Free Demonworld by Kyle B.Stiff

stream for quite some time.
     
    Suddenly the frenzied whispering of the stream grew calm and quiet and Wodi lifted his eyes and saw that they stood in a wide clearing on the side of a hill wreathed in fog. The top of the hill was open, dark with green grass, and it was crowned by a single wide, twisted tree. Wodi saw moonlight peering through gray leaves and, because the mist below was so thick, he had the impression that the hilltop was an island floating in the clouds. The great tree dominated Wodi’s awareness; it was an old god, a guardian of a sanctuary, a keeper of mysteries far older than the nightmare horrors and chaos that ran shrieking throughout the rest of the valley.
     
    As they neared the great tree Wodi was hit by the scent of honeysuckle mixed with old batteries and his awareness shifted. Saul’s head jerked upwards and he felt of his own fingers; he was experienced in the use of strange substances and he knew what was happening. He touched Wodi’s shoulder thinking to tell him that the tree’s leaves contained a potent drug, but as he watched Wodi turn to him slowly, slowly, and then smile, then laugh, Saul knew that he already understood.
     
    They climbed the tree to sleep for the night. Wodi felt electricity running from the rough bark into his hands and, as he looked up, he saw stars shining through the branches and he felt that the branches of the great tree were dark channels than ran throughout the cosmos. It was a labyrinth of connections, a sustaining force that held all things aloft. Why life or matter or dreams existed was no longer a mystery to him. Awe-inspiring and terrible, as if reality itself was a mask removed and a shining face was revealed beneath the brute forms. As they settled into little nooks between the wide branches many fireflies came out to dance, landing on twigs, leaves, fingers, hair.
     
    Wodi turned and looked at Peter Remus. The elder looked both pig-like and delicate, his face slack, his eyes scanning something visible only to him. Wodi considered that the man spent most of his time dealing with poor people who had run afoul of the law as well as judges and lawyers and politicians who aspired to positions of power. Peter’s brow furrowed and the spots and lines of the man’s brow sent Wodi into a vision: He saw men in brown, fur-lined jackets meeting in a cold basement to argue the finer points of philosophy, science, belief. Wodi knew that these were the great Founders of Haven who had conspired against the monarchy and the religious leaders of Sunport six hundred years ago.
     
    Sunport , thought Wodi. That’s where we’re going! The coast, the edge of the wasteland… we’re looking for Haven, just as they were .
     
    The men debated violently. He saw a portly, wizened old man with dancing words and a mind like a blade; he saw another who spoke softly but looked barbaric, like an animal; he saw another with flaming red hair who took notes to codify their beliefs and debates in writing so that their ideas would live on if they should be found out and killed between this meeting and the next. Wodi laughed violently, for he realized that the faces of the men were those of actors who had played the Founding Fathers in various recorded dramas he had seen in his youth.
     
    He was shocked again as the men left off from their debate to take part in a ritual. Candles were lit and the men wore robes and masks. This was not taught in schools and there was something perverse about the movements and lengthy, monotonous invocations. Wodi saw the dark branches of the great tree connecting him and his companions to the men of old.
     
    “ Damn the demon!” cried one of the Founders.
     
    “ The demon is death!” the others repeated.
     
    Did Peter mouth those very words just now? Wodi wondered.
     
    Even as the men turned and stepped in rhythm with the fireflies, Wodi saw the subtle disagreements that drew lines of conflict among the Founders. He saw that many of them