
BURN IN HADES
BY
MICHAEL L. MARTIN JR.
Text copyright © 2011 by Michael L. Martin Jr.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means---electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other---except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 2011 by Michael L. Martin Jr.
Cover Art by M. S. Corely
Map by Michael L. Martin Jr.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to actual persons living or dead, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
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REST IN PEACE, MY ASS.
Cross squinted up at the bright flame-filled sky and aimed his arrow straight up at the giant bird. At that height it appeared only slightly bigger than the head of his arrow, but most adult barbots were at least the size of a stallion. He could taste the juicy meat already.
He cocked the bowstring back and kept an eye fixed on the featherless bird as it soared peacefully through the red flames that swirled about in every inch of the sky, licking downward like a serpents tongue. The exploding bursts of heat that boomed out of the sky would have scorched any other spirit, but not barbots.
The bowstring snapped, lashing his forearm and neck.
"Dammit!" He slammed the bow to the balcony floor and crushed it under his boot. "Worthless piece of---"
The giant bird spiraled down out of the fiery sky like a comet. It slammed into the black garden with a ruckus, colliding with tree branches in a crackling thud and vanished inside the thick brush.
Cross hadn't shot it down though. His arrow lay impotently on the grimy balcony floor of the ruined temple. Either he was lucky that the bird had fallen or there was something more sinister afoot. Given all his knowledge of the underworld, it was most likely the latter.
He refused to enter the haunted garden to retrieve his quarry and headed back into the dark temple of skulls to wait for another barbot to fly over. But how the hell would he bring the next one down with a broken bow?
A terrible cramp stabbed through his belly like a butcher was gutting him with an icy hook. The pain brought him to knees. His hands slapped the soiled stone.
He clasped his hands together and drove his fists into his stomach. The blow snatched the air from his lungs, and the mysterious vermin swimming around in his stomach finally quit squirming, but they were still hungry.
"Hobble your lip you stinkin' varmints," he said. "I'll go get the damn bird."
His condition wasn't nearly the same thing as being pregnant, but still, to have something living inside his stomach gave him a new respect for the wife he once had. Before the memories could penetrate his train of thought, he hummed one his favorite old spiritual songs: "Ride up in the Chariot". The lyrics alone gave him a little boost in his soul, and concentrating on the melody kept his mind away from the disturbing memories of his child, whom he never had a chance to meet.
He pulled himself from the floor, grabbed his obsidian blade, and exited the temple down the stony staircase. The temple acted as a divider between the ball court and the wretched garden he'd planned on never entering again, mostly to avoid the little girl that lived in there. He faced the webs of fragile weeds, each primed to topple. He hesitated, clutched the grip of his blade and proceeded up the stone ramp into the garden to fetch his meal.
The only good thing about the garden of One Death and Seven Death was its temperature. The cool shadows provided a rare and refreshing chill, a much welcome respite from the barrage of heat from the flaming sky. Dead weeds in the garden grew three times as tall as Cross stood. None of them were green. They were all pale or dark, and they grouped together like an angry mob surrounding a runaway slave. Scraggly vines ensnared headless statues of the deities who had once owned the garden, and they blocked most of the torturing heat from the sky, encasing everything in a nice canvass of shade.
With his obsidian blade, Cross hacked away at every brittle weed that barricaded the garden. As his shoulder brushed the lifeless foliage, they flaked to the ground like snow, and leaves of mush and slime squished under his boots.
Spirits wept in the shadows, but he couldn't see them. The deeper he trudged into the garden, the louder their cries grew, as if the Great Goddess would hear them, feel sorry for them, and rescue them from their lament.
Cross knew better. Magna Mater only helped those who helped themselves. Moping around and crying never solved any problems. He stopped near a putrid pond of poisonous water that some God must've spent time soaking in at one time. A stone head of one of their decapitated statues lay next to the pond staring up with an asshole grin.
Cross picked up the head. "I'll give you something to cry about." He tossed the head into the darkness at the spirits.
Instantly, the stone head shot back out of the blackness.
Cross was lying on the ground with a throbbing head before he could even think about ducking. The stone had hit him right in the soft spot of his head. As he rubbed his forehead he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the murky pond water beside him. He cringed at the unsightly dark hole through his forehead and splashed his fist into the pond to disturb his reflection.
The little girl whom he had hoped to abandon now stood over him as if she had been there the whole time. She was a brand new soul, no more than a few weeks dead, so she didn't look as sallow as he did. Neither of them knew exactly how long ago she had become a member of the damned, but she was about nine years old at the time of her death. She didn't remember her exact age, but that's how old she appeared to Cross.
He moved to pick himself up and wobbled backwards, still shaken from the blow to his head. She dropped to her knees. He turned his head away as she caressed his cheeks in her tiny hands.
"Let me take a look," she said, tending to his injury as if she were a nurse or something in her past life. She cared too much.
He swatted her touch. "Ain't the first time I butted heads with anyone."
"That's because you haven't figured out what 'heaping coals of fire' really means."
"What do you know? You're just a snot-nosed little kid."
She grabbed his arm and helped pull him from the ground. He did most of the heavy lifting. She was just a puny little girl with dark, bushy hair. That's why he nicknamed her Cottontail.
"I know that the weepers don't want you here," said Cottontail. "They cry louder every time you're around."
Cross chuckled. "A realm where I'm not wanted? That's a first."
"I don't want to be here either. I hate it here. The only one I can talk to is you and the skull with the funny name. It said you were leaving."
The only reason the skull knew of Cross's plan was because Cross couldn't keep his big mouth shut.
"I told you to wait here until I got back and not to talk to anybody," he said, wagging his finger at her nose. "That's your problem. You don't listen."
She hammered a fist into his stomach. The blow came as a shock but didn't hurt. He almost laughed out of gladness that he had finally gotten her to express some toughness that she would desperately need in the future.
"You were never gonna come back," she said.
"I'm here now." He smiled.
"To get your stupid barbot. You didn't come back for me." She turned away from him and stared down at the pond. "But I forgive you. If I were you, I'd leave me too."
"I was gonna share the barbot with you before I left," he said, which was partially a lie. He was really going to leave her portion of the food behind before he ditched her. "It should be around this dump somewhere." He peered deep into the shadows. "You seen it?"
Cottontail folded her arms.
"I thought you said you forgave me," he said.
"That doesn't mean I want you to leave."
"Well, I guess the ants are gonna get it now. And I was gonna let you have your favorite piece this time. Too bad. I know you're hungry. You haven't eaten since the last time we ate together yesterday."
Her child-sized stomach gave a wimpy gurgle. She pointed the way to the bird without relaxing her cute little scowl that always chipped away at his solid heart. He followed her direction deeper into the garden and into louder cries from the weepers. Cottontail's footsteps squashed through the mush beside him.
He found the barbot wrapped up in vines, but it wasn't dead like he'd hoped; its wing appeared to be its only injury. It lay curled up in that fetal position that everyone resorts to when suffering immense pain. Its beady, dark red eyes were scanning its surroundings. It might've seen them coming before they saw it.
"She's one of the more beautiful ones." Cross admired the bird's smooth brown skin. Barbot's were usually harder looking, but this one was a lot less wrinkly.
"Looks like a big ol' saddle bag to me," said Cottontail. "Like all the others."
He'd seen uglier barbots and she would too if she survived long enough. There were plenty of them in the underworld. The scaly birds fit his mind's image of dragons, only smaller, and lacking the scary horns and the useful ability to breathe fire. They were gentle creatures.
Cross crept up to the featherless bird whispering in his friendliest voice all kinds of pleasantries to make it feel comfortable. A bushel of fresh calabash lay next to the bird. Their smooth green skins were burst and split open, emptied of all their poisonous, green juices.
He'd been drawn to the garden intentionally, and he knew exactly the sneaky bastard who had led him there. But it was too late for him to do anything about it now.
He leapt on the barbot's leathery back. It gave a great squawk and flailed around. If its wing hadn't been broken the tight area of the dense garden would have prevented it from taking flight anyway, but that didn't stop the bird from trying.
It gave Cross a rough ride; it thrashed around, trying to leap into the air only to bash Cross into the limbs of frail trees. He held on firmly, arms wrapped around its thick featherless neck.
"It's alright," Cross said to the barbot. "You're safe. Best be glad I got to you before those ants. They ain't got no respect." He placed a comforting hand on its head and gave it a pat. The barbot calmed.
"Good. Thata girl," he said. "Now, this is going to be scary at first. But when you start to feel tired, you just go on to sleep. Everything will be all right." He reached down and clutched the underside of its beak, and pulled its head up. The bird resisted and struggled against him. He tightened his grip and held firmly onto the bird.
"I hate it when you do this part," said Cottontail.
"I want you to look this time," he said, pointing the tip of his obsidian blade at her. "Don't you turn away. You hear me?"
She shook her head. "I can't." She stared down at her feet.
"If you're going to make the journey to paradise you're going to see a lot worse than this."
Slowly, she lifted her head and squinted her eyes as Cross placed his blade at the bird's neck.
"May the Great Goddess have mercy on your soul," he said to the bird and sliced its jugular.
Cottontail winced, but she didn't look away. He understood her reluctance to see such brutality. That was the only reason he didn't force her to kill the bird herself this time, even though he should have.
The very first time he ever killed a chicken, he was a kid, and the sunny-side-up eggs he had eaten that morning for breakfast left his stomach and soiled his only shirt. He had raised that chick from the cutest little fur ball to full grown. It was his first friend. There weren't any other Negroes his age to play with, and that chicken was his only companion on the entire plantation. When Mama made him kill it, he cried for a day and couldn't bring himself to eat it. He had come a long way since then.
Life goes on. And so does death.
He propped the dead barbot against a tree upside down. "Always let the blood drain out completely," he told Cottontail. "You can't get too much of that stuff in your stomach. It'll make you sick like you never thought possible."
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "This is why I need to be with you. You know everything."
"Yeah, sometimes it's not good to know things. Sometimes you can know too much."
"But if you keep teaching me stuff like that, I won't be so useless." She kicked at a stem with no head.
"I wish I could be a dumb little kid again," he said. "You ain't gotta do nothing but eat and sleep while somebody else takes care of you. Why don't you make yourself useful and you won't be so useless."
She never lifted her gaze from the ground and heard a little sniffle escape her. Maybe he shouldn't have been so mean to her, but she needed to toughen up. Out in the underworld, she'd experience much worse things than his cold attitude. If she couldn't handle him, she wouldn't last a second with any other spirits.
"Useless souls don't make it to paradise," he said, gently. "And I'm gonna see to it that you make it."
She lifted her head back up, and flung herself into him, wrapping her scrawny arms around his waist. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I promise I'll stay out of your way. I'll be quiet. I won't ask a whole lot of questions."
"You misunderstand me. I'm not bringing you with me."
She released her grip on his torso and stared up at him. "What then?"
"We're gonna meet in paradise. You're going by yourself."
Her eyes widened and glazed over. "I can't go alone. I don't even know the way."
"Paradise is east. That way." He pointed eastward, but the light of paradise couldn't be seen from inside the shady garden. "Go east and you won't miss it."
"I'll toughen up. I promise. You can call me whatever names you want. Just take me with you. I could even help you fight off those squal things. We'll be a team."
She would make a great companion in another life. She reminded him a little too much of his childhood friend, Kate. Knowing he had to part ways with the runt hurt him, but the spirits hunting his head would have no problem burning Cottontail to get to him.
He refused to allow that to happen to another soul, especially her. As happy it made him to have her around---or anyone around for that matter---she was safer staying as far away from him as possible. She was too pure to allow the underworld to taint her like it did every other soul. Her innocence was rare and precious. Her compassion was a gem worth coveting and keeping secret from the rest of the underworld. He wished he could hold on to her sincerity forever.
He'd rather she not make the journey to paradise at all, but she was as stubborn as he was; she'd follow him throughout the underworld no matter how much he protested. She already followed him around like a little lamb. Mapping out her quest to paradise was at least a way of giving her a better shot at survival.
He sat down on the cool dirt and patted his lap for her sit. She snuggled up with him like he used to do with his mother when he was little. Mama's arms were the safest place in the whole wide world.
"Between here and paradise is hell," he said to Cottontail. "Not the Hell. Well that's somewhere along the way too. But I mean hell as in really bad stuff. What's out there ain't got nothing on the ants, or the bats, or the jaguars, or even the squals. That's why I still think you should stay here where it's safer."
"You said there is no such thing as safe in the underworld."
Her memory was nearly as good as his. She just didn't remember anything about her life, unlike him. She didn't know how she died, while he could never forget the perplexing events that surrounded his final moments. Of course, no other soul knew what he knew. None of them remembered like him. That's why his headful of memories was so prized. But soon he would forget; once he made it to paradise.
"This is what you're going to do," he told her. "You're going to call for Charon. It comes to spirits no matter where they are. It usually takes you where you're supposed to be, but sometimes it takes you where you want to go. It already did that for me before. It's not going to do it again. But you're new. You have a clean slate. And you're a kid. You'll get slightly good treatment."
Her frail spirit trembled in his arms. "I don't know if I can," she said.
He was hoping that he'd at least instill enough fear in her to make her want to stay in Xibalbá with the weepers, but his scare tactics only caused her to cling to him even more.
"A little bit of fear is good," he said. "That means you're paying attention. And when you're paying attention, it's difficult for something to surprise you." He poked his finger in her stomach and tickled her. She giggled and squirmed.
"How long have you been in this place anyway?" asked Cottontail.
Cross caressed her bushy head and brought her close to his chest. "Long enough," he said.
Sometime during his 300th year, he had given up on counting his sleep cycles---the only way souls could keep track of their personal time spent in the underworld. Since that year, it seemed as if he had languished through the underworld's endless day for double that amount of time. Eternity was a restless bitch.
The blood had fully drawn from the barbot and now he could cook it for the both of them. Cross sat Cottontail aside gingerly, rose to his feet and chopped off the bird's head.
"If I'm going to meet you there," said Cottontail, "then I think I should tell you my true name so you can find me."
"Tell it to me when we see each other again," said Cross, confident that she would make it to paradise, but a lot less sure about himself. He had a long treacherous journey ahead of him and his bounty hunters always trailed closely behind.
The garden swished and the barbot's head rolled away into the crumbling foliage.
"Ants!" Cottontail whispered as if trying to hold in a frightful scream.
He thought they would've been gone by the time the ants smelled the barbot blood.
"They don't want us," he said. "Just our food." He snatched up the barbot's tail and lugged with all his might. It was like hauling a dead horse.
A forager ant race out of the brush and latched onto the other side of the barbot. The ant was the size of a fat rat and easily lifted its half of the bird in its clamping jaws. In a tug of war Cross pulled his end while the forager ant towed in the opposite direction.
Cottontail picked up a statue head in both her hands and raised it above the ant.
Cross released the barbot's tail and threw up his hands. "Don't---"
Before he could finish warning her not to kill the ant, she splattered the overgrown insect with the stone head. The weeping in the shadows stopped in an instant, and the garden itself belted out an angry hiss. It was the sound of an army of ants swarming upon him and Cottontail.
His thick spirits blood ran cold. "Now they want us," he said.
Her trembling fingers touched her bottom lip. "I'm sorry."
"Get to the ball court as fast as you can," he said, remaining calm for her sake. "The ants never go there. Take this." He wrapped her jittering hands around the grip of the blade, making sure she was holding it firmly. "I'm right behind you."
Without hesitation, she began hacking the brittle weeds, making a path for him to drag the barbot through.
He threw the barbot's tail over his shoulder and trudged forward through the dead kudzu in a fury. The sweeping trickles of the ants grew louder, gaining on him. His calves bulged to the point of bursting, but he dragged the bird through Cottontail's path, past the tiny temple and then tumbled down the stony slope into the ball court.
The ants halted at the edge of the garden. Cross, out of breath, gasped in laughter. He raised his fingers up to his head and mocked the ants' wiggling antennae.
"Too slow," he said, giggling like a little girl.
"Don't tease them," said Cottontail.
"They were gonna eat us."
"Because of me. I smashed one of them. That was one of their sons or uncles or something. They're just hungry like we are. I feel like we should share our food with them now."
"They weren't gonna share with us."
"They wouldn't have teased us though. And it's not like we ever eat the entire bird in one sitting anyway. Even with your pet cornurus, there's enough for all of us."
Her compassion was one of the many things he liked about Cottontail, but that was also the exact attitude he had to break her out of if she was going to survive. He was just too reluctant to destroy something so uncommon.
He turned to the ants still standing at attention at the edge of the ball court. "You have her to thank for this, fellas. Remember that."
The ants waited patiently as he chopped off pieces of raw meat for them. Yanking the giant bird through the garden had strained his lower back, making for a tougher job as he bent over, but the obsidian blade ate through the flesh like a flame to a love letter.
He thanked the Great Goddess for finally repelling the scorching blue sky that had tortured them all week. It would char the meat before he could even sauté it and it took several periods of sleep to rid his mouth of the sooty taste.
But even when the smoldering sky dimmed red as it did that day, souls still weren't immune to its wrath. A river of perspiration rippled down his back and sizzled right on his skin. Even though clouds of smothering smoke swirled above, they offered no relief from the baking heat and only served to bathe the realm of Xibalbá in redundant gloom.
"I get the breast this time," said Cottontail, rubbing her palms together and licking her cracked lips.
"The breast is for Gimlet." Cross lopped off the wings.
"You said earlier that you were going to give me my favorite piece."
"Lesson one. Everybody lies." He had to be tough on her. The underworld wouldn't go easy on her just because she was a little girl. Something as simple as a meal could be her end. "Gimlet always gets the biggest piece because she's the biggest."
"Well, I want the wings then."
"No, I get the wings because I killed the damn thing. That's lesson two. When you kill it, you can have whatever piece you want." He chopped the raining pieces off the bird. "Legs, thighs or tail? Take your pick."
Cottontail huffed. "Legs then," she grumbled.
"And your ugly little friends can have the rest."
Curiously, the ants had climbed on each other's backs forming a totem. The tower of ants wobbled and leaned into the ball court, nearly toppling over. Cross scooped Cottontail off her feet and dashed her out of the way of danger before the ants could crush her. The ants dangled over the barbot breast and snatched it up in their jaws.
"That's not for you," said Cross, grabbing for the breast, but merely swiping the air.
The tower of ants sprang backward into the garden and collapsed like a waterfall. They scurried away, carrying the breast with them, leaving behind the legs, thighs, wings and tail.
"Let them have it," said Cottontail. "Gimlet can have my pieces. I'll eat the thighs or tail. It doesn't matter."
"Nobody steals from me." Cross darted into the garden. His eyes locked onto the barbot breast bouncing through the jungle as he chased. Suddenly, the breast rolled to a stop, but the ants continued scurrying into the garden and vanished into the darkness.
"That's right," said Cross. "Run! You know you can't beat me."
He reached for the barbot meat. The weepers halted their cries leaving only the wispy sound of dead grass swaying. He paused and surveyed the shadows.
The ground rippled and buckled, throwing him off his feet. An enormous green worm leapt out of the ground like a fish breaking the surface of water. It sailed over him, gaping its tunnel of a mouth and plunged back into the ground with a slimy splash as if diving back into the sea.
The worm was big enough to have swallowed Cross whole. He was lucky that it barely missed him. He searched for the barbot breast, but it was gone. Son of a bitch. The goddamn worm had devoured it.
The ground raked up again, and snaked toward the ball court where Cottontail stood with the rest of the meat. The weepers wailed like he had never heard them cry before.
Cross sprinted back to the court, rushing against the worm as it swam under the earth, but it was winning the race.
He spotted Cottontail and waved frantically for her to move away from the meat, which he no longer cared about. The worm could have the meat.
His efforts to warn her went unnoticed. She probably couldn't see him as he was still draped in the shade of the garden, and the weepers seemed to be quelling his screams. He pushed his already exhausted legs harder, barreling through the jungle and finally tumbled down the stone ramp into the ball court shouting, "Get away from the meat!"
"What's happening?" She stood there as if frozen in fear.
The ground exploded beneath her, sending her upward with a violent jolt, and then tumbling back into the worm's mouth with barely enough time to scream. The worm sank straight down into the hole it came from.
Cross dove for the worm, but dirt had already filled its hole. The beast had vanished into the ground with his food and his friend. He dug the loose soil desperately with his hands and nails, scooping and tossing dirt, calling out for Cottontail.
"You stupid, dumb kid! Why didn't you get out of the way?" He slammed his fist into the ground.
It never made sense that she would be in the underworld anyway. What could a sweet little girl like her ever do that was so bad in her life that she would end up in such a hopeless place?
A sudden burst of inspiration hit him. If she was truly gone, he'd know it. When someone close to him burned he always received a special sign. He checked his palm. Nothing. He shook his hand, slapped it, pinched it and squeezed his fist. Still no sign.
No sign meant something good, like Goddess willing, she hadn't burned yet. She could still be in that he worm's stomach, which meant she could be rescued. But he had no tools to dig with, and there was no telling how deep that worm had traveled by now. If Cottontail hadn't burned yet, she would soon.
He picked himself off the ground and stormed further into the ball court. He trampled over the brown, flattened grass that covered the court and pounced into the shadow of the umbrella-shaped tree that sprouted out of its center.
"This is your fault." He yelled up at the old tree. In a tremendous echo, his voice bounced off the two walls that fenced either side of the ball court. "Wake up, goddammit!" He kicked the tree trunk repeatedly.
He booted the tree so hard, if the branches had borne any leaves they would have fallen off. Its barren limbs, which linked and weaved like folded fingers, simply rattled. Then they jolted as the tree snapped to life, stretching at length with a crackle and pop. A skull poked its boney face out from amidst the branches, yawning.
"Rest is a very rare thing," said the skull in its ancient, windy voice. "I suspect you have only awakened me because you are bearing good news."
STUPID TREE. THERE WAS NO SUCH THING AS GOOD NEWS, except maybe for the predictable consistency of the underworld to never giveth and always taketh away. It always found ways to bleed a soul dry, mentally and physically. That was the one thing Cross could always depend on, if anyone could call that good news.
At least, he had suspected he'd lose Cottontail at some point. Anticipating it while being incapable of preventing it was what always hurt the most. He couldn't trust most spirits, and losing the ones he could was eternal Hell. Everything that ever went wrong in his life and death flooded into his mind, and rage stroked the fire in his heart.
"I didn't ask for your help, Skullface," he scolded the tree. "I didn't need your help. You sent me into the garden. And now..."
"Cottontail should be with you." The skull's skeletal jaws clunked happily together as it spoke and its eye sockets bloomed with a white hot glow.
"You don't get to say her name!"
"If I had lips I would smile at the sound of her name. Where is Cotton---?"
Cross grabbed the bottom of Skullface's jaw and held his boney mouth open. Unexpected moisture wet his hand. At first he thought it was some kind of sap, but its watery consistency was that of spit.
Dry bark grew over most of the skull's bones giving the skull an appearance of having incomplete flesh; there were tribal markings tattooed all over the exposed portions of the skull; and some deep scratches made Skullface look as if he had gotten into a fight with an angry bird, but nothing indicated that the skull produced any saliva.
Cross released the skull's jaw and wiped his hand on his shirt.
"That was very rude of you," said Skullface. "And dangerous. You must never do this again."
A branch whacked Cross over the head. It stung. He massaged his head and then checked his palm again. Still no sign of Cottontail's second death. There was still a chance he could save her.
"How deep do those worms go?" he asked.
"Sometimes they go deeper than I can sense."
"How deep is that?"
"My roots reach so far into the bowels of the underworld that I can feel the vibrations in the Inferno many sleep cycles before it erupts. By the way, expect a rather large eruption soon. If you stick to your sleep schedule, you should expect it to happen in your 119th period of sleep."
"Can sense any of those worms around right now?"
"Currently, there are approximately one hundred eighty-two in this vicinity. But they come and go."
Cross needed an object of the dead to rescue Cottontail or a miracle from the Great Goddess herself. Even with digging tools, he'd never be able to find the exact worm that ate her. No way could search the stomachs of one hundred eighty-two worms without getting eaten himself. If he had known her true name he could have tracked her. Now she was lost forever.
Cross sat down in the dirt, facing the tree and mumbled to himself. "Every time I bring someone with me they don't last so long."
"What is all this about?" The skull's voice clattered in a panic. "Where's Cottontail?"
"She's on her way to paradise." Cross chose to spare the skull's feelings. It seemed happy to hear good news about Cottontail, and he didn't want to break its heart---if it even had a heart.
"Gone to paradise?" The bark peeled upward from the skull's eye sockets and the glow inside them bloomed in surprise. "All by her lonely? I had hoped she would go along with you. I told her all about your scheme to leave her behind, and I promised that I would not allow that to happen. That's why I lead you into the garden."
"The only reason I even told you is so you could feed her while I was gone." Cross sprung from the ground and snapped a branch off the tree.
A limb grabbed him by the arms and dangled him in front of the skull. Its glowing eye sockets dimmed.
"Since the wars," said Skullface, "no one would visit. I'm here all alone. Then you came. And you brought Cottontail." Skullface's eye sockets glowed white hot again, and the bark curled up the corners of its mouth. "I cherished every day you both spent here with me. Very much so. The three of us really make great companions. But I knew you couldn't stay. And sorely, I am unable to move from my spot in this here ball court. This is my onus. But this inability to join you on your quest is what inspired me to do something nice for you. I only wished that you two would partner up at least. My true friends."
"We're not friends."
"The cruel things you say," said Skullface.
"Well, now you know better than to get too attached to anyone." Cross tried to wiggle himself free from the tree's grip.
It dropped him. He plopped to his bottom.
"You always preach loathsome words like this," said Skullface. "I don't know what to do with you."
Cross cleaned the dirt from one of his fingernails with a twig. "There are two kinds of souls in the underworld: those that burn and those that don't. I'll never burn because I'm smart enough to realize that you can't make friends in this place. The trustworthy ones burn. The others turn on you like Judas."
The limbs of the tree swished from side to side. "Such a tragic view," said Skullface. "Fear is no reason to pass up good things. Everyone could use a friend. And I shall have you know that I have never been a betrayer and do not ever intend to make myself into one."
"And that's why we're all here. Because the damned never foresee their damnation. If they did, they wouldn't be damned."
"Why don't you have a refreshing calabash? Hopefully, it will rid you of all your irksome gloom."
A single green bottle-shaped fruit ballooned out of a barren limb and dangled. Cross gave the strange fruit the evil eye. It was shiny and juicy looking, but it would quench his thirst the same way a bullet to the gut would.
"If you want to be my friend so much, why do you keep trying to make me drink poison?"
"Poison?" The bark over Skullface's eyes formed a deep V down the center of his eyes sockets as if the skull were offended by the accusation. "The calabash is not poison!"
"Don't act like you don't know your fruit hurts souls."
A pointy limb stabbed toward Cross and stopped just short of his neck. It was like a giant thorn.
"Watch your tongue," said Skullface. "It does no such thing."
"I guess you never get a chance to see the effects because you're stuck here in this ugly ball court. But back in Vingólf, the place where I used to live, souls would frequently end up there half burnt, warning us about a talking tree that made them sick. Most were even afraid to admit what exactly happened to them, but I've seen their stomachs blow up."
The thorn swayed away from Cross, and Skullface's glowing eyes dimmed nearly black.
"You are mistaken," said Skullface. "My one true friend, I would never hurt you. I only wish to replenish your soul. That is all. Do you not trust my words?"
"Words are just words," said Cross. "Your intentions might be good, but good intentions can do as much harm as cruel ones. I believe you when you say you don't want to hurt me. But that doesn't mean you won't." He smacked the fruit with the back of his hand. It sailed across the court and splashed on one of the walls. "The answer is always no, Skullface."
"What is this name you insist on saying to me?" said Skullface. "How many times must I tell you that this Skullface name is not what I shall be called? I am Bolon-Hunahpu."
"Then it's your funeral, Bolon. You know it's not wise to use true names."
"I am never frightened of any spirit."
"Good. 'Cuz they'll come soon. And I have to find Gimlet before I lose her too. I'm going to start tying her ass up from now on."
Bolon-Hunahpu pivoted its trunk and twisted its branches. Eyes bloomed on the tip of each twig of the bony branches. The pupils darted every which way, and the branches swayed as though a breeze nudged them, but no such breeze ever swept through the underworld. That would be too comforting for the damned. Cold places existed in the underworld, but they were just as tormenting as the hot ones.
"I can't see her," said Bolon-Hunahpu, "but I sense that your pet cornurus is currently behind the palace. It appears she may be hunting. I shall draw her over to me. But before you leave, you must finally tell me how you've come to be here in this place." A branch reached down patted Cross on the head gingerly.
Cross swatted the branch. "The same way everyone else got here. I was a good guy once. But bad things happened."
"What kind of bad things?"
"It doesn't matter. The past is dead. Or at least it should be."
"The seed cannot sprout upwards without simultaneously sending roots into the ground. The plant reveals what is in the seed. There grows no wheat where there is no grain, soil, season, and sun. This explains why I bare no leaves, why the gardens are dead and why you will never move on if you kill your past."
"Move on to what?"
"That is for you to find out."
"Knowing what I've done in life, if there's anything after this, it's probably worse. I never even wanted to be an outlaw. There a hundred other things I would have rather done with my life, but I had to do what I had to do to survive. Now I'm here. Makes me wonder what you ever did to get where you are."
The bark receded up the corners of Skullface's mouth and peeled away from his glowing eye sockets. "I am so pleased that you've finally asked this of me!"
Cross waved his hand. "Now hold on. I didn't ask you anything. I just had a vague curiosity. That's it."
"Take a look over at that wall." Branches reached down like a hundred hands with a thousand fingers and pointed to one of the walls of the court.
Of the many souls carved into the walls, depicting some sort of ancient ball game, a single man stood as the only soul decapitated. Streams of what appeared to be blood sprouted from his neck and formed a serpent.
"That is Hun-Hunahpu," said the skull. "He was the very first---"
Dog-like cackles echoed from far away in the north. Cross leapt to his feet at the yelping.
The unpleasant barking didn't come from hellhounds however. The noise wasn't even the howl of a dog, but something more unsettling. The sound was celebratory laughter from the only kind of creatures that lived in the Metnal Mountains, and they were coming for Cross's head. If they were still in the mountains and not in the valley, he still had time to eat before he escaped.
Bolon-Hunahpu swished its branches upward at the taunting noises. "Squals!" Each of the eyes, which still bloomed on the branches, scowled. "I despise those miserable creatures with all my bark and bone. I once offered them my calabash, and they attempted to carve me out of the trunk. Can you believe? I barely managed to fend them off, and not without suffering much abuse. I strongly suggest you try some calabash. It may be of some aid to you in case of confrontation. If you so desire the fruit of this tree, you shall speak it unto me."
The squal laughter grew louder. Cross still couldn't pinpoint how close his hunters were, but the screeching noises of the squals were definitely coming from the north. They heckled him from their lair in the mountains of Metnal as if they wanted him to know they were on his heels. It could mean they were closer than he anticipated. Or it could mean that they were far away and were just trying to spook him. It worked.
"Is this fruit not delicious in its appearance?" said Skullface.
"Shut up you big, dumb tree! You're gonna get me burned."
"I AM NO TREE! I am merely a skull! A round thing placed in the middle of branches."
"You're gonna be firewood if you don't shut your squirrel hole."
The tree bent upwards with a scraping wisp. "The walls of this court were designed to carry sound at great distances, so I believe it was your yelling earlier that has alerted them to your whereabouts. But if it is I you wish to quiet, I shall grant you an extended silence." Skullface buried himself back inside the trunk and the tree stood lifeless.
An apology nearly slipped from Cross's tongue. He didn't truly mean what he said about burning down the stupid tree. Bolon-Hunahpu was just way too sensitive. Cottontail had thicker skin than all the bark on Skullface's trunk, but she was gone now and Bolon-Hunahpu was partially responsible.
His stomach began to gurgle and squirm. Religious folk like his old friend Mr. Beckwourth failed to mention that at least one thing never died in the underworld: hunger. But satisfying one's appetite didn't exist either, and under the underworld's tricky, manipulative hand, a spirit never simply starved to second death. That would have been a luxury.
Within his first week as a member of the damned, Cross was lucky enough to have witnessed the monstrous sight of a soul's insides turning on its spirit and eating its way out. Ever since then, he had eaten religiously. No matter what the predicament he found himself in, he fed his insides before they fed on him. He actually needed Bolon-Hunahpu's help now more than ever.
He stood and faced the tree. "Skullface---I mean Bolon-Hunahpu? You there? I didn't mean what I said. Honest."
The skull emerged from the branches. "I heard the beast in your tummy."
"If I don't eat right now, Squals will be my least worry."
"You refuse my calabash. And you refuse my friendship."
"I'll be your friend. I am your friend. From now on, you and me, we'll be like the Hatter and the Hare."
"I have come to know that you can be very cordial when you're not angry. Sometimes you let your rage get the best of you. You have a tendency to allow your anger to dictate your decisions. It really hinders you from progress."
"Do you want me to burn, Skullface? More help. Less talk."
The skull rolled itself back into the branches once again.
"Okay," said Cross, sighing. "You're right. I won't yell at you again. I promise. And I'll even consider having one of those calabashes."
With Bolon-Hunahpu's help, Cross retrieved a new barbot. He dragged the bird by several of the many weed-covered houses that populated the kingdom of Xibalbá. They were all scattered about and separated by lanes and alleys of statues.
An eerie silence pervaded the house of darkness as he passed; hail thumped and swirled about in the shivering house; and the clatter of wind-chime sounds twinkled inside the blade house. The jaguars must've been resting in their house. He couldn't see inside because they were sealed in tightly. Skullface had mentioned that they were locked in their cage for their own protection. They were the last jaguars of the underworld, just like the giant bats were the last of their kind. The deities would someday return and retrieve them both.
Through the bars and fencing of the dome shaped aviary, Cross spotted a couple of those bats flapping around in the dead trees. The only two houses he had never entered were the bat aviary and the jaguar cage for fear of the creatures that dwelled inside them, but he had explored all the other houses for useful objects. The blade house kept all the weapons.
The Palace of the Lords dominated the kingdom, stretching across at least a mile and a half. Dead weeds attempted to strangle the palace, but its mighty stones burst through them like muscles on brawny man wearing a shirt that was too small.
Beneath the vines were carved depictions he hadn't noticed before in the couple of weeks he had been hiding out in Xibalbá. It was as if the vines had peeled themselves back to reveal the carvings of skulls and impaled heads to him specifically. They also showed him a carving of an ugly serpent just like the one decorating the ball court, but this one had faces etched into its body. The serpent led up the side of stone staircase and into the dark palace.
In the cooking area of the palace, Cross sliced up the bird using the blade he had retrieved from the blade house. Good thing barbots didn't have feathers. It would be time-consuming hell plucking a bird so big that it could eat a horse. And if he was going to remain among the damned, he had to eat fast, find Gimlet and shin out. He was determined to reach the River Lethe and wipe his mind before any miserable soul could get their dirty claws on his memories.
A calabash fell out of the barbots neck and sizzled on the cooking pan he was preparing. Sneaky old Skullface must've hid it in there. Cross grabbed the fruit before its poisonous juices could empty into the pan. He sat the fruit on the wooden tray with no intention of eating it, but he kept it around just in case he found a use for it.
He fried the rest of the chucks of meat. The warm scent almost covered up the palace's musty smell of years of neglect. Barbot meat was the closest he had ever come to the taste of chicken in the underworld. How ironic that the only meat the damned could eat tasted the same as one of the best meats enjoyed by the living.
He carried the meat and calabash on the wooden tray, and on his way into the dining hall, he tossed the barbot legs to the mysterious critters that lurked in the shadows. It was Cottontail's idea to feed them, and out of respect for her, that's what he did. They clunked and scraped on the hard surface as they munched in the darkness, but they were much quieter than those annoying weepers so he didn't mind doing something nice for them.
He didn't know how many there were and could only hope that it was enough food for them all. He had never once seen the draggles up close and he preferred it that way. Not that he was afraid of the creatures. They behaved as if they were more afraid of him than he was of them. It was just better to keep everyone and everything at a distance as much as possible.
The draggles seemed friendly enough. If they wanted to eat him, they would have attacked long ago. He nicknamed them draggles because they followed him from realm to realm as if they were his apostles. The thought seemed fitting in that moment, as barbot might one day be his last supper.
Unfortunately, they posed a potentially huge problem to his survival. They might've been the reason others spirits, like the squals, kept finding him in all of his hideouts. He never suspected the draggles were spies, but their stealth didn't go beyond remaining hidden in the shadows. He always knew of their presence, and if he knew they were following him, then everyone else knew too.
In the dining hall, dull light beams poked through the tattered animal hide that covered the glassless windows in the tower and landed on sections of a long slab of stone that formed the dining table.
He lingered over the roughly carved table for a moment. Cottontail had already blown away the webs of decay that littered the pottery and wiped the dust out of the forgotten ceramic bowls, all left behind by the ancient gods and goddesses who had once feasted at that table. She had made everything almost new again.
The two of them had even crowned themselves King and Princess of Xibalbá and its abandoned kingdom just for fun. Once again, that came from Cottontail's imagination. Getting him to act childish was her way of brightening up all the gloom. No matter how hard he resisted the sentiment he always enjoyed those moments.
The candle holder she had found and polished rested on the table. He lifted it up and held the candle wicks within the concentrated beams of light until the candles sparked and lit. He sat at the head of the table and raised a cup of devil's water to the imagined dignitaries that sat around the table with him.
"To Cottontail," he said. "May the Great Goddess have mercy on her soul." The lonely king drank and promised himself that he'd never break his number one rule again. No more companions.
He tucked an old tattered rag into his shirt as a bib, and once the critters had finished chomping on their bone and settled down, he listened for any suspicious sounds. Only the fiery lake that was the sky crackled outside.
His mouth watered at the sight of the barbot wing. It was bigger than his head. He held the wing up to his mouth with both hands. The draggles claws tapped the surface of the floor as if they were scurrying away. Something had spooked them. He squinted his eyes and peered into the dark corridor in front of him.
Three lanky figures skulked into the hall. Each of them was hunched forward due to pronounced curves in their spines and with knees that pointed backwards which forced them to bend even further forward. If they were crouched just a few inches lower they'd be standing on all fours. Squals.
Cross held his breath as the three squals slinked around the room slowly as if they hadn't seen him yet. The creatures investigated the area the draggles had just evacuated. If the draggles hadn't signaled him, he wouldn't have heard the squals enter. But they also could have been the reason he had just been found. If they were true friends, they would have stayed around to help him escape.
Before he could blow out the candles, his stomach barked with hunger. At once, the squals snapped their heads toward him. If only they had showed up five minutes later after he had taken a bite.
The squals stalked him from the other side of the room, drumming their claws on the floor and dripping with a nasty wetness. The light beams that poked through the haze of dust from above shined on the smooth sheen of sweat or slime that covered their hairless bodies and glistened off their leathery skin.
"You have a mind," said one of the squals, "beautiful enough to be worth nine objects-sss."
Cross's mouth dried up. He had burned the last squal that came for his head. The ones standing before him now wouldn't take any more chances. Seconds passed.
The squals stood at the other end of the hall sizing him up through the layer of skin that grew over the top half of their faces, covering any trace of a nose or eyes. Only their mouths were exposed on their beady heads. Their tiny thorn-like teeth bared.
Good thing they needed to take him prisoner before they chopped off his head. That was the only element fueling his confidence that he had a chance at to survive. If they had planned to kill him on sight, he'd have already met his second death long ago. Even if they caught him this time, he was determined to make it as difficult as possible for them to steal his memories.
His insides squirmed as if worms were burrowing their way to the surface.
"Do you mind?" He said to the squals and gestured down at the food on the table. "I know how important I am to you."
"Your head," said the center squal, "or rather what's-sss in-sss-side it is-sss important. Not you."
"Same difference." Cross shrugged. "The thing is, you interrupted my meal, and I'm really hungry. My head is no good to you if I burn."
The squals turned to each other as if taken aback by his nonchalant attitude.
"One bite is-sss all you need," said the center squal. It must've been the leader of that particular posse since it did the most speaking.
Cross raised the wing to his mouth and paused. "Where's my manners? You three came all this way. You must be hungry. Sit down. Dinner's on me."
"Eat quickly! Or we'll feed your pet cornurus-sss to you."
Cross bit into the barbot wing, savoring the juicy chicken flavor. It was delicious. He had outdone himself and wished he could enjoy the rest or even share it with Cottontail. He'd even give her the wings. He chewed the meat slowly, buying time, trying to figure out his next move.
The squals blocked his only exit. If he could draw them away from the main corridor, then he could make a clean escape. The squals would easily catch him if he ran to the compact cooking area. But that's where he had left his obsidian blade, and if he could get to it, he could make a better stand against them.
He sat there and swallowed his food hard. His stomach settled and relaxed. He licked his fingers then wiped his mouth and hands on his bib.
The center squal leapt into the air and crashed onto the opposite end of the table flipping bowls and sending pottery crashing to the floor. The other two squals held back, purposely blocking the main corridor.
The squal crawled along the table and finally reached him. With its hand-like foot, it grabbed the barbot breast and tossed it backwards. The other two squals leaned to the side to dodge it.
Cross snatched the barbot wing off the table and lurched back, nudging his throne. The chair legs screeched across the floor sending an echo bouncing off the walls.
He swung the wing like a baseball bat. The squal leaned back and he missed. His second swing swiped clean over the squals head as it ducked the blow. He faked a third swing. The squal dodged out of the way of the phony swing and when it recoiled, Cross smacked the squal in the head. As it twisted in the air, spit flew from its foamy mouth. It flopped to the floor. The other two squals scrambled around either side of the table just as he wanted them to.
Cross leapt onto the table and sprinted across it. A claw wrapped around his ankle. He crashed to the table, knocking over centerpieces.
One squal shoved the other. "Do not damage the head!"
"It already has-sss a hole in it."
They shoved each other. Cross grabbed the lit candle and jammed it in the closest squal's face. It hissed as the layer of skin covering the top half of its face melted. Stringy skin dripped down its chin until its veil was gone, uncovering two empty pits of eye sockets. The calabash fell off the table and rolled across the floor.
"Fresh fruit?" said the other squal and chased after the rolling calabash.
That wasn't one of the uses Cross had anticipated using the fruit for, but it would work. He jumped off the table and landed near the first squal he had thumped with barbot wing. It was dazed and pulling itself to its clawed feet.
"How about a second helping?" Cross whopped the dazed squal again with the wing. He took a step toward the cooking area to retrieve his blade and halted.
The other two squals were blocking the doorway. The one squal was still eating the calabash while his melted-face companion was gathering itself off the floor.
The wing would have to make do as a weapon for now. He sprinted through the main hall, turned down a couple corridors, and headed for the rear where Bolon-Hunahpu had last sensed Gimlet. The nails of the squal's feet scrapped the floor behind him. He raced past several rooms, tipping over statues to slow the squals down.
At the end of the hall, the gloomy orange haze from the flaming sky poured into the window between the animal hides. He aimed for the window and flung himself through it, grabbing the animal hide on his way out, clutching it. He swung. His shoulder slammed into the stone wall. The animal hide ripped, and he plummeted two stories to the ground.
He jumped to his feet and checked around for Gimlet. She was nowhere to be found. That's what he got for not tying her up and giving her freedom to roam. Last time he'd be nice.
"Gimlet!" he called out into the vacant grounds, turning his head every which way in search of his pet cornurus. Skullface had said he would draw Gimlet over to the ball court.
A squal vaulted through the window he had just jumped through. Cross dashed down the lane of statues and cut around the palace.
The melted-faced squal met him in the courtyard. It had cut him off by going through the palace. The two squals approached cautiously from front and behind.
Cross turned sideways so that he could keep an eye on them both.
"You're the mo-sss-st sss-stubborn sss-soul," said the squal on his right. "When you sss-set your mind to sss-something, it is-sss sss-set."
"I'm not worth all this trouble." Cross stepped backwards. "Just go back and tell your clan someone else already captured me before you got to me."
The melted-faced squal to his left stepped forward. "Your beautiful mind is-sss worth the trouble. And even if it were not, we are forbidden to return without you."
"Then, I guess I'm going to have to burn you all like I did the last one."
The melted-faced squal stepped closer. "There are three of us-sss this-sss time. How do you sss-suppose you're going to take us-sss all?"
"That's a surprise."
It was so much of a surprise, not even Cross knew exactly how he was going to do it yet. His best option was to make it to the blade house. But the blade house was several houses away and the path to it was blocked by the squal in front of him.
The dome shaped Bat Aviary towered right next to him. He could lose the squals in there and then make his way to the blade house.
Cross sprinted through the alley of stone-carved bats leading up to the aviary. The squals chased. He slammed the iron aviary door behind him.
The squals bashed the solid door from the other side. It cracked open just enough for them to slash their claws through. They ripped his shirt sleeve, trying to grab him and pull him out.
CROSS SHOULDERED THE IRON AVIARY DOOR WITH ALL HIS MIGHT. Finally, the squals snatched their arms back. The door closed. He slid the latch in place, locking the door, and backed away. He drew in a shaky breath. The squals would never give up.
A narrow wooden bridge wound from the entrance through a jungle of dead trees and vines. It was elevated above the forest floor which was filled with boulders and a few hazy ponds, bubbling. It would be a bone breaking jump down. The canopy of the trees rose even higher, but barely touched the top of the dome shaped fencing of aviary.
He spotted a wooden shack at the other end of the bridge in the center of the aviary. He had never been inside the aviary, let alone that shack. There had to be a way out somewhere on the other side of that shack. Most of the other houses of Xibalbá had back doors.
The iron door banged. The squals were throwing their bodies against it without any regard to their health. Either they were going to break through the gate or end up breaking their own bones, possibly both.
The canopy above wisped. Shrieks and flapping noises exploded throughout the aviary. Bats swooped down and swarmed out of their cave-like roosts below.
Cross rushed across the bridge. Bats half his size snapped their fangs at him and snatched with their talons. He ducked them, sprinting toward the shack.
Halfway across the bridge, a bat swooped in front of him. He swung the barbot wing and knocked it out of the air. It spiraled to the forest floor several feet below the bridge and splashed into a pond.
Behind him, the squals burst through the iron door, knocking it off is hinges. A swarm of bats flew out the door, while others attacked the squals, lifting some of the pressure off Cross. Not nearly enough though.
A bat wrapped its talons around the barbot wing. The wing snapped in half. Another bat slammed into his back, sinking its talons into his flesh. The force sent him tumbling into the dark shack. He rolled around trying to get the creature off his back and writhed in pain.
"Off of him." A squal snatched the bat off Cross. Some of the skin on his back ripped away along with it. Cross arched his back in agony.
Both squals tussled with the bat. The lower jaw on one of the squal's dangled. Cross must've broken it when he bashed it with the wing back in the palace.
The bat latched its talons onto the slack jawed squal's chin and ripped its lower jaw right off its face. Black blood gushed out of its neck. It collapsed, hissing.
The squal with the melted face, whom Cross had stabbed with the lit candles, slapped the bat against the floor repeatedly until it quit flapping and shrieking.
Melty-face then stepped over Slackjaw, who was lying on the senseless floor, and reached out to Cross as if it honestly cared about his wellbeing. "They did not injure you did they?"
Cross backed away on his bottom, scanning the one room shack for an exit. A door was directly on the opposite side of the shack only a few feet away.
"You're only delaying the inevitable," said Melty-face.
"That's the point," said Cross.
"We will have your memories-sss. You cannot run forever."
"I don't plan to."
"Yes-sss. We know all about your plan to go to paradise and drink from the River Lethe. Quite ambitious-sss. But you'll never breach the great wall. The guards of the A'raf will annihilate you on sss-sight. And that does-sss no sss-soul any good. At least if you come with us-sss, you'll be giving back to the community. Your memories-sss will help all of the damned. You'll be a hero. The Man Who Remembers-sss will, himself, be remembered as-sss a sss-savior."
Cross sprang to his feet, raced through the shack and out the back door. He slammed the wooden door behind him. It was much weaker than the iron door at the entrance and it was rotting away. He braced it shut with his back.
The bridge continued from the rear of the shack and led to the other side of the aviary where there was a rear exit.
Oddly, the squal hadn't yet tried to break down the door like they had done with the entrance. Cross peeked through a crack in the door. Slackjaw's body remained on the floor still bleeding to second death, but Metly-face was nowhere inside the shack.
The squal must've circled around to the rear exit and was planning to meet him in the back of the aviary. There would be a squal waiting for him outside either door. Squals were tricky that way.
Maybe there was a hole in the fencing at the top of the aviary that he could slip through. If not, he could make one. Everything in Xibalbá was ancient and falling apart. With some brute force he could break through. He could sneak through the top and then slide down the side of the aviary. The squals wouldn't expect that.
He climbed onto the bridge railing and vaulted over to a tree. He scaled high enough up that he could see the entire aviary below. No sign of any of the squals and most of the bats had flown the coop.
Melty-face entered the aviary through the rear entrance just as Cross had suspected it would. The squal stopped at the edge of the bridge where it met the shack, turning its head side to side, searching.
Cross grabbed the wired fencing above him and shook it, trying to find a weakness. Vines were wrapped tightly around the wiring, giving the fence extra strength. It wouldn't budge.
The tree limb he was standing on snapped. He tumbled. His chest slapped a limb. He hugged it, preventing himself from falling further.
"Come down from there," said Melty-face, pleading with its clawed hands. "You'll fall and damage that beautiful mind." The squal scrambled up the tree.
Cross wished he had a gun so he could threaten to blow his own brains out. That would make the squals back off.
He swung a leg over the limb, and regained his footing. The squal drew closer. A vine swung down and slapped Cross in his face. It hung directly from the top of the aviary where he had been jostling the wiring. He must've loosened it. He pulled it taught to see if it could hold his weight. It held.
He thanked the Great Goddess for such a blessing and kissed the vine. He wrapped the vine around his arm and flung himself outward just out of the reach of the squals swiping claws. He sailed above the aviary peacefully, and then his momentum slowed; he swung back toward the welcoming arms of Melty-face.
He lifted his legs as high as he could over Melty-face's outstretched arms and swung pass the squal, then over the roof of the shack. He was too high to jump onto it without breaking bones.
With nowhere to land safely, he was just a naked pendulum, and his clock was ticking. At the peak of the swing, the vine jolted as though on the verge of snapping. The wiring at the top was buckling and lowered him down a drop, now at the perfect height for the squal to grab him easily.
Melty-face waited patiently on its perch. Cross bunched his knees to his chest and kicked off of Melty-face's body. The squal clawed at his legs, shredding his pants and skin.
Cross sailed over the bridge, looking for somewhere he could jump before the wiring gave way. Melty-face leapt onto his vine. It snapped. They plummeted.
Branches broke his fall on the way down and nearly broke one of his ribs. He plowed into the bridge on his shoulder and debris showered him. Melty-face next to him was staggering to its feet, jostling broken shards of bone from the barbot wing.
Cross kicked the squal in the head. It keeled over onto its back. He snatched up the dagger sized shard of bone and plunged it into the flailing squal's chest.
The miserable spirit withered into the black ash-like state of second death, crusty and hard on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside. It was now stiff and frozen in the position it burned, arms and legs curled like a dead spider. That didn't always happen when spirits burned, but the contorted appearance always gave him the willies.
Cross dropped the bone and crossed himself. The Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone.
"You did that to yourself," he said to the charred spirit. "Told you to leave me alone." He wiped its black blood off his hands and onto his shirt.
Burning a squal wasn't as easy as stomping on a cockroach, but just like squashing a bug, a squal dying a second death didn't mean shit in the grand scheme. More would follow. No one could get rid of them all.
He sprang to his feet, only a short distance to the front entrance where the third squal was most likely waiting outside---unless the poison calabash it had eaten had taken affect. Then he'd have one less squal to worry about. Not taking any chances, he proceeded to the rear exit and raced out that iron door.
A squal met him there.
"Son of a bitch!" Cross threw his head back in exasperation. They tricked him. "I thought' you'd be out front."
"That's-sss what we wanted you to believe," said the squal.
It stood taller. The curvature in its spine had straightened. Its knees pointed forward and its skin was drier. The moistness seemed to have been sucked out of it. It must've been the squal that had eaten the calabash. The poisonous affects were taking place. It would burn soon.
"What if I had went out the front door then?" asked Cross.
The squal shrugged its unusually broad shoulders. "You would have had a much bigger head sss-start." Slowly, it curled the corners of its slimy mouth upward and flashed its thorny teeth.
Cross darted down the lane to the shivering house. He could trip the unsuspecting squal on the slippery ice inside.
He flung the door open. A green jaguar lying just inside lifted its head and growled.
"Shit!" Wrong house. Cross slammed the door in the jaguar's face and spun around to flee. Only then did he notice the alley of stone jaguars leading up to the house. He should pay more attention.
The squal raced up the alley towards him. Cross dove out of its way. The squal slammed into the door and broke through it. Jaguars growled inside. Cross scooted backwards on his bottom.
The squal launched out of the jaguar lair as if tossed. It tumbled backwards and landed on all fours in a slide. The squal hissed and backed away from the house.
A handful of green jaguars poured out the house, snarling. They flocked around the squal, attacking it from all sides. A cloud of rustled dust obscured Cross's view. Gnashing and tearing of skin.
"Eat him," Cross cheered the jaguars on. "Eat him up!"
They'd have him for dessert. He hopped to his feet.
A couple of jaguars launched into the air, hurled outward from the pack and thumped to the ground on their sides. The rest of the group dispersed into the grounds of the kingdom, leaving three jaguars lying dead with the victorious squal standing triumphantly.
Cross's heart rose in his throat. He rushed to the blade house, at last. This time he made absolutely sure he had entered the intended building.
He swung the door open, sending a draft swirling into the house nudging the thousands of blades that dangled from clotheslines strung along the walls and the ceiling. The wooden paddles and axes clunked together; the obsidian blades swished and clinked.
He grabbed the first blade closest to him, a flat wooden paddle with triangular obsidian blades around the edges. The clothesline was threaded through its handle and prevented him from taking it.
He yanked on the blade. The rope pulled taught and a blade swung down from the ceiling. He jumped backwards. The blade swung toward the entrance. The squal entered the house and dodged the razor-sharp pendulum.
Cross gripped his new blade and snatched. The rope came with it and dangled from the loophole in the handle. He chopped at the squal. It ducked, grabbed his shin with its hand-like foot and pulled his leg from under him.
His back slapped the ground, widening the gaps torn open by the bat's talons. The squal grasped his neck with its foot and leaned over him.
"Our chieftain ordered us-sss not to burn you. We are to bring you back in one piece. But sss-some of us-sss wonder if you're truly worth all the trouble. No one is-sss for certain if we absolutely need every piece of your sss-spirit intact. It's-sss a mere precaution." It tightened its grip around his neck.
The largest blade in the house hung over them. Cross followed the line of a rope near him. It led from the floor, up the wall and to the large blade. If he could cut the rope, that blade would drop onto the squal's head. He needed a distraction.
"It's true. You need me in one piece," said Cross, not really knowing for sure himself. He slid the blade back and forth, sawing at the rope as he spoke. "But you don't have to take my word or it. Take me captive. I ain't goin' nowhere. There's no need to anger your chieftain. He'll reward you for following his exact instructions."
"Our chieftain is female," the squal snapped, with a hiss of hot breath and stringy drool.
Cross kept sawing. "My mistake. You all look alike. I can never tell. I have to say though, you're better looking than the others. Not my type---no squal is---but you're the most attractive squal I've seen so far. Still not sure if you're male or fe---"
The squal clasped his throat cutting off his air supply. Its gaze landed on the rope Cross was cutting. It followed the rope up to the large blade.
Cross hacked the rope. It snapped. The large blade rained down.
The squal released Cross. Both of them rolled out of the way. The large blade staked into the vacant floor and would have skewered them both together as one kabob.
Another blade stabbed the floor inches away from Cross's ear. Hatchets swung back and forth from the ceiling.
Cross clung to the wall. He followed along the wall, cutting more ropes as he went until it was raining knives, daggers and swords. Neither the squal nor Cross was concerned with each other now. They both dodged for their afterlife.
A battle axe swung down and lopped one of the squal's arms off at the shoulder. Black blood spouted out the wound. The squal roared in pain and collapsed.
Cross didn't bother waiting for it to burn, and by the protection of the Great Goddess, he managed to dodge blade after hailing blade and rolled out of the house uncut.
Immediately outside, another squal met him. It had a gaping hole in its neck and no bottom jaw. He'd assumed that Slackjaw had died a second death after the bat tore its jaw off.
The squal wheezed through its torn open neck. Black blood gushed out of it and clumped to the ground.
Cross groaned. "Why won't you hurry up and burn?"
Something hard bashed Cross in the face. He wiped the splattered calabash juice off his forehead, making sure none of it slipped into his mouth, and gazed up the hill at the tree in the court.
Bolon-Hunahpu was laughing as only a skull could. Cross could almost hear its annoying jaws clunking together. The branches swayed backwards and shot forward in a snap just as the squal lunged at Cross. A bushel's worth of calabash smacked the squal in the back. It toppled face first into the ground, knocked out cold.
Bolon-Hunahpu waved its branches side to side. It was a goodbye wave. They'd probably never see each other again.
The skull yelled across the land: "Catch up with Cottontail for me!"
Cross raised his hand to wave back. Slackjaw began to gather itself to its feet. It stumbled. Cross raised his obsidian blade and lopped off the squals head. The head rolled down the hill and the body dissolved into the nothing of second death.
Cross crossed himself---The Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone---and spotted his pet cornurus.
"Where you been, Gimlet?" he said as he raced over to her.
Unlike trees, his cornurus never talked. But that didn't stop Cross from holding full conversations with the bulky half bull, half lizard. He found comfort in talking to someone who couldn't talk back. Gimlet couldn't lie to him or take advantage of him. He preferred the companionship of animals because of their loyalty. He always knew where he stood with a beast.
Gimlet grunted and turned her entire grey body just so she could look at him. Her fat head left no space for a neck and her mouth wrapped wide enough across her face that she always appeared to be grinning, an expression most idiot spirits mistook for friendliness.
Half of a giant rodent dangled from her lips. It was most likely a Sisyphean hodder. They were stout-bodied rodents about the size of prairie dogs, and Gimlet's favorite food.
"I knew I should have tied you up to something," Cross scolded his pet. "I'm over here running for my life, looking everywhere for you, and I find you chowing down on some hodder. You didn't even check to see if it had any objects, did you?"
Gimlet slurped the rest of the Sisyphean hodder into her mouth and licked her lips.
The one-armed squal stumbled out of the blade house, bleeding out its wound. It collapsed near its headless companion.
Cross mounted Gimlet and gave her a swift kick. They galloped down the graveled road, through the ruined gates that once protected the kingdom and into the jumbled obsidian landscape on the outskirts of Xibalbá.
After racing at top speed for what seemed like hours, Gimlet slowed down. She was the toughest pet Cross ever had, but the sharp terrain must've be painful on her hooves. And she also had to carry both of their weight. He pulled her to a stop.
He now had rope to tie her, but there was nothing to tie her to. The land where they were taking their break was barren and lifeless. Cross stepped into the center of four crossroads, each made of a different colored stone.
The road they had just traveled spoke: "I will take you north." The gravel rumbled and chunks of obsidian stone rolled down the hill.
The obsidian road was lying. They had just come from the west, not north.
"I will take you east," said the shimmering white road.
Because of the obsidian road's lie, Cross disbelieved the white road immediately. He never trusted anything that talked that wasn't supposed to talk anyway. He ignored them. His old friend Sinuhe had told him that paradise was always in the east.
Cross faced the shinning white light deep in the peaceful east. In the vast distance he could make out a hint of the great wall that divided the paradises from the rest of the underworld. Its heavenly light teased him from afar.
To his left in the icy north, the vaporous gloom of Mount Mictlan towered above the smaller but more numerous Metnal Mountain range. The Inferno loomed to his right, miles away in the hazy south. Its orange glow raged within the stormy black clouds where thunder stomped and lightening stabbed.
"I will take you south." The east road shook its sharp red stones.
"I will take you west," said the south road with a toss of its friendly yellow stones.
All the roads lied. Years ago, he would have baffled as to why they would try to confuse him, but he had learned that it was more insane trying to figure it all out than to simply accept the underworld's chaotic nature. The underworld begat inconsistency when a soul needed consistency the most. It rewrote its laws at will. Every time the underworld started to make sense to him, something so strange would occur that it would challenge everything he had learned. He'd given up trying to fathom its many mysteries and came to terms with its devious ways.
He said nothing to the talking roads and weighed his options. The Inferno was known to be the dead center of the underworld---emphasis on dead. Even when the mountain of fire was in its dormant period, no soul or spirit, not even the deities, would purposely journey there for fear of meeting a certain second death. Any of Cross's bounty hunters would have expected him to run directly to paradise and not towards the Inferno.
When Gimlet was ready to move on again, Cross mounted her and guided her down the south road---the real south road---toward the terrifying mountain of fire.
Since the obsidian blade didn't come with a sheath, Cross fashioned himself a makeshift holster out of the rope it had come with. He tied the two ends of the rope together and wrapped it round his body. The rope hung over one shoulder, circled around to his back and crossed his chest. The flat side of the wooden paddle lay along his spine and the grip pointed upwards for easy access. It was a crude, dangerous and far from perfect construction, but it was best he could do with what he had.
For stretches of road there was nothing but deserted land surrounding him, just like on the frontier. Plateaus of black glass rose up blocking his view of the Inferno and the light of paradise. In some areas there wasn't much of a road to follow. The yellow stones were broken and patchy in spots.
Eventually, the bumpy road ended at a river not filled with water, but with a yellowish brown substance. It flowed smoothly and slowly and seemed thick enough that if Gimlet galloped her fastest, her flat hooves could possibly pass right across the surface.
He drew her away from the smelly river to give her a running start then gave her a good kick. The bullheaded lizard held fast and huffed, refusing to budge.
He leaned over his cornurus and whispered into the chipped horn protruding out of her ear: "I don't want to go in that stinking river either. But you know where I do want to go? Paradise. Don't you want to go to paradise, Gimlet? I hear they have all the hodders you could ever eat."
That was only a guess. Having only been to paradise once, and his stay had only lasted about an hour before he was kicked out, he couldn't have been sure. It was feasible. Paradise had everything else. Why wouldn't they have hodders? Those rodents infested every corner of the underworld.
"Run your fastest," he told her. "I think we can make it all the way across without falling in."
He rubbed the top of Gimlet's head and the cornurus raced toward the river. At the last second she hesitated. She slid and they both plopped into the gooey river with barely a splash. Cross wiped the gunk out of his eyes and held his breath. The liquid reeked worse than Gimlet's rear end. She snorted and blew the sticky muck out of her nose and mouth as she plowed them through. The river came up to her belly.
To make matters worse, inky rain began to fall from the black clouds as soon as they climbed out of the river. The combination of the black rain and yellow puss sticking together made them look like bumblebees, especially Gimlet with her round, fat behind. And both of them smelled like a hundred outhouses.
It would be hard to find new clothes, but he needed something fresh. He stank much more than usual. The accumulation of months' worth of filth nearly made him choke.
Still, no smell was worse than the repugnant stench of charred souls that the great mountain of fire spewed into the air. Even though they were still a good three hundred miles away from it, the odor scrapped the insides of his throat. It was the kind of smell he could never get used to.
The oily drops falling from the sky thickened the closer they drew to the dark towering Inferno. Rivers of fire spilled down its skirt into the pits of Hell, glowing like evil jewelry. He and Gimlet sought shelter from the black rain in the trembling canyons. Every now and then the mountains around them would sneeze and shiver dust off their shoulders as if allergic to his and Gimlet's presence.
Cross cleaned the oily rain and yellow pus off himself and Gimlet with a dingy rag he kept in her saddlebag. He scooped the gunk out of her eyes, and after removing her saddle, he scraped her scaly back and husky legs with a flat slab of stone before the slime could dry up, restricting her movement and making her uncomfortable. There was still some purplish crud left over by the time he was done, but he did the best he could without water. The rest would crack up and fall off at some point.
They hid in the canyons for several sleep periods in order to place distance between Cross and any of his pursuers. Finally they abandoned the yellow road and headed east, slowly over the jagged lands.
A few hours into their trek, a vicious dust storm kicked up. Wind whipped past Cross's ears, bellowing with the whispering voices of spirits. Sand pelted his face. A sudden gust knocked him off Gimlet's back and swept him up into the blob of black air. He slammed into the dirt and rolled to a stop in the center of the funnel. The twisting whirlwind caged him inside. This was not a normal dust storm.
Pebbles and rock shot out of the funnel cloud and clumped together before him. The detritus formed three skeletal beings.
Fortunately, the rudimentary life forms weren't known for concerning themselves with silly things like memories. Unfortunately, the incomplete spirits collected entire souls.
More dirt and grime swirled out of the storm and wrapped around the bones, imitating flesh. Debris swirled in and around their incomplete bodies, which were made of more than just dust.
Objects rolled around in them. One Rudimen had an old doll's pigtail sticking out of its cheek; the second had a spur spinning on his shoulder; and a kettle bobbed in and out of the chest of the third, like a heart beating.
At least he always stood a fighting chance with the squals, but there was no fighting the Rudimen. Stubbornly, he crawled for his blade anyway.
The funnel sucked the blade away and it disappeared in the cloud. The Rudimen slid toward him without bending a knee as if the ground were ice; sand collected up their legs along the way.
"Dni mlu fitu aeb." They all spoke at once but they had no mouths. Their voices hummed in his head in a deep tone almost as if they had projected their voices into his head.
The dusty apparitions leaned over him, all whispering the same thing at the same time. "Suet elp moce sa elp." The voices bounced around in his mind and tormented his thoughts. Mouths formed on their faces, and gaped open like swirling portals into their being.
Pressure squeezed his ears with the roar of a locomotive drowning everything. He stretched like taffy. A violent tug yanked him forward, and there was a pop like a cork had shot off a bottle of wine...
He dove into a milky pool and swam in the white void. Whatever he had forgotten, no longer mattered. The three nice men would take great care of him for the rest of his days. They gave him everything he had ever been missing, and he would return the favor by giving them all his memories. They needed them more than he did. With his help the rudimentary life forms were one step closer to completion. He was glad to help his new friends. Suddenly, the ocean of milk dried up and cracks grew into the lake's bed.
Pressure on his chest and head snapped him back to the underworld. He was lying face down in the dirt now. His slurring tongue licked the ground as he found himself absently calling out for the Rudimen to return.
Whipping sounds slashed through the air like lightning strikes. Cross pushed up with his hands to get a look but flopped back down on his chest as a terrible weakness paralyzed his muscles. He lay there with absolutely no strength to move, his head cocked to the side looking as far up as his eyes could travel.
A black winged beast flapped down into the funnel in between Cross and the Rudimen. Streams of light cracked out from the gargoyle as if it were lashing the Rudimen with lightening. With the dust blasting at his eyes, Cross couldn't get a clear glimpse of the ebony bird. Its wings were facing him and the flashes of light it produced obscured it further, veiling it beneath a silhouette. He imagined that it looked twisted and horrible like a squal or something.
It drove the Rudimen to retreat. As the dust devils floated away, they exploded one by one, evaporating in clouds. The dust funnel finally settled.
His obsidian blade slapped down a few inches away from him. The shadow of the monster approached. Outrage charged in his chest. He would slay the ugly creature for sending his friends away. He crawled to his blade and placed his hand on the handle. A heavy black boot smashed down on it, preventing him from lifting it.
He dragged his gaze up the leg of what appeared to be a pirate at first. The ebony bird was actually a woman, and she wasn't nearly as ugly as he initially perceived.
She tucked her beastly black wings behind her back and stared down at him squinty, icy and blank. Not a positive or negative hint in her emotionless eyes.
"Smart move, coming this close to the Inferno," she said, picking up the blade. "You fooled that one-armed squal, but not me."
She was dressed in sand-colored justaucorps. It was filthy as all Hell, as everything was in the underworld, and she didn't seem to be bothered by the heat of being draped in the thick wool. The justaucorps reached down to her knees and there was barely any moisture on her pale face. Even with the coat unbuttoned, like she wore it, had it been him cooped up in that thick coat, he'd be burning up.
She thrust her hand into the inside of a beaten up top hat before sitting it over her silky black hair. The top hat had been through its share of battles. It was crinkled and had stitches going up the side. Her entire wardrobe was completely mismatched, a combination of garments taken from various time periods and thrown together. But strikingly, the way she wore it all, each piece complemented the other as if she had purchased it as one outfit from the same maker. All the different identities formed a unique one that was all her.
Cross knew of this woman. Spirits called her the Raven. He was familiar with her reputation through the circles they both ran in, but he never had any interaction with her before. The mere mention of the Raven's moniker struck visible fear in the eyes of his old friend Diamond Tooth, the demon of pain and suffering.
The Raven was after his memories like everyone else, but they belonged to his friends, the Rudimen. He gathered himself to his feet.
"I asked the Great Goddess to send me an angel," he said, trying to mask the fearful tremors in his voice. "Thanks for coming when you did."
"A mind is a terrible thing to waste," she said with a deadpan expression. "How much is that head of yours worth now?"
Cross hesitated before answering. Was it a trick question? If she came to collect the bounty placed on his head, she would know. "Nine objects," he said.
A rope slithered around the Raven's slender waist as if it were alive. It was alive. A dart at the end of the rope lifted on its own accord as the head on a cobra would when preparing to strike. The dart shot towards him in a blink and wrapped its ropey body around him. It squeezed his arms to his sides and constricted his legs together until he tipped over and splashed in the sand.
Son of a bitch. Here we go again.
HANDS TIED BEHIND HIS BACK, Cross bobbed up and down, riding on Gimlet's rear, watching her spiked tail dragged through the dirt, as the Raven guided his pet cornurus through the plateaus of black glass. The pressure of bouncing up and down on his chest stole his breath at times, but he could still speak.
"Where're you taking me?" he asked the Raven.
"Metnal," she said.
Cross wiggled his body like a worm and rolled off Gimlet's back.
The Raven hopped off the cornurus. "Where do you think you're going?"
"You can't deliver me to the squals. My memories belong to the Rudimen. Cut me loose."
She stuck her thumb onto his eyelid and peeled it up. "Looks like their effects haven't worn off."
He jerked his head away.
"The Rudimen did something to your mind," said the Raven, "I think I interrupted them before they could finish. So, the damage might not be permanent. We'll see."
"They would never hurt me. They care about me. They're my true friends."
"And they usually get the soul they come for. Let's hope you get back to normal by the time I turn you in to the squals. I want all the nine objects they're paying me." She lifted him up to place him back onto Gimlet.
He squirmed and twisted, making her job more difficult. "You'll pay for this," he said. "I hope you end up in a bone orchard eaten by the Nothing. Cut me loose, you ugly buzzard."
The Raven transported him back across the mucky, yellow river. This time his cornurus galloped across the surface like she should have the first time they had crossed it.
The crossroads attempted to confuse the Raven, but she ignored the lying roads. She guided Gimlet past the ruined kingdom of Xibalbá and up the north road.
Cross hummed spiritual hymns every day of the past seven periods of sleep to strengthen his spirit, and eventually came to his senses about the Rudimen. They had given him an taste of what it would be like once he finally forgets his past, but if he had gone with them, he wouldn't have simply given them his memories like he thought he wanted to, they would have stolen his entire soul. He would have become a part of them forever. They had altered his mind just like the Raven had said, but their spell seemed to have worn off now.
Unfortunately, the squals were going to chop off his head.
They traipsed into the squal-infested mountains of Metnal. The miserable souls waited, sidelined in the shadows, as they trotted through. Slowly, squals crept out of the crevices and crowded around Gimlet. Hundreds of foamy jaws greeted them with hisses. Squals stroked their gangly fingers along Cross's forehead as he went by. He yanked his head away and bit at the fingers.
At a massive cave, the Raven pulled on Gimlet's reins and the cornurus halted. She hopped off Gimlet and lifted Cross off the cornurus's back. That rope dart of hers was still wrapped tightly around his body.
She posted him up against a monolith in front of the cave, where he faced the entire hoard of thirsty squals. Hundreds more hung out of crevices above. They gnashed their teeth and slobbered foam all over their sloppy, lipless mouths.
Cross spat in the Raven's face. She slapped him silly. He tumbled to his face and rolled over to his back.
"Untie me," he said. "Then, see how tough you think you are. I ain't never been a woman beater, but if you let me go right now, I'll forgive you. You go your way. I'll go mine. We'll forget this ever happened."
The Raven left him lying on the ground and disappeared into the dark cave.
"You dirty pigeon. I hope they clip your wings and---"
Cross choked on his words as the largest squal he had ever seen stepped out of the gloomy cave.
It must've been the squal chieftain. Her minions stumbled over themselves to make a clear path for her. Her bulging muscles and blade-like teeth portrayed a meaner and tougher presence than the smaller squals.
The chieftain stooped down to meet Cross face to face. He turned away from the hot stinky breath blowing his face. The chieftain gripped Cross's chin with her foot and forced his head side to side.
"You got the wrong pig in the tail," said Cross. "I'm no one. I don't even remember what I ate for lunch. Did I even have lunch? I don't know, I forget. See, I'm not who you're looking for."
"sss-So, you're not the man who remembers-sss?" asked the chieftain. She could have been wearing a pearled ball gown. She spoke like a distinguished snake with an air of nobility, and a nasty hacking came from the back of his throat.
"Nope," said Cross. "Not him. I don't even know who that is. I'm sure if you keep looking you'll find---what's his name again? I'm just so forgetful. I never remember anything."
Still gripping Cross's face with her foot, the chieftain unrolled a sheet of vellum with her available hands. "Do you recognize this-sss man?"
She shoved the vellum in Cross's view. A childish drawing of his mug was displayed on it with the recognizable black dot on the head representing the bullet wound on his forehead. Under his face was the sloppy script of the squals, which read: "Nine objects for the capture of the 'Man Who Remembers'."
"Yes-sss, it is-sss you," said the chieftain.
"You can't even see," said Cross. "All your eyes are covered under a layer of skin. And you don't even have eyes under that, you ugly piece of---"
The chief jammed a lanky claw in Cross's mouth. He gagged on the grainy and salty toe.
"Dependence on sss-sight," said the chieftain, "is-sss for those sss-souls-sss who lack faith."
The toe slipped out of Cross's mouth and he dry heaved trying to vomit. The Raven exited the cave carrying a burlap sack full of the objects of the dead that the squals had rewarded her with for turning him in.
"The chief's giving her your precious, hard earned objects," Cross yelled out to the crowd of squals. They ignored him. The Raven stepped over him.
"Those objects will destroy you," Cross shouted to her. "The Great Goddess hates your kind. You know who you are, Raven? I know whose daughter you are. You're the daughter of Lilith, the very first whore!"
The Raven stomped her boot on his stomach. He curled up and rolled to his side unable to comfort the pain as his hands were flush against his sides.
"You bitch!" he said. "I never hurt anybody!"
The Raven tossed the sack over her shoulder, saddled his cornurus and rode off into the shadows.
"You vulture!" he called after her. "Come back here!"
The chieftain and her minions circled him and lifted him up.
"All of you," said Cross. "You're nothing. Nothing but a deck of cards. I'll burn you all down."
The minions placed him on a rocky platform and prayed over him in their miserable language. He prayed to the Great Goddess and wished he could cross himself.
"The Great Goddess hates you miserable souls," said Cross. "That's why you're so ugly. You're cursed. You can have my memories, but you'll always be deformed and hideous." He laughed through his terror as sweat dribbled down his forehead and dipped behind his ear.
The chieftain slipped her slimy fingers under Cross's chin and curled his cold palms around his neck. Stringy saliva dripped on his face.
"Cross-sss," said the chieftain, "known as-sss the Man Who Remembers-sss, wanted in more than thirty realms-sss, is-sss finally ours-sss. His-sss neck will be sss-sliced open. His-sss blood sss-shall flow. His-sss head sss-shall fall into our hands-sss. We sss-shall devour his-sss fles-sss-sh and all his-sss memories-sss will be with us-sss. May the Great Goddess-sss have mercy on his sss-soul."
"To Hell with all you squals and all who gave birth to you!" yelled Cross.
"To Hell we have already been." The chieftain raised a sharpened stone above Cross. Every single squal erupted in a joyous hiss that echoed in the mountain walls.
His face was drenched in a combination of his own sweat, tears and squal saliva. His breathing sharpened to the point that he could barely inhale. He closed his eyes, preparing to be executed for things he knew but wished he didn't. All his life, and afterlife, everyone always wanted something from him. He was tired. Maybe it was for the best that he go.
A crack of lightning boomed around him, stinging the air. That whipping noise he'd heard before the Raven saved him from the Rudimen sliced through the air. The squals screamed and hissed in terror. Cross opened his eyes to see the chieftain spinning wildly through the air. She crash landed into the vertical rock face.
Cross rose up from the slab of stone. The rope was no longer wrapped around his body. He thanked the Great Goddess for delivering him from evil and scooted off the rock.
All the squals gawked up at the mountain where his savior stood. Her intimidating wings spread angelically, the skirt of her justaucorps whipped in the wind. Streams of light beamed from her and struck squals like lightning.
The Raven swooped down onto Gimlet's saddle and her eyes fell on him. She stalled as though waiting for him.
He understood now. She'd just used him as bait to con the squals out of their objects. It wasn't the most ingenious scheme; it was the oldest trick in the book in fact, but it was certainly well played. He just didn't appreciate not being let in on the con. He used to run swindles in his past life. He could have helped.
He rammed his shoulder through a group of three squals, bowling them over. The Raven whipped more squals with the flashes of lightning, which, he discovered, came from her rope dart. It attacked the squals like a snake injecting its venom into its prey and dragged a tail of light behind as it darted and recoiled.
On his way to his guardian angel, Cross ducked slashing squals. The Raven tossed him the obsidian blade. He caught it and slashed any squal in his path. When he finally reached her, she lifted him onto his cornurus and they rode out of Metnal leaving their pursuers behind chasing on foot, no match for Gimlet's gallop.
Back at the talking crossroads they took the east road toward paradise. Miles down the sharp red stoned path, a red river blocked their way. It flowed with blood. Gimlet refused to cross it. Cross stroked her horn and she paddled them through the knee-high blood to the other side.
They cleaned the blood off their clothes as much as they could without water, and they set up camp. His distrust of the Raven never wavered, but there was a time to fight and a time to sit back and see what happened. He didn't have a weapon as deadly as the Raven's rope dart so he'd lose any kind of dust up. Besides, she could have burned him at any time, but she hadn't so far, which meant she needed him for another con perhaps.
She snatched a barbot out of the sky with her rope dart, and they ate together. He kept his guard up and watched her every move, while only acting as if he'd made a new friend in her.
"How'd you domesticate a cornurus?" she asked.
"I can tame any beast," he said. "First, you have to let them know who's boss. You're in control. Once they respect you, they let their guard down. Then you have to connect with them. Show them you understand them." He rubbed Gimlet on the nose. "Give back the respect they gave you. And sometimes it's just as simple as feeding them." He held the barbot meat up to Gimlet's wide mouth and she fed. "They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Same for beasts."
Gimlet chomped on his hand and almost took a chunk out of it. He bopped her with the bottom of his fist. He knew her bite was an accident. She'd never purposely hurt him, but anger got the best of him. "Never bite the hand that feeds you! Here me, Gimlet?"
"Gimlet?" asked the Ravens.
"It's what I named her," said Cross, calming himself. "The Roaring Gimlet."
The Raven reached into her sack and pulled out a bushel of calabash. She snapped one of the green, bottle-shaped fruits off the bushel and tossed it over to him. He caught it and stared at the calabash.
"Where'd you get this?" he asked.
"Fresh fruit in a very rare thing," she said, flatly. "You're welcome."
No matter what words came out of the Raven's mouth, her face remained totally expressionless. It was as if she had complete control over her emotions or was cursed with a permanent indifferent attitude towards everything. She obviously had her own goals, but she never smiled or frowned. She didn't even show any anger towards him when he cursed her out back in Metnal.
Not only did that quality make her the perfect swindler, it also made it difficult for Cross to determine whether or not she knew that the calabash was poison. But if he could get her to drink from the fruit, he could take all the objects they had gained from the squals.
"You take one," he said. "It's no fun drinking alone. Let's you and me have a drink." He raised his fruit in the air.
She slid the rest of the calabash back into her sack. "I'm not thirsty."
"There's no such thing as not being thirsty. Your lips are as dry as mine. You think you're too good to drink with me or something?"
"You have a tendency to let little things get you all riled up. Try being thankful for what little you have and enjoy that."
She might've been trying to accomplish the same thing as him. She was seemingly trying to get him to drink the juice first.
He rolled the fruit back over to her. "Skullface told you which way I was going didn't he? That's how you found me."
"He said you could use a friend," she said, with a shrug.
"He talks too damn much."
"You two have that in common. That's the only reason I can think of why he would take such a liking to you." She grabbed his calabash from the ground. "Then again, he did insist on poisoning you. He made me promise to give you one of these calabashes before he told me which way you went." She tossed the fruit back into her burlap sack with the other items. "If I were you, I'd watch who you make friends with."
After a brief rest, they continued east for a few more miles and came to yet another river. This one flowed with live scorpions, millions of them, all clamoring over each other, stinging and fighting. This time Gimlet plowed in with no hesitation and swallowed scorpions as though it were a feast thrown in her honor.
The Raven grabbed Cross by the arms and flew him to the other side of the river before the scorpions could attack them. They brushed and plucked dangling scorpions off their clothes. Gimlet refused to climb out of the river when Cross called her out.
"You eat too much," he said, "you'll get a tummy ache. Here, I'll bring some along for the ride." Cross bagged a few of the scorpions in a pouch and promised to feed them to her later. Gimlet grunted in agreement and finally climbed out of the river.
It took about four periods of sleep for them to arrive in Viņsaule. Four black orbs hovered over the canyons like dead moons. He and the Raven took shelter from an acid rain storm in a shallow cave and built a fire. Cross fed Gimlet the leftover scorpions as promised. The cornurus picked over the few dead ones and devoured the live ones.
The Raven opened her burlap sack full of objects of the dead, reached in and pulled out a spoon. She swirled it around in the air and tapped it on a rock. Then, she handed it to Cross. "One for you," she said. Next she pulled out a mirror. She stared into it and then her gaze wandered behind Cross. "This one's for me," she said.
Cross turned around and saw only the dark tunnel leading into the heart of the cave. No matter what the mirror's ability was, he didn't want it anyway. Mirrors were evil. Not only did they show him who he truly was in death, but in life, beings from other worlds often spoke to him through the glass. They always harassed him with messages of terror. He tried his best to avoid all reflective surfaces.
The Raven drew a comb from the sack and combed her silky black hair with it. Her hair color changed to white.
"Nice look, Blondie," said Cross.
She grabbed a handful of her hair and held it in front of her face, and then combed her hair again. It changed back from day to night. She tossed the comb to Cross. "Two for you," she said.
The weird abilities contained within the underworld's objects never ceased to fascinate Cross, but a comb that turned black hair to white was not something he thought would ever be useful. He thumbed his spoon, wondering what powers it contained, but if it were valuable, he wanted to keep it a secret from the Raven. She might steal it from him.
She lifted two more objects from the sack; a cigar lighter and a blanket. She spread the blanket down on the rocky cave floor and invited him to sit with her. His bottom hadn't touched anything soft in years. He almost smiled at her courtesy of allowing him to share it. He gladly sat with her.
She struck the lighter and flaming salamanders crawled out of it. One scorched her hand. She dropped the lighter. The fiery salamanders blew away as though they were fragile candle light and evaporated into puffs of smoke, slithering up to salamander heaven.
The Raven searched for the lighter, which should have been on the blanket where she dropped it, but it had disappeared as if the blanket had swallowed it. She patted the surface of the blanket searching in vain. "Well, that's two and three for me," she said.
Object six was a beaded necklace with a brass cross hanging from it. The Latin cross had no corpus and was plain except for an ominous glow about it. The longer she held it, the brighter its halo bloomed. It lit up their area of the cave like a lantern and soon overpowered the camp fire. The Raven shivered as if disgusted by the sight of it and slung the necklace over to Cross. It dimmed in his hands.
"Three for you," she said and emptied the sack of the last three objects. A compass, an amphora, and a flask rolled onto the cave floor. The Raven seemed to take care that none of the objects fall onto the blanket where they would vanish.
She peeked into the opening of the flask and turned it upside down. No liquid poured out. It seemed to be empty, but even he could smell the bourbon from where he was sitting across from her. She raised the mouth of the flask to her nose and drew a cautious sip. She swirled something around in her mouth and twisted the cap back on.
She held out the compass next. The pointer spun wildly as though it didn't know which way was north. The spoon shot out of Cross's hand. It smacked into the Raven's chest, and on impact a green aura sparked over her body. It vanished as quickly as it flashed. If he had blinked he would have missed it. The spoon clung to her breast like it was glued there.
"That's mine." Cross reached for his spoon and unintentionally ended up with a palm full of her goods. He only left his hand on her chest so long because it felt so nice. He hadn't been with a woman in forever and had almost forgotten the warmth and ecstasy of their delicate bodies. Even a hard woman like the Raven was soft to the touch.
A thin strip of coldness slid under his chin breaking him from his enchantment. The Raven was holding his obsidian blade at his neck.
He released his grip on her chest and held his palms up. "I didn't mean -- I was just---"
She pressed the blade up under his chin, forcing his head upwards. She twirled the blade away from him and dropped it back to its original position on his back holster. When she tossed the compass back into her sack, the spoon lost its mysterious connection to her chest and fell to her lap. She pitched the spoon into a dark corner of the cave. "Fetch," she said.
He paced over to the corner and hunted for his spoon, feeling with his hands in the darkness. A burned soul crumbled in his hands and startled him. He fell backwards.
"What is it?" said the Raven. Her rope dart held its head high preparing to strike.
"Nothing," said Cross. "A Nothing. Just a nothing."
Every spirit and soul burned to a crust when they died a second death and were called Nothings. Cross usually avoided being near them and refused to touch them for fear of bad luck or something.
Nothing's were hellish things. Webs of charcoal-colored muck grew around their boney structures as though a spider had tried to rebuild their charred flesh. Yet, the decayed Nothings were delicate as an egg shell. The simple prodding of a stick could crumble their hard outer layer to ash, spilling their juicy black insides and reducing the rest to dust.
He spotted his spoon deep in the center of the black powdery chippings of the Nothing. He covered his mouth and nose with his arm and squashed the awful Nothing under his boot. He picked up his spoon from the ash in a hurry.
White dots fell out the scoop. More of the white speckles lay in the soot of the Nothing. Strangely, they seemed to be grains of rice. He checked around the area for more rice grains and only found them within the Nothing.
He turned around to see the Raven flipping the amphora upside down to view its bottom. While her attention held, he sneakily swirled the spoon in the Nothing. Uncooked grains of rice formed out of the ash.
He pinched a grain, and blew the ash off of it. He smelled the grain, stuck it on the tip of his tongue, crossed himself and ate it. It was real rice. He swept the rest of the rice away with his hand before the Raven could see it.
A great whoosh sound boomed behind him, and Gimlet grunted. Cross spun around ready to strike. Water gushed upwards out of the Raven's amphora like a geyser splashing the cave ceiling. The water stopped spewing just short of drenching her, but she was wet enough for him to see through her shirt. The water must've been shivering cold.
His nerves calmed. He forced his gaze away from her chest area and tried to focus his stare on the water dripping from the spiky cave ceiling. Dazzling blue and violet flowers bloomed on the ceiling and patches of garden sprang up from the floor in the puddles.
The Raven plucked a flower from the ground and smelled it. "Ankhami," she said with her eyes closed. She twirled the flower by its stem between her fingers and tossed a few chosen objects into the blanket. They vanished inside it. She rolled the blanket up and stuffed it in the burlap sack. "That's four, five and six for me," she said.
She kept all the best objects to herself. Out of his three objects, the Latin cross was the only thing he was interested in. Not just because of its wondrous glow, but because of what it represented. It gave him a sense of being and reminded him of his prize in peaceful paradise. One day all his troubles would end. He hung it around his neck. The spoon could come in handy, if he was ever desperate enough to gorge on Nothings, but he was fine with his barbot diet. The comb was pointless.
"What the hell am I gonna do with this spoon and comb?" he said.
"I'll take them off your hands." She held her palm out.
Cross stuffed the spoon and comb in his pockets.
"Congratulations," she said. "You're now worth thirteen objects."
She offered him a drink from the empty flask. He took it and drank from it. The liquid seemed to appear at his lips, while the flask itself remained empty. The smoky, syrupy flavor of Peacock whiskey, his absolute favorite brand of bourbon, touched his tongue and fell smoothly down his throat. It tasted better than he even remembered.
And with that shared drink, he knew she had recruited him to be her partner---an unequal partner, but a partner still. It was better than burning to Nothing. He tugged his Latin cross, oddly confident that he was either going to steal all her objects from her or convince her to at least share them with him evenly.
"My neck is on the line," he said. "Next time I want more objects. More than half."
"You may deserve more, but when a job isn't worth my while, I seek out other employment opportunities. Sometimes that hunt interferes with my current position. And I don't think you want me to be late for your execution."
"Well, if you're late, you better not even show up. No one crosses me. Souls that try find out why they call me Cross. Eventually, they all get nailed."
The two of them could fight off enemies and steal their objects better together than alone, but they weren't friends. It was in his best interest to go with the flow of things for a while in order to get his hands on more objects of the dead, whether they were new or stolen from the Raven. He needed to collect as many useful objects as he could to help him break into paradise so that he could finally drink from the River Lethe and wipe all his memories away. Then all the damned would leave him alone.
A sting in his palm brought the sign he had been dreading for weeks. He squeezed the splinter from his skin and plucked it out knowing that it meant Cottontail had finally burned. She was a tough little cookie to have survived so long after being swallowed by a worm.
He didn't count the periods of sleep since the worm had swallowed her, but he guessed that it must've been about seventy of them ago, give or take. He regretted giving up on her so easily. He was disgusted with himself. After all that time, he could have searched each of the one hundred eighty-two worm stomachs. She could have been with him.
Her second death would not go in vain though. In the name of Cottontail's memory he vowed to himself to complete his journey no matter how difficult or who he had to cross.
He spent about a total of two months' worth of sleeping and waking periods living with the Raven in the canyons, all the while keeping his eye on the burlap sack filled with all those useful the objects.
None of the objects in the Raven's sack packed any of the fire power he would need to break into paradise, but he could have improvised and used the salamanders to light some explosives and maybe blow a hole in the great wall. He would just have to steal some explosives from one of the warring gangs. Since the compass attracted metal, he could use it to remove any bolts or hinges that stood in his way, possibly even buckle entire entrances, or relieve the guards of their weapons.
Every now and then, the Raven would throw on her justaucorps and fly off somewhere taking the sack of objects with her. He contemplated running away, but she would only find him. Then, the next time they ran their con she'd give him zero objects.
He also tried to line his sleep cycles up with hers so that they would both sleep and be awake at the same time, but she didn't keep consistent sleeping patterns. He found himself falling asleep while she was still wide awake. When they slept at the same time, he would wake up to discover her up and about.
They lived as a team in the canyons of Viņsaule and developed a strange chemistry between them. She hunted and he gathered barbot. Her rope dart snatched barbot out of the sky as if she were pulling fish from a shallow pond. Very few things could swim in the lake of fire that was the sky. Barbots were one of them.
The underworld itself seemed to also decide that barbots would never become a Nothing. There was no official answer, but perhaps it was because the gentle birds were bred in the underworld, they never died a first death, which meant they could never die second deaths---the only way he knew for a soul to become a Nothing.
Most of his time spent with the Raven sailed by quietly. She wasn't much of a talker, but she wasn't so bad. All the shocking stories surrounding her had yet to reveal themselves to Cross. She was clever and beautiful---not primitive and grotesque as the tales depicted her. One morning she even brought back fresh barbot eggs she had stolen from a nest. They scrambled them for breakfast.
He was getting used to having her around. He liked the way she smelled and she was rather pretty, even in those manly clothes. She was delicate underneath. He liked the way her silky black hair swayed beyond her shoulders when she wasn't wearing that awful top hat. He wanted to run his fingers through it.
Then, one day while he ate lunch, the Raven snuck up on him and began tying him up.
He dropped his barbot leg. "What're you doing?"
"Binding you," she said, stringing his hands together by the wrists.
"Why?"
"We're going for a ride." She tied his legs.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Duat."
"That's at least a week's ride from here, including sleep time."
"Mmhmm."
"That's a long way to go and be tied up."
"If our little act is going to work you need be bound before we ride into town."
"I don't think anyone will notice if you wait till we get a little closer."
"You just keep your neck attached to your shoulders. I'll do the thinking."
She lifted him up and placed him on the back of Gimlet face down. She mounted his cornurus and they made the treacherous journey from the Viņsaule canyons to the desert of Duat.
With endless swivels of Gimlet's tail, the landscape gradually changed from jagged mountain ranges to waves of sand. From what he could see from his downward angle, the only indication that they had made it to the city of Amenthes were the sandals fitted onto paws. All the people of Amenthes wore funny garments from a time long before his.
He raised his head to take in the most beautiful city he had ever seen in the underworld. Amenthes shined and sparkled despite the sand, but even the sands shimmered in a golden gleam. The folk there sure knew how to take care of their realm.
Until Cross became a wanted soul, traveling throughout the underworld had never appealed to him. That's why he had never seen many of the wonders---if you could call them that---each realm offered.
The giant pointy structures and temples that made up the realm of Duat were on full display in shiny black, gleaming red and shimmering white. The magnificent triangular buildings rose to different heights, and the smooth stone that each were made of glistened in the fiery glow of the red sky.
He raised his head to see the peaks of each. The drawings in his old boss's study had always featured an eye at the peak of the structure, but there were no giant eyes on any of the building peaks of Amenthes.
"Are these really pyramids?" he asked the Raven.
"Sure," said the Raven. "And they have all kinds of objects locked in them."
Nine pyramids equaled a lot of objects. It could be millions. They closed in on a temple and rode up the causeway. Cross met the eyes of a group of feline-faced women standing aside. He winked at one. She scoffed at him.
A painted gate surrounded the temple; it stretched across the realm from one end to the other and was decorated with colorful drawings of people and animals. The entrance led into a large open room without a roof. The walls of that room were decorated in the same colorful paintings as the front gate.
"Raven, you ever wonder why these souls would give up their precious valuables to chop off my head? I mean, they only want memories. What good are those? Mine ain't nothing but---they're just useless."
"Useless maybe to you," said the Raven. "To them, there's nothing more valuable than life, even when it's just a distant memory. Some would do just about anything for an exodus. No matter how minor the escape."
A crowd had gathered inside the courtyard of the temple. Among the normal-looking human souls were dog heads and falcon heads on human bodies, human heads on lion bodies, spirits wrapped in bandages from head to toe and more of the beautiful cat ladies.
The souls of Amenthes were nice enough to make his execution more of a festival. In an odd way, he appreciated all effort they put into the decorations on such short notice. They didn't know he was coming and already musicians were playing instruments while singers harmonized to the wondrous melody. The hypnotizing symphony was all for him, and he loved it for what it was.
He caught himself smiling and bobbing his head to the music and had to thrust himself back into character so as to not raise any suspicions. Hundreds of souls had gathered to see the show, and a show they were about to get.
He and the Raven repeated the con they had successfully pulled off with the squals. She turned him in. He cussed and fussed and protested. She collected the sack of objects. Two dog men grabbed him at his sides.
"Get your paws off me," said Cross, playing up his role.
The mongrels shoved him past a ghostly spirit holding a sign that read: The Resurrection of the Dead Approaches. The End Is Near.
"You must mean the rear end," said Cross. "Because your head's far up your ass."
One of the dog-men punched him in the stomach---a real punch that snatched all his wind from his lungs. There was no faking in his reaction. He doubled over trying to gather his breath and stamina.
The mangy mongrels dragged him across the glossy black floor, guided him up to a crystal altar and stood him in front of the high priest, a lion with all its hair shaved off. Ugly dark splotches tainted his wrinkled pink skin. The Raven held Cross's blade out flat in both her hands and presented it to the high priest with her head bowed.
"As a token of my gratitude," she said to the high priest, "I would suggest you use this blade."
The high priest waved her off without even glancing at the blade. "We have our own."
"Oh, not like this one," said the Raven. "This once belonged to the goddess Sia."
The high priest dropped his gaze onto the obsidian blade. "Are you sure?"
"I discovered it in Re's boat. Thought maybe I'd find the sacred papyrus in there too, but this was all I found. The deities sure left in a hurry."
The Raven lied almost as well as Cross, but he couldn't figure out why she wanted the high priest to use his obsidian blade specifically. Even the high priest hesitated, lifting a suspicious eyebrow---or where his eyebrow would have been if he had any hair.
"Look, I have my bounty already," said the Raven holding up the new sack of objects. "I could've left town without saying a word and kept the blade for myself. I just thought it would mean more to you and your people than it does to me. But if you don't want it, I'm sure it can make some hodder happy."
The high priest placed his paw on the blade. "No, no. We shall take it."
The Raven sneaked a wink at Cross. He knew everything would be alright even as the dog-men laid him over their altar. He struggled as believably as he could without actually trying to escape.
"Let me go, you dirty mutts," he said. "Why don't you go chase your high priest down the road like the dogs you are? Your high priest is nothing but a bald pussy. You know it. I know it. Everybody knows it."
The Amenthesians prayed over him just like the squals had, but in their own unique, guttural language. Their native tongue sounded as if they were chanting magic spells, even though the only magic in the underworld lay within the objects that special souls brought to their afterlife in their death.
The high priest waved over him a gold object that looked similar to his Latin cross, except it had a loop extending out of the crossbeam. The hairless lion touched Cross's nose with the object. It sparked and sent a tingle throughout his bones from his head to his toes and then back. The high priest then touched the soft spot on Cross's forehead with the object and held it there. The skin on Cross's head tightened and his eyes pinched shut. Upon its removal, his skin relaxed and went back to normal.
"He is ready." The high priest sat the object down, and then raised the blade to display it for the crowd before speaking a few more words in the harsh but magical sounding language.
With the Raven on his side now, an extra bit of confidence resided within Cross, perhaps more than deserved. But since he was powerless to escape on his own, trusting that the Raven wouldn't double cross him because she needed him for another con was more respectable than pleading for his afterlife like some yellow belly.
He laid there on the crystal altar waiting patiently for the Raven to strike. Anytime now she would swoop down heroically and rescue him, the damsel in distress. The idea of him being a damsel suddenly felt wrong, but it was better than getting his head chopped off. All he had to do was wait. And wait he did. And he waited some more.
The Raven sure was taking her time to whip out her rope dart. The longer the high priest spoke without any intervention from the Raven the more anxious he grew. Real sweat dripped from his face to his ear. What was taking her so long?
The high priest switched to a language he could understand. "The Man Who Remembers!" The crowd burst into a gleeful yells and hollers at the announcement of his alias. "We condemn him to be beheaded by the blade of the goddess, Sia. May the Great Goddess have mercy on his soul."
Cross tilted his head up and searched behind the crowd for the Raven. He surveyed the pyramids peak, checked the temple wall, and scanned the crowd. She was nowhere he could see.
If the Raven had decided to end their partnership now, she could have easily ridden off with all those objects and never come back. Had she abandoned him?
He should have never trusted her. No one's word was their bond anymore. No honor was left in the damned. They had lost all their honor in life. He was a fool, a fool that was going to lose his head because he'd lost his head around the wrong soul. He should've known better.
The high priest pressed Cross's head down flat onto the cold altar. He struggled sincerely.
"Wait! Don't do this. Please!"
The two dog-men restrained his limbs from either side. The high priest raised the blade and swung down.
DIAMOND TOOTH GUIDED HER HELLHOUND UP THE CANYON WALLS of Viņsaule. She followed the four dead orbs that hung suspended directly over the mesa where Carson's lonely abode nestled. Two baby barbots strutted around the cliff dwelling. The hellhound barked and the birds flapped away. Barbot soup aroma swam in the air. A head too big for the body it was attached to bobbed away from behind the drought filled well and raced into the isolated house, probably to warn the rest of the family. Diamond Tooth hoped so.
She tied the hellhound to a post and stood in the doorway of the home. She waited at the threshold for a moment and basked in the family's nervousness, unrest, and uncertainty. Their wave of despondency showered over her and filled her with mirth.
Across the room, Carson wiped the glass cage strapped around his head with a rag. A larger cage wrapped around his waist and surgical sutures ran along his body where the wounded mutt had stitched himself back together. It was homemade patchwork designed to mend the injuries he had sustained in the wars, injuries that would never heal under the medical supervision of the underworld.
It severely irked her that he wasn't suffering though. Not only had he made amends with his disfigurement, he wasn't even afraid of her. The rest of the family's fear caked the air with the same strength as a baking factory. But Carson's scent painted him as a pillar of intrepidness.
He must've known someone was coming for him. He was prepared. And there was nothing remotely intimidating about her appearance. Souls often underestimated her in that regard. Even though her blond hair always remained undone and she didn't bother painting her face with silly makeup, she was more equipped to seduce a man than frighten him. But seduction was never her style and she never allowed her physical beauty to prevent her from causing physical harm.
The wife exchanged looks with her husband. She bore no arms; a makeshift arm hung around her neck on a string like a necklace. The whole family appeared as if they had been assembled from body pieces they found lying around. Their daughter with the adult sized head glanced up at her mother. The woman's fake arm caressed the girl and they walked out the rear of the house.
Diamond Tooth stepped inside the man's home as if she had been invited. Her heeled boots clomped across the tiled, chessboard-colored floor. She passed a tower of boxes that defied the normal laws of gravity. They were stacked from the ceiling down and never reached the floor. Four brooms came alive, and swept up the dirt she had tracked in. She sat down at the dinner table and helped herself to a bowl of barbot soup.
Carson sat across from her. "Rowings sent you."
She smiled, spooned more soup and ate.
"Tell Rowings I don't have any new information," said Carson. "I just want to continue this miserable existence in whatever peace I can grab. Tell him he should do the same. He's tormenting us both. To go on searching is futile. The last Toran is lost. We'll never find it again."
She held the spoon before her lips and lifted her head in attention at the mention of the Toran. Rowings never mentioned anything about a Toran.
"When we found the burial site," said Carson, "we couldn't uncover any more without witnesses. So we reburied it. We came back, it was gone. It disappeared. I can't tell Rowings what happened to the gate. We had our chance. Now it's moved on to some other soul. We've missed our window. Go back and tell him that."
Diamond Tooth carved a piece of bread using the tiger claws protruding from the bagh nakhs at her knuckles. It would have felt nice to elicit a sense of dread within Carson, but the idiot remained resolute in her continuous silence. She would have to resort to another tactic.
"Rowings knows you've met with Tivoli." She slurped a spoonfull of soup. "He might also be interested in this Toran business, but I'm only here to get one name: Tivoli's pseudonym."
"Why do you think Tivoli's using a fictitious name?"
She lifted her eyes to Carson. Everyone's true name had a unique scent. No two names smelled alike in all the underworld. But she couldn't track a name that wasn't in use. Unused names existed less than false ones which all smelled exactly the same: artificial and bland. If Tivoli had been using his true name she would have found him already.
She spotted a child's drawing on the wall. It depicted Carson, his wife and two oblong headed children; one a girl, the other a boy. The drawing of the boy stood out, not only because his arms looked as if they were made of barbed wire, but because he was colored darker than the rest of the family as though he were special.
"I've never seen a soul stitch together a whole family," she said. "Beautiful work. Must've been tough fitting all those pieces together." Diamond Tooth dropped her spoon in the bowl.
Carson's glass helmet fogged up and sweet anxiety spilled from his pores. She had found her angle. Sometimes the obvious method isn't always obvious at first.
Carson cleared the steam from the glass with a rag. "Balfour. Clem Balfour. That's his new alias." He rose from the table and reached into a cabinet. Diamond Tooth aimed her bagh nakhs from under the table and prepared to shoot.
"I'll do you better than the three objects Rowings is paying you to burn me." Carson returned holding an object by its cord: a brass disk with thin brass plates inside it. Engravings marked a ring around the outside of the disk. Another brass piece sat fixed on top and cutaway into an ecliptic circle.
"This is the key to the gate," said Carson. "Only the wearer of this astrolabe can pass through the Toran."
He sat it on the table. The clock-like hand on the object swiveled, the ecliptic circle shifted and the plates spun all on their own accord.
"That's a useful object," she said. "But if it does what you say, why don't you use it?"
Carson dropped his gaze to his glass incased body. "I've made peace with my death. There's nothing out there for me. Now go! Leave me be."
"I would. But the thing is, I need something from you. And the only way for me to get it is to burn you."
Carson excreted a pheromone of panic, not over his own miserable life, but for his family. She'd smelled that salty scent many times to know it.
His eyes widened and his chest expanded. He drew for a weapon inside the glass box at his waist. Diamond Tooth was way ahead of him. She had only waited that long to soak up all his fright.
From her seated position, she shot four of her tiger claws out like darts. sish. The claws leapt off her gloves all at once, sliced through the table, shattered the glass around the Carson's waist and penetrated the flesh of his exposed torso. Another set of tiger claws grew into her bagh nakhs, replacing the ones that had fired.
Carson desperately tried to hold himself up and remain standing, but it was futile. His spirit burned and shriveled to Nothing. His entire afterlife sucked out of him, frozen stiff in place. What was left of him tipped backward and fell upward, collapsing to the ceiling as though it were the floor. In a splintering crash, the shell of his hollow spirit broke a part on the ceiling, spilling the moist dark insides and painting that section of the ceiling the blackest of blacks. The saluting brooms leapt up to the ceiling and swept the ash into a pile.
Diamond Tooth grabbed the astrolabe off the table and hung it around her neck. Footsteps rushed toward her. She turned and discharged tiger claws into the oblong head of the Carson's golden-haired daughter.
The little girl withered to nothing like her father and collapsed from the ceiling to the floor. Her ash spread along the chessboard-colored tiles. Diamond Tooth stepped over the Nothing and walked out.
After she straddled her hellhound, she waited and listened for the pleasuring screams of a newly widowed woman and bastard son. That's why she burned Carson.
She closed her eyes and submerged herself in the shattered family's pain and suffering. Soothing bells jingled in her head. Beautiful rainbows flooded her vision. The flaring underworld sky forced its way back into her consciousness abruptly.
It wasn't enough. It was never enough. She snapped the reins on the hellhound and trotted off to Amenthes to meet a rouge squal.
After her pit stop in Amenthes, Diamond Tooth headed to paradise, the only place she dreaded in the entire underworld. She yanked on her hellhound's reins a few yards away from the A'raf that sectioned paradise off from the rest of the underworld.
The great wall ran from the northernmost tip of the underworld to the southernmost tip, as far as the eye could see and as far as any known spirit had ever ventured. There was no going around it, under it or over it.
The ancients had fooled the righteous souls on the other side into thinking that the wall kept evil at bay. The security was certainly deadly when needed---the good guys of paradise had likely burned more souls than she had. She personally witnessed them annihilate foolish spirits who'd tried to break into paradise. Even those souls with wings would be shot down before they could fly halfway up the wall, and beyond that, only a barbot could get close enough to the scorching sky to completely scale the wall, but if she could get in, anyone could get in.
Their great wall was less a security measure than a means to obscure their awareness of the real world---the underworld. No matter how many positive mind tricks or denial acrobatics they performed, they were in the underworld just like everyone else. She'd be delighted to reveal the harsh reality to them and watch the shock grace their eyes. She'd devour their dismay.
From her perspective, the A'raf was a shiny prison gate. They could polish it up however they wished, but a cage is a cage. They had signed up for voluntary incarceration. It was as if the deities built the A'raf so many years ago simply to boost morale and force the righteous to feel grateful for what puny afterlives they all had. That way none of them would begin to think of their deficiencies, because they didn't really have anything to begin with. Paradise was just a small area of the underworld, and the righteous were locked in and protecting nothing special.
Diamond Tooth guided the hellhound up to the A'raf.
"Turn away or burn, demon," a voice boomed from within the great wall before she got too close. The guards hid behind an impenetrable veil and sounded as if they spoke through a speaking-trumpet.
"I have a divine sanction," she said and waved her lumenite back and forth blindly. The glow of the rare stone pulsated with every color in the visible spectrum and hummed like a soul detached from its spirit.
"You stole it," said the guard.
"No sir, it was given to me."
"Sanction or no sanction, no demons allowed in paradise."
"According to the Divine Laws, the righteous are permitted to issue a single lumenite to an underworlder that they deem fit for ascension. The guards of the A'raf are obligated to acknowledge this sanction, and never are they to deny passage to any lumenite possessor or they too shall be denied paradise by the Lord."
Several seconds of silence passed before the guard spoke again. "Approach the A'raf slowly."
She trotted the hellhound the rest of the way and met the wall.
"Pass your lumenite through the A'raf for authentication."
She reached her entire hand into the wall up to her arm. The wall rippled like water but felt solid around her wrist. A hand snatched the pass from her from inside.
"May the Great Goddess have mercy on the soul that gave you this," said the guard.
"Oh, I'm sure she won't mind," said Diamond Tooth. "That's how you got your cushy job isn't it? Don't pretend like you're so different from me. We're exactly the same, except I'm out here and you're in there."
"Hellhounds are forbidden beyond A'raf."
"But they're so cute and cuddly." She scratched the hound behind its ear. Her finger tangled in its matted hair. She left the saddle on its back. She'd steal another one if she needed it. She jabbed her tiger claws into the hellhound's hind parts. The mangy mutt howled and trotted off into the underworld.
"You may proceed," said the guard. "Step through."
She stepped through the wall as if it weren't there at all and appeared on the other side instantly, as though walking through a doorway to the next room. It was like going from a nice dark room into a room that was much too bright.
Light hit her at all angles. It illuminated from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, touching everything on its side of the A'raf with rays of pure, despicable love.
She almost turned back to leave. She shielded her eyes with her hand from the shimmering grass and forest before her, and paced through the roads and trails, squinting. Her drying eyes felt like they would soon split open from all her blinking. She splashed gross fresh water in her eyes. They sizzled with steam and began to itch. The more she scratched them, the more her vision blurred. She kept her staggering pace and in less than thirty minutes, she made it to the beach almost by shear memory.
The edge of the world met the beginning of the white void. The northern islands of paradise, Mag Mell, hovered in white space, while the southern islands of Jannah rested in sparkling waters. The islands of Aaru divided void from ocean. Half of the main island of Aaru floated above the white void while the other half sat on the crest of Anima Falls, an endless waterfall where the entire Oceanus emptied into the white void.
Pure light emitted from deep within the void and was too bright for her to stare at directly or even indirectly. It was not meant for her, and she was jealous. She forced herself to look into it, and the light seared her eyes and bruised her lids.
Black robes waving in the breeze caught her attention. An Ankou waited down the road in front of its ferry. The pale horses that drew the boat across the white void to the various islands neighed.
She approached the Ankou. The top of its pointy hood rose way over her head. Its robes fully covered its gaunt skeletal frame, shielding all the dead from the sight or touch of the being.
She would have stolen its cloak for her own protection from the piercing light, if Ankou's weren't so powerful. They worked for Death itself, one of the few deities that could keep the master at bay.
She paid the Ankou an object of the dead to ferry her over to the floating islands of Mag Mell. She tucked herself into the dark corner of the cabin area of the boat and shut her eyes until she arrived at her destination.
The ferry docked on the main island of Mag Mell. She tumbled out of the boat in a rush and proceeded to trample over endless vegetation, kaleidoscopic gardens, and virginal forests. Paradise was the real Hell. The fresh air scalded her lungs. It felt like hot coals swam in her chest with every breath. The water was too poisonous for her to drink. Holy water burned demons to Nothing.
The righteous paraded around in the nude with the attitude that covering up was a sin. It was sickening. Not that they were naked. She was no prude. Outside of paradise, it was she who was young and beautiful among mangled beasts, pitiful souls, and deformed demons, but every soul in paradise was younger, more beautiful and more vibrant than she. Not one gray hair or wrinkle existed on any of them. Not an ounce of fat on their bones. Muscular chests chiseled on the men. Succulent breasts flaunted on the women. Compared to them, she was an old crone.
Their constant music playing and partying drilled through her head like an iron spike. Her temples throbbed, and her forehead pulsed. Even the white rabbits hopped to the beating drums, the tooting flutes and, worst of all, the plucking harps. She imagined snapping those strings and strangling the harp player. No one would even notice.
They were all so busy frolicking and serving themselves that they weren't even cognizant of the fact that a demon walked in their midst. The same way the light blurred her vision, their joy blinded them to the corruption walking right past them. That annoyed her more than her suffering. Pain she could handle, but no one ever ignored her.
But it may have been more than just blindness to evil. She was that unaccepted in their world. They ostracized her with such intensity that they physically could not see her. Their glances slipped past her, around her and through her as if she were invisible. For a second she wished one of them---any of them---would acknowledge her existence.
She climbed up to her employer's tree house and dry heaved before she walked in.
Rowings lay in his bed fast asleep. He was bald on the top of his head with hair on the sides that connected to his scraggly beard. His Tribulation uniform tunic was draped over the chair at his bedside and his hat sat on top. She waited beside him for a few seconds, watching him breathe and cough violently in his sleep.
He was another casualty of war, and she gathered great pleasure from his misery and his helplessness. The irony of him living in the land of no-sickness or disease and being bed ridden gave her an extra boost of satisfaction. She regained some of her sight, and saliva lubricated her throat.
Rowings coughed himself awake and upon the sight of her looming over him, he pushed back in his bed.
"Ah! Diamond Tooth," he said, relaxing on his pillow. "So good to see you, although you don't look very well."
"You should take a look in the mirror," she said.
"Did you shut the door?" He pulled the blankets up to his neck. "They cannot see me like this. Not yet."
"Yeah, I shut it."
"Good," he said, and released his grip on the blankets with a wide smile. "So, I assume your presence means you have the information?"
She loosened her collar, but was still strangling her. She took a breath and dragged her tongue around in her mouth. It went dry again. "Tivoli is using the name Clem Balfour."
"You did a very good thing." Rowings leaned over the side of his bed and pulled out a burlap sack from his bedside. "Worth three objects."
She reached for the sack and spotted the ring on his finger. The Sigil of Ameth flickered in its own heavenly light nearly scorching her eyes.
He hid his hand and snatched the sack of objects away before she could grab it. His smile turned to a shaky grin. "Did he say anything else?"
She massaged the back of her stiff neck. "He made mention of a gate."
"Yes, yes. The Toran. Did he say where it was?"
"He didn't know."
Rowings slapped his fluffy mattress. "I told you he would lie. He wants it for himself. You should've done what you demons do. That's why I sent you."
"Don't worry about that. He'll never say nothing to anybody again."
Rowings grimaced and rose off his pillow. "What did you do?"
"Oh, you only meant for me to rough him up a little. Sometimes I take things a little too far. Sorry about that. But you get what you pay for."
Rowings wrenched his comforter and glanced downward at the foot of the bed.
"If it's any consolation," she said. "He was telling the truth. I know when someone's lying to me. He sort of implied though, that Tivoli knows where to look for your Toran. He gave me this key."
"Give it to me!" A sharp tinge of obsession and frenzied-persistence flared in his voice. For a man as cheerful as Rowings portrayed himself to be, it was a wonder why he wanted to leave paradise so badly. He must've known what she knew about its illusion.
She removed the astrolabe from around her neck and handed it to Rowings.
"Ah, the astrolabe!" His pupils dilated and he reached for it slowly with both his hands as if reuniting with a long lost love. He caressed the object in his shaking palms. The ring on his finger blinked in the light. "Why would he give this to you?"
"Maybe he thought I'd burn you, find Tivoli and then leave the underworld forever."
Rowings laughed like a man drunk on life. She laughed with him. They laughed together, but for different reasons.
"Funny thing is," she said, "He was right."
Rowings cut his laugh abruptly.
"You already know what I need from you," she said. "And there's only one way for me to get it."
Rowings backed away in his bed. She shoved a pillow over his face, aimed her bank nakhs and sent tiger claws into his head, chest and neck. sish. When she removed the pillow Rowings gasped. A wheezing whistle escaped his lungs and his mouth quivered.
"Don't try to talk," she said. "You'll just burn faster. And we can't have that. I gotta make it out of here."
She plunged into the stench of his convulsions, the sweet scent of his torment. Her mouth watered, the itching in her eyes subsided, and she took a much needed moist breath.
She pried the astrolabe from his cold hands, draped it around her neck, and tucked it in her shirt. She ripped the ring from his finger, slipped it into her pocket and tossed the burlap sack with the three objects over her shoulder. Now only she and Balfour knew of the Toran. And as soon as he told her where to find it, she'd burn him too. The Toran would be hers alone.
Before leaving, she indulged in Rowings's agony one last time. She inhaled every drop of his evaporating life as he dwindled into the murky charred form of second death, staining the bed sheets black.
Strange web-like fibers reached out of his spirit, hundreds of them. They slithered across the bed, threaded through the wood-carved headboard and crept up the walls, never dethatching from Rowings. In a way, they were like arms.
Whatever the nature of this anomalous occurrence, it claimed the entire opposite side of the room and began to swallow the rest of the tree house. She backed away to the door fixated on this bizarre behavior too fascinated by it to run away.
The black strands of Nothing curled around the beams of light entering the window, avoiding a collision, and then squeezed through the slits in wood flooring. The tree wobbled. Her feet yanked from beneath her and she slammed to the floor.
She'd never seen the Nothing behave that way before. Usually a spirit burned and there were no fireworks, no grandiose show, just poof and a soul was gone. She had just witnessed something extraordinarily unprecedented and powerful.
She scrambled out of the tree house and climbed down the ladder as fast as she could. She raced past the nudists and turned back only when she reached the Ankou's dock.
The Nothing bled out of Rowings's tree house. The tree itself leaned and collapsed into an explosion of screams. She wanted to stay and enjoy this new work in all its glory, but there was a part of her that was unnerved by the sight. Plus, the light was cooking her again and the authorities would discover her as the culprit if she remained.
She rode the Ankou's ferry back across the void and lurched back through the golden city. Outside the A'raf, she dropped her sack of objects and her hands fell to her wobbling knees. She inhaled the fine sulfuric smell of eternal rotting souls and slowly regained her strength.
"Halt Demon!" said the guard inside the A'raf.
She rose up from her knees and clenched her bagh nakhs, preparing to go down in a bloody battle to the finish.
"Do not forget your lumenite," said the guard.
She sighed with relief. "Keep it."
Diamond Tooth used the three objects Rowings had given her to pay for a ride on a domesticated colossus going to Duat. Riding a colossus was one of the fastest ways to travel throughout the underworld, which was why it was so expensive. As the largest creatures in the underworld---since the mountainous xrafstars had retreated with the ancient deities---the colossi, walking on all-fours, could cross vast stretches of land in one stride, covering a handful of sleep cycles' worth of travel in hours even in their sloth-like motion.
She climbed the ladder up the monstrous foot and ascended the steep hill that was its leg. A tribal community of pygmies known as the Nwa-Efé lived on the backs of the beasts like fleas on a hellhound. The nomadic civilization bummed around from realm to realm picking up travelers along the way. Every soul had their own personal Hell in addition to the general ordeals of the damned, and the underworld inflicted the Nwa-Efé with wandering forever, incapable of resting or settling. They only stopped to hunt and gather. For them, no place would ever feel like home.
Ushers escorted Diamond Tooth through the wilderness of the colossus's hair. It grew to the height of trees on the earthy back of the beast and the Nwa-Efé kept their land properly cut as a way of grooming the colossus. They used the excess hairs to build their community of domed huts and also weave their clothes. The hairs offered the traveling city protection from the blistering sky. It remained the only yielding material known to be immune to the heat the sky produced.
The ushers politely lead Diamond Tooth to a hut where all passengers were required to stay for their own protection while the colossus traveled. She kicked back in a corner and enjoyed the rocky ride.
In just a few hours, the colossus arrived in the gang free city of Amenthes, now home to refugees who had fled from their native realms after the gang wars knocked down all the gates that separated the realms from each other.
The colossus lay down as flat as a mountain could and allowed the passengers to safely exit by way of a series of step ladders.
The town of Amenthes had gathered for a festival of some kind. Their singing and dancing wasn't as bad as the righteous souls in paradise. It only slightly grated on her ears. The gritty tune almost sounded devilish and was surprisingly pleasing to her when the chorus came around.
She entered the temple's courtyard and waded through the crowd, scouting for Forfax, the rouge squal she had hired about a month ago to find out more information on Clem Balfour. She passed a man holding a sign that read: The Resurrection of the Dead Approaches. The End Is Near.
A familiar voice yelled out. "Get your paws off me!"
A couple of dog-men dragged her old friend Cross over to a crystal altar. She smirked to herself, thinking how Cross was always up to his neck in trouble. He surprised and impressed her with his consistent resilience. With all the beasts hunting him, he should have been burned a long time ago. If any of his pursuers had hired her to do the job, he wouldn't still be around. The Amenthesians were so incompetent that they couldn't even see that Cross showed zero evidence of any fright. There was no sweat or wrinkle on his bullet wounded head and he wore a fake frown.
His pores told even more truth. They bled the stench of assurance. He struggled and cursed like a soul fearing second death, but it was an act. She recognized when a soul was truly in fear for their life, because she had embodied that very fear in the eyes and hearts of many. She seemed to have caught Cross in the middle of an interesting con. But what game was he playing?
The fishy odor of Forfax caught her attention before the slimy squal scrambled up to her. The Tribulation uniform he wore looked silly on such a sallow thing. White bandages wrapped around the emaciated creature's head, and blood seeped through.
"Do you have it?" Forfax flopped around her in a circle like an overzealous dog. "Do you? Do you?"
Diamond Tooth rolled the ring between her fingers. He snatched for the ring. She pulled it back out of his reach.
"What'd you find out?" she asked.
The vile creature huffed and gazed out into the crowd. All animalistic heads bowed in silence as the high priest prayed over Cross.
"Where's Clem Balfour?" whispered Diamond Tooth.
"All I know is-sss Balfour used to be Tivoli. He's-sss one ear short and he lives-sss with a girl called Manauia."
"Where is she?"
"I sss-suffered a head injury you know. My memory's-sss not sss-so good." He snapped his gangly fingers and wiggled them, hinting at the ring.
Diamond Tooth tossed the ring to the squal. He cupped his spindly hands and caught it. He held the ring as though it were life itself and hopped around joyously, coveting his precious.
"Now where is she?" asked Diamond Tooth.
"Mictlan. Mictlan. sss-She's-sss in Mount Mictlan."
Diamond Tooth rushed back to the colossus area seeking one going north. Only three colossi were left, including the one she rode in on. She asked its tribal leader first. They were headed south to Jahannam. The second tribe was on their way back east to paradise. The third tribe was her only hope, otherwise she'd have to make the long journey on foot and risk missing Balfour.
"Here is as far north as we're going," said the stout third tribe leader.
Diamond towered over him and each of his pygmy guards and she was nowhere near the tallest of demons. They all stood no higher than four feet.
"We're heading west to Kurr," said the leader. "Where're ya headed?"
"Mount Mictlan," she said.
"Mictlan? Are you sure? The only souls that venture there are moonstruck conquerors and squals."
"Well, I ain't no squal."
"I can see that." He ogled her body up and down, unabashedly. "Well, we'll be passing through Xibalbá. That's as close as we can get you to Mount Mictlan. It'll cost you three objects."
"Full price?" said Diamond Tooth. "I'm not even traveling the whole way."
"Two objects then," said the tribal leader.
"All I have is this." She held out her last object.
"A match?" said the tribe leader.
"It's re-lightable. I've lit it at least a thousand times. It never burns down."
She demonstrated. The match burned at the tip and the flame never dropped down the stick.
"Where we live we don't have much use for fire. Sorry. But protection and hunting is always a concern of ours. How about those?" He nodded his head at her bagh nakhs.
There was no way she was giving them up. She squeezed her fists, contemplating burning the entire tribe and stealing the colossus for herself.
The guards thrust their spears up at her.
"There's no need for bloodshed," said the tribal leader. "We're all friends here." He made a clicking sound with his mouth and waved the men away. They stood at attention and posted their spears upright.
"Obviously, those objects hold some sentimental value for you," he said. "And I'm sympathetic to your predicament of being stranded, but not enough to allow you to ride for free. So, either I'm the new owner of those bladed gloves or we work something else out." He slid his hand from her shoulder down her arm; his eyes lingered all over her chest.
She could easily lop that fat arm off and snatch his eyes out of their sockets. "Don't you have courtesans in your tribe?" she asked.
"There's always room for more." He snatched his arm away from her. "Of course, you can never be too sure with these things. They don't always work out." He turned to walk away. His tribesmen helped him up the ladder on the colossus's foot because he was too fat to make it up alone.
Her options were limited. The colossus ride would get her to Mount Mictlan faster than any other form of travel and with the least amount of struggle. Trouble always lurked for those traveling the underworld on foot.
A colossus avoided every inconvenience by simply stepping over it or on it. A herd of wild colossi once flattened an entire realm in one stampede. She welcomed danger as much as any other demon, but in this instance it would only serve to prolong her journey to her ultimate goal: to find Balfour before he disappeared yet again.
"Wait," she called after the tubby tribe leader.
He made the clinking sounds again and combined them with a jumble of words in the Nwa-Efé. Eight nearly naked vixens fluttered down the ladder like faeries and greeted Diamond Tooth, giggling.
"My hetaeras will show you to my quarters," said the leader.
Hetaeras weren't average whores. They were sage as much as they were beautiful. It was a wonder they'd allow themselves to live like harlots, especially to the runt sized men of the Nwa-Efé. The one thing Diamond Tooth respected of any soul was an educated mind, and hetaeras were sophisticated enough that they could have had any other afterlife they wanted. Instead, they walked a path of disrespect to their very selves. The only thing that made sense about their life choice was that it may not have been a choice at all.
The hetaeras surrounded her and guided her up the step ladder, which lead up the immense foot of the colossus. Then it was a three minute hike up its leg to its back. The hetaeras escorted Diamond Tooth through the hairy wilderness to the tribe leaders hut. It sat all the way at the front of the colossus near its head.
Inside the hut, a woman with bright cherry red hair and emerald green eyes stepped all the way around Diamond Tooth, examining her from head to toe.
She appeared to be the oldest of the hetaeras, and was certainly the most attractive of them. Diamond Tooth might get some enjoyment out of the trip after all.
The rest of the hetaeras sat back and watched this woman's every move as if waiting for her command. The woman stood in front of Diamond Tooth with one arm folded across her exposed midriff and her chin resting on her limp wrist. All of her fingernails curled like claws; they were painted and glittery. The woman lifted Diamond Tooth's hair away from her face. The jewelry on her wrists jingled with every movement she made.
"He usually likes brand new souls," said the vixen. "But I see why he picked you. There's a beautiful woman underneath all that filth. A diamond in the rough you are. We'll clean you up, make you presentable." She tapped her index finger on the tip of Diamond Tooth's nose. "My name is Mnesarete, favorite of Mnubotu and madam of the hetaera standing before you."
"I'll just call you Mnesarete for short," said Diamond Tooth, teasing her.
Mnesarete tilted her head to the side and contorted her luscious, glossy lips. "Madam Mnesarete," she said, emphasizing her elevated stature with a sneer.
"And I'm the demon of pain and suffering. But you can just call me Diamond Tooth."
A couple of the hetaeras glanced at each other after Diamond Tooth's pronouncement. With a wave of a curly fingernail, Madam Mnesarete gave her hetaeras the order to begin their tasks. Hesitantly, two hetaeras stripped Diamond Tooth out of her slacks and shirt. She tucked the astrolabe in her bundle of clothes.
One strumpet grabbed her bagh nakhs. Diamond Tooth jerked away and stuck the tiger claws under her neck. All the hetaeras backed away except the madam.
"I must file your nails," said the courtesan with the blades at her neck, trembling.
"Find a work around," said Diamond Tooth. "These don't come off."
"They do or you don't ride with us," said Madam Mnesarete, sternly. Her gazer lingered on Diamond Tooth as she slipped the bagh nakh's off herself. "You won't need them anyway." She sat them on a table in the corner. "Here, they will remain within your sight at all times."
Madam Mnesarete's stunning curvaceous frame would remain in Diamond Tooth's sight at all times.
The rest of the hetaeras each took an individual task as if Diamond Tooth was a personal project of theirs: one courtesan bathed Diamond Tooth in fresh water. Afterwards, two of the women slipped Diamond Tooth into a skimpier ensemble to match their revealing attire. Another hetaera toiled with Diamond Tooth's hair. A fourth applied makeup. The fifth one was supposed to file and paint Diamond Tooth's fingernails at some point, but instead hunkered back in the corner the entire time, massaging the red marks on her neck where the tiger claws had pricked her.
"You frightened her," said Madam Mnesarete. "She's a brand new soul. We picked her up a few sleep cycles before we found you. I think you may be her first demon."
"I don't frighten you?" asked Diamond Tooth. She found the madam's dauntlessness intriguing. She appreciated a tough woman, and very few spirits weren't afraid of demons.
The madam clasped both her hands around Diamond Tooth's hand. "Let's you and I enjoy the view of the festivities. I hope we get a chance to see the entire ceremony." She led Diamond Tooth over to the window. "You could polish a diamond with your hands. Your manicure is the next."
They gazed down at the ceremony below. The high priest held a blade over Cross's neck.
"I'm glad they got him," said the madam. "The Man Who Remembers. He thinks he's the only one that deserves to know what's out there in the beyond. Such knowledge should be freely available to all and not just one soul. Now we will find out if the myths are truly myths or not."
Diamond Tooth snickered.
"What do you find humorous?" asked the madam.
"Men with blades at their necks don't always lose their heads. Even a miserable soul like that has a guardian angel." Diamond Tooth sniffed the crowd and detected the scent of another waxy alias in the vicinity besides Cross. She traced the stale aroma.
Just as she suspected, hidden atop the columns in the courtyard, she spotted her nemesis: the black winged angel with the top hat.
CROSS LAY ON THE CRYSTAL ALTAR, eyes closed, wondering why his head hadn't fallen into the filthy paws of the shaved kitty yet. He felt the rope slither around his body and a loud clang sounded. He opened his eyes and found his obsidian blade lying next to him with a large hole pierced through the center of the wooden paddle's flat side. Black blood stained it. His blood. He grabbed his neck. It was still attached to his shoulders and was barely nicked.
He grabbed the obsidian blade's hilt as tightly as he could, given his bound wrists, and rolled off the altar into the sand. A spirit wrapped in dingy white cloth grabbed for him. Cross sliced through the bandages and the spirit fell apart as if it never existed.
Three dog-men waved sickle-swords. He bobbed and weaved each slice and stab. The Raven's rope dart impaled two dog-men at once. They withered to Nothing. The remaining mongrel turned toward the Raven, barking. Cross shouldered his way through him and other random spirits.
Fortunately, not all the souls attacked him. Most were just normal people who had simply gathered for the show. He squeezed through the ones who didn't make a hole for him to race through, and he bowled some innocent folks over who shouldn't have stood in his way like idiots.
Most of the crowd reacted as though they were just as afraid of him as he was terrified of them. They lurched backward in fear and allowed him to pass. The lion women hissed in fright and yanked their cubs away from him as if he were the crazy one trying to chop off someone's head.
The Raven rode toward him on Gimlet's back, and when she reached him, Cross swiped at her with the blade. She leaned her head out of the way.
"Such gratitude," she said.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" he said.
She helped lift him up as he climbed onto Gimlet. Her rope dart attacked every soul that came close to them.
They kept a southward heading, and immediately outside of Amenthes they met a river. Even though it reached up to Gimlet's neck, they crossed it easily. It was one of the most normal rivers he had ever come across in the underworld, although the mysterious blue substance that flowed through it wasn't water.
After passing through a field of wandering shadows who were more eerie looking than they were bothersome, a silver river, more chaotic than the last one, blocked their path. Spirits swam in it, moaning and whispering, and seemed as if they were trapped within the metallic liquid. Gimlet hissed and bucked backwards.
"I think I'm with Gimlet this time," said Cross. "I don't think we should go in there."
"This is the River Nun," said the Raven. "There's no way around it without going back the way we came."
"Well, before we go in cut these ropes off." Cross held out his bound wrists.
"Not yet."
"We're doing another con?"
"Just sit back." The Raven rubbed Gimlet's horn, imitating the technique she must've remembered Cross using, but he knew it wouldn't work from her hands. The cornurus ignored her gesture and grew more agitated, grunting and backing away.
Cross laughed at the Raven's inadequacy. "It's alright, Gimlet." He leaned forward and caressed her horn as only he could. The cornurus calmed.
No one else had his magic touch. He never understood how the ability worked himself. His connection to animals came to him as natural as breathing. The magic was just always there all his life. More puzzling to him was the fact that magic like his wasn't supposed to exist in the underworld. That's why collecting objects of the dead was so important to spirits. Objects were the only source of magic.
He probably retained his ability to communicate with animals because he still remembered his past life, and maybe once he drank from the River Lethe and wiped his memory, he would lose that valuable skill. That made him a little reluctant to go through with his quest.
Gimlet plunged them into the river of chaos, and they waded through the watery waste. It smelled of a mixture of rotting meat and that cheap perfume his old friend Kate used to wear. Spirits swam around them and through them, but never left the comfort of their river bed. Several slipped through one of his ears, whispering nonsense. So many voices jumbled all around them that hearing one voice was impossible.
Arms pulled them under the surface of the silver liquid. The Raven vanished from in front of him, Gimlet disappeared from under him. Suddenly he was alone with the surface of the water over his head. If his wrists weren't tied, he could have swam.
He sank. A sudden weight fell upon his neck, pushing him down further. The silver liquid didn't choke him like water would have, but he held his breath anyway, not wanting those spooky specters to enter his body.
Legs dangled at his chest wearing the Raven's boots. He gaped upward. She was sitting on his neck looking just as confused as he felt. Meanwhile, Gimlet---a bullhead lizard the size of a carriage---as now riding on the Raven's neck.
Cross parted his lips to speak and could only grunt like a cornurus. The words he wanted to say came from the Raven's mouth but with his voice.
"What the hell is going on?" she said---or rather he said.
"I don't know," said Gimlet using the Raven's voice. "Just hold on."
Cross's fingers tingled. The binds still around his wrists were too tight. He raised his hands to his face to bite the ropes off and found juicy sausages protruding from his hand. He knew it would be the wrong thing to do, but he couldn't fight the urge to bite into the juicy sausages. His stomach gurgled and mouth watered. He hadn't had any sausages since he was alive. He chomped on them.
"Ow!" The Raven used his voice and shook her own hand as if it hurt. "Don't do that, you idiot!"
Hearing himself call himself an idiot from someone else's mouth was beyond disconcerting. His head flooded with madness. Poisonous thoughts pervaded his mind. Cutting out his own tongue and sticking it in his ear just to see how it would sound was a stupid idea, but the urge to actually do it was overpowering. He slapped himself.
He had an odd sense that the Raven's head was filled with apple butter. Bashing her skull to drink the apple butter crossed his mind.
The Raven was a decent enough angel, but if he cracked open her skull, he could keep all the objects for himself and get more objects by selling her apple butter. Souls would pay many objects for apple butter. It didn't exist anywhere in the underworld, the same as sausages.
The Raven removed his blade from his holster and held it under her own neck. His arms leapt upward and snatched for the blade without his control.
Finally, Gimlet carried them out the other side of the river, snapping them all back to reality. The spiritual sludge that was clinging to their clothes slipped back into the river, wailing.
The Raven slid his obsidian blade back into his holster for him, and they continued their journey in silence. Neither he nor she spoke of what they saw or thought while in the River Nun. They seemed to mutually agree that it was too weird to bring it up.
The ridiculous notion of squeezing apple butter out of her skull was no longer a realistic idea to him, but he still wanted those objects. He contemplated how he could steal them from her. His easiest option would have been to slit her throat. If only he could reach his obsidian blade. His bound wrists made grabbing it out of its holster difficult, and with gimlet bouncing up and down as she galloped, both his hands were busy holding on to the Raven so he didn't fall off the cornurus.
Hours later, the Raven pulled back on Gimlet's reins on the outskirts of Duat, near the city of Neter-Khertet and on the edge of the desert realm of Sheol. Miles long strips of rubble, left over from the fall of the gates that used to section off each realm from each other stretched out before them.
The Raven turned her ear back toward Amenthes. This was his chance. Cross raised his fists high above her head figuring he could knock her out, take the objects and leave her in the desert.
"We're still being followed," she said.
Quickly, he lowered his fists and turned around to see who was following them. "I don't see anyone."
"They stopped when we stopped," she said. "They've been following us ever since Xibalbá. At least five of them. I tried to catch them when we were in the Viņsaule canyons, but they kept escaping. I think they're following you, but oddly enough I don't suspect that they want your head like all the others."
"Oh, that must be the draggles," said Cross. "Don't worry about them."
"Draggles? I never heard of them."
"That's because I made up that name. I don't really know what they are. I've actually never seen them. But they won't bother us. They've been following me for a very long time. I think they're just really shy."
He reached inside the saddlebag and grabbed a strip of leftover barbot meat. The saddlebag didn't do as good a job as an icebox would have, but it kept the meat fresh long enough before it became too rotten to eat.
He tossed the meat to the ground for the draggles to get later. "But you my friend, you and Ropey. I have a bone to pick with you two. I wanna know what happened back there in Amenthes. I was this close from losing my head to my own blade."
"Last time with the squals," said the Raven, "I had to wait for you to get close enough to me so I could toss you the blade for you to protect yourself. This time I figured I'd put the blade a bit closer to you early on. It worked."
"I don't care about that. I wanna know what took you so long."
"Oh, I ran into an old friend and lost track of time. You're still all in one piece."
He gripped a handful of her justaucorps. "Nobody's late when my neck's on the line! I felt the Nothing crawling up my back. You know what that's like?"
"I haven't had the pleasure," she said.
"You better hope you never do. When the Nothing bites your ass, it really sinks its fangs."
"You're right," said the Raven. "Thirteen is a sacred number."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I don't think you'll ever be worth more than thirteen objects. And too many spirits know about you now. More and more of them will be coming for your head, and one of these days they're gonna get it, even if they have to go through me."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, let's not both lose our heads." Her wings flapped and slapped him off his cornurus into the sand.
"I'll hold on to my objects," she said, "and you can keep whatever it is you already got, even that holey blade in case you decide to fall on it."
"You filthy, double-crossing bitch!" Cross reached for the obsidian blade tied around his back, but his bound wrists prevented him from grabbing it. The Raven's rope dart snaked its head up and challenged him. It bobbed its head from side to side and stared him down as if it had eyes.
"Paradise is that way." She pointed east. "But you'll have to walk through Sheol. If you're lucky, it'll be about nine periods of sleep."
"Get off my cornurus, you coward. I tamed her. You walk."
"They say people with fair skin can't take too much heat. So, you'd do a lot better than me in a desert."
"You best watch your back," said Cross. "I'll be seeing you and Ropey soon. Very soon, you filthy split!"
The Raven tied a bandana over top of her hat and under her chin, and she prodded Gimlet into a fierce run. They galloped away in a cloud of dust.
"You soiled dove!" he called after her. "If I ever catch you, I'll pluck all your filthy feathers off and skin you alive, you rotten snatch! I'll rip your wings off, fry them in the pits of Hell, and feed them to the hellhounds!"
Cross marched through the desert of Sheol under the tormented red sky. Although heat was nothing new in the underworld, compared to every other realm he had ever set foot in, Sheol was the hottest. It was hot as a whorehouse on nickel night. He gasped for every breath, and the humidity stole it away each time.
Something as simple as trying to reach his blade so that he could cut the ropes from his wrist became too much of an exertion in the heat. The reaching and stretching exhausted him. After several tries, he finally swung it around to his wrists. He stuck the blade between his knees, sawed his bindings and plopped down on his back, drained and wearied.
Sometimes the smoldering skies would crackle gently like a kindling fireplace on Christmas. Other times it would explode with the fury of dynamite. That day, it emitted a chiming noise. Bursts of light flashed within the flaring sky like exploding bulbs. The dead sun, the only dark spot in the sky, peered down at him, never blinking, never sleeping, defying the logic of time.
He prayed that the Great Goddess would help him make it out and trusted that she would stick with him like she always had. She wouldn't have placed him in such a circumstance unless he could handle it.
His old friend Sinuhe always said that the underworld had a way of tormenting a soul, not just physically but mentally, and only got rid of you when it was done with you. If it didn't want to let you go, you didn't go, and if it wanted you out, you were out.
Cross declared his own terms, though. If the underworld never rested, then neither would he. If the underworld never cooled down, then neither would he. He was going to beat it at its own game.
He staggered to his feet and trudged over dune after dune, only to meet more of the endless ocean of dust. Nothing else lay in sight in all directions. Not a soul. Not a landmark.
Legend had it that spirits had wandered the desert of Sheol for all eternity without ever happening upon another soul. But not, Cross. He would be the exception. Even if it took him a thousand years, his stubborn feet would keep moving. One foot at a time. Left, right, march, like the soldiers. He had always endured when others gave up. He had survived while everyone around him succumbed. That would never change.
He sang "Motherless Child" to himself as he put one determined foot in front of the other. Without the old spirituals he had learned from the slaves back at the plantation, his afterlife wouldn't have lasted so long. The hymns kept his spirit up, kept him moving forward.
Heat sat on his neck like a devil jamming its claws into his back. He dropped to a knee and cursed at the skies. It showered him with the warm, red blood of the living as if to tease him with what he used to be and emphasize the reality of his death. He stretched out his arms at his sides, stuck out his tongue and tasted the crimson, copper-tinged drops, drinking them in defiance.
"Keep it coming," he said to the sky and laughed. "You ain't so tough."
Adding to the madness, details of his days among the living zoomed in and out of his mind as he trudged through the red-soaked sand. If only he had made it to the River Lethe, he could have erased all his memories and continued his miserable existence in ignorant bliss. The souls without memories were the lucky ones. His memory was a gift, but also a curse. It was his main advantage to surviving the dangers of the underworld, but also the reason every soul wanted him to burn.
His mother appeared before him, just popped into existence. Her dark, immaculate skin glowed unlike any spirit he had ever seen in the underworld.
The red rain showered harder, beating down on him with heavier and heavier drops. The thick blood stuck to his clothes, but avoided his mother's halo; she was there, but not there in full, too heavenly for the underworld to taint her, which seemed to hate her presence. She radiated a serenity he hadn't encountered since he was booted from paradise so many years ago. Her holiness touched the center of his spirit. He bathed in the rapturous light from her celestial smile. Without her ever touching him, she embraced him, wrapped him up in safety of her arms like she used to. Like a goddess, love poured out from her and enveloped him.
But never had he met anyone from his former life since he had been dead, and it wouldn't have been the first time he had been tricked by someone pretending to be a loved one. Seeing his mother had to have been a dirty trick of the underworld. It was an evil ruse, a cruel joke meant to build up his hopes only to crush them. No matter how good it made him feel to see her, perhaps because he wished so badly that the spirit truly was his mother, he couldn't trust the vision, couldn't appreciate a potential gift from the Great Goddess.
He hated the underworld.
"I've sent you help," said Mama.
"I don't need anyone's help." He stepped past her, and she was still standing ahead of him as if he had never moved.
"You've always been strong," she said. "You're stronger than anyone I've ever known. Your problem is your ego. You've allowed your experiences; both living and dead, to make you believe you can do everything on your own. In turn, it has made you selfish. You can't go through any existence only caring about yourself. One day, you're going to need someone. I just hope that when that time comes you've given them a reason to help you."
"You know how long I've been down here? Because I don't. Not anymore. It's always the same day here. There's no night. Every soul has to count their own sleep cycles if they want to keep track of their individual days. So a day for me won't be the same as a day for another soul. And it's not like you get any real rest anyway. Don't even get me started. But I stopped counting. Know why?"
Mother pursed her lips and head dipped downward off to the side as if she knew what he was about to say, but would allow him to voice his frustrations.
"I kept track of months and years," he said, "but after a while I had to ask myself why. Why the hell was I counting? It's not like I'm ever going to leave this place. I didn't think you were real at first. But with your no man is an island speech, I'm convinced you're definitely not from around these parts."
He wiped the tears from his cheeks. Red blood stained both sides of his hands. He held his palms out and closed them. "It must be real nice up there or wherever you came from, Mama. And I'm glad you made it. I'm really happy for you. But you can't come all the way down here after hundreds of years and scold me for something I have no control over. John Donne wasn't talking about me, okay. I've been on my own since I was nine. I can take of myself. I always have. I always will." Defiantly, he walked through her.
She appeared in his path again. "I'm sorry I left you, Charles."
"Don't call me that," he said.
"When I left, you didn't see everything that happened, because it was meant for you not to see. Had you been watching me, everything would have been different."
"I wish everything was different. I wish none of this ever happened."
"I can't say that everything happens for a reason. But this did. I promise you, one day this will all make sense. Just remember, you don't have to change the world around you. You only need to change one mind."
"Yeah? Then what?"
"Then we'll see each other again." Her smile beamed and her halo grew brighter.
She reached out to him as if she wanted to caress his cheek. He raised his hand to hers to feel her warm touch once more. She vanished, leaving him with his own palm nuzzling his cheek, abandoning him yet again.
He pressed on through the red rain like the soldier he was, one foot in front of the other through the endless dust. Left, right, march.
NINE YEAR OLD, CHARLES MAY NOT HAVE UNDERSTOOD EVERYTHING that went on around him, but he always paid attention because one day everything would all make sense. He knew a lot more than everyone around him gave him credit for, because he kept his mouth shut and was an expert listener.
He heard the plantation workers whispering of a "Moses" aiding slaves in escapes far off in the old states. He heard them planning their own revolt. When that night came around, he was ready for the rifle shots and the screams of torment, the chaos and commotion. He had prepared himself for the deaths or recapture of the slaves he had considered family, but all of it still made him cry.
He and Mama fled north for a few days after the uprising. They hid from the bloodhounds in the cold woods at night. Mama kept him warm in her tight embrace. He tried to wrap his arms around her to keep her warm, but he was too small, and she wouldn't let him anyway. She claimed she was warm enough, but he could feel her shivering.
"Tell me about paradise again," he said. "I like to hear you tell it to me."
"Paradise," she said, her teeth chattering. "Oh, it's a place where the sun is always shinning. You never want for nuffin', never need for nuffin', and the work ain't too much you can't handle. It's all that is good in this world. It's peace. It's freedom. And only one master rules in paradise. God A'mighty. Our Lord, Jesus."
Her words warmed him up. Every time she spoke of paradise, a calmness set over him. All his worries washed away. Then he fixed him mind to ask something he had never thought to ask before. "Where is paradise?"
"A long long, long way from here." She pointed to the sky. "See that star right there. It's the brightest one in the sky. It's called the North Star. We follow that, its gon' take us all the way to paradise. Keep your eyes on that star. Don't let it out of your sight."
He did as told and kept his eyes pressed onto that North Star every night. They passed over hills and through meadows, swam across stinky swamps. One evening they crept into a town so Mama could steal some food for him. It was odd to Charles that she didn't include herself in the plan to eat, but he stayed quiet. Mama knew best.
The town was crawling with men holding shotguns and rifles. On the edge of Main Street, Mama shoved Charles behind a wagon filled to its brim with wooden beams.
"You tell them I made you do it," she said. "You just a boy, they'll believe you. And they won't whip you too bad. No matter what, don't you look now, hear?"
He nodded and she took a long gaze at his face as though drinking him in, stamping that moment in her memory for one last time. She stepped around the wagon.
"Hey you," said a man Charles couldn't see, but the voice snapped through the air like a whip. Footsteps shuffled. "Hold it right there. Where you goin? Hey, we got one, boys!"
A thump pounded the ground as though a body had fallen. A scream exploded in Mama's voice. Charles crouched. Through the space under the wagon, he viewed his mother being dragged across the ground by her hair, kicking and flailing.
Charles shut his eyes in obedience to his mother's last wish. A whip cracked through the air. He covered his ears, but that only muffled her screams. He buried his head between his knees in an attempt to silence the world around him, but with each lash the crowd boomed with boisterous glee and carried on as if they were attending a festival. Charles rocked back and forth, pretending his Mama was holding him in her arms again, and when all went quiet, he sat there, still too afraid to look.
He worked up the courage to stand, and he peeked around the wagon. To both his joy and horror, his mother remained alive. She sat horseback with a noose around her neck. Her gaze fell onto him. She blinked tightly, and nodded, signaling him to close his eyes, but he froze.
He squeezed the wood in front of him. A splinter stabbed his palm. By the time he looked back up to Mama, she was drifting at the end of the rope in a slow swing. He had missed it. He knew seeing his mother drop would have been devastating, but in an odd way he wished he had seen her last moment, if only to see where her soul went, so he could follow her.
His body flushed with coldness. The world around him wobbled and turned black, little glimmering lights appeared in his eyes, blocking his vision. Nothing felt real. The splinter in his hand no longer hurt. He became aware of a presence near him, but he couldn't bring himself to turn his head from Mama.
"You better get low," said a young girl's voice beside him. Small hands gripped his shoulders and guided him into a crouching position. The girl disappeared around the wagon as heavy footsteps pounded toward the wagon. Under the wagon, he saw a man's boots and slacks and pale legs extending from the bottom of a girl's dress.
"If you're looking for the other one," said the girl. "I saw him go around the building. Hurry, you might can catch him."
The man ran off in the opposite direction of Charles's hiding spot. The girl waited for a while then shuffled her way back behind the wagon.
"Hurry," she said. "You better shin out while you got time."
Finally, he gazed upon her, a girl about his age with angel eyes that bore into his soul with grace and kindness. The glint in her gaze was like a light leading out of a deep dark underworld. A North Star.
"It's ok," she said. "My name's Kate. What's your name?"
"Charles," he said softly, surprised that he could still speak.
"Where's your momma and poppa?"
He wiped his wet cheeks and gestured out into the area where his mother hung.
"Oh." Kate's mouth hung open, and she stared down for a while. "I think you should come with me. My father will know what to do. We were just getting inside our coach when I saw you standing here."
Another man raced up to them. Unlike the wild men who hung Mama, this man was well dressed and clean shaven. "Kate, don't you ever run off like that again," he said. "These mobs can turn dreadfully ugly."
"Father, this is Charles."
"Hello, Charles. Come on, Kate."
"That's Charles's mother." She pointed to the short drop.
Kate's father removed his hat. A lock of his hair curled down to his forehead. He placed his hat on his chest. A ring on his finger glistened in the dark as though it bore its own light. "My condolences," he said. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss, Charles, but we have to go. This town is getting restless."
He placed his hat back on his head and grabbed Kate's arm. She grabbed Charles's arm and hauled him along to the center of the dirt road.
Her father halted. "Let him go, Kate."
"We can't just leave him here."
"He isn't our responsibility."
"You always tell me to care about all life. He's all alone." She gripped his arm tighter.
"I'm very sorry for him," said her father. "Truly, I am. I can't imagine what he just experienced. But he can't come with us. He belongs to someone else." He nodded to Charles. "You understand? If these were honest men, they'd have returned you and your mother to your master, jailed you or at least sold you to the highest bidder. But these aren't men of reason. Those vigilantes don't care about reward money, only punishment. They'll hang us all for aiding runaways. Now, I don't know who your master is, but for your own sake I suggest you find your way back to him as soon as you can, all right. I'm afraid that's all the help I offer you."
Kate's father spun around and came face to face with the barrel of a rifle.
"What you doin' with that boy?" said the rifleman. A bristly blonde moustache covered his mouth. His chin was clean shaven. Nothing about the man was familiar to Charles except the man's voice.
He was the man who dragged Mama.
Kate pulled Charles closer to her. "He's with us."
The rifleman eyed Charles and then Kate's father. "Is that right, Mister? This nigger boy yours?"
Kate's father opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.
"Lower your weapon!" A bearded man raced over to them. "Put that rifle down, you idiot. Do you have any idea who you're addressing?"
"I'm addressing a runaway and his possible aide," said the rifleman.
"You're a guest in my town only for as long as you capture your fugitives, but this man here is a friend of mine. And that little girl is his daughter. I will not tolerate this inferior treatment directed towards them. Nor do I take to either of them as liars. If they say this boy is with them, I'll take their word as bond, understood?"
The rifleman hesitated, glanced down at Charles and flipped his rifle to his shoulder. "Apologies, Mr. Garrett."
"Don't apologize to me," said Mr. Garrett. "Apologize to Miss Katie, whom you've just frightened with your crude brutality."
The rifleman gave a quick nod to Kate. "My apologies, Little Miss."
Mr. Garrett shuffled them off to the side of the road, ran his hand along his beard, and sighed. "Now, please tell me I didn't just help you aid a runaway, Mr. Carson."
Cross's foot sank into the barren wasteland of Sheol. A hazy river of fire snaked before him. The underworld had led him deathly close to the pits of Hell where he belonged.
Countless bowl-shaped pits littered that area of the underworld like prairie dog holes but on a much more massive scale. Some of the craters were the size of towns, while others couldn't swallow anything bigger than a modest-sized house, which was still huge in its own right. All of the gaping holes in the ground drank and spat fire, joyously.
His foot sizzled with heat. Molten earth bubbled from a sinkhole and touched his boot. The pain in his burnt foot took away from the squirmy feeling in his stomach as his insides threatened to feed on him. He hadn't had any food or drink in several periods of sleep.
He skipped forward over the fiery, blue hole, and then hopped to his other foot to avoid a second dip in the land. Several depressions in the terrain surrounded him. The ground beneath him snapped and split off from the rest of the land, carrying him into the river of fire. He leapt back across to the more solid foundation. The flaming stream carried the chunk of land around a bend where a hellish pit swallowed it whole.
Waves of torrid air carried nasty screams from the pit: yells of curses, anger and zero remorse. He'd thought those souls would've wanted forgiveness for their sins or something. He always expected them to be crying for help and salvation from the torture. Instead, they were filled with unrelenting hate, and their hate motivated his hate.
He hated the Raven. She was the reason he ended up there. If he ever came across her again, he would clip her wings and push her off of the highest mountain.
A bright light distracted him to his left. The A'raf rose above the trees of Limbo, and the brilliant light of paradise bloomed mightily. His final destination now laid only a few sleep cycles walking distance if he trekked through part of Sheol again, but after barely making it out of the desert, he decided to take the long cut around. There was still the matter of how he was even going to break into paradise. It seemed that the end of all his problems was closer than ever, and at the same time much more elusive.
A wicked snarl exploded behind him. A hellhound had cornered four defenseless creatures against a river of fire. Even though the four creatures outnumbered the hellhound, their fragile bodies would be no match for the dog when it started tossing them around. The tallest of them stood no higher than a child. They were shorter than Cottontail was.
The hellhound loomed over them like an angry grizzly hungry for frightened sheep. Its matted hair gave it an appearance of being covered in puffy scales. Its lizard tail didn't have spikes at the end like Gimlet's, but the saber-like teeth protruding from its muzzle made up for that lack of weaponry. The four weaklings trembled in its shadow.
Cross expected to find beasts like hellhounds so close to the pits of Hell, but those meek creatures didn't belong there. The clicking sounds they made reminded him of his draggles. Were they his draggles? If so, it was their own stupid fault they had followed him. The hellhound probably would have attacked him if they hadn't been around.
He turned his back on them, but then thought of Kate and how she had selflessly saved him from the rifleman. She made a huge difference in his life. Meeting her that night was the most positive thing that had ever happened to him.
He faced the draggles again. They were backing away from the hound. Cross was still undecided if he should risk a second death helping them. He was so close to paradise. He had already achieved several impossible goals: He'd defeated squals, evaded the Rudimen, survived the Raven and escaped Sheol. He refused to become a Nothing after all that.
A draggle reached out a claw to him as though pleading for him to help. The hellhound chomped down on that arm and gobbled the draggle up in one great swallow. Seeing death was a part of being dead, but watching that innocent draggle get eaten by the vicious monster made the whole world feel wrong to him. He was a jerk for not helping them, just like he was an idiot for giving up on Cottontail so fast. She and that draggle paid for his lack of effort with their afterlives.
"Hey!" He tossed a stone at the hellhound. It bounced off the saddle strapped to its back. The hellhound spun towards him. The reins at its head whipped.
He could tame it. Judging by its saddle, someone else already had. Hellhounds usually only obeyed demons and devils or more powerful deities. They responded to torture and abuse, which wasn't his style. Still, he'd managed to domesticate a cornurus, and they were more deadly than hellhounds---who were menacing in their own right. But he had the benefit of surprise when he snuck up on Gimlet, and this hellhound was now galloping towards him, jaws full of bone crushing teeth.
He positioned himself to flip onto its back like the old Bronc Busters of his day. The hound lunged. He grabbed the saddle and swung himself up to mount the beast. He slipped his feet into the stirrups, yanked the reins.
The hound's head went up. It bucked. If Cross were alive, he'd be too old for the game, but death had given him new life. He reached for the beast's head to give it his magic touch.
It threw him. He kicked free of the stirrups, let his body go limp, and hit the ground rolling. A soft spot in the ground vomited blue flame near his shoulder.
The hound pinned him under its paws. Acidic saliva dribbled from it jaws onto his chest, burning. The draggles mounted the beast and sank their teeth and claws through its matted hair into its flesh. The hound twirled to shake them off, but they hung on for their puny afterlives.
Standing upright, the tops of the draggles' heads barely reached his knee, but they fought for Cross as if they were giants. The hound shook them off and mauled one of the draggles, but fortunately didn't eat it.
Trying to tame the hellhound was too risky with the draggles around. The innocent little creatures would get hurt more.
He crawled from beneath the hound, drew his obsidian blade and chopped at the hound's neck. A gash opened between its kinky hairs. The hound barked and snapped at Cross.
He swung the blade. The hound caught it between its teeth and stripped it away from him. He backed away. The stream of lava met his heels. Chunks of earth broke off and fell into the flame.
A crack slithered between his legs, forked and then branched. Molten froth cooked the hound's paw. It whined and lurched backward.
The draggles scampered over to Cross. One of them handed him the obsidian blade. In a burst of wild inspiration, he hacked at the fissure in the ground. It spit blue flame, singing the hair off his exposed skin.
A shelf detached from the land with him and the draggles on top it and a blazing gouge separated them from the hellhound. All they needed to do was guide their raft to the other side of the bank to escape.
Cross stooped to use the blade as a paddle. The hellhound leapt onto the raft. The force of its landing pushed the island hard, and their floating land mass crashed into the bank on the other side and then spun away from safety.
Cross picked a draggle up. It didn't seem to weigh anything at all, almost as if it didn't exist. He tossed it over the raging stream and onto solid land. He grabbed the next two draggles and tossed them at the same time.
Now the distance had grown too far for him to jump to either side. The draggles crawled along the side of the river on all fours as he and the hellhound bobbed on the slab of rock down the center of the river of flame.
The weight of the stupid dog tipped the island. Lava grabbed the edge and ate its way up the raft. The hound scrambled up the center and bumped Cross.
His heels at the edge of the island, Cross slashed the hound in an attempt to make it back up or die---whichever came first. It crunched its jaws in the air as though it only intended to scold him and not bite him.
They both returned to the center of the island and displaced their weight evenly. The raft flattened out and they sailed around a crest. Hellish screams from the pit grew louder and more hateful.
"Great plan," Cross said to himself. "Now what?"
The hellhound growled at him. It was a sarcastic growl, bordering on laughter, as if it understood his words. He had never communicated with a hellhound before, but most creatures he encountered could understand him. Why not hellhounds? The mockery in its snarl was what shook him though. Then he realized where he was being lead.
"You're escorting me to Hell aren't you?" he asked the hellhound. "You used the draggles as bait. You could have burned all of us easily, but you didn't because the underworld wants me in the pit."
The hellhound chirped bird-like toward the pit. Up ahead, the river emptied into the crater in glopping splashes. Inside the moaning mouth of the pit, Cross spotted a horizontal breast of rock. It jutted out the wall on the opposite side of the lavafall, but was too far to jump to. He would never make it across. Another wild idea cooked in his mind and he would only have one shot.
"Well, if the underworld wants me there so bad," he said, "Let's not dilly-dally." He slipped the obsidian blade in his holster and crawled onto the hellhound's saddle. The hound bucked in surprise. He yanked the reins upward and caressed the hound's head. His magic touch calmed the beast just as their island sailed up to the drop.
Cross snapped the reins. The hound galloped the short distance of the island and leapt off into the abyss. At the crest of the jump, Cross flung himself off the saddle and glided across the chasm, reaching for the narrow ledge. He dropped faster than anticipated and snagged the ledge by the tip of his fingers and dangled.
The hellhound tumbled into the pit of Hell, howling. Spirits in the pit latched onto the hound and pulled it down further. Corpses swam in the pool of lava. They were themselves made of fire. The pit belched flames and consumed the souls in it. The souls in turn ingested the belched lava. The fires of Hell weren't meant for killing, only maiming and torturing and the foul stench of charred flesh suffocated him in the oppressive heat.
The spirits screamed at Cross and berated him. They told him how much they hated him and how envious they were that he hadn't joined them, how he deserved the same torment. They taunted him with threats that he would soon suffer just like them. They would drag him down and keep him forever. They even chastised each other and pulled one another down into the pit as each tried to escape their own fate. The ones who weren't held back began to climb towards Cross.
He clambered as fast as he could up the jagged wall. The rock carved into his palms with each grip. He fought through the searing pain and willed himself to keep climbing. He neared the summit, but the slits in his hands had widened and enflamed with pain. He could no longer pull himself up without feeling every slice in his palms.
The spirits latched their miserable arms around his legs, the bottom of his slacks burst into flames, and they yanked him downward. He stomped their faces and crushed their skulls. But more of the Hell spirits followed.
He was just about to give up when six hands grabbed him from above, hoisted him up and patted out the fires on his clothes. He coughed the smoke out of his lungs. The draggles stood over him, blinking the eyelids behind their big black eyes.
How they could have lifted him so easily? Even though there were three of them to carry his load, they were as thin as starved children, almost made entirely of bone, and they weighed nothing. He sat up and patted them on their brainy heads, trying to avoid squishing the tender zones or getting a prick from their horns. His palms were mush and soaked in blood.
"Thanks," he said, bandaging his throbbing hands with strips of his shirt sleeve. The cloth quickly soaked up his black blood. His fingers felt fat and numb, and his palms scorched as if he was holding a ball of flames. Pain was something he had grown accustomed to though.
"So, you're the draggles, huh?" he asked his saviors.
Their innocent faces tilted above their stringy necks like a dog listening to its master, but not understanding the command.
"That's just what I call you because I don't know---you can understand me, can't you?"
They hopped around in place like bunny rabbits.
"But you don't talk."
All three of them spun around in a circle.
"Why do you keep following me around? Did my mother send you?"
They hopped up and down and then proceeded to sniff him all over. They seemed just as curious of him as he was of them. One of them examined the obsidian blade, poking his claw through the hole in the center.
"The Raven said there were five of you, but there were only four of you before the hellhound---" He stopped himself as the three remaining draggles drooped their sad little faces downward. Something must've happened to number five when he wasn't around. Their misfortunes were all his fault. Bad things always happened to everyone who had the even slightest connection to him.
"That's too bad about your friends." He stood up and brushed himself off. "I should've---it's all my fault. If I had---you just take care of yourselves, okay." He walked a few steps along the river. Their claws pittered behind him.
He stopped and turned around. "You saved my hide. I saved yours. We're even. You've fulfilled your oath. Stop following me. I don't know what Mama promised you, but you don't want to be friends with a hard case like me. You seem like nice creatures, and this sort of thing with the hellhound happens to me every day. You don't want none of that. The three of you should git." He paced forward. They followed.
"Git!" he yelled and waved his hand at them, threatening to hit them. "Go on now. I ain't your pops. Scat!" He tossed stones at them.
The creatures crouched down and scurried away around the crusty cones that formed the pits of Hell until they were out of sight. He didn't want to be mean or scare them or even hurt them. He even missed them already, but they would face less danger on their own then hanging around him. Then again, they lived in the underworld, where trouble lurked in every nook and cranny. Poor innocent creatures.
INSIDE THE COLOSSUS-HAIRED HUT DIAMOND TOOTH LAY WITH MNUBOTU, the portly leader of the Nwa-Efé. He and his concubines had been rocked asleep by the motion of the colossus. The blubber-lipped chief smacked his tongue in his sleep and smelled of armpit sweat and cheese.
After all his propositioning when they first met, he never once laid his fat hands on Diamond Tooth or his concubines. He only watched her fornicate with the other women.
Through the hut's window veil, Mount Mictlan bobbed. She slipped her newly manicured fingers into her bagh nakhs and strapped the gloves on. Mnubotu awoke.
"This is where I get off," she said to him.
"I thought you already did that," he said with a sly grin. "Why don't you stay? Forget about mountains and such. You'll be treated well. We have food and drink."
Diamond Tooth smiled and glided a finger down Mnubotu's chest. If the hetaeras took over the colossus, then maybe after she discovered the location of the Toran, she could get a free ride directly to it as compensation for freeing the whores from their slavery.
She traced around the area where his main arteries would be and stroked around the vital organs. sish. She injected the tiger claws into his chest.
The hetaeras screamed. Diamond Tooth closed her eyes and basked in their horror. Mnubotu wilted to Nothing. The dark stains spread around the hut.
The women backed away to the wall in the rear of the hut, covering their naked bodies with their arms. Guards outside the hut banged knocked on the door, speaking in their native tongue.
"You're all free now," Diamond Tooth said to the women. "You can take this colossus where ever you want."
Madam Mnesarete stepped forth, scrunching her glittery eyebrows. "Who ever said that we desired freedom?"
"No amount of perfume can mask the scent of enslavement. I should know. I've mastered quite a few souls of my own. It gives off a lovely---" She swirled her hand through the air, "---spicy essence."
The guards banged on the door, yelling in the native language of the Nwa-Efé. Madam Mnesarete responded back to them.
Diamond Tooth raised the tips of her tiger claws to the madam's eyes. "What did you just say to them?"
Madam Mnesarete stared at the blades undaunted. "Why would you help us?" she asked.
"I didn't help you on purpose," said Diamond Tooth. "It's not like I care about your freedom. I got what I wanted already. I just thought you'd do the same."
"You should never have done this." Madam Mnesarete grabbed the bagh nakhs and lowered them away from her face. "I told the guards that the screaming was just us getting a little too excited and we shouldn't be disturbed again. But when you leave I'll have to inform them of what happened. I'll give you a two minute head start."
"Sorry to cut and run." Diamond Tooth packed food for her journey, snatched up her bundle of clothes, and stuffed it all into a sack. She threw on the tribesman's fuzzy colossus-haired coat. It weighted her down and was potentially itchy. With her face hidden behind the veil in the hood, and the sleeves covering her hands, she fled out into the oven outside.
Waves of heat sparked all around the coat like tiny explosions, but she remained unscathed, protected by the colossus hair threaded within the coat. She raced through the jungle of hair to the rear of the colossus and rolled the ladder down the beast's hind leg. The ladder reached less than halfway to the ground. It was bone shattering height if she jumped.
Tribesmen yelled behind her. Her two minutes were up. They had obviously been informed about their burned leader.
She gripped the ladder on both sides and slid down to its end. The ladder bounced on the back of the colossus's thigh as it took its wide-legged steps, knocking her about. Her knuckles smashed between the ladder and the stony body of the colossus, but she held on.
The tribesmen threw javelins down at her. She leaned to the side, dodging three of them. The javelins ricocheted off of the colossus and never penetrated the rock-hard beast. Two tribesmen pulled the ladder upwards while others continued to launch javelins her way.
They wouldn't stop the colossus just to capture her. It was in their best interest to keep the colossus moving at all times. She had to jump. Before the leg of the monster jutted out to form the ramp she had anticipated, she cut the ladder knots above her head.
She slid down the colossus's leg on the wooden rungs, and in seconds, slapped the jagged ground, rolling. A javelin stumped into the ground near her face. Another spiked at her side.
Two tribesmen tumbled off the colossus and splattered to the rocky ground. The hetaeras shoved two men more off the beast. They crunched to the ground burned like the others.
The red flames in the sky changed from hot red to blazing blue for the first time in months. They lashed downward like whips.
The ground quaked.
The hetaeras pivoted their focus to the south. She copied their gaze just in time to see the glorious Inferno awaken. It spewed angry lava into the already scorched skies, filling it with an even more depressing reddish-blue gloom.
Cannonballs of flame launched out of the volcano and flocked eastward like migrating birds. They touched down in the vicinity of Limbo.
The colossus picked up its pace as if spooked. It marched away into the west, carrying the Nwa-Efé tribe with it.
The air thickened with ash on the rugged outskirts of Xibalbá where she stood in awe of the Inferno's wrath. She changed out of the impractical, skimpy outfit and back into her own clothes in preparation for the treacherous journey through Metnal to Mount Mictlan.
Four crossroads attempted to lie to Diamond Tooth about which direction they would take her, but she could find north with her eyes closed. All anyone had to do was follow the fishy stench of squals.
The desolate north road, made of white stone, took her straight into the black mountains after several periods of sleep. Squals howled in announcement of her presence in their territory, and upon her first step into Metnal they flooded out of the darkness without hesitation.
"I was hoping you wouldn't just allow me to pass on through," she said to them. "I could use a little target practice."
They ambushed her from all sides, tumbling down the jagged mountains recklessly, with no regard to the wellbeing of their emaciated bodies.
Delightfully, she bombarded the swarm with a stream of daggered tiger's claws from her bagh nakhs. The blades pierced through two and three squals at a time. It was a lovely day.
Handfuls of the miserable souls leapt off the mountain. Her tiger claws plucked them out of the air. Hundreds more poured out from every dark crevice of the mountains and enclosed her. There were way too many. She couldn't take them all down by herself.
Immediately, she toned down her confidence and how much fun she was having. She took down the few squals that blocked her path and retreated through the hole she created.
Hungry jaws clapped behind her. Claws scraped against the mountain rock in the shadows. She dove into the river that bordered Mount Mictlan like a moat and swam for her afterlife.
The squals were excellent watch dogs for Mictlan, but were too vile to be accepted inside the realm, so the ancients had forbidden the squals from crossing the river by Divine Law. Diamond Tooth hoped that was still a practice now that the deities were all gone. She climbed out of the water and found the squals lingering on the other side just as she had hoped.
"We will wait," said each squal at once. "We. Will. Wait."
They meant it. Even though their scrappy nature gave them an impression of impatience, she knew personally from her old friend Forfax about the undying patience of squals. Forfax had waited hundreds of years to retrieve that ring from Rowings and wasn't afraid to con her, of all demons, into getting his filthy claws on it. Squals had hunted many chosen souls across all the realms endlessly until they caught that soul, and they always caught their prey eventually.
There was no other path she could take on her return. And there would be no way around the squals. Her only path of escape would be through them and she was certain they'd be waiting, way more than she would be able to handle. Thinking about it threw her off her game a little.
She pushed those negative thoughts away and continued north until she arrived at a set of mountains that were joined together as if in ageless battle. Each mountain shoved against the other in a struggle for supremacy, leaving a narrow crawl space for travelers to pass through.
She wormed her way through the tunnel for an hour, and that entire time their blood, sweat, and tears showered her, threatening to bury her under rubble forever. The obsidian mountain known as Mount Mictlan awaited her on the other side.
Besides Niflheim, Mictlan was the farthest north any known civilization had ever settled, and the inhabited realm rested somewhere up that mountain. It was known to be a frozen kingdom locked in burning ice.
She couldn't gauge the length of time it would take to climb it. Its upper half vanished into the red clouds---the murky flagellants of the Inferno, many miles away now. Ancient tales of conquerors told of weeks spent on Mount Mictlan before reaching the summit, and they were expert climbers with equipment and were aided by objects of the dead.
Clem Balfour would have a great head start if she didn't find him with the woman Manauia. He was a brave soul, making such a foolish journey. Manauia must've been very important to him for him to go to such great lengths to reach her. That indicated the traits of a man who would do anything to get what he wanted, a trait they shared---which only reinforced her determination and commitment to track him down.
He knew the location of the gate that would lead her out of the underworld, and he'd be looking for the astrolabe that unlocked it. Their fates were aligned. They were meant to meet. The obsidian mountain beckoned her to conqueror it for that reason alone.
She wrapped the coat she had stolen from the tribal leader around her body and prepared herself mentally for ice that burned just as bad as the heat generated by the incinerating sky. She tugged her two coats close at the neck and began working her way up from the base of the mountain.
She ascended parts of the mountain on foot. Dry ice sizzled on the soles of her boots. But the climb was mostly a hand over hand deal, with the slippery volcanic glass at her breast and a spacious vacuum to her back.
Within the first few hours of climbing, the tips of her fingers turned grey and her hands were numb to the rock in her palms. She lost all the feeling in her hands. The glossy nail polish chipped away and sprinkled off into the wind. Black blood oozed out of cuts in her hand and froze.
She ate biscuits on rest periods, nesting at bases and in the crevices trying to avoid the snap of the wind and dry ice storms. Rest periods were few and far between and never seemed like rest periods at all. They were more like a waste of good climbing time, but she'd die a second death trying to climb every single day without rest. Resting was smart.
The further north she traveled, the weaker the flames in the sky became. The air grew bitterer, but not in the way that gave her any pleasure. Not even the colossus-haired coat kept her warm enough.
Her shivers grew worse every day, but coldness was the least of her troubles. Her nerves rattled with every pull up. Her legs pulsed with every step. She couldn't sleep when she needed to or even lay down without aches and pains in her body screaming at her to get up. Nor could she stand up straight without sharp bites twisting in her stomach.
The least little noise tortured her ears. The tap of her boots against rock provoked her to seriously consider chopping both her feet off. Vomiting became an everyday occurrence---sometimes multiple times a day---and she began to lose track of her sleep cycles.
She actually preferred paradise to the Mictlan. Maybe not. She considered it. By the time she breached the red clouds, her fingers themselves had turned cloudy and she could hardly recognize them with all the cold burns and blisters.
She forgot how to count them. They trembled as she desperately tried to remember what number came after three.
"One, two, three..." The next number eluded her. "One, two, three..." She got stuck again.
"Four," said a voice.
She spun her head around, side to side and found a smudge on the frosty canvass. A Nothing clutched to the snowy rock. It squirmed as if it were alive. She stared in disbelief and blinked in an effort to fight the hallucination.
Nothings never spoke or moved. They were nothing after all, only remnants of a shell of a forgotten soul who had died twice. It was the worst state of being. She'd rather have been born a squal than to ever be a Nothing. Being a Nothing wasn't being at all. It was just there, hollow and ashy, sucked dry of anything resembling life. It definitely couldn't have spoken. The mountain was screwing with her head. It wouldn't have been the first time the underworld had gotten into her mind.
She turned away from the Nothing and gazed out into the grey clouds which blanketed the underworld from her perspective way up on the mountainside. A dark splotch swirled over the area where the Inferno would be. That blemish twisted, and the clouds opened like a curtain and uncovered the mountain of fire. She sat up amazed at the view, but assuming she was still imagining things that weren't actually happening.
A face waded within the smoke that spewed out of the volcano. The devilish profile swayed and rippled in the heat waves. It stared at her, into her, and through her. The hairs on her body saluted.
Only the master could venture so close to the Inferno without being smote. It was his domain. She scooted backward and bumped the wall behind her. Unlike an angel meeting their father, a demon meeting the master was never a good thing. When the master wanted what he wanted out of a demon, he took it.
For the second time in many sleep periods, the Inferno erupted. The entire underworld below her released a collective gasp. Molten lava spouted into the sky and slipped down the volcano into the fiery pits of Hell.
The explosion appeared more devastating than the previous one when the Nwa-Efé had dropped her off the colossus, but she remained unaffected by it because of her height above the underworld.
The clouds snapped back together and veiled the Inferno once again. The obsidian mountain shivered. Pebbles rained down from above. The mountain cracked and chipped under her. The shelf where she was sitting broke off.
She scrambled up and tumbled backwards twice, slid down the mountain on her back and sailed off a slope into the openness. She grabbed at air. Her legs flailed through the red clouds for several hypnotizing seconds.
Hours' worth of climbing progress erased as she dropped. She slammed onto the mountain on her back. Bones snapped. She screamed with all the agony of those who had suffered at her hands.
She continued to slide downward on her broken spine until she collided with an outcropping in the mountain. Her legs flipped over her head and she landed on her stomach, still sliding.
She plunged her bank nakhs into the wall one by one, fighting the pain in her back. The tiger claws sank into the obsidian. The blades scrapped the crust and sliced up shiny rock, leaving behind slashes on the face of the mountain, and she jolted to a stop twisting her back more.
Her legs swung side to side above the nothingness below. If she had a heart, it would have hammered at her chest then. She dangled there, broken. The sound of her ragged breath washed over her. If her tear ducts weren't frozen, her cheeks would have flowed with rivers of emotion. Her cry exploded, dry and bitter.
"You have work to do." Disappointment waved in the master's voice, but it was a Nothing who was speaking. It peeled itself away from the mountain, leaving pieces of itself still attached to the rock. It stood over her, crumbling and chipping away in the wind. She grew curious, but not too anxious to find out what work it was speaking of, but didn't dare question the master.
The Nothing reached for her as if it was going to help her up the ledge, but it simply placed its palm flat against her back. Warmth filled the area where it touched her. The pain lifted as if her spine had never shattered. A sudden burst of energy flowed through her muscles. She regained her numerical skills. The frostbite in her limbs thawed.
She hung there stunned for a few seconds, not because she had been miraculously healed, but because Master wanted something out of her. She didn't want to find out its agenda, but knew she would eventually, whether directly or indirectly. The master always won, and demons always lost.
"Take this gift and do not delay," said the master. "Climb!"
The Nothing returned to its home within the rock without offering her a hand up the ledge.
A total of twenty-one periods of sleep on the mountain and she still hadn't reached the summit somewhere in the black clouds. She still didn't know exactly where on the mountain the realm of Mictlan rested. She had been blindly following the legends and stories she had learned.
About an hours' worth of climbing above her, she spotted an archway carved directly in the rock face. It led directly into the mountain. That had to have been the entrance to the realm of Mictlan. If not, it would at least be her pit stop. She wanted to get the hell off that damn mountain. It continued to jut up into the sky; the summit remained out of view.
Through the archway stood countless flags staked in the snow, waving in the piercing wind. They were the flags of souls who had conquered the mountain before her, all aged and ripped. The wind sliced her cheek, leaving a paper cut-like slit.
She pulled the veiled hood over her face, and followed the stone path into the realm of Mictlan. Numerous Nothings littered the bending trail. There were more burned souls in that area than she had seen anywhere else on the mountain. What burned them all? She halted.
Soosh. A projectile flew her way. She leaned back and sliced it out of the air with the bagh nakhs. The broken pieces of an arrow fell into the snow.
Another one darted out from the snow on her left. She chopped it out of the air. A barraged of arrows shot at her from either side. She sprinted forward, ducking and swatting, dodging and rolling until no more arrows shot out.
Those arrows weren't shot by anyone. She would have smelled them. They must've been automated. Apparently, the Mictlan security system didn't end with the squals, the river, or the mountains. It may have just begun. She'd tread carefully from here on out.
Clem Balfour must've truly been in love with Manauia. That's the only reason any soul would go this far and endure such booby traps. Love made souls do stupid things. Diamond Tooth was fortunate that she was incapable of loving anything.
She continued along the winding path, this time stepping cautiously through the crunching snow, her eyes peeled for danger, and her nose flared for warning scents. She detected something in the air. It smelled like an animal or beast of some kind. The stench grew stronger the longer she followed the path.
She reached another area where Nothings where scattered about in the powder. Hairy beasts that resembled disfigured elephants slogged over the Nothings. Their snouts sank into the chests of burned souls and seemed to drink whatever essence remained inside. The beasts had no eyes, yet they all turned their attention to her presence as if they saw her. They raised their snouts.
She prepared to shoot them, but hesitated. Their nature appeared non-threatening. They surrounded her and sniffed at her chest curiously, specifically over her heart. If they wanted to suck her heart dry they were out of luck. She didn't have one. They plodded away empty snouted.
She followed the trail around a bend, crossed a narrow path of stone that led into the city and finally entered the realm. The reddish-blue gloom there welcomed her and made her feel much more at home than the bright paradise of Mag Mell. But the realm was less icy than she had expected. Dry earth cracked underneath her boots as she passed buildings built of bone. The pyramids of Mictlan were shorter than those in Amenthes and had flat tops. Carvings of skulls decorated them.
Unlike the righteous in paradise, the spirits of Mictlan were aware of her presence. Each native she passed halted their harvesting duties and construction work to watch her stroll by. It became obvious that they weren't used to visitors and didn't like strangers.
She stepped off the main road. She didn't mind their stares. She liked all eyes to be on her, but it was best not to attract attention.
Members of the Tribulation gang, decked out in their trademark white uniforms, lounged around a temple. They stood out in stark contrast to the vibrantly colorful garb of the Mictlan natives.
The lively bunch of soldiers harassed every native woman that walked in and out of the temple, laughing and joking. Diamond Tooth could smell the native women's disgust. Strangely, she didn't spot any Mictlan men. The Tribulation must've slaughtered them all and took the women.
The fact that Clem Balfour ran with that gang instilled more confidence in her that she would find him there. But the gang would never give up one of their men. Even if they did squeal after a bit of torture, there would be too much of a chance that they'd tip off Clem Balfour and he'd disappear again. The quickest and easiest way to find him would be through Manauia---whoever and wherever she was.
Diamond Tooth cut across the road to avoid any interaction with the Tribulation gang members. One of the soldiers whistled at her. She kept walking.
"You," said the soldier. "Come here."
She walked faster. He raced up to her and grabbed her arm. She shot a glance down at his grip on her, and held herself back from burning him.
"Where you going so fast?" he said. "I just wanna know your name." He released her arm and ogled her up and down. "Longs legs you got there. Where've have you been all my afterlife? Can buy you? Just for tonight?" Obnoxious grin slithered across his face.
She stepped away from him.
"What's the matter?" he said. "You too good for me? You dirty whore."
She would have burned him right then and there, but the rest of the soldiers would gang up on her. Not that she couldn't take them all, but it would be an unnecessary detour from her goal, and could possibly scare Clem Balfour away if he was around. She was already drawing too much attention just by being present in the realm.
She closed her eyes focused on Manauia's scent. She picked it up easily as it was a true name. It stank with the repugnant stench of love. She hated the aroma, but its strength was growing, getting closer, fast.
Diamond Tooth snapped her neck up and down the road, searching. A wagon full of Tribulation soldiers slid in front of the temple. The men tossed a woman off the side of the wagon. The woman plopped into the dust.
"You savages!" she said, sobbing.
The soldiers rode away hooting and hollering. The woman picked herself off the ground.
It was Manauia. She was dressed like all the other women of Mictlan, a tight ankle-length skirt with slits up the sides that revealed a lot of leg and a bare midriff top that showed off her flat stomach.
Diamond Tooth followed Manauia down the dirt road to a modest house made of bone. A giant bat sat perched on the roof of the house.
"You're a very long way from Xibalbá," said Manauia.
The bat shrieked and flapped away. Manauia stepped inside the bone house and shut the door.
Diamond Tooth waited awhile before slipping into the home through a rear window. She found the home pitch dark, but she possessed the ability to see clear as day in the darkness. The bedroom she was standing in was filled with the bland, generic odor of Clem Balfour's false name. He had been there not too long ago. He had been with Manauia on the bed.
Manauia entered the bedroom waving a lantern and walked right past Diamond Tooth. She caught a whiff of the lanterns history. It smelled of delicious turmoil. It had been handed down to Manauia from a soul that cherished her, most likely Balfour.
Manauia sat the lantern on a table and its flickering light landed on Diamond Tooth.
Manauia gasped and jumped back. "Who are you?"
"I'm looking for Clem Balfour."
"I don't know anyone by that name."
Manauia reached for the lantern. Diamond Tooth shoved the woman to the floor before she could grab the object.
"Lying will only make this go from bad to worse." Diamond Tooth wrenched Manauia from the floor and smacked her with the back of her hand. Four red slash marks grew on her cheek and dripped red.
"Tell me where he is," said the demon.
Manauia caressed her sliced face and shuddered. Diamond Tooth slapped her other cheek. The woman twirled and fell onto the bed. Her top ripped open in the fall. She gripped her torn garment and closed the gap exposing her flesh.
Beating the woman lifted the demon's spirits a little, but Diamond Tooth remained more focused on the information surrounding Clem Balfour than anything else. Finding him before he eluded her again was her top priority. After the hell she went through to get to Mictlan, she wasn't about to go soft on a woman just because she was a woman. Diamond Tooth raised her clawed fist.
Manauia held out her trembling hands. "Stop! I don't know where he is. He packed his objects several sleep cycles ago and left with his gang."
"Which company? Where'd they go?"
"Tribulation's Third Hussars, under General Simeon. They left for Kurnugia many sleep periods ago. That's all I know. I swear."
"How many sleep periods?"
"I didn't count. I never count my sleep. But that wouldn't have helped you anyway. Clem rarely sleeps. He's always on the move."
Diamond Tooth snatched Manauia's lantern from the table. "This is an object isn't it?"
"Yes," said Manauia. "It was a gift."
"From Balfour?"
"Please don't take it."
Diamond Tooth gripped the lantern's handle and stepped out of the room. The world blurred around her and when she halted, she found that in just a few steps she had already crossed the narrow path of stone outside of the realm.
She stood there in amazement, gazing into the lantern's flame. A couple more steps and she flew past the heart-eaters, zipped through the lane of shooting arrows and the forest of rippling flags.
She skimmed down the obsidian mountain and tore through the crawl space between the conjoined mountains. If she hadn't paid attention to those landmarks, it would have seemed as if she had been instantly transported to the river on the border of Mictlan where she had ended her race.
As promised, the squals were waiting for her on the other side of the river. They taunted her. The only way back was through them. But her new object would allow her to race right past them. Lucky her.
"Catch me if you can," she yelled across the river to them.
She skipped across the surface of the water and met the squals, who were frozen in time from her perspective. All of them stared across the river as if she was still on the other side. She sliced the fleshy stomach on each squal she passed.
She kept speeding west until she found herself running at her normal pace. The lantern's flame had been extinguished.
She struck her re-lightable match and placed the fire onto the wick. The lantern failed to light. The kerosene tank was empty and she had no idea where she could refill it. Returning to Mictlan to ask Manauia wasn't an option. Diamond Tooth dropped the lantern in her sack. She didn't even know what realm she had stopped in because never expected to stop there.
"Do you desire of this fruit?" a voice clunked. Bones protruded out from the branches of a tree and formed a skull. "My one true friend left me alone many months ago," said the skull. "It would bring me great joy to share a friendship with you."
Bottle shaped fruit glistened on a branch. Her lip quivered and her mouth watered for it, the most delicious fruit she had ever seen or craved to bite into. She dropped her sack.
"I'll have some," she said.
"Stretch out hither your right hand."
Diamond Tooth held both her palms out. The skull spit a wad of saliva in her hands.
"I have been waiting for you, daughter of Lilith," said the skull. "The beautiful demon who brings pain and suffering to all souls shall now---"
She launched a barrage of tiger claws into the tree. The skull chuckled. Its glowing white eyes.
"I am merely a skull," it said. "A round thing placed in the middle of branches. Your thorns shall never prick me."
Diamond Tooth wiped her hands on her pants but the saliva remained in her palm. It absorbed into her skin. She could feel the tingle of it swimming through her arm; it wiggled its way into her womb where it settled.
"What the hell is that?" she said.
"My saliva, my spittle is merely a sign that I have given you, courtesy of your master."
"My master? What do you mean?"
The skull's glowing white eyes dimmed. "This was the only way to protect my one true friend. Your master promised me his safety should I give you this gift."
"What did you do to me?"
The skull retreated into the tree. She clawed at the tree with her bagh nakhs trying to carve it back out. A stabbing pain ripped through her stomach. She hunched over and placed her hand over her abdomen.
She took a moment to gather herself and staggered around the tree, collecting tinder and kindling. She built a nest and lit the kindling with her re-lightable match. Once the star-fire blazed, she removed a log from the star and carried the torch over to the tree.
The tree swung downward. The branches swept Diamond Tooth off her feet like a broom clearing up dust. She tumbled through the air and slammed to the ground, the torch still burning beside her. She picked it up.
"Let's see if you can swat something smaller." She tossed the torch into the tree and it lodged in between branches.
Flames instantly devoured the dry wood. Fruit exploded. The skull screamed and swayed in distress, helpless to douse the fire.
Watching the tree burn to ash was a scene that would have normally given her a high, but whatever the skull injected into her body writhed, and diminished any kind of pleasure.
She faced the light of paradise to get her bearings straight and continued her journey west on lethargic feet for about a mile. Her legs were as heavy as a colossus and begged for rest. But the longer she rested, the further away Clem Balfour would get.
She staggered up to a calm river. If she could make the swim across, she could seek support in the Palace of Hel. It was about five hundred miles from her current location, but it was the closest place that would accommodate a demon. Her only other option was to lay down where she was. But if Clem Balfour never slept, then neither would she.
She dove into the freezing river and paddled. The current roared as if rejecting her presence. It reversed its normal southern direction and pushed her north. She was too bogged down in exhaustion to fight the current. It swept her away.
She awoke washed up on the corpse-covered beach of Náströnd at the foot of the Niflheim Mountains. She was far in the north, more than a months' worth of sleep cycles away from Kurnugia.
Her breasts were swollen and tender to the touch. She adjusted her top several times and couldn't seem to get it comfortable. She lay on her back in the gritty sand, her eyes closed and inhaled the decayed scent of the corpses that littered the beach and also waded in the lake of serpent venom. Unfortunately, not even their torment lifted her from the depths. The slithering inside her womb dominated her thoughts.
She merely watched in envy as the serpent, Níðhöggr, roamed the beach and sucked the skin right off of spirits. Oddly, it left their heads intact, staked on spears, and it ignored the heads as though it was forbidden to touch them. This was strange to her because the worm-like beast wasn't known for its obedience, unless the orders came from the Master.
Maybe she was meant to witness this abnormal behavior. That's possibly the reason the river had brought her there, specifically. But she still didn't understand what it meant, if it even meant anything at all. She could almost hear the Master's voice scolding her for lying down and pestering her to get up.
It wasn't the master's voice though. It was hers. She picked herself up. She had work to do.
Manauia had claimed that Clem Balfour came to Kurnugia with the Tribulation, but Diamond Tooth discovered a peculiar sight in that realm. Like all the gates of the underworld, the impenetrable kingdom walls had collapsed. Yet, hearing about it was not the same as seeing it for herself. What was once a thriving city of enlightenment was now just another torched realm.
It still vomited the familiar scent of boiled radiators, however. The fragrance brought back memories of her search for wisdom and guidance from the elders. There, she had learned the arts, sciences, and philosophies that had once flourished. Kurnugia used to be the most advanced realm in the underworld. With its ever-growing towers of metal and glass, it had once held the highest population in the underworld, and the advanced architecture once housed the most intelligent beings in the underworld.
Now, all of it was deserted and reduced to rubble, a war-torn junk heap. If she had a heart, she would no doubt feel sad from all the nostalgia. She felt nothing except the critters squirming heavily inside her stomach. They were growing.
Debris cracked under her feet as she paced through the vacant city searching for any indication of the Tribulation's presence, but her footsteps were the only sign of life in the devastated streets.
She paced by broken chairs and scattered items left behind in haste, shrouded in dust to become relics for future generations. She climbed split ladders, rusted and stained clumps of junk, and she crossed pools filled with rotting wood planks instead of the usual sacrificial blood.
Paintings had peeled away. Automobiles had rusted over, their rubber wheels deflated. Nothings sat in the seats of some of those vehicles, frozen in the position of fleeing. One of the burned souls cowered beneath the protective arms of the other, both of their mouths gaped open in terror.
Chunks of metal jutted out from the ground, sharper than her tiger claws. Phallic structures of twisted metal that once reached into the scorching skies now leaned on their neighbors, weak and dull, straining to remain upright. All their bodies were corroded from bouts of acid rain, and their windows shattered from explosions.
The condition of the city reinforced what she had suspected for some time. The underworld was changing. The deities had evacuated their respective realms, souls were burning in record numbers and the Nothing was spreading. She was determined not to be around to see the final stages of this transition. She owned the key that unlocked Clem Balfour's door.
The musty odor of the underworld had never bothered her before. She had even sought pleasure from the stench, but the deeper she ventured into the city, the more it tore her up inside. It wasn't just that it stank, which it did, but it was more than that. The scent was too strong. Mucus accumulated in her throat and the urge to vomit crept up. She took a few deep breaths to quell the nausea, but each inhale brought in more of the sulfuric smell.
If she hadn't paused for her illness she would have walked right past the half-melted trebuchets of the Tribulation. She found the weapons outside a crumbling edifice that had been made into a poor man's fort.
She prowled inside, probing for life and found a room with no ceiling. Smoke swam in the sky across the dead sun, giving the illusion that the black eye was winking. A Tribulation flag waved in the wind beside a large cauldron that steamed in the center of the foyer. It smelled of salty barbot soup.
"Welcome, my friend."
Diamond Tooth spun towards the speaker and aimed her bagh nakhs. The crusty soldier didn't flinch.
"Do me the honor of making it quick." He was soft spoken and stood stoic like the living dead---reanimated human bodies absent of souls.
Diamond Tooth lowered her fists and relaxed. He wasn't worth burning. "I'm looking for a man named Clem Balfour," she said.
"I'd like to find a spirit named Nìködemos. He's the Anarchist Colonel that decided to burn everyone except me. I want to know why. But alas, some quests are best left alone." The soldier tossed uncooked barbot wings into the stew.
Diamond Tooth removed a bottle of devil's water from her sack and offered it to him. He took the bottle and drank.
"Balfour has only one ear," she said. "He's with the third."
"If he's with General Simeon, they've already left for Pulotu about thirty periods of sleep ago. Nìködemos's frontline is right on their tails, and Yomi lies ahead of 'em. Those poor devils are burned by now."
"And what if they haven't burned?"
The man drank from the bottle of devil's water. "Lady, you must not have heard anything about Camp Erutrot. It's one of those Anarchist torture camps you'd better hope you never end up in, especially in your condition."
"My condition?"
"The Anarchists are ruthless. They won't care that you're with child."
She had ignored the odd extra weight she carried around for fear of the absurd truth. She couldn't be pregnant. Only beings that were created in the underworld were able to breed in the underworld, and it had only been a few weeks since her encounter with that tree. She couldn't have been showing so soon, and she refused to be pregnant by the seed of a damn tree!
Slowly, she peeked down at her stomach with just her eyes. Her chin followed the downward motion of her gaze. She gasped.
"Something wrong?" asked the soldier.
She placed her hands over her melon-sized belly. The things inside her kicked. Her knees buckled. The soldier rushed to her side and braced her up in his arms. She shoved him away.
"I just think you should be careful," he said. "It's bad enough what they do to the men in Erutrot, but it breaks my heart how they treat the women and children. There was a time I'd pray for them," He peered down at his feet, "but the Great Goddess doesn't seem to be listening these days." He returned the bottle of devil's water to her.
She gently pushed it back toward him and gestured at her pregnant stomach. "Keep it," she said. "It's yours."
On her way out of the fort, she vomited. Everything ached, from her head to her back, which was soaked with sweat. She slogged through the field of twisted metal, dragged her heels through the rubble, and slid her hand against any stable surface in an attempt to hold herself upright.
Fluid gushed down her leg and she halted. A wave of cramps tightened through her back and abdomen. The pain was even worse than breaking her spine. She wailed in misery. Whatever was inside wanted out right now. It clawed at her stomach. She collapsed in a corner and went into labor.
HEATED BREEZES CARRIED BLACK ASH INTO CROSS'S FACE, guiding him deep into Gehenna---one of the only dark places in the underworld. But the night sky in Gehenna was sleight-of-hand. It was a false nighttime, as it simply burned with black flames. Glowing embers twinkled within them like shooting stars.
He stumbled into a desolate town bathed in the black blaze. Even though the fires ate gleefully away at the ghost town, the buildings remained standing as if there was an agreement between the two of them. The eternal flames consumed just enough wood to stay alive but not enough to level the town.
Pieces of a metal bird rested in the road. Its beak was separated from the rest of its body, which had windows on the outside and seats on the inside, like some kind of flying coach.
A bottle rolled across the dirt road towards the mangled metal beast. A creature the size of a prairie dog was pushing it. It was completely hairless with green skin. It was a Sisyphean hodder, Gimlet's favorite food. Sisyphean hodders spent their meaningless afterlives scavenging the underworld, collecting objects of the dead like pack rats.
Cross would have followed it back to wherever it hid its objects, but he had built up thirst stomping through the desert and escaping Hell. And the bottle the hodder was rolling up the road contained some kind of brown liquid. It could have been devil's water, but if not, it would have to do. He hadn't drunk anything since before the Raven dropped him off in Sheol.
He skipped over to the little guy, snatched the bottle up, and shook the dangling hodder off. It plopped into the dirt. Cross poured the devil's water down his dry throat.
The plump hodder pulled itself to its feet. Its ratty face squinted. On all fours, it stood even shorter than the draggles, but when standing on its hind legs, it reached up to Cross's knee.
It wore a shirt and a vest, both of which failed to close around its round green belly. Its bowtie barely held the shirt together. And its suspenders were stretched to capacity, straining to keep its pants around its pear-shaped waist. It looked like Humpty Dumpty, but green.
Cross peeked inside the flying coach. Rows of seats lined the mangled beast, and they were all covered with junk and piles of debris. The hodder scrambled up a beam and held his palms in Cross's face.
"Nothing in there for you," it said.
Cross nudged the little guy out of the way and climbed inside. Yellow cups hung from the cabinets. Things cracked and broke under the weight of his boots. His leg sank through the objects up to his shin. He braced his hands on the seats that lined the aisles, keeping himself balanced as he stumbled over slippery objects, clumsily.
Nothings sat in some of the seats, while most of the other seats were covered in objects of the dead, the accumulation of months' worth of hoarding. Never had he seen so many objects in one place. He felt like he had discovered the treasure of the Forty Thieves.
He sipped more devil's water in celebration of his find, and after a long belch of smoke that shot from his mouth, he climbed over mounds and heaps of objects up to a counter. In a glass display, a figurine rode on a toy horse and blew his bugle. The horse's shoes clicked as it strolled back and forth on the shelf mechanically.
Cross tapped on the glass. The little man aimed his pistol at him. Cross put his hands up playfully. The figurine shot. The bullet ricocheted off the glass, leaving a pebble sized nick.
Cross laughed. "Easy there little fella."
The hodder vaulted up on the counter. "Can I help you?" it asked.
Cross placed a pair of eyeglasses on his face. His sight zoomed in onto a boil on the hodder's pointy nose. The hair sticking out of it made it resemble a puny island with a tree. He snatched the glasses off his face and cringed. He sat the glasses back on the counter and picked up a pink parasol. The lace cloth wouldn't shield a soul from the heat of the sky, but when he opened it, rained poured out the underside of the canopy and sprinkled his arm with cold droplets. He closed it.
"Why would anybody need an umbrella that rains on them?" he said.
"You don't like fresh water?" said the hodder.
"What good is fresh water gonna do me?" He dropped the girly umbrella and fingered a button on the counter.
The button sprouted legs of thread, taking on the semblance of a spider. It crawled up his finger and onto the back of his hand. He turned his hand over as the button crept into his palm. He leaned in for a better look at the spider button and nudged it gently with his fingertip. It raced up his arm. He slapped at it and missed. The button scrambled around his arm and up his shoulder. When it reached his neck, Cross swiped and swatted at it.
A collar formed around his neck, over top of the shirt he was already wearing and the two shirts mended together. Thread knitted itself down his shoulders, arms and around the rest of his body until a crisp new shirt appeared on him, fully replacing his old tattered shirt. The spider button climbed up his chest and knitted itself into the top of the collar.
Cross adjusted the collar, folder his cuffs and brushed the sleeves down. "How do I look?"
The hodder simply stared at him with an annoyed expression.
The button was definitely a keeper. Clothes were hard to come by in the underworld. Now all he needed was a bath. He needed more than just supplies, too. He needed something he could use to break into paradise. He swept the remaining objects off the counter.
"Weapons?" he demanded of the hodder.
"Then you will leave?" it asked.
"Show me what you got."
The hodder stared blankly at all the objects on the floor. Some were broken from Cross stepping all over them. It shook its rat ears and hopped off the counter.
"I'll show you where I keep the best ones." It escorted Cross over to the weapons area. A Nothing sat beside an empty aisle seat.
"This seat taken?" Cross asked the Nothing. It said nothing. Cross laughed, sat beside it and reclined in the soft cushion.
The hodder dove into a pile and dragged out a dagger. "A tickler?" it said and brandished the dagger for Cross to inspect. Cross shook his head.
The hodder dropped the dagger and dove into another pile. It yanked a stick out and threw the arrow over his shoulder. "How about this nib?"
"Where's the bow?" asked Cross.
"Bow?"
Cross waved the explanation away. He was a terrible archer anyway. His old friend Otaktay had tried to teach him archery, but the string would always slap his forearm. He only used a bow and arrow when he had no other weapon.
"What else you got?" he asked.
The hodder tumbled over, trying to lift a tribal spear made of bone. The fat rat tipped over the edge of the counter. Cross launched out of his seat and caught the butterball.
It shoved Cross's hands away and brushed its vest off. Its green cheeks flushed with purple. The hodder propped the spear up as though its near tumble had never happened. "This tosskew perhaps?"
"No." Cross sat back down.
The hodder paused as if to give Cross an opportunity to think. When it appeared to have gotten the hint that Cross was picky, it huffed and dragged an axe out. Cross massaged the back of his own neck, reminded of his near escape several sleep cycles ago.
"Keep going," he said to the hodder.
It puffed its chest and vaulted an Ankou's scythe up to the counter. "A reaper saw would fit you perfect," he said.
"Do I look like I collect souls?" said Cross.
"All you big spirits look the same."
"Not what I'm looking for."
The hodder's shoulders slouched. It dove into a pile and came back a little slower, this time hauling a sword, straining and grunting.
Cross rose out of his seat. "Need help?"
"I've got it," snapped the hodder, slapping way any assistance. The pits of his shirt now seeped sweat. "Your swopp has a hole in it. This one's in better condition." It lifted the sword over his head and took a long deep breath.
Cross picked up the sword, avoiding the sight of his reflection and swung the blade around. Thin slices of the air fell to the ground and evaporated. Too sharp. He was liable to slice himself before he could cut another spirit with that sword. Plus, he wasn't a swordsman. He was more of a shooter. He sat the sword down. A twinkle caught his eye mirrored inside the sword. The reflected glimmer came from an object high on a shelf.
"What's that up there?" asked Cross.
"Nothing," said the hodder, protesting a little too much.
Cross reached for the shiny object. The hodder raced up to the shelf and amazingly beat him to the object. It slapped Cross's hand away. Cross raised his hand to return the slap.
"Alright," said the hodder. "If you must. Let me." The hodder squeezed a pistol out from between a clump of objects. Some dropped to the floor and broke. Then the entire shelf spilled to the floor. The hodder scrunched his ratty nose and growled under its breath.
Cross held his palms up. "I did what you said. I let you get it. Not my fault."
The hodder lifted the pistol with both his arms and wobbled. "This boomer is a cull tee---"
"Colt," said Cross. "And I think I've found what I was looking for."
He caressed the shiny Colt Single Action Army. It resembled the Peacemaker he had owned in his previous life.
The day Charles acquainted himself with the Peacemaker for the first time began like every other day. He carried firewood into the mansion. He removed the ash from the fireplace in the parlor and lit the firewood for the long awaited arrival of Mr. Carson. The boss liked a toasty home in the winter and the November air snapped that morning. Charles dusted the artwork, shined the chandeliers, and wiped down the dining table and centerpieces.
"Be careful with those," said Mrs. Carson. "They're worth more than you."
She always warned him of how precious everything was, as if he hadn't heard her the first hundred times. He hadn't broken a thing the entire year he'd been living in the mansion. Even if he did break anything, he'd fix it. He fixed everything else around the ranch.
He sat her beloved amphora down on the table gently. "Yes ma'am," he said.
Mrs. Carson was equally a nice lady and an old croaker when she wanted to be. At least she was kind enough to play the music box while he cleaned---even if it was more for her pleasure than for his, he still enjoyed it. The upbeat tune carried throughout most of the mansion and made work seem easier and go faster.
He shuffled across the carpets that lined the halls and lugged open the mahogany doors to the boss's study. Usually Mr. Beckwourth cleaned the boss's study, but before the sun had risen that day, the majordomo had taken the carriage to the train station to pick up the boss and left the job to Charles for the first time.
First, he dusted the shelves and the bookcase. He spotted a white speck on the floor near the throw rug, and he raised the rug to clean the splotch. Hidden under the rug he found the same symbol that was emblazoned on Mr. Carson's ring. Drawn in wax was a six pointed star inside a five pointed star and both stars were inside a shape with seven sides, which was inside a circle with numbers and letters written all over it. Not understanding what it meant and not wanting to bungle his newly appointed task, he covered the symbol back up without cleaning it.
He proceeded over to the fancy hand washer mounted on the wall. He buffed the handle and accidentally switched it on. A sheet of water poured down from the faucet into the tub. The stream formed a canvass that seemed solid enough to paint a portrait on. And amazingly, a portrait developed on the surface of the water before his eyes. It featured a man sitting in a study similar to the one Charles was now standing in. The man was lost in the madness piled on his desk. It was a stunning image. He could have stared at it all day. It seemed so real as if he could reach in the canvas and touch the man.
Charles went to switch the water off, and the man in the water lifted a book. Charles stepped back, and then leaned closer to make sure his eyes hadn't deceived him. Portraits don't move.
"My apologies for the delay, Sam," said the man in the water. "I just didn't except you till---who are you?"
Charles remained silent, unable to speak or think. Portraits aren't supposed to talk either. But this one did. "I'm---I'm Charles," he said finally.
The man dropped his book and leaned forward. He was missing an ear. "Where's Samuel?" asked the man in the water. "Is he all right?"
"He's on his way home. How'd you get in there, Mister?" Charles reached into the water. The image rippled as if he had thrown a stone into a pond, and although he broke the flow of the canvass, the moving and talking portrait remained. It simply wrapped around his wrist and fell back into place when he removed his hand.
The man leaned back in his chair. "I'm rather lost on the nature of this summons. Is there a message you are to deliver?"
"I don't think so, no. I was just cleaning the boss's study. The water came out and you showed up."
The one-eared man vanished from the water. Charles switched the water machine off in fear that he'd just gotten himself in deep trouble.
He never knew what Mr. Carson did for business, but he had always suspected that the boss knew magic. Sometimes Charles would pretend to do his chores while secretly eavesdropping on Mr. Carson as he told his daughter Kate fantastic tales of his journeys. His adventures were straight out of one of Kate's books, wild and impossible and filled with amazing encounters with monsters and nasty villains. Charles assumed Mr. Carson made all his money finding lost treasures and relics and hoped to have adventures like those someday.
A globe rested in a wooden floor stand next to the boss's desk. After polishing its oak frame, he spun the earth as if he were God, and then imagined traveling to far off lands like Egypt to gaze upon the pyramids and the sphinx, or to the Isle of Man to see if fairies were as real as the boss claimed in his amazing stories.
He wiped down the desk and shined the box that rested on it. All the elbow grease he rubbed into the box made it sparkle. Inscribed on the lid were the funny words: Fais ce que tu voudras. He lifted the lid and found the infamous weapon Mr. Carson had used to cut down the enemies in his tales. The Colt glinted. He had thought the box would be empty.
It was a wonder the boss had left the pistol behind. It had saved his life on numerous occasions. The boss never went anywhere without it. It seemed meant to be that Charles was alone with it just then. He couldn't resist the urge to reach inside the box. He lifted the heavy pistol.
"Charlie!" Mr. Beckwourth called from another room.
Charles dropped the gun into the box and slammed the lid shut. His body ran cold as if he had been dipped in the November pond. He had missed the boss's arrival.
Mr. Beckwourth loomed into the study. What little hair left on the old man's head was all white. He had defined muscles from all the hard years of back breaking work. They bulged through his riding jacket. He looked more like a fighter than a majordomo. The bowtie he was wearing didn't make him look any softer. He was the type of man one should never cross or get nailed.
Charles stood stiff, afraid of the whipping he was about to get for being late.
"You're supposed to bring out the coffee," said Mr. Beckwourth. "Get a wiggle on."
Charles hurried into the kitchen, grabbed the coffee, and carried it into the parlor. He poured coffee for the boss and the lady of the house, and then he and Mr. Beckwourth waited off to the side while the family reunited. Mr. Carson reached into his suitcase and revealed a stack of books.
"Thank you!" Kate grabbed two books and clutched them to her chest.
She was a regular blue-stocking, the type of girl who always got what she wanted but never took it for granted. She was spoiled, but not like her close-fisted schoolmate Vivian. Often, Kate secretly shared her luxuries with Charles, even when everyone else would forbid her to.
The first thing she had done when he moved in last year was read to him all her favorite books. The first book she ever read to him was her favorite: Romeo and Juliet. She followed him outside that day and read while he mucked the stalls. Her past behavior was the reason why her next suggestion didn't surprise Charles as much as it did the boss and lady of the house.
"Let's go read them together, Charlie," said Kate, beaming a smile at him.
"I'm afraid Charlie doesn't have time for books." Mr. Carson sat down in his favorite chair.
Kate slammed the books on the table in front of him. "Who does have time?"
"Pardon me, young lady."
"No one ever has time to read anymore. You're always gone. And mother---"
"We don't use that tone in our home, Katherine." Mrs. Carson stepped behind the boss and rested her hand on his shoulder. She stood with shoulders back and her chin held high. "Besides, Charlie's kind doesn't care about such things as literature."
Mr. Beckwourth fidgeted with his rag and tossed it over his shoulder.
"I've read books to Charlie before," said Kate.
Mrs. Carson's eyes fluttered. "Have you now?"
Kate stared down at her feet. "I'm sorry, but if not for Charlie I feel like I'm always by myself. He's the only one here my age. I only get to spend time with Vivian in school, and even that is too much Vivian."
"Tell me you're not saying you enjoy Charlie's company more than Vivian's."
"Is that so bad?"
Mrs. Carson stared down the bridge of her nose at Charles. Her eyes pointed at him like daggers. "It's just improper." She flicked her gaze away and gripped her husband's shoulder. "Don't you agree, Sam?"
Mr. Carson drummed his fingers on the books. "If Mr. Beckwourth says it's alright. I don't see why you couldn't read to him."
"You're considering this?" Mrs. Carson asked him.
Mr. Carson leaned back in his favorite chair. "My horizons have broadened ever since the evolution debate in Oxford. I sat in that audience and listened to those men speak, and five months later we did a great thing and put an honest northerner in the white house. Now, those two events don't have any direct connection, except that I see them both as a sign of greater things to come. Everything is evolving into something worthy. Why shouldn't we?"
Kate gazed up at the majordomo with her bubbly eyes. An awkwardly crooked smiled splintered across Mr. Beckwourth's lips. He checked his trusty pocket watch.
"Ten minutes," he said to Charles. "I'll ring." He pointed to the servant bell on the wall.
Kate thanked both her father and Mr. Beckwourth and handed Charles four of the seven books. She carried the other three, and they ran upstairs together to her room where about twenty dollies sat on shelves. They both plopped down on the throw rug in front of the floor mirror that Mr. Carson had brought back from his travels months ago.
"Which one first?" she said.
"What are their names?"
She shuffled the stack. "We have A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens." She took it off the top of the stack sat that one to the side. "The Lifted Veil by George Eliot." She sat that one down. "The Minister's Wooing by Harriet Beecher Stowe. On the Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. On Liberty by John Stuart Mill."
Charles recalled that the man in the water had been reading that last book in his study.
"And this one," Kate continued, "is called The Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe."
That last title sounded the least appealing. By the title alone, A Tale of Two Cities and the Lifted Veil struck him as more interesting tales, but poems tended to be shorter works than plays and novels, and he only had about eight more minutes. He could at least read one poem before he returned to his duties.
He flipped past the Preface, the Contents, the Illustrations credits, the Memoir of Edgar Allen Poe, and landed on the first poem. The top of the page featured an illustration of a man sitting in a chamber just like the man in the water.
"This one," he said. "Start with the Rah-vin."
She slid next to him and her shoulder touched his. "The Raven," she said pronouncing it correctly, but not in a way that would diminish his efforts. She was teaching him.
Some words reached out to him like a face he hadn't seen for a long time. He recognized them on sight, but most written text was still foreign to him. Kate even stumbled over the bigger ones and he only noticed her gaffes because his understanding of written language was improving. Before, she could mask her slip ups, and he would be none the wiser, but no matter how many words tripped Kate, she always picked herself up and kept going.
He could listen to her read anything. Her melodious voice stopped time like a spell. The outside world disappeared, and he immersed himself in the chamber with the raven. He loved every word of the poem, even though he hated the raven. He wanted to shoot the bothersome creature for torturing the narrator. His eight minutes stretched for hours in his mind. Yet, it was too soon when the servant bell rang.
HATE FOR THE RAVEN BUILT UP IN CROSS'S HEART and burned like a lump of coal in his chest. The Peacemaker in his hands renewed his confidence that he would cut her down like he promised. If he ever came across the ebony bird again, he would chisel the fear of the Great Goddess into her spirit and soul. He never made a habit of underestimating anyone, but she wasn't so tough without old Ropey. All he had to do was separate her from that rope dart, and she'd be nothing.
Cross opened the cylinder of the Colt. A single bullet lay inside the bore. He shook his head. The hodder obviously didn't know much about guns to leave the revolver lying around loaded. He removed the bullet, sat it on the counter, and closed the action. He thumbed the hammer back while pulling on the trigger and gently lowered the hammer all the way down, placing the revolver in full lockup. He checked the front and back of the cylinder for wiggle: it only had a bit of side to side wiggle, and that was fine. He eyeballed the cylinder gap, holding it sideways under the dim overhead light of the black fires outside beaming through the window. The gap was tight but not too tight. Perfect. All the cylinder bores lined with the barrel. The trigger felt like the Great Goddess's bosom.
"Any more cartridges?" he asked the rat-faced hodder.
"Caw trij itz?" said the hodder. "I do not understand."
Cross picked the round up from the counter. "More like this."
"Sorry. No more of that kind. But if you want to try the weapon just step---"
"What do you mean try it? It only has one round."
"It booms all the same."
"And I'm sure it'll fire," said Cross. "One last time. Don't you understand the concept of bullets?"
"No. I don't believe I do."
"This thing goes in here." Cross placed the round in the cylinder and closed it. "Now when I pull this trigger it will fire a round. One round is one shot."
"But, I've boomed it many times."
"How the hell could you even work the trigger? The butt is bigger than your arms."
The hodder stood on its hind legs and puffed up its chest. "No task is too big for me to manage."
"Yeah? Well, you managed to waste good ammo you stinkin' rodent." Cross slammed the pistol onto the counter. "Finally found a useful object and I can't even..."
"Now it is you who misunderstand me." The hodder waved its clawed paws. "Come, I'll show you. Bring the boomer. Step this way."
Cross grabbed the Peacemaker and followed the hodder out the tail end of the flying coach. Outside were tin cans, stones, wood planks, and other objects set up for target practice. Most of the targets had already been charred, shot and sliced.
The hodder gestured towards the targets. "Now, boom it."
Cross aimed the Peacemaker and hesitated. He should at least save that one last round for the Raven's gut.
"Go on," said the hodder.
Cross squeezed the trigger without aiming at any of the targets. The last round fired. "See, now that's it." He swirled the pistol in the air. "No more."
"Try again," said the hodder.
Cross stared at him for a few seconds, wondering what the rodent was getting at. He pointed the pistol in no particular direction, fully expecting it to click when he pulled the trigger, as there were no more cartridges left. But another round fired.
Cross jumped back in surprise. He opened the barrel and discovered the original cartridge still sitting inside the bore as though it had never been fired. He emptied the round into his palm. It wasn't even hot to the touch. He laughed and drank more devil's water.
He slipped the cartridge back in revolver, aimed, and fired three consecutive rounds at each target. Target one, a wooden plank, twisted sideways and then split in half. Target two, a stone, shot into the air and then exploded, the detritus sprinkled into the tin can. Target three, the tin can, launched up with a flip, and Cross cut it down in midair with the sixth and final shot.
The bucktoothed hodder gaped in surprise. "That boomer's ability is unlimited firings, but not precise aiming."
Cross smiled and gulped more devil's water. It dripped down his chin and onto his new shirt. The spider-button slid down and cleaned the dribble.
"As long as that round, as you call," said the hodder, "is in the burrow, the boomer will always fire. Remove it and it will not."
They both returned to the flying coach through the broken tail.
"For the devil's water, the knitter, and the boomer," said the hodder. "I'll trade you six objects."
"Trade?" Cross laughed and aimed the revolver at the hodder.
The green flushed away from the rodent's face and its ears drooped flat onto its head.
"What else you got worth six objects?" asked Cross.
The hodder pointed a clawed finger. "You said once you got your weapons you would leave."
"Exactly. Weapons. I'm going to need more than one."
The hodder wrung its paws together. "The gamp. Take the gamp."
"The what?"
"You called it an unbrulluh."
Cross shoved the barrel into the hodder's chubby little stomach. It trembled.
"It's the best object I have," it said. "Worth more than six objects."
Cross cocked the hammer back. The hodder flinched at the noise.
"It shoots lightning," said the hodder.
Cross snatched the pink parasol from the floor. "How?"
The hodder shrugged. "Like all the other objects. Aim and hope for the best."
Cross aimed the tip of the umbrella into a corner and squeezed the handle as if he were pulling a trigger on a shotgun. Lightning cracked out the tip. Objects exploded and flew every which way. It wrung its tiny paws together.
He slapped his leg in joy. He finally had a weapon that could match the Raven's rope dart.
The three draggles met Cross outside of the flying coach. He walked briskly past them as a flock of barbots squawked above in the dark, sparkling flames. He aimed the tip of the parasol at the center of the flock. Lightning struck a barbot out of the sky. The others scattered. The draggles raced over to the bird like hunting dogs.
By the time he reached the dead barbot, the draggles were already there waiting for him. They hopped up and down and inched the bird forward as if delivering it to him. Kate would have called the act adorable. He wouldn't have used that particular word, but he would have agreed.
As much as he'd hate to see the draggles get hurt because of him, they seemed determined to stand by his side at all cost, just like Cottontail. He couldn't stop them from following him, and it may be better that they remained in his sight as opposed to in the shadows where they could unintentionally give his whereabouts away. He could at least train them, and if it came down to it, he could protect them with his new weapons. They were perhaps safer with him now. He promised himself that he'd keep a better eye on them than he'd done with Cottontail. He had learned from his mistakes.
"All right," he said to them. "If you wanna hang with me, you'll have to earn your keep."
The draggles hauled the barbot until they came across an old steamship run aground. They boarded the vessel. An empty cauldron and a few overturned bowls sat on the deck, left behind by souls who must've escaped in some kind of haste.
Cross started a fire and boiled pieces of the barbot in the cauldron using leftover devil's water. He used the spoon that the Raven gave him to stir a pile of Nothings into rice. While the food cooked, he peeled the scabs off his legs from where the fiery spirits of Hell grabbed him about a week ago.
The draggles leaned toward the pink skin revealed underneath as if they wanted to treat his injury, but didn't know how. He poured each one of them a bowl of barbot soup when it was ready.
"Don't eat just yet," he said to the draggles. "Take my hand." He held out his palms. Two of the draggles rested their cold, three-clawed hands in his. The third joined hands with the other two and they formed a circle.
"Close your eyes and bow your head." He demonstrated as he had instructed them to do, and he gave thanks to the Great Goddess.
During breakfast the next morning, he decided to recruit the draggles to help him break into paradise. Maybe that's what Mama had sent them to help him do.
"The world is divided into two parts," he said to them. "Those who have friends and those that are lonely. Like me."
The draggles sat still and listened attentively, as if the fate of their world rested on his every word.
"You see," said Cross. "I used to have a lot of friends. They all left. My last friend was Sinuhe. I did what I always do, and now I'm all alone, like you. See, this place---the underworld---does things to us. Changes us. You probably didn't always look the way you look. You might have even been able to talk once. And I wasn't always like this, you know, such a hard case. The underworld takes everything away from us. It sets us up to fail. It wants us to be alone. It's easier for it to manipulate us and torture us that way because we're so vulnerable."
He stirred a Nothing into rice and poured it into the leaky cauldron. "You want more food? Eat. Eat. Help yourself." He spooned them more soup. "You have your mission and I have mine. And any friends that would help me would be my friends forever. We all need friends in this lonely place. You're out here all alone with no one to look out for you. I promise, if you take care of me, I'll take care of you. We can take care of each other. I can't promise the road won't be bumpy, but if we join forces, we can't lose."
The draggles bounced up and down and squeaked like mice. Goddess knows why they liked him so much. Several times they turned to face him, scurried a few feet away and raced back. They tugged his arm, and he followed their lead out of the steamship.
A few miles away they showed him cornurus tracks in the dust. He prayed that it was Gimlet and that he would find the Raven on her back. Even if not, the tracks lead east toward the A'raf, his destination, so he wouldn't have to go out of his way. But if those tracks did belong to Gimlet, he could kill two birds with one stone---or one raven with a single bullet---and dance right into paradise.
Well, not really dance. He still had to break in somehow. But having everything in one location reduced the possibility of a wild detour. He should have teamed up with the draggles a long time ago.
He leaned down and patted each of the draggles on their brainy heads. "Good. Good. You did a great thing my friends."
Even with their vicious claws, they seemed more like friendly creatures than fighting beasts. It had taken them many months to even break out of their shyness and finally step out of the shadows to approach him. They had fought the hellhound, but it never wanted to kill them. They weren't ready to face the Raven.
The cornurus tracks ended at the edge of the realm of Limbo. The realm resembled the towns he recalled from his previous life. Of course none of the cities of the underworld matched his memory in exact detail. The cities of the damned were constructed as if by word of mouth. A guy who knew a guy, who knew a guy, who overheard what a town should look like, built one without ever seeing an actual town first hand.
Limbo got things mostly right where it counted. Roofs, windows and doors adorned the buildings, but the distinct wrongness of the underworld sullied those expected details. Windows became looming eye sockets, entrances were gaping mouths which lead into the beastly buildings, webs of bone and teeth were substituted for conventional building materials, and the great wall of paradise towered above the town, mockingly.
Still, more than any place he had ever been in the underworld, he almost felt at home among the meat markets, the saloons, and the dry goods merchants. In many respects, Limbo placed him back on the frontier. Spurs jingled, carriages crunched across the dirt, and souls bustled along in the crowded main street.
Townspeople performed their mundane duties, crossing the roads, entering and exiting shops, speaking to one another like a close-knit family. The spirits seemed to have made an afterlife for themselves there. It was almost as if they had forgotten that they lived in the underworld at all.
Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the people wandered more aimlessly. It was all an elaborate illusion trying to suck him in, but he refused to fall for it. Although it must've been nice to forget.
"Could you hand me a nail out of that bucket?" asked a man adjusting plywood on a half-built structure.
Cross reached into the pail and pulled out teeth instead of nails. He dropped the teeth in disgust. The man wasn't tacking wood to the building. It was bone. The building was made of bone and teeth like the rest of the town.
"You mind?" asked the man. A hole in one side of the man's jaw exposed the smiling black gums and yellow teeth.
"I'm not sticking my hand back in there," said Cross.
The man dropped his bone and reached into the pail himself. "Now watch me. What you want to do is you line these up to form a T like this."
"Very informative," said Cross. "I'll remember that. Do you like objects? Of course you do. There's a nice shiny object for you if you can help me find someone." He held out the Latin cross with no intention of giving it up.
The soul's sunken eyes widened. The dark rings around them stretched at the sight of the glowing brass. "Who are you looking for, mister?"
"A woman with black wings. She was riding a cornurus."
The spirit went back to adjusting the bone. "Could you hand me a nail out of that bucket?"
"They're not nails," said Cross. "They're teeth."
"Teeth?"
Cross kicked the pail over, spilling all the teeth out.
"Now that wasn't very kind, Mister." The man took a tooth from the ground. "Now watch me. What you want to do is you line these up to form a T like this."
"You already said that," said Cross.
"Did I?" The man scratched the back of his head, shrugged and went back to readjusting the T-bone on his house of bone and teeth.
"So have you seen her or not?" asked Cross.
"I'm sorry, mister. Seen who?"
"The woman."
"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."
"The woman with black wings, riding a cornurus. She has dark hair. Very beautiful, but pale. You can't miss her."
The man and adjusted the T bone on his house. "Could you hand me nail out of that bucket?"
He grabbed the man by his shirt. "If you know where she's hiding you better tell me!"
"Mister, I have no idea what you're talking about. I just want to finish my work. I have to get this done."
Cross shoved the man to the ground. The man glanced around wide-eyed. Black spirit's blood leaked from his nose.
"Where am I?" The man darted his head around. "Is this place real? Are you real?"
"Of course, I'm real," said Cross.
The man's expression slacked and grew serious. He stood up and adjusted the bone. "Could you hand me a nail out of that bucket?"
Cross backed away from the man and collided with a woman who had no face---at least not on her head, which was a blank canvas with makeup crudely drawn where her face should have been. An image of her actual face appeared inside the mirror she carried.
"So sorry," said the woman in the mirror. "I didn't see you there."
He was glad he couldn't see his own refection in her mirror. It only showed her image and nothing else in the background. She seemed to be drawn to his pink parasol hooked to his waist.
"You like this umbrella, huh?" he asked her.
"Oh, it's lovely." Her arm let the mirror down so that her face could get a better look.
"Would you like to have it?" he said, with zero intention of giving it to Miss Blankface.
The face in the mirror nodded, eyes fixed upon the parasol.
"Well, I'm looking for someone," said Cross. "And if you can tell me which one of these buildings she's hiding in, I'll give it to you."
Her arm raised the mirror, and the woman blinked repeatedly. "I don't think I can help you, sir. Where did you come from?"
"Look lady, I'm a Marshall. She's a fugitive, and you'd be doing your country a great service if you help me."
"I believe I might be lost." The woman gazed around. "I don't know how I got here. Where exactly is here?"
"I'll tell you. But you have to help me first."
The mirror panned across her blank face. The makeup had vanished. "You didn't tell me my makeup was all wrong. This certainly will not do." She began smearing lipstick sloppily, across her blank face.
He grabbed the woman's shoulders and shook her. "What the hell is wrong with you people?"
"Is this real life?" The woman in the mirror breathed heavily, as if the air was thinning. Black spirit's blood seeped out of the blank face where her nose should have been, and it smeared the lipstick drawn around her nonexistent mouth. "Am I---Am I dead?"
The majority of souls in the underworld knew that they were dead; that was part of the punishment of being dead. His old friend Sinuhe once told him of a minority of souls who had no concept of their death. They believed they were still alive and couldn't grasp their reality. Either they had been in the underworld too long and had withered away or the reality was so traumatizing for them that they escaped into whatever was left of their minds.
Dust sprinkled down the woman's face and her head began to dissolve into debris. The rest of her body followed. It crumbled and a light wind swept her away in sprinkles.
Someone bumped into him from behind. It was Ms. Blankface. She had vanished and reappeared similar to the way Mama had done, but in a less divine way and more creepy.
"So sorry," said Ms. Blankface. "I didn't see you there." The mirror panned in front of her blank, which no longer had any makeup smeared across it. "You didn't tell me my makeup was all wrong. This certainly will not do." She scribbled lipstick all over her face again.
Cross gave up his search. The spirits of Limbo could have encountered the Raven, but they wouldn't have remembered it. The Raven could have been anywhere. She may not have been in Limbo at all. She could have been long gone by now, and he was so close to the River Lethe he could taste the waters.
He sat on a porch and gazed up at the A'raf, right at the edge of town. It was now within a few feet of walking distance, barely a two minute stroll away.
What did he want more? Revenge? Or to forget? If he gave up his search for the Raven, he still couldn't just blast his way into paradise. That would get him and the draggles annihilated. But after meeting that blockhead bone builder and that ninny Ms. Blankface, erasing his memory didn't look like the ignorant bliss that he imagined. What made those two numbskulls so different from the other spirits who had forgotten their past, but who still led functional afterlives?
The ground rumbled. Deep in the Southwest, the Inferno awoke with a terrible wrath. The sky dimmed furious blue, hellish and dark. The underworld shook and threw all souls off their feet. The bone buildings swayed. Lobs of molten lava splashed down onto the town.
He crouched on the porch, covering his head. The draggles cuddled up next to him. He sheltered them with his body until the ruckus stopped several minutes later.
Ash flurries fell like gray snow, and the entire town dissolved until nothing was left but more dust, and the impenetrable A'raf dominating the land. Then the ground bulged and bubbled. Buildings and people sprouted from the earth. The town reset itself. The wandering souls returned to their loop as if nothing had happened.
But the A'raf changed. Its sheen was now beaten as though dynamite had exploded in it. Black stains and dents covered a large area of the great wall. Smoke sizzled out of the horrible smudge. It was a hole.
"Wait here," he told the draggles.
They obeyed, and he eased up to the wall to investigate. He held up his hands to show the guards he had no weapons. No one shot at him yet or even called out to him. He was able to get close enough to touch the wall without any interference. It was smooth and glossy as glass. He peeked inside the hole. It was pitch black inside, and no guards were present inside the dark tunnel.
"Blessed be to the Great Goddess." She always looked out for him in his most desperate times. She knew he wouldn't have been able to blast his way through the wall so did it for him. Her power was beyond everything. She could make anything happen. He waved for the draggles to follow him.
Cross and the draggles followed the black tunnel for an hour before they encountered any light, but at the end of the tunnel, they found blinding light. It came from every angle and touched everything. The draggles bounced ahead, leaping through the air and flipping about. They had finally escaped the gloomy haze of the underworld.
They passed under plateaus covered in an endless emerald green, and between mountain ranges that reached above the glorious trees. For hours they strolled through the peaceful pastures without happening across a soul.
Never once did Cross tire or break a sweat. He never needed rest. He was consistently energized and upbeat. The air was so pure it gave him life. Drinking from crystal clear waterfalls was more of a luxury than an act of quenching his thirst. He splashed around in the pools with the draggles and frolicked in the glowing purple groves until they reached a strangely familiar town.
Every building in the town was made of earthly materials as if the town had grown out of the ground, organically. He had only been to that town once in his afterlife, many hundreds of years ago, but he recalled that the River Lethe ran through it. Sinuhe had once told him that the realm of Elysium was specifically built around the river.
The roads crawled with fallen angels with tattered wings just like the Raven's. They mingled with the righteous while Tribulation soldiers marched through the road, hauling their trebuchets. They seemed to be preparing for a huge battle.
Cross and the draggles blended in with the crowd and found the River Lethe in all its glory. Just as he remembered it, the water was nearly invisible; he could see the smooth river bottom. Only water so clear could wash away one's memories.
A gathering of brand new souls drank their lives away as ordered by the Ankou. The past life escaped the minds of the new spirits in the manifestation of pink orbs. The orbs resembled the dead ones he had seen in the canyons of Viņsaule, only brighter and alive. They emitted their own light. Some orbs loitered around while others soared up into the burning skies. All the orbs floated and moved with intelligence, a sense of awareness of themselves and others around them. They maneuvered around spirits, carriages, and buildings in an obvious effort to avoid collisions.
A locomotive with hundreds of boxcars lined behind it waited behind the group of new spirits. The smoke stack pumped out thick exhaust resembling a black cloak flapping on the locomotives shoulders. It was the dirtiest thing in paradise. Dingy lettering painted on the side of the locomotive read: Charon. It was named after its conductor, and could travel throughout the underworld without the need for railroad tracks.
After drinking from the river and releasing their past, the damned boarded the soiled box cars, and the Charon chugged them away into the underworld to drop them off to their respective destinations. The Ankou ferried the righteous in horse-drawn boats across the shimmering ocean to the islands of paradise.
Cross stood there, a few yards away from the river, unable to bring himself any closer. It had been the only thing he had focused in achieving for so many sleep cycles, and now it was finally in his grasp. What if it made him forget his time in the underworld? He wouldn't remember Gimlet or the draggles or Cottontail. Would he become like that bone builder and Ms. Blankface, living in a looped bliss? Their existence was nearly as bad as a Nothing's. What if it also removed his magic touch? He'd never be able to communicate with animals in his special way.
An Ankou glided over to him, silently. Like all the ferryman, it stood at a height that would make Cross appear to be a child standing beside it. The gaunt spirit was covered in black robes, and there seemed to be nothing beneath them. Its pointy hood pulled high above its head gave it an extra devilish demeanor.
The Ankou extended a cloaked arm, and led Cross over to the waters. He paced slowly and hesitantly over to the gentle river, the Ankou guiding his every step, the draggles trickling behind.
He met the river's edge. The Ankou dipped a wooden cup into the river, carelessly soaking the sleeve of its robe.
Cross took the cup from its skeletal hand and gazed into the pure water for seconds on end. He was afraid to lose his memories now. Erasing his past was like cutting off one of his limbs. It was a part of him. But they were also a burden.
He always wanted a clean slate. Every spirit got a chance to start fresh except him. Souls weren't meant to undertake life and death at the same time. The same way that the living weren't supposed to know the truth about death, the dead weren't supposed to know about life. That was the fairest rule of the underworld.
Hanging onto his past---both the good and bad moments---prevented him from moving forward and inhibited the rest of the damned from reaching their potential because they were all chasing him for the memories they thought they could steal from him. Funny how the living can be so intrigued by mystery of death, while the dead are so intrigued by enigma of life. It might be best for everyone if he drank Lethe's mind altering waters.
He brought the cup up to his lips.
Behind him, there was a distinct roar; a familiar grunt, one he had come to know very well. It was the voice of his Roaring Gimlet. He spun around and spotted his cornurus standing outside of a hotel called Eirenos Inn. The Raven must've been inside. Cross dropped his cup and sprinted over to the inn.
Before he could reach Gimlet, a squal with a bandage wrapped around its head exited the inn. Cross ducked behind a post on a porch across the road, wondering how such a miserable soul got into paradise. Was it searching for him? It had all its limbs so it wasn't the one-armed squal, who had most likely burned by now after drinking the poisonous calabash, and he knew for sure he had burned the other two squals back in Xibalbá.
The bandaged squal stalked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Gimlet snapped at the squal. It hunkered back and hissed at the cornurus before continuing down the sidewalk. Cross smirked, happy to see Gimlet attacking a squal.
He jerked his head, commanding the draggles to follow him. They crept around the back of Eirenos Inn and snuck inside.
THE RAVEN SAT AT THE TABLE IN HER ROOM, SHARPENING HER DART to the symphony of wagons and carriages rolling outside. Her new partner Forfax had just left the room, and it sounded as if he had gotten into a little skirmish with Gimlet outside.
The rogue squal didn't talk as much as Cross. Forfax's demeanor was more like hers---subdued, soft spoken, and introverted, which was the exact opposite of normal squal behavior. That's why she had somewhat of a soft spot in her heart for Cross. The rotten scoundrel had character. He was an impressive actor, and together they had formed a team greater than any other soul she had ever aligned herself with. None of her old partners ever survived a second con. Cross was the first one she ever had to get rid of personally.
After spending so many months together, she was bound to have grown fond of him in some capacity. When sharing the company of someone for an extended period like she had with him, it's easy to fall in like with them---unless you've become so sick of the person that you'd want to strangle them. But, interestingly, she had never wanted to strangle Cross, even when he opened that foul mouth of his.
He was indignant and loud, but she saw through his bravado and into his charm. All his tough talk was a facade. He hid behind the cocky attitude, to keep everyone else at bay. With all the distrustful spirits that populated the underworld, including her, she didn't blame him for that behavior. She harbored the exact same suspicious credo. The two of them just had different approaches. Because of that, they complimented each other's song, and they danced as equals. She would've never admitted that to him though. That confession would have caused her to lose the upper hand in their relationship. She'd be the one roaming Sheol for all eternity instead of him.
Every time she began to care for one of the damned she ended up making stupid moves. Not only did ridding herself of him suit her best interest of not becoming a Nothing and remaining alone, but it was the right thing to do for the greater good of the underworld---if there was a such thing. She felt a sense of accomplishment, as if she made up for some past misdeed by preventing spirits from stealing his memories. No soul, not even Cross, deserved to remember.
She nicked her finger on her now sharpened dart and slipped her finger in her mouth, tasting the lifeless waste that was her spirit blood. It was thick and lumpy like spoiled milk and the aftertaste was just as sour.
Outside her window, barbot wings smacked the wind. For a moment, the birds squawked as though they were fleeing the skies due to some impending holocaust, and then all the outside noises halted. The Tribulation wagons and carriages no longer crunched across the cobblestone road. The marching stopped. All was quiet except for a small scuttering outside her door.
Klickety klick went claws on the wood. She knew that sound. Cross's draggles! If they were outside her door, Cross wasn't too far behind. That bastard just wouldn't burn.
She remained still in order to avoid warning her intruders of her presence, listening ever so closely. The soldiers outside resumed their march and the wagons beat at the road again. In haste, she worked to rethread the rope into the dart.
Three draggles burst through the door. She tied the last loop of the rope and sent the dart hurling at the draggles. She struck one down, swung the rope around, and plunged the dart into a second one. The third draggle leapt. She yanked the rope toward it. Black blood exploded from the last draggle's stomach as the dart impaled it through its back. It, and draggle number two, shriveled to Nothing, but the first draggle survived its injuries. It struggled to lift its knees off the ground and knelt in a pool of its own black blood before joining its companions as a Nothing.
"They were the nicest little critters I ever met in this goddess-forsaken place."
She spun around to find Cross sitting in the window sill. If only he weren't there to burn her, she might have smiled at the bastard's presence. He was the only man who had ever made her want to smile.
She could have burned him right there, but for reasons she couldn't explain to herself, she gave him time to mourn his lost. He plucked three splinters from his palm, flicked them to the floor, and stared at the three dead draggles as if she weren't in the room at all. He crossed himself and then aimed the tip of a closed parasol at her as if it were a gun.
It was clearly a woman's accessory with its pink cloth and flowery stitching, and she knew it must've been an object of the dead, but had no idea of its ability. If Cross was carrying it around, it had to have been dangerous.
"I've heard that it's bad luck to open those things inside," she said.
"I don't have to open it." He pointed the parasol at the bed. Lightning struck the pillows. The bed-spread caught fire. "Get rid of Ropey," he said.
She released her rope dart, and it clunked lifeless to the floor. "You're already in paradise," she said. "You don't need any objects to break in. The River Lethe is right outside."
"It's not going anywhere," he said. "You and I have some business to settle first."
The sky thundered, the ground rumbled, and the hotel waffled. Cross held the obsidian blade up and peeked an eye through its peephole. "You remember this blade don't you? You let me keep it in case I decided to fall on it. You're just full of great ideas."
He tossed the blade to her. She caught it.
"Wedge the grip into the floor," he said.
She jammed the skinny handle in between the wood logs that made up the puncheon floor.
"Very good," he said. "Nice and straight. It has to cut the throat of a buzzard. Now, lie across the table face down."
She lay across the table, the triangular blades pointed toward her neck.
"That's it," he said. "Right over it. Now, I have another system. A little different than yours. I don't shoot the blade. I shoot the legs off the table." He crossed himself.
"You cross yourself," she said, "yet you believe in the Great Goddess."
"So?"
"You can't mix religions where they contradict."
"Religions contradict where the Great Goddess doesn't," said Cross. "There may be many mythologies, but there's only one Magna Mater. And she's more than one thing at a time. All things at once. Her wings spread far too wide to fit in your little bird-house."
"Either way, if the Great Goddess cared about your primitive rituals, you wouldn't be in the underworld with the damned."
"If you believe that, then you nothing about her, you stinkin' buzzard." He aimed the umbrella in a fit of rage.
A whistle soared through the air outside. Molten rock crashed through the window. The force bowled her over and away from the blade. Her rope dart landed at her side.
The lava ate the floor and created a gap between her and Cross. The entire hotel buckled and whimpered. Cross's half of the room detached from the rest of the building and he sank to the bottom floor.
She jammed her top hat on her head, and grabbed her rope dart; it wrapped around her waist. She snatched the obsidian blade from the wedge in the floor and swooped out of the hotel holding onto her top hat as she soured through the air. She mounted Gimlet, galloped down the road, scooped Forfax, and fled Elysium with the rogue squal.
The Raven and Forfax set foot on their second con together in the toneless and grey Asphodel Meadows. She removed her justaucorps because it had become soaked in too much sweat. Red sky didn't bother her too much, but the heat from the blistering blue sky beat down on her like it did every other soul.
From her hiding spot among the brush, the Raven lay on her stomach, listening to the ceremonial chants taking place yards away. Forfax lay on the altar, while ghost-like spirits prayed over him. The spirits were shadows of thin air called shades. Winged creatures fluttered around the apparitions, attached to the specters symbiotically in a meandering, meaningless existence.
One soul stood out among the shades---a man wearing monk-like robes and appeared to be a spirit of similar ilk to Cross. He glanced her way.
She ducked. The brittle asphodelus ramosus bush split apart and crumbled to dust. The flakes caught in the back of her throat. Her eyes watered as she held the cough back, fearing any noise made on her part would warn the shades of her presence thus ruining the con.
A familiar voice spoke nearby: "Brilliant blue sky today, isn't it?"
Off to her right side, Cross pointed a pistol at her. Nobody ever snuck up on her once, let alone twice. She was losing the one advantage she always had over her adversaries, or Cross was getting better at besting her.
He nudged the barrel of his revolver into her temple and uncoiled her rope dart from her waist. "Hello, Ropey," he said once he had the rope dart in his grasp. He laughed and patted Gimlet on the horn. "How've you been my friend?"
"You came all this way to find me," she said, "instead of drinking from the River Lethe?"
"Sometimes you search so hard for something, and when you finally get it, you realize there's something else that you want even more. Luckily, you weren't that hard to find." He ruffled her wings. Feathers fell off and glided onto the ground.
"You're molting," he said. "I found a few of your feathers stuck on top of Gimlet's warm droppings. Now, get up."
"Let me take care of Forfax." She nodded over to the altar and the shades.
Cross shook his head.
"No?" she pleaded. She had assumed that the pattern of her partners never surviving a second con had ended with Cross.
But in keeping with a miserable motif, a shade plunged its ghostly fist into the screaming squal's chest and held its leaky heart high in celebration. The man wearing the monk robes reached into the squal's bandaged skull and removed the Eye of Providence.
"Sorry, Forfax." The Raven almost crossed herself.
Cross did it for the both of them. Then he cocked the hammer to his revolver. The click reverberated through her temple and drowned out the cheers of Forfax's festival.
"You and I are going for a walk." He roughly bound her arms, legs and molting wings.
"There's no bounty on my head you know," she said. "I'm not worth anything to anybody."
Cross yanked her backwards until their bodies touched. His hot breath grazed her ear.
"You are to me, Raven," he said. "You're mine."
An unbalanced hiss colored his tone. It rattled her. He was always full of rage, but even when he was really livid, she had never heard him sound so delirious.
He snatched her top hat off her head and sat it on his, and then neatly folded up her justaucorps.
"How can you even where wool?" he said, tucking the justaucorps into Gimlet's saddlebag. "It's way too hot for that. And it covers up your figure. Makes you look like a man when you're not really all that bad to look at. Under different circumstances, you and I might've been something."
He scooped her over his shoulder and placed her on the back of Gimlet just as she had courteously done him months ago.
She bobbed up and down uncomfortably on the cornurus until they reached the smoggy kingdom of Hades, where he sat her down in the dirt. A thick combination of smoke and fog buried the kingdom and obscured anything that wasn't within a few yards of them. The towers of the palace rose above the mist. They were the only visible structures of the kingdom from where they stood.
"I have to get supplies for our little outing," said Cross. "You stay here. Don't move." He tugged on her binds and stroked the cornurus's horn. "Gimlet, you keep an eye on her. I'll be back later."
"You can't leave me out here like this," she said. "This is hellhound territory."
"They're not so bad. Don't worry. You'll be fine. Gimlet will take good care of you. She'll make sure you don't burn in Hades like some shade."
He tipped her top hat, mockingly, and vanished into the gloom, leaving her sitting out in the open at the mercy of the elements and the carnivorous creatures that often roamed about.
Souls straggled in and out of smog. Some of them looked directly at the Raven, but kept going about their business, disappearing into the mist.
The stench of the Inferno's bowels traveled the cold wind. It was worse than the odor from Gimlet's rear-end and was growing stronger every second. The fog receded like drawn curtain, revealing the Inferno.
Above the volcano, within the smoke, a face hovered. It was too uniform to be an optical illusion. It swayed and rippled in the ash cloud, staring up into the northern mountains. The dark clouds in the sky had parted in an oddly specific fashion, leading directly to Mount Mictlan.
She squinted, but whatever was up there was too far for her to see. Molten lava spewed into the sky and engulfed the smoky head. It dissipated.
The ground jolted her up and down on her bottom and shook Gimlet awake. The opening in the clouds sealed back up and the fog rolled back in. That eruption was bigger than the one two sleep periods ago. Minutes later, ash fell softly on her head. She leaned back on Gimlet.
A bottle rolled through the ash. A green hodder wobbled about, pushing the bottle uphill. The bottle rolled back, on top of the hodder burying it in the ash. It burrowed its way out of the ash and shoved the bottle again.
"I could help you," said the Raven.
The hodder's rat-like head shot up and darted around, searching through the fog.
"Over here," she said.
The plump pack rat peered at her squinty-eyed. "You look like you need more help than I do."
"We can help each other. How about loosening my restraints?"
"Sorry. Tis no business of mine what you have got going there." The hodder went back to heaving the bottle.
"I can get you objects," she said.
The hodder halted. Its pointy ears popped up. It swilled from side to side surveying the misty desert around them, scrutinized her binds and landed a cautious eye up on Gimlet. "Objects you say? As in more than one?"
"Thirteen, if you can free me," said the Raven.
The hodder climbed up on the Raven's chest and began gnawing on the ropes. Gimlet bowed her head and chomped down on the hodder. The Raven cringed at the crunch of the bones.
Black blood, purple guts and yellowish bodily fluids oozed out of Gimlet's wide mouth and dripped onto the Raven's chest. Gimlet's tongue swiped from one side of her head to the other and she laid her head next to the Raven.
"Thanks for looking out for me," the Raven said to the beast.
Two black hellhounds crept out of the mist and stalked them from yards away. Gimlet raised her enormous head. The Raven struggled to free herself. The binds were too tight.
The two hounds called into the smog with squeaks. Minutes later, three brown hellhounds joined the two black ones, and at once, the pack of five stormed and flocked around the Raven and Gimlet.
The cornurus swung her spiked tail and bludgeoned a hound. Instantly, it keeled over dead. A hound charged toward the Raven. Gimlet's tail whooshed over her head and impaled the dog with a smash and short yelp.
The remaining three hounds fell back and chirped to each other like birds in conversation. In a turning of the tables, Gimlet became the aggressor. She swung her tail at them. They ducked and hopped.
One hound grabbed hold of the fat end of Gimlet's tail. A second hound chomped into her nose and locked down. They held her in position as the fourth hound approached her midsection to disembowel the poor cornurus. It snapped at her midsection, but missed when Gimlet twirled at the last second.
The hound at her nose knocked into the snapping hound. It released its grip on her nose and rolled off. Gimlet lifted the hound that was locked on her tail up and slammed it into the ground. It held on.
She flicked it up again and bashed it into the earth. Its grip seemed to loosen, but it was still attached to her tail like a leech. She flipped the hound into the air and spun under it.
The hound flopped down into the horn on the center of her head, skewered. The final two hounds backed away, chirping to each other. Gimlet advanced toward them with a powerful roar that boomed in the Raven's chest.
She hadn't heard the cornurus bellow that strongly since they'd known each other. That was why Cross nicknamed her the Roaring Gimlet. Hounds brown and black trotted off into the smog in retreat.
The Raven leaned her head against the cornurus. "Thanks for looking out for me," she said. "Truly. I mean it this time."
Gimlet licked her cornurus blood off the Raven's face.
Cross emerged from the mist with brand new holsters for his revolver and for the holey obsidian blade.
"You like?" He modeled his new accessories. "I traded in some of your useless objects to get 'em. Hope you don't mind." He surveyed the three dead hounds, who hadn't turned to Nothing because they born in the underworld. "Looks like the party started without me," he said. "You alright, Gimlet?"
The cornurus grunted as if to communicate how tough she was and that a pack of hellhounds was nothing to her.
"Here, let's get these ropes off," said Cross. "We don't need them anymore." He untied the Raven.
He must've felt safe owning all the objects, leaving her with no weapon to fight with. He was safe for now. She didn't know exactly how she was going to get out of her predicament. But whatever his plan was, she would make sure it wouldn't go well as soon as the opportunity presented itself. She wouldn't make the same mistakes thrice.
"We shouldn't let good meat go to waste." He chopped the beasts up, and shoved her down to her palms. He grabbed the back of her head and forced her face it into the meat like she was a dog.
"You do the gathering this time," he said.
Each day of the following week was just a blur of a horrible journey to nowhere under the blistering blue sky.
First, Cross forced her to walk through the Vale of Mourning. The lost love of the spirits that dwelled there drained her being. Her mind sloshed with dejected thoughts of how she had pretended that she chose her solitary lifestyle. In reality, she had been cast out of society for mediocrity. She was too good to be a demon but too bad to be considered righteous, let alone holy. The best of both worlds, she would proclaim. Not of any world, she would lament. She was unwelcome everywhere.
She staggered across the iron bridge that passed over the flaming river Pyriphlegethon. The husk on Gimlet's feet merely sizzled as she trotted over the bridge, but the sweltering metal softened the soles of the Ravens boots and scorched her feet.
Cross opened his parasol. It didn't really shade him from the sky but it drizzled rain onto his head. He stuck out his tongue and caught the droplets.
She peeled her justaucorps halfway off.
"You keep that on," said Cross. "Remember what you said about people with fair skin? They can't take too much heat, and I wouldn't want you to burn. Not yet anyway."
The Raven took out her canteen from her belt and held it to her mouth. A distinct bang rang out, and the canteen jerked as if smacked with a club.
Devil's water spouted from the canteen's new bullet-sized hole. Cross aimed his gun and fired a second round. The canteen snatched out her hand and tumbled down into the river Pyriphlegethon.
He tossed her a calabash from her sack. "Try that instead. I thought these would have spoiled by now."
She dodged out of the way. The fruit bounced on the bridge and she squashed it under her boot. The juices fizzled on the heated metal.
"Drop the next one and I drop you," he said.
"Do it," she said. "Burn me and get it over with."
"You'll burn when I say you will. You didn't burn me and get it over with. I risked getting my head chopped off twice. I spent nearly a week trying to find my way out of Sheol and almost ended up in Hell. But I was saved by three little creatures that you went and burned. If you think drinking from the calabash is the worse I got planned for you, you're wrong. So maybe you should drink it. Who knows? The poison in that fruit might be more merciful than me."
He pitched another calabash, which she caught this time. She split the fruit open and drank. It was the sweetest thing that had touched her tongue in years, the most delicious liquid that she had ever tasted in the underworld. She swallowed every last drop of juice hoping it would eventually put her out of her misery before Cross upped the ante.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Refreshed."
"Don't joke. I really want to know. Do you feel any different?"
"I do."
"How so? How different?"
"At first I felt like you weren't so bad. Now, I feel like I should've burned you myself when I had the chance."
"I can relate to that. Keep walking."
Cross refused to allow her any rest or food for two straight sleep cycles. The heat from raging blue sky ate away at her and drank all the liquids from her body.
They reached the black hole that was the prison Tartarus. Concentrating on the eerie silence deep within the prison kept her mind off her melted feet and mushy brain for a while.
Some of the most powerful beings were locked inside Tartarus for all eternity, but the hush of the void suggested no life remained inside. Each realm sang its own melody, but the voice of Tartarus was nonexistent. It didn't hum, muffle, or even breathe. It was frozen, not just in time, but suspended in a way that the realm could have been a figment of one's imagination. No one would hear the screams of the spirit inside. She wanted to jump in the black hole and disappear.
Weariness spread over Cross's face with each passing sleep cycle. The storm under his parasol raged stronger the more they progressed around the edge of Tartarus. She used its growing intensity to estimate how long they had been traveling.
What started out as a drizzle on the first day became a thunderstorm the following day. On the third day, the canopy pelted him with torrential rains, but he seemed too enraged in his defiance to close the parasol. He endured the beating shower as if to prove to himself how strong he was, or either he was too consumed with rage to notice the welts developing on his neck and cheeks.
On the fourth period of sleep, the canopy hailed ice; the day after that a blizzard of snow fell from it. Cross's teeth chattered, but he brushed off the snow like it was minor dust on his jacket. He flicked her lighter, and the fiery salamanders huddled around his neck. It seemed to warm him, but hurricane winds blasted out of the parasol on the sixth sleep period, and finally, a lightning storm struck him on the seventh.
He fell off Gimlet and closed the umbrella, joining her under the broiling blue sky. Painful heat rashes had developed all over her neck and chest and her insides squirmed from lack of eating. He had only fed her at the last possible second, and then only shared nibbles of food.
Just as they finally passed the black fortress of Tartarus, a dust storm approached on the east wind. It was too big and wild to be the Rudimen. It was a regular sand blaster. Cross lifted her up onto Gimlet's back and she blacked out.
She woke up to a fire. Black dust shot-blasted the ground outside their cave. There was zero visibility beyond the entrance. Painful legions had formed on her stomach as a result of her insides nearly biting their way out desperately seeking food.
Cross, who ate leftover hellhound meat at the fire, showed a rare sign of mercy and slid a bowl of devil's water toward her.
She crawled to it. Her fingertip touched the bowl. He kicked the bowl over, spilling all the water, and burst into evil laughter.
She was too weak to even bother getting angry. Besides, drinking and eating only prolonged her torture and postponed the inevitable. She didn't want to give up on herself, but a part of her knew that some soul was bound to give her such treatment, eventually. Cross was just the lucky soul who would finally burn her for all her misdeeds.
The temperature changed from the intense heat of the blue sky to a black frostbitten chill the nearer they closed in on the realm of Yomi. They met a fork in the road at the edge of Yomi and stopped. With the Inferno directly to her right and Yomi to her left, there was such a stark contrast of hot and cold that one side of her baked while the other side froze.
"Which way are we going?" she mumbled through her peeling lips.
"That way." He extended a hand into Yomi. "Nine nights of beautiful black sand. Even demons are afraid to march through here. The Tribulation is retreating there." He pointed southeast. "And the Anarchists are coming here." He pointed north. "But no one will set foot in this realm except you and me."
The maniacal grin of a madman who had been pushed too far glared on his face and his eyes glinted as though demonically possessed, but not even he, in that moment, would have used demonic influence as an excuse. He owned his crazy. He was a man no longer on the edge; he had already leapt over the cliff.
Yomi was one of the enigmatic realms of the underworld. Since no soul was known to have ever survived a walk through the black lands of the Nothing, no one knew exactly what dwelled inside the realm except miles of Nothings. It was the realm of certain second death.
The Raven's fright upset her breathing, which was already damaged from the fumes the Inferno exhaled.
"It might get a little nippy in there," he said. "And I don't like the cold." He unfolded her justaucorps and slipped his arms into it.
"Now, after you, please." He waved a hand.
She didn't budge. Anger got the best of her.
"Start walking!" He blasted a fork of lightning at her feet. Gray sand spurted into the air.
She staggered her first step into Yomi. Gimlet grunted and held back.
"You too, Gimlet!"
The cornurus bucked, but rather than gently caressing Gimlet's horn as he always had, Cross poked the cornurus with his pink parasol and zapped her with a short burst of lightening. Gimlet cried and paced forward.
Inside Yomi, the chill scorched the Raven's skin just as much as the heat from the rest of the underworld had, and the frigid air intensified the scent of charred meat beneath their feet.
Cross snuggled inside the object-hiding blanket while she shivered violently. The harder she breathed, the less air she could pull into her lungs, and the poison she managed to inhale swelled in her chest and stole her breath.
Her knees buckled, and she careened down a hill of filthy Nothings. The blisters on her face split open. Her skin felt as if it were on fire.
"You can do this, Raven," said Cross. "If I can walk across Sheol, you can do this. Now, get up!"
Slimy black rain fell from the black sky. She swayed to her feet, taking abbreviated steps. Her wings acted as sponges and soaked up the thick oily liquid raining down, and the extra weight bogged her down more.
By the second day her legs could no longer hold her weight, and she was reduced to crawling through the wet soot of the Nothing; it blanketed all the land in Yomi. So much ash, it resembled sand. In some areas it was elbow deep. Billions of souls must have met their second deaths there.
Her fingers slipped through their eye sockets and her palms crushed their brittle foreheads. They were as dead as anything could get in the underworld, but she sensed they were aware of her dragging herself over them. She had an eerie feeling that they were watching her.
Periods of sleep went by without any rest. The fires of the Inferno shrank until she and Cross had traveled so deep into Yomi that the flaming landmark could no longer breach the darkness in Yomi.
They were completely engulfed in the black stained realm. Just as the light of paradise touched everything, the darkness in Yomi clutched the world around them in its grasp. Yet, she could see Cross as clear as day as if it weren't dark at all. For whatever reason, the darkness didn't touch them.
Besides the hundreds of shriveled souls who had died second deaths, she saw nothing else for miles; she heard nothing in their vicinity which was unusual for the underworld; she smelled nothing, and felt nothing. The only life in Yomi was her, Cross, and Gimlet. And the Nothings.
Whispers surrounded her ears. "The Raven must fly south," said the whispers. "You have work to do."
Her desire to survive must've been slipping out in the form of hallucinations. But then, Gimlet twisted about as if spooked. She could have been dreaming that too though.
"Who are you?" Cross called out into the open. "Show yourself."
The Nothings sprang to life, slithering around and moaning absent cries. They swarmed and swirled along the ground circling her, Cross and Gimlet. The black circle of spirits shrank, forcing the three of them closer together.
What the Hell was going on? Nothings never moved or spoke. They were nothing after all. She may have just discovered the reason why no soul had ever escaped Yomi.
The Nothings had gathered in great mass. If they had any intelligence at all, they likely coalesced to make themselves more powerful. There was always power in numbers. That would only mean that second death wasn't quite the end for spirits.
Was there truly an end to anything?
The Nothings grabbed the Raven's limbs and clung to her wings. She could barely keep her chest off the ground, let alone fight them off. She didn't want to become whatever the hell they were.
The muscles in her arms dissolved to mush, and her elbows gave way. She dropped face first into the soot and surrendered. Nothings entered her nostrils and clogged her lungs. She coughed them out her mouth until hands pulled her under.
ICE CLUNG TO CROSS'S SKIN, but he remained numb to the black bite and immune to fear. The fact that the Nothings had suddenly come to life merely reaffirmed the underworld's trickery. It would have made less sense to him if their liveliness were all an illusion or a figment of his disturbed imagination. He would have even welcomed such a hallucination if only because the reality of what was actually happening was much more demented. How long had these creepy things been playing dead? Were they always lurking around and spying? Why would they show their true nature to him at this moment?
Hate raged in his roasting heart for the pointlessness of life and the absurdity of death.
He struck the Nothings with lighting, but when one exploded, another materialized in its place. They kept attacking, one blob after another. They were surrounded by Nothings for miles.
Gimlet hopped around in panic with nowhere to run. Cross fell off the cornurus, losing the top hat, and his necklace slipped from his shirt.
The Latin cross shined brighter than it had ever shined before, more brilliant than the flaming skies, nearly as dazzling as the light of paradise, and it touched the darkness the way nothing else could.
The Nothings recoiled and wailed.
Cross took the necklace in his hand. He focused the heavenly light upon the Nothings, and it repelled the devilish dark. The Nothing's bubbled and clumped together forming a black mass of despair that overpowered the light and absorbed it.
A swarthy funnel of mourning twisted up to the dreary sky, and from the tornado emanated a shadowy serpent. Jagged fangs hung out of its enormous jaws.
Cross stared directly into its bleak eyes, standing firm, mentally prepared to burn. "I didn't realize I would receive such a welcome," he said. "I hope you enjoy the offering I brought you."
The serpent split its jaws apart and crashed its mouth down onto Cross, swallowing him whole. Arms yanked him downward. His collar ripped off his shirt. He tumbled into the beast's stomach.
Charred heads of difference sizes lined the walls, some large enough to swallow others. They bubbled and writhed around in a floating motion. He didn't recognize any of their slimy, sooty faces. They were all black and ugly as ever.
They all spoke at the same time. Millions of whispers surrounded him, some in his own language, and others in languages he couldn't interpret. It was as though they were compensating, speaking as many languages as possible so as to not go misunderstood.
Even the parts he could understand failed in making any sense. The voices rattled off numbers and formulas and equations. They spoke of dates and names of souls he didn't know. Not only were they calculating and judging him and reading him, they talked amongst themselves. They asked each other questions and answered them. They argued and then agreed on how to proceed.
"Behold," they said. "It is not yet time for you to join us, Charles Hill."
"How do you know my true name?"
"Do you not remember us? It has been quite a while."
"I don't know who or what the hell you are, and you definitely don't know anything about me."
The voices laughed in all their various accents. "There is little we do not know, particularly when you are the subject. We know that you rob and steal, lie and cheat. You've received and sold stolen objects. You have even robbed innocent souls of their personal objects. And that's just what you've done in death. Of course you would not be here in the underworld if not for all the sins you've committed in life."
"I didn't come here for a lecture," said Cross.
"We know perfectly well why you've come to us." The Nothing's fell silent and the hundreds of eyes picked him apart. The mouths whispered and discussed him. "Unfortunately for you, we do not judge. Nor do we punish. We welcome all souls and receive all as they are. However, you have presented yourself to us prematurely. Devour the light we shall. Together. As one. Yet on a day that is not today."
"What do you mean?"
"You shall come to know the answer when you have finished current concerns. Shepherd the girl. Then you shall join us, and we shall escape the underworld forever. We will wait for you, Charles Hill. Our savior." The Serpent dissolved from around him and evaporated like black fog swept away in a gust of wind.
The Raven lay face down and motionless in the soot, unburned. His hatred for her had washed out of his heart. He no longer craved revenge. He felt that he had already gotten his retribution by torturing her for the past few weeks.
Unfortunately, the Nothing told him that if he were to shepherd her, he would burn and become a nothing himself. That spooked him more than it ever had.
He hadn't even planned on surviving the trip through Yomi. He was going to burn himself after he burned the Raven. But now he knew that becoming a Nothing meant more than simply dyeing a second death. It meant joining another miserable entity. He couldn't allow that to happen. He had to survive.
"You want me to shepherd the girl, huh?" he said. "Oh, I'll shepherd her." He held the parasol as he would if it were a shotgun and aimed the tip at the Raven.
She raised her head as far as her weak little neck would allow and inched away from him hopelessly, crawling on her stomach.
He stepped on her back to stop her from moving. He hesitated. It was a long time coming. The Raven was powerless against him. He could do anything he wanted to her. But he no longer wanted revenge. He only wanted to survive. But he couldn't just run away now. The Raven had to burn now or he would burn later. He stalled again. Striking her with lightning didn't feel right.
"Not this way," said Cross. "You deserve better." He hooked the parasol on one of Gimlet's straps and grabbed the Peacemaker, the weapon that killed him.
Gimlet leapt in his path and roared.
He patted Gimlet on her broad shoulders. "Don't look." He stepped around the cornurus and crossed himself. He cocked the Colt's hammer. "Well, this is goodbye, Raven. May the Great Goddess have mercy---"
Four pale horses trotted in their direction, hauling a carriage-sized blob of blackness. Was it yet another trick of the underworld or perhaps even a scheme from the Nothing itself?
As a precaution, he paid attention to the black hunk dragging behind the horses. He recognized it as one of the ferrymen's flying boats. It glided toward him, skipping wildly over the Nothings like they were waves, but never actually touching the ground. He had never seen one running wild like that. No Ankou was present in the driver seat, which was even more unusual.
When the boat closed in, he grabbed the horses' reins. Peacemaker in hand, and ready to shoot anything that moved, he checked around and under the boat. It hovered above the ground as though it would rather not be touched by the grimy fingertips of the underworld.
Cross climbed inside the cabin area of the boat and investigated. Inside, he discovered burned Tribulation soldiers. All had deteriorated into Nothing. He crossed himself and sifted through what was left of their belongings.
He searched their pockets and recovered a pocket watch from one, a gold coin from another and a satchel on the third. Inside the satchel lay a map, and a makeup-kit with the name "Tivoli" stitched inside it.
He'd heard that name before when he was alive. A friend of his old boss, Mr. Carson, was named Tivoli. He tucked the map inside his pants.
A black hand grabbed his wrist. The arm was attached to the soul who owned the satchel. The man was on the verge of second death, half dead and half deader. He was missing an ear, the same ear the man in the water didn't have.
"Found the last Toran," the man rambled. "I can get you out of here. Just get me devil's water."
The combination of the man's familiar voice, the name Tivoli, and his missing ear were too much of a coincidence. "Who the hell are you?" asked Cross.
"Balfour," said the man. "Clem Balfour now. True name is Tivoli. Mark Tivoli."
Cross took a deep, long stare into the man's eyes and remembered. "You're the man in the water."
Tivoli grabbed Cross by the shirt and pulled their faces close. "Charles?" Tivoli's other hand turned black before Cross's eyes.
"Let's get you out of this boat." Cross dragged Tivoli to the doorway of the cabin. The man began to chip away. Cross halted. Not wanting to move Tivoli's brittle spirit again, Cross hoped out of the boat. Tivoli hung over the edge of the boat.
"What was that you said about the last Toran?" asked Cross.
"It's buried. It's safe."
"But the Toran's a myth. Souls search, but they never find anything."
"I can show you."
Tivoli's condition suggested he wouldn't survive the next few minutes, let alone go on a grand adventure to find the last Toran---if it ever existed in the first place. Tivoli could have been talking hysterically as a result of being so close to second death. But if the Toran were real, Cross could escape the underworld entirely. But he needed Tivoli to spill its location before the Nothing took over his spirit.
"Tell me where it is," said Cross.
"A bone orchard," said Tivoli.
"What bone orchard?"
"Valley of the heads. Skull Hill. There's a head..." Tivoli fainted.
Cross shook him. Tivoli regained consciousness.
"Which head?" asked Cross. "What does it look like? What kind of markings? Have a number? A name?"
"A name," said Tivoli. "You must ask for---" Tivoli gagged. "Water. Water."
"You must ask for water?"
"Me." Tivoli's neck turned black. "Need---water."
"You talk first. I'll give you the water later. Now, I got Skull Hill. The Valley of the Heads. But under which skull? It must have a name or something."
Tivoli passed out again.
"All right, all right. Don't burn!" said Cross. "I'll get you water." He raced over to Gimlet and grabbed the parasol off the straps. He spotted the Raven's top hat half buried in the black sand. The Raven was gone. The Nothing's must've taken her.
He placed her top hat to his chest. "May the great Goddess have mercy on your soul." He crossed himself and headed back to the flying boat. The Raven leaned up against the boat right next to Tivoli.
"Get back!" Cross kicked the Raven away from Tivoli whose entire spirit had already shriveled to Nothing. Sprinkles of the hollow man of ash floated off in the icy wind.
Cross aimed the umbrella at the Raven. "I should've burned you."
"If you do that," said the Raven, "you'll never escape the underworld. You'll always be damned like the miserable soul you are. If I were you, I'd keep me alive."
"What did he tell you?"
"A name. The name of a skull."
Cross knelt in front of her. "What name? Tell me."
The Raven slumped forward unconscious. Cross caressed her cheek. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
"Raven? Don't burn!" He opened the parasol and sprinkled water on her lips. "This is fresh water. Not like that burnt devil's water. Drink it up."
The water dribbled down her face.
"Please, Raven. You can't burn before telling me. I'm your friend. I found your hat for you. Want it back?" He dusted it off and lifted her eyelids to peer into her deathly gray eyes. "I'll get you some help, all right? I'll help you. And when you're all better you can tell me the name."
Cross shined the light of his Latin cross on the boat. The Nothings slithered out of the cabin, including the one-eared Mark Tivoli, a.k.a. Clem Balfour. Cross gently laid the Raven in the empty cabin with her top hat and hastily tied Gimlet's reins to the dead horses as the lead.
Gimlet snapped at the horses to show them she was in charge. They snorted and stared at the cornurus. Cross gave his magic touch to all three of the ghost horses. In an act of goodwill, they blew on him and nuzzled him.
A painful scream woke Charles. Mr. Beckwourth sat up in his bed clutching the injury he sustained in his fall.
"That horse threw you pretty good," said Charles. "You really chewed that gravel. I gotta say, for an old man, you can really stand the gaff, but good thing I was there." Charles hopped out of bed and slipped his legs through his pants.
Thunder rumbled outside and rain tapped against the attic window. Mr. Beckwourth mumbled under his breath and plopped back down on his pillow.
"One day I'm gonna be the most respected Bronc Buster that ever lived," said Charles buttoning his shirt. "I'm gonna do rodeos and everything."
"Boy, you ain't even fifteen years yet."
"Two more years, I will be. And just think of all the skills I'll have by then."
Mr. Beckwourth leaned up in his bed again and yelped like a panicked coyote. "Look, the boss is coming by train today, and I'm in no condition to ride into town. You're gonna have to go in my place."
Charles stuffed a foot into his holey boot. He didn't want to go to town in the cold, pouring rain. "But I've never been to town alone," he said. "I can't---I mean what about Mrs. Carson? Who's gonna tend the ranch all day?"
"I'll take all that up with Annabelle---I mean Mrs. Carson. You just go prepare the carriage. We shan't miss the boss's arrival now."
Fully dressed, Charles turned to slog out of the attic. He wasn't looking forward to the long drive though the rain storm.
"Hold on." Mr. Beckwourth lifted his pocket watch from the table and dangled it in the air. "Take this. The boss will be on the 12:09."
Charles skipped over to grab the watch. Mr. Beckwourth yanked it back.
"Break this watch," he said. "I break you, boy."
Charles smiled, nodded, and took the watch out of Mr. Beckwourth's grasp.
"And grab the merchant list from the kitchen," said Mr. Beckwourth. "You may as well get some errands done while you're in town."
Charles glared at the shiny pocket watch on his way out of the attic. In the past four years he had served under Mr. Beckwourth, never once had the majordomo allowed Charles to touch his prized pocket watch. But the generous deed wouldn't make up for sending him out in the down-pour. He traced his thumb along the cross engraved on the lid, and in the corridor outside the attic he collided with Kate. They both apologized at the same time.
"What're you doing all the way up here?" he asked.
"Good morning," she said. "You really curried the kinks out of that horse yesterday."
He perked up. "Thanks. I think it put kinks in Mr. Beckwourth though. He's pretty banged up. He can't pick up the boss from the train station, so I have to." He stepped down the spiral staircase.
She followed him down the stairs. "How about I come with you?"
He halted at the second floor landing. She had never accompanied Mr. Beckwourth on a trip to pick up her father unless Mrs. Carson went along.
She twirled her finger around her hair. "You know, so I can browse the merchant shops. And it's such a long way. You might need company out there all alone on the prairie."
It didn't matter why she wanted to come with him. He smiled inside and may not have tried hard enough to keep the emotion off his face. He floated down the steps with the thought of the two of them riding alone together. Not even the rain could dampen his spirits. But as they reached the second floor, his heart dimmed.
"Mrs. Carson ain't gonna allow us to go into town by ourselves," he said. "It's one thing to send me instead of Mr. Beckwourth. But you---"
"What's wrong with me?" she asked.
"Nothing. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have a problem with you coming along."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
He scratched the back of his head. "Well, yeah. But it ain't up to me."
Kate placed a hand on his shoulder. His body grew warm all over. He wanted her hand to stay there forever.
"Don't go without me." She dashed into her mother's room.
His holey boots slapped the first floor. Lightning flashed through the windows, pushing the darkness away for an instant. He broke through the drencher and made it to the stable where he prepared the horse and buggy.
By the time he came back into the mansion to pick up the merchant list from the kitchen, Kate was dressed for travel. She twirled her pink parasol as if modeling for him. He wiped his smile away at the sound of Mrs. Carson's shrill voice.
"You are not to be late for the train," said Mrs. Carson. "Do not pick up any wanderers along the way, and you are not to speak to anyone until you arrive in town. Any sign of trouble, you ride back here. And you Charles," she quipped. "You are to remain chivalrous at all times. I'm holding you responsible for Katherine's safety."
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
If she was so concerned, she could have come with them or went to pick up her husband herself. Charles could have stayed with Mr. Beckwourth. But Charles knew about the Carsons' little fuss. He wasn't privy to the details, but whenever the boss came back from one of his trips, the lady of the house was cold toward him. They didn't speak to each other much, and when they did, it was rather hostile. None of that really mattered though. Charles was excited about making the trip with Kate.
The two of them skipped outside into the moist air. The sun was rising, the raining had stopped, but the world was still wet and cold. He dried off the buggy seat before Kate sat down.
"How'd you convince your mother to let us go together?" asked Charles.
"There's some things I know about her that no one else does. Especially my father."
He never took Kate for a four-flusher, but knowing she was capable of a swindle intrigued him even more. He liked her fearlessness.
He snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled away. The lonely mansion shrank behind them and dipped under the hills, and they were alone together out in the wide country.
He felt closer to her more than ever, and it wasn't just because she was sitting right next to him. They had never been out on the prairie together, just the two of them. They had been alone together in her room a few times reading books, and also on the ranch while he worked. But in those moments, at least one of her parents was always close by, restricting them being their true selves around each other.
Now they were free.
He shivered from nervousness, and during the ride, Kate talked more than usual. Perhaps it only seemed that way because they were spending more time together than normal. Thinking about it so much made him more nervous. His ability to speak escaped him. He simply nodded and gave one word answers during their one-sided conversation.
Halfway to town he stopped the carriage at a lake swimming with swans and allowed the horse to drink. The summer air was now fine as cream gravy. The sun shined unencumbered by any clouds, and the big ocean-blue sky was absent any blemish. The world around them had dried up as if it had never rained all night.
The rest of the way to town, Kate leaned on him and napped. His shoulder burned from friction, but her touch and the fragrance of her hair was worth the pain. She could lay on him for all eternity, he'd never complain.
Two hours before noon, he and Kate arrived in town. Wagons and carriages rolled over crackling rubble; spurs jingled at the heels of men in velveteen suits; workers hammered on half-constructed buildings; a photographer in the middle of main road snapped pictures; a townsman relaxed in a chair outside the barbershop, leg up on the post, watching the world go by; and a group of older boys, all barefoot, hung around. Boys like them were always on the shoot, looking for trouble.
There was a powerful sense of freedom Charles felt from being in town without Mr. Beckwourth. He could go anywhere and do anything he wanted---within reason.
He parked the carriage in front of the train station and split the merchant list with Kate. The two of them worked together at an energetic pace and finished running the errands within an hour. With a bit of time to dilly around before the train arrived, Kate ordered a milkshake from the Fruits & Cold Drinks merchant and shared it with Charles behind the drugstore so no one would see. Later, she also split a donut and ice cream with him. It was the best day of his life.
"I'm going to take a look inside Dress Making," said Kate. "Ms. Abigail was making a dress earlier that I adore." She darted off.
Charles entered Dry Goods and Clothing. He needed new clothes, especially boots. He browsed the shop and found a pair of button shoes. He purchased a whole outfit for fifteen dollars, and he still had fifteen left over. The merchant placed all his items in a box just as the locomotive's whistle blew in the distance. He carried his box outside to the porch.
Deep in the valley, smoke puffed off the train's shoulders like a black cape as it slowly chugged down the tracks.
Two of the barefooted boys from earlier stood at one end of the sidewalk. They stared at Charles and snickered in a way that unsettled him. Did they see him and Kate drinking from the same cup?
Thunder rumbled in the sky.
He paced across the road to the carriage as if it would inherently provide him safety. The boys followed his steps down the sidewalk. Charles kept an eye on them with side glances. At least Mr. Carson was on his way now. If the boys tried anything funny, the boss would step in.
Relieved when he finally made it to the carriage, he sat his box of clothes in the seat. A boy jumped out from under the carriage and stole the box.
Charles snatched for the box. The thief tossed it over the carriage and into the hands of another barefoot boy. Charles raced around the carriage. A slug bushwhacked him from behind. He twisted and slammed to the ground chest first, splashing in the mud. It was the one spot on the road that hadn't dried up yet. His entire front was covered in thick brawn muck.
Giggles and taunts surrounded him. The bullies dug into his pockets and bilked his fifteen dollars. Charles gathered himself from the dirt.
People strolled past, minding their own business, and glanced at Charles in a way that indicated they believed that he deserved the treatment. Did they all witness him and Kate behind the drugstore sharing food and drink? Was that so bad?
The ring leader of the group of boys wore Charles's new hat and held Mr. Beckwourth's pocket watch. Charles snatched the chain end of the pocket watch. The boy flicked it open and closed it repeatedly, dangling it out of his reach.
A door flapped open and out popped the meat merchant, blood splotched all over his apron. "You've had your fun, boys," said the meat merchant. "But you're gonna have to take the rest of your bulldozin' away from my shop. You're upsetting my customers."
The barefoot boys shinned out laughing. Kate ran out of the Dress Making shop from across the road and rushed over to Charles. He dried his eyes before she got close.
"Did they hurt you?" she asked.
"They were just horsin' around." He forced a smile, but his emotions slipped through. He turned away, trying to hide his face from her, but by then it was no use pretending.
"What happened?" she asked.
"They took my hat, my clothes and my money, but I don't care."
"You should care. That's not right." A scowl plastered on her face just like the angry frown her mother always carries around. But this time Charles wasn't the recipient of the evil glare.
Kate spun her head around toward the five boys giggling under the awning in front of the hotel. The ringleader twirled Charles's hat around his finger and then propped it on his head.
Thunder boomed overhead and the clouds had darkened.
"I don't care about what they stole from me," said Charles, "I can get more stuff. But they took Mr. Beckwourth's pocket watch. I promised him I wouldn't lose it. I don't know what I'm gonna do. He's gonna whoop---"
Kate marched away and had already stomped halfway to a confrontation with the boys before Charles could plead with her to let it go. He trailed behind her.
"Here kitty kitty," said the ringleader, leaning up against a post. The boys sitting on the porch laughed.
"Give him back his belongings, Jesse." said Kate.
"I haven't the slightest clue as to what you're referring to," said Jesse.
"The money you all stole from Charlie. Return his clothes too and that pocket watch. It's not his. It belongs to someone else."
"I thought we were friends, Kitty."
"I told you, don't call me that."
"Then don't go calling me no thief."
"You're wearing his hat." She snatched for the hat.
Jesse grabbed her arm. Charles stepped forward. The other boys pressed their palms against his chest, holding him back.
"This here is my hat," said Jesse. "Now, calling me a thief is one thing. But implying that I'm also liar, them's mighty harsh accusations."
"You're hurting my arm," said Kate.
Jesse released her. She snatched the hat off his head.
Jesse sprung off the post he was leaning on, and loomed over Kate. She backed away, now looking like a frightened coyote, trembling at the presence of a mountain lion.
"You know the only thing worse than a lying nigger," said Jesse, "is a nigger lover. They may as well be a nigger themselves."
Charles jumped to Kate's defense. He swallowed hard. He had never been in a fight before.
Jesse smirked. "They must both want to be learnt a lesson, boys."
Two boys grabbed Charles from behind and held his arms back. The other three boys grabbed Kate at her sides and lifted her off her feet. She struggled as they carried her to the carriage, laughing as though it was the funniest sight they had ever seen. They tossed Kate into the carriage. One of the boys smacked the horse on the ass. The carriage took off, running away with Kate.
"What'd you go and do that for?" said Jesse.
"I thought---"
Jesse shoved the boy. "I do the thinking."
The carriage raced down Main Street and out of town. A rage Charles had never felt in his life came over him. His heart thumped. His vision tunneled.
The sky dropped bucket loads of rain onto the town.
He found the strength to break free of the boys' hold. He punched one, laid the boy out. He grabbed the arm of the other and slung him into the hotel door. Jesse backed away, palms up. Charles jammed his hand into Jesse's pocket and snatched Mr. Beckwourth's watch.
"I'll be back for the rest later." He raised his fist. Jesse ducked.
Without hitting the boy, Charles leapt off the sidewalk and saddled a horse tied to a post outside the hotel. He raced the horse as fast as it could run down Main Street and out of town. It only took him a few minutes to catch up to the side of the runaway carriage. He reached out to Kate.
She stared down at the whisking ground and shook her head. "I can't."
"I won't let you fall," he said.
She extended her hand, timidly. The carriage turned sharply and threw Kate to the rear seat. He raced up alongside the carriage again.
"You all right?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I'll come to you this time. Don't worry. I'm gonna save you."
He placed both feet on the slippery saddle and crouched, preparing to jump. He balanced and leapt over to the carriage. Kate caught him in her arms. They locked eyes and were lost to the world around them for a lifetime.
The carriage struck a bump and threw Charles off of Kate. He climbed to the front of the carriage. The reins dragged on the ground, impossible to reach. He leaned over the dash rail and prepared to jump onto the horse's back.
The carriage slid around a bend. He slipped and fell over the dash, gripping onto the rail. His feet dragged along the ground, dragging a trail through the mud. The wheels sloshed on either side of him. Rain and mud beat him in the face. Mr. Beckwourth's pocket watch dropped out of his pocket. The rear wheels ran over it.
Kate grabbed his wrists and heaved him back into the carriage. Charles took a breath to gather himself, angry that he had dropped the watch after getting it back from the bullies.
He leapt on the horse's back and placed his hand on its damp mane just as Dimentia, the old woman from the plantation, had taught him when he had first learned about his magic touch. He stroked the horse, and it came to a sliding halt.
He hopped out of the carriage and helped Kate down. She embraced him and buried her face in his chest. He held her tight and comforted her.
A horse galloped up to them. The identity of the rider was hidden behind the veil of heavy rain. Charles held Kate closer to him. He released her when Mr. Carson leapt off the horse. Kate flung herself into her father's arms whimpering.
"Don't worry," said Cross. "I'm gonna save you."
Determined to heal his precious Raven, he sailed the flying boat north toward Niflheim, gliding and bobbing over every obstacle in his way. The flying boat simply skimmed over rivers, barely touching them. The pale horses galloped across the liquid surfaces while Gimlet swam.
For a week, Cross's emotions swayed between genuine concern for the Raven's wellbeing and caring more about her half of the secret to the location of the last Toran. Escaping the underworld won out mostly, but in his chest pulsed increasing warmth for the Raven.
She lay in the cabin helpless and innocent and suffering. His destruction of such a beautiful creature didn't sit right with him all of a sudden.
He wrapped her in the blanket. "Don't you give up, you stinkin' buzzard. We ain't got too far now. You just---" A jolt of pain stabbed his palm. He pulled the splinter out of his hand and tossed it, blindly.
He grabbed the Raven's delicate body and shook her. She let out a gasp. It wasn't a final release of breath. He had heard those before. Her gasp was the wonderful sound of shallow breathing. She hadn't burned! But that didn't explain why he had gotten the splinter.
The splinters never preceded the second death of someone close to him. He had always gotten the sign afterwards. They were never omens of things to come, only confirmation of things that had already happened. The Raven must've burned briefly and somehow came back. But he had never seen any spirit come back from second death and always thought it was impossible.
If the Raven hadn't burned, the sign could have announced someone else's second death. But whose? He hoped it wasn't his old friend Sinuhe. That's who he was taking the Raven to see. Sinuhe and the other monks of Vingólf were the only souls he could think of that would be able to heal her.
He used the techniques he had learned from the monks to take great care of the Raven over the next months' worth of traveling. Had it been him on the verge of second death he suspected he wouldn't have lasted as long, but the Raven clung on to her afterlife, going in and out of consciousness. He didn't know how she was fighting the Nothing from taking over her spirit, but at some point the black growth had stopped spreading. There was only a hint of the Nothing on her neck.
He examined her face, arms and legs, and they were all clear. The poison calabash juice in her system could have been defeating the Nothing or the Nothing itself was curing her of the toxins from the fruit. Both in combination should have burned her though, unless they canceled each other out. Either way, the Raven was a strong woman, the strongest woman he had ever known besides Kate. Neither of them was weak like him.
Halfway to Niflheim, he reached the abyss of Ginnungagap. It stretched for many periods of sleep in front of him and miles to the east into the Inferno. To avoid any of the Anarchist troops marching out of Kurnugia, he traveled along the orange and green edges of the Ginnungagap until he came to a bridge, which cut through the yawning abyss, making for a slightly shorter journey than going around its edge.
He slowed the ghost horses and Gimlet down and guided the boat across the rickety bridge carefully. Swimming through Ginnungagap wouldn't have been the same as crossing the other crazy rivers the underworld offered.
The dark blue liquid that filled the gap was frozen, yet at the same time it boiled like a stew. It was stuck in a continual loop of freezing and thawing into bubbles of gas, and the steamy mush smelled worse than the river of puss in Xibalbá. Sometimes it spewed so high into the air it touched the black clouds, and what the sky didn't boil to vapor would instantly freeze in place, only to thaw seconds later and crash down on the boat in slushy chunks and then evaporate.
By the time he reached the foot of the frosty mountains of Niflheim, whatever fight the Raven was putting up was gone. She was losing her battle. Her once milky skin had turned almost completely blistered and black. Only splotches of her normal skin remained on her legs, arms and face.
Finally, he spotted Vingólf through the mist of burning ice and falling snow. It looked almost same as when he last saw it. Only at first glance was it an honest priory. Closer inspection gave way to its macabre construction. There were so many obvious repairs in process that the snowcapped cathedral appeared abandoned. It was like a child had decided on a whim to patch up holes with pieces of junk he had stolen from a hodder. Some areas were built entirely of objects of the dead, and at some point during Cross's absence, the steeple had broken off at the tip and the dome had fallen in. He grew worried that he had made such a long trip in vain. He hoped the place was still occupied by his old friends.
He breathed in relief when a disfigured monk met him outside. He scooped the Raven in his arms and hopped out of the boat. "I have a very ill woman here."
"What happened to her?" asked the Monk, who was both a man and a chair at the same time. His legs were the chairs legs, his head propped up on the back of the chair at the head rest, and the arm rests were his arms and hands.
"War happened, Father."
"Poor child," said the monk shaking his headrest. "Set her down."
Carefully, Cross sat the Raven on the monk's seating area. The chair-man reclined, allowing the Raven to lie back comfortably.
"Is she still breathing?" asked Cross.
"Barely," said the monk. "Let's get her to a room."
Cross crossed himself. "Where's Prior Sinuhe?"
"He's away. He should be back any day now."
Unless he had burned. That was the easiest explanation for receiving the splinter. Sinuhe was the only soul he cared enough about to have received a burning sign.
Inside the hall of Vingólf rested wounded Anarchist and Tribulation troops together in one massive open hall. Many were on the brink of second death like the Raven. Monks and nuns tended to their hopeless injuries, giving the soldiers a proper send off more so than healing them. Only a miracle from the Great Goddess could save the soldiers. Maybe only a miracle could save the Raven.
The black soot of the Nothing spread all along the floor, webbed along the walls, crowded the columns, and made the cavernous hall seem smaller and suffocating. Some of the half-Nothings crawled as if they had some place to go, moving at a snail's pace.
Cross and the monk swept across the great hall stepping over a few of the pitiful souls and carried the Raven down a corridor to a guest room. As Cross began to enter, the monk shoved him away.
"Wait out here. She needs rest, soldier."
The soot covering his and the Raven's clothes made them look like Anarchist soldiers.
"Take care of her please," said Cross. "She's like a sister to me. If anything were to happen to her---"
The door slammed in his face. He crossed himself, and fearing the worse, began fiddling with the brim of her top hat. He stuffed his hands inside it trying to return its shape.
A deep sadness developed for the Raven. She was a lot closer to his heart than he ever realized or would ever admit to. But more pressingly, he'd never get out of the underworld if she burned. He sneaked a sip of devil's water from the Raven's flask and belched a puff of smoke. Then her kneeled down and prayed to the Great Goddess.
"You've never let me down, Magna Mater. I need another one of you miracles." He took out his Latin cross and kissed it. Its light dimmed.
THE RAVEN LAY IN HER BED, KNOCKING ON SECOND DEATH'S DOOR. Cross was right when he said that the Nothing really sinks its fangs into a soul. To her terror, it had taken a bite out of her and injected its deathly venom deep into her being. Every spot on her body where the Nothing had taken hold was numb and hollow. If she moved too vigorously, she would crack and shed flakes. She dreaded if one of her limbs were to fall off.
Luckily, the Nothing hadn't reached her head yet. At least her hearing still worked. Cross's distinct shuffling footsteps came down the hall before he entered the room. He sat down on the edge of her bed.
His shirt was still completely soiled in the soot of the Nothing. His collar was completely striped off. He must've lost his magic button in Yomi when the Nothing attacked them.
"There's no hope for you," he said. "Only a miracle from Magna Mater herself can save you now. It's all my fault." He slapped his hands against his face.
The gesture came across to her as forced. She'd seen his act enough to recognize it, but the inflection of his delivery told of dual concern for her health and for his salvation. A part of him genuinely cared for her. His compassion murmured in his heartbeat. The rhythm was faint, but she heard its whisper, and it took her by surprise. But his self-interest boomed, overpowering any affection towards her.
"If I knew I was about to make the big jump," he said, "I would tell about the Toran." He wiped what could have been an honest tear from his eye.
The filthy rat would never get her to talk though. The name of the skull would burn with her, because he deserved the underworld's unholy matrimony, like every other spirit in it. He wasn't special. She didn't feel an ounce of sympathy for him.
"Please, Raven," he said. "Please tell me the name of the skull. It's no good to you if you're a Nothing. If I get out of here, I'll always remember you." He crossed himself and poured her a cup of steamy black water that was supposed to taste like coffee, but had the flavor of ground up metal. "Drink this." He held the cup to her lips.
She waved Cross to her face, pretending she had something important to tell him. He leaned in closer and held the cup up to her mouth. She knocked the cup in his face, dousing him with the steaming black drink.
"You dirty bitch!" He threatened to hit her with the parasol handle.
His ugly words never hurt her. They were just words after all, and only true words could really cut a soul. And only those souls who were in denial of the spoken truth hurt the worse. Falsehoods only impacted the delicate, and she was far from the sensitive type. She wouldn't have lasted so long in the underworld had she been the type to fly off the handle at the least little thing an ignorant soul had said to her.
The impetuous manner in which Cross always spoke was so outrageous and ridiculous, it bordered on parody. All of it deserved a laugh. He was just a weak man trying to hurt a woman who was much stronger than he was. She was a dirty bitch and didn't care who knew it.
"I asked the Great Goddess to send me an angel," she said. "I'm glad you came when you did." She cracked a smile, turned her head to the side on the pillow, and closed her eyes.
Three weeks of consistent snowfall dropped by the Raven's window, threatening to bury the priory alive, but never achieving such a worthwhile goal. Amazingly though, she was able to sit upright on the edge of the bed, feeling almost back to her old self, but not quite. Most of the ugly splotches of Nothing had faded away. She was lucky to have recovered at all.
Cross had prayed at her bedside every day, but she refused to believe the Great Goddess had performed any miracles on her like he kept saying she would.
But, there was an unusual side effect to her recovery. Her spirit had changed inexplicably. She felt as if she regained a past essence. She felt whole again, as if she had reunited with the soul she never knew she had.
Cross entered the room and slammed a bowl of devil's water on the table. "Alright you dirty snatch," he said. "Get your fat ass off the bed. The party's over."
She flattened her feet on the floor and rose slowly. She wobbled on her tender limbs, and stuttered past Cross without any of his help. A slap stung her ass.
"Get a wiggle on," said Cross. "The boat is all ready to go, and with the way Nothing's are filling up in this place, we better leave before we join them."
The chair-monk clunked into the room. "My son, Prior Sinuhe has returned."
Cross nodded. "This is something I have to take care of," he said to the Raven. "It'll only take a minute." He left the room with the monk.
The Raven fastened her belt around her waist and reconnected with her rope dart. During her recovery, she and Cross had made a temporary and unspoken agreement to share the objects in the blanket. As long as they both kept their half of the secret in regards to the location of the Toran, neither one owned an object exclusively. When the secret was out, everything would be up for grabs.
She unrolled the blanket and asked for the mirror. The glass popped out of the comforter. She gazed into the mirror. She had a brief déjà vu feeling as her reflection astral projected out of the glass, and an exact copy of herself stood across from her. She was in two places at once and fully aware of both of her selves. Fatigue sat in the bones of her original self while a painless numbing sensation resided within her duplicate. She sensed that her twin wouldn't get hurt if it sustained any injuries. After all, it wasn't real. It was just an illusion. Other than that, she was in both bodies at once. There was only one difference between her two selves. Her mirror self was right-handed instead of left-handed.
As her duplicate, she followed Cross and the chair-monk down a maze of several corridors. Not a single soul acknowledged her presence as she sneaked through the various halls. A monk who was both a man and a wardrobe passed right through her or either she passed through him.
Her existence was similar to a ghost prowling amongst the living. She halted, surprised at this new fact that was somehow old knowledge. An awareness of the living had escaped the confines of her subconscious mind and resurfaced. The information was new to her in that moment, yet she had an odd understanding that it was known to her once before. She must've forgotten it along the way.
Cross and the monk dipped around a corner. She caught up to them before she lost them in the labyrinth of hallways. Cross entered a storage area where a robed monk was filling boxes with ceramic angel statues. Cross held at the entrance as if unsure how to proceed. The Raven stepped right into the center of room, neither of the two the wiser of her presence.
The monk removed his hood and revealed the face of a normal man, an everyman. He had the face of someone who could blend in anywhere and would never stand out in a crowd. He had no distinct facial features, wasn't ugly, but wasn't particularly attractive either. He was simply average, yet he carried a worldly air about him, as if he had not only been around as long as she had, but had been everywhere and seen it all. The Raven couldn't quite peg him.
He kept his arms folded, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes, appearing trustworthy but also capable of being the sliest devil in the underworld. She had the sense that one could safely place their confidence in him, but he could also con you, and possibly wouldn't hesitate to if it suited his best interest.
For an instant, it seemed as if the monk had looked directly at her, but then he glanced away and his stony face glared at Cross without any emotion, as if meeting a stranger.
"You've finally ended your foolish quest?" he said and surveyed Cross's wardrobe up and down, probably thinking Cross had joined up with the Anarchists who wore all black.
"It's not what you think," said Cross. "My clothes are covered in soot. I had an object." He reached for his missing color. "But I lost it. It's a long story. You look very well. It's been what? Three hundred years since we last saw each other?"
"Three hundred eleven years, nine months, eighteen sleep cycles, six hours and twenty seven minutes."
"That long?" Cross mumbled some numbers to himself while counting his fingers. "That means I've been...." He paused. "If you say so. You were always good with time, Sinuhe. If not for you, I'd never know when to sleep. You've always looked out for me. That's why I came. You're like a brother."
"I'm not your brother," said Sinuhe.
"You're right," said Cross. "A true brother wouldn't have abandoned me."
"Abandoned you? I've done everything but abandon you. The reason you're standing here right now is because of me. I've helped you in more ways than you even realize. Do you know there are spirits out there who will not hesitate to burn you for what you know?"
"Yeah, I've met a few of them. They came for my neck. They burned. I didn't."
"I'm not talking about your memories, Cross. I'm referring to the others who are also searching for the last Toran."
Cross paused, looking as curious as the Raven felt. It was beyond her how Prior Sinuhe could have known about the Toran.
"Toran?" said Cross. "What do you mean?"
The Raven smiled at his acting ability. She didn't think Sinuhe believed him though, but it was smart of Cross to not show his cards, even to a supposed friend. It was difficult to know which soul to trust in the underworld.
Sinuhe reminded the Raven of herself. He was extremely subdued in his facial expressions and mannerisms and he seemed to have absolute control over his emotions. Everything about his behavior was deliberate. A soul would only get as close to him as he intended. He continued to stand there like a pillar of imperviousness, arms folded and hands tucked into his sleeves.
"The Rudimen and the Ankou are allowed to come and go as they please," said Sinuhe. "It's their job. But for souls like us, there are very few ways to leave. One of those ways is through a Toran. Don't pretend as if you don't know what I'm talking about."
Cross waved a dismissive hand. "The Toran's just a myth. It doesn't exist."
"That's only what I told you in those silly tales. I was lying then, just as you are now. I possess an object that allows me to keep watch over you at distances greater than you can imagine. I know what you're up to."
"So you don't talk to me for three hundred years, but you continue to spy on me all this time?"
"For your own good."
"You know nothing about what's good for me."
"Unfortunately, I know more than you do. And given what you're up against, you'd better hope you can turn that around."
"What am I up against?"
Sinuhe lowered his head and shook it. "Just find the Toran before anyone else does. Do that and you have nothing to worry about." Sinuhe returned to placing angel statues in the boxes.
Forfax's ring glinted on Sinuhe's finger. He must've been the man she saw at the squal's ceremony months ago. He stole the Eye of Providence from the squal. That must've been the object he had referred to that allowed him to see across great distances.
Cross stormed across the room, kicking up straw that littered the floor. He grabbed Sinuhe's arm. The monk spun around.
"If you believe so much in a last Toran," said Cross. "Why aren't you going after it?"
"Because it isn't meant for me." Sinuhe laid a hand on Cross's shoulder. "It's meant for you. But the others have no regard for things like destiny. They won't hesitate to steal it for themselves."
"Well if it's my destiny, then it'll be impossible for anyone to steal it away from me. It's all mine."
"Sometimes, very rarely, the right disturbance can alter a soul's fate. That is what you're up against."
"Why are you telling me all this? Why would you help me after everything?"
"Because we're old friends," said Sinuhe. "And when you get out of here, you're going to come back for me."
Cross laughed. "I think you've got your robe wrapped too tight, Sinuhe. You've been living in Holy Land way too long, my friend. Because if I ever leave this place I ain't never coming back. For nobody. Especially for an old good for nothing friend like you."
Sinuhe smiled, showing his first sign of emotion since the conversation began. "I'm such a horrible friend. Yet you stand before me, not even knowing why you're the Man Who Remembers."
"Because I never drank from the River Lethe."
"Exactly," said Sinuhe. "Every soul that comes to the underworld drinks from river of Lethe. All except you. Why is that?"
Cross shrugged. "The ferrymen wouldn't let me. And I was really thirsty too. But they held me back and told me it was poison. I saw the other spirits drinking it, but I believed what the ferrymen told me because they weren't drinking. I was fresh fish then. What did I know? Still wonder why they did that though."
"The Ankou refused you that drink because I paid them."
Cross leaned his head back. "Why would you do something like that?"
"Because drinking from the River Lethe causes complete forgetfulness of any trace of your previous life."
"But why would you want me to remember my life?"
"I only did as instructed."
"By who?"
"By a power greater than that of all the underworld."
"Magna Mater?"
"No, no. I think you know who."
"The Nothing?"
"You've only recently discovered what the Nothing is, but there are many souls, like me, who have known of its true nature for a very long time." Sinuhe stepped over to the window and gazed out into the falling snow. "The Tribulation believes the Nothing to be a pariah within their system of ancient deities, which will annihilate all existence thereby bringing unwarranted change. That's why they resist it. On the other side you have the Anarchists who consider the Nothing to be a symbol of hope. They believe it paves the way for a prosperous future.
"Incidentally, both sides are right. The problem is neither side listens to the other. The Tribulation are trying to hold onto the glories of their past, but either they don't realize, or they just don't care, that this golden age they refer to was a horrible time for everyone else. They are uniformed and fight against their own self-interest. The deities never cared about them. They abandoned the Tribulation long ago. Even they disagreed with the actions taken by their followers in their holy names.
"Meanwhile, the Anarchists have developed this sick idea of oppression, and not even I know what they stand for anymore. That's the trouble with ideologies. They each demonize the other side so much that when it's time to come together and make things happen, it becomes impossible. Even more problematic is that neither side listens to the Nothing itself. And who pays the price? We do." Sinuhe gripped the windowsill with both his hands. "The innocent always pays the price for the incompetence of decision makers."
"Yeah, yeah," said Cross. "So, what does all this have to do with finding the Toran being my destiny?"
"This is why I was away." Sinuhe faced Cross. "From the very beginning, your mere presence here in the underworld doomed everything. You played a part in creating this colossal mess, these wars. You thought you could just make your worldly concepts available without any repercussions. Now, everyone knows of the Man Who Remembers and his tales of life beyond." Prior Sinuhe chuckled. "To think, after all those legends I imparted onto you over the years, you ended up becoming one of your own making. You've surpassed mythical status, Cross and become an undeniable fact of afterlife. You've changed the course of many tides. Before you arrived, each underworld had its own system. During your stay, it has all collapsed."
Cross picked up an angel statue out of a box. "You're saying I destroyed the underworld?"
"Nulla si crea, nulla si distrugge, tutto si trasforma," said Sinuhe.
"What the hell does that mean?" asked Cross.
"Nothing is what it once was since your arrival. The only gate still standing is the A'raf of paradise. You know, I never understood why they extended the A'raf to block the River Lethe from the damned until now. I think their goal was to prevent you from reaching it, but it's only a matter of time before it falls like all the others. Cerberus now wanders the underworld without a gate to guard. Níðhöggr has abandoned Hvergelmir. Everything is evolving."
"Let me tell you something." Cross waved the statue in the monk's face. "This place was hell way before I got here."
"And now it is unthinkably much worse off."
"I don't see how. And so what? What if the underworld is ending? What do you want me to do about it? Build an Ark?"
Sinuhe sighed. "You're either part of the solution or part of the problem."
"The way I see it," said Cross, "if it weren't for you paying the ferrymen to stop me from drinking from the River Lethe, I wouldn't have any stories to tell and none of this would have happened. This is your mess. Not mine."
"And your exit from the underworld is the only way either of us can even begin to clean it up."
"Well good riddance." Cross smashed the statue on the floor. "The underworld never did anything for me. I don't even know why you care so much about it."
The unbroken statues cried a melody similar to those that Cross always sang, but without lyrics. It reminded the Raven of home.
"That's your problem," said Sinuhe. "You don't care about anything or anyone but yourself. Your ego is the size of a colossus, and you're diseased with a skewed sense of self-entitlement. Outside of evil, you've managed to do nothing worthwhile. All I've seen has been atrocity upon atrocity. You truly don't deserve to leave. If it were up to me you wouldn't."
The angelic song of lament pouring from the statues overpowered the Raven's focus and she found it hard to juggle between listening to the singing and following Cross's conversation with Sinuhe, both of which she wanted to hear equally.
"You think you're better than me?" said Cross. "Look where we are. You don't know what I go through. The burden of knowing what I know. What it's like outside of here. No one does. You have your path and I have mine."
"Just because we're dead," said Sinuhe, "doesn't mean all hope is lost. There's always hope. This environment doesn't make us, but as long as you allow it to determine who you are, you will remain a resident."
The angelic choir drowned out the argument. The Raven's eyes filled with a watery blur. Unrequited love enveloped her. She remembered how Father's love had yanked away from her in her distant past. She was more broken than the statue on the floor of that storage room. She covered her ears, refusing to relive the pain of past.
Sinuhe stepped in front of her and stared directly into her eyes. She backed away from him, stunned, but then understood that he could see her because he possessed the Eye of Providence.
"Embrace it," he said.
"Embrace what?" she asked.
He swept the shattered angel pieces with a broom. Cross was no longer in the storage room, which meant he was headed back to her room. Prior Sinuhe knew she was there the entire time and never announced her presence to Cross. Why?
She averted her eyes from the mirror. Her twin vanished out of the storage area and jumped back into the mirror as her reflection. She felt as if she had just woken up from a daydream.
Cross met back up with the Raven, and they silently packed the boat with supplies for their journey to wherever the last Toran was located. Gimlet led the four ghost horses, and all five beasts hauled the duo in the boat away from the snowy cathedral.
"I didn't tell you my very best friend runs this place?" Cross asked the Raven as she steered the boat. "He's the boss. That's who I went to go see. He didn't even want me to leave. He begged me to stay. He offered me food and drink, and even invited you to join us. Whenever we see each other, he hugs me tight and never lets me go. He kisses my check tells me to be safe. He cares about me, you know." Cross turned away from her and stared out into the deserted snow banks. He lowered his voice to a somber tone. "My friend loves me like a brother. We're practically family. Picture that. Even a hard case like me has a one true friend somewhere in the underworld who will never refuse me warm barbot soup."
There was a charming naivety in the child-like manner in which he tried to fib to her. His face was stony, but unmistakable sadness pervaded the beat of his heart. She sympathized with the filthy slug. In fact, he wasn't such a filthy slug in that moment.
She saw a lot of herself in him. There was some good in his soul. The good was just buried deep under a heap of ugly, like hers. The only reason he had tried to burn her was because she tried to burn him first. If she had approached him differently from the start, then conceivably their relationship could have been better now. They could have even been friends. She missed having friends. Cross may have been a total jerk, but he was the type of soul that would defend a friend's honor with the same intensity that he used to retaliate against his enemies.
She'd seen him extol Gimlet constantly throughout their journey together. The first week of her recovery in Vingólf, she had kept her still-working ears locked on him out of suspicion, and for her own protection, and from the discomfort of her bed, she eavesdropped on him speaking to the cornurus.
Cross had profusely apologized to Gimlet for his striking the cornurus in Yomi. He specifically didn't ask for her forgiveness. He expressed his regret and remorse and promised never to harm her again. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable to her ears.
He obviously cared about the cornurus, and the draggles just as much. Her slaying of the poor creatures seemed to be the spark that lit his fuse. He would have attempted to burn her out of his need for revenge at some point, but his complete descent into madness began with their second deaths. They were the reason he had risked sacrificing his own afterlife, dragging her through the black lands of the Nothing. She took the draggles away from him, and she was sorry for the most part. But she couldn't tell him that. Not now. The two of them were still adversaries. It wouldn't change anything between them.
She handed him the flask as a friendly gesture. He wiped his eyes, drank, and began humming.
"What are those songs you're always singing?" she asked him.
"They're called spirituals. You like them?"
"I'm not sure. They make me feel...a certain way."
"There are two kinds of spirits in the underworld: those that can feel the breath of the Great Goddess grace over them when they hear her song, and those that feel something else. If you can feel Magna Mater's breath, that's a good thing. If you've never felt it before, it can be a little scary at first, but you shouldn't resist it. You should embrace it."
That was the same thing Prior Sinuhe said.
"Now if you feel that other thing," Cross continued, "then I can only feel sorry for you, my friend. You'll want to avoid it but I don't think it's possible."
"How do I know which feeling is which?"
"One uplifts your spirit. The other, fortunately I've never felt it before. I've seen what it does to demons though. It annoys them at first and then it makes them ill. It only gets worse from there."
If only she had the courage to allow such grace to touch her spirit. She was afraid she wasn't worthy. The purity of the Great Goddesses breath might annihilate her.
Their travels went by uneventfully for a few sleep periods, which was uncharacteristic of the underworld. Gimlet and the pale horses pulled the boat up and down hills with little effort, and they quickly left the snowy mountains of Niflheim in the distance behind them.
The lack of danger unsettled the Raven more when an accumulation of Nothings increased, scattered across the valley. Thousands of black hands, feet, and heads protruded out of the ground, littering the underworld with the black plague of second death. An endless trail of Nothings lead directly into whatever force had wiped out all those souls.
While she steered the boat, Cross kept a keen eye on the map he had stolen from Clem Balfour. He planned their route to the Toran, but never announced the final destination. Nor did the selfish lump ever allow her to peek at the map.
"Here's the Leipt River," he said out loud to himself, pointing at the map. "If we go south and head through Kurnugia---cross the River Hubar. Go southwest through the hills of Ekera...that sure is a long way. But after that---"
"Then what?" asked the Raven stealing a glance at the map.
Cross rolled the map up. "Then we get there. I'll let you know." He reclined back in the boat.
"I noticed we'll be crossing Anarchist and Tribulation lines a few times," she said. "I thought you might tell me where we're going."
Cross leaned back up. "Towards a gate that's gonna get us outta here. Is that good enough for you?" He lay back down.
That was good enough for her in a sense that he kept confirming where she stood with him. Obviously, he still didn't trust her---understandably so. She still didn't trust him entirely either. But that was probably because she knew how distrustful he was of her. He'd double cross her just because he might think she would do the same to him, and he would want to strike first.
But given what the two of them knew about the Toran and the fact that neither would reveal their half of the secret to each other and the possible trials that may lie ahead of them, they were going to have to stick together, which meant that eventually they would have to trust each other. They needed to have one another's backs more than ever now. Unfortunately, Cross was just a little too self-centered and thick headed to understand that quickly enough.
It was a wavy ride through the twisted metallic city of Kurnugia. They stopped there for a rest. A lone Tribulation soldier fed them barbot soup and gave them beds. From there it was a topsy-turvy jaunt through the rocky mountain ranges of Ekera. The trail of Nothings that the Raven was keeping a note of thinned out over that week through the hills.
Cross and the Raven had taken turns steering the boat; one slept while the other sailed, and one day the Raven was enjoying a rare pleasant nap when Cross shook her awake. Initially, she thought he had disturbed her slumber just to be spiteful, but the underworld was against any soul having good dreams.
"Troops are coming," said Cross.
She removed her top hat which covered her eyes from the bright blue burning sky. "Black or white?" she asked, her voice still groggy from sleep.
Cross leaned forward and paused. "I should have taken those stupid glasses from that hodder." He squinted a little longer before ruffling his shirt. He brushed it with his hands vigorously and coughed as the soot sprinkled off into his nose. "This stupid soot is gonna get us burned. Stupid Nothings stole my button."
They hadn't had the opportunity to find new clothes, and the soot of the Nothing was still covering their outfits, making them look like members of the Anarchist gang.
She climbed to the front of the boat to get a look at the approaching troops. Dust swallowed the soldiers, kicked up by the animals they were riding. She could vaguely make out the white uniforms of the Tribulation.
Cross rolled the blanket open. "Gimmie the comb, Blanky. Hurry!" The blanket smacked him in the face with the comb. He fumbled with the comb. "I don't know if this will work on clothes," he said, and he scraped the teeth across his pant leg. In an instant, his trousers changed from black to white. He combed his shirt, and the Raven combed her justaucorps, slacks and top hat. They sparkled in immaculate purity.
"Now we're white like them," said Cross.
They may have been too shiny, too sterile even for the Tribulation. They might've identified themselves as holy, but they were still a gang after all.
The soldiers galloped closer. Cross waved his Latin cross in the air as a friendly gesture. The troop slowed down, and the dust settled around them. They were riding scorpions.
Only Anarchists rode scorpions, but these soldiers were dressed in the white of the Tribulation. The uniforms were a little more faded than usual though.
The troop surrounded the boat. Dingy helmets riddled with bullet holes sat above empty eye sockets and sewn mouths on the decaying spirits. Their captain slapped a coat of dust off his sleeve, revealing the black uniform of the Anarchists underneath.
THE ANARCHISTS WRANGLED THE GHOST HORSES easily, but Gimlet bucked in refusal of being captured. She crushed a soldier under her hooves.
"Thata girl," said Cross. "Give 'em hell."
Soldiers held him and the Raven back from the action. The gang of about twenty members outnumbered the two of them anyway, and they all possessed objects of the dead. If he and the Raven had tried to fight them or resist arrest, they would have certainly lost.
Cross was forced to stand idly by and watch Gimlet scurry about, dodging the soldiers' attacks. A handful of soldiers dove onto her back. She threw them off, slaughtered one with her spiked tail, and impaled another on her horns. They lassoed her neck, but she dragged them behind her.
She galloped towards Cross. Fright he had never seen her show bulged in her eyes. The terror spread wide across her smiley face. Normally, she wasn't afraid of anything, except unusual rivers. She must've sensed something that he didn't.
The Anarchists had plenty of scorpions to ride. They didn't need Gimlet for transportation. They could have let her escape. The only possible reason they went through the trouble trying to capture her was because they wanted her meat. Those sons of bitches were hunting her! The ghost horse meat was inedible, and he hadn't seen any barbot's in the sky since they had been in Ekera. Gimlet was the only food around for miles, and they would have to eat her spirit flesh raw.
Cross pointed Gimlet away from the camp out into the underworld. His cornurus obeyed and banked left. Soldiers aimed their various weapons and unleashed a hail storm of many kinds of ammunition: bullets, arrows and spears. Gimlet belted out a horrible scream and flopped to the ground in a crushing thud. Cross flinched.
The firing ceased and the soldiers poked his innocent cornurus with a stick. There was a faint rise in Gimlets chest. She was still breathing. Under normal circumstances, Cross would have been happy, but he knew that wasn't a good thing for the cornurus. The soldiers had to eat her alive or the meat would burn to Nothing.
The Anarchists dragged Gimlet back to camp and slaughtered her alive. Gimlet roared in agony with every tear of her flesh. Cross snatched the Raven's sack and rolled the blanket open.
"Gimmie the Peacemaker," he demanded of it. The blanket revealed the Colt Single Action Army.
"Not a good idea," said the Raven.
He clutched the Peacemaker. A soldier stepped up to him carrying a tray and offered them raw pieces of Gimlet's torn flesh. Cross's insides fought their way up to the back of his throat.
"Git that outta my face, you bastard!" He smacked the tray to the ground and aimed the Peacemaker at the soldier who flung his hands up and chewed on a piece of straw as though not the least bit frightened.
Cross raced over to Gimlet, hardly able look at his mangled friend. She, like the Raven, was stronger than he was to withstand such torture. He crossed himself. The mother. The maiden. The crone. "May the Great Goddess, Magna Mater, please have mercy on your soul." He placed the cold barrel of the Colt on Gimlet's center horn. "Blessed be to my dearest Roaring Gimlet."
His finger squeezed. The hammer boomed. A force tackled him from behind. His face splashed in Gimlets ash. The person sitting on his back snatched the Peacemaker from his hand. He flipped over. The Raven raised the Colt's handle and struck him.
The last day of November brought extra chores for fifteen-year-old Charles, and he still hadn't been able to enter any rodeos yet. He woke earlier than normal that morning and took care of all his usual duties in haste while Mr. Beckwourth limped about in the kitchen cooking breakfast. He was never quite right since his fall two years ago.
After Charles removed the ash from the fireplaces and prepared the fires, he dashed food in the animal bins outside, brought in fresh eggs, milked the cows, fetched water from the well, and gave the horses rub downs in cool water.
The peppery aroma swirling from the kitchen beckoned to his stomach. He and Mr. Beckwourth were never allowed to eat with the Carsons, but the two servants always shared supper between themselves in the attic where they slept.
Sharing meals was the only time Charles really felt close to the majordomo. It was Mr. Beckwourth who had taken him to church on Sundays and taught him how to recite the Lord's Prayer. They knelt every night at the edge of their beds and gave thanks to God before every meal. In those moments the muscle-bound old man was less like a boss and more like a friend, but with so much work to do each day, even those moments seemed as few and far between as an invitation to join the Carson's at the table for a meal. On that special November day, Mrs. Carson had done just that.
Charles carried the breakfast trays into the dining room as usual and sat them down in front of the mistress and Kate.
"Sit with us," said Mrs. Carson.
She must've needed the company and was tired of sobbing over Mr. Caron's desertion of his family. Just a few months after Charles had saved Kate from the runaway carriage, Mr. Carson left the ranch and never returned. And for the last two years of his absence, Mrs. Carson had been keeping herself locked in the boss's study for days on end, howling. Sometimes, while locked in the boss's study, it would sound as if Mrs. Carson were speaking to another person even though she would go in and come out alone.
Her angry scowl rarely lifted from her face, but the frown faded away that morning, if only slightly.
"Don't be bashful," she said. "Today there are no formalities. Sit down. Eat. It's Thanksgiving day."
"Very kind of you." Mr. Beckwourth sat.
Charles followed and the four of them gave thanks to the Lord. Every time Charles peeked over at Kate, her eyes danced away, and he averted his eyes when she glanced at him. At one point, their eyes met, and he thought everyone at the table could hear his heart banging. He and Kate both focused their gazes down at the table and then glimpsed each other again.
Charles could hardly pay attention to his food. His appetite had vanished. He ate what he could though. If he didn't put something in his stomach now, he'd regret it later. After everyone had finished their meal, he cleaned the table and went on to finish the extra chores in preparation for the big social gathering.
He pulled each carpet from the halls, hung them on the line, and beat the dust out of them. He dusted the chandelier, replaced dwindled candles, and filled the lamps. He swept the floors and scrubbed down the porch, applying enough elbow grease to leave them gleaming. Even though he knew he wouldn't be allowed to join in with the festivities, he felt proud of his hard work and shuddered at the thought of how it would all go overlooked and end up stained by the time the party ended. His skills would go a lot more respected if he was breaking and training wild horses like he wanted to.
He laid the puncheon floor outside for the dance and set up slab benches. Mrs. Carson hung evergreen garland, wreaths, and bunting and lit candles all around the ranch, turning it into a fairyland.
That evening guests flocked to the ranch wearing merry expressions and their best bibs and tuckers. The fairer sex paraded in their fine red, blue, and green calico dresses. Charles parked the guests' carriages and buggies around the side. Mr. Garrett, the man who helped rescue him from a hanging years ago, remained the only guest who acknowledged Charles's presence. The bearded man actually said, "Hello" to Charles before helping his wife and his daughter out the carriage. He wore the same glowing ring Mr. Carson owned.
"You like this ring?" said Mr. Garrett. "How would you like to wear one?"
"I can't afford such luxuries, sir."
"If you should ever see fit to depart from the Carsons, you have a job on my estate."
"That's very kind of you, sir. But I ain't too keen on takin' no offers."
"There's three thousand acres if you accept. My ranch is bigger than the Carsons', so you'd have your own living space on your own piece of land. I'll even pay you double what the Carsons' pay."
"Double, sir?"
"That's right. And you can get one of these here rings. Think about it." He patted Charles on the back and joined the growing party.
Charles parked the Garretts' carriage and pondered what could be the end of sharing an attic with Mr. Beckwourth and the beginning of living on his own land. An offer like that never came around. He hopped out of the carriage and gazed up at the mansion he had lived in for the last six years. Could he just leave?
"Charles!" Mrs. Carson's voice screeched over the music. "What in the blazes is holding you up, boy?"
Carriages had lined up. Guests were waiting. He finished parking all the carriages until no more guests were arriving. All the chatting had ceased and the fiddlers' melody slowed.
Kate glided down the porch steps in her satin gown. A long curl of her hair hung down and touched the edge of the V shaped bodice. Her skirt hid her feet and she seemed to float across the grounds like an orchid-colored fairy.
Charles locked his gaze onto her, and hers laid on him. They were the only two people on the ranch. One dance with her would fulfill his waking dream. He refused to leave the Carsons because he refused to leave Kate. She was worth more than money or land. She was everything.
Men clamored for Kate's attention and affection, bumping each other out of the way and following her around like puppy dogs. They all tried to make a mash with her, but Charles knew that secretly she was giving them the mitten. She teased them and hardly seemed interested in any of them. He hoped not.
Clack. Mr. Beckwourth snapped the pocket watch in his face. The object was still bent from when the carriage rolled over it. Charles was lucky to even have found it after such a difficult search.
"Get a wiggle on," said the majordomo.
Charles picked up trays from the kitchen, and on exit, Kate pranced over to him. "May I have this dance?" she whispered, sounding half serious. He laughed the invitation off.
"It would drive them all into a tizzy," she said, "to see us dancing together."
"Keep your voice down," he said.
"Oh, it's perfectly fine for you to stand there and serve them, but dance beside them? Unthinkable. They'd lose their sensibilities." She paused. "At least have a chocolate."
He turned away from her. "You know the rules."
"Break the rules," said Kate. "Everyone else does."
She faced him and stood so close to him he could feel her breath on his chin. Uncomfortable warmth draped his body like a coat of burning coals. He glanced around at the guests scattered throughout and turned sideways from her before anyone saw them standing so close together.
"I wanna keep my neck attached to my body," he said.
"This is your party as much as it is ours." Kate sidestepped to face him again. She put her smooth gloved hand on his forearm. "You built all this stuff. You worked awfully hard today as you always do. It's not right that we get to have all the fun while you just---"
"I'm having fun." Charles pulled away from her. "Staying out of trouble is as fun as it gets for me. Don't mess that up."
She folded her arms and sat down on a bench. "I refuse to get up and have any fun tonight if you're not having fun."
"You're not gonna sit there all night."
"I will too."
"I won't let you."
"Good." She stood up and grabbed a chocolate from his tray. "Then, drink."
He glanced around for Mrs. Carson and couldn't spot her amongst the partygoers.
"Go on," said Kate.
The cup touched his lips. Mrs. Carson came out of nowhere as though she had popped out of the ground. "Kate, don't you go getting the boy in trouble now."
"Oh, mother it's just one chocolate. Let him have one. President Lincoln's dead. It's Thanksgiving. And after all Charlie's done for us it's the least he deserves."
The smile that Mrs. Carson had forced on her face for her party-guests lapsed into her scowl briefly. "Be discreet. Just one. And then it's back to work you go." The hostess returned to her guests, and the hearty smile found its way back on her face.
Charles raised the cup as a toast to Kate. She watched wide-eyed as he sipped the sweet drink.
"That doesn't mean that you still don't owe me that dance." She twirled her hair and smiled.
A man stepped between them, and with his back, he shoved Charles out of the way.
"Well, if it's a dance you desire," said the man, "then surely I can be of service, madam."
"I don't dance with just anyone," said Kate.
"I'm not just anyone," said the man. "It's me, Jesse."
Kate's angel eyes brightened to Charles's surprise and resentment. Her glow was meant for him and no one else, especially not Jesse. And more than anyone, she had to know how horrible of a person he was. Just last year, Jesse and his gang not only murdered unarmed Union troops, but they chopped off the dead men's heads just to dishonor the bodies.
Charles had never gotten the rest of his clothes and money back from Jesse either. Guests called his attention away. He left Kate to catch up with Jesse and served a chocolate to a guest. Kate hooked her arm into Jesse's and followed him to the dance floor.
In his heart, Charles suspected that she wasn't interested in Jesse. They were just old friends. What pained Charles more than anything was watching her walk away with someone who wasn't him. He would never be that man she would walk onto a dance floor with.
She glanced back at Charles and scrunched her face as if reassuring him of her disinterest in dancing with Jesse. She crossed her eyes and made twisted faces. Charles smirked, feeling mildly encouraged by her display.
Clack. Mr. Beckwourth snapped his pocket watch. "You two ought to quit it now," he said. "I ain't got the best eyesight. But if I can see what's going on, then other folk surely can as well. And if I must say, as a friend, that's one beast you can never tame, magic touch or not."
Mr. Beckwourth was right. Charles was kidding himself. He never had a chance with Kate, even if she pursued him. All the odds were stacked against them. Not only was he her servant, she was also the boss's daughter. Negros and whites didn't mix. He was torturing himself with impossible fantasies.
He returned to being invisible and scuttled around the party like spooked cattle. He cleaned spills, replaced dwindled candles, and crawled beneath the puncheon floor whenever someone dropped anything smaller than a peach between the logs. Guests began filing out at midnight, thanking Mrs. Carson for "a magical time," "excellent hospitality," and "a wonderful tribute to our dear President Lincoln." Charles seriously considered Mr. Garrett's offer as the family prepared to leave.
"Kate and I were just catching up," Vivian said to her father. "Can I stay? The Carsons' driver can take me home."
"You can't just volunteer the services of someone's help," said Mr. Garrett. "I'm sure Mrs. Carson has some other duties for him to perform. She was kind enough to throw such a magnificent event, we wouldn't want to intrude on her generosity. Come along now."
"It's quit all right," said Mrs. Carson. "Vivian and Katherine rarely get to see each other. It wouldn't be a problem for Charlie to drive her home. If it's alright with you, Mr. Garrett, she can stay a little while longer."
Mr. Garrett scratched his beard. "Another hour then." Charles pulled the Garrett's carriage around and Mr. Garrett helped his wife inside.
"Have you thought about my offer, son?" asked Mr. Garrett.
"Yes, sir," said Charles.
"And?"
Charles hesitated. He still hadn't committed to a decision either way yet. "I think I'll stay here with the Carsons for now if that's all right."
Mr. Garrett drew in a deep breath and guided Charles away from the carriage. "Let me tell you something, son. Mr. Carson's been missing for going on two years now. That's the longest he's ever been away. He hasn't written a single post since he's been away."
"How do you know?"
"The steam-engine brings all the posts through my town, son. I have my eye on it. The point is, Mr. Carson ain't coming back. You know it. I know it. Everybody knows it. I think that's the reason you don't want to leave this ranch. And I understand. You feel like you have to stay here and take care of Miss Katie and Mrs. Carson. That's very noble and I appreciate your sense of generosity. But you have to think about yourself. What I'm going to give you is something colored folk rarely attain. I'm going to give you ownership of your own property. You think the Carsons are going to share what they have with you? Look at your friend Mr. Beckwourth. All those years slaving on this ranch and nothing to show for it. That's not to say that the Carsons aren't good people because they are. They've always been dear friends of mine. But you'd never have to ask permission to have chocolate at one of my gatherings."
"That's quite all right, sir. I don't mind. If I work hard, I can buy my own chocolate."
Mr. Garrett narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. "I don't think my words are quite sinking in. Look, it's very honorable that you don't want to bad mouth the Carsons behind their back. I admire your loyalty. It's just that I treat all my people with respect. And I very much dislike it when I see someone innocent being disrespected. That's why your old master hasn't found you yet."
Charles flinched at the mention of his old master and was slow to respond. "What do you mean?"
"The master you ran away from," said Mr. Garrett. "What was it? Six years ago when you found yourself in my town? There's a reason that man hasn't found you all these years."
"What reason is that?"
"Come work for me and I'll explain everything. I might even know the whereabouts of the culprits who committed that atrocity upon your mother."
The hair on the back of his neck pulled his skin apart and his body felt cold. "With all due respect, sir. Why haven't you told me anything about this until now?"
"I'm a business man. Some bits of information are best kept until the opportune moment."
"Why do you want me to come work for you so bad?"
"I just like to surround myself with good souls." Mr. Garrett hopped in his carriage. "Don't make a decision yet. Ponder it for a while. Soon, I'll be having a rodeo. You can join if you please. Give me you answer then." He and his wife rolled away into the night.
Hundreds of thoughts raced through Charles's head at once: joining his first rodeo and being respected for once; his old master and life on the plantation and now having the possibility of owning his own land; finding his mother's murderer.
Anger stirred in him that he hadn't experienced since he lost his mother. He had imagined taking revenge on his mother's killers enough that the act had become a reality in his mind; he had already done it. Mr. Garrett's revelation changed everything. It brought him spiraling back to that fateful day. A blur of figures swayed before him, people were still dancing.
"I'm ready, Charlie," said a hazy figure in front of him.
He perked up over the fact that someone else other than Kate and Mr. Garrett had recognized his existence and knew his name.
"I promised my father I wouldn't stay too late," said Vivian. "You can take me home now."
"It's been an hour already?" he said.
"Not quite. It seems Kate's attention is held up at the moment, and it's probably going to be a long night."
Kate sat on a bench with Jesse deep in a conversation that implied she had forgotten that Charles ever existed. Indeed, it would be a long night.
"I don't think she's fond of him," said Vivian. "She has eyes for another. Won't tell me who though. Some mystery man." Her expression pinched as if she smelled something foul. "Why are you still here? Bring the carriage around." She waved her hand dismissively.
Vivian acted as pretentious as Mrs. Carson, while Kate behaved as respectful as Mr. Garrett. It was as if Mrs. Carson and Mr. Garrett had the wrong daughters. They should switch families. Then he could own his own land and be with Kate at the same time.
Charles brought the Carsons' two-seated open carriage with big red wheels and helped Vivian inside. The horse trotted them into the night.
"I overheard you speaking with my father," she said. "And I want you to come work on our ranch."
"Mr. Garrett put you up to this?"
"My father doesn't know I'm doing this. This was my plan alone. So, what's it going to take to get you to say yes?"
"This can't be just about my servant duties. I'm not that good."
"Honestly, I don't know why they want you so bad either."
"They?"
"Men come by our ranch all the time. At least they used to. My father was in some sort of fraternity with your boss. But when Mr. Carson disappeared they all stopped coming around."
"The last time I spoke with Mr. Carson he said some things to me that I didn't understand. And tonight your father says he has answers for me."
"Answers to what?"
"Long forgotten questions."
"These men always get what they want, Charlie. And for whatever reason, they want you. It's best if you come willingly."
"Don't act like you care about me."
"I'm not heartless. I know what people say about me, but they don't really know me." She paused and stared out into night. "Haven't you ever wanted someone to notice you? Just to acknowledge that you exist? I have five brothers. My father does everything with them, but it's like I'm invisible. And I just thought that if I could convince you to come work for our family, then my father would finally pay attention to me." She turned sideways on the seat and faced him. "So will you?"
He understood her discouragement, but she was still acting on her selfish priorities and not in his best interest. She didn't care about his wellbeing more than she desired to be exalted in the eyes of her father. Charles had to look out for himself as he always did.
"I know what that feels like more than you know," he said. "But, I'm sorry, Vivian. Actually, I'm not sorry. Why would I be sorry for making my own decisions? I'm staying with the Carsons. Now, you sit back before you fall out."
"I'll sit how I like. Thank you very much."
Charles rolled the carriage over a stone on purpose. The carriage rocked. He grabbed her arm and hoisted back onto her seat before she could fall out.
She slapped his hand away. "Get your filthy hands off me." She slid her back flat against the backrest. Charles grinned to himself at his ability to bring out her true personality.
"You're staying because of her aren't you?" said Vivian. "Because of Kate?"
"I have my reasons."
"Of course you are," she said. "All the men at the party seemed to have lost all their dignity fawning over her. I don't know what you all see in old rat-face Kate."
"I thought Kate was your friend."
"You know, it just occurred to me that the way Kate speaks of you verges on scandalous."
"I do my job well, apparently."
"You must do it dreadfully well because she speaks as highly of you as she does her mystery man."
"I doubt she speaks of me at all. Even if she does, I think you might be exaggerating her words about me."
"I don't think so. The way you two were making those faces tonight, her dancing with Jesse is the only thing that put the kibosh on any gossip before it started to swirl. But what if that was just an act?"
"Jesse's a good fellow. Any woman would be proud to walk arm in arm with him. Why would she pretend?"
"To protect her mystery man." She danced a finger in his view.
He swatted her finger away. "Kate can choose any guy she wants. If you're implying that me, her house worker, is the mystery man, that there deserves quite a laugh."
"Laughable to some. Blasphemous for others. And I don't see you smiling. You know, if something like that were to ever get out, it would be terrible for all parties involved. Kate's good reputation would be soiled. And you---"
Charles pulled the reins. The carriage skidded to a halt. "Don't you threaten her."
Vivian slid across the seat away from him. "You sit back down," she said. "If you dare think about putting your filthy hands on me again, you'll hang."
Charles sat back down and whipped the reins. The carriage pulled off with a jolt. They rode in silence the rest of the way to the Garrett's sprawling ranch. Vivian leapt out of the carriage, refusing his helping hand, and she stormed up to the mansion.
He took his time returning to the ranch. He wasn't too anxious to stumble upon Kate and Jesse in a compromising position. His imagination ran wild with all the ugly possibilities.
Back at the Carsons' silent and dimly lit ranch, all the partygoers had gone. Kate met him outside alone.
"You're still in your dress," he said.
"Mother thinks I'm in bed." Kate hauled him by the arm over to the vacant puncheon floor. "You owe me a dance."
The one thing he thought would never be possible. "There's no music," he said.
"We'll make our own."
They started out prancing around, swinging about in a dosado, all the while giggling in hushed tones, trying to keep their voices down. But when Kate tripped and stumbled forward into his arms, the air changed. Their bodies touched for the first time since their first hug when he rescued her from the runaway buggy. He welcomed the warmth of her angel eyes. They bore into his spirit, and planted a piece of Kate's soul in his for safekeeping, for remembrance, and for eternal residence.
With the weight of a feather, she rested her hand in his as though laying an infant in a crib. She held his other wrist and placed his hand on her waist. With a firm grip on her side, he drew her into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, sending tingles all over the surface of his skin. Together they warmed the cool air around them as they swayed. He sensed the music they made together and knew that she heard the same melody as they were both in tune to each other's steps. They didn't just dance; they were gliding as if on ice, as if flying. They levitated and lifted off into the Heavens, liberating themselves from the prison of reality.
Dancing with Kate was too good to be true, too perfect to last. He felt like she was doing him a courtesy before she went out with Jesse.
"So, you and Jesse seemed to have quite a bit to discuss." He regretted bringing up the topic as soon as the words left his mouth.
"Oh, I don't want you to get the wrong impression." She placed a comforting palm on his chest.
His heart pounded.
"I'm not very fond of Jesse at all," she said. "I remember the terrible things he did to you and to me. And I've heard rumors of worse things he's done since. The only reason I agreed to dance with him tonight was because me and you started to get funny looks from folk. And everyone expected me to dance with Jesse. He's handsome. He's a war hero. According to everyone, he and I are the perfect match." She halted her steps and shoved Charles away. "I don't know why I'm so different. Why can't I just be like everybody else?" She turned away from him.
"What do you mean?" Charles stepped up behind her.
"I'm not supposed to like you. Not in the way I do." She twirled back around to face him. Her eyes widened. "But I can't help it. I wish I could help it, because it's so exhausting keeping up a false appearance all the time. But I don't know how else to survive. Everything you and I are doing is supposed to be wrong but it just doesn't feel that way to me. We're not even doing anything at all."
"It's just a dance," he said.
Her posture stiffened. "It's not just a dance. Not to me. Not to anyone else either. Everyone would say we shouldn't even be out here together. But I don't want to be anywhere else or with anybody else." Her small frame relaxed. "That terrifies me because I don't want anything bad to happen."
He took both her hands in his. "Nothing bad is going to happen because this is going to end. I'm gonna leave the ranch."
Her mouth fell open and she didn't say anything for a few seconds. "What? Leave? Go where?"
He lowered his head, avoiding eye contact with her. "To work for the Garretts."
"I saw him watching you earlier. I assumed it was because we were getting too close to each other." She glared down at the ground and paused. "So, he thinks he can go behind my mother's back since my father's gone, does he?"
"It doesn't matter. It's my choice."
"You can't go," she begged. "Especially not to work for Vivian. I don't like the idea of her bossing you around."
"Yeah, that part ain't ideal. But if I stay here it's just asking for trouble."
She folded her arms. "So, you're just going to leave?"
He reached out to her. She spun away.
"Mr. Garrett made me a really good offer," he said. "It's not the kind of deal that someone like me should pass up."
Kate gazed up to the stars. "Do you think there's a world somewhere out there where this sort of thing doesn't matter?"
"I know a place." He reached around her and grabbed her hand.
She accepted him this time, and allowed him to lead her over to the stable. He saddled and mounted a horse. She gathered her dress, and he hoisted her up onto the saddle.
She wrapped her arms around him from behind and they flew away, galloping over prairies until Charles found his favorite spot in the land near the talking tree. It didn't actually speak. He had given the tree that nickname because there was a round notch in the middle of its branches that was shaped like a skull. It had what resembled a mouth and hollow eyes. Its leaves whispered in the breeze as he helped Kate down the stirrups.
"Oh, Charlie, this is a lovely sight," said Kate. "Look at all this. It's perfect for building a home and settling down with a family. I can just picture it."
"When you're in school," he said, "sometimes I come out here to escape the humdrum routine. And sometimes I get lucky enough to forget my life. The only thing I ever miss is you."
Kate beamed. Wind whistled and she shivered. He embraced her and guided her down to the grass. They sat with their backs against the talking tree. She rested her head on his chest.
"My father promised he would bring me back a new floor mirror," she said. "I never told you what I saw inside it. Remember the story 'Little Snow White?'"
"From the Children's and Household Tales. I remember them all."
"Then you remember the Queen's magic mirror."
"If you're saying that your mirror was magic---"
"I know it sounds silly but---"
"I know. I know it was magic. Everything in your house is magic."
"Our house. You live there too." She rose off his chest and faced him. "So, how do you know my mirror was magic? Did you see something in it? You never said anything to me about it."
"We don't always get to talk this much," he said. "Today is a very unique day. What did you see in it?"
"Well, my friend Phoebe showed me that if you ask the mirror questions it will answer. And I asked it to show me my one true love."
"And it showed you my face."
"How'd you know?"
"I was spying on you that day. And after you left the room, I saw my face too."
"Shouldn't you have seen my face then?"
"I don't know. It's your magic mirror."
"It would make sense for you to have seen me because---unless, I'm not your true---" She stared down at the grass and fiddled on the ruffles on her sleeve.
He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Maybe because I didn't ask it a question. You said that's how it works."
"That could be it," she said. "At least you didn't see a skull. Because Phoebe also said that if a skull appeared it meant you were destined to die before marriage. Is that why you really broke the mirror? Because you saw your face in it? I never believed your story about how the statue in the hall fell on the mirror. They were too far apart. It didn't make sense. You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
They shared a laugh.
"I never said anything until now," she said, "because I didn't want to get you into any trouble. I hope the mirror didn't frighten you though."
"I'm sorry I broke it," he said. "But let me ask you something. I've always been curious, but we never talked about it."
She slid closer to him. "Ask me what?"
"What made you save me that day, when we were kids? I was just some runaway slave for all you knew, but you stuck your neck out for me. You always do. I'm thankful. But it just never made sense."
She shrugged. "I don't know. That day, I remember feeling compelled. I just had this sense that if I didn't help you, then the world wouldn't be right somehow. You were important. Still are. I don't want you to leave, Charlie. I want you to stay with me."
He brushed her curled hair from her cheek. She bit her bottom lip and leaned in to him. Her delicate body pressed against him and soft lips met his. No cold could touch her warmth. She was more magic than any object in the mansion.
Charles grabbed her with the same clutch as the majordomo held his pocket watch. He lost himself in the vast and limitless space of her paradise. It was the most beautiful night of his life.
The fiery glow of the morning sky marred the beautiful night that came before. They had enjoyed each other's company too much and lost track of time. He and Kate scrambled in a panic. No one would ever believe the truth: that they had simply shared an innocent night of talk. The most they did was kiss. It would be the only thing they would have to lie about. They rushed back to the ranch, hoping to get there before Mrs. Carson noticed their absence.
Mr. Garrett stormed out of the mansion wielding a rifle. Charles's stomach felt as if it had dropped into a black pit of nothingness.
"Miss Katie," said Mr. Garrett. "You get away from that boy right now."
Kate hopped off the horse and met Mrs. Carson's wide-spread arms.
"Now you get down," Mr. Garrett ordered Charles off the horse.
Charles froze in terror and hesitated before he finally climbed down off the horse, trembling. The bearded man shoved the rifle in his face. Charles cowered in fear.
"Let's give him an opportunity to explain himself first," said Mrs. Carson.
"I'm not interested in his words," said Mr. Garrett.
"Well, I am. And seeing as this is my land and that is my house servant, you are in your best interest to respect my wishes and lower your weapon."
Mr. Garrett lowered his rifle. His eyes glared fiery blue. His chest heaved up and down. Every inch of Charles's body grew rigid and shook all over. He was going hang.
"Mother what's this about?" asked Kate.
"I could ask you the very same question. And I'd like you to answer first."
"Charles and I---well---we---"
"I won't let him hurt you, Miss Katie. Whatever lies he told you to say---"
"No one told me to say anything. Charles and I just rode out on the land. That's all. It was my idea."
"And what were you two doing out there?" asked Mrs. Carson.
"Nothing. Honest. It's not as it seems. It was just such a beautiful night and I didn't want it to end. Charles only came with me because I asked him to come. I feared the coyotes."
"Then why take one horse? You could've taken the buggy."
"She's covering for him." Mr. Garrett poked the cold barrel of his rifle into Charles's forehead.
Charles stumbled backward. His legs stiff, prepared to run, but he was too afraid to get shot in the back. He shut his eyes and all he heard was Mr. Garrett's voice.
"A very unfortunate situation you've found yourself in, my boy, I am thoroughly disappointed. Remember our conversation about respect?"
"Y-yes, sir," Charles stuttered.
"Well, respect truly is a big thing with me. I was prepared to take you in. I thought you were a good soul. I had big plans for you. I really wish you hadn't disrespected my daughter. And now Miss Katie."
"I d-don't know what you mean, sir. I ain't d-do nothin'. I don't know what Vivian told you b-but---"
"That's Miss Vivian to you boy."
The barrel pressed painfully further into Charles's head.
"She told me what you did," said Mr. Garrett. "You placed your hands on her and defiled her in a way I won't dare to utter."
"I ain't n-never touched her, sir. I did n-no s-such thing. I promise." He felt his warm tears streak down his cheeks.
"Are you calling her a liar?"
"No one is implying that Vivian is a liar by any means," said Mrs. Carson. "But we should caution ourselves to not get our dander up. Let us make an effort to establish fact from fiction. Now, I've always known Charlie's behavior to be amiable and civil. There ain't never been anything cross-grained about him since I've known him. Otherwise, I wouldn't allow him to share a place in my home. So before anyone gets cut down this morning, I want to make all to pieces certain. Is there any possibility whatsoever that Vivian could have mistaken the identity of her aggressor with Charlie?"
"I'll put it you like this: what do you truly think Charlie was out there doing with your daughter all night?"
"Now you're implying that I'm a liar," said Kate, gripping on to her mother. "If anybody is a liar, it's Vivian. That girl is nailed to the counter."
"I'm done talking," said Mr. Garrett. "I heard you both out. I don't believe a wink of it. But I'm no heathen. Because I still have a soft spot for your soul. I'm going to give you a running chance, boy."
Charles backed away, staring down cold barrel. His heart raced at a speed he would never be able to match with his legs. He couldn't out run a bullet.
Kate let out a shrill scream. Mrs. Carson restrained her by the arms. Kate fought against her mother. "You can't let him do this," she pleaded. "Nothing happened. It was totally innocent."
Her pleas had no effect on Mr. Garrett. He cocked his rifle.
"Don't look, Katherine." Mrs. Carson held Kate's head in her bosom, preventing her from watching.
Mrs. Carson tilted her head at Charles. Her eyes were teary and her lip quivered. That look spoke to him. It said that she tried her best to save his life, but she couldn't stop Mr. Garrett. It said that she cared about him more than she had ever let on, more than she even realized herself, and she wished that she'd have treated him better. It said that she was sorry. Very sorry.
Charles sprinted down the hill. A shot thundered in the air. He ducked behind the wooden fence. A horrified cry exploded behind him.
He didn't feel like he had been shot. He peered down at his body and checked himself all over for blood. He found nothing of the sort. He hadn't been shot. Was he dead and didn't know it?
Mrs. Carson wailed and shrieked behind him. He spun around. Kate lay lifeless in the dirt. His chest banged with dread confirming how alive he was. Every inch of his skin stabbed and pricked ice cold.
Mr. Garrett lowered his weapon. His face flushed white, his mouth hung open. "She just jumped in my line of fire."
Mrs. Carson collapsed to Kate's side. Charles was paralyzed in place. His weak legs barley held him up. He crept forward a few steps before finding the courage to break into a fierce run over to Kate. He halted over her. The back of her orchid dress stained dark red. He leaned down. Mrs. Carson shoved him back.
"Get away," she said. 'This is your fault. She was trying to protect you."
"I can still shoot the boy," said Mr. Garrett. "We can say that he shot Miss Katie, and then in her defense I---"
"Enough!" said Mrs. Carson. "No more bloodshed. I've already lost my husband." Mrs. Carson choked on a sob and took a breath. The color in her face drained and her trademark scowl returned. "Charlie is going to help me dress her wounds. And you, Mr. Garrett, you're going to summon Dr. Shepherd. Then, after Katherine is cared for, if the two of you want to settle your score, that's no business of mine."
Cross woke with his head in the lap of a sleeping angel. He sat up and removed the splinter from his palm that represented Gimlet's passing.
Surveying the camp site, he discovered that most of the Anarchists were sleeping. The few soldiers who stood guard were drawn into a game of rolling bones. Their objects rested near their feet.
Unfortunately, Ropey was gone. The Anarchist must've confiscated it. His Colt was gone too. But, the burlap sack with the object-hiding blanket sat next to the Raven. He shook her awake.
"Let's make our move," Cross whispered.
"There's too many of them," she said groggily, still pulling herself waking. "We can't take them all."
"As much as I wanna burn those bastards for what they did to Gimlet, I'm not saying we should stick around and fight."
"But you saw what happened to Gimlet," said the Raven. "We run, they shoot us in our backs. If I hadn't bludgeoned you, you'd be right with your friend."
"You hit like a girl," he said. "We still have enough objects in the blanket to make it outta here. My umbrella alone can strike them with the voice of the Great Goddess herself."
"Maybe."
"If we don't run, they're gonna burn us anyway."
"But they haven't yet. The way I see it, if they wanted us burned, we'd be burned. They think we're Tribulation. They're going to take us to one of their camps."
"All the more reason why we have to try and get away. If everything I've heard about those camps is true, we may not ever get out. Second death is like a reward for all the torture those prisoners suffer."
"Well, I'm in no rush for that kind of reward," said the Raven. "If I'm gonna get burned, I'd rather it be later rather than sooner."
For fifty periods of sleep, the Anarchists dragged their prisoners through Ekera's mountains, slowly as if they had no particular place to go, capturing more and more Tribulation stragglers as they went along.
The might of the Anarchists was swift and shocking. The poor Tribulation didn't have a chance against the more advanced weaponry of the Anarchists. After they did their worst, the Anarchists would pick over dead souls that hadn't turned to Nothing yet and steal their objects to use in the capture of more prisoners.
Miles deep into the realm of dusty and gloomy realm of Irkalla they met the gates of one of the infamous camps Cross had heard so many horrible tales about. Although impressively tall, the height of the gate didn't compete with the A'raf of paradise. It was shorter by many miles. Still it was too high to climb, and for extra discouragement of daring escape, sharp things poked out of it.
Cross and the Raven stuck together as they entered the devil's parlor grouped with the imprisoned Tribulation gang. Cross had lurked in some of the smelliest places the underworld had to offer, but the stench inside that camp made him want to chop his own nose off. It was a combination of dead things and deader things.
Needle-mouth imps gazed down from towers. Up ahead, a red giant stood three times as tall as everyone else. He had to have been at least sixteen feet tall and was built like a hill of boulders. The giant searched each prisoner for personal belongings, objects, and weapons. The wings poking out of the giant's back were embarrassingly puny. Cross had seen insects with bigger wings. If he weren't so terrified of the torture he'd receive in the camp, he would have laughed at the sight.
The giant patted Cross down and snatched the Latin cross from his neck.
"Give that back," said Cross.
The giant tossed it high in the air. An imp in one of the towers blasted it to pieces. The dust particles sprinkled down to the red giant's blusterous laughter. Cross thanked the Great Goddess that the giant failed to confiscate Tivoli's map tucked inside his pants.
The giant snatched the Raven's sack from her and pulled out the blanket. The fate of all their objects lay in his enormous hands. The giant shook the blanket and stuffed it back inside the sack. He lifted the top hat off the Raven's head. His entire fingertip filled the inside of the hat, and he plucked it over the fence. He removed the Raven's justaucorps, stood back, looking her over as though admiring her body.
"The boys will have a good time with you," his baritone voice boomed. His massive hands slipped across her backside and up her chest. "Real good time."
Heat crawled up Cross's neck and into his face in humiliation for the Raven.
She threw a punch. The giant caught her arm before she could connect with his oversized head. The giant backslapped her. Black blood dripped out her nose to her upper lip.
An urge to protect her built up in Cross's heart. He knew he was going to pay for speaking up, but he couldn't hold himself back even if he wanted to.
"You better be careful, my friend," he said.
"Do not speak, prisoner." The giant pointed his brick-colored finger. It was bigger than one of Cross's arms. The giant returned his attention to the Raven and lifted her chin with his finger. "Clean yourself off."
The Raven jerked her head away.
The giant rumbled in laughter. "I like you little birdy. Think I might keep you for myself. You'll sing me to sleep every night." He traced his finger down her crotch.
"Hey," said Cross. "You won't find nothing in that cave but old bats and cob webs."
No one laughed. Cross had hoped to diffuse the situation with a little humor and divert the giant's attention away from the Raven. He made the joke at her expense because if he appeared too concerned for her, the giant would probably harass her more just to hurt him.
"I said quiet," The giant's voice rumbled. "You speak only with permission, understood?"
"Got it," said Cross. "You're the boss. But I have to tell you that you've got something on your back."
The giant reached behind his neck as far as his bulky arms could stretch.
"There's two of them. Looks like someone stuck little flags on your shoulders."
The giant's demonic face curled. "Those are my wings."
"Your wings?" said Cross. "If you're gonna steal wings, don't use chickens. Try barbots. They have wings your size."
The giant decked him in the chest with its entire fist. He flew off his feet and landed on his bottom. He gasped for air, feeling like he had been kicked by a horse.
"You giants are all alike," he said catching his breath. "Big muscles. Tiny brains."
The giant thumped over to Cross and lifted him off his feet with a curl of his finger. Both his feet dangled.
"Your stay here can go from bad to worse at my whim," said the giant.
"Your breath just went from bad to worse."
The giant opened his wide mouth and exhaled hot smoke in Cross's face.
"If I ever get you down," said Cross, "not even the Great Goddess will be able to pick you back up."
"You first." The giant plucked his finger and slammed Cross into the ground. "Welcome to Camp Erutrot."
Cross was banged up a little, but his plan worked. The giant had forgotten about the Raven and moved on to searching other prisoners. The Raven lent a hand down to him. He clutched it and she pulled him to his feet. They shared a solemn nod and a Tribulation prisoner stepped up to them.
"Let not your hearts be troubled," said the prisoner. "The Great Goddess will bring her salvation. The resurrection of the dead approaches."
"Quiet and march!" said the giant. "Hut, two, three, four. Hut, two, three, four. Prisoners of war. Forward. March!"
Cross marched at the Raven's side, along with all the other prisoners, in cadence through the second set of gates, stepping over piles of Nothings or what was left of them. Separate stacks of teeth, legs and torsos were pilled everywhere. Needle-mouth imps patrolled back and forth along the compound. Other soldiers walked ants on leashes as if they were guard dogs. Lesser spirits swept and dumped blackened ashes into a murky pond, making some kind of repulsive stew.
The courtyard was filled not only with Tribulation prisoners but also contained ordinary souls; men, women and children who had no affiliation with either gang stood around, all half-dressed---if dressed at all. They had been stripped of more than their dignity. They shook in terror, sobbed, cried and consoled each other. Some appeared too weak to stand. They slept on top of one another; mud was caked between their toes.
It was a miserable place even for the underworld. Squals lived in better conditions. It was commonplace for the underworld to torment spirits with its rotten tricks and places of torture, but to also suffer at the hands of other spirits made the underworld feel even more hopeless.
The red giant led the group into the center of the compound. "Form a single file," he said.
After all the prisoners fell in a line, standing shoulder to shoulder, the red giant read off a list of names, to which prisoners answered "present" if they heard their name called.
Cross gawked at a woman in black. Her back faced him as she was talking to a group of Anarchists. What made her presence unusual was her uniform. It was much different than the rest of her peers. Her tight-fitting pants hugged her curvy hips and her never ending legs extended out of heeled boots. Her perfect blond hair seemed untainted by the filth that surrounded them. But the soldiers didn't seem interested in her beauty. They listened attentively to whatever she was saying to them as though she held some type of authority over them.
"Clem Balfour?" the giant called out and waited for a response. "Clem Balfour, answer present."
The woman in black pivoted her head around. Her hands were fitted into bagh nakhs. It couldn't be his old friend. He hardy recognized her in her new alluring look.
He elbowed the Raven. "Is that Diamond Tooth?"
"Yeah," said the Raven. "And you better be Clem Balfour."
"Clem Balfour," the giant called out for a fourth time.
Cross raised a finger. "I'm here."
"Clean the wax from your ears," said the giant, "and say 'present'."
Diamond Tooth stepped over to them.
"Say present, Balfour." The giant plucked Cross as though he was a gnat. The force knocked him backwards a few steps and felt like a boulder bounced off his chest. It knocked all the wind from him, but he remained standing.
"I got this one, Ignatius," said Diamond Tooth.
The giant snapped his heels together and stood in the soldier's position of attention with his broad chin up, his Herculean chest out and his rocky shoulders back. A soldier raced up to Diamond Tooth. "Sergeant, the captain wants to see you immediately."
Diamond Tooth nodded and said to Ignatius: "Corporal, see to it that these two are handled with extra special care."
DIAMOND TOOTH'S EYES HURT JUST LOOKING AT THE COMMANDANT'S SHINY HOUSE. It sat in the center of the compound, looking as out-of-place as paradise in the underworld. It remained the one negative spot on the entire camp with its pleasant shutters, welcoming white fence, and tree swing in the backyard. Add children and a cuddly dog, and it would have been the perfect home for a family. It was the kind of structure that was built for her to destroy.
She entered the house. The commandant lay in his bed, hacking up black phlegm.
"I want you gone, demon." The commandant jumped straight to point. "We no longer have use for your services." He coughed violently, and wiped the black blood from his lips.
"You're doing well," she said.
"I cannot fault my superiors for wanting to win."---cough---"This is a war after all."---cough---"And acquiring your unique skills was merely a step in that direction. But now that I'm in charge, I will see to it that the prisoners are treated as prisoners. The cruelty ends today. They are not to be humiliated, or robbed,"---cough---"or tortured, or murdered. Not on my watch."
"Your men don't get such good treatment in Camp Abaddon."
"That's the rumor you've been spreading. But even at war,"---cough---"I refuse to believe that the Tribs would commit such violations against the code. We may disagree on controversial matters, but they're not evil souls. Even if they were, I don't give a goddamn what they do in Camp Abaddon!"---cough---
Of course, neither did Diamond Tooth for that matter.
"Your influence," said the commandant "is corrupting the original Anarchist agenda. You make us look like a gang of thugs and terrorists."
"I can't make anyone do anything they don't already want to do," said Diamond Tooth. "Your gang willingly chooses to perform in this circus. I'm just the enjoying the show."
"Enjoy it no longer," he said. "As long as I'm commandant"---cough---"I will no longer permit any such---"
"Anarchy?" said Diamond Tooth. "Because that would be all kinds of ironic."
"The Nothing is eating my legs," said the commandant, "and it is spreading, which means I won't last very long,"---cough---"but I pray I can manage to have enough time to banish you,"---cough---"and all those who discredit,"---cough---"and dishonor the uniform of the Anarchist movement."
She could've burned him right then and there and then tore down his hideous house, but she had an entire compound of tortured souls to feed off of. The commandant's dying breath would be a grain of sand on a beach.
"I wish you luck," she lied and left the house.
Some people just have a terrible attitude toward everything. Some souls had forgotten where they were. The underworld was a place of pain and suffering, not pleasure and comfort. The afterlife would be more tolerable once souls embraced that idea and stopped resisting it. Their efforts were futile. She was only doing what she was placed in the underworld for. Evil was her purpose for being.
She stood in the middle of the compound admiring her evils. The confined prisoners held in the bunker for breaking her absurd rules, the raping of the woman in their barracks, the cooking of flesh in the fire pits, and the cries of the children being stripped away from their mothers and burned all filled her with only a temporary state of euphoria.
A pleasant warming sensation draped over her as if she had melted. She basked in the suffering of the detainees all around her. The effect it had on her being was like swimming in milk and soaking her feet in honey. Her insides were fuzzy, her skin was comfortably numb, and her worries wiped away. A bridge over troubled waters. Ecstasy without the emphatic feeling towards everyone else. It was heaven and bliss and a wave of non-stop orgasmic rhythms. It was the love she never had. An escape from reality. A surreal dream while awake. She felt ten feet tall and death proof. A surge of enormous energy pulsed through her bloodless veins, promoting an urge to fearlessly do the first act that came to her mind, to go harder, to go stronger. If someone were to chop off her head she would simply laugh it off. The experience was both amazing and scary.
The space in her chest where her heart never was clubbed to life. She threw her hand over her breast and being clutched for any semblance of a soul. She closed her eyes and imagined herself wrapped up in the Great Goddess's arms and carried off like a baby, rescued from her dreck of an existence. With a simple turn of her head, Diamond Tooth could seemingly kiss the goddess, but cruelly, Magna Mater remained just out of her view at all times.
And with all her might, the Great Goddess cast the demon away like the unlovable cunt that she embodied. She plunged down to the forsaken wasteland of the grimiest pits scattered throughout the underworld and was smudge in the snow.
Evil was the devil's drug: part pleasure, pure pain, one hundred percent addiction. Her tolerance for sinning was so fortified that none of it was enough anymore. Not the torturing, nor the beatings or the starvation, neither the slaving, or laboring, or the unethical experiments, nor the murders in the infirmary were enough to sustain her. Bigger was no longer better. More turned out to amount to less.
She could no longer thrive off of those evils against the damned. No longer could she depend on the sins of others, and her own efforts were becoming hit or miss when it came to getting the high she needed. But she required it all in order to function on a basic level, just to not be sick. The sickness was the worst. She needed the sins more than anything. Sins and nothing else.
Without them, she was nothing. It started out as the best feeling in the world, but now it repulsed her. There was certainly nothing else like it, but it was no fun at all. No matter how much fun she tried to make it out to be, secretly, she hated it. Hated herself. And in a twisted act of fate, her hate fed her love for evil, fueling even more hate. Like the serpent Uroborus eating its own tail, she would forever chase this high until she escaped the underworld.
The real nirvana came from feeding off the living. At least, that's what her Kurnugian elders used to say. Nothing else compared to it. Nothing. And leeching off the dead no longer sustained the desired effect she required to simply exist.
She paced over to her cabin where her eldest demon, Raec, and the red giant, Ignatius awaited her. She sat down behind her desk. The Raven's top hat sat in front of her. She lifted it up. The rope dart was gone. She glared at Raec. He bowed his head. His ram horns curled around his ears.
"Apologies," he said. "We used it to test out theories regarding the blanket."
"I don't care about the blanket. I explicitly told you not to touch the rope dart."
Raec fumbled with the blanket, trembling. He spread it across the table, knocking the top hat to the floor. "In here," he said. "We figured out the blanket's ability." He leaned in to the blanket and said in a shaky voice, "Show your contents."
About twenty objects popped out of the blanket along with a bushel of calabash. Diamond Tooth palmed one of the green, bottle-shaped fruits. She just couldn't escape that damned tree.
"You didn't drink from these did you?" she asked.
Raec shook his ram-horned head.
"Good." Diamond Tooth spread the objects across the table and sifted through them. The Raven's rope dart sat in the pile.
"If all you wanted to do was test the damn thing, why didn't you use that ugly top hat?"
Raec bowed his head and said nothing.
"Quit that stupid bowing!"
Raec stood up straight as told. Diamond Tooth sat the rope dart aside to inspect the remaining objects. A make-up kit lay under an obsidian blade, which had a hole punctured through its flat part.
She opened the make-up kit and found it empty of any cosmetics, but stitched on the inside of the lid was the name, Tivoli. She sat the makeup kit aside with the Raven's rope dart and the bushel of calabash, and picked up the top hat from the floor.
"I'll keep these," she said. "Take the rest to the others."
"As you wish, Mother." Raec returned all the remaining objects to the blanket, and slipped out of the side window. His spaded tail slithered behind him.
Her first born was reliable, but all too eager to please. She tossed the calabash into the air, caught it. "Balfour and I have a date," she said to Ignatius. "Send him in."
THE RED GIANT SHOVED CROSS INTO AN OLD, DIMLY LIT SHACK and slammed the door behind him. A fireplace crackled beside a table where Diamond Tooth sat at the head. Her hair was done up and makeup plastered her face. He had always thought Diamond Tooth could be a heart stopper if she had kept her appearance up, but she never did until now. She looked even more stunning than he ever imagined she would.
"Come on in, Bullethead," she said in her dainty voice. She flashed her white teeth as if genuinely happy to see him. "Have dinner with me."
Cross paced over to the table, hesitantly. His stomach growled upon seeing all the food sprawled across the table, but he had always known Diamond Tooth to be a curly wolf. She was nothing like the Raven, who was only hard on the outside. The demon's pretty face was the only thing soft about her.
She was the kind of woman who was so beautiful on the outside that the inside had no choice but to be ugly. It couldn't compete. That's what made her so deadly. Men who fell for her fell apart in life.
In comparison, the Raven was a better catch. She was a different kind of beautiful. She was less dazzling and more subtle with her allure. A man could settle down with her. And after getting to know the Raven, he'd be more welcoming with the fallen angel if her feelings ever softened toward him. He kept her in his thoughts as he met the table.
"I cooked it myself." Diamond Tooth scooped contents of one large bowl into a personal sized bowl for him. "Someone brought in a spoon that can stir Nothings into rice. I know how much you love the wings, so I saved that part just for you." The buttons on her shirt struggled to hold the shirt closed and threatened to expose her chest with the slightest movement. She slid the smaller bowl over to him. "Sit down. Eat."
A bushel of calabash sat in the center of the table. Although the fruit didn't burn the Raven, that didn't mean it wouldn't burn him. The underworld was too tricky for him to trust anything. He stared down at the bowl of barbot soup. Poisoning her victims wasn't normally the demon's style, but she was far from the generous type.
Diamond dipped her spoon into his bowl and ate. A sense of ease washed over Cross. The tension in his forehead released.
"I knew it." He plopped down in the chair nearest to her. "I don't care what anybody says about you. I knew you wouldn't forget about me."
"I could never forget you, Cross."
He devoured spoonful after spoonful of the warm, salty, chicken-flavored barbot soup.
"So, what do they say about me?" asked Diamond Tooth.
Cross raised his face from the bowl and stumbled over his words. "Oh, you know. Not anything---just that you---"
"I'm only kidding," she said with her distinct menacing smile. "I know what's said about me. It's all bad, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Hope the soup isn't too hot." She unbuttoned her top button. The round bulbs of her chest beaded with moisture. "How's it taste? Not too salty is it?"
He shook his head. "It's perfect." Broth dripped down the side of his mouth. He wiped it on the back of his hand. "You were always a great cook."
"Very kind of you to say. I'm so glad you like it. You know, it really is good to see you again. It's been a long time since we last spoke. We have a lot of catching up to do. And I can imagine all the new tales you have to tell me."
She touched his arm lightly. Her fingernails were painted red. He hesitated before sipping that next spoonful of soup. Her hand glided along his forearm and massaged his shoulder. He smiled and slurped the soup.
Singers belted out a slow and long-phrased tune outside. Their united voices lifted and carried through the walls of the shack, reminding Cross of when he used to sing with the other slaves while working the fields. It sounded like his favorite spiritual.
The first time he had ever sung "I'm Troubled" in the underworld, a teary-eyed audience had gathered in Vingólf Hall to hear him. The melody oozed of pain and sorrow, yet it was filled with hope and faith that the Great Goddess would not abandon them in dark days. Those kinds of songs could free a soul of all reality and take them to their most desired paradise.
Cross was sympathetic to the plight of those outside but grateful that he was in a warm shack with a friend and filling his stomach with delicious food. His mind drifted to the Raven. The needle-mouth imps had better be treating her well or there would be hell to pay. His appetite vanished as dread filled his stomach. If that stinking red giant put his big dumb hands all over her again he'd lop them off.
Diamond Tooth rose from the table and stepped up to the window. She gazed out into the camp for a second and then turned back around to him. "You were captured near, Ekera?"
He gulped devil's water, belched smoke, and nodded.
She stared out the window again. "If you were with Simeon, then you were coming from Kurnugia?"
When she turned to him for confirmation, he nodded, playing along with her assumption that he was traveling with the Tribulation general, Simeon.
Her heeled boots clumped across the wooden floor and she stopped behind his chair. She placed her hands on his shoulders. "You came awfully close to the black lands of the Nothing. Weren't you afraid?"
"A little." He slurped more soup.
"Clem Balfour is an interesting name," she said. "Why are you going under that name?"
She spoke much too softly and smiled much too widely. The make-up and the skimpy clothes were all theatre. Her extra friendliness was an act.
Sinuhe had mentioned that there were others searching for the last Toran. He suspected that Diamond Tooth might be trying to seduce the information out of him. If that were true, the demon's pursuit of the gate could be a gift and a curse for him. He didn't know whether to lie or tell her the truth about anything.
"It's not wise to use your true name," he answered finally.
She wrapped her arms around his chest and rested her chin on his shoulder. Their cheeks met. The sultry scent of her perfume hit him. It reminded him of Kate.
"That would make sense if Cross was your true name," she said. "But it isn't."
"Just extra protection. That's it."
"Extra protection from what?"
"Just in case. You know me. Trouble rides on my back."
She laughed. "It certainly does." She lifted her head and massaged his shoulders with her rough hands. It felt nice to be touched, especially by a woman, but he kept his wits about him. No matter what she did, she would never get him to talk.
"So, Clem Balfour is just another pseudonym?" she asked.
"That's a big word. If it means fake, then yeah. Clem Balfour is just another fake name."
Diamond Tooth leaned over him and showed him the makeup kit he had stolen from Balfour. "This doesn't look fake," she said. "The name Tivoli is stitched inside it. That was Balfour's true name."
He played dumb, as if he'd never seen it before and reached to grab the makeup kit. She shackled his wrist to the arm of the chair with an iron cuff.
The singing outside swelled.
Ignatius burst into the shack barely fitting. Cross's heart kicked at his ribs. He yanked his wrist up. The restraint held his arm in place. He sat helpless as the red giant thumped over to him like pissed-off steer.
The giant kicked his chair away from the table and out from under Cross. He tumbled to the floor, dragging the chair by his wrist. He scrambled to his knees.
Ignatius kicked him in the face. The room spun. He slammed back onto the floor. He caressed his numb jaw to make sure it hadn't fallen off. Still there, but lights were blinking in his eyes.
"Start talking about the last Toran," said Diamond Tooth.
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Cross through his throbbing jaw.
Ignatius wrenched him by the shoulders off his feet. The chair swung at Cross's wrist by the chain, and the weight strained the joint in his shoulder. The giant rammed Cross into the wall. The chair split apart. Ignatius reached down to his limp body, gripped a hand around his torso and squeezed.
"You know how this goes more than any other soul," said Diamond Tooth. "You were never like these other idiots. That's why I kept you around. I always knew you'd be an asset. You still can be an asset. Don't go and get yourself burned for nothing. Just tell me what you know, and I'll let you go, old friend."
More voices joined in on the chorus outside. The souls beyond the walls sang for him and invoked the name of the Great Goddess. The power of their hymn entered his spirit and gave him strength. It instilled calmness in him, and he trusted that Magna Mater was watching. She wouldn't allow him to endure any more than he could handle. She would not abandon him like everybody else had. The Last Toran was meant for him. It was his destiny, like Sinuhe said.
"All I know is," said Cross, "I've swatted gnats with bigger wings than your friend's."
Ignatius wrung his fingers tighter and choked off his air supply. A sharp pain pinched up his left side. Cross opened his mouth to speak, but without any breath left in his lungs, nothing could escape. Ignatius loosened his clutch.
Cross took a few gasping breaths. "Just let me ask you one thing. When people ask if you're chicken, do you answer 'only half'?"
Ignatius tossed him into the wall, picked him up again and slammed him onto the table. The voices outside resonated in the walls. The cabin shook with their sound.
Diamond Tooth banged on the window and yelled to someone outside: "Make them stop singing!"
The red giant flexed his bricked muscles, and his puny wings fluttered.
"So those things really work?" said Cross in between gasps. "I thought you just rode some poor crow's back to get from place to place."
Ignatius clamped his enormous thumb and index finger onto the soft spot in Cross's head and pinched. Bones in his face made tiny snapping noises like glass buckling and preparing to shatter. His head felt on the verge of exploding.
The choir outside roared, but the Great Goddess obviously wasn't paying attention. Either she wanted him to give up the information, or she had forgotten about him long ago, which would mean all those times he escaped certain second death were pure luck and determination on his part alone. If so, he was a goner whether he revealed the location of the bone orchard or not.
He wanted to believe in the Great Goddess as he always had, but he smothered in the giant's pressure, and his own black blood clogged his throat. Only a miracle from Magna Mater herself could save him now, and he had endured as much as he could. It seemed Magna Mater dismissed him like she did all the souls outside being tortured.
Living in the underworld was punishment enough, and those innocent prisoners had done nothing to deserve the extra punishment. They all sang in vain and Cross was now one of them. No one special. Sinuhe was wrong about the Toran being his destiny, or the Great Goddess had picked a fine time for tough love. Evil always prevailed in the underworld, and Diamond Tooth always got what she wanted.
"I'll talk!" he cried out before he could lose the ability to speak. The red giant let up.
"What did Balfour say about the gate?" asked Diamond Tooth.
Cross coughed up blood and through his swollen face could barely get a word out. "It's...buried under a skull."
Diamond Tooth hunched over him. "Where?" A necklace dropped from between her breasts and swung in the blurred sight of his bloody eye.
"Skull Hill," he said.
"Which skull?" she asked.
"I don't know. The Raven. She knows. She knows the name of the skull."
Blood from his eye dripped down the side of his face, and he could see clearer. At the end of Diamond Tooth's necklace dangled a brass astrolabe exactly like one he had seen when he was alive.
A mysterious man and his daughter showed up to the Carson mansion, bringing with them a carved pumpkin in celebration for All-Hallow E'en. Kate and the man's daughter, Phoebe, were instant friends. They chatted like sisters reunited after many years of separation. Phoebe was a much better friend for Kate than Vivian would ever be. Phoebe was much more considerate. If he could have replaced Vivian with Phoebe, he would.
The only part he disliked about this new friendship between Kate and Phoebe was all the giggling they did behind his back. They spied on him from around corners and from the windows as he performed him chores. Every time he'd turn their way, they would hide or run. It annoyed him greatly. He was glad that Kate enjoyed spending time with her new friend, but he wished they would have found something better to do and quit distracting him from his work.
At one point, they did leave him be, but their sudden neglect after observing him for so long only made him curious of what they were doing now that was so better than watching him from afar. Not that he was doing anything special, but he assumed that they were, and he wanted to find out what.
He ditched the house duties that he knew he could make up later, and went to spy on them. He checked around for Mr. Beckwourth and was happy to have memorized the majordomo's schedule. Mr. Beckwourth was in the kitchen baking a soul cake. Mrs. Carson sat in the parlor knitting, and Mr. Carson was in his study entertaining his guest.
With everyone's attention occupied, Charles snuck upstairs to Kate's room and peeked inside the crack in the door. Kate and Phoebe sat on the throw rug in front of the floor mirror in total darkness. The curtains were drawn tight, and mysteriously the lantern wasn't lit.
"So, I showed you mine," said Phoebe. "Now let's see yours."
They whispered chants in front of the mirror, and a green mist filled the glass. A head without a body manifested within the green haze, floating.
Charles leaned into the door for a closer look. Wood creaked. The girls shot up from their bottoms and raced to the door. Before he could run away, they swung the door open.
Phoebe shoved Kate into Charles and high-tailed it, laughing. Kate stared up at him as if he had turned into a pot roast and she was a hungry coyote. He could feel her breath on his neck. His heart knocked with the beat of Cupid's drum. She leaned into his face and laid a buss right on his cheek. His face warmed with affection, and life seemed to brighten with the light of paradise his mother used to tell him about.
Kate shot down the staircase along with Phoebe and skipped out the front door. Charles remained stunned and in a trance-like state. He pressed his palm on the cheek where she had kissed him.
The sound of a person breathing hissed from Kate's room. But Kate and Phoebe were the only ones in the room earlier, and everyone else was accounted for. He grabbed one of Mrs. Carson's precious statue heads off the wall shelf and ventured into the dark room, shaking and hoping it was just the wind and not an intruder.
"Come out," he said into the darkness. "Whoever you are. Come out."
The whispering came from the floor mirror. His face stared back at him in the glass. His shoulders shot upward, and his heart climbed into his throat.
It wasn't his normal reflection. His head filled the glass, and it had no neck. It wasn't even connected to a body at all. It floated in the center of the mirror, surrounded by the green mist. It followed his movements with its eyes as if it could see him. He had the sense that that it was peering right into his soul. He was terrified but entranced and couldn't look away. The cloud of black smoke bloomed over the face, and the skin melted off his head, revealing an ugly skull underneath.
"Shepherd the girl," said the skull. "We will wait for you, Charles Hill. Our savior."
He smashed the mirror with the statue head. The servant bell rang. Charles raced to the staircase and leaned over the banister. Mr. Carson stood in the doorway of his study.
"I'll bring you your coffee right away, boss," he said.
"Forget the coffee," said Mr. Carson. "I need a word with you immediately."
Judging by the stark tone of the boss's voice, Charles was definitely in trouble for not only ditching his duties, but for the commotion made breaking the mirror and possibly for making a mash with Kate. The boss, with all his magic, somehow always knew what was going on in his home, as any man of the house should.
Charles wiped the sweat from his palms onto his pants and followed Mr. Carson into his study, preparing himself to get disciplined in his favorite room of the entire mansion. Most of Kate's books sat on those shelves, along with hundreds of others that she had read to him. They were never truly hers solely; the books were more so owned by the entire household, which Cross liked to include himself in. Kate would have.
The boss's guest waited inside, standing in front of the fancy hand washer that painted talking and moving portraits. The man turned around, aware of Charles's presence, and shut the water off with a squeak. The watery portrait vanished, and the water dripped.
"This is Mr. Rowings," said Mr. Carson.
Excitement got the best of Charles. "You're from the Isle of Man," he said. "You know all the fairies!"
Mr. Rowings glanced at the boss.
"Sometimes I tell Kate about what we do," said Mr. Carson. "And Charlie eavesdrops."
Charles dropped his gaze to the floor. "Sorry, sir."
"It's quite all right, Charlie. I always try to speak loud enough to make sure you hear everything."
Charles raised his chin. "Really?"
"You're here for a reason. Mr. Rowings has traveled a very long way to meet you personally."
"Meet me, sir?"
"I don't know all the fairies," said Mr. Rowings. "There are a great many of them in the world. I've been lucky enough to meet just a few of them. Each has a special ability, like you. I understand you possess a unique talent that's extremely rare in human beings."
"Before we get into that," said Mr. Carson, "I think we should address the more pressing matter first." Mr. Carson removed the Colt Peacemaker from the case on the desk.
Charles choked. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "It will never happen again. I promise. Just don't kill me, boss."
"Kill you?" Mr. Carson sat the pistol down on the desk. "What on earth? What's troubling you, Son?"
"Well, K-Kate and m-me---?"
"Kate and you, what?"
The boss seemed genuinely curious and didn't appear to be aware of his kiss with Kate. Charles opened his big, stupid mouth for nothing. Now, he was too afraid to confess, but had to say something. "I broke her floor mirror. It was an accident, I swear."
"I don't know anything about that, but it doesn't sound like anything I'd ever kill a boy over. Now, I know I'm not around much, but I do hope I don't give off that sort of impression. Why don't you have a seat in my chair?" Mr. Carson stood up and carried his chair around to the front of his desk. He tapped the seat with his palm.
Charles sat in the comfy chair as he was told. The two men loomed above him.
"I believe this is about more than just some broken mirror," said Mr. Carson. "I think I know what you were on about at first. And given the circumstances, I suppose it's alright. I have to be okay with my daughter possibly finding comfort in you. I don't know what else I can do or say, except give you my blessing. Though, I'm not so sure that it's a blessing. There are many societal challenges that will make that an extremely tough road to travel down. It's definitely not what I would have ever planned for Kate---"
Mr. Rowings cleared his throat loudly as if to get the boss's attention.
"Right," said Mr. Carson, nodding. "There's a much larger perspective at play. It's the reason you're in the room with us now. For the moment, wash your mind of everything else."
Mr. Carson pulled out a key from the gun case and stepped over to the cage of rifles. He pulled one of the rifles hanging on the wall at an angle as though it were a lever of some sort. The cabinet slid aside, and the wall opened up, revealing a safe. He turned the dial, entering his secret numbers, and opened the safe. He pulled another box out of the safe. This box was bigger than the gun case.
"Mr. Carson and I are members of an elite society," said Mr. Rowings. "And we've been scouting for new members. But not just anyone. People with abilities such as yourself."
"Abilities? I don't understand, sir."
"I've observed you over the years around the ranch," said Mr. Carson, sitting the new box onto the desk in front of Charles. "You're able to communicate with the animals in a way I've never seen. You have some kind of magic touch. The animals understand you. They listen to you. You remember how you stopped those runaway horses three months ago, when you saved Kate?"
"I just did what needed to be done, boss. She was in trouble, boss, so I---"
"I saw you. You spoke to those horses without speaking. They obeyed you without you needing to control them through the reins. And I believe there's a reason why this talent of yours hasn't presented itself until now. This is the year you turned thirteen."
"Thirteen is a very sacred number," said Mr. Rowings.
He wanted to tell them that he could use his magical touch before he turned thirteen. It had been with him for as long as he could remember. But the boss sounded so sure of his theory, that Charles was afraid to prove him wrong. He said nothing and allowed the two men to continue speaking.
"My intuition has never failed me," said Mr. Carson. "I don't think it was by chance that Kate felt so strongly about saving you from that mob four years ago. It is not mere coincidence that you've become such an integral part of our family."
Charles had never had this long of a conversation with Mr. Carson before, nor one so informative. Something was off about the whole situation.
"Let me show you something." Mr. Carson unlocked the wide box and removed a funny-shaped object. It was like a clock but not quite round, and it was made of brass. After listening to Kate read all those books all those years, he had since learned how to read a little on his own. The words written on the brass object were from some other land or time. Possibly both.
Mr. Carson displayed the round metal trinket in his palm for Charles to view closely. "I don't suppose you've seen anything like this before."
Charles shook his head. "No, sir."
"It's called an Astrolabe. It's an astronomical instrument. What it does is...well it has over a thousand uses. It can predict the positions of the stars. It can determine local time." The boss glanced at Mr. Rowings and then back at Charles. "But this particular astrolabe is rather unique. It's the oldest known astrolabe. We know this because it's the only one with a creation date engraved on it. But what's truly unique about this astrolabe as opposed to all the others is what we believe it can do. We believe this can bring a soul back from the dead."
Everything about the boss was magical, but Charles sat shocked at the turn of the conversation. It was too much to believe.
"You see," said Mr. Carson, "the Confederacy is more than aware of President Lincoln's feelings towards colored people. Before he even signed the Emancipation Proclamation, his life has been in danger. We think something may happen to him. Something we don't believe we can stop. But with this...." He closed his fingers around the astrolabe. "We can change everything. And you're the only one we've told about this."
"I'm much honored, boss."
"Charles, this isn't to be taken lightly. It's very serious information. People have been...." The boss stopped himself midsentence.
"Tell the boy," said Mr. Rowings. "He should know."
"All the others who knew of the existence of the astrolabe have been killed. Murdered."
Why was the boss was telling him then, of all people?
Mr. Carson must've seen the look on his face because he answered: "I'm telling you because if anything should happen to me---"
"I don't mean to give you any commands boss, but this ain't the sort of subject I know too much about. Shouldn't you tell Mrs. Carson about this?"
"I can't risk my family knowing anything about this. I have to protect them."
"Again, I'm sorry, boss, if I may be too bold, but that would mean you're fine with placing me in harm's way."
"It's alright. You can make your true feelings known to me. Your bravery and critical thinking just confirms to me that I'm making the right choice with you. And your caution is very fair, but I believe you're safe. Fortunately for us, and maybe unfortunately for you, no one would believe the truth if it came out of your mouth. You don't have to worry."
"Then why tell me at all, sir?"
"Because," said Mr. Rowings, "if you recall that elite society I mentioned earlier. Not only are Mr. Carson and I members, but we believe that we may also be the last."
"I'm not giving up hope yet, Joseph," said Mr. Carson. "I have to believe Tivoli is still out there."
"I made another attempt to summon him moments ago," said Mr. Rowings. "But he still isn't answering."
"He wouldn't. Anyone could intercept the message. Nor would he ever return home. He's much smarter than that. He's in hiding."
"I surely hope so."
"We've been searching for candidates to continue our legacy, Charles. And at least one of those persons was in my home the entire time. I was simply blind to it."
"You wouldn't be the first," said Charles.
Mr. Carson placed a hand on Charles's shoulder. "Believe it or not, you're the only one I can trust with this knowledge. You're not just a good worker, Charlie. You've taken very good care of my family while I've been away, as if they were your own. And in that way, you've become an honorary member of our family. You're like a son to me"
The boss smiled, but not a normal, joyous smile. It was a smile of a man who knew more than he wanted to know, more than he wanted to tell. "I know you don't understand all this, and you might even forget everything I've just told you. But one of these days, there will be an event in your life, and all this will make sense."
Charles hadn't seen Mr. Rowings or his daughter Phoebe after that day, and Mr. Carson vanished with his astrolabe.
Deep in the realm of Irkalla in the underworld, a torture camp called Erutrot held a cabin owned by a demon named Diamond Tooth who possessed an astrolabe that was dangling in Cross's bruised and blood-coated face.
He identified the date engraved on the brass object. He couldn't read the foreign language, but the symbols matched those on Mr. Carson's astrolabe exactly as he remembered, down to the last detail.
It all made sense, like his mother had said it would, like Mr. Carson had said it would, like he had told himself over and over. He was meant to remember. The Toran was meant for him after all. The Great Goddess needed him to endure the red giant's torture, and wait just a little bit longer. He'd never doubt her again.
THE RAVEN STOOD AMONGST HUNDREDS OF PRISONERS sectioned off from Diamond Tooth's cabin by a spiked fence. She cringed at every bang and crunch of Cross's torture session in the cabin.
The spirits around her sang, but their haunting hymn failed to drown out the torturous crashes and grunts. Their melancholy melody and weary words only served to increase the sense of dread and depression:
When laden
with troubles
and burdened with grief
To Mater
in secret
I'll go for relief
I'm troubled
I'm troubled
I'm troubled in mind
If Mater
don't help me
I surely will die
Some souls who were justifiably too pained by their surroundings to emote, willed themselves to join the song anyway. It was beautiful and gloomy.
The Raven closed her eyes and embraced the angelic cry like Cross had encouraged her to do. She allowed the breath of the Great Goddess to anoint her. It cleansed her with a display of astonishing images in her mind.
She remembered the doleful faces of her brothers and sisters at they watched her fall. None of them came to her rescue. The memories were murky, but she wallowed in the love that she had lost. She felt empty and deserving of the disowning for her disobedience.
Her rejection was her fault. She recalled having immense guilt and pleading to return home. She couldn't bear feeling so lonely and forsaken.
In dark days
of bondage,
to Mater I prayed
To help me
to bear it
and She gave me her aid
I'm troubled
I'm troubled
I'm troubled in mind
If Mater
don't help me
I surely will die
"Cut the singing," said a guard. "Or we cut out your tongues."
The singing continued without interruption. Half the camp had joined in, but not without physical interference from the guards. Shoves and slaps led to punches and kicks. When those tactics failed, the guards whipped and chocked. The prisoners sang through the beatings. The guards sliced tongues and slit throats, but despite their empty mouths and severed heads, the tortured souls kept singing, relentlessly. Men, women and children defied their captors and pressed on louder. Every voice in the camp lifted to the heavens, and it rang with the harmonies of liberty.
Their undying spirit touched the Raven. It scooped her up and delivered her into the warm arms of her father. He forgave all her mistakes without her even needing to repent. She repented anyway. He loved her as no one else would, and he never once hated her, even when she hated him. He never gave up on her, even when she gave up on him. He never doubted her, even when she doubted him.
Oh, Mater,
my Savior,
on thee I'll depend
When troubles
are near me
you'll be my true friend
I'm troubled
I'm troubled
I'm troubled in mind
If Mater
don't help me
I surely will die
The hymn swelled to a deafening crescendo and ended. The compound and the cabin fell into a total silence. A heartbeat later, the fence cracked open. Needle-mouth imps seized the Raven, dragged her to the demon's cabin and shoved her inside.
Food was thrown about; shattered dishes were scattered across the floor, and a broken chair lay in a pile in the corner. No sign of Cross. Only speckles of his black blood dotted everywhere.
Diamond Tooth, now dressed in traveling gear, poured herself a drink and tossed the Raven new clothes, returning her top hat to her, and oddly, her rope dart also. No other demon would have given up such an advantage so easily. That immediately set a tone of unease in the Raven, perhaps exactly what the demon wanted.
"Get dressed," said Diamond Tooth. "We're going to find the last Toran. I know the name of the bone orchard, now. And you know the name of the skull."
The Raven wiped her boot in a puddle of black blood on the floor. "I expected a similar greeting."
Diamond Tooth sat down on the table top and drank. "Some souls are talkers. Some aren't. You're not a talker."
"And Cross? Where is he?"
Diamond Tooth sat her drink on the table. "Gone to the place where he belongs. It's just you and me now. For you, the arrangement is the same. You just have a new partner."
The Raven changed into her new clothes. The only part of her old wardrobe that she kept was her justaucorps and her top hat, which she sat on her head.
She forgave Cross for giving her up. She would never have given him up, but she understood why he did it. It didn't surprise her in the least. She expected him to talk. That was his survival technique. He took a vicious beating, and held out for as long as he could, but it was too much for him to handle. The demon won. It wasn't his fault. It was Diamond Tooth's.
Preventing the demon from escaping the underworld became the Raven's new charge. A demon let loose on the world of the living was much worse than the resurrection of a soul like Cross. She surprised herself with how much she even cared.
Ever since her encounter with the Nothing in Yomi, a deep compassion for all that was good had blindsided her. A strong sense of altruism stirred within her that she hadn't felt since before she had fallen. Embracing the songs of the Great Goddess sent her over the top.
That scared her because the underworld required a malevolent temperament for survival. If she lost that, then she would never be able to stop the demon. She felt like the A'raf in that moment, but her wall had fallen down, and she had to choose which side she was on: good or evil? One thing was for certain, she would personally escort the demon to the Inferno to meet her master for burning Cross.
She tightened Ropey around her waist.
The demon rounded up a couple of the Anarchists scorpions for them to ride, and they headed south into the realm of Guinee. An alley of praying statues were carved into the mountain side, each one cloaked with pointy hoods over their skulls like Ankous.
Her scorpion stepped on a skull. The splitting noise it made when it cracked echoed in between the mountainous statues. Giant bats flapped out the statues' empty eye sockets and noses.
The Raven detected a unique reverberation in the air about a mile behind them. At first she thought of Cross and his draggles, hoping the bastard was still in one piece. Unfortunately, it wasn't the tiny pitter of the draggles. They were long gone of course. It sounded similar to the tuff-tuff-tuff sounds her and Diamond Tooth's scorpions made crawling through the dust and sand, but more numerous.
She kept her ear focused on the noise through the following sleep cycle. It always remained at a safe distance, even stopped for rest the exact time she and Diamond Tooth stopped. They were being followed. Another party was seeking the Toran?
"Something's different about you." The demon sniffed the air toward the Raven. "You two must've gotten awfully close."
"What do you mean?" said the Raven.
"You and Cross."
"No closer than you and I are. He knew the name of the bone orchard and I---"
"Yeah, I know. It's just that I recognized a look on your face, when you asked me about him in my cabin. I know that look very well. I've seen it on other women, before and after I slit their lover's throats."
"Well, there's certainly nothing for you to be jealous over, Klesa."
Diamond Tooth flinched at the mention of her true name. She lifted her chin and snickered. "Cross is gone to a much worse place than where we're going. I don't envy him at all."
The Raven placed an abnormally extra effort in keeping her facial muscles relaxed, icy and expressionless. She wished she didn't care so much. It would've been easier not to.
"You play it off very well," said the demon. "I'll give you that. You can fool me with your expression, but you can't bluff a scent. You reek of concern and compassion and yearning. It makes me want to vomit into a cup and eat it with a spoon."
"The feeling's mutual then."
"By the way," said Diamond Tooth. "It's not fair that you know my true name and I don't know yours."
"Nobody said the afterlife was fair."
"Come on, we're old friends."
"You're right. We're old friends. And that's precisely the reason I have yet to use the knowledge of your true name to my advantage. And I won't. As long as we're friends."
Deeper into the petrified realm of Guinee, trees made of bone sprouted up throughout the valley. The trunks were bone, the branches were bones, and if the trees had contained any leaves they too would have been bones. The forest beckoned them away in a slow hand-like wave, warning them not to enter and grew denser the further they did.
"Fon-Ewe forest is forbidden territory," said the Raven.
Diamond Tooth kept her determined pace without acknowledging the Raven's statement. The Raven stopped her scorpion at the edge of the dark forest where the petrified trees interlocked with such density it strangled light. A soul could barely pass through the brush without being a decent climber.
"We can't disturb the Loa," said the Raven.
"You used to be fun," said Diamond Tooth. "Since when do you care about breaking rules?"
"We'll go around."
Diamond Tooth lifted an object from between her breasts and examined it. "We don't have time."
"What time does the Toran close?" asked the Raven.
Diamond Tooth tucked the object back into her shirt. "The sooner we get there, the better. And going around would put extra periods of sleep on our schedule that we can't afford. On top of that, we'd get sidetracked by the war. For whatever reason, Tribulation and Anarchist troops converged around this area, but not in the forest."
"Because even they aren't dumb enough to disturb the Loa."
"The Loa are more scared of us than we should be scared of them."
"We'll leave the scorpions here, and I can fly us over the forest." The Raven gazed up. The fingertips of some trees reached up in thirst nearly meeting the smoldering blue sky. Sparks and crackles of heat kept them trimmed. They were lit up like torches at their tips, endlessly burning and expelling clouds of roaring smoke. "There's gotta be a break in the canopy somewhere," she said.
"I'm guessing you never had to fly that high before," said Diamond Tooth. "Blue sky generates heat at nearly forty thousand Kelvin. It burns at just the right distance to torture us spirits without annihilating us, but there is such a thing as getting too close. You've met the red giant, Ignatius. Seen his wings? What's left of them anyway. He got too close. Flesh melted right off the bone. Not that I care about your flappers, but you'd be carrying me up there. You fall, I fall. And I've already been put back together twice in the last four months. We're going to go right through the heart of Fon-Ewe Forest." A grin slithered across her face. "Just you and me."
They hopped off their scorpions and stepped through the black curtain that the forest draped around its waist. It was a different kind of darkness than Yomi. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face and could no longer hear Diamond Tooth's footsteps.
The demon could see in the dark, and the Raven dreaded that she'd just walked herself into a trap. It was too dark to find the way back out, and the brush was too dense to spread her wings and gain flight.
She kept moving forward, climbing and stumbling over the bulky and uneven ground. She kept her arms extended outward as a precaution, but hidden branches still managed to slap her face.
In the black, lights flashed and disappeared like fireflies. They weren't illusions created by her mind as it tried to bring in any light and make sense of the darkness. More lights flickered as she pressed forward. Purples, blues, and greens blinked and dipped behind the trees with rustling movements.
Wailing chants followed, echoing from all sides. Moaning, hissing and rattle sounds danced around in the black. The evil band played a clunky chorus of gongs and drums, and they laughed tauntingly. A female voice belted out a shrieking cackle to her right. Cross's Latin cross would have come in handy right now.
She tripped over a lump in the ground and fell to her knees. Hands grabbed her.
"They're not attacking," said Diamond Tooth's voice. "They're just standing around, watching." The demon's hands helped the Raven to her feet. "At least the music is nice."
Diamond Tooth's rough hands took the Raven's wrist and guided her palm onto the demon's shoulder. Diamond Tooth led her forward. All the sounds in the jungle halted. Rickets in the trees broke the silence. A snap and a thud plunged at her feet as though a tree had toppled over. A thrash and crackle splashed.
A very large presence loomed somewhere in her vicinity. Branches wisped and warm breath fell on her head. Yellow eyes bloomed far above her head.
sish. Splintering cracks snapped in the air as if several throwing knives stabbed a log.
Diamond Tooth backed into the Raven. "Run!"
The breathless tremor in the demon's voice alarmed the Raven. Demons didn't scare easily. Even smart demons like Diamond Tooth were always more excited and willing to go down fighting anything that came her way, but Diamond Tooth sounded afraid enough of the yellow-eyed beast to flee.
"Run where?" said the Raven, holding in her panic. "I can't see."
"Away from the yellow eyes."
The Raven's hand slipped off the demon's shoulder. The monster bellowed with the boom of a hundred trumpets. Her top hat flew off her head. Hot breath nudged her hair over her ears. The Loa yelped in glee around her.
She flung her rope dart at the monster. In the blink of light, she glimpsed a muzzle of bone that could easily swallow her once it opened its jaws. Her rope dart caught between his bony teeth. She tugged.
The beast stripped it from her. The roped burned its way through her palms.
She about-faced and took off into the black. Her foot caught something. She tumbled and smacked her head.
The Raven slowly regained consciousness and found herself tied to a post in front of a bonfire. Her wings were bound. Next to her, Diamond Tooth was also tied to post made of one large bone protruding from the ground.
The skeletal frames of the Loa danced around a fire to the tune of beating drums and the chiming of their bones. The colors that decorated their bodies glowed in the dark and swirled as they jigged around, plunking and rattling in a disconcerting conga. They sang behind masks of flesh, and pantomimed as though acting out a story.
The language sounded like Ịḅanị. The Raven didn't know how she knew that information. It had just popped into her head the moment she heard it being spoken. She couldn't speak the language herself, but she gathered from watching their play that it was the tale of the Verboten Cherub, the mythical spawn of evil who would bring two worlds together: the realm of the living and that of the dead. She surmised as much because The Resurrection of the Dead was the tale every member of the damned told in hopes it would one day come true.
When the song and dance ended, a dreadlocked woman swished up the Raven. Instead of eyes, a purple glow beamed out of her hollow eye sockets just like the yellow-eyed monster.
"Finally awake," she said. "We've gotten nowhere with the other one. Now it's your turn."
"My turn for what?" asked the Raven.
"First, you dare disturb our forest and now you bring your war here."
"You got it wrong, chief. That's not our band. I apologize for our intrusion. We don't want to cause any distress amongst your people. We're just passing through. We only came here to avoid the war ourselves."
"Your tongue is much more mannerly than your friend's," said the woman. "But I should to believe your words, why?"
"Let us go," said Diamond Tooth, "and I won't carve your hip bone into a flute."
The Raven sighed. That wasn't the way to bargain when you're the one tied up. The demon's abundance of confidence reminded her of Cross and how she kept getting stuck with obnoxious individuals.
The woman laughed. "You are going to carve me? With what? These?" The woman raised the Raven's rope dart and Diamond Tooth's bagh nakhs. "If you are not of the gangs, then why do you bring weapons?"
"Our own protection," said the Raven. "And with a welcoming committee like yours in every realm, you can't blame us, chief."
"Stop this chief naming. Call me Dimentia. I am no chief. The Loa have no leader. Every Loa is independent of mind. And I am the only one here who knows your tongue. Think of me as your translator. And you better talk because I'm the only reason you two are still alive."
"Well, tell them we're not in the gangs," said the Raven.
"Do we even look like we're soldiers?" said Diamond Tooth.
Even though they had changed out of the Anarchist style clothing, it wouldn't matter much to the Loa. Outsiders would still be considered intruders.
Dimentia grabbed the demon's collar between her bony fingers and flicked it. "You do not dress like soldiers," she said. "But you could be in disguise. Which means you are spies!" Dimentia turned her head, whipping her deadlocks and spoke to the Loa in their native language. For a minute, there was a back and forth between Dimentia and several of the Loa.
"It appears we have discovered the rest your posse," said Dimentia.
The Loa escorted a group of eight male and female souls out of the jungle by the tips of spears made of bone. The Raven suspected those were the souls that were following her and Diamond Tooth since they had left Irkalla. They all had demonic faces; some more human than others, and she recognized a few of them from Camp Erutrot. She shot a suspicious look at Diamond Tooth. The demon shrugged her eyebrows.
Another back and forth between the Loa in their native language took place. Men of bones released Diamond Tooth from her post but didn't unbind her wrists. Then they released the Raven, keeping both wrists tied in front of her and wings bound.
Dimentia and a few of the Loa guided the Raven, Diamond Tooth and her eight demons out of the community and into the pitch black forest. The only light emanated from the glowing paint on the Loa's bones, which wasn't enough to light up the forest.
They walked alongside the sounds of the river until they reached a break in the forest that opened up into a valley. It was still dark in the valley, but there was enough light that everyone was viewable again. The sky was unnaturally black, like Yomi but smoother, and it seemed to infinitely extend outward beyond a cliff.
The Loa shoved them toward a great chasm. Over the cliff lay empty space, above, below, and along the nonexistent horizon. The river poured right over the edge of the underworld, down miles of rocky cliff face and sprouted into a cloudy mist of nothingness.
The Loa wrenched up one of the demons and dangled him over the black void.
"Tell me what your gang is planning," said Dimentia. "What do you want with our forest?"
"Nothing," said the Raven. "We're not a gang."
The Loa dropped the demon over the edge. It screamed as it fell and tumbled all the way down into the void. The demon shrank smaller and smaller, until it became a dot and vanished simply because it was too far away to spot.
Diamond Tooth yanked away from the Loa in an attempt to attack Dimentia somehow, but they restrained her within inches of reaching the purple skeletal lady.
"We shall push you all one by one until you all are tossed in," said Dimentia. "Speak up."
"You're gonna toss us all in anyway," said Diamond Tooth. "Even if you get your so-called answer."
"You are correct," said Dimentia, "but wouldn't you like to clear your conscience before you fall?"
"We're telling the truth," said the Raven. "We oppose the war. We're running away from it."
"Well, you can't get any further than down there," said Dimentia. She yelled in her native language. The Loa shoved them all toward the edge with the tip of their bone weapons.
The tip of the Raven's boot straddled the edge. Earth chipped at her feet, gravel fell into the dark abyss. She kept her legs spread wide, crouching, and pushing backward as hard as she could.
She and the seven remaining demons combined their weight and thrust it back onto the Loa. The two forces reached a stalemate. The Raven threw her head upward, butting one of the tribesmen.
Lights flickered in her eyes. She wobbled. Luckily, Diamond Tooth followed her lead and shoved sideways hard enough to knock two Loa off of the edge of the cliff. They vanished into the black.
That only served to anger the remaining Loa. They all joined to one side until one of the female demons tumbled over the cliff. An enormous worm exploded from the face of the cliff and swallowed her before slipping back into its hole through the underworld. The event seemed to catch even the Loa by surprise. Everyone stood still and silent.
Taking advantage of the brief lull in shoving, the Raven swiveled around to face the Loa. She kicked at them and connected a few blows against stomachs and groins. They weren't made of much flesh, if any at all. She hoped they would at least fall apart or something, but they didn't.
One tribesman caught her foot. Others joined in and pushed her. She tipped backwards and reached to grab onto Diamond Tooth. She tumbled over the cliff.
The rope binding her wrists snagged onto Diamond Tooth's belt buckle. She almost pulled the demon down with her. Diamond Tooth's belt ripped. The demon grabbed the Raven's wrists. She stretched her fingers around Diamond Tooth's binds and gripped with all her might.
"I got you," said Diamond Tooth. "Don't you fall, Raven."
"What did you say?" said Dimentia.
A bone clocked Diamond Tooth in the head. The demon slumped over the edge, dropping the Raven deeper into the bottomless pit. She snapped to a stop. Her joints felt as if they had ripped out of their sockets.
She slammed into the face of the cliff and dangled over the void in terror, still grasping onto an upside down and unconscious Diamond Tooth. A demon above them had caught Diamond Tooth's leg, and another two demons helped to hoist them up, but with the Loa continuing their onslaught, they wouldn't be hanging out together too much longer.
The brass object slipped from Diamond Tooth's shirt and clunked the Raven on the nose. It dangled in her face. Plates on the object spun, and its clock-like hands turned.
She recognized the object in the same way one does when coming across a face they hadn't seen in many years. She didn't know exactly what the object was, but it was familiar, and she was in no desperate need to figure it out at that moment. Her sweaty hands were slipping between Diamond Tooth's limp fingers.
"Stop!" yelled Dimentia from above. "Daséẹ! Daséẹ!"
The Loa halted at once, aimed their boney weapons at the demons, and waited for instructions from Dimentia, who leaned over the edge of the cliff and asked, "What is your name?"
"What?" said the Raven, losing her grip on Diamond Tooth with every passing second.
"Your name," said Dimentia. "What did the demon call you?"
"Raven. She called me the Raven."
"Raise her up," Dimentia instructed the Loa. "Raise her up now!"
The Loa hesitated.
"Árị ápụráa." said Dimentia.
The Loa, along with the demons began hoisting them up. The Raven clung at the very tip of Diamond Tooth's fingers, barely hanging on.
"Hurry," said the Raven. "I'm slipping."
"Álála," Dimentia said to the Loa.
Just as the Raven lost her grip, Diamond Tooth amazingly regained consciousness and grabbed her binds.
"I told you not to fall," she said.
Diamond Tooth's shiny object swung in the Raven's face the entire way up. She tried to remember where she had seen it before and why she had such a strong feeling that it was special. When they reached the top, Dimentia grabbed the Raven's chin and forcefully turned her face from side to side.
The dreadlocked woman spoke to her people, and the tribesmen untied them all. Diamond Tooth tucked her necklace back inside her shirt casually, as if not to make a big deal out of it.
"Forgive us." Dimentia brushed off the Raven's clothes. "We were unaware."
"Unaware of what?" asked the Raven.
Dimentia placed both her boney hands on the Raven's shoulders and gripped. The intensity of her purple glowing eyes softened to a pale dim. "You're the Raven," she said. "It has spoken to us as it did you. It has placed an onus upon you as it did to us."
"What's she talking about?" said Diamond Tooth.
"I don't know," said the Raven. She had an idea, but she wasn't too sure.
"It told us 'the Raven seeks flight'," said Dimentia, "'And when it reaches south, return home you shall.' We mustn't dishonor it any longer. I fear we have already done too much. You may go. All of you."
"Just like that?" said Diamond Tooth.
"Just tell your people that you can build your great walls, but it is foolish to think that it can be stopped."
"What can't be stopped?" asked the Raven.
"It has no name," said Dimentia.
"The Nothing?"
Dimentia waved her skeletal hand, dismissively. "This is what you people call it, but you are wrong to ascribe such a childish moniker. It shows your lack of understanding and imagination." Wildly, she wagged her finger at the Raven and the demons, who stood around her in a semi-circle.
"It is the furthest thing from Nothing," said Dimentia. "It is so much more." She spread her arms out wide and gazed into the dark canopy of trees. "It is everything." She balled her fists. "And these gang wars have stirred it up. The underworld was never meant to be a place for war or even torment. It is a place for learning and growing spiritually."
She stepped in between them, breaking up their half circle, and stood with her back towards them all. "There was a time when all souls were judged and were all given equal opportunity to return to the living or move on to other phases. But now we are all kept here indefinitely, because some of us have learned nothing. Too many of us continue to make the same mistakes over and over again. The system was never perfect. It was always flawed. Now it is completely broken. It must be destroyed and before it can be rebuilt."
She spun around, her dreadlocks swung. "'It', which has no name, is the cure for this sickness. It will start with the dead and proceed on to the living. Everything will be restored. This 'Nothing' will bring purification whether we are all prepared for it or not."
"Amen!" Diamond Tooth clapped. "Powerful sermon. But we can't stay for the rest of the service. We don't want the Raven to miss her flight and be late for that onus thing."
"Bérédóghúbó. But you are right. Disobedience toward a given task is unacceptable. You must hurry. Bípí pírí."
"About our objects," said Diamond Tooth.
A CHAIN LINKED CROSS TO IGNATIUS AT THEIR CUFFED WRISTS. The red giant escorted Cross to a platform where gloomy soldiers straggled about with souls seeking refuge from the war.
Without the aid of train tracks, Charon chugged toward the platform; its horn bellowed the voice of death. The locomotive was appallingly filthy, with jets of fire for eyes, and a bush of Nothings on its face like an unkempt beard upon a chin.
Ignatius pointed to a pile of decapitated heads that decorated the front engine. "You're a lot luckier than them," said the giant. "I hear Hell isn't so bad this time of year."
Ignatius boomed in laughter and yanked the chain. The shackle twisted Cross's wrist and jerked him to his knees. Cross spotted his Peacemaker resting in the giant's holster. All he had to do was get his hands on it.
The doors to all the boxcars slid open. Charon invited souls aboard.
The two of them climbed into a boxcar. It was filled to capacity, just like it had been the first time he rode the train. Men, women, and children lined the soot-covered walls. They shivered and peered around suspiciously, wearing lost and confused expressions. They had found themselves on a train with no food, water, or sanitation and were being ushered through the underworld to the respective realm of their belief system. Some of the souls' memories remained intact for now. But soon they'd be drinking from the River Lethe and wouldn't remember anything, unlike him: The Man Who Remembers. They were lucky. He remembered every confusing detail of how he ended up riding the Charon for the first time.
Twenty-three years after Kate was shot, Charles had read the final page of Harriet, the Moses of her People. The story inspired him and placed Kate back into the forefront of his thoughts. She had survived the vicious gunshot but didn't escape without a nasty disfigurement to her back.
Every single day of the years that went by, he blamed himself for everything that happened to her, and how she had turned out since the shooting. After the incident, he fled the Carson ranch, at a time when she needed him most, when he needed her, when they needed each other. Their split from each other sent both their lives spiraling downward.
Circumstances had befallen Kate that caused her reputation to become soiled, just as Vivian predicted that fateful night after the party. She ran with all the wrong kinds of men: gamblers, bunko artists, and big bugs, the same type of questionable crowd Charles ran with ever since he left the Carson ranch. But he was just glad her occupation was that of a respectable saloon girl and not one of the shady ladies in the brothel. Her life could have easily taken that route.
He and Kate were always so much alike in personality, their lifestyles were the only thing that used to separate them, but now their paths were almost identical. She had lost everything, like him. The family he made without Kate was now gone. She also had no father, like him. She had no mother, like him. The only constant between them was that they always had each other, no one else but each other. And even that dangled from a brittle clothesline over the past few years.
In the past, Kate had always saved him, even suffered a permanent disfigurement to her back as a testament to her devotion. All he did was run away from it. Now it was time for him to return the many favors she had given him. Since their coming of age, she had become enslaved to society, and he planned to free her like Harriet had done the slaves. Of course it wasn't nearly the same situation, but that story served as his inspiration and spurred him into risking his neck to save her as she had always done for him. God willing, he could restore both their lives.
He closed the book and rode into town, along with a friend for his protection, and they stepped inside the saloon where Kate worked as a saloon girl. Billiard balls cracked against each other, beer mugs clinked on the bar, cards shuffled at a table.
Charles greeted a few patrons and refused a glass of whiskey, "Wait 'til I come back," he told his friend. "I want to go to the water closet."
His friend nodded, and Charles passed through the partition door in the back. He found Kate's room and knocked on the door.
"Who's there?" said her voice from inside the room.
"Charlie," he said.
"Go away!"
"Don't be like that, Kitty."
"Don't call me that," she said. "That's what they call me. You shouldn't be here."
He laid his palm on the cold wooden door. "I came back for you. Just open up."
The spot on the door where his hand rested warmed up as if her hand was placed in the same area.
"You're a known outlaw," said Kate. "They'll hang you."
"Then maybe you should let me in before I get spotted."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because, well, I'm engaged."
"No, you're not."
The door went cold again.
"I am," she said.
"Since when?"
"Since---it doesn't matter. You need to leave."
He rested his forehead against the door. "Kate, I'm not leaving without you. Let's talk. Open up now."
"There's nothing to talk about. I don't want to see you."
"I know I hurt you. I came to apologize. Honestly, I wish I could explain it, but I'm still trying to figure out what happened myself. All I can tell you is---"
A thud pounded inside the room as if someone had jumped on the squeaky bed.
"Is someone in there with you?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Please. Don't do this."
"I'm not gonna do nothing. I only wanna talk. Honest. Whoever's in there with you, I promise I don't have no problems with the fella. I don't want no trouble. I just want to talk. That's it."
The door creaked opened slowly. He stepped inside. A man stood to Kate's left. He was dressed in a suit, but Kate was in her nightgown even though it was only a few minutes past one o'clock in the afternoon.
Charles introduced himself to the man, but the man said nothing. Charles held out his hand to shake the man's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr.---"
The man lunged at Charles, grappled with him, and clasped his hands around Charles's neck.
Charles punched the mysterious man off him and gasped for air. "What the Hell?" he said, after finally catching his breath.
Kate stood on the bed aiming her father's Peacemaker at Charles. Her hands shook so badly, she could have dropped the pistol. "I'm so sorry, Charlie. But I won't let them have you."
His last living memory ended there. He never heard the shot, only an odd noise between a low hum and a high-pitched whistle. Nor did he feel the heat of a bullet pierce through his flesh. There was no physical pain at all, only the free feeling of flying through blackness.
There was much more pain in the aftermath due to his bewilderment of why Kate had decided to take his life in the first place. It made no sense.
He may have disappointed her, but it was nothing she would kill him over. None of their disputes where that bad. For the most part, they were always on good terms. They were always able to talk about things.
He loved her enough to trust that she had to have some justifiable reason for killing him. He wanted to believe it was for some greater good. Judging by her final words to him, it seemed that way. Someone was after him. He didn't know who or why, but she must've felt that killing him was the only way to save him. It didn't seem very logical to him, but she had to have her reasons.
If he could ever find out the whole story, he would. Had his life ever flashed before his eyes like Mr. Beckwourth used to say it would when people died, then he could have gained some kind of clue as to why Kate cut him down.
But his death was as mysterious as it was abrupt. He never saw a bright light or tunnel. He traveled between the stars in one instant, from the saloon where he died to one of Charon's filthy boxcars where he began his afterlife.
Cross lay beside Ignatius pretending to sleep, waiting for any opportunity to make his escape. He was praying to the Great Goddess to help him find a way out when salty air began to swirl about the boxcar and splashing noises smacked the walls outside. An idea of their current location occurred to him, and if he was right about where they were, now would be his last opportunity to act before the red giant dropped him into the pit of Hell where he belonged.
He cracked an eye open and discovered all the souls were peacefully sleeping much more comfortably than they should have been, including Ignatius, whose deep slumber would make for an easier getaway. The giant was turned on his side like an overgrown baby. The Peacemaker sank into his massive holster like a toy.
Slowly, Cross reached for his Colt. His eyes volleyed back and forth from the giant and onto the revolver as he eased closer and closer. His fingertip touched the holster, and then two fingertips grazed the handle of the gun.
"You think it's going to be that easy?" said Ignatius, without turning over.
"I'm getting nauseous," Cross lied. "I think it's that sea illness. We've been rocking back and forth for hours cooped up in this tin can. I need some air."
Ignatius flipped over to face Cross, who feigned a heave. "It's coming up." He clasped a hand over his mouth.
"Don't get it on me." Ignatius yanked Cross to his feet by the chain. The pain sliced through his shoulder sharply ending in a tingle. He wiggled his fingers to make sure he could still use them.
Ignatius dragged Cross to the door and slid it open. Wind plunged in carrying water droplets, and they were met with the vast black sea, Oceanus, just as Cross had suspected. Waves splashed at his knees and at Ignatius's bulky ankles. The locomotive sailed across the stormy sea like a ship, chugging up and down the waves.
"The wind is blowing your direction," said Cross. "If you don't want to wear my stinking vomit on your face, I suggest you turn your head. But you don't have to listen to me. It's your choice."
Ignatius squinted his apple-sized eye. Cross gagged and gulped as if on the verge of spewing last night's barbot all over the giant. Ignatius pivoted sideways. Cross reached for one of the giant's tiny wings and snapped it off. The giant roared in pain.
Cross thrust all his weight into the giant and shoved as hard as he could out of the boxcar. They both plunged into the rough sea. Charon sailed over the crest of a wave that could have swallowed the Carson's mansion.
"Are you crazy?" said Ignatius, treading the dark water in a panic. "You know what evil lurks in these waters?"
Cross gouged the giant's apple eye with his entire hand and swam around to Ignatius's back. He wrapped the chain around the giant's neck and pulled it taught.
Ignatius thrashed the waves. His remaining itty bitty wing batted Cross in the face. Waves crashed down on their heads. The giant gulped for air and gagged on water.
Cross braced his knees on the giant's shoulders and tightened the chain until it was at its tightest. The flailing stopped, and the giant body went limp. Ignatius sank and pulled Cross into the depths like an anchor.
He searched desperately through Ignatius's pockets for the keys to the shackles. The front and rear pants pockets were empty, as were the outside jacket pockets. He found the key ring on the inside jacket pocket, but there were six keys on the ring and he was sinking fast.
The first three keys failed to unlock the shackles. As he tried the fourth key, decayed fish bombarded him, swimming frantically. Their protruding bones scraped him as they collided into his chest and arms. It was as if they were blind or were fleeing danger.
He swung the keys at the fish. He smacked a few out of his way, but dropped the key ring. It sank. He grabbed for it and accidentally wrapped his fingers around a sallow fish. Its bones sliced his palm.
He ignored the pain and reached for the key ring again. He stretched the length of the chain. The keys disappeared into the abyss with the dead fish, who left behind chunks of chum swirling around.
Ignatius pulled him down further into the hum of the ocean, and it seemed the giant would get his revenge on Cross, even in second death.
A faint blue glow pulsed on and off through the murky waters. Cross removed the Peacemaker from Ignatius's holster and aimed to shoot the chain that linked them. He pulled the trigger. The bullet merely nicked the chain and caused no damage.
He shot again. Nothing. He fired five more rounds in rapid succession. The water slowed the bullets down each time.
The blue glow brightened. Cross pulled and yanked, trying to squeeze his wrist through the iron bracelet. He twisted Ignatius's arm in an attempt to rip it out of its socket, but it was like trying to uproot a tree. A pain ripped through his lungs. His chest ached for a breath.
The blue light bloomed. It was close enough now that he could partially see the sea beast, Grum, approaching steadily closer. The blue beacon hung from an antenna on its head and partially lit its ugly face that had scales peeling off it and bones protruding out of its gills.
Grum's cold eyes peered at Cross, and the giant fish gaped its mouth. The threshold could fit the Carson's mansion through it. Water sucked into the opening and dragged Cross along for the ride.
He swam away as hard as he could, but he couldn't pull the weight of the giant, who was falling into Grum's mouth. If only Ignatius had turned to Nothing, he could escape.
The giant must not have burned after all. Maybe he had only passed out. Cross shook the giant in an attempt to wake him, but it was too late.
Grum's teeth hung above his head and jutted up below. They were the size and shape of church steeples. Cross waited for the teeth to come within inches of closing, and at the last second, he kicked off of Ignatius's chest. The giant fell behind Grum's teeth, which chomped down on the chain. It snapped.
Cross swam furiously back to the surface of the water and gulped in frigid, soulless air. Waves crashed on his head and there was no land in sight. There was only one way back to land that would prevent him from succumbing to the cold or becoming chum for the monsters that lurked in Oceanus. It could possibly get him to Skull Hill before Diamond Tooth, depending on how far she had already traveled. He assumed she had already beaten the name of the skull out of the Raven. That is, if the Raven had talked.
Somehow, he knew she hadn't. She wasn't a talker like him.
He gathered the half chain dangling at his wrist, inhaled deeply, and swam back underwater. Grum's blue glow was swimming away, but the beast must've sensed his return. The giant fish whipped around as Cross had hoped. The dead eyes of the sea beast drew closer with increasing speed, seemingly determined to make a meal out of Cross.
He swam upward, and just as he planned, Grum chased, swimming at such a speed that the water pushed upward instead of sucking back into the beast's mouth. Cross positioned himself at Grum's lips and planted his feet.
Grum broke the surface of the water and launched into the air. Cross dove for the blue beacon and wrapped the chain around the antennas.
Grum plunged back into the water with Cross on its spine, tugging on the antenna, using them as reins. Grum bucked and swam deeper into the ocean. Down, down, down into the black depths.
Cross had anticipated that too. Most wild beasts reacted the same way when something tried to ride them, and there wasn't a beast in the living world or the underworld than he couldn't tame. He stroked Grum's antenna and the sea monster quit fighting.
FINALLY, OUT IN THE WARM LIGHT OF THE UNDERWORLD, standing at the edge of Fon-Ewe Forest, the Raven got a closer look at Diamond Tooth's band of demons. The six young men and women appeared more creatural than Diamond Tooth, and much more demonic with their pointy ears and wrinkled faces. They all seemed to be in the middle of a transition, as if they hadn't quite grown into themselves fully.
Each had his or her own distinct horns sticking out of his or her skulls. The smallest female demon had puny horns poking out her forehead. Without those horns, she could have been mistaken for a human, just like Diamond Tooth. The two of them strikingly resembled each other in an odd way.
One male and one female had thick ram-like horns curling around their ears. And that was the extent of their beastly characteristic features. They could have passed for humans as well. But another two of the demons appeared wooden, as if they were half tree; their skin was bark-like and their horns were brown like a cone-shaped branch with a hint of leafy moss at the tip.
The ugliest of all the demons was so emaciated it could have been a member of the Loa tribe. It had the most horns of all the demons. They protruded out all over its naked skeletal frame. Prickly thorns pointed out from its lips, and horns replaced its teeth and fingernails.
The demons themselves weren't necessarily an odd sight for the Raven. She'd seen more bizarre creatures, but she studied them longer than usual because somehow each of their facial features was familiar to her, as though she had met them before somewhere else besides Camp Erutrot. Their eyes, jaw bone structure, and nose all resembled familiar faces, but she couldn't peg who they were exactly.
That kind of verging recall had been happening to her frequently enough in the past few weeks that she made desperate efforts to pay close attention and attempt to remember whatever information that was trying burrow its way out of the depths of her subconscious.
The Loa returned the heard of scorpions and dispersed each object to its rightful owner. The bagh nakhs of course went to Diamond Tooth. One demon took a cane---the cane that the Amenthesians had given to the Raven. She had never tested it out and didn't know its ability. A female demon grabbed a lantern that the Raven had never seen before. The daintiest of the three female demons took the pink parasol.
Cross had shoved that exact umbrella in the Raven's face enough times, she remembered it distinctly. Apparently, the demons were aware of the blanket's ability. That was the only way they could have gotten it or the amphora that the fourth demon tucked under her arm. It was the same amphora the squals had given to the Raven as bounty for turning Cross in to them.
The Raven couldn't figure out if the skeletal demon was male or female. It holstered the hammer in his spiky hip. She knew the hammer's power. It had knocked her feathers off near the Asphodel Meadows when she tested it out. She had never used it again because she preferred the precision of her rope dart. The hammer was more suitable for demolishing something large. Unfortunately, it couldn't have been in worse possible hands.
Ropey returned to the Raven's waist, and she shoved her battered top hat on her head. Her burlap sack, stuffed with the blanket, was hooked onto Diamond Tooth's scorpion. With all the objects evenly dispersed---or unevenly from the Raven's outnumbered perspective, the clan of eight each saddled their own respective scorpion and headed out of Guinee.
They journeyed into Lokantarika, a town within Naraka. The village could have fit in with the sparkling cities of paradise once, but the wars smeared its grimy hands over everything in it. Holes littered the Stupa of Nirvana, and at the other end of the long road, the wooden pagoda bled smoke.
Explosions boomed in the outskirts of the village. Flashes in the distance lit up the dark clouds. A whistle scraped through the sky from the east. Globs of lava splashed onto the pagoda. Brimstone plopped in front of her and the demons, drowning the road.
The Raven and the demons hopped off their scorpions. The ground crunched under their feet as though they had stepped on crispy leaves. When the Raven glanced down, she spotted souls the size of insects, scrambling away, trying to avoid getting smashed.
All the demons except Diamond Tooth purposely stomped the tiny spirits, making a game out of it and laughing. The Raven tip-toed over the souls but couldn't avoid crushing some by accident. She cringed at each splat under her boots.
"Raec, take care of the scorpions," said Diamond Tooth.
Raec, one of the two ram-horned demons, rounded up the scorpions. The rest of them sought shelter in the abandoned stupa. Diamond Tooth lay down on the only cot available. It drooped, on its last leg.
Outside, crowds of spirits fled the ragged buildings. They clumped together like several locomotives made of hundreds of legs, arms, and heads. They merged with one another, and burst out of each other's chests, causing their own dismemberment and beheadings. Headless bodies raced away, leaving their heads behind calling for their masters to return.
Diamond Tooth's disgusting demons kicked the heads around as a game and used the leftover limbs that littered the road as cruel whacking sticks to smack the heads over the buildings. The demons sought a vile joy in who could send a head the farthest. The heads pleaded and screamed as they sailed away over the roofs. The heads that didn't clear the stupa, rolled back down the rounded heap of a building, and were subject to more bashing.
Unable to watch the sick game any longer, the Raven returned to the stupa and sat in a chair, contemplating her next move. She suspected that Diamond Tooth and her demons were planning to burn her once they found out the name of the skull. It's what the Raven would have done in their boots, and she was in no position to do anything about it. Even with her rope dart, she couldn't defeat them all. They each had objects and had owned them long enough to have played around with them and figured out how to use them lethally. That's perhaps why Diamond Tooth felt comfortable enough to sleep in the same room as the Raven.
Running away and forgetting about the last Toran wasn't an option. Reaching it was worth the risk. She just hated not being in control and lacking a plan.
Raec returned from rounding up the scorpions, and the marching cadence of souls who were running scared, fleeing the town had subsided until the only things that occupied Lokantarika was the Raven, the seven demons and silence.
A furry animal wandered into their hideout. It was a Baku, a child's pet that ate nightmares and harsh dreams.
Diamond Tooth slumbered away, but the other six demons reached for the creature with hungry eyes. It scurried away from them. They lunged after it. The dreameater darted for the Raven and hopped into her lap as if it knew she would protect it. She embraced the cuddly Baku, and it trembled in her arms.
The demons stalked with glowing eyes. The Raven stared the demons down, welcoming any challenge, but they wouldn't attack her. They needed her cooperation. She was the only one who knew the name of the skull that the Toran was buried under.
They scoffed at her and backed away. She caressed the Baku and stroked it until it stopped shaking. It nudged its head under her palm, purring, and sniffed her enthusiastically with its snout. It gave her the kind of respect she had witnessed between Cross and Gimlet. It was very unfortunate what happened to those two.
A four beat drum-like pattern played outside, interrupting her from her brief sorrow. It sounded like four bullet rounds and judging by its muffled tone, it originated from inside a building at the other end of the road. The demons, too busy playing their twisted games with the heads, didn't hear the noise. They couldn't have heard it at that distance anyway. They could see in the dark, but only she could hear at that distance.
Those shots weren't from just any gun though. Every gun had its own tune, and that melody was familiar. She knew it distinctly because she had heard it up close and personal right before her walk through Yomi. Ever since Cross's Peacemaker had emptied her canteen, the sound remained imprinted in her mind, just like every other sound she had ever heard.
She recalled seeing Ignatius with the Peacemaker back at Camp Erutrot, but the giant would have never been able to get his arm-sized finger through the trigger guard. It wouldn't surprise her if the shots came from Cross. That bastard was a survivor.
But anyone could steal objects. It may not have been him at all. She hoped it was Cross. For both their sakes, it had better be him. A tingle sensation danced in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again.
She carried the Baku in between the demons. They all watched her step over the rubble and exit the stupa through the massive hole in the wall. Once outside and safe, she released the Baku. It scurried away, and she waited till it was out of danger. She headed in the direction where the gunshots originated, toward the pagoda at the other end of the road, still exhaling smoke like a pipe.
Lokantarika was ghostly quiet. The scrape of her boots across the gravel accompanied the faint wisp of wind swirling dust. The capriccio of war was still not too far away. Somewhere in the heart of Naraka, there was a giant battle taking place. The beat of foot-to-earth played out the elegy of each individual soul's finale in that war, and that orchestra was pouncing closer.
A new sound pattered behind her. She had expected to be followed, but not so obviously. Those demons couldn't sneak up on a drummer during a parade. They sounded like Raec's clunky footsteps, and he was alone, which was stupid of him but perfect for her.
She cut around the side of a building and about-faced. Raec turned the corner. She grabbed his ram-like horns and slammed him face first onto the ground. He rolled to his back. Her rope dart launched down at him. He deflected it with a simple wave of his wrist.
The Raven paused, severely taken aback, as no one had ever simply waved her rope dart away before. Ropey wrapped around her waist in retreat.
Raec clutched an object in his palm, and an unknown force lifted his back horizontally off the ground. He floated upright and slowly glided down to his toes, soles and then heels. A swirling aura molded around his frame, glowing green with a hint of purple.
She launched her rope dart at him again. The dart bashed into his chest with the force of a bullet, and on impact the green aurora sparked around his body like electricity. But amazingly, the dart failed to pierce him. It merely clung to the aura surrounding him.
She called the rope back to her, but it wouldn't budge. She heaved the rope with both arms. It was locked in place.
Raec held his hand out, and a shard of metal flew into his grasp. He chopped her dear Ropey in half. Its tail end went limp in her hands.
All the metallic parts of her wardrobe yanked towards the demon. She stumbled forward and slid across the dirt without ever her lifting her feet. She exploited the magnetic force and threw herself at Raec. Her top hat fell off as she tackled him to the ground. She wrapped Ropey's limp tail around Raec's neck and pulled it taught.
The demon flailed. He grabbed at his throat with one hand and reached out with the other hand that was holding his object. She couldn't steal the object from him without loosening the rope.
The surrounding buildings splintered and plinked as though pieces were breaking off of them. Loose metal objects rose from the ground. Twisted shards of metal and poles and ball bearings dashed in her direction.
She flipped over, lifted Raec up, and used him as a shield. The projectiles ricocheted off him and his blinking aura. He head butted her in the nose. It cracked and went numb.
The rope slipped through her hands briefly, but she grabbed it again and tightened it. She flapped her wings and took to the sky, carrying Raec by the neck. He dangled.
She soared fast and high, not paying any attention to how close she was to the burning blue sky. Its heat seared her barbs, but she could withstand it until Raec passed out.
A piece of metal shot right into her wing and lodged itself into her ulna. She released the rope. Raec dropped. She spiraled down, fluttering her injured wing, trying to land safely, and crashed landed beside Raec.
He was dead. Curiously, the demon hadn't burned. There was no mistaking the fact that he was dead, but the fact that he hadn't shriveled to Nothing puzzled her. Was he born in the underworld? That would be impossible. Very few spirits possessed the ability to reproduce in the underworld, and demons weren't one of them. Most demons were made somewhere else, and then sent to the underworld after being vanquished from the realm of the living. Others became demonic only after they had died. As far as she knew, no spirit had ever given birth to a demon while in the underworld.
She had no time to ponder it further. After all the ruckus, the other demons would be on their way soon, especially when Raec didn't return to them.
She snatched the compass out of his hands. "This belongs to me," she said.
She plucked the metal object from her wing and punched the ground in agony. The bloody object she had removed was none other than her very own dart. She was just about sick of the underworld's ironic sense of humor.
She pulled herself from the ground and found her top hat. Quickly, she rethreaded the rope through the dart. Ropey sprang back to life. And she made her way to the pagoda where she hoped to find Cross.
CROSS RODE ABOVE THE SURFACE OF OCEANUS ON THE SLIMY BACK OF THE SEA BEAST, GRUM, heading towards the closest piece of land. The giant fish brought him as close to shore as it could without getting stuck on the reef. Cross swam the rest of the way through the bay's calm waters.
The beach was littered with sparkling jewels of all colors. Rubies, jasper and carnelian replaced sand. He used to rob people of them when he was alive because they were extremely valuable. They were now worthless in death.
The only thing he knew about his current location was that he was somewhere deep in the south because Oceanus only touched the southern realms. Across the gulf of Oceanus, he spotted a faint hint of the light of paradise. Now, he knew which was east.
According to his soggy map, Skull Hill was west of him and was blocked by a mountain range made of knives. That sounded like a climb he wanted to avoid. But going around the mountains would require him to go north several miles out of his way.
He trudged through the twinkling stones of the beach, and miles inland he found himself traipsing through a city made entirely of gemstones and precious metals. There were palaces of emerald, temples of diamond, and houses of gold.
The only city of jewels he knew of was located in the realm of Patala, which was one of the coastal realms. He had never seen the colorful city with his own eyes though. It could have been in Paradise it was such a shiny and pleasant place. The air smelled of sweet perfume and there was slight hum of some music that swam in it as well.
He followed the platinum road for an hour until he came upon a mountain that rose up and down, slowly as if it were breathing. It was a colossus.
It could take him around the mountains of knives, but he had no objects to pay for a ride.
A woman with bright cherry red hair climbed down the foot of the beast. She was dressed in alluring satin and lace that barley covered her body.
He gripped his pistol and sneaked up behind the hetaera. Her heeled boots lifted her up to his height. He clasped his hand around her mouth from behind and poked the Peacemaker into her back. She stiffened.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered into her ear. "I just want a ride."
Several tribesmen swung and slid down off the colossus by ropes. They aimed spears at Cross and outnumbered him. He couldn't shoot them all at once. One of them was likely to stab him.
"They sure are protective of harlots around here," he said.
The woman tried to speak, but her words come out muffled, as his palm still covered her mouth. He removed his hand from her face. She spun around to face him.
"I'm the madam," she said, roughly yanking the top of her corset upwards, adjusting it. She almost spilled out of it. "And the leader of this entire colossus." She placed her hands on her hips and raised her chin.
"Look, I don't want any trouble." He holstered his pistol. "All I want it is ride."
The spear wielding tribesmen kept their sharpened tips aimed towards him.
"If all you wanted was a ride," said the madam, "There are better ways to go about it. We have a new policy anyway..." She paused, and through the green eye shadow circling her green pupils, she gazed into his face for a moment. She pointed one of her long, curly fingernails at him and wagged it. Her bracelets clinked together. "I know you. You're the man who remembers aren't you?"
He reached for his Peacemaker again. Before he could touch it, the tribesmen circled him, thrusting their spears at him from every angle, inches away from piercing him. They could have turned him into a sponge.
The madam made clicking sounds with her tongue and flicked her limp wrist, waving the tribesmen away with a jingle of her earrings and bracelets. The tribesmen climbed back up the ropes, keeping their eyes locked on the Cross.
"Let's start over," said the madam. "I'm trying to keep a distance from any reputation we've had in the past. Things are different now. First of all, I don't want your memories. I used to want them---or at least I thought I did---but not anymore. They wouldn't have helped me. I'm not sure I even believe it's possible for anyone to take them from you actually. But the reason I'm so surprised to see you is because someone was right about you, and I can't believe it."
Cross leaned his head back. "Who was right about what?"
"Many months ago, I saw you in Amenthes. You were lying on the crystal altar about to...." She dragged her painted fingernail from one side of her neck to the other. "But someone told me that you wouldn't lose your head that day, which seemed rather unlikely. We all left before your ceremony ended and didn't get a chance to see how it turned out. But apparently, you're still in one piece, just like she said you would be."
The Raven had mentioned that she ran into an old friend in Amenthes. That's why she was late rescuing him.
"It was a woman with black wings wasn't it?" he said.
"A woman, yes. But not with wings. This one had tiger claws."
He glanced at the ground and muttered to himself: "Diamond Tooth was in Amenthes that day?"
The madam clapped her hands together and brought her hands to her busty chest. "Oh, you know Diamond Tooth?" The smoky, green eye shadow stretched around her widening eyes.
Her excited reaction was unexpected. It was rare to come across a spirit who didn't recoil when they heard Diamond Tooth's name, and the madam sounded as if she had a positive encounter with the demon of pain and suffering. Perhaps he could use his past relationship with Diamond Tooth to his advantage. He could probably get a free ride or something.
Cross nodded. "Oh yeah. Me and Diamond Tooth, we're old friends. We go way back. I'm meeting her in Naraka. I'm a little late because I had to take a detour. She's waiting for me, and I don't want to disappoint so I'm traveling as fast as I can."
"Well, any friend of Diamond Tooth's is a friend of mine." The madam wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Because of her, we are free. Well, about as free as you can get in the underworld. But we're no longer captives to the Nwa-Efé. None of us are forced into their slavery anymore. Everyone is now here by choice. We decide our own fate. We're all free to go anywhere we want now, thanks to Diamond Tooth."
Somehow, he found that hard to believe. That didn't sound like Diamond Tooth at all. She didn't care about anyone but herself. She would only do something like that if it would benefit her in some way, not out the kindness of heart. She didn't even have a heart.
"We thought about settling here in Patala," the madam continued, "but it might be time for us to move on again. Maybe to Tuonela or even beyond. I wonder what's out there. If you're still interested in that ride, it's free---all the rides have been free since I've lead the colossus---but we can't take you into Naraka."
"Why not?"
"The Tribulation and Anarchists are having their great battle there. We don't want to get tangled in that web. I'm a little curious as to why you and Diamond Tooth would even want to go there."
"How far can you take me?"
"As far as we can. The border perhaps. And like I said, the ride is free, but we usually charge extra for those souls who want a little company in their hut. Since you're a friend of Diamond Tooth's I can provide you one of my lovely ladies for free also." She winked. "It's on me."
He only wanted to feel the touch of one woman: his ebony bird. He was sorry he ever gave her up to Diamond Tooth. When he took her through Yomi, it was for revenge. He had to pay her back for what she did to him. But he had no score to settle with her this time. He betrayed her purely for his own survival. This time he placed her afterlife in danger and regretted it. If a single one of the Raven's feathers was harmed because of him, he'd never forgive himself.
"Company won't be necessary," Cross said to the Madam. "I'll just take a hut to myself."
The colossus carried Cross around the mountains of knives, and within a couple sleep cycles, and dropped him off at a ghostly village in the realm of Naraka called Lokantarika. Anarchist soldiers marched down the road in between fleeing villagers.
Cross sneaked into an abandoned building and hid, in case Diamond Tooth was with the troops. He spied outside through a face-sized hole in the wall, looking for the demon.
Lava splashed directly in front of his hiding spot. He ducked, and by the time the steam cleared away, his spying hole was big enough for him to fit his body through. The lava had eaten through the wall. He climbed through the hole, and blended in with the retreating spirits.
A tiered structure towered over everything in the village. He skipped up its stone staircase and dipped inside. Soot covered what was left of the crumbling walls and dirtied the golden statue, sitting in the lotus position. All the windows were shattered. Steam rose up from the floor. The place had been ransacked and left for dead.
In a corner, an Ankou rocked a cradle. A baby rested inside it.
Cottontail was the youngest soul he had ever encountered in the underworld. This was the first time he had come across a baby. He'd never even heard of a baby being damned.
He stepped closer to the cradle wondering if it were some illusion. How could a baby ever end up in such a wretched place? What sins could an innocent child commit in life? It didn't make any sense.
"Is that really a baby?" he asked.
Slowly, the Ankou poked a bony index finger out its sleeve and raised it up to its hood which cast a deep shadow over its entire head.
"Shhhh," it hissed and held up a boney palm for Cross to not step closer.
The wellbeing of his child entered his mind. He never got a chance to hold it or kiss it or love it. It must've grown up missing him as much as he regretted not being a part of its life. That pained him. He would have been a great father.
He backed away from the cradle, empathetic towards the infant, but it was safe in the Ankou's deathly hands. All who had ever fought the ferrymen burned or were annihilated.
Cross headed up the rickety staircase, stepping carefully. The stairs ended at the third level of the tower, but there were many more floors above. The tower rose to at least thirteen stories. The way up further was barricaded with too much rubble and impassable.
He slid wooden beams aside and paced down the corridor, passing faded drawings on the walls. Doors hung off kilter, clinging to their hinges. The floor creaked with most of his steps and spit dust onto his ankles.
Finally, he found a suitable room to rest his head. Through the hole in the wall, he could see the soldiers marching below and the flashes of war a few miles away in the heart of Naraka. His room stood as a good lookout point. On the opposite side of the room from the hole sat a tub full of real water, not that putrid stuff or the bizarre liquids usually found in rivers all over the underworld.
He dipped his finger in the water. It was still warm. Black lava bubbled underneath the tub and was cooling. Women's clothing and perfumes lay near the bath on a shelf.
It'd be a shame to let it all go to waste. In honor of the soul who had somehow found enough real water to fill a bath and had worked so hard to get lava under the tub, Cross vowed to enjoy the very first bath he had in several years.
He shut the door and poured the soaps and perfumes in the water, maybe too much. He was going to smell a little prissy, but he didn't care. He stripped down and hopped into the pleasant water. He soaked and sang to himself. He played with the bubbles, squeezing them into the air, blowing them across the room.
A creak in the wood gave him pause. A squal burst through the door and snarled in the doorway. It only had one arm.
He had assumed that miserable soul would have burned to Nothing by now after drinking the poisoned calabash juices. Why did it and the Raven survive? Bolon-Hunahpu might've been telling the truth. The calabash may not have been poison at all. If that were true, then what burned those spirits who claimed that a talking tree made them sick? What were those things that burst out of their stomachs?
Skin had grown over the nub were the squal's arm was sliced off, but the squal didn't appear healthy. Squals were usually ugly things, but Mr. Nubby looked much more sallow than usual.
Nubby stepped in the room. "Two hundred fifty-sss-six periods-sss of sss-sleep I sss-searched. I cross-sssed nine realms-sss." It paced up to the tub. "I've had lots-sss of time to learn how to decapitate with my left. Your memories-sss will be mine alone." It reached for Cross's neck.
Smartly, Cross had thought it would be wise to keep the Peacemaker at his side at all times. He aimed the revolver from under the water and fired. Nubby didn't burn.
He raised the revolver out of the water and fired another round through Nubby's chest. The squal spun, but still didn't burn.
He shot another round in its back. Nubby scrambled out of the room. Cross jumped out of the tub and found the squal staggering over to a broken bed. It gaped up at him, half snarling, and half gasping for breath. He put a bullet through the layer of skin on its head. It collapsed to the floor and shriveled to Nothing, once and for all.
"Took you long enough," said Cross.
He returned to the tub and soaked for about ten minutes until a racket came from the next room again.
"What now?" he whispered to himself. "Who the hell could this be?"
The banging on the door grew louder. The noise maker was asking to be greeted with a bullet. He rose out of the tub slowly and eased up to the door, thinking of whom else was hunting his head, trying to figure out who it might that he was going to burn next. It truly could have been anybody.
Suddenly, the banging stopped. His finger hovered over the trigger, and he tip toed over to the side of the door preparing to blast whatever came through when he kicked it open. He prepared his foot to kick the door in.
A click sounded behind him. He spun around and came face to face with the Raven.
Ropey danced around like a cobra. Cross stood there naked and dripping, unsure of the Raven's intentions. After all, it was he who had squealed on her to Diamond Tooth. Regardless, he was still happy to see her.
Her eyes glided down his naked body from his chest to down below his stomach. "We're not even in the cold Naraka. Does that thing even work?"
Cross squinted sideways. "Come over here and test it out. Make sure."
Ropey darted towards him, but he didn't budge.
He patted the dart on its head as if it were a dog. "Good to see you, too."
"Well, at least you smell better," said the Raven.
"How the hell did you get out of that camp?" he asked her.
"I'm tagging along with your old friend Diamond Tooth."
"I didn't peg you for a talker."
"I didn't tell her anything. If I did, I'd probably be burned."
Cross smiled and laughed. "You and I, we make a better team anyway. I'm so glad we're together again. Let me get dressed. Then I'll burn her. Be right back." He grabbed his shirt.
"She's not alone," said the Raven. "There's five more of 'em."
In the middle of fastening his shirt, Cross halted. "Five?"
"Five demons," said the Raven. "And they all have objects. Our objects."
The initial intimidation Cross had felt left him and was replaced by a sudden confidence burgeoning within him. He had tamed Grum. He had defeated the red giant Ignatius. He had taken on the serpent form of the Nothing and walked away unharmed. He evaded squals and survived the Rudimen. He was a true survivor. It wouldn't be easy for him to take on five demons, let alone demons with objects, but they weren't the only ones with objects. The Great Goddess was on his side, and the Toran was his destiny.
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I'll burn them all."
The Raven said nothing more as he finished buttoning his shirt and slipped on his pants.
He left the Raven in the tower, and crept down the middle of the road. Explosions boomed closer to the village than they had earlier. The whistle of falling brimstone grew louder. Lava dropped from the sky and splashed in the road before him. He stepped around the puddle of lava, blocking the heat with his hands and continued down the road.
At the opposite end of the road, four demons stood posted inside the threshold of a bell-shaped building. In a blink, they fanned out in opposite directions and disappeared behind the smaller buildings of the village.
Cross stepped sideways out of the center of the road. A noise rustled beside him. He aimed his revolver and discovered the Raven leaning against a post, smiling.
"Thought I'd let you burn alone?" she said.
She joined him in the road, and they walked together. It felt good to have someone on his side that was capable of watching his back for once. Even if it was a temporary partnership, he finally had someone again. Someone who wasn't afraid to burn beside him. Although, Diamond Tooth would want the Raven alive given that she was the only one who knew the name of the skull. Still, the Raven was willing to risk her afterlife to fight beside him, and that meant everything to him.
Side by side, they both paced down the middle of the road between the abandoned buildings, step after cautious step. Cross constantly twisted his head around every which direction checking porches, shadowy corners, and eaves for hidden demons.
Boomph. An invisible force bent the air at one end of the road. The blur raced towards them. The wavy ripple smashed into the ground. Dirt exploded. The force knocked him back a peg.
Boomph. Another pulse of energy sailed from out the mound-shaped building that the demons had exited earlier. Cross and the Raven both rolled out of the way. The energy hummed between them and leveled a building behind them.
Out the corner of Cross's eye, a demon leapt from an eave above. He aimed the Peacemaker. The demon landed before he could squeeze the trigger and cracked him over the head with a cane.
The demon then tapped the can on the ground. Spider legs sprouted from the demon's midsection. Three of the legs kicked Cross in the stomach at once. He twisted around. Three more kicks connected with his spine. He dropped to his hands and caught kicks to his face. His world spun.
Ropey maneuvered through all eight of the demon's legs and tied them together. The Raven yanked her end of the rope and swept the demon off his many feet. He slammed to its back and flailed its eight legs. Cross fired, putting a round in the demon's chest. Its legs curled and stiffened.
Cross crossed himself and got to his feet. The Raven smiled at him for the first time since he had known her. He liked that look on her. It was off-putting, but at the same time, nice. He went to grab the demon's cane, but it had splintered to pieces.
Boomph. The air pounded. The energy missed them both without them having to dodge it. The Raven sent her rope dart in the direction of the force's origin. A pulse repelled Ropey and sent it flying back to the Raven.
Cross shot at the blur. The bullets bounced off it. If only he had possession of his parasol, the lightening could most likely break through the ripple.
Lightning struck the ground in front of him. A demon standing on an eave twirled his pink parasol. The Great Goddess was paying attention. He thanked her and fired at the demon. She ducked.
An invisible force knocked him off his feet, but it wasn't one of the energy pulses. It was a blur of light. It raced away, leaving a trail in the dirt behind it. The Raven's rope dart chased the flash, but failed to catch it. Ropey had finally met its match in speed.
Two female demons stepped out into the middle of the road. One carried the Raven's amphora. The other held a lantern.
A squeal seared through the sky. All four of them dropped to the ground, covering their heads. A steaming blob of molten lava flopped down between them and exploded into a cloud of steam.
Cross and the Raven broke away from each other, dashing in opposite directions, leaving both demons coughing in the steam. Cross hid on a crumbling porch behind a pillar.
The demon with the amphora emptied a stream of water onto the lava. Flowers grew inside the cooling lava until a full garden had sprouted up. The demons stalked within the steamy garden, hunting for their prey.
The Raven stepped out from her hiding spot between buildings and whistled at the demons. They turned in her direction. Ropey struck for the demon carrying the lantern. She whisked away in a flash of light, escaping the impaling.
The other demon tilted the amphora and poured a river onto the road. The cascade bashed the Raven and swept her down the road.
Cross aimed at the demon from his spot on the porch. A lightning bolt struck the porch railing in front of him before he could shoot. The blast knocked him backward, and he almost broke through the front door of the house.
He gathered himself to his feet in time to see the Raven flap her wings and fly over the river that was once Main Street. One of her wings went limp. She dipped to the side, but she managed to launch her rope dart through the demons amphora, shattering it and skewering the demon in one motion. The river ran dry and left behind a garden path down Main Street.
Lightning struck the Raven out of the whistling sky. She twirled and flopped into a flower bed.
Cross raced towards her, dodging falling lobs of lava and lightning strikes. He dove into the garden, rolled to his back and fired at the roof. The demon stuttered and tumbled off the eave.
He crossed himself and winked at the Raven before racing over to get the parasol. The speed demon beat him to it. She snatched the umbrella from the ground and flashed away in a blur of light.
The ground exploded in lava, wilting the colorful flower peddles and singeing the nice grass. Heat and steam now clouded the garden.
He peered through the mist, looking for movement. When the steam settled, he discovered the speed demon lying on the ground, injured in the lava blast. Her broken lantern lay beside her, and the parasol was within a crawl's reach of her.
At the sight of Cross approaching her, she crawled backwards frantically and reached for the umbrella. Ropey impaled the demon.
"That one was Ropey's," said the Raven, now on her feet.
Boomph. The pulse slapped Cross in the back. He hit the ground chest first.
Ropey darted, swiveled around another pulse and pierced through the wall of the building that harbored the demon. The Raven heaved the rope.
The final demon burst through the wall, yanked by the end of the rope dart. It was the ugliest of all the demons. It looked like a skeleton made entirely of thorns. Its skull reminded Cross of Bolon-Hunahpu, and he had the odd feeling that he was staring into Diamond Tooth's eyes.
Even though impaled, the thorny demon managed to bang a hammer at the air. Boomph. A wave of energy cracked out of the hammer and bowled Cross over. The blur hummed away until it clashed with the tower at the other end of the road where he had taken his bath. The tower collapsed onto itself. Cross hoped the Ankou had gotten that baby out of there.
He snatched up the parasol and struck the demon. The hammer jolted out of the demon's hands.
"Hey Raven, none of the demons burned."
"I noticed," she said.
"But if this is their first death, that means they were born in the underworld."
"Seems that way."
"But I thought no spirits or souls could reproduce here."
"This place changes the rules to benefit itself and to torture us."
"You know, I saw a baby earlier."
"A baby? Here?"
"An Ankou was guarding it in that tower at the other end of the road. You don't think these demons were Diamond Tooth's children, do you? They all kind of looked like her."
"I noticed that too." The Raven picked up the hammer and clipped it to her belt.
One of her wings was splotched with blood as black as her feathers. A part of him cared enough to want to bandage her wing, but his mind shifted toward the astrolabe---his ticket out of the underworld. Instead of asking the Raven about her injury, like he wanted to, what came out of his mouth was: "Diamond Tooth is mine."
The Raven nodded in a way that made him feel low, as if she wanted him to finally cater to her, but was disappointed that he didn't. It was the wrong impression he wanted her to have, but it would most likely serve his best interest to keep her at arm's length.
He crept up to the bell-shaped building and stepped through the whole in the wall. Not a soul remained inside. The Raven's burlap sack lay on a broken cot.
A single calabash was left in the sack. Words were carved into the side of it: Some people have a terrible attitude towards everything.
THE RAVEN TOSSED HER SACK OVER HER SHOULDER AND FOLLOWED CROSS deep into the heart of Naraka. The sounds of war drew closer near the cliffs.
Cross halted. "There should be a bridge that crosses a river around here." He pointed at a spot on his map and then surveyed the surrounding area. "The Atman River."
A faint gurgle sound over the cliffs was drowned out by the booming racket of war, and that was interrupted by a drilling noise beneath her feet. Spikes rose out of the ground and encircled the two of them. Needle-mouth imps sprung from the earth and shoved their thorns in Cross and the Raven's faces.
"Come along now," said an imp, and the group of imps escorted the two prisoners at poisoned needle-point to a base camp hidden in the cliffs just a few minutes way from where they were captured.
The stench there hit the Raven's nose like the smell at Camp Erutrot; foot odor, dried sweat, overflowing latrines, stagnant mud, tobacco smoke, and burnt barbot all mixed into an amalgam of foulness that scraped her throat every time she swallowed.
Filthy soldiers of many races drooped around the camp. They were mostly the souls of men, but there were also giants, squals, demons and more imps amongst them. All wore war torn expressions and wobbled as though drunk on devil's water. Many lay down in the pits asleep or sat in the trenches with their heads resting on their knees. One man's hands grew into his face, forever stuck in a position of grief.
A man dressed in the colors of an Anarchist captain staggered in drunkenly. His unbuttoned jacket fitted him sloppily. He plopped down at his desk and poured himself a drink, which seemed like one he didn't need.
"What realm you from?" he slurred.
"Tuonela," she lied. It was the most neutral underworld in regards to the wars.
"And you?" the captain asked Cross.
"Same as her," said Cross.
The captain sipped his drink and sighed. "Only two kinds of souls come way down here to Naraka: Tribulation and Anarchists. What brings you two?"
Cross saluted. "We want to enlist."
Of all things, why'd he say that? Joining the war, even for pretend, was a stupid idea. His acting was perfect, but he needed to rewrite his script. The Raven could have punched him for saying something so dumb. But that was just Cross, always saying the first thing that came to his mouth.
The captain threw his head back. "Enlist?" He stared at Cross skeptically and peered around at his camp of beaten down spirits as if to show Cross what it meant to join the war. He stood up and walked towards them until his face was less than a foot away from each of theirs. "You want to take the plunge, huh?" The burnt odor of devil's water floated off his breath. The captain stepped away and grabbed another bottle of devil's water from a crate. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and spit it onto the ground. "We'll see."
He held the bottle in the Raven's face, offering her a drink. Reluctantly, she took the bottle. She blocked the mouth of the bottle with her tongue and pretended to sip and only swallowed the drop that landed on her tongue, just to lubricate her dry throat.
The captain stared her in the face, squinting as though unimpressed with her drinking skills. He grabbed the bottle away from her and passed the bottle to Cross, who turned the bottle upside down and drank as if he had just escaped Sheol after traveling through it for thousands of years. Devil's water dripped down both sides of his face. He belched a flare of flames and wiped his mouth.
The captain chuckled and shook his head. "Volunteers." He said the word as if no soul had ever volunteered before. "You really want to enlist?" He paused as though giving them an opportunity to change their minds, and was met with both their silence. "All right," he said. "Follow me. Soon you can join the saviors of Jnana Yoga Ladder."
She should have spoken up when the captain gave them the chance. She and Cross glanced at each other sharing a look of "what have we gotten ourselves into again?" They both followed the captain through the narrow trench.
Piles of rotting sand bags towered above their heads, and exhausted soldiers stood on guard, staring out into the battlefield intensely, sharpening their swords and scratching themselves incessantly.
The captain stopped at a fortified safe area carved into a jagged mountain made entirely of blades and other sharp things. From inside that safe area, they overlooked the entire battlefield, where soldiers prepared trebuchets and repaired barbed wire, and hodders gnawed on the corpses.
"See that ladder?" The captain pointed out into the center of the battlefield.
A massive ladder sprang from a black river. It covered the same amount of land that a basilica would and reached much higher than a tower. It corkscrewed from the ground all the way up into the blazing blue sky. Where the helix made contact with the lashing flames, rainbows swirled and flickered.
"The Tribs have declared that damn ladder sacred," said the captain. "They say it belongs to the Great Goddess. Our President Layil has insisted that we take that ridiculous pig tail, even if all of us get burned. Both sides want the ladder intact." He gulped devil's water. "We'll all burn to Nothing. But one thing's for sure, Jnana Yoga Ladder will always stand." The captain took another long sip from his bottle. "I tell myself all the time that one day this will all make sense. It pains me to think that the energy we spend defending this stupid useless ladder, we could spend stopping the Nothing."
"Stopping it?" asking the Raven.
"The higher-ups don't speak of it to souls like us. That information is only available to the elite. But we've seen what it can do right out here on the battlefield."
"What have you seen, captain?"
"The Nothing is spreading, and if no one does anything about it, it's going to overtake the entire underworld."
"But isn't that what the Anarchist want?"
"All I know is that everyone has their own idea of what's going on, and no one can agree on anything. So we're all just running around and not getting anything of worth accomplished. See, neither side---Anarchist or Tribulation---is without its faults. Our side has too much pride to admit to any short comings we may have, because our sciences and discoveries have changed everything we once knew about our miserable existence. But the faith of the Tribs holds up where our science fails. They're done converting us over to their side and we're done speaking our truth only to have it fall on deaf ears. They just have the nerve to call us a gang."
"And you're not?"
"They're the gang, the oldest gang in history. If anything, we learned everything we know from them. We just improved the methods. No, we're not a gang. What we are is just a group of souls who believe in a cause."
"What cause would that be?"
"Depends on who you ask. Different leaders have brought in their own agendas. I've heard rumors. Something about a bounty on a Verboten Cherub. But, I'm not so sure of anything anymore." The captain paced through soldiers in the trench.
Cross and the Raven followed. The Raven got the sense that the captain was giving them a grand tour of the abhorrent environment in an effort to shock her and Cross into changing their minds about volunteering. Perhaps they should have.
The captain stopped abruptly, leaned in to them and lowered his voice. "I dream of taking an axe to that ladder," said the captain. "Its fall could save many thousands of souls. It'll wake the angels."
"Why not really chop it down then, Captain?" asked the Raven.
"It's a vanquishable offense. A serious crime against the Divine Laws. And I lack the guts."
An explosion boomed a few feet from where they were standing. Soldiers yelled and jumped into the trench. The knives that made up the mountain jingled as they slid down and buried those men under shrapnel. Other soldiers raced to dig the men out, lacerating themselves.
Both the Raven and Cross flinched at the destruction, but the captain held fast, as if nothing had happened.
"The burning has begun," said the captain with a hint of glee in his being. "Right on time."
A large burst of light exploded close to them, spewing debris in their faces. Cross and the Raven scrambled away and ducked behind a wall of wood and sand bags. Shards of metal whizzed their way.
The captain, once again, remained standing as if the blast were nothing more than a light breeze tickling his cheek. If he lacked anything it wasn't guts. His eyes glazed over and he stared off into space exactly how she remembered Cross had done before dragging her through Yomi. It was the face of a man who had accepted his own fate.
The captain's eyes rose back to life. "This is it." Without any hesitation, he dashed down the cliff and charged into battle like a soul who had given up on everything. There was no caution to his run. He never once ducked or dodged and he disappeared in the thick of the battlefield.
"Looks like whatever guts the captain had left over," said Cross, "he's about to lose."
Cross and the Raven remained inside the safe zone---which wasn't really all that safe with all the sharp objects surrounding them---and they watched over the pointless battle from their perch high in the cliffs.
The Anarchists filled their trebuchets with molten lava and lobbed it at the Tribulation, who returned fire with their own lava. Barbots took to the air with souls ridding their backs, wearing colossus-haired coats. They shot arrows downward into the field and at other flying soldiers on the opposing side. The two warring factions converged at the ladder, clashing in a serenade of slaughter. White flashes bloomed and dark explosions erupted. The unnerving sounds of excruciating screams mashed together in a terrible ensemble of second death.
The Raven didn't follow the word of the Magna Mater like Cross, especially now that she had reunited with her father, but she knew this war was not the will of the Great Goddess or God. These were souls taking it upon themselves to reshape their own unmovable fate; fighting over a ladder that neither side owned, when they could all escape the confines of the underworld if they worked together. They were too caught up in their own script to acknowledge another's. The underworld was bad for sure, but some souls always found ways to make their respective Hells worse. No matter what side the soldiers fought on, all Nothings wore the same color, and that color was cold, and undignified.
"Even in death, men waste their lives," said the Raven. "This is why I was conning spirits out of their objects. I took the most lethal objects I could find to the Inferno to destroy them. I told myself I was saving the underworld. Saving these souls from themselves."
"Well, you don't have to do that anymore," said Cross. "The Toran is on the other side of the river."
"Where?"
Cross grinned. "I said the other side and that's all you need to know. But while the Tribulation is over there we can't get across."
"I wonder what would happen if somebody were to cut down that ladder."
"Then these idiots would go somewhere else to fight."
An explosion boomed near them. Both of them ducked behind the craggy wall, and at the same time they both spotted a set of explosives. With a nod to each other, they agreed on what they had to do without speaking a single word. It was about time he was on the same page as her.
"Is one of these enough to bring down a ladder that size?" asked Cross.
They both paused and said together, "The hammer." They shared a smile amongst themselves and connected as peers with equal cleverness.
The Raven removed the hammer from her waist just as two soldiers carried a wounded man into the area.
"Summon the monk, quick! The captain's wounded. Hurry!"
They placed the captain on the stretcher. He yelled in agony. The Nothing had taken over the lower half of his chest. His legs were completely crusted over and crumbling.
The Raven passed the captain his bottle of devil's water and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"This one's for the angels." She winked.
The captain's lips quivered in an effort to smile.
CROSS HAD WANTED TO AVOID THE DANGEROUS MOUNTAINS OF KNIVES and somehow found himself inside one of them. How the hell did these things keep happening to him?
The Raven lifted one end of a box of explosives. The other end anchored to the ground as if the entire box was too heavy for her to carry by herself. She nodded toward the end of the box as if asking for his help in carrying it, but he didn't want to go anywhere near that ladder if he didn't have to.
"I thought you were going to just use the hammer," he said.
"That's a mighty big ladder," said the Raven. "The buildings back in Lokantarika were already falling apart. That's why they came down so easily when the hammer's energy hit them, but this ladder can withstand the fires in the sky and looks to be fortified at the base. The hammer might not be enough."
Cross grabbed the other end of the box of explosives and found that it was definitely too heavy for one soul to carry alone. They needed to work together. That would be the only way for them to succeed.
They paced down the path leading out of the safe area, down the mountain of knives, while involuntarily swinging the box of explosives between them.
"Stop swinging it," said Cross. "It'll explode."
"You stop swinging it," said the Raven.
Two squals scuttled past them carrying a completely burned soul on a stretcher, pointlessly. Cross and the Raven shared a glance and followed the medics into the infirmary. Carefully, they sat the box of explosives down and sneaked up behind the squals.
Cross flipped the stretcher over, dumping the ashy soldier on the ground. The Nothing crumbled in a poof of black dust. The squals hissed in surprise and protest. The Raven punched them both, and knocked them unconscious.
She and Cross carefully sat the explosives on the stretcher. With the wooden plank connecting them to each other, they trotted as if they were a single beast, down the slope leading out of the safety of the cliffs and entered the dangerous battlefield, which began immediately at the foot of the hill.
They sprinted through the sea of battling soldiers and scurried over souls dissolving to Nothing. Fire boomed and flashes of light bloomed around them. They broke through the hollow walls of gray smoke the explosions had left behind. Their box of explosives bounced up and down on the stretcher the entire way.
Cross leapt over a Nothing and bullets whipped past his ears. "You know, Raven, we might be risking our afterlives here."
Arrows soared through the air and staked into the ground at the Raven's feet. "Yeah, if I get burned you'll never get out of here." She stomped over a few Nothings and ducked a bunch of stones whizzing by her head. "Sure would be a pity," she added.
Lava splattered to the left of Cross. He skipped sideways to avoid it. The box of explosives bounced up, and they caught it safely on the stretcher. They both paused.
"Why don't we tell each other our half of the secret?" said Cross.
"Why don't we?" she said.
Nothings grabbed at the Raven's ankles. She kicked at them. With one hand holding onto the stretcher, Cross whipped out his pink parasol and struck the Nothings with lightning, freeing her from their grasp.
"You go first," he said.
A Nothing grabbed his arm and pulled on his umbrella. Ropey zipped off the Raven's waist, wrapped around the Nothing and squeezed until it exploded in a drizzle of ash and black liquid.
"No, I think it's better if you start," she said to Cross.
She wasn't a talker. She would only open up to him if he went first.
More Nothings crawled toward them. The Nothing had told Sinuhe that reaching the Toran was his destiny, so it confused Cross as to why they were trying to stop him. They must've changed their mind about him since he refused obey them back in Yomi.
He and the Raven continued their mad dash toward the ladder, trampling over Nothings until they finally sloshed into the waist deep, black water under the ladder. They paused only to catch their breath.
Cross gazed into her eyes preparing to confide in her. It was too much work building up an emotional A'raf that kept everyone out of his personal paradise. His loneliness was exhausting, and he desperately wanted to trust somebody. Not just anybody, the right someone. Maybe the Raven could be that someone. If he couldn't trust the Raven by now, after all the times she saved his neck, then nothing he had ever done was worth it. His existence meant nothing to anyone else.
"The name of the valley is..." He hesitated. "Skull Hill. Now it's your turn."
"The name of the skull is..." She hesitated as if she were fighting the same internal battle he had just fought. "Sebelius."
"Sebelius?" he asked. "Are you sure?"
"One hundred percent."
Sometimes he couldn't tell when she was telling the truth or not, but he trusted her in hopes that she trusted him.
They went to work tying the explosives to ladder, which was actually a road that twisted around like a spiral staircase. Metallic carriages, like those in Kurnugia, littered the roadway, rusted and abandoned. Not only did the ladder breach the flaming sky, but it also burrowed deep into the underworld, creating a great whirlpool in the black river.
Beneath the ladder, in the center of the coiled road, the water roared as it swirled and drained down into a frozen pit of darkness. Cross and the Raven had to stand on the concrete bases to keep themselves from getting sucked down in the maelstrom.
"You think this could be a road out of here, Raven?" asked Cross yelling over the howl of the vortex.
"I think that's a way to and from another place just like this," she said raising her voice. "Or worse."
"But if it's true that this ladder belongs to the Great Goddess, it could lead to a better place than this. Maybe even better than paradise."
"I doubt that."
"What do you know anyway?"
"I know it ain't no exit. That's for sure."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I can hear the tortured souls screaming. Look out!"
Hands reached out of the ladder's beams and untied Cross's rope. He smacked two wrists away. A hand grabbed his shirt from behind and yanked him backwards. He turned around and bit the hand. It was hard as iron and tasted like it. He slid a finger across his teeth to make sure none were missing. All there.
Ropey severed the three arms from the beam. A metal fist reached out of a beam and punched the Raven in the face. Cross zapped it with the parasol. It sparked and the fingers welded together. More hands grew out of the metal structure.
"We'll have to work around them," said the Raven.
They skipped across the platforms taking turns tying the explosives; one of them tied their end of the line while the other fought the arms, until they had destroyed most of the arms and successfully finished tying the explosives to the ladder.
Cross tied the hammer along a clothesline, similar to how the knives hung in the blade house back at Xibalbá, so that when the rope snapped the hammer would swing down and release its force upon the base of the ladder. The Raven wrapped the compass inside the palm of one of the metal fists.
"What's that for?" asked Cross.
Metal projectiles flew their way and clanked to the ladder. Beams and girders in the ladder buckled and bent. The metal screamed and threatened to collapse.
"It's for that," she said. "Let's get the hell out of here."
As they waded through the Atman River, Cross stretched the fuse out to its full length. The Raven then flicked the cigar lighter and the fiery salamanders crawled out. She ordered them to the fuse, and they sparked it. Cross and the Raven raced back through the war zone and dove into a foxhole for safety.
Soldiers fought above them as they waited for their bomb to blow up that ladder.
"In my old life," said Cross, leaning against the rugged dirt wall of the foxhole, staring upward at the dust clouds rustled up from the battling soldiers, "there was a war just like this one. Almost exactly like it. And during that time I met a girl. She read me story books and poems. I couldn't read at the time so I memorized them all. I still remember each and every one of 'em. But there's one poem that reminds me of you, Raven. A poem by a man name Poe. Every time I look at you, I'm reminded of that poem. And every time I'm reminded of that poem I'm reminded of what I've lost, but also what I've gained."
"Why did you ever want to give up your memories anyway?" asked the Raven.
"I used to think I was lucky to keep my memories," he said. "Not all of them were bad. Some really good things happened to me along with the bad. But I've come to realize that there's a reason why life and death are separate. When you die, you're gone. That's it. You don't get a second chance at your old life. What you do get is a clean slate and the opportunity to grow. That's what the spiritual journey is all about. I learned a lot from all my past mistakes, but what happened, happened. Dwelling on the past just holds you back. There's no use in worrying about what you can't control. I'm moving forward."
"Since you didn't drink from the River Lethe," said the Raven, "I'm wondering if you still believe all that."
Before he could respond, an explosion thundered. It was almost as loud as the Inferno's eruption. Everything shook.
Cross tucked his head between his knees and listened as the muffled sounds of war took on a much nastier demeanor.
Debris thumped near him and pelted him. Metal shrieks joined in on the ruckus of screams and yells. The hiss of so many spirits shriveling to Nothing at one time was unsettling. It was like the fizz of a shaken bottle of devil's water but multiplied by hundreds. The deluge of noise kept going longer than it should have and didn't seem to want to end.
He kept his eyes closed and his head covered for hours...
Cross didn't even realize he had fallen asleep until a kick woke him up. The Raven had shoved her boot into his side. He opened his eyes to a vacant battlefield draped in a deafening silence. Everything was gone as if a great broom had swept the underworld clean of all its filth.
"Why'd you let me sleep?" said Cross.
"Because it was nice and quiet for once. Now get up. It's getting stronger. We have to go."
"What's getting stronger?"
"That." She pointed to where Jnana Yoga Ladder used to be.
In its place now hovered a black orb about the size of a melon. It resembled the dead sun, and the black orbs that hovered above Viņsaule, but more terrifying in wrath. A force surrounding it bent the world around its edge like an eye glass. A long slither of fire stretched down from the sky and fed into the orb while a snaky stream of water reached out of the river and into the orb. Silently, it ate the underworld without ever moving from its spot in midair. Debris swirled around the orb and fell into its bottomless void. The fire and water met in an evil clash of roaring steam.
Cross and the Raven climbed out of the foxhole and down into the drained river bed. They traveled as far away from the orb as possible, but its tug grew stronger than even the Rudimen's soul sucking pull.
The ground cracked beneath their feet. Chunks of it rolled toward the orb. A Nothing was crawling away from the black disc and got sucked into it like a noodle.
"Blowing up the ladder might've been worse," said Cross over the roar of the battling fire, water, and earth.
"But what's done is done," yelled the Raven. "Let's just get the hell out of here."
Loose feathers leapt away from her wings. Her top hat sailed off her head, and the orb swallowed it.
They latched onto each other's arms and kept each other stable as the pull of the orb tugged on them. They were forced into a crawl before they had finally climbed out of the river bed. Once they were far enough from the pull of the orb, they released each other and set off across the devastated land of Naraka toward Skull Hill.
The blue sky beat down on them, soaking them both in sweat. They stopped for shade and rest in a half burned-down temple. Cross explored the temple for supplies and found child-sized legs extending out from under blocks of stone. If he was wearing a hat he would have taken it off and placed it at his chest. He crossed himself.
"May the great goddess have---"
A muffled moaned slipped from under the rubble. The poor child hadn't burned. With all his might, Cross lifted the blocks of stone from off the child and discovered someone he had never expected to see ever again. He staggered away from the limp little body of his precious Cottontail.
"This is a trick," he said. "A dirty rotten trick!"
"My true name is Nissa Miryem-Khaye Siskin," said Cottontail. "You said I could tell you that when we saw each other again."
He dropped to his knees beside her. "But I saw you get eaten. That worm swallowed you up."
"It spit me back out," she said. "I guess that thing didn't like the way I tasted." She coughed through her giggle.
"But I got a splinter. When someone close to me burns I get one. You were gone."
"Must've been for someone else." She hacked as if something clogged her throat. Nasty black blood bubbled out of her mouth.
He wiped her face with his hand. "Here. Drink some water." He opened his parasol and dripped the rain into her mouth. Parts of her poor face were crusting over.
He cupped her bushy head, leaned her against his chest and kissed the top of her head. Seeing her again was his happiest moment yet, but also the most devastating blow to his heart. It didn't appear that she would last very long. The Nothing had sunk its fangs in her really good.
"What're you even doing way out here?" he said. "I told you to meet me in paradise."
"That story is probably as long as the one you'd tell me about how you got here,"---cough---"I think I met those draggles you told me about though. The four of them looked out for me for a while,"---cough---"and then we got separated. I hope one day you get a chance to meet them too. They were the kindest, gentlest creatures I ever met here, except for Gimlet."
"You're the fifth," said Cross.
"Fifth what?" she asked.
"I thought there were five draggles. But you said there were only four of them. You were there the entire time, and I didn't know it."
Footsteps shuffled over to them. "What'd you find?" asked the Raven.
"We have to help her," said Cross, rocking Cottontail in his arms. "Whatever saved you from the Nothing, we need to do that again for---"
"Cottontail?" said the Raven.
Cross stopped rocking. "You know her?"
"We've met briefly."
Cottontail gazed up at the Raven and smiled. "She's the one who got me into paradise. Her and one of those squal things. But he was one of the good ones."
"You were in paradise?" asked Cross.
"I had hoped to find you there,"---cough---"and I did. I called after you, but there was a lot of commotion after the explosion. You didn't hear me. And you left in a bit of a hurry. I chased after you for a while, but then I got lost again. Oh, and this woman came to me." Black blood spilled from her excited lips.
Cross covered her mouth. "Don't talk. You just rest." He held her body close to his and rocked her.
"But I have to tell you about this woman," said Cottontail. "I ain't never seen a spirit glow like that before or since. A brilliant glow was around her whole body. She was like an angel. A real one. Like from Heaven. I thought she was coming to take me away from this place. Even though she didn't, she was still so pretty and nice. She told me where you would be. That's why I came here. To find you. She said if I found you again, you would help me, and I would help you. We would help each other. Then I would be free to leave."
"What did she mean?"
"I don't know."
"I have an idea." The Raven held up a calabash.
"You never told me what that did to you," said Cross.
"Nothing. It's just fruit."
Cottontail sat up. "I've wanted to taste Bolon-Hunahpu's fruit ever since I met him." Parts of her little spirit chipped away where the Nothing had taken over.
Cross held her back down to his chest. "That stuff's no good for you," he said. "I have something better. Fresh water."
She pushed the umbrella away. "You have work to do. And I can't follow you. I never could."
"No. You're coming with me. You'll never want for nothing, and never need for nothing. I'm gonna give you all the barbot wings you could ever ask for. You can talk my ear off all day long. I won't get mad. I'll tell you everything I know. I promise."
"Sometimes it's not good to know things. Sometimes you can know too much." Cottontail kissed his cheek and held her hand out for the fruit. "No matter what," she said. "I don't want you to look."
Those were his mother's final words to him. He laid Cottontail down on the cold floor and backed away from her. The Raven removed her justaucorps and blanketed Cottontail with it.
CROSS OBEYED COTTONTAIL'S FINAL WISH and refused to watch her burn. It wasn't fair. He had grown sick of watching people he cared about die first and second deaths. And the fact that the Raven had held on to Diamond Tooth's carved calabash gave him more panic.
From her own experience, she knew what effect the fruit had on a soul and didn't tell him. In fact, she lied about it being simply fruit in front of Cottontail, but she couldn't fool him. She had a plan and was keeping him out of it. He thought he could trust her, but he couldn't. He couldn't trust anyone. He had to get to Skull Hill before her.
With the last Toran less than a mile away, almost in his grasp, he sneaked out of the temple, leaving the Raven inside tending to Cottontail.
He found an already saddled barbot lying asleep, and next to it, a discarded colossus-haired coat. He threw on the coat and poked the barbot awake. It squawked. He untied it from the lava-filled trebuchet and mounted the bird. Its wings flapped, and they climbed to the ruthless blue sky. The coat crackled and sparked, but he was protected from the heat, and the barbot instinctively knew the safest height to fly. It even maneuvered out of the path of heat gusts as though it could anticipate them. A blurry blob of air hummed pass him and exploded before the barbot.
Boomph. The barbot yelped and dipped hard to the left. Cross whipped his head around and spotted the Raven yards away, standing beside the lava-filled trebuchet, wielding the hammer. He assumed that object had been destroyed in the ladder explosion. She must've gone searching for it while he was sleeping in the foxhole.
The Raven cocked her arm back and pounded the air. The ripple floated up to him seemingly in slow motion.
Boomph. The air exploded to the left. The barbot squawked and rolled to the right, almost dumping him off its back. He latched onto the reins.
Boomph. The barbot limped. His stomach squeezed. Wind rumbled past his ears. He braced for impact. The barbot took the brunt of the collision with the ground, but the crash threw him.
He rolled into a trebuchet filled with lava. It was already aimed in the Raven's general direction. He adjusted the angle and released the lever. The arm on the trebuchet snapped, and the lava shot straight up in the air. He dove out of the way. The lava splashed back onto the trebuchet, melting it.
He staggered to his feet and sprinted as lava plopped down around him. Boomph. The force rocked him in the back and knocked him off his feet. He tumbled down a hill and slammed into a spear staked in the ground.
A head was jammed onto the tip of the spear. Beyond that impaled head, he discovered thousands more. Rows of them circled a ritual arena in the center of the valley of heads. He had made finally it to Skull Hill.
He stripped out of the itchy coat and dashed between the heads to the center bone orchard, where thousands of skulls formed the circular arena. A few of the spears surrounding him held up skulls as boney as Bolon-Hunahpu, but most of the heads still had all their spirit flesh as if they were intently severed with a specific purpose in mind.
A green jaguar roamed around in between the heads aimlessly. It was frail and wandering as though it had nowhere to be, no purpose and no home. It was all alone, and it paid Cross no mind as if it were simply too tired to put up a fight.
Until he had accidentally freed the jaguars from their house, they couldn't be found anywhere in the underworld except Xibalbá. Sinuhe may have been right about the impact Cross had on the underworld. He was like King Midas. Everything he touched transformed. He was a bane to the underworld and everything in it. But he could wish it all clean and save himself at the same time if he found the Toran.
He spun around in the center arena, overwhelmed by all the heads surrounding him from all sides. They sprawled across the valley as far as the horizon. He sprinted in a random direction and checked the heads for names written on them, specifically the name, Sebelius. Not a word was written on any of their foreheads or cheeks and no scribbles were on the spears that impaled them.
In a bout of frustration, he spoke into the open, "How the hell do I find Sebelius?"
"I do not know any Sebelius," said the stringy-haired head in front of him. "My name is Rickshaw. Can you help me?"
Cross ignored the head and asked the skull beside Rickshaw, "I'm looking for Sebelius. Are you him?"
"I am not," said the skull. Its jaws clunked together just like Bolon-Hunahpu's when he spoke.
"Do you know where I can find him?"
"I'm sorry. I can't help you. But can you please help me?"
Cross proceeded on to the next head and the next and several more. None of them were Sebelius. One head called out its name before Cross could get close enough to hear it.
"Wait, I didn't hear you." He raced over to the shrunken head. "What's your name again?"
A head on the second row called out its name and pleaded for help.
"Wait your turn," Cross said to it. "Now tell me your name," he demanded of the current sallow head. It remained silent.
Cross gripped the head with both his hands. "Tell me your name. Are you Sebelius?"
"I'll tell you if you promise to help me," said the tiny head.
"No, you first," said Cross.
"Not until you---"
"Forget it," said Cross. "You're not Sebelius, so it doesn't matter." He pushed the spear over. The head clumped to the ground and rolled. Three voices rang from rows he couldn't see. Five voices next. Ten voices after that.
"If your name ain't Sebelius," he said, "shut the hell up!"
Half the heads in the bone orchard screamed their names, trying to outshout one another, begging for help. The other half soon joined in, and it all became just noise. Sebelius could have been calling out and Cross would never hear it.
"One at a time!" said Cross. "I can't hear you all."
"Help me, Charlie!" One of the heads in the third row knew his name.
He raced over to it. "Jesse?"
"You wouldn't leave an old friend like this, would you, Charlie? Please help me."
"Friend? Friend!" Cross mushed his palm in Jesse's face and tipped him over. He picked Jesse's head up in both his hands and kicked it into the valley.
"I never got the rest of my stuff back, you bastard!"
He ran around listening to the screaming heads. If they weren't Sebelius, he knocked them off their spear. Eventually, the last one standing would be Sebelius.
He tripped over a slimy tentacle lying in an aisle. He followed the tentacle with his eyes. It was attached to a beast about as massive as Grum. The tentacle beast lay on its side, dead. It resembled one of those worms that had swallowed Cottontail, but he could now see the entire thing. He wouldn't have been surprised if it was the mother of all the worms.
He scoured the valley, for whatever was capable of killing the beast, hoping it was long gone by now. The bald head in front of him yelled so loudly that Cross couldn't even make out what the stupid head was saying.
"TIZEYE. MYMSELYUF! IAMSEBELIUS! I AM SEBELIUS! Tis I! Tis I!"
"Sebelius?" asked Cross.
"Have you come to help me?" asked Sebelius.
"Are you really Sebelius? Don't lie. You saw what I did to the others."
"Yes, yes. It is the truth. You've come to help me, haven't you? Thank the Heavens."
"Don't go thanking the Heavens just yet." Cross stooped down and raked up the ground around Sebelius with his hands.
All the heads silenced their tirade, and a spade landed next him.
"You'll do better with the proper tools," said the Raven.
Cross grabbed the spade. "Don't you wonder what killed that thing?" He pointed to the dead tentacle monster. Before the Raven could answer, a shovel landed at her feet.
"You killed it, Cross." Diamond Tooth emerged from between the impaled heads. The barbot she must've rode in on squawked at the top of the hill.
Her arrival made things ten times worse, but she also brought the astrolabe with her. There was nothing he could do except go with the moment. The Great Goddess would get him out of this predicament.
"I'm glad you have so much confidence in me," said Cross. "But that thing was dead before I got here. I didn't kill it."
"Not directly," said the demon. "Every action you ever made lead to the indirect death of this beast. And the poor thing was only here doing its job."
"Yeah? What job was that?"
"Sanitizing the underworld," said the Raven.
"What a stupid job to die for," said Cross. "I hope it's in a happier place now."
"It wouldn't have had any mercy on you," said Diamond Tooth. "That serpent's name was Níðhöggr. And it was searching for you, Cross."
"Searching for me? What for?"
"Who isn't searching for you? You're the Man Who Remembers. Whoever sent that beast after you hoped one of these heads would be yours. They wanted a taste of the living world and went about getting it through your memories. Ironically, the collector had no idea that their collection sat right on top of the last Toran. Which reminds me, you two should be digging."
With no other choice, Cross scooped dirt with the spade. He believed in his heart that the Toran was his. Somehow he would get his hands on the astrolabe and leave the underworld forever.
"You're not digging, Raven," said Diamond Tooth.
The Raven reached for the hammer at her waist. Diamond Tooth aimed her tiger claws. Cross backed away on his bottom.
"Burn me, and you'll never get out of here," said the Raven.
Diamond Tooth rolled her eyes and lowered her bagh nakhs. "What do you mean?"
The Raven pounded the ground with the hammer. Sebelius and all the dirt beneath the bald head blew away. The dust settled over an empty pit. A pit with no Toran.
Cross hated himself for letting his guard down and trusting the Raven. He allowed his emotions to blind him. "You lied to me!" He threatened to hit her with the spade. Ropey danced in his face, and he held back.
"Passing through the Toran is a privilege," said the Raven. "We're gonna have to earn it."
"And how do you suppose we do that?" asked Diamond Tooth.
The Raven's boots clunked over skulls as she stepped into the arena. She picked up a brilliantly white skull. It must've been brand new or it was recently cleaned by that sanitizing monster.
Using the inside of her sleeve, she wiped off any smudges it may have had. "This one's easy to spot." She held the skull up in their view. "And it doesn't talk. I'll carve the true name of the head that the Toran is buried under on the inside of this skull. The last one of us standing...well, you get the idea." She used Ropey's head to carve the name with a gritty scrape that made Cross cringe. She sat the skull in the center of the circular quarry, and he crossed himself.
Out of fear, he almost suggested that they share the Toran, but something told him that the astrolabe could only be used by one soul at a time like all the other objects of the dead. It was a necklace, and the wearer would most likely have to take it with them back to the living.
Even if they had decided to take turns using it, he knew Diamond Tooth would want to pass through the Toran first, and she'd never go through the trouble of sending the astrolabe back to the underworld for him and the Raven. Plus, it seemed that the demon and the angel wanted to burn each other once and for all.
The Raven backed away from the skull, staring at the demon. Diamond Tooth paced around the edge of the arena with a squint in her eye. Cross stepped backward, away from the two of them, volleying his eyes between the demon and angel. All three of them backed away from one another until they spaced almost evenly along the edge of the arena.
Standing in their chosen spots, the three stared each other down. Cross calculated alliances and dangers and odds. Neither Diamond Tooth nor the Raven liked him very much, and both had a reason to burn him.
Diamond Tooth's gaze danced from him to the Raven, the Raven's glare jumped from Diamond Tooth to him.
Time stopped. No wind blew. The rumble in the burning blue sky silenced. The underworld itself seemed to be watching the show and enjoying the suspense. The Inferno, many miles away, sat calm. The war sounds dissipated.
Facing off with the demon of pain and suffering and the fallen angel feared by that demon at the same time reduced his confidence. It would have been a terrible battle if he faced either of them individually, and Sinuhe had mentioned that the right kind of disturbance could alter his fate. This battle could be that interference that kept him away from the Toran. If his old friend was correct, then he had a frighteningly serious chance of burning to Nothing.
He failed to control his heavy breathing. He heard every breath entering and exiting his lungs and knew that the Raven, with her excellent sense of hearing, could detect the pounding of his heart. He also knew that not only could Diamond Tooth smell the distress leaking out of his pores, she could also see much better than either he or the Raven under the dim light of the blue sky. And he was pretty sure that the six demons that he and the Raven slaughtered in Lokantarika were Diamond Tooth's spawn, which meant that she added revenge into their standoff. He knew all too well how revenge could consume a soul. That kind of rage in a demon would be much worse than any anger he could ever possess.
The demon's fingers stretched and retracted, preparing to shoot tiger claws at a flinch. The Raven stood casually, arms at her sides. Ropey laid limp around her waist, but it was always ready to strike in a flash.
Cross twiddled his fingers over the Peacemaker in his holster and the parasol at his waist. He doubted he would be as fast as them, even though he possessed a weapon that fired lightning, and assumed he was going to be the first one to get burned if the Great Goddess didn't give him a hand. They would probably take him out first because he was the easiest target, and then they would battle over his shriveled ash for the Toran.
He refrained from wiping the sweat dripping down his cheek and remained focused on his opponents, trying not to even blink. Blink and he was burned. He blinked.
Diamond Tooth and the Raven twitched. Cross drew his weapons slower than either of his opponents had drawn theirs. He aimed at Diamond Tooth and pulled the trigger of his Colt. The revolver clicked and didn't fire.
Son of bitch! He was going to burn.
Fortunately for him, the Raven and Diamond Tooth converged on each other. Tiger claws darted at the Raven. Ropey flashed toward Diamond Tooth. Both dodged each other's attacks. Both ignored him, which made him feel a little slighted. To them, he was that much of a weak opponent that they didn't even bother considering him a threat.
He took that opportunity to open the cylinder to the Colt and checked to see what was jamming it. All six bores were empty. The magic round was gone. The Raven must've emptied it. She was the only one close enough to him to do it.
As furious as that made him, he wanted to trust that she had some kind of plan that would suit both their interests. She obviously knew that he had no ammunition in his pistol and could have easily burned him, but since the battle had begun, she hadn't once turned his direction, and that was the only reason Diamond Tooth hadn't focused on him. The demon couldn't have turned away from the ebony bird for one second, not even to burn him. Ropey would have skewered her if so.
If he had treated the Raven better in the earlier part of their relationship, maybe she would have let him in on her scheme. She didn't trust him even though she could have. He had only planned to burn her if she ever tried to burn him again. He should have trusted her. He did trust her, even if she didn't trust him, which was possibly stupid of him, and would most likely get him burned.
The angel and demon grappled with each other. Diamond Tooth's tiger claws sliced inches away from the Raven's nose. Cross aimed the tip of the parasol like a rifle and waited for them to separate just enough for him to take out Diamond Tooth. When he finally saw that opening, he took the shot.
Both the demon and the angel flipped out of the path of the lightning without even looking, almost as if expecting it. Ropey wrapped around the umbrella, snatched it from him, and slung it over the impaled heads and out of the bone orchard. Tiger claws stabbed the skulls at his feet. He leapt to the side and rolled.
Boomph. Diamond Tooth blew into the air. She landed on a headless spear, skewered. The tip exploded through her chest. The spear split in half. She plopped to her bottom, but hadn't burned. The Raven raised the hammer to finish the demon off.
"Diamond Tooth's mine, remember?" said Cross.
Sish. Blood splattered out the Raven's hand. The hammer flew behind her. She crouched over in pain, grasping her leaking hand.
Cross regretted distracting her, but after all he had been through, Diamond Tooth was his. The Raven didn't know about the astrolabe and he had to retrieve it before it was accidentally or purposely destroyed.
The demon, now back to her feet, but with a spear sticking out of her chest, aimed her bagh nakhs to end his precious angel's afterlife. Without a weapon to shoot, Cross grabbed a skull from the ground and clocked the demon in the head with it. Diamond Tooth turned her attention to him, looking annoyed that he had hit her so easily with a simple skull instead of with a tricky weapon. Her fists rotated in his direction.
Ropey cracked across the arena and speared through Diamond Tooth's pretty little head in a thunderous plunge. The nasty crack of her skull tore through the air.
The demon's wrists dropped instantly. The bagh nakhs swung at her sides. She dropped to her knees, and slumped forward, braced up against the spear protruding from her chest.
Her spirit wasted away and the Nothing claimed her.
"I didn't even have to use your true name," said the Raven. "Fair is fair. So long old friend." Ropey delivered the astrolabe to the Raven and then slithered around her waist.
To his surprise, she was aware of the astrolabe, but she may not have known that he knew. If he could really trust her, she would confess what she knew about the object despite the fact that she wasn't a talker. She would tell him her secret plan.
Cross fell into his acting mode to see if he could pull the information out of her.
"You axe wound!" he said. "I know you unloaded my gun. I could've gotten burned."
She picked up the shiny white skull from the center of the quarry and carried it out of the arena.
Cross followed her back to the pit where Sebelius used to be. "And why did you take the umbrella away from me?"
"The same reason I tried to shoot you off that barbot on the way over here," she said. "I was protecting you."
"You have a funny way of looking out for me," he said.
"I knew Diamond Tooth would be waiting for us. She may have been the demon of pain and suffering, but she was very calculated. I've never seen her burn a soul without motive. Whether it's vengeance or to achieve the high that some demons get from evil deeds, she's always had a reason for doing what she used to do. I knew that as long as you didn't attack her, she wouldn't consider you a threat. Burning you wouldn't have meant anything to her."
"Well, I appreciate your concern. But I can handle myself."
"Of course you can." She flipped the blood-smeared skull over to display the name she had carved inside it. The carving was actually a question mark instead of a name.
"I had to do everything I could to make sure Diamond Tooth didn't find the Toran," she said. "If she had burned us both, at least she would have been stuck with the fake name of the skull."
"What's the name of the real skull?"
"There are two kinds of spirits in the underworld," she said. "Those that remember and those that don't." She stepped in front of the head directly beside Sebelius's pit and asked the head: "You there, what's your name?"
"My name?" said the head. "I---I do not remember. I do not know who I am. Who am I?"
"That's what Balfour told me," said the Raven. "The man with no name. Right beside Sebelius. But Balfour couldn't pass through the gate because he didn't have the key."
"Key?" said Cross, playing dumb just to test their partnership even further. "What key?"
She smiled and held out the astrolabe. "Diamond Tooth had it the entire time."
"You knew?"
"The only thing I knew is what Balfour told me. But you don't have to play dumb with me. We're friends." The Raven stripped her sleeve and bandaged her injured hand with the cloth.
"Balfour said all that in his dying breath?" asked Cross.
"He said some guy named Carson had the key."
Cross drew back a step. Could it have been his old boss, Mr. Carson? He had recently met Jesse. "Carson you say?"
"You know him?"
"Maybe."
"Well Forfax, that squal you let burn," she said, "he and Carson were in the Tribulation with Balfour and another man called Rowings. Forfax told me he met Diamond Tooth about a ring the day we were in Amenthes and she was searching for Balfour. When I saw her with this little object, I put the puzzle together myself."
"So now what?" he asked.
"Now you dig," she said.
"Okay, I'll go find the hammer. We'll be outta here in seconds."
"I'll go find the hammer. You get started." She kicked the spade over to him. Ropey snaked its head in his face and challenged him.
Cross wasn't going to refuse or argue though. Spade or hammer or bare hands, he was going to get the job done. He wanted that Toran dug up more than anyone. It was his destiny.
He crouched, scooped dirt, and pitched it behind him, removing pebbles, rocks and boulders the size of his head. Soon he uncovered a stone beam. He brushed the cross-piece off with his fingers and admired the five lanterns and other designs carved on it before he returned to his enthusiastic dig.
After removing the dirt off the cross-piece, a faint green light pierced through the cracks of soil. He was getting closer. Infatuated with the light, he shoveled with tunnel vision, following the green.
He had never had any idea of how large the Toran would be, but it was already bigger than his body, and he judged that it was not nearly halfway out of the ground yet. He wiped sweat from his forehead and accidentally smeared dirt on his face, but the soil cooled him off.
He shoveled into the ditch ruthlessly, and bit by bit the Toran took shape. It was covered in carvings: depictions of men who had many arms, sitting in the lotus position; elephants and men riding them; and also the astrolabe.
The ecstasy of green shined brightly on his legs. He pitched more dirt up and out of the pit. The Toran presented itself through the rubble slowly. The sculpted cross-piece rested on two upright posts. Snake carvings decorated the posts along with chiseled lanterns, demonic faces, and floral designs.
He was so deep into the ditch that he would need Ropey's help to climb out. His shirt was now soaked with sweat and covered in soil, and his arms were molasses. A nice breeze swept around the pit, relieving him from the constant barrage of the burning blue sky.
He dropped the spade and scooped with his hands near the base of the Toran, and finally, it emerged from the rubble in its entirety. He bathed in the green glow it belted out. The base and the two posts were bigger than his body, and the cross-piece hung high enough above his head that he had to lift his chin straight up to see it. In the center of the Toran gleamed an enchanting, emerald green canvass of glorious light. His mind raced with delirious excitement and joy.
"It's all ours, Raven. We can finally leave this Hell!"
The Raven stood at the edge of the pit holding the obsidian blade with the hole through its flat side. "You remember this blade, don't you?"
He laughed. "Very funny. Help me up."
Ropey darted down to him, wrapped around his waist and hoisted him out of the pit.
"Took you long enough to find that hammer," he said.
He expected Ropey to let him go, but the rope constricted his midsection and dangled him in the air for a while. The Raven pulled his wrists behind his back and bound his hands. She jammed the grip end of the obsidian blade into the ground right under some kind of table-like structure made of spears strung together.
The odd construction formed a table without a surface, just the legs and frame. The obsidian blade sticking up from under it was reminiscent of when he made her lay on the table at Eirenos Inn. She must've built it while he was digging.
His aching back felt as if the burning ice of Niflheim poured down it. His limbs went week from the horror of her seriousness. "You're joking, Raven. You wouldn't."
"It's no joke, Cross. I want you to lay face down across these spears and put your neck over the blade. You know how it works. It was my idea, but you perfected it. Of course I made some adjustments of my own. I don't have to shoot any table legs. It'll be all your doing. You'll truly have the freedom of choice of when you decide to fall on this blade."
"You don't have to do this," he said. "You can just leave the underworld. You have the astrolabe. You don't have to burn me. You wouldn't. We're friends. You're an angel."
"Fallen Angel," she said. "Now lay down."
Ropey dropped Cross, and he obeyed reluctantly. He laid face down on the rickety contraption. His legs and forehead rested on the edges of the table-like frame while his neck hovered over the triangular tips of the obsidian blade. One false move and he would drop. The blade could separate his head from his spirit in one neat slice.
"Well, now," said the Raven. "This looks familiar."
THE RAVEN'S FOOTSTEPS SHUFFLED ALL AROUND HIM. He could only see her boots when they passed the corner of his sight as he lay face down, dangling inches above the razor-sharp blade.
"You know what you are, Raven? Just a dirty, rotten, filthy cunt like your mother Lilith!"
"Lilith wasn't my mother."
"You don't even know who your mother is. But I do. She's a whore. Any one of a thousand devils could be your father."
"Watch how you speak of Magna Mater," she said.
"There's no way the Great Goddess could have ever birthed you. Even if it were possible, that's probably why you're here in the underworld. It's the perfect cage for a wretched ebony bird like you."
"I'm glad you mentioned that. See, it's like you said. I'm an Angel. And what kind of Angel would I be if I let a scumbag like you go back out there into the world of the living? We're here because we got ourselves here. None of us deserve to leave. Every spirit here deserves all the punishment that this place dishes out."
"You say that like you're not leaving."
"I'm not."
There wasn't a hint of guile in her tone. He could tell she was dead serious. "Then why'd you make me dig it up?" he asked.
She grabbed her sack off the ground, ignoring him.
"Why'd you make me dig up the Toran if you're not even going to walk through it? What sense does that make?"
She dropped beside him and brandished the hammer in his view. "So I can destroy it. First, I'm going to drop this astrolabe into the Inferno. And when I get back I expect you will have finally shut your big, stupid mouth." She walked away out of his sight.
"Get back here! You can't leave me like this." The spears shook. He stilled himself and eyed the blade below. "The Toran is my destiny."
A barbot squawked, and wings flapped. A gust blew dust into his face. The Raven was gone.
The more he struggled to stay upright, the more he lost his balance. His neck strained from hoisting himself up. All his weight was placed on his legs and neck and he was already fatigued from the digging. His muscles pleaded for rest, and the slightest move could bring him down on top of the blade.
Everyone lied to him because they all wanted the Toran for their own selfish reasons. He deserved to be a Nothing for trusting the wrong souls. He was already nothing anyway. He meant nothing to anyone. He destroyed all of his good relationships. He always ended up in the exact same situations. It wasn't everyone else who was the problem, like he had thought. He was the problem.
Both in his life and his death, he had lied, cheated, stolen, and vanquished souls without a conscience, unapologetically. They were all deeds he thought he had to do for his own survival, but they got him nowhere and rewarded him with nothing but a blade at his neck every time. He was selfish. He cared about no one else but himself. Not even the poor draggles. They never did anything wrong to anybody. All they wanted to do was help him, and he set them up to burn so that he could get his stupid revenge.
Poor Gimlet had suffered the same fate because of him. He should have never tamed her. He should have accepted Mr. Garrett's offer the very first time. Maybe then he would've still been alive, and none of the awful things that followed may never have happened. He was a bad soul and no doubt deserved more torment than he ever received. He deserved to burn.
His body shook and jerked, rejecting the tension of holding himself up. But more than that, he was tired of the mental battle. Kate was right. Surviving was just too exhausting.
"I'm sorry," he called out to the Great Goddess. "Hear me? I'm sorry for everything. You may have forgotten about me, Magna Mater, but don't forget about them. Bless all the souls I ever hurt. If you're going to have mercy on any soul, it should be them. I forgive Kate. I forgive Mr. Garrett. I forgive the men who killed Mama. I forgive them all. I just wanna go. I'm tired. Just let me go."
Nothings crawled towards him in the form of serpents made entirely of faces. They waited around him patiently, silently. They were the only ones who would have him. He had shepherded the girl just like they had asked, and now it was finally time for him to give in to his fate. He had prolonged it long enough. He took a breath, relaxed his muscles, and dropped.
There was no pain, just a taste of bile as a bubble of grit rose up in his throat. The grains scraped his tongue as he belched chunky black blood. Second Death tasted worse than first death.
He felt as if he had been stuffed into a hole the size of a needle point. The light of the underworld shined at the mouth of this perfectly round hole above him, but as he kept sinking deeper, the light shrank, smaller and smaller until it was the size of a pebble and disappeared. And still he continued to tumble. Down, down, down into nothingness, not fast or slow, but at a consistent and smooth pace. Nothing seemed to be pushing or pulling him. Even if something was, he couldn't feel it.
His spirit was numb all over. He felt nothing, neither hot nor cold, completely senseless, as if he never existed in the first place. He had an urge to wave his arms or kick his legs, but couldn't move them or even see if he even had limbs anymore. His voice had gone from his throat. Not even a whisper would escape him when he tried to call out for help. Would he even hear himself if he could speak?
For all he knew, he could have been deaf. No wind passed by his ears. There was no sound at all. Nothing.
A vague drop in the pit of his nonexistent stomach was the only sign that he was going further and further downward, plummeting into the depths of the great unknown. There was a sense that his fall would never end. This pit was bottomless. He would never be at rest. The thought of spending all eternity in this state of existence terrified him. He was alone unlike he had ever been before and would always be alone.
The light returned above him as if it had always been there. It had never left him at all. He hadn't moved an inch. The underworld was simply closed to him and now it had reopened. He fought desperately to go into it but had no way of moving himself upwards.
The underworld was teasing him. He gave up seeking the light, in order to not give the underworld the satisfaction of torturing him with the allure of returning to his afterlife.
He never thought he would ever love seeing the flaming skies again, but there it was in all its beauty trembling above him. Solid ground beneath him, thousands of heads surrounded him and an angel held his head in her lap. He reached for his neck. It was still attached to his spirit, and there was no wound on his throat that he could feel. It was as if he had never burned.
"What the hell happened?" he asked her. "I thought I was---"
"You were," she said. "I let you burn." She held up an empty calabash. "This was the last of the bushel. Thought I'd hold on to it. And it looks like it was meant for you all along."
"What do you mean?"
"You gave me one of these thinking it was poison, but it's just regular old fruit. Except when it comes in contact with the Nothing. Then things get a little strange. I wasn't entirely sure about why I survived the Nothing in Yomi until I gave the calabash to Cottontail in the temple. She came back too. If you had waited---"
"Came back?" he said.
"From Nothing. Like you just did."
He sat up. "She's alive?"
"Still dead, but a lot less burned. She's waiting back at the temple. Your bullet wound is gone too."
Cross touched his forehead. The once soft spot was hard now. "So, you came back for me? I knew you weren't bad, Raven."
"But I am a better actor."
"This was all an act? You didn't mean that stuff earlier about us deserving to be here?"
"Oh, I meant that part." She sipped from her flask.
The liquid smelled sweet, almost like calabash juice.
"But we're all screwed up," she continued. "Nobody's perfect and never will be. If I can't allow others the possibility to redeem themselves, then I don't deserve redemption myself. Everyone deserves a second chance."
"Why'd you let me burn though?" he asked. "If you knew how the calabash worked, you could have just told me."
"Well, you know me. I'm not much of a talker," she smiled. "But some things can't be explained. You have to experience them. I needed to show you exactly what happened to me, but in a controlled way. And I didn't want to burn you myself."
"I've heard of long cons before," said Cross, "but this is ridiculous. I'm getting tired of you putting my neck on the line."
"You don't have to worry about that anymore. But, you know what all this means? Second death, just like first death, isn't so permanent after all. If we can get more calabashes from Bolon-Hunahpu we might be able to defeat the Nothing. Now I understand what must be done." She stood him up.
"What are you gonna do?" he asked.
"It's what you're gonna do." She slapped the jingling astrolabe into his palm and waved her hand dismissively. "You're gonna leave."
He glanced into the pit at the Toran and then back at the Raven. "I'm not leaving."
"What do you mean, you're not leaving? You came all this way. You have to."
"I'm not going anywhere without Cottontail. I'm not leaving her or anyone else behind again." He stepped away from her and headed in the direction of the temple. Her hand grabbed his arm.
"I don't know what you saw or heard when we were in Yomi," she said, "but the Nothing showed me things. It spoke to me. It told me that you had to go. It had to be you. You would bring about the Resurrection of the Dead."
"Load of bosh," he said. "Why are you even listening to that thing?"
"Because it told me something else." She fell silent and turned her wings to him.
"Forget the Nothing," he said. "Forget it all. You want to know what it told me? It told me to shepherd the girl. That I had to save you. But if Clem Balfour hadn't shown up in that boat, I was going to burn you. Which I'm now very sorry for by the way."
"Well, I tried to burn you first." She faced him again. "And I apologize for my part."
"Thanks," said Cross. Her apology meant more to him that he thought it would. A sudden ease flowed through him a like cool breeze in the hottest realm of the underworld. "But don't you see?" he said. "I didn't listen to the Nothing, and we're fine. You don't have to follow its orders."
"That's the thing," said the Raven. "I think you did exactly what it wanted you to do. If Clem Balfour hadn't shown up, you would have burned me. But you didn't. You shepherded me to Vingólf."
"But it said that if I Shepherded the girl then I would burn and become a Nothing myself," said Cross.
"And five minutes ago, that's exactly what happened."
"I still don't get it," said Cross. "A while ago you were talking about destroying the damn thing. Now you want to work for it? What the hell did the Nothing say to you?"
"It doesn't matter," she said. "I'm do it's bidding now so I can destroy it later. We're all just trying to survive. You know all about that. I'm just not sure if either of us ever had a choice."
"There's always a choice. Every decision I make is my own." He slapped his chest.
She shook her head as if frustrated. "I don't know why it's so hard to believe. You're always going on about how the Great Goddess is guiding you."
"That's just me talking," he said. "I don't know what the Hell she's doing. I hope she's paying attention. Sometimes it feels like she is, but I can never know for sure. But having faith doesn't automatically mean you give up your own free will or your ability to think for yourself. My old friend Sinuhe used to say, 'Experience will show you, a Master can only point the way'."
The Raven stared him directly in the eye. "So, you don't believe in destiny?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I believe we're all on a particular path at any given moment. And that destination changes with every choice we make."
"Well, you tell me where this leads." She gripped his shirt with one hand. "The Nothing told me personally that an adversary would become a true friend. And then I would have my final fall."
"So we're friends now?" Cross smiled. "I just wanna make sure because I never know with you. You're hot. You're cold. It can get a little confusing."
She stared at him cold, blank and icy, just like when they had first met.
He grew serious to match her demeanor. "Well, my friend, I ain't got no plans to take you down again," he assured her. "You didn't go through all the trouble of bringing me back from Nothing just to be afraid that I was going to burn you. And it's not like Ropey would allow anyone else to get close enough to you. You just burned the toughest demon I ever knew. I don't see any soul taking you out anytime soon."
She released her grip on his shirt. "That's what I thought it meant at first too." She slipped off one of her boots and pulled out a roll of vellum. She held it in front of him. "Take this. After you pass through the Toran, you'll have to inform the Mal'aKim of this gate."
"What the hell is a Mal'aKim?"
"Angels." She took a breath. "My true name is...Muriel."
The roll of her tongue along the 'r' sound and the hard ending of 'el' flowed from her lips like a melody. He opened his mouth to speak his true name but his voice failed to come through.
"It's all right," she said. "It's probably best that I don't know yours."
"Charles," he said. "Charles Hill. Friends called me Charlie." She was the first soul he had told his true name to in more than five hundred years. Releasing the name from his lips left him feeling vulnerable, yet more open to receive the world. He gained new strength in his resolve. He stood straighter and lighter on his feet.
The Raven handed him the vellum. It was one of his wanted posters that the squals had made. "I've written an evocation spell on the back," she said. "It'll summon an old friend of mine."
"Since when do you know about things outside the underworld?"
"Since I drank from the calabash," she said. "It took a while, but all my memories came flooding back. You returned this precious gift to me, and now you have to go and tell the Mal'aKim about what's happened here. Tell them about the Nothing and how it's spreading."
Hundreds of thoughts passed through his head, and a funny feeling bubbled inside his stomach. Earlier he had come to terms with his fate of second death. Now he had only a minor interest in leaving the underworld and a stronger desire to stay with Cottontail and the Raven. They were the closest thing he had to a family in a very long time. He wasn't ready to give that up.
"There's nothing really out there for me," he said. "Everyone I knew and cared about is dead and gone by now."
She bent down and pulled the obsidian blade out of the ground and sheathed it into the holster across his back. For a moment she peered into his eyes, longingly as if sending him away wore heavy on her heart.
"Come with me," he said. "Don't stay here. You, me and Cottontail can go together."
"There's only one ticket. And from what I remember about the astrolabe, only one soul can use it at a time."
"No, I mean we should give the astrolabe to Cottontail first. She can find a way to send it back to us. You'll go next. Warn your Angel friends. And then I'll go."
"The other spirits won't stop coming for your head."
"Let 'em come. I'm not running anymore."
The Raven took the astrolabe from his hand and draped it around his neck. The plates and arms on the astrolabe spun wildly as if the mere act of him wearing it activated it. A pillar of green light shot out the Toran and punctured a hole in the flaming sky; the sky rippled and swelled like a lake that a boulder had fallen into.
"Sinuhe was right." The Raven raised her voice over the rising wind. "The Toran is for you. It's your destiny."
"How do you know about that?" he yelled over the roaring underworld.
"Long story."
"I don't care about any stupid destiny! I'm not leaving Cottontail. Or you."
"I'll take good care of Cottontail. For once, it's okay to be your self-centered, egocentric, and greedy self. You have this amazing opportunity. Don't you want to finally be free of this place?"
Of course he did. More than anything. But Cottontail deserved to leave more than any soul he had ever met.
"With the things I've done in my life," he said, "your Angel friends are just gonna send me back here anyway. I'd be of no use to them after I tell them what I know."
"Exactly," she said. "The Nothing said after my second fall, that a true friend would leave and that I should watch for that friend's return."
"But you're still standing," said Cross. "You haven't fallen. Stop listening to the Nothing. It lies."
"Not about this." She wrenched his shirt and planted her lips on his.
The kiss caught him by such a surprise that he allowed it to go on without his input for a while before he kissed her back. Their union overpowered the gusting wind. Not even the Inferno exploding for a third time affected them. The ground shook, but they did not fall. Lightning struck around them but did not move them. Neither of them was afraid of the underworlds wrath. They defied its vengeance and discovered paradise in the midst of its rage.
The Raven embraced him and whispered into his ear: "We have work to do." She shoved him away from her and kicked him hard in the stomach.
He fell backwards into the green pit, flailing. He tumbled for much longer than he should have. The green light swallowed him, engulfed him with a great whoosh, and caressed him. It molded him and shaped him.
Without any pain, his body stretched and became stringy until he snapped in two. His spirit and soul separated. He was in two places at once and the two entities that were him shattered. Orbs swirled all around him. The orbs were him, and as the orbs, he was larger than every underworld put together, larger than Earth or any planet, larger than the cosmos itself. All the pieces of him banged back together like enormous billiard balls, but with a silent crack.
Lights streamed past him. He had the sense that he was flying. He didn't feel any wind brush his skin. Did he even have skin? He couldn't see himself. What he could see was flickering stars as he soared through the cosmos.
It all struck him as familiar. He had made this journey before. Somehow he had forgotten about it, which was odd because he was the one soul that remembered everything. Between the moment Kate had shot him and when he arrived on the Charon, he had left earth and flew through the Heavens just as he was doing now.
A blue orb grew bigger as he drew closer to it. White blobs drifted along the orb's surface. They were clouds. They floated over the blue and brown areas, which were oceans and continents. The orb resembled the globe of the world that Mr. Carson owned in his study except more colorful and wondrous.
This must be how God sees the Earth. It was the most beautiful sight. He wished Cottontail could have seen it.
Earth enveloped him. He zoomed through the clouds, heading straight towards a world he hadn't seen in more than five hundred years.
Son of a bitch. Here we go again.
As soon as he set foot on solid ground, he would follow the Raven's instructions and warn the damn Angels about the Nothing. Then, if necessary, he would resurrect the dead to free the Raven and Cottontail.
Rest in peace, my ass.
I spin in my office chair, ride shopping carts down the aisle, and tell lies for a living. In that order. I'm an author of fantasy novels, living in Baltimore, MD who believes magic should always be magical because it's, well, magic.
On the Internets I go by "mlmjr" (my initials).
Table of Contents
Chapter 4 - The Man Who Remembers
Chapter 8 - Labor Vincit Omnia
Chapter 13 - Through a Glass, Darkly
Chapter 14 - Trials & the Tribulation
Chapter 15 - Chasing the Most High
Chapter 16 - Revelation of Charles Hill
Chapter 20 - A Match Made In Naraka
Chapter 21 - The Saviors of Jnana Yoga Ladder
Chapter 23 - The One Who Forgot
Chapter 24 - Veritatis Splendor

