Knight of Gehenna (Hellsong Book 2)

by Shaun O. McCoy

  Constance pulled a loose thread out from his blue t-shirt. “We don’t much like the new taxation law.” He flicked the thread aside.

  “No shit,” Chelsea said, crossing her arms and nodding her head in agreement.

  “I don’t like it either,” Martin jumped in, “but we got the feast thing in. And you know I’m doing my best to make it like it was when Aaron was in charge. That’s the way you want it, right?”

  “At least that’s acceptable,” Constance said. “I’ll have to talk to them, but I bet I can rally a few.”

  Martin nodded. “Tell them they’ll get a Fore sponsored meal and some ammo. If they really want to hurt the Fore, they can accept the Citizen’s meat and bullets.”

  Constance smiled. “I’m with you, Martin.”

  “Good,” Martin said. “Huxley and I will have our men ready to go in two days. We’ll leave in the morning. Caval and Hidalgo will lead us to their village. We’ll assess the layout and kill them. Chelsea will be going along with us as an advisor. Any questions?”

  Constance shrugged. “Not really. I’ll get to gathering my people.”

  No one else had any questions either, for which Martin was thankful.

  He stayed behind as the others left, bending down to pick up the blue piece of thread Constance had tossed aside. Best to keep God’s house clean, just in case.

  Hidalgo stayed behind too. He was watching Chelsea, Martin could tell.

  “Chelsea, she be a fine lady. Even if she not be having the thick thighs.”

  “She is indeed,” Martin answered. “She’s single, you know. How long have you liked her?”

  Hidalgo gave a soft laugh, and his hair rattled. “Me, I be loving her since I was hellborn.”

  “Have you asked her out? Tried to kiss her?”

  “No.”

  Martin balled the thread up and put it in his hoodie’s pocket. “Well, why the hell not?”

  “Me, I be . . . what is it that you people be calling it? Chicken shit?”

  Martin burst out laughing. The echoes of his own laughter had made him feel a little sacrilegious. “Yeah, Hidalgo. That’s what we call it.”

  Galen stopped them periodically so that he could exit the aqueduct through a service door and look around. He did this twice before letting everyone sleep again. Time here was immeasurable. Arturus wasn’t sure if they were marching full days and sleeping eight hours a night, or if they were sleeping in short shifts and only moving about for a few hours at a time.

  In the beginning, he suffered some vertigo while climbing around in the dark, but his sense of touch and hearing helped steady him. He felt almost as comfortable moving now as he would have in the light. There was a nagging fear he harbored in the back of his mind, however, that he would come to a point where the aqueduct was broken and that he might fall. Thus far the ancient’s architecture had been in remarkably good condition. It seemed almost as if they had tricked the stones into thinking they had been laid that way, so that they fixed the aqueduct as they healed instead of destroying it.

  With the vertigo gone, all he had to worry about was the cramping of his legs. Moving in a crouch for miles at a time was no easy task. He wondered how much longer he could go on doing this.

  The only changes in the structure of the aqueduct itself were the metal bridges which spanned it every so often. Arturus had taken to counting them. He’d lost count twice already, but his best guess was that they had passed by over eleven hundred so far. As his hearing became better attuned to the echoes of this place, he began to fear that they were not alone. Behind him, he noticed the sound of his friends and sometimes, when he let them get too close, he could even hear their labored breathing—but every so often he heard noises which didn’t seem to be coming from behind him.

  At first he thought the extra noise was just an echo, but as he moved on, mile after mile, he began to identify sounds which couldn’t be so easily explained. Maybe it was the scrape of a dyitzu claw or the skid of the hoof of a Minotaur. Maybe it was just the stones, creaking under the mighty weight that Hell placed upon them.

  He began to worry that they were being followed by pursuers who were not in the tunnel. Maybe their enemies were on the other side of the wall to his left. Maybe they were just over his head, a few feet beyond the stone ceiling.

  Arturus froze. He’d heard something.

  That was close.

  He tilted his head. The hunters were unusually silent. Either they had heard it as well, or he had wandered too far ahead while he was trying to listen.

  Silence.

  Dead silence.

  As his breathing slowed, he was able to hear the pounding of his blood in his ears. It thudded slowly with his heart.

  Do I hear someone else breathing?

  Or maybe that was just him. He tried to concentrate on the noise that his own breath made. He listened to it carefully, inhaling and exhaling. He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like there was someone else nearby.

  He held his breath.

  The noise kept going, and now he could hear it clearly. It was coming from the service tunnel. It was something breathing. Or several somethings.

  As slowly and as carefully as he could, Arturus backed up a few feet along the aqueduct.

  He climbed down into the service walkway, knelt next to a cubbyhole, and tried again to listen. It took a moment before he could identify the sound again.

  They’ve got to be on the sister walkway.

  The breathing never stopped.

  Maybe it’s wind?

  But it wasn’t. There was a definite pattern, and there was more than one thing breathing out there.

  Something touched his arm. Arturus started and reached for his gun.

  I’m going to die.

  But the touch wasn’t hurting him. He felt hands moving along his body, as if trying to identify him. The hands were rough and calloused.

  “Shh,” came the softest of whispers.

  “Move back?” Arturus asked softly.

  “Yes,” Galen said.

  Together they moved a few hundred feet back down the tunnel.

  Galen stopped him. “What? How many? How far?”

  “Not sure, I think they’re on the sister walkway.”

  Galen left his side for a moment. Arturus heard his father’s whispers, as soft as the breath of their enemies, as he spoke to the rest of the group. Galen’s touch returned to him and gently guided him back to the others.

  Now that they were all silent, the sound of their enemies became audible even at this distance. Their breathing was an almost steady hum.

  They’ve gotten louder.

  “We should go back,” Aaron whispered into their huddle. “We can exit further down there.”

  “Last entrance is about three hours back,” Galen’s soft voice responded.

  “That far?”

  “Of the last two I checked, one was jammed and the other was too hairy.”

  “You want us just to keep on marching down there?” Aaron whispered back. “With whatever that is out there waiting for us?”

  “We may not have much of a choice,” Galen answered. “Stay here.”

  Martin was shocked when he and Hidalgo entered Harpsborough. Everyone was there. People were standing in a large group amidst their hovels. The brightly dressed Citizens were out in force on the streets. Others were standing on the Fore’s roof and balconies. Michael Baker himself was on one of those third floor balconies, Mancini at his side.

  Harpsborough felt warmer even though neither Kylie’s Kiln nor Mancini’s still were lit. The crowd began to cheer. It took Martin a second to realize that they were cheering for him.

  Why are they cheering for me?

  “Harpsborough, it be wishing us well,” Hidalgo said.

  Of course they were cheering for him. They’d cheered for Michael when he came back, a giant spider leg slung over his shoulder. They’d cheered when Aaron had left, with promises of rescuing Julian and bringing back his devil
wheat. The whole city of Harpsborough was on his side. They wanted him to succeed.

  Martin had never dreamed of being the focus of all this attention. Or, he hadn’t since he had spent two months practicing bass guitar in the old world’s Winston Mill apartment 111D. He remembered how it felt to be a member of that Harpsborough crowd. How it felt to be looking up to the people who were going to be fighting on his behalf. He remembered how jealous he was of Aaron when Alice had seen him off.

  It’ll be like that now. Except I’m the one that everyone is looking at.

  Beyond the crowd, standing by the Fore’s door curtain, were forty of his hunters. Standing in a clump to one side were Constance and his supporters. They were easy to spot in their blue t-shirts. Somehow Constance had managed to convince his entire crew to go.

  To join his men, Martin had to pass through the crowd. The villagers gathered around him, reaching out and touching him. Their hands almost felt painful. Some were shouting encouraging things at him. Others were asking him to protect someone.

  “Make sure Ben comes back alive,” a woman shouted. “He’s supposed to cook me dinner.”

  “You’ll get that dinner, miss!” Martin spoke loudly so he could be heard over the crowd.

  Oh, Jesus. I really do have to make sure that he’s safe.

  The burden of being a leader hit Martin all at once. These people were asking for him to be in control of things that were uncontrollable. Not only was he supposed to kill all the corpsemen, he was supposed to do it without anyone being killed.

  But what can I do? I can’t tell them I can’t protect them.

  So he did what Aaron had done. He promised he would keep them safe. No one held it against Aaron that he hadn’t been able to.

  Of course, that’s probably because Aaron’s dead.

  Martin looked back to make sure Hidalgo was still with him. He was. It was almost a shame that he hadn’t worn his hunting pants since they might have kept the crowd at bay. From this angle Martin saw that Hidalgo’s quiver didn’t carry his normal woodstone arrows. This time the quiver carried silver colored shafts.

  Arrows for killing men, maybe. Or maybe he’s suspicious, and thinks silver will work better against the undead.

  Finally the hands gave way and he was free, standing next to his men. Chelsea was the closest to him. She hugged him.

  “Looks like Constance has his whole crew,” Martin said to her.

  She pulled back from his hug and stood next to him, looking to the clump of blue at the edge of the hunters in their black hoodies. “Yeah,” her voice was soft, but its higher pitch made her easier to hear over the crowd. “Same thing happens with sheep. After more than half of them change direction, the whole flock follows.”

  Martin laughed. He looked around for Katie, but he couldn’t figure out where she was. Maybe he’d see her when he made it to his men. He moved over to join his hunters. They were happy to see him, and many of them shook his hand. Some gave him hugs or patted him on the back.

  “We’re ready,” one man said.

  “Gonna kill those damn corpse eaters,” said another.

  “Twice if we have to,” Constance added.

  A few people laughed at his joke.

  “I’m happy you were able to get all your men,” Martin said. “I know how much they don’t like the Fore.”

  “They didn’t come to follow the Fore, Martin. They came to follow you.”

  Martin smiled.

  Katie wasn’t on this side either.

  I must have missed her.

  He searched again through the crowd.

  She’s not here.

  He turned to Chelsea. “Have you seen Katie?”

  “I think she’s still in her house.”

  “Stay here,” Martin ordered anyone who could hear him. “I’ll be right back. Make sure that you’ve got all your supplies in order, that you’ve got bullets in your guns, and that you’re ready to fight.”

  As he made his way back towards the crowd, Martin saw Ole Bense sitting alone against his Fore wall.

  I wish you could see me now, Bense. Who’d have guessed that I’d end up as Lead Hunter?

  He was able to break through the crowd more quickly this time.

  Erica was near the hovel. She stood between him and the door curtain. “You shouldn’t . . .”

  “Shouldn’t what?”

  Erica didn’t say anything. She just looked down.

  The noise and the people were getting to be a bit too much for Martin, so he passed Erica and walked briskly up to Katie’s hovel.

  “Hey, Reg,” he greeted the bird drawing. “You in there, Katie?”

  No answer. But he thought he heard a noise. He pushed his way through, letting the door tapestry close behind him. The tight confines of Katie’s hovel were a welcome reprieve from the attention of all those villagers.

  Katie was lying face down in the pack she used as a pillow. She was shaking.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to see you,” she said into her pack.

  He could tell from her voice that she was crying.

  He sat down beside her. “I’m going away. Katie, I’m going to war. I need to say goodbye to you.”

  “Just go. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  She rolled to one side, turning her back to him.

  Martin put a hand on her hair covered shoulder. “Why? Katie? Don’t you care about me? Don’t you want to say goodbye? What if I die?”

  She sat up and turned towards him. Tears were running down her face. Her eyes were bright red. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to. Katie, that’s my job.”

  “Make someone else do it.”

  Martin shook his head. “I don’t want to go, but this isn’t one of those things I can avoid.”

  “You can’t go.”

  “I have to. I need your support. Just tell me you love me. Why won’t you just say goodbye?”

  “Because you’re going to die, Martin!” she shouted. “You’re going to die. They never should have made you Lead Hunter. You’re a good man, but that’s all you are. Everybody knows you’re a bad fighter. Everyone knows it. You never killed many dyitzu. You weren’t picked to go on the expeditions. You’re not qualified for this. You’re going to get killed, and you’re going to get a lot of other people killed too.”

  Martin was stunned. He tried to stand up but lost his balance for a moment.

  She doesn’t believe in me.

  This kind of betrayal was something that Martin had never experienced before. He wasn’t sure if there was a worse kind.

  It was dead quiet.

  Outside, all of the talking had stopped. They’d heard her. The entire village had heard her say he wasn’t a good fighter.

  How could she do this to me?

  Martin made it to his feet this time. He stumbled out of the tent.

  Everyone was there. Staring at him. The hunters, the villagers, the Citizens, Constance’s men. Caval. Everyone.

  I need to say something.

  But Martin didn’t have the first clue about what to say. Kylie believed in Michael. Alice believed in Aaron. But Katie, Katie didn’t think he was worth a damn. How could he have been so foolish? Of course it had seemed like a dream when everyone had been singing his praises. Of course he was shocked to find out that they’d put him in charge. Men like him weren’t supposed to be in charge. He had only gotten the position because Michael had retired, Aaron had died, and Graham had gotten unlucky. Any one of them was a better hunter than he was.

  If you can’t think of anything to say. Try the truth.

  “She’s right,” Martin said. “I’m not a good fighter, so the rest of you are going to have to take extra care in protecting Chelsea.”

  Suddenly everyone was laughing. Martin felt the back of his neck heat up. The embarrassment cut him to the quick.

  Wait, they’re not laughing at me.

  He was very confused. They may not have all been
laughing at him, but they were all laughing. Martin thought back on what he had just said, trying to figure out why they were laughing.

  Do they think I’m joking? They think I’m joking!

  They were being fooled by an illusion. The Lead Hunter was supposed to be a good hunter, so they all believed he was. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t. Katie may have given that illusion a huge blow, but she hadn’t done enough damage to dispel it. Sure, if he fucked up in the battle, that illusion might fade away faster than it might have otherwise, but if he didn’t fuck up, no one would be the wiser.

  Was it like this for Aaron and Michael, too? Were they really just people, the same as he, put into positions where people counted on them? Where people’s illusion of their abilities inspired them, drove them on? Did it even matter if he was a fake?

  Oh shit, I need to keep talking.

  “These people, these corpsemen, they’ve murdered some of us. They killed our villagers in cold blood. We can’t let them kill any more of us. Now, I’m not sure why Katie is on the corpse eaters’ side . . .” He had to stop talking while the village laughed. “Hell,” Martin adlibbed, “maybe she’s spent even more time with Ole Bense than I have.” More laughter. “But we’ve got to act justly. We have to deliver vengeance to them.” Martin paused, unsure on how he was going to end this. “We know from Caval that they worship death. Well that’s fine. I feel happy for them. After all, we didn’t ever get a chance to meet our God. They should count themselves lucky. Their God is coming for them.”

  The cheering erupted again. Chelsea was smiling. The faces around Constance were no longer worried. Even Caval seemed confident.

  Really? That’s all it takes?

  Of course that was all it took. His speech wasn’t very good on its own, it was just that everyone else had a dog in this fight, too. The men were risking their lives. The villagers were going to lose people that they knew. Hell, if Martin lost, then they could very well get killed by the corpse eater counter attack. They wanted the speech to be moving. They wanted to be moved. They wanted Martin to win.

  “Alright soldiers!” Martin screamed at the top of his lungs over the supportive shouts of the crowd. “Move out!” The people of Harpsborough erupted into cheers again.