Nakoma

The ferry ride was pleasant; it was nice to have the wind blowing in my hair and smell the salt of the sea as we rode. Colt attracted many stares but he seemed oblivious to them. I guess I could understand why he got so many stares; the kid was fun to look at, exotic almost. I wasn’t usually one for small talk; I enjoyed the peace, the gentle sound of the waves and the birds occasionally squawking overhead. Colt, however, loved to talk. He never ceased to run out of questions for me. The first few were simple, just my favourite things and my age, but the longer he talked the more complicated they became.

“Hey, Nakoma?” He spoke up. “What’s your Saint power?”

That puzzled me since I wasn’t exactly sure what it was yet. All I knew is that I saw an extra name compared to other Saints.

“Well, um... “

He continues talking. “Because I heard Martha and George talking about their powers once. Martha is super strong! Which made sense because when she punched me it hurt a lot. And George, he’s immune to poison! Isn’t that the coolest thing?” He bounces in his seat.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I agree. “But I don’t really know what my power is yet…”

Disappointment contorts his face.

“Oh…”

Feeling minorly guilty, I do my best to explain. “You know how Saints can read the names of demons and stuff, right? Well I see an additional name, yours was over your heart.”

“What name was it?”

“Lucifer…”

“Oh,” he suddenly seems even more upset. “I miss my dad… a lot…”

“I know the feeling,” I respond sadly.

“Oh? What happened to your dad?”

“He just… disappeared one day and I haven’t seen him since,” I sigh. Desperate to change the subject, I ask, “What’s it even like having the Devil as a father?”

He perks up instantly. “My dad is really awesome and nice! He’s the best father anyone could ever ask for. Except he’s a bit scary sometimes…” He trails off, eyes distant. I decide not to question it.

“It must have been an interesting up bringing at least.”

He nods. “You could say that. I thought it was pretty boring...”

“Boring?” I raise an eyebrow. Just how boring was Hell anyway? I would assume it was dangerous for a child at least.

He pauses for a moment as if he’s wondering if he should open up this much to me. I didn’t blame him for his suspicion. I was going to turn him and his siblings into a weapon after all. “I wasn’t raised like other demon children are. Dad was very protective of me and had me and my mother confided in a tower until I was fifty.”

“Fifty? You don’t look a day over twenty,” I remark. A chuckle escapes his lips.

“I’m one hundred and eighty two, Nakoma.”

My jaw drops a bit. I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised over it. After all demons are immortal. Perhaps it was the fact that he acted so young and innocent that threw me off.

“Why did he keep you locked up so long?” I deviate from the current topic trying to get back to Colt’s upbringing. I would be lying if I said his life didn’t interest me.

“He wanted to wait until I was an adult to see Hell.” He looks at me and smiles gently. “The age of adulthood in Hell is fifty. And I wouldn’t exactly say I was locked up, I had free roam of the tower, and it was pretty cozy.” A smile tugs at his lips. “Plus I wasn’t alone, my mother was with me.”

I wondered briefly what kind of woman it would take to love the devil. Apparently there were plenty since, according to Colt, he had countless children.

“But he only did it to keep me safe, otherwise I would have been raised in the castle.”

“What was he protecting you from?” I ask. I doubt many people would cross the devil. Colt’s gleaming eyes grew dark and narrowed.

“Dica,” he breaths.

***

Our journey took us to an old town with a population of a few hundred. The town mostly consisted of small, one story buildings that were worn with age. The town itself was gloomy and foggy, and very few people greeted us on our way to a tavern that had an inn. George had called ahead to arrange everything for us.

As we enter the tavern, all heads shot up to look at us. Most of the people sitting on the wooden chairs were men who had an air of unhappiness about them. I had the feeling something horrible had happened here, or maybe people in this town genuinely had nothing to live for. Colt waved but I ignored the looks as I made my way up to the bar.

“Hello,” I greet the bearded bartender. “My name is Nakoma Jansen, I believe you have a room for me?” I give him an awkward smile. He fixed me in an empty gaze for a moment before he grumbles.

“Yes, Nakoma that was the name…” He turns his back and grabs a set of dull keys from a hook behind him. “I’ll take the two of you up there…” He huffs and moves out from behind the bar. He motions for us to follow him as he heads up a small set of stairs that creak with every step.

“Is everyone always this gloomy?” Colt asks him as we reached the door to our room.

A sad look flashes across the man’s face.

“One of our townsfolk got ill,” he explains. “Good ol’ Bartley.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I express my condolences.

He nods but continues speaking. “And early this mornin’ we heard it.”

“Heard what?” Colt presses.

His eyes grew dark. “A banshee wailin’.”

He opens the door to a small single bedroom.

“It ain’t the best we got but it’ll work, and I’m sure the two of you are tired.” He could say that again! Traveling was exhausting and that bed looks like Heaven to my worn out limbs. The tavern man leaves us and Colt stands in the middle of the room, looking displeased.

“There’s only one bed…” he mumbles. A sudden burst of joy suddenly fills his eyes. “Looks like we’re cuddling tonight!” I shoot him a dirty look from where I sit, removing my shoes.

“Not a chance. I’ll ask for extra blankets and you can make a spot on the floor.” His smile falters and he resumes his kicked puppy look.

“But Nakoma,” he begs.

I shake my head. There was no way I was going to share a bed with a demon! Who knew what kind of things he would try to do to me in my sleep. But, then again, I did feel a tiny bit guilty for making him sleep on the floor, and he did seem like a nice person… But he is a demon, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. I would be crazy to trust someone like that.

I sigh and flop down on the bed. Colt sits down at the foot of the bed and sighs loudly.

“Now that I think about it,” he starts, “Dica’s from Ireland.”

There was Pride’s name again. I wondered exactly why Colt always said that name with such disdain. Did something happen to Colt? He did mention that Lucifer hid him away to keep him safe from Dica.

“What’s with the bad blood between you two?” I ask. Colt pauses for a moment.

“Dica’s just a jerk! He’s killed so many of his siblings, anyone with potential to be stronger than him. And… well…. He’s a whore.”

Huh? Did my sweet, innocent, cinnamon roll just use the word whore? What was happening here? Did he really hate Dica that much?

“A whore?” I question his word choice. Colt nods enthusiastically.

“Mhm.”

Okay then. I decided to leave it.

“Colty, why don’t you go ask about those extra blankets?”

“Okay!”

I’m asleep before he returns.

***

Colt

The next day Nakoma was out investigating rumours of demonic activity as she pulled Colt in tow. Colt found the whole thing stupid since Ireland was always booming with supernatural entities. Perhaps the banshees were just causing a ruckus.

“Colt, could you look around for any traces of demons? I’m sure you know their scents.” Mildly offended, Colt agreed. As Nakoma disappeared into a small house to talk to some old woman about ghost sightings, Colt sharply inhaled. Sure enough he smelt something familiar. It was light and sharp like the scent of wildflowers blooming in the spring. It was definitely a demon. Hope filled Colt’s chest as he made his way towards it. Maybe it was someone who could help! He wandered passed a group of empty shells of houses when suddenly a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Colt.”

The voice was hauntingly familiar. Golden eyes looked to meet purple ones and Colt’s stomach dropped.

“Dica,” he responded coldly. “What are you doing here?”

“We need you back in Hell, now,” Dica sounded a bit desperate.

“I can’t,” Colt whimpered.

“Why the hell not?” Dica asked, his brow twitching ever so slightly. “You’re Head of Soul Collecting, you gotta come back.” Colt ignored him.

“How’s dad,” he pressed, eyes sparkling. Colt desperately longed to see his father and if anyone could get him out of the situation he was in, it would be Lucifer.

Dica fell silent for a moment as if he was searching for the right words to say. “Sorry Colt,” he spoke with the cold detachment of a surgeon. “Lord Lucifer’s dead.”

Colt’s eyes widened and he dropped to his knees in front of Dica.

“What…?” He whispered, golden eyes watering with tears. “But how?”

Dica shrugged. “His illness took him.”

Colt was wracked with grief instant the words left Dica’s mouth. Sobs echoed through him as he cried into the soil beneath him, his body heaving with each breath. Dica stood above him quietly, almost as if he was unsure how to respond to Colt’s devastation.

“But then… then who’s King of Hell?” Colt asked in a broken whisper.

Dica grinned ear to ear and winked.

“I am.”