“Perhaps. Perhaps it was I who drove her away from humanity. Perhaps it was the fall from Heaven. Perhaps, but no matter. Now she’s just another one of Maab’s captured play things.”
Galen stopped talking.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Arturus asked. “More secrets?”
“Yes,” Galen said, “but I think you know what concerns you. The rest, well, I can tell you if you wish. Those secrets aren’t about you though, so I don’t think it will change the way you die.”
Suddenly the idea of dying horrified Arturus.
I can’t die. I have to find my mother and make her love me. I have to show her Kelly. She should have a grandchild. It’s not supposed to end this way.
Arturus suddenly remembered Father Klein’s church. He remembered praying to God there, even though he knew God could not listen. It seemed somehow terribly wrong that there wasn’t some God for him to plead his case too. This wasn’t fair. It had to be changed. Anyone could see that.
There are no miracles in Hell.
That’s what people said, but Galen would sometimes give a different quote.
In Hell, a man makes his own miracles.
Arturus sat up straight. Then he leaned forward, coming to his knees, and he grabbed his father by the shoulders. “Save me, Father.”
Galen’s face was expressionless. “I don’t know how.”
“I don’t care what we have to do. I don’t care if you have to make a deal with One Horn. Save me. Find a way.”
“I shall think again, Son.”
“My God, Martin,” Michael said, “you look like shit.”
Martin was too tired to be insulted. His eyes were stinging and his eyelids seemed determined to close themselves. Whenever they managed to, he felt himself drifting off—even though he was standing.
He felt lightheaded.
Martin did his best to focus on Michael.
Michael seemed to be waiting for a response.
“Long day,” Martin said. “Think it’s been a couple. I’m ready to sleep.”
“I understand your men are doing that right now?”
Martin gave up trying to focus on Michael. Instead, he just faced the blur. “Yeah. Four hours. Carrion-side wall is up already. Just need to finish.”
“Graham came and leveled some pretty big accusations at you.”
I bet that fucker did.
Martin felt even more tired. “Sure. He disobeyed me in leaving the breach. But hell, who cares about the chain of command these days?”
“I do,” Michael’s distant voice said.
This is important. Wake up.
Martin clawed his way back into consciousness. Michael was expecting a response.
“I’m sorry,” Martin said. “Could you repeat that?”
“I said I do. I care about the chain of command. That means that no matter what we decide, Graham’s going to be punished for not listening to you. Also, no matter what the Fore rules about Rick, whatever decisions you made will not be held against you. You were under a lot of pressure. You had just been to the Carrion. You were sleep deprived. Your number one priority was to seal the breach, and I agree with that.”
“That’s good to know, sir.”
The blur that was Michael stood up and walked closer to him. Now that he was closer, Martin was able to see his facial features. Harpsborough’s First Citizen seemed remarkably unconcerned considering all that had happened.
Michael stopped a pace away from him. “What I want to know, though, is why you made the order you did.”
Martin felt a rush of emotion coming.
Don’t do it, Martin. Don’t you say what you actually think. You know better than that.
But the words came out anyway.
“Because we’re in the wrong. Because you slimy bastards sit up here in the Fore and pretend that somehow you earned it. Because you use your control over my men to starve my friends, hunters, and girlfriend. Because Cris didn’t ask to be brought into this God damned town, and we did him wrong by sending him through the Golden Door. Rick was making it up to the Infidel Friend. You owe him a bit of gratitude. Cris was alive, surely you heard that. He was decked out and armed and ready to go. Whenever he was done doing whatever he was going to do, that motherfucker was going to come back anyway. I’d have been fine. I helped him, but the rest of you? I don’t know. He might have killed you all. So we owe Rick one. Or maybe Cris wouldn’t have done that. Maybe I just wanted Cris to come and level this place because I am sick of watching you all sit up here in the Fore with food and bloodwater while you act like it ain’t Hell out there. But it’s Hell. We’ve lost people. We’ve lost the best of us. The best of us went out there after Julian and the Carrion just ate them. Then it spat out their shells and made me fight one. And up here you sit. You act like because you ran around Hell a couple of years ago, you get some special privilege. And maybe you deserve something. Maybe you even deserve to be protected by my men. But you don’t deserve to rob us of what we’ve earned. You don’t get to design a system where we can’t earn a place among you. You don’t get to cause people to suffer and starve until they have died, not just so that you can eat, but so that you can eat as much of whatever it is that you want. We can’t afford luxury, but rather than admit that, you make us die so you can have it anyway. Fuck you. Fuck you for agreeing to this. Fuck you for letting the Fore bully you into this.”
Michael returned to his seat and sat down. “That’s just the way things are.”
“Funny. To me it looks like you’re the leader. It looks like you are the reason things are the way things are. I mean, I don’t know why Satan even bothers making dyitzu when he’s got men like you.”
The blur that was Michael shifted. “You’re lucky, Martin, that I know what it feels like to be in your shoes. You’re lucky that I sympathize with you. I know you’re tired, too, and that you aren’t thinking clearly. But Martin, I’ve got to talk to the Fore tonight, and I’ve got to give them a good reason as to why we shouldn’t throw Rick and his friends through that Golden Door right after El Cid and Cris.”
Martin steadied himself, then he walked over to the couch and sat, not on the end in Mancini’s usual place, but on the middle cushion. The soft blankets and pillows welcomed his body and begged him to sleep, but Martin had found that he’d become a very stubborn man.
He leaned forward over the coffee table to try and keep himself awake. “Why do you want to help Rick?”
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Because of Galen.”
“He’s dead now, though.”
“We owe Galen so much. He was a guide during our exodus. If I were to exile Rick, well, it would be like spitting on his grave. And Rick’s lost a son. I can’t fault him for making stupid decisions. I wish . . . I wish you had arrived just a little bit late, and we never knew that they had been conspiring with infidels.”
Martin’s foggy brain tried to come up with something. Some way to spin Rick’s actions into a light which would please the Fore. “He did wrong. He did wrong by the way the Fore sees things.”
Michael nodded. “I was afraid you’d say that. Mancini wants him exiled. I’ll have to fight that tonight. I’ll come up with something. Don’t worry.”
Martin leaned back into the couch. He let his tired mind try to work at the problem. Rick. Rick was a nice guy. That was all there was to it. It was as plain as day. Easy to see.
“It’s just going to be a hard sell, since Mancini will be fighting me,” Michael’s voice said inside his head. It was weird, how the First Citizen’s voice got inside his head.
That . . . wherever he was—was he sitting down?—it sure was comfortable. Wasn’t there something he had to do? He was sure there was something, somewhere, a task he had to complete. Whatever it was, Katie would have to accept that he was going to do it later. He would explain how comfortable it was. That would be enough. She would understand. Michael’s voice was buzzing some more. It w
as a comforting sound. Comfortable. Very comfortable.
There was a voice, someone whispering. Arturus focused on it.
“We’ve been talking,” Aaron was saying.
“About what?” Avery asked.
“About how we want to die.”
“And?”
“Galen told me that we won’t even have to worry about eating each other. There’s corpsedust all over this place. If one of us dies, then we’ll rise. The rest of us will probably be too tired to fight it off.”
“Holy fuck,” Avery said.
Arturus opened his eyes. When he’d fallen asleep, Kelly had been resting on his shoulder. She’d gone somewhere, however. He saw her across the room, sitting, staring at the ladder that led to the tower.
“I know,” Aaron said.
“Okay.” Avery sat up. “I’m listening.”
“We’re thinking about splinting up Johnny’s leg and going out there. We’ve got some things we can use as weapons. You saw Turi go mad ass on those fuckers with his sword. If we’re going to die, then that’s the way I want to do it.”
Arturus considered this.
That’s not a bad idea. It’s not as hard as dying bravely while sitting still. Let’s just go into the fields and fight our hearts out.
Avery’s eyes were wide. He started to breathe harder, but then he looked down. “You’ve got my vote, but what about Johnny? Johnny might not want to.”
Johnny laughed. “You guys don’t whisper too well. I’m in. If that’s what you want to do, I’m in.”
Galen stood. Everyone fell silent. Even the corpses outside seemed to still their breath just for him. “No,” he said.
“You don’t want to die fighting?” Avery asked, incredulous.
“We might still do that,” Galen said, “but I’ve got an idea.”
Johnny was suddenly grinning like an idiot. Kelly rushed over to Arturus and grabbed his hands. Tears were in her eyes.
“You know a way we can live?” Aaron said.
Galen took a deep breath and nodded. “There is a way we might make it. I don’t know if I’d call it living, exactly. It’s a long shot, but this one’s worth trying.”
“Well spill it, man!” Avery said, getting up.
“Corpses don’t attack lepers.”
Oh my God.
Avery’s face fell. He sat back down.
Kelly’s exuberance died away. Her hands went limp in Arturus’.
“I can hack a few of their limbs off at the gate and bring them back. We’re going to have to get right on the line between life and death,” Galen said. “With so many corpses packed so tightly, they’ll attack anything that’s even slightly living. For this to work, we’ll have to be right on the edge. We’ll be hallucinating badly. If your will’s not strong, if you’re not committed, you’ll probably cross over to being a full on corpse.”
Aaron put one hand over his eyes. “You want us to eat corpseflesh?”
Galen nodded. “I do. You don’t have to, but if you want to live, it’s the only option I have to give you.”
Arturus watched his friends’ faces as they tried to process the information. Maybe this wasn’t worth it. Maybe they’d be better off just fighting the corpses in some sort of heroic last battle. At least that way they’d die cleanly.
Aaron looked up. He’d made a decision. “Well, someone had better start putting that splint on Johnny,” he said.
They could not break him. They could try. They could work him all day. They could tie him to the slab and have men rape him until he was torn—and then they could pulp his nuts like they were fruit. They could do whatever the hell they wanted.
Julian didn’t care.
He had a secret, and that secret made him strong.
It was the only thing he could think of when he lay down at night. It ran through his mind while he was working. It gave him strength when they hurt him. It comforted him when he was miserable. It kept him going when any other man would have quit.
And he no longer considered it to be a dangerous secret. He was beyond the need for physical wellbeing. For the first time, Julian knew what it was like to be willing to die for a cause. But he was willing to do more than that. He was willing to be castrated. To be mutilated. To be tortured until his body ran out of ways to receive pain.
Still, he had to be careful not to be too bold.
Not all of his disciples had come as far as he. All of them wanted to reach transcendence, but few had come to that state where they truly felt that their secret was more important than their bodies. He couldn’t let them get caught. For that reason, he kept his peace. For that reason, he didn’t stop in the mines and shout out to the uncaring Hell his love.
So he stayed quiet. So he bided his time. So he made his conversions in inches. One person, then another. And then another. Slowly but surely, their numbers grew. Julian was certain that Selena would find out eventually. But let her. Let her find out when most of her slaves had already left her foul religion. Then, oh yes, then there could be a reckoning. They could rise up. Yes they could.
All of the prisons seemed pitch black when you entered them, but a few had enough light so that Julian could see shadows moving amongst the chambers after his eyes adjusted. He saw one of those shadows moving now. It stopped where Brother Jim, one of Julian’s most fervent followers, sat.
The shadow’s whisper was too soft for him to hear the man’s words, but Julian was able to make out his own name.
Brother Jim motioned in his direction. The shadow approached.
As it got closer, Julian was able to tell that shadow was George, one of his most recent converts.
“I’ve got news for you,” George whispered.
“Good?”
“I think so,” George sat down beside him. “It is an opportunity, at least. It carries some risk, but it might help us. I don’t know if you’ll like it.”
Julian was worried. “Do you intend to take this opportunity, whether I decide to or not?”
“I do, but just hear what they have to say. I won’t do anything to risk us. I won’t agree to any Christian’s involvement without your consent.”
“Who?” Julian asked. “Hear what who has to say?”
“The infidels. There’s one named Cris. He found a way into our compound, one not even the Priestesses know about. He spoke to me before. They may be able to help us, Julian.”
Infidels.
“Those people are evil, George.”
George nodded. “Maybe. But the enemy of my enemy—”
“Is not always my friend,” Julian said. “We don’t make choices between the devil we know and the devil we don’t. We don’t side with any devil. We must have a purity of purpose. We cannot compromise our values.”
George put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me be honest with you. I don’t believe in your God or your Christ. I support you, with all my life and all my heart and all my soul, because I believe your way is better than Selena’s. I believe it as strongly as you hold your faith. I am willing to die to keep our organization strong.”
I should have known. He’ll compromise us.
George could never make it to the point where he could resist torture. He could never reach transcendence. No man could on his own. Human beings just weren’t that strong. Without faith, a person just couldn’t withstand those things.
“I’m glad you admitted that to me,” Julian said.
“And let me tell you something else, Julian. I know you want to have a pure path, but that has never been possible. You can only have purity of goals. Trying to have a pure method will only doom you to evil. What do you think you do all day? What do you think shoveling all that stone around accomplishes? You are already serving Selena, and by doing that, you are supporting Maab. You have already dirtied your purpose. Now, I beg you, Julian, listen to these infidels. Hear what they have to say. If they can somehow convince you that what they offer is a better course than supporting Selena, then let’s take it! If they can
’t convince you of that, even if they say they will and you don’t believe them, then we’ll come back. Nothing will change.”
Julian thought about this. “Very well. I will meet with them, but I promise no more than that.”
“Good!” George said. “Get picked by Truscan tomorrow. His workers will be assigned to the prison where we can meet Cris.”
“What if he doesn’t pick me?” Julian asked.
“He will,” George said.
This rebellion, it seems, is larger than just my group.
Watching them brick up another Carrion barrier had been traumatic for Ellen. This time she hadn’t expected Arturus to come shouting for help before they’d added the last stone, and somehow that made the whole experience worse. It was clear to her now that El Cid and her infidels would never find Turi. Her hope had become the empty thing Rick had promised it would—a thing more painful than she could bear.
I told him it was okay. I told him we would only hope for a little while. Then we would give it up. Only we never did.
The Carrion was simply too large. The infidels were too few.
Or I never did, until now.
She had put her grief off for too long, she knew. As Rick, Massan and Alice helped build the barrier, Ellen began to mourn. It might not have been so painful if she’d simply accepted the truth in the beginning. Then she would have only lost a childhood crush. But she had kept him in her heart. She had kept him there against all reason, against all the arguments that Rick had given her. And her denial had grown there, spreading its roots through her. Her optimism had festered in that heart—until now. Confronted finally with the cold reality of Hell, Ellen felt her denial break. It was as if her soul was pouring out through the cracks.
She sat down while the others filled in the breach, staring into nothingness.
Maybe I’ll never move again. What reason could I possibly have to keep going?
She wasn’t sure how long she sat like that.
Rick’s face intruded, breaking the hypnotic spell she’d cast on herself. “You alright, Ellen?”
“Fine,” she mumbled.
March till Death (Hellsong Book 3) Page 15
