Knight of Gehenna (Hellsong Book 2)

by Shaun O. McCoy

  For a few moments no one said anything. Arturus watched the slaves work away at the stone.

  “Well,” Johnny said, “it’s a good thing they haven’t found Tu-El yet.”

  “How can you be sure?” Dakota asked.

  “Because if they had found him, they wouldn’t still be digging.”

  Dakota snorted. “Good point, little man. Good point.”

  “Wait,” Johnny said, shifting on Dakota’s back. “What are they doing over there? To your left Turi. Along that wall.”

  Arturus looked out across the masses of people to see what Johnny was talking about. “I think those are bridges . . .”

  “Get back, Johnny,” Galen’s voice was dead even. “Turi, drop further down.”

  Arturus knelt lower, looking at the bridges. They jutted out from the wall, and though several were low enough that they could have had supporting pillars, none did. Arturus could see the whetstone beams reaching up and over like a skeleton to help support the stones that would be placed upon them. For the bridges to stay up, Arturus imagined that they must have similar whetstone support structures inside the wall they were emerging from. None of them were completed, most stopping after going only a few hundred feet into the cavern.

  Maybe they don’t have pillars because they’re going to dig the ground out from under them.

  The bridges were thickest next to the walls they sprung from, but they narrowed, their bases shrinking, the further out they went.

  Galen’s body armor dug into Arturus’ back as the man put his head out through the door.

  “Do you see the beams, dad?” Arturus asked.

  “Made of whetstone. Not stronger than clearsteel cabling, but almost as good.”

  Arturus frowned. “Easier to make?”

  “Easier to salvage.”

  Arturus watched a work crew laying a stone. There was a row of bridges, ten of them, and each of them were at exactly the same level of completion. After that crew finished, they were brought to the next bridge. They performed the exact same task.

  That makes no sense. Why wouldn’t they just lay more stones on their bridge?

  As Arturus watched, he began to realize that all of the work crews were working in this way, each group performing the same single task over and over again on different bridges.

  And stranger yet, none of the bridges had been finished. After they’d been built to be about one hundred and fifty yards long, construction on them ceased.

  What in the Hell are those bridges supposed to be for?

  “Enough,” Galen ordered. “Head out, son. We’re closing the door. We’ll have to exit farther down.”

  The door closed, leaving Arturus in the comfort of darkness once again.

  Aiden stood guard by the door while the other infidels gathered their packs and equipment.

  “What’s the plan, Cid?” Q asked while rolling up his bedroll.

  “This isn’t a fight we want,” El Cid answered. “There’s no way we can face their main force. Even if they don’t have control over any of the corpses, which is unlikely, they can at least retreat into the Cypress swamp. As for us, we’re too quick for them to bring their main force to bear. The plan is to kill as many harpies as possible, make the Piper realize we’re in a stalemate. As soon as we can verify we’re not being hunted, then we’re going to hoof it to Harpsborough.”

  Jessica had Aiden’s pack ready to go, so she handed it to the warrior. Jessica held her M-16 at the ready, taking up watch for a brief moment while Aiden put on the pack. As soon as Aiden was ready again, Jessica dropped her guard, moving back towards the center of the room to prepare her own equipment.

  “Did you see how they took turns?” Rick asked Ellen.

  Ellen nodded. “Why aren’t the Harpsborough hunters like this?”

  Rick shrugged. “Probably because they weren’t trained by the Infidel.”

  Ellen saw that Molly was still fixated on Aiden.

  She probably can’t help but want to be with him.

  Ellen’s eyes started to burn.

  “I can smell them,” Aiden warned.

  “Let’s go,” El Cid ordered. “Move out.”

  Q led them out of their camp’s chamber, bringing them into the wilds at a brisk pace. Ellen saw a sinfruit vine down one corridor. Its fruit were ripe and heavy.

  Shame there’s no time to pick them.

  “Piper has got to have a wight in order to be controlling all those corpses,” Eagan suggested while Q led them up a stone staircase.

  “It’d have to be an old one,” Q shot back.

  “Why?” Ellen asked.

  “The older a wight is, the more undead it can control,” El Cid answered. “Each person it kills rises as a corpse that does it’s bidding, to a point.”

  “Could just as easily be a Minotaur,” Jessica suggested. “The Piper was riding a hound after all.”

  “Could be both,” El Cid suggested.

  Rick nodded.

  The burning sensation in Ellen’s eyes was getting worse.

  “They’re close,” Aiden warned. “I can hear four or five, I think.”

  Ellen could hear their calls. They were strangely human at times. At other times, they sounded like hawks.

  “Break up,” El Cid said. “We don’t want to lose any of our Harpsborough friends. I’ll take them to safety. Kill as many harpies as you can. Aiden, stay with me.”

  “We saw a male with the Piper,” Eagan reported. “Six winger. Be careful.”

  Q whistled.

  Q, Eagan, and Jessica split away. Aiden knelt on the ground while El Cid waved the group onwards. Ellen was too curious to leave, however, so she lingered in the exit hallway. Molly did as well.

  El Cid held Aiden’s face in her hands. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “Fuck ‘em up, baby.”

  Aiden smiled, drawing the sword that was sheathed behind his pack. The blade was long and thin, made out of what seemed like a blue tinted glass. It reminded Ellen of the chess pieces that Arturus had made, with a blue glittering liquid elegantly swirling amidst the rest of the transparent substance. The hilt of the thing was golden, an eagle etched into the crosspiece. Aiden stood still, like a statue, his sword held at the ready in his right hand.

  El Cid left him as the harpies began pouring into the room. As she passed between Ellen and Molly, she reached out and hooked them by the shoulders. “This way, ladies.”

  Aiden came alive, his sword moving in a blur, and the harpies’ screams of pain and terror filled the corridors. Ellen wanted to stay, but El Cid was pulling her away.

  Hidalgo and Caval leapt into the dried out riverbed Martin and his hunters were taking refuge in.

  “I thought you said the corpsemen wouldn’t see you!” Martin shouted as a bullet skipped over his head.

  Across the chamber, the corpsemen were pouring in, taking cover behind a copse of dead hungerleaf trees.

  “Corpse eaters, them not be seeing me!” Hidalgo shouted. “Them be seeing Caval.”

  There were maybe three hundred dried up trees out there, and it seemed like there was a corpse eater behind each one of them.

  “God damn it!” Constance shouted. “Sir, they’ve got us outnumbered. Shall we withdraw?”

  Run away, he means. Then they’ll know Katie is right. They’ll know I’m no fighter.

  Martin felt how badly his hands were shaking. Blood dripped onto his arm. He looked above him, but then realized it was coming from his own nose.

  Hell of a time for a nose bleed.

  His enemies were men who didn’t fear death. Why should they? They were half dead already. He’d seen them as they took cover amongst the trees. They’d half shambled, half run, to their positions. Somehow, the fact that they were alive and still rotting made them worse than normal corpses.

  And they could think. That made them much, much worse.

  We’ve got to run.

  Another bullet skipped by.

  It’s not safe to.


  He looked over at his soldiers. They were all looking towards him. None of them were peeking over the ridge.

  But we have to run.

  Chelsea reached over and grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? You almost look like one of them.”

  “Katie was right,” Martin said. “We have to run.”

  More bullets.

  “I thought there was only supposed to be twenty of them?” one of Constance’s blue shirted men shouted.

  “That’s what Caval told us!” Martin screamed back, looking over to the former corpseman.

  Caval was hunkered down, shoulders hunched, his face a mask of terror.

  He was hallucinating half the damn time anyway.

  Chelsea’s hand squeezed him tightly, bringing his attention back to her.

  She smiled. “I believe in you.”

  Martin was reminded of an old show tune, one that his grandfather had loved.

  It wouldn’t be make believe, if you believed in me.

  More bullets skipped by. Martin looked to his soldiers to see which of them had been foolish enough to put their heads over the edge of the riverbed. None of them had.

  Well, what the hell are they shooting at then?

  He remembered how jumpy Caval had been. These corpse eaters weren’t men who were fearless. They were men who had the rot.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Martin peeked his head over the river bank. They were still there, hiding behind the trees. In the time that Martin’s men hadn’t shown their faces, the corpsemen could have probably walked over to their river and slaughtered them all.

  I have got to get better at this.

  Martin ducked back down. “Guys, take off your hoodies. Wave them over the edge!”

  “What?” Constance shouted.

  Martin took off his hoodie and waved it over his head. “Do this!”

  A hail of bullets sang through the air.

  “They’re all tripping,” Martin explained. “they’ll shoot at anything.”

  One bullet ricocheted along the stones, bouncing right by his head.

  Jesus.

  His soldiers complied.

  After another hail of bullets, Martin dared to take a second look over the stone bank. They were still coming, but they seemed to be running out of ammunition.

  “Fire!” Martin ordered.

  His soldiers stood as one, weapons in their hands. The enemy was coming fast. Their run was stilted, as if their legs had already been stiffened by death. The rifle shots started to mow them down. The shotgun booms of Constance’s men were less effective.

  “Hold your shotgun fire until they’re close!” Martin yelled.

  Maybe fifty of them had started the charge. They were getting closer.

  Forty feet.

  Thirty feet.

  “Shotguns!” Martin yelled.

  Twenty feet.

  Ten.

  The blasts went off. A few corpsemen came toppling down into the riverbed. Martin thought that surely the one next to him was completely dead, but slowly, it started to stand. It was shaking, probably hurt from the fall. Martin realized he hadn’t fired a shot yet. He pointed his rifle at the creature and pulled the trigger. It dropped.

  Martin was seeing bright spots on the edge of his vision.

  I’m not breathing.

  For a brief second, he thought he was dead, but then he took in a breath. More blood was coming out from his nose.

  “There’s plenty more still up there,” Constance shouted.

  Chelsea was right, he was in bad shape. Without his hoodie, and with blood pouring out of his nose, he probably looked even more like the enemy.

  They’re on hallucinogens.

  “Keep waving those hoodies!” Martin yelled. “Hidalgo, Huxley, Ben, you’re with me. Constance, you’re in charge here.”

  Huxley ran up next to him as they followed the riverbed out of the chamber. “Where we headed?”

  Martin let the blood drip down his face. He could taste it on his lips. “Downriver, Hux. Downriver.”

  Galen’s firerock slammed against the whetstone pipe sending out a bell-like sound and creating a rain of sparks. His torch sprang back to life. The aqueduct bent to the right, but Galen had stopped them where another service corridor continued forward.

  “What’s this?” Johnny asked.

  Galen walked up to the bend and looked at some letters etched into the wall. The branching service corridor was only about eight feet tall, and the bulk of it was filled with a single pipe. They would have to walk single file if they were to go that way.

  “It’s for overflow,” Galen said. “It shunted the excess water into the Erebus. The aqueduct itself leads right into the city. We probably don’t want to go there. I didn’t mean to take us out so close to the River of Darkness, but there are no other good exits.”

  Johnny frowned. “Well why didn’t they just use water from the Erebus?”

  “Because the Erebus isn’t that kind of river,” Galen answered.

  With his torch still lit, Galen took them down the service corridor. The construction here seemed older than in the aqueduct proper. Small, grey stone bricks were fitted together, almost haphazardly. The builders of this corridor had used those small stone bricks which reminded Arturus of skulls.

  Wait a minute.

  Arturus stopped everyone and turned to look at one of the skull stones.

  “Galen!” Arturus said. “Look.”

  The torchlight stopped. Galen moved towards him, shuffling past Johnny to get the torch up to where Arturus stood.

  “I’d always thought these looked like skulls,” Arturus said. “But now they actually do. See? The ancients actually carved in shallow eye sockets.”

  Galen took in a deep breath. “We’re closer than we thought.”

  “To what?” Johnny asked.

  “To the Erebus. On the far side of the River of Darkness is Sheol. Reality in Sheol is different. The rooms change pending on what you think they are. Men must gather round each other and try to imagine the same reality into the hell they’re in. These stones were indeed carved to look like skulls, but not with hammer and chisel and rustrock, but with the minds of thousands of workers who saw the same illusion as you.”

  Arturus stepped back from the skull stone, running into the pipe behind him. He suddenly felt claustrophobic.

  “Does that put us in any danger?” Aaron asked.

  “A little,” Galen said. “Reality is very resilient, still. But what it really means is that you should listen carefully to Hellsong. As always, you can hear in it what you wish to . . . but when this close to Sheol, you can make others hear your music as well.”

  Johnny smiled. “Good. I hope you guys like ‘Fat Bottomed Girls.’”

  Dakota snickered.

  Galen is lying. There is great danger here. We could believe ourselves to death, if we got in the wrong mindset.

  But then he realized that, because they all believed Galen, in a way he was telling the truth. If they truly believed they couldn’t hurt themselves with thoughts, then that would become their reality. What did you call it when a man lies, but the lie is self-fulfilling? What kind of dishonesty is that?

  It reminded him of Father Klein and his sermons. In some way, even the parts of Hell not subjected to Sheol’s subjectivity could be affected by self-fulfilling thoughts. Maybe that’s what Klein understood about Faith. Maybe he was lying to Harpsborough in the same way that Galen was lying about this place.

  But what if the lies in either place became harmful? How could one ever know the truth, if you had given up reason to gain Faith? The ideas troubled him as they made their way down the long corridor.

  He was almost surprised when Galen stopped them. There was a service ladder that led up to a hatchway at the top of the eight foot corridor. Galen climbed up it and worked on the hatch. It had a wheel descending from it which Galen turned three times. Then he readied his MP5 in one hand and pushed up with the other. The hat
ch opened, and Galen stuck his head through it.

  “Okay,” he said. “It’s clear. Stay behind, fellows. Turi and I are going to scout out the entrance to the City of Blood and Stone. We’ll be back for you after we find it and some ambush spots.”

  Dakota shook his head. “I’m going with you.”

  Galen shrugged. “So be it.”

  The burning in Ellen’s eyes got better as El Cid led them forward. The Infidel Friend’s pace was quick, but not a run. It reminded her very much of the pace that Rick had set for them through the Cypress swamp. Ellen could feel her ankle swelling, but she felt no pain at all.

  The wilds of Hell were filled with sounds. The repeated three shot bursts of the Infidel Friend weapons mixed with the wailing of the harpies and the occasional shouts between Eagan, Jessica and Q. Every once and a while, Ellen would see one of the other Infidel Friend through a long corridor or on the other side of a large room. Always they were moving, their assault rifles held at the ready.

  Suddenly the burning got worse.

  El Cid stopped.

  There was a ruffling of feathers. Molly and Alice looked behind them, but Ellen followed El Cid’s lead. El Cid seemed to think the sound was coming from the tunnels ahead, or at least that was where she was focused. The chamber they were in was fairly large, almost fifty feet wide. The stones here were almost four feet tall and were made of a blue colored hellstone. There were three exits to the room. Two behind and one ahead.

  The harpy came through the exit ahead. It was radically different from the others.

  Its face and long slender torso were masculine. It had to bend down and pull its wings back in order to enter the chamber. It was probably eight feet tall with brown patchy hair on its head. Its arms were long and spindly. Its manhood was a gross, swollen thing, emerging out of a nest of feathers and dangling between its backward jointed legs.

  This one had more wings than the others. Two large ones sprouted up from its shoulders, the same as with the female harpies, but four more wings, slightly smaller, came out from its back—one set from about midway down its torso and another from the level of its hips.

  Its eyes lacked any iris and were all black. When its lips curled back into a rictus grin, Ellen could see its yellow and brown broken teeth.