Carlisle winced. No man should be beyond God’s punishment.
“But we can go around them, can’t we?” Carlisle asked. “We can push into an emotion where they are not touching. Then come back and attack them from behind.”
The normally tepid voice of Mephistopheles burned hot inside him. “These men of the Infidel know much, Carlisle. Their realm cannot be breached by such methods.”
Simeon’s deep voice rumbled past him. Somehow, the words from that man seemed more real than the ones spoken by others in this Hell. “The men of the Infidel are very smart. Some of the devils trying to destroy them asked for my aid, for I walked Gehenna when the Infidel was in Gehenna, and I came here to Sheol when the Infidel came to Sheol.
“Knowing how ingenious the infidels could be at avoiding their deserved fate, I called for help from other fallen humans. One was a mathematician by trade, and as we began to map the outsides of the Infidel’s realm, he came up with a theory. He likened emotions to a fourth dimension in this place. To escape from an attacker here, you must realize, you can either run up or down, left or right, forward or back, or you can become happier or sadder. He guessed that the infidels had learned a way to map these emotions, and that they could produce them at will. Even so, we thought that there could be no defensive shape to their realm without some nook or cranny that we could find our way into.”
The blood spilled out over Carlisle’s boot. “What did you find?”
“That there was truly no entrance. The infidels had built a four dimensional shape called a glome.”
Carlisle tried to imagine that. “But how?”
Mephistopheles’ anger was steadily growing.
Simeon, however, remained unaffected. “Through no geometry we’d seen before. But we made one, and mapped the infidels’ defenses, finding that they had indeed discovered this emotional dimension in Sheol. To face them is to face their Legions.”
The blood pooled around Carlisle’s feet. “Perhaps I could help. I could go in and be your spy. I could find a way to disrupt them.”
“Perhaps,” answered Mephistopheles. “But I would not take you away from your task. You seek the angel’s get. This is more important than a handful of stalwarts who are putting off their rightful punishment for a few millennia. Come with me, I’ll show you the way around. When you find Benson, you must climb the ladder of his soul. That will take you to Gehenna. That will take you to the boy born of an angel.”
Mephistopheles’ anger reached a boil. “I feel him, master. The boy is drawing near.”
Simeon nodded.
Mephistopheles paused for a moment, consulting with whatever powers of observation he had. “Master, I think he’s coming here.”
Arturus continued his exploration of Calimay’s complex after a hard morning spent helping Galen repair the plumbing. While they had worked, Galen had confirmed his suspicions that the complex itself had been built by the ancients, and that the walls concealing it had been added later by Calimay’s people.
Arturus found that there were eight levels of the black marble corridors which made up the heart of Calimay’s complex. Each was divided into four sections by two perpendicular hallways, and each of those four sections was then further divided into a smaller arrangement of chambers. The glass ceilings of these rooms shone down different colors on different floors, either because of a change in the hue of the glass or in the water itself—Arturus didn’t know which.
His favorite had been the purple ceiling. The bottom level, which he was exploring now, had red illumination. As in the above rooms, the water caused the light to undulate with its movement. In the previous halls, Arturus had found the effect beautiful. Here it was somewhat unsettling, making the black marble look like it was covered in blood.
At least there are no devils.
Despite the odd lighting, he felt safer here than he had on the previous levels. He’d noticed Calista, Calimay’s youngest daughter, had taken to following him around the complex while he explored. At first Arturus had figured that the young woman had been sent to keep an eye on him. It was Johnny who pointed out that she looked a bit love sick . . . only this girl wasn’t like Ellen. He could say no to Ellen. Hell, he could say yes to Ellen and expect to come out of the experience in one piece.
He passed two of Calimay’s soldiers as he traveled down the corridor. They were speaking in whispers but stopped as he approached. Their eyes focused on him.
Arturus nodded and smiled warmly at them. This always took Calimay’s guards by surprise. Awkwardly, one of the soldiers waved. Arturus returned the gesture before passing them by.
The Carrion born continued their whispers as Arturus approached the end of the hallway. There was a single chamber beyond that was about ten feet wide and perhaps twenty feet tall. The red glass ceiling stopped at the room’s entrance. This chamber had a vaulted ceiling made of solid ruby. The light from the red water filtered in through the semitransparent ruby, giving everything here a dim glow. The brighter light from behind cast Arturus’ shadow in front of himself. Arturus watched his silhouette oscillate across the room with the waves of the water above. For a moment, he stood still, simply watching his shadow dance.
At the far end of the chamber was a half-carved statue. It was of the top half of a man, hands raised above his head, palms touching each other as if the statue were diving upwards. Arturus got the impression that the man was emerging from the rock.
My tattoo.
Arturus touched his shoulder with his hand as he walked forward. His shadow traversed the stone floor and fell upon the statue.
Whomever had carved this was possessed with a great passion for his work. While it lacked the practiced classical touch of the statues in the levels above, the roughness of the piece seemed to better express the artist’s fervor. This was a work of zeal if Arturus had ever seen one. The rough marks of the chisel, along with the wavy red illumination, caused the stone figure to appear to be in motion.
Another shadow crossed the floor. Arturus shook his head.
Calista. She’s found me.
Arturus turned to face her, trying to think of what he could say to stop her advances.
Maybe she can—
Malkravyan stood in the entrance of the room. Arturus caught his breath.
The Infidel Friend leaned up against the entrance’s walls. “That’s a statue of Mithras.” The man’s features were hidden, standing as he was against the light, and Arturus could not see his lips move as he spoke. “Like Maab, Calimay teaches that he is emerging from the stone. Someday he’ll be freed, she says, and then he shall lead her people out of Hell and into a place of eternal reward.”
Arturus’ hand dropped, as if on its own accord, to his hip—but he had no weapon. Arturus looked about for a way to escape, but there was only one exit to the chamber, and Malkravyan was standing in it.
You can’t let him think you’re weak.
Arturus cleared his throat. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
The Infidel Friend’s head shook back and forth.
“What do infidels believe in?”
No response. Perhaps Malkravyan would kill him now, but it seemed more likely that the Infidel Friend would want him alive. Surely Malkravyan couldn’t kidnap him and drag him back into the Carrion with all of Calimay’s guards around.
He might know secret paths in and out of the complex.
Arturus advanced towards the man. Malkravyan made no move at all, either to capture him or to get out of his way.
Arturus stopped two paces in front the Infidel Friend, standing before him defiantly. “What gods do you pray to?”
At this distance, Arturus could make out the man’s expression against the red light, but only just barely.
Malkravyan’ lips curled into a smile. “The question of gods changes nothing.”
“It changes good and evil. How can one be good if one doesn’t know what good is? Why would one wish to be good if not to serve some deity? It is no won
der men call you evil.”
“Sure of this, are you?”
“I am.”
“A religious man might do good to secure paradise, or he might do good to please his gods. If it is paradise which he seeks, then his morality springs from his own self-interest. If self-interest is the motivation to do good, then surely we can just skip a step and say that I do good because it gives me pleasure and causes others to treat me better. And if, for the religious man, he does good out of love for some external thing, like his God, then surely I can just skip a step and say that it is Man that I love, so that I might do good for him.”
The logic behind the statement struck Arturus as familiar, but it seemed incomplete somehow. “But then there is no reason to do good but your own whim. No objective reason for you to try and make everything better.”
“If there were some ultimate purpose for my being, some guiding seemingly objective destiny for my behavior, why should I follow it? Would you have me believe, you son of an angel, that you would do an evil thing if a god asked you to?”
“Of course I wouldn’t.”
Malkravyan raised his chin. “Then why not skip a step and do right no matter what the gods say? If they are just, then they will reward you. If they are not, then you would not have wished to follow them anyway.”
Galen might say the same thing.
“But what if the wages of good deeds are damnation, and the reward for vile actions is absolution?”
“Then I would make very sure, boy, very sure that you know that to be the case before you act. Were a man to say such a thing to me, my first guess would be that he is of an unscrupulous sort, a slave of ideas which fool good men into doing bad things. Do you believe we live in such a place where good is rewarded with evil?”
Arturus shook his head. The red light gleamed off of Malkravyan’s shoulders. The hilt of the man’s blade was almost invisible against the glare.
“The Infidel will never have me,” Arturus told the man. “You can chase me through all of Hell. You can kill everyone I know. I will never be his, even if it means I am to die.”
Malkravyan closed the small gap between them, his shadowed face now completely visible, only inches away, staring down at Arturus. “When the Infidel comes to you, it will not be as a kidnapper or as a murderer. He will come to you with an argument and an offer. I cannot tell you when he will find you, but it will be when he needs you. What he asks of you, you will not be able to deny him. You have no idea what kind of man he is.”
Arturus felt anger burning in his chest. “I choose!” Arturus shouted at him. “No one chooses for me. I choose my purpose. I choose what I want. I choose my destiny. I do. Not him. Not the Infidel. Not my father or my mother. Not even . . .” Arturus stopped suddenly, realizing just what he was about to say.
“Not even God?” Malkravyan whispered.
Arturus stepped back.
The Infidel Friend turned about on his heel. Arturus watched the man leave through the haze of blood colored light.
Not even God?
Arturus looked behind him. The form of Mithras seemed to move in the dim, wavy light. It was as if the soul of the statue was engaged in some titanic struggle against the rock he was emerging from—a struggle that soul was inexorably winning.
But then, which God?
The Citizens had been very wise feeding the villagers shares of dried hungerleaf while they were cooking the stew, Martin decided. Even with the edge taken off of their hunger, the Harpsborough people seemed to be struggling to control themselves. On an empty stomach, they probably would have charged up to Kylie’s Kiln where the giant cauldron bubbled, overturned the stew, and then eaten it right there off of the stones.
As it was, they were sitting and kneeling, staring at the pot with dead eyes. No one spoke. The only noises were the crackles of the fire which was heating the stew and the growls of empty stomachs.
Patrick Foodsmith was stirring the pot with a giant woodstone stick. He tasted a bit of the stew, holding up the stirring stick and eating the thickened devilwheat off of one end. As Patrick did so, Martin heard the woman next to him groan.
They’re so hungry. How did we ever let it get this bad?
Patrick, having sampled his creation, added in some dried houndsblood.
But they’re about to be in for a treat.
John’s sandaled feet slapped their way from the Fore towards Patrick. He was carrying a box which was filled with chopped dyitzu meat. One of Martin’s hunting parties had chanced upon three dyitzu on the Kingsriver. It was the most meat that had been caught since Aaron was the Lead Hunter. The men who’d shot the dyitzu had been camped along the river overnight. Since leaving men on the Kingsriver twenty four hours a day was Martin’s idea, he felt rather proud of the kills.
None of the villagers were allowed past Kylie’s Kiln, which meant John was able to bring the dyitzu meat to Patrick without being molested. Martin sighed and started his own trek towards the cauldron. He had his hunters there in force, lined up in front of the villagers. Supposedly they were there to enjoy the feast, but they were really there to keep order.
The sooner we get these people fed, the better. We should have cooked all this in the Fore.
Martin slowed down as he picked his way through the villagers.
Suddenly they came alive. A woman rushed up and hugged him. “Thank you so much for bringing Tyler in from the wilds! Thank you, thank you!”
He was surrounded by them as they congratulating him, shaking his hands and singing his praises. “Good job with the dyitzu. We knew you’d turn things around.”
“You brought me back, Martin. If you had left me out there, I’d have caught the stilling.”
Martin felt his spirit soar.
This is how they used to treat Aaron. This is how they treated Mike.
Their hands clung to him as he pushed his way towards the Kiln. Their warmth surrounded him. Martin had never felt so loved before, even in the old world. He looked around for Katie, but he could not find the girl. For some reason Martin really wanted her to see this moment.
You did good, Martin. You did good.
Finally the hands let him go. Martin passed by two of his hunters to get behind the giant black cauldron. He was surprised to see Kylie there.
“They like you,” Kylie told him.
Martin could not suppress his grin.
Kylie leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “An excellent job, Lead Hunter. Well done.”
The kiss started a fire on the side of his face. The fire spread to his neck and then rushed down his back. There was no doubt about it, Kylie was the best Citizen in Harpsborough.
Mancini came out through the Fore’s door curtain and started giving orders to Martin’s hunters. “Go ahead and get the bowls ready. We want to have a bunch filled before we start handing them out. This won’t be much of a feast if a riot breaks out.”
But that didn’t seem like a danger now. The people were standing, milling around and talking. A few were even still shouting thanks towards Martin.
Martin moved back in front of Kylie’s Kiln. Gemma, a cute little girl who Aaron had dated many moons ago, was signaling to him.
“Can I help you, princess?” Martin asked her.
“Oh, you’ve already done that,” Gemma said. “Your men brought Laurie in from the wilds.” Gemma looked him up and down. “You’re looking svelte, Martin. Have you been losing weight?”
Martin looked down at his belly. Come to think of it, it was looking a bit smaller. Times had been tough.
“Guess so!”
She smiled and gave him a playful shove. “Don’t deny it. We all know you’re just trying to look good for the ladies.”
The flush that Kylie had started with her kiss threatened to burn him whole. Gemma was a gorgeous woman. The kind of woman that Aaron would date. Martin had never guessed that he would have had a chance with her. He looked out into the crowd of Harpsborough villagers. He saw Katie.
&nbs
p; She looked sad and alone.
Katie always liked me. Gemma wouldn’t have given half a dyitzu ass about me before I became Lead Hunter.
Martin reached out his hand, beckoning to her. Suddenly the frown was gone from Katie’s tired face. She made her way through the sitting villagers, tripping a little as she walked. She was anything but pretty now, Martin realized. The weight she had lost from the hunger had robbed her of some of her best assets while leaving her thighs and belly almost untouched. Dark circles rounded her eyes. Her hair was unkempt. Martin didn’t care.
He took her hand and kissed her for a long moment.
A flush colored her face. Her eyes, watering from the smoke given off from Kylie’s Kiln, seemed to sparkle.
“Well,” Gemma said curtly. “Like I was saying, thank you. I’ll leave you two to it.”
Martin knew he wasn’t missing anything. His father had warned him never to marry a pretty woman, and Martin now knew why. Katie would stick with him through thick and thin. Gemma would drop him if ever he lost his title as Lead Hunter.
The smell of the devilwheat stew suddenly filled the air. Martin felt his own stomach rumbling in anticipation. He looked towards the cauldron.
Patrick was ladling the stew into wooden bowls. Mancini was directing, trying to make sure that everyone got fed fairly.
You gonna eat last, Martin. That’s part of being a leader.
“Run and get in line,” Martin told Katie. “I’ll have to catch up to you.”
Katie, enlivened by the kiss, smiled at him. She made her way into the mass of villagers who were even now pushing against Martin’s line of hunters.
Citizen Kylie came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Martin. I always knew you were, but I’m really impressed with you. I didn’t know you’d make such a good leader.”
Martin’s stomach rumbled even louder as the first of the bowls were handed out to the villagers.
Knight of Gehenna (Hellsong Book 2) Page 26
