you, sir,” the maiden said to him. She looked him in the eyes. Her eyes were soft, warm, full of tears. “Thank you, but you know you can do no good here. You will only make it worse -- and not only for ourselves. The kingdom. Think of the kingdom. I have a duty as much as you do. I was chosen.”

“Who is all this for?” asked Lorn, “The kingdom, or the king?”

“It makes little difference,” she replied.

“Fool. Listen to the girl. She speaks sense,” said Malfakar.

Lorn turned back to face Malfakar.

“A good king would never have made a pact with the likes of you. A brave king would have broken it, and a decent man would take no part in it, whatever the consequences.”

Malfakar laughed. “Decent man? So, is that what you fancy yourself friend? After all you have done to serve your king?”

“No,” replied Lorn. “But I can still do a decent thing, even after all I’ve done.”

“Don’t!” the girl screamed. “Don’t! He’ll just kill you too!”

He lunged at the demon, thrusting his sword at its chest. The demon reached out, its black claws tearing through Lorn’s mail like a dagger through parchment. Blood poured from his chest, tattered to ribbons. Lorn fell to his knees, and Malfakar pushed him onto his back, straddling him.

“Fool,” it said. “The pact stands, and I shall have the girl. Your sacrifice gains her nothing, but loses you everything.”

The demon yanked the sword from Lorn’s hand by the blade. Black blood trickled from between its fingers. Taking the hilt in its other hand, Malfakar snapped the sword in two like a child might snap a twig and flung it away.

“You shall lose more than your life this day, my friend,” Malfakar said, its tone mocking. It grabbed him by the neck and drew its face nose to nose with him, smiling. “You shall lose your very soul.”

“My soul,” Lorn said with a laugh. “That I’ve already lost, long ago.”

In one swift motion, he drew his dagger and thrust it up, right into the demon’s neck. Shocked, the demon released him and grasped at its throat as it stumbled backwards. The demon took two or three steps and then fell to the ground.

Lorn forced himself up, and strode towards Malfakar, despite the pain. He clutched his chest, wincing with each step. He let himself fall on top of the demon.

“Coward,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “It’s a maiden’s blood you have a thirst for, is it? How about a warrior’s blood for a change?”

The demon’s eyes widened as Lorn pulled the dagger from its neck and drew it across his own throat. He thrust his neck into the demon’s jaws and hugged him as tight as he could. The demon struggled, but it was weakened enough for Lorn to keep his grip on it. As Lorn’s blood trickled down its throat, it screamed, then squealed. It coughed and gurgled and kicked up dirt, but it did no good.

Lorn smelled sulfur and burnt flesh. He saw a gate of fire open beneath them as Malfakar’s flesh began to wither, its bones began to crack. Its eyes flashed purple lightning, glowed purple fire. Malfakar let out a sharp shriek, and the fire in his eyes flickered out. His body went limp.

As Lorn and the demon slipped through the gate, he looked back. The last thing he saw of the world of kings and duty was the young maiden on her knees, tears in her eyes.

A decent thing, he thought. He wondered if one decent act could make up for all his past wrongs, for all the other maidens -- if one last decent act could make him a decent man.

THE END

Bio: Jared Buck grew up in Massachusetts. He’s always enjoyed reading all kinds of stories, but especially speculative fiction of all types (the stranger the better). He’s spent most of the last dozen or so years living and working abroad. He currently lives in China. His previous story, “The Prisoners,” appeared in the October 2023 issue of Aphelion.

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