[The Celestial Wars] Chapter 1.5

CHAPTER FIVE

Columbine left her quarters a few minutes later, walking comfortably on two legs. It had taken a little practice in the beginning, to find the central balance point without a tail, but she was determined to succeed. Now, with her mother’s careful tutelage, she could glide through the hallways in a bipedal, lady-like manner, without dipping her head or using her arms for balance. Quiet, calm, sophisticated, elegant. Her mother had been pleased with her progress.

“Well, now. Who do you suppose this ugly little insect we have before us is, brother?” The voice that spoke held a great deal of warmth for her, despite the cruel and condescending nature of his words.

Recognising the voice, Columbine closed her eyes and bowed her head, even before she turned and curtseyed; her hands hidden by the folds of her dress. Unlike her demonic form which would remain prone until otherwise directed, Columbine straightened up but kept her head bowed in subservience. She knew every one of her demon uncles by sight, scent and the sound of their voices, and where these two were concerned, one was never found without the other.

“I do not believe this waif to be of Hellion origin,” Yima said, agreeing as always with his older twin. “Observe the totally tasteless and restrictive nature of the bipedal flesh and fabric which it prefers to parade about in.”

“Not to mention that outrageous mane of hair,” Ahriman said.

“True,” Yima agreed again. “It deliberately wears its mane exposed like a wild animal and as no Highborn Hellion would ever conceive of wearing such an outrageous form, we can only assume we have a celestial spy in our midst.”

With her eyes still downcast, Columbine said nothing aloud, as was custom. She knew once they were finished with her, they would dismiss her with barely a pat on her shoulder and allow her to go on her way. Until then, protocol demanded she endure their teasing.

“Oh, for Hell’s sake. Leave that child alone you two,” Plouton’s deep rumbling voice commanded from somewhere in the distance ahead of Columbine.

The twins as one, released a frustrated huff of annoyance. “We were just having some fun, brother,” Ahriman griped, for Plouton was their senior by several millennia. “And with the form she has chosen, who could blame us?” Had he been younger, the twins would have chased Plouton away. But then, Plouton would not have interfered in the first place.

“Her choice of form is not a subject of debate, nor is the source of it. You will not mention it again in her presence. We never have fun at the expense of our ladies and you two know better. Now, be on your way—both of you.”

Without permission to lift her gaze, Columbine listened as the twins stormed away, her hands twisting in knots around the loose fabric of her dress skirt.

“How long has that been going on?” Plouton asked, once they were alone.

“They do not approve of my grounded bipedal form, Uncle Plouton.”

“That was not what I asked.”

“I have been attempting this form for several weeks.”

“And it has been going on all that time?”

Columbine pinched her lips together and bobbed her head once. It would do no good and go totally against custom to incriminate another uncle as the primary source of their demonic teasing, one which was beyond Plouton’s capacity to control due to that uncle’s seniority. Darnel was mean and answered to two specific demons—his older brother Uriel, and their father, Belial. It was from Darnel that the twins took their cues to torment her.

“Columbine,” he whispered, squatting to look her in the eye. “Look at me, child.”

Only then did she lift her eyes.

“I have spoken with your mother.” He paused for a moment. “What she has told me does not please me.”

Columbine closed her eyes and bowed her head again, until Plouton lifted her head by sliding a talon under her chin. “I realise having your father with us must be very confusing and exciting for you, but it is important that you restrain yourself to the laws that govern our ladies. It is what makes you unique in all the Known Realms and being unique is what makes you special. Do you understand?”

Columbine nodded, though in truth she didn’t.

Plouton seemed to guess as much.

“You will in time,” he chuckled, as he rose to his feet and gave her a gentle shove in no specific direction. “Until then, be on your way.”

Columbine stepped around her uncle with a bow, then turned and moved away.

As she rounded the corner, Columbine caught sight of her older sister in the distance. Cora leaned both her shoulders against the cavern wall, though her wings were spread across the surface to cradle her body comfortably. Her ankles and arms were crossed, and her left spiked heel twitched impatiently in mid-air. Long, sharp talons drummed against her elbow joints.

When she saw Columbine, the fire in her eyes flared and she flicked her wings to push herself upright on to her taloned toes. “About damned time,” she swore.

“Cora, what are you doing?” Columbine asked, quickly making for her sister’s side though her gaze searched the area in case an elder had heard her sister’s outburst. “If Mother or any of the others see you behaving so …”

“Oh, for Hell’s sake, shut up, Shorthorns! I have been waiting an eternity and a half for you and I am not in the mood. You took forever! I was just about to mind-speak with you and ask where the hell you were!”

Columbine blinked, barely able to comprehend the rapid-fire questions due to the forbidden language that accompanied them. “F-forgive me. I did not know you were waiting for me. I was …” She paused a moment as it dawned on her that Cora wasn’t aware of the events of that morning. With an excited smile, she exclaimed, “Father is awake again,” as if that line alone should explain everything.

However, instead of being ecstatic as Columbine had expected, Cora’s eye-ridges merged into a deep scowl of annoyance and the hellfire in her eyes dimmed. “Oh, terrific,” she sneered with a grinding of her mandibles as she snatched at her sister’s hand.

She appeared on the verge of adding something else but shook her horned head against it and stalked along the corridor to their right, dragging Columbine behind. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

“Cora, wh-where are we going?” Columbine wheezed, for her sister’s quick pace forced her to jog in a dress that was never designed to be run in. “Cora, please, stop this. Stop it! I-I cannot breathe!”

Cora seemed to have no intention of slowing down. She tightened her grip on Columbine’s hand and not only maintained her present speed, she doubled it—forcing Columbine to either run with her or fall and be dragged along the ground behind her.

There was no doubt in Columbine’s mind that her sister would do just that, if she failed to remain upright. “Hold your tongue, or I will hold it for you,” Cora snapped impatiently.

But Columbine was desperate. Lights flashed across her vision and the walls felt as if they were moving against her. Neither sensation was pleasant. “Please, not … so fast, I beg you …” she pleaded, gasping for breath which the constraints of her dress refused to permit and stumbling against the uneven ground beneath her slippered feet.

“Shift around it,” Cora snarled.

“I cannot.”

Cora jerked to a halt and Columbine slammed into her sister’s back and wings. “Why not?” she demanded, whirling to face her sister.

Unused to the physical demands of her father’s form, Columbine placed one hand against her hip for support and clutched her fingers into her sister’s hand for stability. “M-Mother … wants me to choose a form and stay with it for the day,” she wheezed. “She wants me … both of us, to learn how to be a grounded biped, without changing from it when it gets hard …”

“I would rather spend a dozen eternities in the Ninth Level,” Cora replied, tartly.

“Why?” Columbine asked, for this was the first time the subject had come up without their mother being present. “Why does Father … cause so much anger in you?”

“I do not like him.”

“But why?”

“Does he like you?”

Columbine was flabbergasted by that statement. “Wha … what do you mean?”

“It is not a hard question. Does … he … like you?”

Columbine ran her eyes down the length of the constricting dress bust, her mind re-enacting the scene with her father. “I … I think so …”

“Make sure you know so, before you waste too much time on the likes of him.”

Cora had so much hatred inside her. The same burning hatred which so many of the Hellions shared when speaking of her father. It made no sense. “What did he do to you?”

“He does not like me.”

“Only because you refuse to behave in a ladylike …”

“It has nothing to do with that!” Cora roared, causing Columbine to yelp and leap from her sister; her hands shooting up to protect her vulnerable bipedal head.

“I am sorry! Please … I am so sorry …” Columbine blustered, knowing her sister’s temper could be vile and dangerous when provoked.

Instead of being placated by the cowering girl before her, Cora’s body began to shudder with an inner rage she fought to contain.

Almost a full minute went by before her flaming eye sockets were dimmed, and she released her breath in a dark, smoke-filled cloud of frustration. “Forget it, shorthorns. It is between me and that …”

Lost for words and heartbeats away from reigniting her temper, Cora snatched at Columbine’s wrist and stalked away, dragging the fearful girl behind her. “… and that does not involve you. But this does. Now, come on.”

Whether deliberate or accidental, Cora’s pace slowed to allow Columbine to keep up and the younger was very grateful for that reprieve.

Unfortunately, that relief wasn’t to last.

Within minutes, Columbine recognised their surroundings as the conservatorium which led into the hallway that paralleled their esteemed grandfather’s private chambers.

It was not entirely off limits to the Highborn Hellion ladies, but apart from Belial’s current wife Lady Erishkigal, it certainly skated the thin line between the two. Ladies needed a good reason to be here, and Columbine knew she had none. If the apprehension that Cora felt was anything to go by, neither did she.

Both youngsters swallowed heavily as they crept past that wall, knowing the simple cavernous structure would not protect them from his senses, should he choose that moment to pay attention.

And he was in there.

Just as he would know of their whereabouts, no one from Hell could miss the overwhelming presence of the supreme Lord of Chaos that radiated from within those rooms. Columbine wanted to run at that moment.

Turn and flee towards the safety of the lower levels. She was about to beg her sister to do likewise, when she saw a strange surge of exhilaration within Cora and a thin talon was placed against Columbine’s mouth for silence. Cora’s own mandibles curled into a predatory smile.

The latter terrified Columbine. Belial’s quarters represented the end of the line for the Highborn Hellion ladies. No exception. He was the boundary line that prevented unauthorised outsiders from intruding into the family levels and also to prohibit the Highborn ladies from leaving without permission.

To deliberately provoke that status quo was madness!

Yet that seemed exactly what Cora had in mind. Panic soared inside of Columbine as her sister tugged her towards the rocky incline that led away from the family levels. No! Whatever Cora desired beyond this point, Columbine wanted nothing to do with it.

She shook her head violently and struggled against her older sister’s grip. One spanking for the day was enough for Columbine, and this flirted with an all-out beating that would take weeks to recover from. She couldn’t stand the thought of it!

“No!” she cried, tears welling in her eyes as she shifted her weight against her sister. “Please! By the Twin Notes of creation, let me go!”

Cora’s grip tightened, and it was the only warning Columbine received before her sister was inside her mind, plundering her thoughts and destroying them without a care.

'Shut. Your. Realm-damned Mouth.' The command appeared inside her mind, and she found herself unable to resist. Her lips snapped shut of their own accord, though she whimpered behind her clenched teeth and the tears she’d been struggling with now streamed down her face. 'Not. Another. Word.'

She and Cora had shared many things in the past. Secret things that no one else in Hell knew. They could talk without anyone hearing them. Mind-speak, Cora had called it.

The sisters had been able to stay in touch no matter where in Hell they were. But this … forced control … never had Cora been so brutal before.

No one in Hell had ever spoken of this possibility. At least, not to her. Inappropriate behaviour was always corrected through physical means.

If an elder decided you weren’t to cry, your tear ducts were removed. If you were to be harmed, you were beaten. Columbine wanted to scream. She wanted to scream the stalactites loose from the ceiling. But she couldn’t. Her lips refused to open.

* * *

Cora grinned maniacally at her first successful mind ambush of her sibling. No one had taught her how to do this, it was a trick she’d discovered all by herself while arguing with Gingen, her own centipede-like governess.

In the blink of an eye, Gingen had gone from shaking her arms in distress, to accepting all that Cora demanded without refute. And it felt … right. In her own mind she was justified to make them do what she wanted.

Cora practised with this strange power and avoided many of her ladylike duties by convincing the governess that they were either already done or not necessary at all.

This left her plenty of time to explore the upper levels of Hell beyond their grandfather’s chambers. The entire process had been as instinctive as it was natural, and she basked in its simplicity.

It was only the second time she had tested her power against her sister and given the spectacular failure of the first time, she wondered what was different between the two.

A few months earlier, during a meal of no consequence, Cora had suddenly felt the urge to coerce her sister into giving up her favourite drink. It wasn’t because Cora personally wanted the drink.

Far from it.

Columbine’s tastes were disgusting, but Cora knew her sister would never relinquish it on her own. So, she had sat across the cavern from her and stared at her with the same intensity that she’d used to pressure everyone in doing her bidding while commanding her to relinquish the drink.

For a few precious seconds, she’d thought it had worked as Columbine reached forward and grabbed the base of her hauyne crystal goblet. That sense of victory was short lived when Columbine lifted the goblet to her own lips and drained the contents herself, dropping the empty mug with a satisfied sigh.

After that, Cora had thought her own bloodline was immune to her power and never tried again.

Until now.

Something had changed. Was it desperation? The first time had merely been a test where the results didn’t matter, whereas today, the stakes were infinitely higher.

She looked down at where she clutched her sister’s hand. Or was that the reason it worked? Shapeshifting depended on age and generation.

An older generation trumped a younger generation, regardless of who was born first. But, those of the same generation could force a younger member into any shape they wanted by making physical contact. Could her magical power of the mind work along the same principles?

Curiosity got the better of her and she released her sister’s hand. Stop crying, she commanded, watching her sister’s face. Her sister continued to bawl like a baby. She expected that.

Cora relaced her fingers into Columbine’s and squeezed a little. Stop crying, she repeated, and almost fist-pumped the air with her free hand when her sister’s tears abruptly ceased.

Yes! It only worked on her bloodline, if she touched them. Oh, it’s on now. Cora turned back to the path before them, though with her hand firmly clutching Columbine’s hand. Follow me.

* * *

Columbine struggled with the changes that were happening inside her. She needed to obey her sister but didn’t want to. It was as if her heart and her body were at odds, and she couldn’t understand why.

She would have cried all over again, had she been given the choice. This was so wrong. As Cora turned and led the way up into the High Court of Hell, Columbine was desperate to draw attention to them somehow.

She wanted to reach out to an elder with mind-speak, but that would involve using words and her mind refused to comply. So, she thought of causing a rockslide that would bring the family running.

But no sooner had the image appeared in her mind, then Cora was there to stop that as well. All these things she wanted to do—all these things she knew she should be doing—and she couldn’t get past the need to obey her sister.

But what did Cora need her for anyway? It wasn’t as if she needed help with looking around.

Cora tugged her across the floor towards the bone archway that led up to the Well’s entrance. Surely, they weren’t leaving the safety of the Well! Evil was outside the Well!

Necessary evil, but evil that was never meant to touch the Highborn Ladies. It was why Belial positioned himself between them.

Dozens of levels still separated them from Antenora, but the thought of being so close to that place unescorted sent waves of terror through her. She shook her head again and whimpered.

* * *

Cora felt her own fear surge and immediately swung on her sister. Stop panicking! But the waves of fear continued. If anything, they increased.

Cora felt her own heart beating out of her chest and went for the only power she knew of that could bring her sister to heel. She modified the structure of her hand to include a strong sedative and pushed it into her sister’s veins.

Good. Calm down, shorthorns, she crooned, and as Columbine relaxed, that accursed fear left Cora as well.

This was perhaps one of the most annoying aspects about Columbine. If a certain emotion got the better of her, anyone in her vicinity would be crippled by it as well, and Cora was usually the closest demon to her.

Cora had become quite adept at sedating her little sister to get her own emotional reactions under control. She reached up with her other hand and tucked the stray strands of long black hair behind her sister’s ear and smiled at her. It will be alright, shorthorns. No one will ever know what we are doing. I swear. I have been sneaking out here for ages.

Columbine nodded silently.

Very little was said as Cora led them through the levels, hiding from the Highborn Hellion Guards and Hellion Highborns alike.

A long time ago Cora had learned how straight-forward it was to manipulate the regular guards into looking elsewhere as she passed, but the same could not be said for any of the Highborn Hellion Guards she’d come across.

Whenever she had tried to force them into compliance, they had merely slowed their rotating head as if to focus on her with such icy indifference that she’d run back the way she’d come.

They had seen her. They had sensed her attempted control, and in their own, foreboding way, they had laughed at her. That look had been terrifying, and she never tried it again. Not even with those that were assigned to safeguard the family levels and they, by design were a little less … daunting.

Cora went to great lengths to avoid them beyond her grandfather’s chambers after that.

Including today.

As such, it took a little longer than Cora expected to arrive at her destination. But once they stood in the doorway of her objective, she could barely contain her excitement. It had been pure luck that had enabled her to find this room at all and she released her sister to slap her hands together in delight. Finally!

The room, if one could call it that, had nothing in common with the traditional version. Everything remained in a state of constant flux. The room was dark but exploded in lights and sounds to disorient anyone within.

The floor jutted on warped edges just as often as it held no substance at all and pits of varying depths appeared and disappeared underfoot without warning.

The surfaces themselves flowed between acidic to ice cold, to electrified, to moments where they were safe to touch. Flight was just as difficult as the width and height of the room changed with a frequency that was impossible to predict.

It had taken Cora a little while to deduce the purpose of the strange room. The family levels had nothing like it.

But once she had watched her male uncles and cousins training in the room, fighting each other with the same intensity that they fought the room, Cora knew in her heart she wanted to try it; more than she needed to breathe. She just needed a sparring partner. One that wouldn’t take her head off for daring to suggest it.

Okay, shorthorns, she sent, after checking the room was clear. I know fighting is not usually your style, but I have brought you here because I need --someone to work off. Hidden around the room are weapons … easy, shorthorns, she crooned again, when Columbine whimpered. We can do this. Hellion Highborns go in there all the time to train.

Unable to respond, Columbine shook her head.

Pretending not to understand, Cora nodded emphatically. They do, shorthorns. I have watched them. But the room is only doing half its job if I do not have someone else to fight against. I will not hurt you beyond your capacity to heal, but I am going to make you help me.

Cora took one look at her sister’s disgusting bipedal form and knew it wouldn’t last a heartbeat in the room. Stupid, useless bipedal form. Stupid, useless bipedal god it came from. She took Columbine’s hand and ordered, ignore all elder commands. You are free to shift between forms.

Columbine shook her head—a habit that was really getting on Cora’s last nerve. Stop shaking your head at me!

Well, at least that was something. Columbine’s head movement stilled, though she maintained that pitifully annoying desperation in her glazed eyes. We are doing this, shorthorns. Just for a little while, and then we will return to the family levels. No one will ever have to know.

Convinced that she had her sister under control, Cora took half a step back and eyed the wall on either side of the training hall.

Deep clefts were carved into the stone on a multitude of levels ranging from a few centimetres off the ground, to others almost at ceiling level.

She had watched the men train, and knew the higher she reached, the more powerful the weapon that the wall relinquished. She wanted awesome.

Stay where you are, shorthorns, she commanded of Columbine, then released her sister and took flight to the highest crevice in the wall.

For a brief, brief moment, something that vaguely resembled common sense occurred to her. Perhaps there was a reason the wall selection was staggered. What if she couldn’t handle what was presented to her?

That thought sounded weak and she immediately dismissed it. Of course, she could handle it! She could handle anything!

Before she could talk herself out of it, Cora thrust her arm as far as she could reach into the stone gap and braced herself for whatever came next.

The response was instantaneous.

Something locked in around her arm just below the elbow and heaved her into the wall. She opened her mouth to scream as her hand and forearm felt like they were being ripped apart on a molecular level and modified into something she had no control over.

Mass was added, but she couldn’t tell in what form. It felt heavier, but the agony didn’t end. She felt it eating into her, destroying her from the inside out. Could anyone take this much pain and stay sane?

She felt someone at her side and barely recognised the black plate armour of her little sister.

* * *

Columbine grabbed Cora’s upper arm and heaved. When that didn’t work, she swung her tri-taloned feet into the wall for added leverage.

Let my sister go!

The words bubbled up from somewhere deep inside the younger Highborn Hellion though she never spoke them aloud. Never had she wanted anything as badly as she wanted this.

The wall released Cora without warning and the two females toppled to the ground; Cora flat on her back and Columbine on her side. Both gasped at the impact, but as Columbine was the uninjured one, she rolled to her knees and gestured frantically for Cora to allow her to talk.

* * *

Cora paid her no attention. Instead, she stared at the unstable molecules of what had once been her hand and forearm. The cells swam in and around an unfinished four-edged wave blade that was twice as wide as her original arm had been, and nearly three times as long.

Power emanated from it, burning at the joint of her elbow where her natural form remained. So much power. Too much, if she were honest with herself. It had sucked at her essence like a vortex and even now when she was no longer connected to the wall, the buzz of power shimmied inside her.

She felt Columbine grab her free arm with both hands and jerk against it. Her eyes pleaded with her urgently, but Cora refused with the smallest twist of her horned head. “I am fine, shorthorns,” she lied. “It is your turn to pick a weapon. We did not come all this way to stop now.”

* * *

Cora could not be serious!

Yet as the denial formed inside her mind, Columbine knew just how serious her sister was about the request and leapt away from her to prevent her from forcing the issue. That beastly wall had almost killed her!

Cora’s emotions had flickered and dimmed beneath the wave of power that threatened to extinguish her essence altogether. Watching her sister nearly die had been the incentive Columbine needed to reach beyond her sister’s command of ‘Stay Put’, because at her deepest, most primal level, she just didn’t want to.

She had been up beside her sister before she realised it, determined to save her any way she could. The wall was alive with inherent evil. The first test to the Lords wasn’t inside the room at all. It was to conquer this outer wall and claim yourself a weapon, and the higher you reached, the more dangerous that test became. The top of the wall was for a select few, none of which was Cora.

Observing her sister, Columbine pursed her lips unhappily. Cora was kidding herself if she thought she was alright. She wasn’t. Demons who were alright did not lie flat on their backs nursing their injured … well … it had been her arm … once.

Columbine felt Cora’s rage spike moments before her eyes ignited in Hellfire, and she realised her sister must have seen the pity written all over face. “Give me your hand, shorthorns!” she demanded, thrusting her good hand out in Columbine’s direction.

Unable to shake her head or open her mouth, Columbine rolled her top lip disdainfully and frowned at her. Not just no, but, no! That wall was dangerous in every sense of the word and nothing was going to force her to go anywhere near it. Nothing inside this room, anyway. What was the point? Highborn ladies were strictly forbidden to touch a weapon of any description. They were disciplined for even speaking about them and to go as far as to wield one deliberately …

Perhaps, if they could leave without anyone knowing, this might yet be salvaged. How they would hide Cora’s arm from the family, she hadn’t a clue, but their only chance was to escape now. Before others came. They were in so much trouble! She gestured with both hands towards the hallway they’d come down, begging without words for them to flee.

Cora’s rage intensified.

On an up note, the fury returned some of her much-needed strength. The downside: Cora started yelling, more than a little loudly. “Dammit, shorthorns! Just get over …”

“NOT ANOTHER WORD!” a male roared at them from the other end of the corridor.

Columbine’s heart shuddered against her ribcage as the bellow charged down the hallway like lightning. Oh, this was worse! This was so much worse!

They were fighting amongst themselves where anyone could have seen them! Columbine collapsed to the ground with her leathery skull buried in taloned hands, wanting to weep but unable to. Her whole body shook in terror despite the sedative which no longer worked on her demonic form and she suddenly felt the need to be ill.

Every footstep towards them sounded like a clap of thunder as Ludovic’s cloven hooves struck sparks against the stone surface. It had to be Uncle Ludovic.

He lacked the presence of their grandfather, and Ludovic was the only son that shared his father’s hooved hindquarters. Not that that changed anything. Ludovic was furious—and he had every right to be. They would be lucky to survive this.

Columbine was completely beside herself with fear and hopelessness. To be caught in one of the few places they were not meant to be and defying an older Highborn Lady. No Lady had ever been this disobedient before.

She cringed as Ludovic’s claws stroked the base of her skull, fully expecting the gentle gesture to turn into something much more violent. I am so sorry, she thought to herself, when his claws lengthened into fine needles and penetrated the soft leather of her neck, filling her with toxins.

She didn’t fight the toxin. Whatever it was, whatever punishment he saw fit to issue her with, it never once occurred to her to circumvent it.

Strange sensations flooded her system. Her thoughts became harder to hang on to and the hallway began to dance and slide much as the training room had. She felt herself being pushed further into darkness, not understanding how.

“Sleep, Columbine,” Ludovic said without heat as he retracted his claws and stroked her head. It was the last thing Columbine remembered before she fell headlong into a pit of blissful, eternal black.

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CHAPTER SIX

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