Trampling in the Land of Woe_Book One of Three

by William Galaini

Yitz barely took a breath, but Hephaestion sheathed his sword. “You’re either confident you can destroy us or insane to give away your location so foolishly. Which is it?”

  “Don’t be dismissive,” the voice quipped in a smooth tone overlaid with a hint of graciousness that was expected of noblemen.

  Hephaestion motioned for Yitz to follow. With the cloak bundled in Yitz’s arms—the hearts safely tucked inside—they exited the apothecary. Hephaestion strode onward, his hand resting on his sword hilt, the bones and smashed window frames of the gray, ashen Dis guiding their direction.

  A roof tile shifted to their left, but their stalker kept his distance.

  Reaching another junction, Hephaestion stopped at the derelict fountain in the center while Yitz kept his back against the nearby wall. Scanning the rooftops, Yitz spied a lone figure half a league away. Slender and wearing armor, the stranger pointed further down the street toward a courtyard.

  The figure vanished before Yitz could call out. He rushed to Hephaestion’s side, reaching the fountain filled with tattered remains of clothing and toys, all apparently burned as fuel.

  “I saw him. On the roof.” Yitz panted, unnerved.

  “So did I. What language did he speak?”

  “English. A newer version. Only a hundred years old or so.”

  Hephaestion nodded thoughtfully.

  “Do you know anything about him?” Yitz pressed.

  “Nothing. Could just be a vagrant. Or someone like us looking for somebody.”

  “Well, he pointed toward a courtyard farther ahead. Want to check it out?”

  “Absolutely not,” Hephaestion said firmly. “We aren’t here to explore—just get through. You are a good person. That’s clear, but we can’t go saving every heart. If we were with the Buddhists or with another escort, maybe. But you need to follow me and do what I do without endangering yourself needlessly.”

  “I understand, Samson.”

  “Whoever tried to knock Mom out of the sky may not have given up yet. We need to move.”

  “Okay. You got it. You’re the boss.”

  Keeping pace with the big warrior, Yitz’s interest in the contents of each building waned. After the second intersection, he spotted the courtyard their stalker had indicated.

  “Let’s look at the astrolabe again,” Yitz whispered. “I think we got turned around a bit.”

  “What? How?”

  “At the fountain.”

  “No, we should be fine. I went straight ahead after that.”

  “Are you sure?” Yitz had learned much from Adina, including the ability to instill doubt.

  Hephaestion thought a moment, clearly flustered.

  Yitz tugged on his sleeve. “Here, let’s get out of the street—we can check our direction just to make sure.”

  Hephaestion followed Yitz off the path, a sour expression on his face as he removed the astrolabe from his satchel. The small globe spun and whirred to life. As though to steady himself, Yitz laid a hand on the solidly built wall beside them. His fingers came away spotless.

  “Hm.”

  “What now?” Hephaestion asked, annoyed but focused on the circular map.

  “No dust. This wall is clean…as is, look—as is this part of the street.”

  The worn stone guiding their journey appeared as though a gust of wind had rushed by, pushing the years of dust and ash into the corners and crevices.

  A familiar voice sounded on the other side of the wall.

  “You pull perimeter guard. You two, protect me. The rest of you fan out. He’s alone so you can manage,” Father Jose Acanth Franco commanded.

  With careful precision, Hephaestion packed up the astrolabe as Yitz slid his pistol free. Hephaestion gave him a pointed glare—don’t fire. Yitz patted his shoulder in assurance that he’d received the message.

  Pressing against the wall, they slinked forward until they reached the courtyard’s archway. Yitz peeked around the corner.

  He had never seen anything like it before. A flying machine of some kind cast long shadows in the hazy, directionless light. Multiple fan blades hovered high above the chassis and long, web-like wings with jointed flaps. A snarling dragon adorned the cone-shaped nose. The massive machine could carry ten men, and several crew members tinkered beneath the metal hide.

  Franco paced back and forth next to the thing’s tail, his fingers pointing at each of his personal compliment of armored samurai as he issued orders in a dismissive tone. Yitz could detect a trace of resentment in each samurai’s expressionless face as they stood at attention. After being addressed, each pulled down a protective facemask, increasing their ferocious appearance.

  Yitz switched spots with Hephaestion, and as Hephaenstion risked a glance around the wall, the blood drained from his face. He gestured for them to retrace their steps.

  “They think I’m alone,” Hephaestion whispered as they snuck into an empty building. “If they spot us I can draw them off. You take the map and keep it safe.” He unbuckled the shield halves and kneed them into one piece.

  “Dumkopf,” Yitz fired back as Hephaestion tried to hand him the leather satchel. “We can just sneak by. Don’t give me this thing.”

  “And if they spot us, they’ll see you.” Hephaestion primed his shield piston. “I promised the astrolabe would be safe. And you don’t want them finding the documents on Gil, either. They would have leverage over the wealthiest man in New Dis.”

  Yitz rolled his eyes. Discussing anything while in peril exacerbated the problem. He scooped up Hephaestion’s bag and swung the precious cargo over his back. “Let’s backtrack and find a place to hide.”

  A brick shifted outside.

  Hephaestion nodded, and Yitz led the way through the building’s back door. After ensuring the alley was clear, Yitz crouched low and shuffled quickly outside. Cobblestones shifted beneath their feet, as though loosened from a flood. Rather than slow down, they gripped the wall for balance and kept going.

  A shadow loomed ahead, and based on the size and angle, Yitz guessed someone still tracked them from the rooftop. He barely figured out the thin, skewed shape of a bow, the string drawn tight in preparation, when Hephaestion tackled him from behind, his shield raised to knock the arrow off course.

  But no projectile reached them. Seconds later, the samurai crashed onto the cobblestones, bow skittering across the ground. Yitz looked up.

  “Two more that way,” their odd rescuer called. “Run down this street, fourth block left. Ballroom!” And with that, he disappeared behind several chimneys.

  A samurai burst through the door into the alley, steel out. Hephaestion drew his sword, the surrounding stone, mortar, and wood glowing faintly red from its hue, as he charged his enemy. The two clashed, the samurai’s mastery deflecting each blow, sparks showering over his mask as Hephaestion advanced.

  Two more appeared down the opposite alley. Swords out, they charged, their weapons low. Gripping Hephaestion’s pistol with both hands, Yitz fired when he hoped he couldn’t miss. One of them fell face first. The other changed direction, heading for Hephaestion.

  Within a breath the samurai was behind him, blade poised to run Hephaestion through the back as he battled with the first samurai.

  Yitz tossed his cloak over the head of the flanking samurai, hearts bouncing off the cobblestones, as he yanked on the sleeves to throw off the man’s balance. Blind, he spun around, his blade narrowly missing Yitz’s head. In return, Yitz pounced on him, attempting to pin his arms to his sides.

  A scream of agony echoed through the alleyway as Hephaestion’s searing blade took off the first samurai’s leg at the knee. Yitz continued to ride the samurai like an angry bull until Hephaestion’s blade drove through the bundled, staggering enemy. Flames engulfed the cloak, and Yitz leapt off with a yelp. Hephaestion aimed a solid kick at the burning man, sending him tu
mbling through the building’s back door. His effort came too late: fire licked at the wooden beams.

  “Run.” Hephaestion pushed Yitz towards the exit. Yitz kept looking behind them, though no pursuers followed. Ages of dried dust made the vacated structure a tinderbox, and fiery fingers reached for the roof. Smoke belched into the sky as though centuries had trapped the acrid clouds beneath the decrepit shelters, awaiting a chance at Heaven.

  They kept moving, shoulders against walls and heads low. Overhead, they heard a deep hum, and gusts of heavy air enveloped them as webbed wings thumped with growing velocity. The small airship’s shape barely glimmered through the smoke, but the painted dragon teeth shone with threatening brilliance. It was a fraction of the size of the ship that had attacked Mom, most likely intended for small raiding parties, but the design was clearly similar.

  Turning left after the fourth block, they discovered a message scrawled on the wall. Broken Greek carved the remaining thick ash: “ballroom visit.” An arrow below pointed to the right.

  Hephaestion led, blade out, and his finger on his shield’s piston trigger. Yitz positioned the pistol as though he might fire, even though he had no more ammunition. Hand drawn arrows guided them forward, littering the flat surfaces, the message occasionally repeated among them.

  Soon they stood before a massive palace, its aged and decrepit opulence unequaled by anything either of them had seen on Earth.

  Chapter 31

  “Seat of power of Dis,” Yitz whispered.

  Creeping past a dead garden of decapitated statues, they ascended the stairs. The doors had long since been smashed, the foyer floors so bloodied that the tiles had been stained to a uniform color. As they crept deeper inside, large tarnished mirrors and gilded ceilings ornately depicted angelic scenery. At the center of a room as large as any Hephaestion had stood in before, two moldy chairs faced each other across a small fire on the floor. Flames danced in the mirrors, echoing the nobility that must have once cavorted within these festive walls.

  Hephaestion sheathed his sword, its light ceasing and diminishing the room.

  “Wait” had been sketched in ash between the two chairs. The chairs and tiny fire offset the command.

  With a sigh, Yitz dropped into one of the plush chairs, released a cloud of putrid gunk. Waving his hand about, Yitz unbuckled the satchel and tossed it back to Hephaestion.

  “You don’t want to keep it?” Hephaestion asked, sitting down more cautiously than his companion.

  “No.” Yitz coughed. “Looks better on you. Besides, you can outrun me. It’s safer with you. Think we’re safe here?”

  “Enemy of my enemy—”

  “Hardly means a friend, Heph.”

  “I know, but not an enemy might be just as good for now. Besides, we were getting close to the docks, and we would have been exposed to Franco’s air machine—a serious problem. Best if we hide and decide on another approach. And thank you, Yitz.”

  “You, sir, are always welcome. I would enjoy your gratitude even further if I knew what it was specifically for, however.”

  “That bit with the cloak was brilliant. And you’re dangerous with that pistol.”

  Yitz shrugged. “Putz’s work.”

  “Hardly.”

  The two men watched the flame between them meekly. Hephaestion’s mind drifted in and out of the present, flittering around his current predicament. How did the Jesuits get such radically advanced technology? He had heard of ornithopters and other flying machines while sitting around Ulfric’s mead hall, but to see one working so effectively was startling. The beast could land on presumably any stable surface and could take off quickly when in danger. If only he had something like that the entire descent to Alexander would take a few hours at most.

  Suddenly Hephaestion remembered the river Styx. He winced at the thought. Knowing now was as good a time as any, Hephaestion decided to break the bad news to Yitz. “What do you know about the river Styx, Yitz?”

  “Well, it’s said to have so many tears that you forget how to think if you swim in the salty water. You fall out of yourself. I heard that much.”

  “That’s true, more or less.”

  “I also know that it’s full of sinners. Bitter souls. I heard the boats used to cross the river had to be made with metal hulls to keep from being clawed apart.”

  “That’s also true. Some boats actually generated electricity from the motion of the oarsmen to shock anything nearby in the water.”

  “Each boat must have a lot of oarsmen,” Yitz mused.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “So, with just us two, how do we cross?”

  “Well, I’m glad you asked—” actually, he wasn’t “—I spent hundreds of years training my body not to convulse from drowning. I’ve practiced suffocation and drowning extensively. Even then, it is horrible.”

  “Everyone needs a hobby,” Yitz teased.

  “My intention is to crawl along the bottom of the river, hand over hand, until across.”

  Yitz’s eyes widened. “How far is that?”

  “About seven leagues at most.”

  “Wait, why not just go slowly across with a small boat?”

  “The damned in Styx attack any boat they see. Period.”

  “Even a small one?”

  “Even small ones.”

  “Are there no bridges?”

  “All that are known have fallen or burned.”

  “Then how do I get across?”

  “I’m glad you asked that, too.”

  “No, you clearly aren’t.”

  “We’re going to have to kill you.”

  Yitz stared at Hephaestion. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re going to have to be dead while I tow your body across the water.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  “Yes. For a moment I thought you’d have a harder time with this. I’m glad to see—”

  “Of course I have a hard time with this!” Yitz’s voice boomed through the ballroom. “Some of us pride ourselves on not dying. Dying is one of my least favorite things to do!”

  “But you’ll be safe—with me,” Hephaestion argued.

  “And dead.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be here. This is technically your doing, Yitz.”

  “Did you actually just tell me it is my fault that you feel compelled to kill me? Unbelievable!”

  “I can do it fairly painlessly.”

  “Oh? Well, now I’m interested. What did you have in mind? Could you read off the menu for me?” Yitz’s sarcasm was in full bore now. “Is slitting my throat and keeping me kosher an option?”

  “Stabbing in the back of the head is instant. It will last for three days, but, if we can find a dagger or sharp object, I can bind it into the back of your head,” Hephaestion explained. “Since your healing would take much longer with an object obstructing it, we wouldn’t have to deal with the risk of you recovering while we’re submerged. Your heart would also remain operational, since it takes weeks to restart.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

  “No, we wouldn’t. Because if you did spring back to life under Styx, you’d thrash about, and we’d be consumed by the damned over and over every time we reformed just to be shit out again.”

  “Any other options? Like poison or something?”

  “Poison? What poison?”

  “Or wait until I’m asleep? Wait until then.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep knowing I’m going to kill you—honestly?”

  “Good God, man! Work with me, here.”

  “Dying isn’t really difficult. Everybody manages it, you know.” Hephaestion suppressed a smile.

  “Oh my God. You are a right bastard,” Yitz snapped.

  Their host emerged from the long shadows of
the ballroom. Skinned down to the muscle, his body revealed the anatomy of the human form. Clean and bloodless, great care had been taken in his pursuit. Perhaps he peeled back the skin himself or had servants do it, but either way, he strode before them with pride.

  But that wasn’t the most striking thing about his appearance. Over his thighs, shoulders, forearms, and chest thin plates of red steel had been bolted onto his skeleton. A simple but artful metal mask covered his face, affixed to his skull. A cherub’s face greeted them, forged with holes through which his eyes peered.

  Without a hint of pain, the stalker sat down on the floor opposite Hephaestion and Yitz in a singular, elegant motion.

  “Hello,” he purred. “I did not mean to eavesdrop on your heated discussion. And forgive my peeking in on you from the roof of the shop. I do thank you both for stopping by. I haven’t had proper conversation in far, far too long.”

  “With this one here, you might not get any proper conversation.” Yitz pointed an angry finger in Hephaestion’s face.

  “Well, either way, I appreciate your trust. It’s not something I often come by these days,” the skinned man confessed.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” Hephaestion said.

  “And the place to rest,” Yitz added. “Don’t mind us and our bickering. Not to press your assistance further, but we were just debating how to cross the river. Any ideas that might involve me not dying?”

  “Actually, I was just hoping for conversation. Chat with me a bit, and I’ll aid you how I can. Consider this a nice fireside chat.” A grin might have flickered beneath his cherub metal mask.

  “Will the samurai find us here?”

  “They landed in another part of the city, and I have employed means to lead them on a merry chase for some time. You two gentlemen will be safe in my care for the time being.”

  Hephaestion surmised that the skinned, armored man viewed this space as his personal court. He was the ruler here, and Hephaestion was a guest—and he should act accordingly.

  Propping his shield against his thigh, Hephaestion leaned back, the chair whining in protest. Yitz crossed his legs, straightened his waistcoat, and tucked his thumb into his pocket.