And Hell Followed Behind Her

By Russell Nohelty

Living is the best revenge...even if it’s living in Hell. And Hell Followed Behind Her combines the three books into one.

In Betrayed, Akta is poisoned, sent to Hell, sells her soul to the queen of the underworld, and comes back from the dead to seek revenge on the king that killed her.

In Fallen, God asks Akta to retrieve a fallen angel in Hell, which sends Akta traveling across the underworld with her new guide, Lucifer, as she seeks to fulfill God’s wish and achieve eternal salvation in Heaven.

In Hellfire, a conspiracy has arisen to kill the Devil, and Akta is the only one who can protect the newly appointed king of the underworld, Lucifer, and assure he’s not murdered before he’s even settled into his new job.

If you love action, adventure, magic, and demons, then And Hell Followed Behind Her is for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Russell Nohelty
• Release date: Apr 14, 2020

Russell Nohelty

Russell Nohelty is a USA Today bestselling author, publisher, and speaker. He runs Wannabe Press (www.wannabepress.com), a small press that publishes weird books for weird people. Russell is the author of Gumshoes: The Case of Madison’s Father and My Father Didn’t Kill Himself, along with the creator of the Ichabod Jones: Monster Hunter, Gherkin Boy, Pixie Dust, and Katrina Hates the Dead graphic novels. He also edited the Monsters and Other Scary Shit and Cthulhu is Hard to Spell anthologies, which both raised over $25,000 on Kickstarter. To date, Russell Nohelty has raised over $100,000 on Kickstarter across eight projects.

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Special thanks to the following people for breathing life into the Godsverse when I thought its light had been blown out:

KATRINA ROETS, PAT Shand, Starr, Ernie Sawyer, I'm a Ninja, Logan Waterman, Matthew Johnson, Gary Phillips, Ramsey Church, Phil, Melissa Hooper, Jean Lau, Eric P. Kurniawan, Peter Anders, Collin David, Nikres. Joshua Bowers, Jeff Lewis, Emerson Kasak, Linda Robinson, Susan Faw, Talinda Willard, Courtney Cannon, Dave Baxter, old_fogey@yahoo com, Nick Smith, Charlotte Organ, Chad Bowden, Jason Crase, John L Vogt, Philip R. Burns. Bloodfists, Death's Head Studio, LLC, Daniel Groves, Rodney Bonner. JF weber, Walter Weiss, Mitch Fittler, Stacey Henline. Stephanie, Kathy Ash, Charlotte Ulla Pleym, Ray, Jason Schroeder, Chris Call, Maximilian Lippl, Andrew Rees, Tawnly Pranger, Minarkhaios, Vincent Fung, Dave Kochbeck, and Bob Jacobs.

And Hell Followed

Behind Her

By:

Russell Nohelty

Edited by:

Leah Lederman

Proofread by:

Katrina Roets

Cover by:

Paramita Bhattacharjee

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. And Hell Followed Behind Her. First edition. January, 2020. Copyright © 2019 Russell Nohelty. Written by Russell Nohelty.

Book 1

Betrayed

Chapter 1

T hen I ripped his leg off and beat him to death with it! A fat, square-jawed ogre shouted to his monstrous friends.

They were all drinking ale inside the tavern they had occupied for the last ten days and nights. The innkeeper paced back and forth, a tall, lanky man with dark bags under his eyes. His body twitched with every word from the horde’s mouth.

I had been eyeing them closely the whole of the night. Over the past few months, King Odgeir had sent a dozen of his best men to deal with Bjarngimur’s monsters and expel them from the tavern, and twelve times all that made it back to the king were the heads of his soldiers, eyes cut from their skulls. 

That would not happen a thirteenth time. The people of Odgeir’s kingdom would not have to endure the tyranny of this menace for one more night. That was why the King’s herald summoned me in the dark of night to deal with them. I never failed.

Ha! That’s a great story! an orc shouted back. It was green-skinned and sported a mohawk down its lumpy head. I enjoyed killing all manner of vile beasts that strayed beyond the Veil, but orcs were my absolute favorite.

An orc was responsible for killing my father before I was born, so I had no love lost for them. I was only a few days old when a troll killed my mother. I had never met either of my parents, and yet the memory of their deaths haunted me every day of my life. It was the reason I became the best monster hunter in King Odgeir’s kingdom.

Human! a fiery-haired goblin shouted. More ale! And be quick about it!

The knock-kneed innkeeper shot straight up to full attention before spinning on his heels and hurrying to the spigot. He poured the ale into thick, metal steins and placed them on a wooden tray.

I counted twenty of Bjarngimur’s men lining the wooden tables that stretched from one end of the tavern to the other. Bjarngimur and his monsters had menaced the countryside for years, but they usually disappeared into the trees before anyone could catch them. This was their boldest attack yet, and it would be their last after I was done with them.

Before Bjarngimur’s monsters invaded, the tavern was quaint, sleepy even. I often drank there on my way through the deep forest. It was not so sleepy today though, not with ogres, orcs, and goblins running amok. I would return it that way, in short measure. 

Don’t be so scared, human, the fiery-haired goblin said with a fiendish grin. I won’t hurt you or your family, unless you spill my ale, of course. Do that and I’ll cut off your kid’s pretty, little face and feed it to you!

The tavern burst with laughter. That kind of heartless cruelty was to be expected from monster kind, and it was what I was hired to stop. And I was a pixie, one of the fairy folk, which meant I was a monster, just like them. I might not look like a monster, but people lumped us into the same category. If you weren’t a human, you were a monster. It was my greatest advantage and greatest burden all at once.

To catch a monster, you need a monster.

That’s what King Odgeir had said to me ever since I started hunting monsters for his kingdom, back when he was just a prince, and his father, King Odgeir I, sat on the throne. Technically, my brother was King Odgeir II, but he hated to be called that. He never liked not being the first in anything. 

After monsters slayed my parents when I was a baby, the royal family took me in. They should have left me for the wolves. They should have burned me at the stake, but they didn’t. They kept me and raised me. I had been repaying that debt – gladly – ever since I could fend for myself.

The innkeeper stepped carefully to avoid spilling a single drop of the beer. I could tell by the fear in his eyes he fully understood the goblin would cut off his child’s face. From the timbre of the monster’s voice, I knew he meant it as well. That was the kind of thing monsters did, after all. They were callous, cruel, and mean.

Hurry up! the goblin shouted.

A visible shiver went up the man’s spine, but he didn’t spill a drop. He took another deliberate step forward and let out a deep sigh. In front of him, a short, fat, orc with a pocked face chuckled to himself and stuck out his leg as the innkeeper went past.

The beers flew into the air and rained down on the monsters in the hall. Several of them stood from their seats and grabbed for their weapons, but the goblin hopped onto a long bench and held up his arms.

Wait! the goblin shouted. Don’t be so hasty. I claimed this one fair and square. Go back to your drinks, boys.

The monsters grumbled and wiped themselves off, before returning to their beers, annoyed and soggy. There was honor amongst thieves, and monsters as well—though the code of ethics monsters followed was not one I’d call based on honor.

That wasn’t very nice, the goblin said, sauntering toward the innkeeper. I had been crouched in the bushes, waiting for the right time to strike, but I feared I didn’t have time to wait any longer. I thought I asked you not to spill my drink.

Well...I... the innkeeper stammered, turning back to see his wife and child huddled in the far end of the room. His wife had big, round, beautiful, brown eyes. She ran her rough hands through their child’s curly hair. Please, don’t hurt them.

I warned you! The goblin lunged forward. But since you asked so nicely, I won’t hurt your kid. I’ll just kill you instead.

Another goblin piped up, I want the kid, then!

Be my guest, the red-haired goblin said with a smile. He held a knife against the innkeeper’s face. I’ll take care of you once you watch your kid get gutted.

Please don’t, the innkeeper sobbed, struggling to break free. He couldn’t. Monsters were much stronger than humans, which gave them an unfair advantage in any fight. The only advantage that humans had was me, their secret weapon.

I couldn’t hide in the bushes any longer. I wanted to wait until the crowd of monsters thinned out, but I would have to take my chances fighting against all of them. I would gain nothing from stealth. Frankly, I preferred a clean fight out in the open to hiding in the bushes. Most rangers didn’t, and relied instead on their bow, but I enjoyed watching the life drain from a monster’s eyes. Up close.

Don’t squirm, human! the goblin shouted as I sprinted toward the door. Just enjoy the show!

Remember, the second goblin said, inching toward the little boy and his mother. Your father’s failure is what brought this on, not—

I kicked open the door and flung a throwing dagger through the air. It whizzed past the monsters with deadly precision, borne from decades of practice, and embedded into the back of the encroaching goblin, who fell to the ground at the feet of the mother and her child.

You’re beyond the Veil, monsters. I lowered my voice as I stood at the front door of the tavern.

An ogre turned to me and its eyes narrowed. It’s the pixie!

I might have been as much a monster as they were, but I was nothing like them. They lived in the muck and the mire. They killed for fun, pillaged for sport. Unlike them, I chose the side of righteousness and defended humanity from their hatred.

Ylfingur has a price on your head, pixie, a goblin with a protruding forehead growled at me.

There is one on yours as well, I replied. The king does not take kindly to monsters in his kingdom. Take me to Bjarngimur and I won’t collect on them, as long as you leave this place and return beyond the Veil, never to return.

King Odgeir’s father, King Odgeir I, had established the Veil as a safe haven for monsters, where they could live their miserable lives for as long as they were able, without being hunted by humans. It was a magnanimous offer from the king, whose ancestors had battled with monster hordes for generations.

King Odgeir I could have wiped monsters from the world for good, but instead chose to end the bloodshed and come to peace with them, as long as they left us alone. It worked for a while, but lately more and more monsters were emboldened to cross the Veil and attack humans.

You’re outnumbered twenty to one, a pudgy orc said.

Yes, I replied. And I have beaten worse odds than that. In fact, I hardly think it a fair fight. You don’t stand a chance.

You won’t beat those odds today! An orc with a spiked, leather pauldron raised its club and shouted, Get her, boys!

The key to fighting a group of monsters was knowing that they were impulsive and irrational. They did not coordinate with each other and their movements were sloppy. They’d knock into each other like stooges. It was just a matter of biding your time and letting them do your work for you.

However, I didn’t have a lot of time, so I pulled out two ivory-handled daggers and threw them through the eyes of the closest attacking monsters. They fell to the ground in a heap as one of their orc brethren ran at me with a knife. I sprinted forward, dodging his swipe, and stuck him in the gut with one of my daggers.

I spun around to face the monsters creeping toward me. Where is Bjarngimur? I shouted. This is your last chance.

The monsters laughed. They would have had the upper hand in any other situation, but they had never met me before, or seen me use my pixie dust. Most monsters who have met me fell under my blade; few lived to tell the tale. Maybe they’d heard of the golden-winged fairy who could disappear in a puff of purple smoke, but I had never met a monster who believed the whispers about me. Much to their detriment, of course. The stories were all true.

I took off my cloak and tossed it across the room. I unfurled my hidden wings, which lit up my face with a faint glow.

What’re you gonna do? A yellow-skinned orc with rotten teeth chuckled. Fly away?

No. 

Without another word, I reached into a blue pouch with stars on it that I kept held tightly around my waist. I pulled out a pinch of what looked like pink, shimmering, rock salt, the fine crystals just big enough to not fall through my fingers. This was my pixie dust, the magical powder that let me disappear in a puff of smoke.

Clenching a fistful of the dust, I raised my hand high in the air, then hurled the dust onto the ground. With a puff of purple smoke, I disappeared from the bar and reappeared in the middle of the monster pack, stabbing two of them through the throat before I dropped another handful of dust and disappeared again. This time I reappeared by the front door, where I ripped the sword from a goblin’s hand and used it to cut him in half.

Where is Bjarngimur?

A massive ogre with rippling muscles swung a two-handed broadsword at me. I leapt backwards into the air to avoid it. When the ogre swung again, I dodged it easily, then wheeled on him and cut him from naval to sternum with my dagger. I kicked him back into his friends.

Tell me now! I vanished again and reappeared to slit the neck of an encroaching orc. And I will end you quickly!

I disappeared to dodge the club of another ogre. When I rematerialized, I roundhouse kicked him into the wall and stuck two daggers through his chest.

Refuse, and you will suffer greatly. I landed on the top of the bar. Now, where is Bjarngimur?

The ground rumbled beneath me. Something was approaching, and it was massive. In another moment a hulking figure smashed through the door. A behemoth Cyclops towered over me and roared, his great, red eye staring at me with fury and rage. Smoke billowed from his nose, where a bull ring dangled. Two huge fangs protruded from his bottom lip and when he opened his mouth to growl at me, I saw three rows of spiky teeth.

I am Bjarngimur! The Cyclops raised his massive, spiked club, the size of an oak tree, into the air. And you will die, pixie!

The huge lug must have expected me to be intimidated by his huge frame and deep, booming voice, but I had vanquished worse than him dozens of times in my life.

Tell your men to leave and I will spare them, I replied, floating down from the bar. My quarrel is with you.

Never! Bjarngimur glared at me. Attack!

Half a dozen of his men still lived, and they ran toward me at his command. I dropped a pinch of pixie dust and disappeared behind their ranks, stabbing one in the brain before taking its sword and using it to stab another one in the gut.

Bjarngimur was strong but he was lumbering. He didn’t have a good turning radius. When I disappeared again, he couldn’t stop himself or recalibrate his position, which sent him crashing into the wall of the tavern.

I reappeared between two orcs and stabbed them both through the ears with my ivory-handled daggers. They fell on either side of me. All that was left was the red-headed goblin, cowering before me, as frightened as he had made the innkeeper just a few minutes before.

Leave this place, I said. Tell everyone what you saw here. Never step beyond the Veil again.

The goblin didn’t hesitate. He sprinted out of the hole Bjarngimur made in the wall and disappeared into the woods behind the tavern. He would not be back, at least not for a long time. Maybe I should have killed him, but I needed enough tales of my deeds to spread through the monster realm that they would never dream of stepping beyond the Veil again.

Akta of the Forest, Bjarngimur shouted. We have unfinished business.

I turned to see Bjarngimur smashing his hands together, growling. The great Cyclops lunged and swiped at me with his club and I flew backwards to avoid him.

You are slow and dumb, I said to him. Just like all the others.

His anger bubbled over into rage and he swung his club wildly at me. The biggest ones were always the sloppiest, relying on their great strength to save them. It never does, at least not when I was involved. If I wasn’t so quick on my feet, I would have likely succumbed to one of Bjarngimur’s blows. However, his brute force could never match my skill and determination.

I waited for Bjarngimur to lift his club over his head, so I could get a clear shot at his eye. The small tavern could not take much more abuse before it collapsed upon itself, and I couldn’t let that happen.

Finally, the Cyclops lifted his arm. His club slammed down upon the ground with a great, thunderous crash, and I floated back again to avoid it. There was only an instant before Bjarngimur picked up his club again, and I had to capitalize on it. I only had one shot at his eye, the only place on a Cyclops that wasn’t covered in a hardened, impenetrable skin.

I flung my dagger through the air just as Bjarngimur looked up. He didn’t even have time to flinch before the dagger lodged into his eye and he collapsed on the ground, dead.

The biggest always fall the hardest, I said, walking up to Bjarngimur’s dead body. The king demanded proof of my success, in the form of the Cyclops’ head. It was a messy business but using a broadsword I pulled from an orc’s belly I severed Bjarngimur’s head after several chops.

When it was all over, I made my way toward the door, dragging the head behind me. I looked through the debris for my cloak along the way, and that’s when I saw the innkeeper and his family huddled in the corner, shaking with fear.

It’s okay, I said. They will never bother you again.

Th-th-thank you, he stuttered. How can we ever repay you?

The king is very kind to me. I picked up my cloak from where I’d flung it on the floor. I apologize for the mess. The gold, weapons, and armor should be more than enough to cover the damages and live the rest of your life in peace.

Chapter 2

Hogarth’s caravan rolled through the woods every evening, carrying food and water from the countryside into the city. It was a favorite target of bandits, especially monstrous ones, so half a dozen guards protected the caravan at all times. Hogarth was kind and gave me a ride whenever I needed it.

It’s a nice evening, he said from the front of the caravan. He pulled the reins of his horse slightly to make her slow down. Cherry liked to strain ahead, even in her old age, but Hogarth was happy to ride leisurely through the woods, ensuring that everything made it safely to its destination.

It is at that, I replied, pulling my cloak hood up over my head. A bit cold, though.

Hogarth nodded. It’s getting to be fall soon, then winter after that.

That is how the seasons go, my friend.

Predictable, he said. Just how I like it.

I could have transported myself to town in an instant using my pixie dust, but I enjoyed the slow, plodding progress of a horse-drawn carriage. It yoked me to the earth and reminded me how privileged I was to vanish in an instant and reappear a thousand miles away.

That was not the only reason, though. I started traveling by horseback long ago, even though I could easily fly, because me being a pixie scared a whole lot of people. In the end, I was a monster, even though I looked human, and seeing me fly around and then disappear without a trace...it frightened folks. King Odgeir thought it would be better if I blended in as much as possible to avoid terrifying his wards; to avoid reminding them that their greatest savior was a monster.

The citizens of Odgeir’s kingdom were nice, but they were fearful as well. They didn’t like things that were different from them. My skin was already darker than theirs, and my ears longer. Flying over them would push them past their breaking point.

I mostly liked to travel by foot or horseback, so people could see I was on their side, and not a monster like the others. Odgeir called it public relations, but I just wanted people not to hate me. Most of my life was about convincing people not to hate or fear me.

It would have been so easy for them to hate me like they hated the other monsters, but they were all so kind, and let me into their lives. I like to think that was because I made sure to meet and greet them as much as possible. I walked among them. I bought from their shops. People saw me more than they saw the King. Despite the fact that I lived in the castle with him, I wanted people to know I was one of them, even if I looked different.

So, I decided not to show my wings unless it was essential. I still wasn’t sure exactly how they worked, even after all these years, but my wings could appear like magic when needed, and disappear just as quickly when I didn’t want to cause a scene.

That was usually the case—I didn’t like to draw attention to myself. Even though I had killed over a hundred monsters in my twenty-six years, most of my life was filled with the banality of every day existence, just like everyone else. On those days, it was nice to blend into the scenery to avoid being gawked at, or worse, threatened.

Yes, sometimes a new monster hunter, trying to make a name for themselves, would threaten me. The people of King Odgeir’s kingdom loved me, and they kept me safe from those attacks.

Did he put up much of a fight? Hogarth asked.

Excuse me?

The head, sitting next to you, oozing on my wagon. Did he put up much of a fight?

Oh, I replied. I had been lost in thought and forgotten that Bjarngimur’s head sat next to me. No more than usual.

How is the king these days? Hogarth asked.

Regal, I replied, curtly.

I didn’t like speaking about my brother’s business, as it was his own, and not mine. At one time, we walked the streets of the capital together, cavorting with the townsfolks. He was the first to introduce me to his people, and I owed him a great debt. That seemed like a lifetime ago, now.

The day of his coronation, he stopped being my adopted brother, and started his life as the king of his people. On that day, we stopped spending time together. He stopped laughing. He didn’t call on me unless it was to give me a mission. The only other time I saw him was when I returned with news of my conquest. 

I wasn’t sure why King Odgeir I adopted me when I was a baby. I liked to think it was because I was so young, and he was kind. However, it’s hard to believe that he didn’t see the potential in my pixie lineage for something greater, something he could mold to a higher purpose, just as he had his son. His son would become a great king under his guidance, and I would become a great monster hunter under the tutelage of his greatest knight, Sir Cleybourne. The two of us, working together, could offer his people lasting peace.

His whole life, my father was consumed by his pursuit of peace. He had only known war, and he worked relentlessly to end it. I wished my brother felt the same way, but our troops had fought six wars since he took over, and always seemed on the go. He was never satiated with the size of his land, or the scope of his power. 

I didn’t mean to pry, Hogarth said.

No, I replied. I’m sorry. It has been a very long day, and you are very kind to offer me a ride.

It’s my pleasure, my lady. Having you in my caravan means I don’t have to worry about marauders or monsters, at least for a night.

Well, I appreciate it, I said. The truth it, I’m not sure how my brother fares these days. He spends most of his days locked in the tower, and most of his nights huddled away with his generals. I haven’t had a chance to see him in weeks.

Planning something, is he?

I’m not sure, I said, smiling. I don’t really care about any of that. I am excited to bring this home to him, though, because it guarantees me an audience with his majesty. This Cyclops terrorized his countryside for far too long.

He sure did, Hogarth said. I look forward to the peace...while it lasts.

It will last as long as I draw breath.

We both know that’s not true, Hogarth said. Soon, another will band together the monsters from the Veil, and they will be back.

Then I will be ready for them, friend. We all will be ready for them.

BY THE TIME THE SUN crested over the horizon, Hogarth’s caravan was nearly at the walls of Odgeir’s castle fortress. A one-hundred-foot-high wall spanned the outer perimeter of the city, which could keep out most any monster. Once, an ice giant nearly destroyed the town. It was only at the last moments that I was able to send it to the depths of Hell. After I defeated the massive beast, King Odgeir demanded that his best mages construct an impenetrable wall around the city that not even a giant could destroy.

Of course, that didn’t apply to me. I could still come and go as I pleased through the wall, as could any who used pixie dust, but there were so few of us anymore that it was almost as if pixies no longer existed. I had never met another fairy in my whole life, no matter how far my travels took me. I have heard rumblings of another pixie in the woods, one with a scar on his face and a patch over one eye, but I have never seen it myself, no matter how many hours I wandered there.

Hope the ride was okay, Hogarth said to me as he stopped his horse and leapt down from the caravan.

It was excellent. I hopped down from the back of the caravan and pulled Bjarngimur’s head from the bed of the trunk, noticing the thick goo it left behind on the wood. I’m sorry about that.

It’s fine, Akta, Hogarth replied. Seeing that thing, well, it makes me feel safer going into the woods. You did a great service to me and my kin by killing it.

Still, I replied, go to the stables and have Paget wash it off and give your horse a nice meal for your troubles.

Hogarth replied. Thanks. I’ll say high to Magpie while I’m there, too. She and Cherry always get along like old friends.

I smiled. That’s kind of you. I plan to take her for a run myself soon, when I’m able. 

I wished that my pleasantness was because of my innate goodness, but it was truly a survival mechanism. I needed these people to like me, to love me even, and they would only do that if I was kind to them. I suppose I could have chosen to be ruthless to the point of cruelty, and forced their respect, but I had no interest in fighting a violent coup or ruling with an iron fist over villagers who hated me.

Besides, the truth was that I loved this kingdom, and all its citizens. They took me in as a child, and they treated me like their equal. They chose to let me walk among them and smiled when I did.

Oh my gods! I heard as I dragged the head of Bjarngimur through the town. Is that—

It’s the head of Bjarngimur the terrible, one of the fruit vendors shouted out.

He’s dead! a priest said, covering his mouth in shock.

Dragging a giant cyclops’s head through town wasn’t a daily occurrence, even if the townsfolk in Odgeir’s capital had seen plenty of monster violence. People stared, mouths agape, as I passed. For my part, I wanted to show them that I was once again victorious. If I could show my worth, they would see the value I brought to their lives and know their king would protect them.

A little, freckle-faced boy ran up to me with his little