by M. T. Miller
Part Five:
Breaking the Chains
Chapter Twenty-Three
The car he had been given was angular, ugly, and infinitely less comfortable to ride in than Emile’s black limo. The driver was a decent enough fellow, but a bit heavy on the questions. The Nameless answered everything he could. The man was accompanying him into the unknown. The least he could do was sate his curiosity.
“New Orleans is in sight, Lor—ahem, sir,” the driver said after a day and a half’s worth of driving.
“Thank you, Stephen,” the Nameless said, lowering the glass near the passenger seat and peering out the window. The road, the swamps, the city in the distance; the time was nigh. Soon he would speak with Hillaire. What would come of it, time would tell.
As they neared the city, so did a thousand thoughts speed through the Nameless’ head. Was he making a mistake? What if the Holy Army turned back and resumed their siege? How would the Supreme Houngan react to him breaking their deal? Was he still part of Tarantula’s machinations, and if so, would he ever be free of them?
Will Rush forgive me?
He shook it all from his head. Aside from negotiating with the Movement, there were no other options. At least, not ones he would be willing to live with. The time had come for him to pay the toll for his existence.
With armed men in sight, Stephen slowed down and finally stopped when they reached the city gate. He was just about to lower his own window and speak with an approaching guard, but the Nameless beat him to it.
“I am here to see the Supreme Houngan,” he said as he exited the car. He observed the men as they neared. Security was both tighter and better armed than the last time. Half of the ten-strong group wielded hunting rifles, while the rest bore swords and bows.
“That’s a new one,” an apparent officer said, stopping near the car. “Let me see your boss. I won’t bite. I promise.’”
This time, the Nameless wasn’t willing to exchange wits. “I am Nameless, Lord of Babylon. I come here in dire need. If you would relay this to Mr. Hillaire, I am certain that he would be more than eager to meet me.”
The guard considered the Nameless’ words. “Stay here. Sit in the car if you must, but if you drive into the city without permission, you will be shot.”
“Understood,” the Nameless said. He chose to remain upright while he waited for the men to send his message up the chain of command. I have been sitting long enough.
The wait took less than fifteen minutes in total. The officer went into the city, spent some time there, and returned with five more men.
“Come with us,” he said. “The car will be led into a garage, where it will be kept safe. The driver will be cared for as well.”
Stephen looked to the Nameless, who gave him a nod of approval. You will not be harmed, he wanted to say, but didn’t want to make unreliable claims.
As they proceeded through the streets and toward Hillaire’s mansion, the Nameless noted that the city was overall in a higher state of alarm than the last time he was there. Hardly any women and no children could be seen, and the number of guards and walking dead was tenfold greater. In truth, he had no idea the Movement had this much manpower. Part of him was glad at the prospect of partnership with this force. The rest was worried by its possible agenda.
Did they hide this from me before? If so, then to what end? Or were all these bodies not in use at the time? he wondered, referring to both the living and the dead.
“Are you preparing for something?” the Nameless asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” the officer said. “If his Excellency wants you to know that, he will tell you himself.”
The Nameless knew better than to press the issue, so he kept pace in the center of the group. It didn’t take long for them to reach the manor. Without knocking, the officer opened the door, entered, and gestured for the Nameless to follow him in. The rest followed right behind.
“The guest room is that way,” the Nameless said, pointing in the opposite direction of where he was being taken.
“His Excellency has requested you to meet him in the cellar,” the officer said.
Amazing, the Nameless thought as he followed the man through a door and down a long set of stairs. What is he going to do? Bury me again? Despite it being his own joke, he still shuddered at the thought.
The cellar was well lit and smelled of perfume, or at least some very pleasantly-scented oils. Black silk hung from the walls, hiding the rough rocks that composed them and giving it a classy look. In the middle of this chamber stood Hillaire, dressed in his usual extravagant suit. Right behind him was something that looked like a large gong, but on closer inspection turned out to be a jet-black mirror.
“Greetings, Lord Nameless!” Hillaire said, as always eager to dazzle with his pearly teeth.
“A privilege to be here,” said the Nameless, still surrounded by the guards. Where is Tarantula?
Hillaire didn’t extend a hand. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. I can’t say this wasn’t a surprise.”
“Things did not go according to plan,” the Nameless said. “The Holy Army started moving far ahead of schedule. My city was besieged, and I had to get… creative. If I did not, you would not have anyone to ally with right now.”
“Yes, my reports confirm this. Question is, what made them proceed this early?”
“Infighting in Babylon,” the Nameless said. “Tarantula had overplayed her hand, or so I assume. The Church smelled blood, and went for it immediately. I had no choice but to remove the pouch and try what I could to push them back.”
“And you succeeded.”
“I did,” the Nameless said. Telling this man that he no longer had command of his own city was out of the question. “I am also aware that I did it at the cost of breaking our bargain. For what that is worth, I came to apologize. This was not my intention.”
“I understand,” Hillaire said. He sighed, albeit faintly. “What is your intention, Lord Nameless?”
“An end to this madness!” the Nameless said. “No more gangs running around like beasts in the wild. No more senseless exploitation, of the weak and strong alike. No more war, and imprisonment or death to those who would push for it.” He paused for a moment. “No more need for me to kill anyone again. I have had enough to last me several lifetimes.”
It took a second, but Hillaire nodded in agreement. He took a step backward until he was right next to the black mirror. He was about to start talking, but the Nameless was quicker.
“I hope you do not mind me asking, but where is Tarantula?”
Hillaire’s gaze darkened. “There has been an… incident, I’m afraid. Regarding the revolver. In short, one of my men took it and shot up the jail. The degenerates we kept there got free. They made a mess, and Tarantula was a casualty. They have been dealt with, for whatever little that’s worth.”
So that explains the increased security. There was little the Nameless could say about the spider goddess being dead. She was a potentially useful ally, but on the other hand, who knew what game she was playing in the long run? To him, her death was neither a tragedy nor reason to celebrate. She was simply no more.
“Do you still have my gun?” he asked.
“Yes.” Hillaire pointed to the mirror. “But back to the matter at hand. I assume that you are here to talk business.”
“I am,” the Nameless said as he tried to make sense of what the Supreme Houngan was doing.
“Then join me.” Hillaire moved his arm in a circular motion, causing the surface of the mirror to shift. The glass began to bubble, then swirl, until it finally turned into something that resembled a vertical pool of black, clear liquid. The Nameless didn’t even try wrapping his head around why or how it didn’t spill on the floor. Magic is what magic does.
“I can try, but I am warning you: I am horrible at making glass boil,” the Nameless said jokingly.
“No need to be a wise-ass,” Hillaire said with a faint smile.
“We are going through it. There is something I want—no, need you to see.”
The Nameless didn’t reply. There was only one stranger thing he had done in his life, and it involved drugs.
“Don’t tell me you are scared,” Hillaire said as he pushed one arm elbow-deep into the water-mirror, then pulled it out intact.
“I cannot see what is on the other end,” the Nameless said.
“A white man looking to something black and seeing little?” Hillaire laughed. “That’s a first.”
The Nameless exhaled deeply. He turned left and right, noting the guards on both sides. It was a completely reflexive action. Even if he chose to fight these people and won, it would do nothing for the situation he was in. Babylon would still fall, and so would the rest of the continent. If he were to win the grand game, he would have to play by Hillaire’s rules.
“Lead the way,” he said flatly.
“Of course,” Hillaire agreed. There weren’t any theatrics to it. The man just took a few steps forward, and completely disappeared within the inky blackness.
The Nameless clenched both fists as he forced himself to do the same. The flowing glass was cold in the same way the curse-bag was. It smelled of death, sounded like silence, and spoke of solitude. He did not want to know what it tasted like.
He expected the mirror to exist on the other end as well. Instead, he found himself with no point of reference but the Supreme Houngan himself. The two men stood at the top of what seemed like a mountain, overseeing a landscape unlike any other. Bereft of a sun, moon, or stars, this was a land of shadow, dark but somehow clearly visible. The ground was like basalt, hard and cracked all over. There were plains, hills, and mountains, all extending as far as the horizon. If the men didn’t breathe, the silence would have been deafening.
“Where are we?” the Nameless asked.
“You are looking at the home of magic.” Hillaire still smiled. “The Movement’s magic, at least. We call this place the Dark Side, Lord Nameless. It is here that Baron Samedi has existed since time immemorial, and it is here that he will keep existing after our world ends. For lack of a better expression, Death lives here. I hope you can appreciate the gravity of this fact.”
“Oh, I am well acquainted with death,” said the Nameless. “But this does not answer all my questions. Why have you brought me here, Supreme Houngan? Do you not trust your own men?”
“I trust no one,” Hillaire said. “But that is beside the point. I want you to understand something. It’s possible that you already do, but I’ll give you this honor anyway. You were fair in our previous bargain, despite it ending sourly. This is the least I can do in exchange.”
“I am listening,” the Nameless said.
Hillaire started walking down a mountain path, prompting his guest to follow. “Magic, in its essence, Lord Nameless, is trade. You offer something to get something else. It is a covenant between man and God, and apparently even man and gods. The ultimate ‘you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.’ Whenever a bokor does his juju, he bargains with the Loa, who in turn got this authority from Bondye himself. There is no cheating the deal. Everyone gets what they agreed on, or no one gets anything. Fair trade, every time.”
The Nameless tensed up. “Am I here as punishment?” For what it was worth, he would not go down without a fight. Even in this place.
“Not at all,” Hillaire said. “Our bargain was more theatrical than metaphysical. I would’ve preferred you not breaking it, but what’s done is done.” He stopped walking and faced the Nameless. “Forgive me, I have gotten so caught up in explanations I’ve forgotten to ask you if you learned anything.”
“Both a lot, and nothing at all,” the Nameless said. “The most important piece of information concerns their leader. It is someone they refer to as ‘the Holy One.’ Whoever it is, he—or she, is due to arrive in the Underbelly within a week or so. In fact, this knowledge is the main motive behind me coming here.”
“Go on.”
“The cursed bullets sever one from their connection with magic, yes?” the Nameless asked. “In that case, all I need is one shot at their leader. One well-placed bullet, right between the eyes, and their whole war machine will crumble. You did not ask how I drove them back from Babylon. I did it by using a similar tactic; showing them just how false their idols are.
“A defeated Saint hangs from one of my city’s opened windows. He is known as Malachi, but they called him the First Skull Reborn. The mere sight of him was enough to break these men’s morale, Hillaire! Imagine what will happen once they’ve witnessed this Holy One dead at my hands! It is the key to our victory. Of that, I am certain.”
Hillaire contemplated the words. “We can’t use the revolver,” he said.
“And why is that?” the Nameless asked.
“I will get to that,” Hillaire said. “For now, let’s focus on what I’ve started. Please.”
“As you wish,” the Nameless said, none too thrilled.
“A man can’t win with only one plan,” Hillaire said as he resumed his walk. “A strategist must have fail-safes and contingencies, all there in case the A-game falls apart, right? Well, I had an A-game, a master plan, and it died along with Tarantula.”
The Nameless followed in the man’s footsteps, listening.
“A great bargain was to be made between me and Baron Samedi. I would offer him a sacrifice unlike any other: a goddess of a pagan religion, one of the very few still remaining in this world. He, in turn, would gift me with the spell to end all spells. Armed with the intelligence you would have provided, I would have completely destroyed the madness of this One True Church and ushered in a new era for this land. A fresh start, if you will.”
But? The Nameless tensed up again.
“But the Cleanup Crew ruined this completely. I didn’t have my ritual anymore, and now I barely even have any intelligence. I’ve lost not just the roof of the house I was building, but the foundation as well. I can’t win anymore, Lord Nameless. I hoped for an ace, but got a deuce.”
“So what now?” The Nameless picked up his pace.
“Now is a time for contingencies.” Hillaire stopped moving. He wasn’t looking the Nameless in the eyes, but it was still apparent that his were glowing green.
Oh, no you don’t! The Nameless darted forward. He had had enough. Betrayal upon betrayal upon betrayal; there was no end in sight. Whatever Hillaire was about to do, he had to be stopped.
The mountain did not agree. Moving faster than the Nameless himself, the very ground before him split apart, carrying him away from the Supreme Houngan. If he had continued running, he would have stepped into a chasm, a chasm that kept widening with each passing moment.
“I take no pleasure in this,” Hillaire said, still not facing the Nameless. “It is simply something I must do. If anyone would understand, it would be you.”
“You do not have to do this!” the Nameless shouted as the basalt carried him away. The ground beneath his feet shook and ruptured. It would crumble within seconds, sending him who-knows-where. “We can still work together!”
“We already are,” Hillaire said, and the glow around him intensified even further. “Perish, Lord Nameless. Disappear here, within the Dark Side, and become my sacrifice. It will help me end this war.” The air around him began to bubble and flow, muffling the unnatural illumination.
A litany of curses escaped the Nameless’ lips. Hillaire didn’t hear them. He had disappeared through his mirror again, leaving the Nameless alone.
The ground became undone. Unwilling to give Hillaire one shred of what he wanted, the Nameless grabbed a rock as he slid down the ever-steepening mountain. It cut into his fingers but stopped his descent, at least until it detached from the mass. Cursing both existence and inexistence, the Nameless tumbled downward, grabbing each protrusion along the way. None remained a part of the mountain, and all cut him up in one way or another. However, by the time he slammed stomach-down against the base, he was still in one
piece. His joints, muscles, and tendons hurt as if they were made of lava, but somehow still seemed to function.
“You will need more than that to kill me!” he bellowed as he painfully forced himself up.
Kill me! Kill me! Kill me! the echo shouted back.
The Nameless turned around repeatedly. Everything was in shades of dark grey and black. No directions to follow. No rivers, trees, or other sign of life.
From what he could see, the land was barren.
Chapter Twenty-Four
At first, the Nameless stumbled about without anything resembling a goal. Barren as it was, the place was too hot for his trench coat, so he tossed it away along with his shirt. Grey upon grey, black upon black, there didn’t seem to be a way to tell one direction from another. Volcanic rocks and ash; there was nothing else.
However, as his eyes adapted to this perpetual twilight, so did he start to notice nuances within its monotone coloration. In particular, the Nameless’ attention was drawn to what appeared to be stains, dark enough to be visible even on the pitch black rocks.
He knelt before one such blotch and dragged his fingers over it. It felt different than the rock, brittle and coarse, flaking away as he scratched it with a nail. He smelled his fingers and his nostrils contracted. Different, but definitely some kind of blood.
Nearly all surrounding rocks had it. Some were decorated with cut or scratch marks instead. He turned back, walked a hundred paces, then repeated it in eight directions. There were stains everywhere, some fresher, others quite old. If something had indeed bled here, this was too much for a single creature.
But if I follow the most recent trail, I will find something. Whether or not that would be a good thing, he had no way of knowing. Worst case scenario, he could eat it. And with no apparent food or water around, that would be a necessity for survival. The Nameless crouched and started feeling around.
He committed an hour to his search for the freshest bloodstain. When he found it, it took some more to determine which way the trail went. Once he was certain, the Nameless set course toward it with a mixture of haste and stealth. On one hand, his time was short. On the other, if it was a beast, he needed to be silent. Assuming, of course, that it was still alive.
