Rodna Exploited

   In the fiery ruins of the ninth dimension the devil Piru sat on a throne of granite and surveyed his domain. The few remaining residents of Alta were completely subverted and totally dedicated to him. But it wasn’t enough. It would never, be enough
   He looked up at the red sky and saw miles and miles above him, the roots of the Great Oak, the Axis Mundi and the path to the dimensions he coveted. He wanted them all and, he would have them.
   The devil looked around himself again, snapped his clawed fingers and waited. Before he could breathe in and exhale a fairy appeared.
   She was exquisite in her beauty, golden hair, translucent skin, supple curves. He held out his hand out, palm up and she landed, fluttered her lashes and wings at him, jutted one hip suggestively towards him, smiled. Her fangs gleamed in the firelight.
   He smiled back, his own fangs dripping saliva as his blood boiled. Piru closed his eyes and reminded himself that he had worlds to concur and said, “Summons the deamhans Elias and Paha-Henki. Assemble the yellow eyes and soldiers,” he paused as she curtsied, then knelt down and licked his palm causing shivers along every inch of his skin. It took all the self-control he could muster not to crush her accidentally as his body responded.
   He tossed her into the air and went on as she hovered in front of his nose. “We’ll discuss your ambitions at a later date Malia.”

   The Deamhans Elias and Paha-Henki knelt at the foot of the stone dais Piru’s throne dominated. Throngs of the yellow-eyed Shadows, the tormented souls of people who’d made deals with the devil, ranged behind them, soldiers behind that, keeping them from leaving.
Piru looked at the assembled and smiled to himself. It should be enough. They should be enough. From what he’d seen and the intel he’d had gathered the other eight dimensions were turning from the old Gods, from the ones who could save them. Rodna, Zandor and Earth were ripe for the picking.
    “Stand.” The Devil said to the deamhans. Elias and Paha-Henki stood and bore the intense scrutiny of their master. After several moments, hours, years, maybe a lifetime, Piru continued.
“Paha-Henki, it isn’t your time. Return to your caverns and continue working. Grow, educate yourself.”
   The deamhan bowed low, then stood and turned on his heel, leaving the assembly. His mind was running a mile a minute, but it wasn’t for him to say, only for him to do.
   “Elias, you will be traveling to first Rodna, then Zandor in your current form. In each of these dimensions is a large group of people whose disdain for the old ways is apparent. They want technology and an easy life. Turn them the rest of the way. Leave my name out of the conversation till the end, then my soldiers will take over while you move on.”
    The greed was naked on the deamhan’s mobile face. His features shifted from one human look to another, then solidified back to where he’d started.
   “Rodna will be easier than the others. Turn the Teknos, destroy the Druadhs.

  The deamhan Elias, who went by Saila here in Rodna, stood on the corner of a busy street in the heart of the capitol city. It may have had a name at one time, but it no longer mattered. He’d come here with a mission and nearly had it accomplished.
  Rodna was unique in the fact that it had technology like Earth, but also had a faction that worshiped the old Gods. This now decimated group had strong magic. Real magic, although as each remaining Druadh was slaughtered it diminished.
  Saila watched as Piru’s soldiers herded the residents towards a park, legions of Shadows flanking them. He was about to explain to them that, when they accepted his help to advance their technology, when they’d accepted his means to destroy the Druadhs, the keepers of law, justice and magic, that they’d effectively sold their souls to the Devil, and it was time to pay up.

    Valdin watched as the devil’s troops herded the remaining citizens into a park for the claiming. He and the others had nearly been too late to save them, and all the ways that counted were, except one. There was still a tiny flicker of hope for the nearly lost dimension of Rodna. A Druadh child named Brannon. Valdin had to find him, take him and his remaining clan to the mountains to train until it was time. Valdin knew, as a God of old, what was next on the Devil’s ‘to do’ list. Zandor had been targeted and Saila had already been there, already started sowing the seeds of discontent, dissent, greed, jealousy and hate.
   He turned away from the throngs of people filing past him, blended in with his surroundings and headed towards the Mourn Mountains and the Ring of Carry where he’d train the remaining Druadhs, if they survived the trip.

   Brannon watched as his Aithar and the old Druadh Sernunos buried his Mathair and little piuthar Caytlyn. The Shadows had gotten to them before they could reach the stronghold at the Ring of Carry. The little boy dashed away the tears that dripped down his cheeks as his Aithar, Brand used his dwindling magic to carve their names into the side of the mountain.
    It was nearly gone, the Magic and those who could use it. Brand and Brannon and the Old Druadh were all that was left. Sernunos had already begun his training, teaching him all the old chants and stories as he did so, but the boys heart wasn’t in it and he wondered what was left to fight for. All they’d know was gone, dead or destroyed by the Devil and the Teknos that had invited him into their land.
    He wiped his nose on his sleeve as he followed the two men into the echoing stronghold. His right wrist itched. He pulled up the sleeve and saw the faint outline of a half sun and wondered about it. But it didn’t matter, he thought as he looked around the empty area. He probably wouldn’t live to see the sunrise, let alone fulfill a prophesy.