There was torchlight burning, mounted on the stone wall of the shaft beyond the door of iron bars that had sealed shut. The cell had been carved from the rock and all, save the wall to his left, were hard mountain stone. He was separated from a similar chamber by the iron bars that made up the left wall. His ears only took a moment to adjust and pick up the sound of the grizzled weeping which came from that cell.
The Soldier went to his knees, and he fought against the pain in them to grip the bars that separated the chambers. There was the Wizard, sitting against the far stone wall of his own cell, huddled up like a dog that had been beaten for no good reason. Broken and with his tail between his legs.
“I don't know if it's good luck or bad luck that I'm locked up next to you again.” The Soldier's words didn't stop the old man from crying. “See what you done to us with your schemes, Wizard?”
“You should have run, soldier.” His voice cracked through his bawling. “The promises of the dark lord are nothing but lies.”
“I ain't gonna cry with you, old man. You should'a known better than to trust in Satan.”
“You don't know what you're talking about. What could you know of the ways of the lying master of this place?”
“I know plenty about lies that sound too good to be true. I know lots more about people that trust in them and think they ain't got no choice in the matter.”
The Wizard looked up; they'd cut his face good. He had two fresh scars that ran in diagonals across it and marked him with an “X”. He didn't care about the blood that ran from the wounds, or the tears that mixed with it.
“You're not here for me, are you, Soldier?”
“I ain't here for whatever bad deal you made, no. I'm here because of a deal someone else made that I didn't do nothing about.”
“It was a woman, wasn't it?” The Wizard leaned forward. “A woman betrayed me too.”
“Yeah, well, look at you. What woman wouldn't betray an old buzzard like you?”
“Mine was married to the sea.” He ran his fingers through the gravel he sat upon. “I should have never let her talk me into bringing her onto the earth. Her tongue was salt.”
The Soldier pulled himself to his feet. “The war took our boy.” He moved to the rust colored iron door that held him too close to the wizard. “She ran off to marry another so she'd forget.”
The Soldier pulled on the door. The bars were old, but sound. “She said I reminded her of him. My face looked too much like his face.”
“Faces can be changed.” The Wizard ran his fingertips over the scars that had been cut into his own face.
“She found something to marry that didn't have a face.”
The Wizard laughed. The Soldier was beginning to hate the sound of laughter. “Your woman was a witch and she married the devil.”
“I didn't used to even think there was one.”
“The red haired woman told me that the devil didn't exist.” The Wizard was still hacking and coughing. “She has a face, and when you stare into it, you know she is not speaking lies.”
The Soldier gripped the bars as the dark woman with the burn marked face stepped out of the darkness. Her black eyes stared into him. He wouldn't let himself focus on her eyes, and kept watch over her broken pale lips as they moved.
“She likes your horse.”
Two of the men followed the woman out of shadow and one of them turned a key in the lock.
“Your path is not to wait here with the old magician while we stoke the fire to roast him over.”
The Soldier could hear the wizard's insane laughter. “Burn these bones for the glory of the father you've all forgotten. Truth will singe me, and I will wait for you all to join me in Hell. We will mock you as you come clambering off Charon's ferry.”
The hand of the burnt-faced woman tried its best to caress the Soldier's face. “Do not listen to his insanity, he knows nothing of Hell.”
The men pulled the Soldier from the cell into the mine shaft. “If he did, he would see that he's already in Hell, and there is no boat ride beyond this place.”
The Soldier was prodded down the hall and the wizard wouldn't stop laughing. “It will be difficult to pretend that she doesn't have a face, Soldier. Focus on the salted tongue and the lies that drip from it.”
II.
The Soldier was once again pressed forcibly to his knees. They had no feeling in them beyond a raw numb thump; he knew that wounds had reopened and there would be more blood. He remembered finding the boy in what was left of the house. He had been burned and torn asunder, and the one arm that had remained attached to his little body clutched the sled to his torso like a shield. He had told the boy he loved him, too shocked to cry at that moment. The boy had smiled through the pain, his teeth stained in his own blood. “Thank you, papa. I love my sled.”
“He won't get up,” the woman said from the shadows. “You can leave us.”
The Soldier only saw her boots and the leather riding pants come into view. It was strange to see a woman in pants, stranger still to see her in what resembled armor more than fashion. Her clothing was not tattered like the rest of her people. She did not move like they did. As she broke the hold of the dark places in the room and stepped into the candle light, she did so with grace and fluidity. He hadn't seen anything move with such power or purpose since the first time he had sent a steam engine into motion.
He had never felt so accomplished as he had in making that great machine come to life. He had stoked the fire and boiled the water. He had turned the valve and sent the fuel loose in the pipes. He had watched the gears and cogs, begging to turn of their own volition, driven by the flames.
The fire of his daddy's homestead had burned much hotter than that. Chaos had been set into motion by the cannonball that had ripped the house in two, sending anything that was left of it to bargain with the fire.
The fire had won. Perhaps fire always won.
“I am not naive enough to think that you set out with the mare as a gift for me.” She pulled with her a wooden chair. When she was within a few feet of the Soldier, she righted it and sat within, crossing her legs. The Soldier watched the leather coated legs join with one another and tighten together. “I do like the mare, though, and my people tell me you said that I could have her?”
The Soldier didn't know what to do beyond nod in agreement.
“What is her name?”
“Manta, ma'am.”
“It's a fitting name. It is Spanish for cloak. You're not a native of this place, though; you most likely don't know much of foreign tongues.”
“I was an American.”
“Of course you were.” She reached out for his chin like the burnt woman had, and he almost opened his mouth for her to inspect his teeth. But she didn't seem to care about checking him as one would a horse. She brought his eyes to hers.
She had long red hair she wore tied back and straight. Her blouse was dark green and had intricate ruffles along the front to hide its buttons down her center. Her eyes matched her blouse, and the Soldier was, for many reasons, thankful that she didn't have the dark eyes of her people.
Her face was flawless and didn't hold the burns of the woman, or the framing freckles of his love.
“I'm glad you're not her.”
She looked at him quizzically. She removed her hand from his chin and kept him focused on her face. “Do I remind you of someone?”
“My love. She left me long ago. She'd been promised to another.”
“Is she who you really seek?” She leaned back in her chair, but her eyes never left his. “I can't imagine that you followed us to our home deep in the mountain to retrieve that old magician.”
“I'm not looking for her. The devil stole her.” He stared up to her and traced the lines of her face with his gaze. “She let him steal her, so why look for her?”
“These things you say are wrong, Soldier.” He had no idea how she knew he was that; maybe he still wore enough of the uniform to give himself away.
“There is no devil to steal anything from anyone. Even if that creature still existed, he would be as interested in your wife as a murder of crows would be in a petticoat.”
“Then where did she go?”
“Who can say?” She removed her riding gloves from her hands as she spoke. “Perhaps it's easier for you, like most men, to hold fairytales close to your heart, to explain the loss you will never understand.”
“Who are you, lady?” The more he stared at her, the more she reminded him less of the woman he had loved. She reminded him less of any woman he had ever known. “Who are you, really?”
“I know some things about devils. I was born from them. My father left me just as your woman left you.” She dropped her gloves to the rug the Soldier kneeled upon. “My name is Lucine, and you are in all that is left of Hell. I am the daughter of the Devil.”
The Soldier reached out his hand. She didn't stop him from placing it on her boot and then squeezing the foot within it. “You're flesh and bones, and I'm no ghost. How can you say in the same breath that you're Satan's daughter, but the devil isn't real?”
She leaned forward and ran her own soft hands over his face. She was real and her touch had a feminine warmth and gentleness to it he hadn't felt in many years. “Satan was an angel. There are many devils in this world, and even more Hells.”
He closed his eyes in spite of himself and let her fingertips speak to his face. “Could I replace her? Do you love the one who left you for a devil so much that the touch of another would never do?”
“What do you want from me?” The Soldier asked this as his tired face was caressed by her. It was a pleasure that was nearly too much. He found the longing welling inside him to be excruciating. He didn't think that he could handle having any more of her than what she was already tempting him with.
“You were a steam engineer.”
“How do you know these things?” He felt himself trapped and lost to her hands. More intensely than that, he found himself embracing the confusion of not knowing that way. He was becoming intent on falling into the darkness.
“Do you think you've learned everything there is to know about smoke and fire?”
His mouth opened just a crack and his eyes were still pressed tight. Her fingertips had breached the borderland of his face. He felt them inside him.
It brought just enough pain for him to take. He felt as though he was being held over a high cliff by her fingers and if she were to suddenly let go he would fall into a place of painted nightmares.
“Open your eyes to your fears.”
“I can't…”
“You will, or I will cast you to the rocks.”
He felt his body strain against her touch.
“There are deeper Hells than this place. There are darker truths than you want to learn.”
“Please, just take the horse and send me away from here.”
“The cloak?” He could feel her fingers breach his skull. She was inside of him and her touch toyed with his brain and searched for things he kept hidden. “That is all you would leave me with?”
“It's all I have.” His voice was little more than a collection of gasps.
“How did you give up so easily?” She pushed into him further and he opened his mouth to scream, but there was none within him to spring into the world. “Open your eyes.”
The Soldier's eyes opened. She was out of her chair and on her knees before him. Her fingers were not in his head, but were running through his hair. Her forehead touched his. “That witch left your body, but that is all she left. There is nothing inside you anymore. You only have the clockworks spinning that make it run. “She was so close to him, he could feel a strand of her hair on his cheek. “What happens to an engine when the fire in the bellows ceases to glow?”
“There is no steam to power it.” His voice was quiet.
“There is little left of you. You have forgotten about fire and learned little of smoke.”
Her lips pressed into his. It had been so long since he had gotten such a kiss that he could not remember how to kiss back. “Do you want to learn what you have forgotten, or do you want me to let you fall into that deeper Hell?”
“Why?” He said it in a whisper. He'd never whispered anything. “Why would you offer anything to me?”
“The old one, the Wizard, he has spent his life chasing devils. His blind devotion is useless to me.” She ran her fingers down the soldier's face and kissed him again. His lips were starting to remember how to respond to hers. “He only hears the old ways; he hasn't anything in his soul that longs for the new.”
“I don't feel like I have anything in my soul either.”
“You don't have a soul. You let it leave you long ago.” Her fingers pressed into the Soldier's chest. All he could feel was her touch on his skin, there was an empty place within. “I can't give you your soul back, but I can give you something better.”
“What is better?”
“I can give you purpose.” She pulled her fingers from his chest, and it was a blessing not to have them as a reminder of how empty he was inside. “You will build a great machine after I've taught you the true nature of fire. Only when it is set into motion will you understand truth.”
“What truth?”
“Truth?” She kissed his lips once more, and the Soldier finally remembered what it was to kiss. He let his numb hands close on her back and run into her red hair, and he pulled her close to him. He had never kissed another so passionately or with such unbridled ferocity.
Then they were on the rug. Their hands touched each other everywhere, all at once, and their lips only left one another's long enough so Lucine could speak more nightmares.
“I will show you fire and what divination it can bring. You will call them into the world that I might unlock the five doors.”
His lips kissed her neck as she pulled him ever closer to her and sang, “Flower, Moon, Owl, and Broom.”
~25~
ATLANTIS RANCH
LISSANDRA COUNTED HEADS before everyone had stepped through the door with the big yellow 5 over it — there were thirty-three of them, counting herself. Everyone of them armed, and armored in some fashion beyond herself — well, Moon's leather pants and unicorn tank didn't really count as armor, but she did have a couple of really intimidating looking swords strapped to her back. If Moon's claims were to be believed, she had dispatched an entire bar full of very rough and drug addled customers with little more than her bare hands.
Lissandra was apt to believe the woman's claims.
The hallway was much more akin to an airport concourse, wide enough to roll a tank division through. There was plenty of concrete, but still very low light — fixtures inset into the high ceilings burned sporadically, as if the facility ran on some sort of reserve power. Flashlights were no longer being used by the soldiers up ahead of her and Moon. They had taken to wearing night vision goggles. Moon didn't wear any though, and no one had offered Lissandra a pair.
For some reason, Lissandra had expected Hell-adjacent to equate to hot, but the reality was that it was freezing in this place. The gypsy woman couldn't imagine just how far below the surface of the ranch they actually were, or how far they had walked. The concrete and steel beamed hallway seemed to go on forever.
“So, is there anything actually down here?”
Moon was keeping her eyes straight ahead, monitoring the movements of her army, which swarmed ahead, around, and behind their Mistress. “Oh, there's plenty down here.”
“How do you know that? Are you sure you're just not guessing?”
“I know because associates of mine built this place, and I never rely on guesses.”
“Says the woman with the swords who kidnapped a fortuneteller.”
The men ahead stopped suddenly, and in a synchronized motion, the soldiers all fell into defensive positions. Lissandra heard the message travel back the ranks to Moon's ears.
“Door.”
Moon turned to Lissandra and smi
rked. “Happy now?”
“Like it's my sixteenth birthday all over again.”
“Come on, fortune teller, let's go see what we've found.”
Lissandra walked with Moon through the ranks of the soldiers. “If your associates built this place, then why don't you have a map?”
“Well, that would be silly and near impossible, wouldn't it?”
“You don't need a fortune teller for that, an engineer would do.”
Ahead, on the left wall, was an intimidating vault-like door. “Lissandra, you can't map Level 5 because it's quantumly unstable.”
“Oh, how silly of me. What was I thinking?”
“Exactly.”
Lissandra thought about what Moon had just said as the two women stood before the door. “Wait? What does that mean when you say quantumly unstable?”
“The floor plan of Level 5 is ever-changing. Nothing is set in stone.”
Lissandra pointed towards the vast door and all the high-density concrete surrounding it. “Everything down here is set in stone. You're talking crazy, and that's making a bold statement in regards to the things that have come out of your mouth tonight. The floor plans of buildings don't just shift around at their whims.”
“We're not in a building. If you build things right, everything about that which you've built is open to interpretation and whim.”
“So this door we're looking at is not actually here?”
“Oh, it's here.” Moon pointed back the way they'd come — where there had been nothing but enormous empty hallway. “And it's back there.” She raised her other arm towards the direction they had been traveling. “And we might just run into it again down the hall.”
“That is impossible.”
“What's impossible is that you actually believe that it's not possible.”
Billy Purgatory and the Curse of the Satanic Five Page 23
