March till Death (Hellsong Book 3)

by Shaun O. McCoy

  It was full of brilliant colors—reds and blues and purples and greens, each intermixing with the others. He saw living beings in that fluid. They were in agony, their bodies being rent in one direction or another. The agony did not seem natural, and Carlisle could feel the pain of their torture as if their discomfort were heat from a flame.

  As he walked, however, he began to doubt that the colorful Hell he thought he saw was real—or if it was real, that it was real in a sense that Carlisle wasn’t familiar with. Each time he got a chance to see under or over one of the cracks, the sea of colors wasn’t there.

  He saw a person, dressed in a grey robe, lying down on the black plain. Carlisle wandered towards him. There were others near the man, perhaps a dozen, all dressed the same way. It was the way Carlisle himself was dressed.

  The man saw him and raised a finger to his lips. He motioned for Carlisle to come closer. Carlisle had no other course of action but to accept the man’s invitation.

  “Don’t move,” the stranger whispered. “Lie down and keep quiet. Do you know where you are?”

  Carlisle shook his head.

  “You are very lucky my friend. You have fallen into the space between two Hells. We are not supposed to be here. Kaider, over there, has enough power from Aezcherbaelyn to keep us alive.”

  “How long must I stay quiet?” Carlisle asked. “How long must I lay here?”

  “Forever.”

  Carlisle balked at the idea. “Surely we must . . .”

  The man shook his head. “I’m not sure what Hells you have been through, young man, but believe me, an eternity of silence is an embarrassment of good fortune. And take care, if you call attention to yourself, you will destroy us as well. You will expose us to the demons in there.” The fellow pointed towards one of the cracks. “That is where I fell from, young man. Trust me, silence without torture, it might as well be Heaven.”

  How has it come to this?

  Carlisle lay down on the black floor. There was a woman across from him. She looked at him with pleading eyes.

  Stay silent, those eyes said. Stay still.

  So that’s what Carlisle did. And he waited, though he knew not for what.

  Upon awakening for the second time, Arturus regretted being alive. He hadn’t imagined that such pain was possible. Galen had told him that he was in an unnatural state—that in the old world it wouldn’t have even been possible to stay alive like this, and that the pain was the only way his body knew how to process its current condition.

  He had been hurt, he had been hopeless, he had been almost down, but he had never experienced anything like this before. The closest he’d ever come was when, in his childhood, he’d fallen during one of Galen’s climbing lessons and crushed his teeth on a rock. The exposed nerves had given him a sensation beyond excruciating agony. It was like that, now, except all over his body. He hadn’t imagined such misery was possible.

  He was ashamed of this, but in the throes of his pain, Arturus wished for death—only he was too hurt to do anything more than think about it.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I just drifted off?

  Then it passed. Oh, the pain remained, but he no longer wished to die. It was okay, Galen had taught him, to have moments of weakness. As long as you survived them, they let you know where your weak points were.

  If that’s my weakness, unimaginable pain, I guess I’m doing alright.

  He had always believed, in those days when he’d lived outside of Harpsborough, that he had an unbreakable spirit. The Carrion had destroyed that petty illusion, again and again.

  It wouldn’t be possible to withstand such agony and stay strong.

  He thought this, but he knew immediately it was not true. Somehow Galen had.

  All these people care that I’m the son of an angel, but they missed the point. Her blood might have diluted his.

  The thought was amusing. It hurt to laugh, but not so badly now that the worst had passed. He was recovering more quickly than Aaron or Avery or Kelly. They were just now entering the horrific phase he was leaving.

  Maybe I should be proud of how fast I’m healing. My will is strong.

  Galen entered. He met Arturus’ eyes and nodded towards the others. “How are they doing?”

  “The pain is coming to them. They’re all tough. They’ll stay quiet.”

  Galen nodded, considering this. “I believe you are right about that. It should only be a few hours until the worst passes and the withdrawal kicks in.”

  “I remember it being longer.”

  “So will they,” Galen said. “We’ll move shortly.”

  “Oh? Are we in danger?”

  Galen shook his head. “No, we are lucky. Some of Calimay’s people are in the mines nearby us. They are gathering the rust rock.”

  Finally, we’ve had some good luck.

  Arturus wanted to tell this to his friends, but the person he wanted to share his joy with most was Johnny.

  Why did Johnny die and the rapist live?

  “I’ll tell them,” Arturus said.

  “Good, I shall sleep. Wake me when their pain passes.”

  “How long has it been, Father, since you’ve slept?”

  Galen shrugged. “I do not know, Son.”

  “Your clothes didn’t rot.”

  “They’ve been treated.”

  “You withstood La’Ferve’s bullets.”

  “Body armor.”

  “You recover too quickly.”

  “My will.”

  Arturus stood. “Are you the angel?”

  Galen cocked his head, regarding him for a moment. Then he smiled. “No,” he laughed. “I am human, Son. And so are you. And someday, when you are grown, men will look at you and ask you why you heal so quickly, and why you are so well equipped and so well armored. They will ask you why you don’t need as much sleep as them. And do you know what you will tell them?”

  “No.”

  “You will tell them goodnight.”

  Galen set his pack against the uneven mine wall. He lay down, closed his eyes, and fell almost immediately to sleep.

  Arturus heard a whimper behind him. He looked back. It was Avery. Tears were pouring out of his eyes.

  Arturus sat down next to him.

  Avery grabbed him with a shaky hand. His eyes were wild. Foam was collecting around the corners of his mouth. “He—lp me . . . please . . .”

  Arturus gripped Avery’s hand back firmly and met the hunter’s desperate gaze. “I have been there,” Arturus told him, “and I know there is nothing I can say to make you feel better. All I can tell you, Avery, is that this will pass. Do you hear me? This too shall pass.”

  “That’s—from the Bible.”

  “Is it?” Arturus didn’t know. “I remember it from a story.”

  Avery’s half dead body shook. “Tell . . . me.”

  “I’m not good with—”

  “Tell me!”

  Arturus nodded. “Galen told it to me long ago. There was once a Sultan, and he was afflicted with powerful emotions. They were feelings so strong that they drove him to distraction. There was a mania that made him think he was invincible, and a depression that made him think he was so worthless he couldn’t even be bothered to kill himself. He went to his Magi and asked for them to make a ring, filled with magical power, which would make him sad when he was happy, and happy when he was sad. As a reward, the Sultan promised that he would marry the Magi’s daughter who cured his malady.

  “Now the least of the Magi was a man Ferdowsi, and Ferdowsi went home to his daughter and told her of the Sultan’s reward. Now the daughter wanted to marry the Sultan very much, and she told her father that he must make this ring. The father lamented, saying ‘it is beyond my power.’ His daughter replied that philosophy was more powerful than magic. She asked that he make a simple gold ring and give it to her, and that she would make the enchantment herself.

  “Now Ferdowsi knew better than to laugh at his daughter, for she was very w
ise, so he forged the ring and gave it to her. She spent the night with it and returned it to him in a locked box.

  “On the next day . . . Avery? Avery!”

  Avery’s body was shaking uncontrollably. He pissed and shit himself. The foam at the corners of his mouth spread, running down his cheeks.

  Arturus leaned in close and held him.

  Avery shook his head, suddenly furious. He pushed Arturus back with weak arms and looked over to Kelly.

  “Are you okay?” Arturus asked.

  “I’m fine!” He managed to say through clenched teeth, his gaze still on Kelly. “So long as your . . . your fucking girlfriend lives, I’m living, too. I hate her. I fucking hate her, Turi. I’m going to do such terrible things to her. I am.”

  Arturus grabbed the hunter’s hand more tightly. “Yes. Live for that, Avery.”

  Avery’s eyes lost their focus. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To Fedor, what’s . . . his name? His daughter. What happened?”

  “Avery . . .”

  “Tell me!”

  Arturus nodded.

  Avery’s breaths were coming in a series of little jerks. His eyes were squeezed tight against the unbearable agony that Arturus himself had gone through only hours before.

  “So all the powerful Magi gathered and presented the Sultan with their rings. Each one was more magnificent than the rest, and Ferdowsi could see that they were imbued with powerful enchantments of a nature that he could never hope to match. But each one failed. Finally the Sultan came to Ferdowsi’s. The Sultan had come to him last because he knew Ferdowsi was the weakest of the Magi, and he knew that the man’s ring would most likely be a failure. He unlocked the box and he took out the ring.

  “There was no magic on it at all. It just had an inscription. It said ‘this too shall pass.’ So the Sultan put it on and married Ferdowsi’s daughter.”

  Avery was still shaking. “Is it true?”

  “I don’t think so. I think most old stories are lies. I think the truth is in the lesson.”

  “No, I mean . . . is philosophy—stronger . . . than magic?”

  “Of course,” Arturus said, “philosophy is real.”

  Avery turned over on his side. Aaron was whimpering too, now.

  Thank God this hasn’t happened to Kelly yet. I don’t know if I could withstand her suffering.

  He looked over to her. She had her back turned to him, but she wasn’t in agony yet. He walked over to her and knelt beside her.

  He was wrong, she was in pain. Tears streamed down from her eyes. She looked at him. She was angry, as angry as he’d ever seen anyone be.

  “My love,” he breathed.

  “The Devil will pay,” she spat.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You went through this?” she asked.

  “I did.”

  She nodded, the muscles standing out on the edges of her clenched jaw. “Yes, the Devil will pay. No one gets to hurt you like that, Turi. No one. I’ll break his soul for you.”

  Arturus was taken aback by her passion. By her protectiveness. By how similar she seemed in that moment to his father.

  “This too shall pass,” Avery was whispering. “This too shall pass.” He chanted it again and again, his arms crossed over his belly while he lay in a fetal position, rocking back and forth.

  Aaron screamed for a second before clamping his hands over his mouth.

  Arturus looked at Johnny’s body.

  At least you didn’t have to go through this, friend.

  Galen led them through the mines.

  Woodstone planks, the Devil knew how old they were, supported the walls and the ceiling of the hellstone tunnel. In places, the beams of the roof bowed under the weight of the stone above them. Piles of rubble lay along some of the branching corridors, letting Arturus know exactly what would happen if one of those woodstone planks over his head were to give way.

  Avery had one arm over Arturus’ shoulder and the other over Aaron’s. Kelly took up the rear. Arturus kept his sword in his left hand, trying to keep it pointed away from Avery. He could feel his bone handled razor in the right pocket of his pants.

  His pants had almost rotted away and his boots had fallen apart completely—so now he walked barefoot.

  Aaron’s clothes had fared no better, and Avery was naked except for the thin remains of his shirt. For some reason Arturus could not fathom, Kelly’s robe was still in one piece, and of course, his father’s treated clothes and armor showed no signs at all of their march through the Deadlands.

  Galen stopped for a moment.

  Aaron shook his head. “In the name of the Lord, don’t be lost.”

  “Hell,” Avery said, “be lost. Just don’t say you heard something.”

  “It’s okay,” Galen said, “just echoes.”

  “You sure?” Kelly asked.

  Galen turned back, grimacing. “You want an answer?”

  She shook her head.

  The next time I’m surrounded by corpses, I’ll just die. Easier that way.

  Galen led them down a long, dusty ladder to a lower level.

  The woodstone supports seemed weaker here, and every so often, a collapse forced them to double back.

  If a settling comes . . .

  Arturus thought he heard voices. He froze.

  “It’s okay,” Galen said without turning around. “Those are Calimay’s people.”

  The voices grew louder as they approached.

  “Galen,” Arturus’ father reported. “I’m coming with four men.”

  “Understood,” a voice called back. “We won’t shoot.”

  One of Calimay’s purple robed priestesses was sitting in a bubble of soft blue light that was emanating from a skystone vein. Around her were a couple of soldiers dressed in black and grey. There were sounds, though distant, of picks chipping at the stone.

  They must have slaves down there.

  Calimay’s priestess stood. “Oh Mithras, you all look bad.”

  Arturus tried to grin at her, it didn’t work. He and Aaron lowered Avery to the ground.

  “I told you, we had to eat corpsedust to survive the Deadlands,” Galen said.

  She nodded. “But I’d no idea that . . . that it was this bad.”

  “You smell, too,” one of the soldiers said. “We’ll have to bathe you before we try to trek home. Yesterday our scouts detected a Minotaur on the loose. He had stone wights in his thrall.”

  “He didn’t have one horn missing, did he?” Aaron asked.

  The soldier nodded. “Crafty bastard. Calimay has traps set up throughout the wilds. We had to lead him into one to shake him.”

  Galen looked to Arturus for a second. “He followed us all the way to the City of Blood and Stone and back. He’s the one that chased us into the Deadlands.”

  “I don’t like the bullmen,” the soldier went on, “they’re all crafty. They’re all holy horrors. But this one, this one is different. This one is worse.”

  Kelly opened her canteen before draining it. “That’s the truth.”

  “He may have been the one that issued the call,” Galen said.

  “No call, friend,” the soldier disagreed. “Not from the City of Blood and Stone, at any rate. Devils would have gotten lighter around us, not thicker.”

  “That depends,” Galen answered.

  “On what?”

  “On how big the call was.”

  The priestess snorted. “You can scare the shit out of yourselves in the morning. In the meantime, get some rest. There is a river down that path. I suggest you all bathe before you sleep.”

  Hell seemed different to Martin this morning. He had fallen asleep next to Katie. She was gone when he awoke.

  Who knows how long I slept?

  He hadn’t noticed the difference at first. He only noticed it when he pushed aside the door curtain and said bye to Reginald.

  The buildings were all the same, of course. The Fore balconies did
n’t have any Citizens on them, but that was pretty normal these days. The right amount of villagers were around. They weren’t doing anything special, but something was different.

  Or maybe it’s me who’s different.

  He had said things to Michael that he could not unsay. Michael might pretend not to hold that against him, but the First Citizen would now know where his heart lay.

  He knows how much I hate the Fore.

  Martin wandered towards the building that housed the people he hated. He stopped for a moment and looked at where they’d severed Massan’s hand. The table was gone, but some of the blood remained. That blood had dried to form the edges of an empty square where it had dripped down the table leg. In other places it had dried in long shooting lines. He knelt down over the smooth stone floor and looked at the texture. There was grit all over the floor, grains of sand tracked in from the wilds along with the dust of clothes and skin. The blood had drawn the grit into little lumps so that it looked like curdled black milk.

  Martin shook his head.

  He took it well, though. Hell, he took it a shit ton better than I did.

  Some of the villagers nodded at him as they passed by. People looked at him differently now. He was a leader. He was the guy that fed the people. He was the guy who conquered the corpsemen.

  I wish I felt different.

  He stood up from where the blood had been spilled and continued around the Fore. He let out a hopeless sigh before plopping down on the stone next to ole Bense.

  I wonder if he’s even noticed that I haven’t talked to him in a while?

  “The hell, man,” Martin told Benson, “what do you mean you don’t know? You’ve been avoiding me. I ain’t talked to you in ages.”

  There was some shouting coming from the other side of the Fore. At first Martin was alarmed, but then he realized it was just a lover’s spat.

  “Don’t say it’s all my fault!” Martin said to Ole Bense. “Don’t give me that shit. Just because I’m acting Lead Hunter doesn’t mean I let it go to my head. And I sure as hell haven’t forgotten ‘bout you man. Sure. Sure I’ve been spending time with Hidalgo, but that’s fighting stuff, you know. If you’re going to get jealous about it, you might as well just get up and come fight with me. I thought not. So it’s settled then, it’s your fault.”