His feet plopped forward, one at a time, as he winced from each rasping inhalation. From under his blood-soaked hair and gore-plastered face, Hephaestion’s vibrant eyes fixed in the distance, each step a shaky victory.
Albrecht and Yitz watched him closely as he transcended the alleyway heading toward the main avenue.
“He’s not going to last,” Albrecht whispered.
Yitz didn’t know what to say. Clearly, this man had brought himself here of his own choosing and wasn’t condemned to Hell. He may have been a good sort, even. A man of Heaven. So why the charade of attempting to sneak past Minos?
“So?” Yitz finally found his words. “Damned or not, he is doing something he most likely shouldn’t. I get in enough trouble without anyone else’s help.”
Behind the door, they both heard a snarl and an indecipherable shout.
“Ushers,” Albrecht gasped. “I’ll stall them. You go get our man to safety.”
“Our man?” Yitz hissed, trying to keep his voice low. There was no steering Albrecht away, however, and the prior swung the door open and bolted inside. Through the door, Yitz could hear his aggravating ally’s voice yammering away in an effort to distract the brutes.
Hephaestion had almost reached the end of the alley, his leather satchel on the ground behind him and his spear tip clanging against the worn stone as it dangled from his limp hand.
Yitz could just walk away. Collect his share. Cite the laws of New Dis. Take anyone resisting their payments to The Peruvian. He could drag any others indebted to him to court, or even to Sun Tzu if The Peruvian himself couldn’t persuade them to pay up. This was the ultimate score that Yitz had waited for. Adina and he could wait out their son’s damnation in comfort and security with this fortune. He would be a legend among any gambling man or woman who ever walked in the afterlife.
Yitz knew the smart thing to do. The prudent thing. The correct thing.
Instead, he found himself lifting Hephaestion’s arm by the wrist and taking the man’s weight onto his shoulders. Thin and weathered, Hephaestion still had enough meat on him to make Yitz groan.
“Hey,” he snapped, squeezing the wilting man. “Hey—we have to move. Now. More of those ushers are coming.”
As Yitz steered the man into the Avenue, the exit door burst open. Three well adorned men poured out, each a wealthy spectator that Yitz knew vaguely, and they pointed at him, snarling and shouting. Then they gave chase.
“Move!” Yitz pleaded, half-carrying Hephaestion. The Avenue was alive this time of day, filled with steam-powered carriages and wandering crowds as they moved about the buildings. The structures of New Dis hailed from all civilizations and time periods: a Deutsch mortar and stone storefront here, a wide Chinese opera house there, all towered over by an ivory Egyptian obelisk. The older the structure, the more it influenced the renovations of the buildings around it, creating odd, mutant evolutions in architecture. A Sri Lankan hut not made of wood, but sandstone and red iron. A Buddhist Temple with gothic gargoyles. An Arabic bazaar with alabaster Greek fountains, which was exactly where Yitz headed with his limp cargo.
Wearing Hephaestion like a backpack, a weary arm over each of his shoulders, Yitz charged forward through the busy street of grumbling steam cars and wandering crowds. The wealthy and powerful of New Dis traveled with flamboyant entourages Yitz was careful to avoid. Bodyguards were brutal, and they would disembowel a stray soul that wandered too close.
Brushing against people, Yitz profusely apologized in a frantic mantra to everyone in his path. A metal clang rung out as Hephaestion lost consciousness, his spear slipping free of his fingers.
The men behind them shouted that they’d been victims of a thief.
“Stop the Jew!” one screeched. “With the dead man!”
Yitz felt eyes training on him as he reached the far side of the road and shoved his way through the bazaar’s polished brass gate. The refreshing tinkle of water and pluck of a harp greeted those who entered. Well-clothed men and women with their indentured servants wandered about, selecting pottery, painting supplies, and fabric. Some held the goods to the electric lamplight for examination, fingers evaluating quality and durability.
“Adina,” Yitz pleaded into the crowd, heads turning to him. “Adina!” His voice silenced the harp and echoed into the pools of the fountains.
The men were right behind him, crossing into the bazaar.
Yitz saw her as the crowd parted. Adina, his lovely and passionate bride. Slight of frame with eyes a little too close together and an unflattering overbite, her dark, rambunctious hair was bound in a humble tichel, and the ornery curls flopped over her shoulder when she spun to face the commotion.
Yitz was grateful, on rare occasions such as these, that Adina was always ready for a fight.
Everyone ran behind a cart or flattened themselves to the cobblestone. Yitz rolled with Hephaestion into a fountain. Adina’s eyes lit like a pyre, and when she spotted the three men charging into the bazaar, daggers, and pistols drawn, she summoned her power to its full apex.
Comprehending the impending horror from the lone woman, the three men turned on their heels to flee. But there was no running from searing slivers of burning salt from the flame-wreathed hands of a furious Jewess protecting her husband.
With precision, three lances of white crystal fire sizzled through the air and impaled each of the men, smacking one into the gate and smashing the other two into the ground. Limbs flailing, they flopped about, hollering for mercy and quick deaths as their clothing burst into flame and their innards cooked from the Heavenly heat.
Few from the crowd chanced looking at the bright demise of the men, their bodies gradually disintegrating into little more than charred bone and evaporated viscera. Adina walked casually up to her gory handiwork, frowned one of her infamous and wilting frowns, then drove her hands into the nearest fountain in an effort to cool them off in a gust of steam.
Yitz lurched up, water splashing and his yarmulke dangling from his disheveled hair.
“Hello, husband,” Adina said with poorly masked frustration, Yitz unworthy of her direct eye contact.
“It wasn’t for me—it wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It was this man. This man.” Yitz lifted Hephaestion as best he could, clumsily hauling the Grecian over the pool’s lip.
Adina’s eyes narrowed on the unconscious man, his naked skin stretched thin over his starved muscle. Despite the impromptu washing, his wounds made themselves apparent again with their continued bleeding.
She conceded, huffing a sigh that blew her loose bangs about.
“You’d best carry him home, at least.”
Chapter 8
Hephaestion woke with his skin feeling fresh and his nostrils delighted by an enticing fragrance. Suppressing the impulse to jolt upright, he continued to play unconscious. Through a cracked eyelid, he scanned the tiny room in which he was bedded and found the space warm and vibrant with draped silks, spools of delicate brass chains, and dimly burning oil lamps dangling from the low ceiling. His mattress was small, but generously feathered, and while his feet dangled off the end, it was still the most physical comfort he could recall since his straw cot back in Ulfric’s mead hall.
Searching his fuzzy memory, Hephaestion conjured the man who saved him—the tiny man with the trim beard who tried to carry him through the street. This must be the man’s home.
With a sob of relief, Hephaestion dropped his face in his hands. He knew the mission of sneaking past Minos was a long shot, and everyone told him he was going to his doom. Ulfric gave warning after warning.
Yet here he was. Warm and safe, able to collect his thoughts, and among sweet smelling linens. He had gotten this far, and the risks had been worth it. Even if they had slaughtered Hephaestion on the spot, the risks would have still been worth it. This was on
ly the first step. He was on the rim of Hell, in New Dis somewhere, and he still had a chance of getting to Alexander.
But how? And why did Minos let him pass? Who helped him get clear of Minos’s court? Would he owe them now? Was he indebted? Indentured? Did they have his satchel and spear?
A red door beside his bed was close enough for him to touch, and, beyond the barrier, muffled voices conversed.
“And then what happened?” a stern woman’s voice demanded.
“We won. Albrecht called it. He made it all happen. He and I were thinking the same thing, but I was too scared to wager alone. But we won, and then we ran,” a man’s voice answered. The inflections suggested that the two knew each other and were close. Perhaps husband and wife?
“The Peruvian will still honor the winnings,” she replied. “He always does. So when did Tellamore and his ilk start chasing after you?”
“As soon as I grabbed the crazy man.”
Hephaestion found the energy for a smirk. Ulfric would agree.
“It makes sense that they would chase you,” she said.
“Ha! You think?”
“Yes, I’ve learned that one of us has to, at least.” Her voice escalated. “They were most likely fleeing The Peruvian because, thanks to you, they owed him more than they could pay. And then saw you and decided to save face. Think about it—there’s no way they could casually walk out of there without securing their payments with him. Who leaves Minos’s court early when he is presiding over the wagers? Nobody. Whenever you go there, you’re gone all day. Those men were fleeing. When they saw you, they gave chase because they are dumb and angry men. If you’d used your brain, you’d have stayed put under the protection of The Peruvian. His little monsters would have kept you safe from Tellamore and those like him.”
Silence fell, and Hephaestion could hear their breathing. He undid the latch, creaked the door open a sliver, and positioned his head to take a peek at his hosts.
The man’s gaze was on the floor, his toes pointed inward, with a teacup and saucer in his lap. His fingers paddled its chipped edges. Leaning forward opposite him sat a woman of smaller frame with vibrant energy in her eyes.
“So, this crazy man,” she prodded. “You took him into your care and ran with him…why?”
Like a remorseful child, the man shrugged. “It felt right.”
A wry smirk crept across her face. “So you did something right, after all.” Her smirk expanded into a full smile. Standing up, she placed a tender kiss on his forehead.
“We’ll be giving the money away,” she added, stroking his shoulder.
“I figured. Well, most of it.”
“All of it.”
“But you normally let me keep some to make our way here.”
“This one feels wrong. You profited off that man, a man you risked yourself for. Be altruistic.”
“Maybe he wants the money, or even needs it. Surely we’ll give most of it away, but I’d rather wait until we know this fellow better.”
With a dangerous eyebrow cocked, she turned her head to examine her husband much like Minos would. “You aren’t just saying that in an effort to eventually change my mind?”
“No! I think New Dis could use a university and a historical archive. Perhaps a refurbished government center. But I also want us safe and sound. Besides, we can control the money that would be in the paws of the Tellamore Estate or worse. We can apply the funds and make sure they do good for everyone who needs the money. No more homeless street folk being cast into the pit.”
She nodded, buying his argument at present.
“And the crazy man, no doubt wanted by the ushers and perhaps the guard—what of him? They will come for him.”
“We can deal with both parties, most likely. The guard can be bought, and the ushers are complete savages, so I doubt we’ll hear from them anyhow. I don’t think they are even allowed outside of their compound.”
She sighed with disappointment. “It feels dirty. This place pollutes me. Bribery as an option…”
Taking her hand, Yitz kissed her palm. “Which is why you went to Heaven, and I, to Purgatory.”
“Should have left you there,” she playfully chastised.
“You should have.”
“Loving you is a pain.”
“I know” His lips continued to trek their way up her arm.
“I could have married the Ashkenazi boy.”
“He had a beak for a nose.”
“I doubt he gambled.”
“He was boring.”
“Mm.”
Yitz settled his wife into his lap, Adina’s body leaning in.
“You saved me…” he whispered before they lost themselves in a kiss.
Hephaestion slid the door closed, returned under the sheets, and permitted himself more rest.
Chapter 9
“Why?”
Hephaestion heard the question and stirred from his dreams. His body was still weak, but his eyes could focus more easily now. With effort, he pushed his body back on the feather mattress and sat up.
Blinking away his bleary vision, Hephaestion opened his eyes and focused on the small man sitting next to the bed, beard trimmed and perfect, with a tray of tea for two in his lap. It smelled freshly brewed and filled the room with a hint of cinnamon.
“Why?” the man persisted.
“Why what?”
“Greek? You speak Classical Greek.” Yitz’s gaze trailed off, deep in thought.
In the afterlife, the language barrier ceased to exist. Everyone typically retained their earthly languages and tongue, but once a person had crossed over the threshold, all ears understood all languages. When one person in the afterlife speaks to another, they want to be understood. The relationship between the speaker and listener is a simple one that emulates the connection between people overall. When people wish to commune, intentionally or otherwise, they do so.
The written word is an entirely different matter, however.
“You say ‘classical’ Greek like there is any other,” Hephaestion returned.
“All languages change, especially the language of conquerors. The people they conquer redraft them. Who are you?”
“Where am I?”
“Who are you?”
“Where am I?”
Yitz sat back with an exasperated huff. “You are in a tiny room in a tiny home of a tiny family that is keeping you safe and warm. However, if you feel the need to gut me like you did Minos’s ushers, know my wife is in the next room, and nothing would spare you from her wrath. She loves this carpet, and, if you ruined it with my innards, you’d wish Minos had flung you to the pit directly instead. Now answer my damned questions for you are at the mercy of our hospitality.”
Hephaestion remained silent, eyes locked onto his host. Yitz poured the tea.
“Here. Drink your goddamned tea. It will bring your strength back. Adina saved this special brew for occasions like this. It’s imported from Purgatory.”
Taking the saucer, Hephaestion sniffed. His nostrils widened at the spicy warmth—he recognized ginger from Purgatory, and, after his first sip, he found a pleasant, fruity aftertaste.
Yitz savored his own cup. “Suffering a bastard like you is worth it if it means she breaks out the good tea. So just answer our questions, will you? You don’t realize the trouble you’ve caused us—are still causing us—by being in our home. I would have left you in the gutter if not for my wife and a certain annoying Christian. So out with it. Who are you, and why did you pop out of a fat man at Minos’s feet?”
“I am Hephaestion, son of Amyntor, nobleman of Macedonia, and general in the greatest army that walked the Earth.”
Yitz stopped mid-sip, gaze examining Hephaestion’s face for any indications of falsehood. “You’re shitting me.” Yitz smirked.
“No. I am Alexander of Macedonia’s right hand, and I am the weapon in that hand. And I am here to get into the pit to find him.”
“Well…” Yitz’s smirk faded. “Have you not heard of the docks on the shores? Did you not know that New Dis has a healthy import and export business with the hamlets and coastal towns of Mt. Purgatory? You could have booked passage on a boat…”
“Well, I didn’t swim all the way from the mountain. I had a boat, but I wanted to avoid being seen. I’d heard Jesuits guarded and monitored the docks. Zealously.”
“So instead you popped out of a fat sinner like an angry baby and began stabbing everything in sight!?”
“I didn’t know that there would be an audience. I was going to chance Minos’s judgment instead of the Jesuits,” Hephaestion retorted, his lips twisting in annoyance. “My things. My satchel and jerkin and spear, where are they? Do you have them?”
“Lost, mostly. You have your shin guards that Adina is fixing. They need new leather straps. Your shield is fine too; it remained on your back. But your little spear and bag are gone. Lost during the pursuit.”
Hephaestion’s shoulders caved. “Pursuit?”
“People ran after you. The prior and I got you clear to Adina, where she protected us.”
“Who is the prior?”
“Albrecht is his name. The man can chat like no one on Earth or after. But he saved you—us—as did my wife Adina. When you meet them, you will be grateful to them both. I don’t care what your opinions are of Jews or Christians. You will be polite.”
Hephaestion nodded. “Of course.”
“So you are the legendary Hephaestion, the man who has his face in stone more than any other in history. And you snuck into Minos’s court to get into Hell by hiding inside a poor, bloated soul. You killed three ushers, each will surely hate you eternally once they revive, and you are now naked with little to no physical resources as you sip tea in our guest bed. Did you have a contact in New Dis? Someone to meet up with?”
Trampling in the Land of Woe: Book One of Three (Hellbound 1) Page 4
