Garrett walked through a dimension where devils and other denizens of the spirit worlds come to converse and settle accounts. He was meeting Lord Abigor that morning, and a thick cloud of fog obscured his sight. Suddenly it cleared and he was standing in a small clearing, surrounded by trees. A spectral aurora borealis of ribbon candy snaked through limbs of the trees behind him. There was no sound of bird call, nor the rustling of small animals on the forest floor. This place was betwixt heaven and hell, a place of neutrality among the spirits. The lights sparking between the trees were the energies of forces, for this was a magical place.
He was looking for Abigor, and saw him, sitting on a stump. Abigor was smoking his long, white clay pipe. Garrett bowed to him, and sat on another stump a few feet away. He took his own clay pipe from the pocket of his coat, and started to puff. It seemed to be eternally lit, but that was standard amongst devils. Something to do with the perpetual hell fires.
“Father” Garrett bowed from his stump. “I thank thee for your presiding over the coven. I know my limits and I bow to your power and judgement.” Abigor inclined his head with a smile, scratching his flank. Sparks flew from his fingers.
“You have pulled together quite an interesting covey of demons there,” Abigor says. “Some I have not talked to in centuries. I believe it was Sitri who suggested the Grigori?”
The Grigori were the Nephilim, the fallen. They were very old, from before the time of the Great Flood, and they were cast down for mating with mortal women. They were also heroes and victors: Goliath was one of them. They were giants, men of great strength.
“Father, Prince Sitri did so. I wondered at their presence, but Prince Sitri has sixty legions at his command.” Garrett puffed vigorously on his pipe, contemplating his words.
“Ah! A great Prince is not to be sneered at!” Abigor said, thinking aloud. “Present were Asmodeus, Behemoth, Azazel, Forcas, Leraie, Amdosias, Sitri, Cheitan, Aamon and myself. And Madame Gormosy. Quite an array of talents you have pulled together, my son.” Abigor blew a strong puff of smoke in Garrett’s direction. He spat on the ground.
“I am humbled by their presence and guidance here, Father.” Garrett blew back a puff of smoke and spat on the ground before him. Devils did this a lot.
“Aamon counseled you take your consort to the mystic isles. Are you considering his advice?”
Garrett let out a long puff of smoke. “I am. I know I must seek counsel and support from my kin.” He spat. “I am having a devil of a time discerning who they are, though.”
“Your bloodline is ancient and lost in the mists of time, my son. But there are threads you can follow if you will just see them.” Abigor looked steadily at Garrett through the smoke of his pipe.
Garrett knocked out ashes from his and packed it down with his thumb. “The woman is seeing the Morrigan in her dreams.” He smiled around the stem of his pipe. “And others.”
“Ah! And you are not influencing her in her choices of dreams?”
“I tell her, Father, that I am. But I’m not. These dreams and spirits come to her unbidden. I only can watch her.”
“If these dreams come to her as you say, my son, she is closer to you than it seems.” Abigor reloaded his own pipe from a leather skin that looks suspiciously like a wizened breast. “So you will go with her in good time to your birth isles?”
Garrett smiled to himself. “Yes, Father, she has consented to go with me.”
“Ah! ‘Consented’ you say? Was there ever a question?”
Garrett looked uncomfortable, thinking of what he should say. “The woman had a bit of resistance to the idea at first, but she has come around to my thinking.”
“And how, son, did you accomplish that trick?” Abigor had many mortal wives and knew from experience mortal resistance.
“A small taste of the whip did its work for me. That was enough. She is wary but willing to travel.”
Abigor grinned around the stem of his pipe. “You should apply the whip until they howl, son. And then double the strokes. Mortal women are as stubborn as mules.”
“Yes, Father, but the few strokes seemed to produce the results needed. I didn’t see a reason to cause her pain.”
“Ah! You must be under her spell to allow that to stand in your way!” Abigor laughed and shook his head.
“She is a strong minded and delightful woman, but remember I said strong minded first, son. If you give her no reason to fear you, she will not see your strength. She will not surrender to you. She will be more trouble than she is worth. Mark my words.”
“She is from the 21st century, Father. Women have access to much knowledge there. They are well read and versed in many languages. She seems intelligent enough to be won over by logic, Father.”
“Hah! You make a cardinal mistake! The pain you forgo is of benefit twofold. Her submission, and better–your pleasure. By not applying the whip liberally, you cheat both of you! Talk to Gormosy about it. She isn’t the Demon of Lust for naught.” He spat, a black plume of saliva that crawled away like a snake.
“And as for intelligence and logic? Purely wasted on a woman. Apply the whip, my son. See how easy life will be for you.”
Garrett was silent, thinking deeply. “Asmodeus has given me a potion to make the woman invisible. She has a repulsion towards magic. This will make it easier to transport her to the isles. Sometimes my own magic doesn’t work. I might lose her over an ocean.”
Abigor laughed. “It might be better that you do, my son. She seems a handful. I caught her wondering if I had a tail. But I think I spooked her in the end.”
“Oh, Father, believe me, you did. She was silent for three days. She was not herself.”
Abigor laughed, his chest heaving and black smoke puffing from between his lips with his laughter.
“Well, don’t shy from using the whip, my son. Your life will be better for the effort. Have Gormosy work her own magic on her. That will soften her up. But watch Gormosy carefully. As Monsieur Gormosy, he will put a fine set of horns on your head if he has the chance.” Abigor laughed heartily at the thought.
Garrett bowed to him in obeisance. He had reasons enough to worry about Madame’s trickery. There was little loyalty amongst devils.
He took his leave from Abigor, an Arch Duke of Hell, and considered the morning well spent. Perhaps Abigor is right. Perhaps more whip was the answer to domestic heaven.
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2007-2017
Lady Nyo's Weblog 