Yitz shook his head.
“I was famous once. Royal in blood and well known in my region. But I belong here,” he continued, his gaze flitting over his shoulder toward the beast. The heads seemed to be in some disagreement, snapping and snarling at each other, trying to finish their current meal before moving onto the next. “I ate while my vassals starved. I ate in front of their children and laughed when I could count their ribs. Their cheekbones cast shadows. I belong here!” he confessed, both hands reaching out.
Hephaestion suppressed his instinct to draw his sword.
The man pawed at Yitz’s cloak. “Forgive me,” the glutton rasped. “Forgive me!”
Yitz took the man’s hands in his own. “Of course. I forgive you,” he said, tenderly kissing the man’s filthy hands. “And please forgive me,” Yitz asked in return. “Forgive my son.”
Through his weeping, the glutton gave a hint of a tormented smile. “I forgive all the world.”
Shocked, Hephaestion eased his grip on the weapon. He stared into the sinner’s eyes in disbelief as the glutton gripped Yitz’s arms to steady himself and wobbled to his knees. “It eats me standing this time.”
Now two pairs of eyes locked onto them, and two of the three heads growled. The beast’s fur twitched as its paws stamped in anticipation. The animal inched closer, its hunger and bloodlust even more apparent.
“Run!” the glutton shouted, turning to face the looming shadow, its rows of teeth bare. Hephaestion gripped Yitz’s elbow and sprinted with all the speed of a marathon runner as he heard the monster lunge and tear, the glutton’s screech of horror shattering into the growls and crunching.
They ran. Their lungs froze, their noses bled, and their arms and legs burned, but they didn’t stop. Gradually their legs weakened, first Yitz’s and then Hephaestion’s, and they slowed to a trot. Controlling his breath as best he could, Hephaestion crouched down, forehead against Boudica’s sheathed sword, and listened.
Yitz stood, hands on his lower back, stretching. His gaze was fixed on the path behind them.
“Don’t ever talk to people down here,” Hephaestion spat in frustration, doing a poor job of keeping his voice low.
“Like Gil? Don’t talk to my boy? Or Alexander—we shouldn’t talk to him, either?”
“That’s different. Don’t be absurd,” Hephaestion snarled. “This is exactly why I didn’t want—”
“The glutton you popped out of…what was his name?” Yitz demanded.
“What?”
“His name! The man whose body you used like a motley costume. What was his name? What bargain did you strike with him?” Yitz’s stare hardened to a keen edge. After a moment of silence, Yitz continued. “As I figured. You fished out a soul, used him to your will, and disposed of him on the floor at Minos’s feet when you were done. You didn’t know his story. You didn’t care. Only your Alexander mattered—not that man who suffered at your behest.” Yitz pointed behind them. “Or the one you used getting past the docks. Or my Gil. Or Adina. Or me. Just Alexander.”
Hephaestion found meeting Yitz’s furious gaze a challenge while he fumed at the small man’s words.
“If Albrecht treated people as resources the way you do, what would he have gained from using you instead of saving you?”
No whimpers or sobs or growls sounded in the distance. Just Yitz’s furious breath.
“Putz,” Yitz said with disdain. “I speak to and listen to whom I wish. Now make yourself useful and lead us out of here.”
Unable to think of anything worth saying, Hephaestion led on. Silence allowed Hephaestion plenty of room to ponder Yitz’s accusations. How long had it been since he had encountered an un-damned soul? Why wouldn’t all of the gluttons hold each other for warmth? Couldn’t they all talk among each other and forgive each other as well? They all just sat there, waiting for their turn to be devoured. Was the beast’s belly the only warmth they’d ever know?
And what of Yitz? He seemed far too prudent to yield to compassion, and yet he had just kissed the hands of a filthy sinner. How accurate was he in his evaluation of Hephaestion’s selfishness? How many people over thousands of years had passed by Alexander in the boiling river and ignored him, much like Hephaestion would have ignored any glutton?
Glancing over his shoulder, Hephaestion eyed Yitz. He had not expected the man to be so perceptive.
Chapter 27
Never in his existence had Hephaestion encountered so much sameness before. Could his legs stop moving forward even if he wanted them to? Had his shield gotten heavier? Was his sword no longer producing heat? Had he gone completely deaf?
The endless white murk floated around them, and beyond, in any direction, there was nothing. Sometimes Yitz would be on his right, and as Hephaestion blinked in and out of walking consciousness, Yitz would suddenly appear on his left.
He realized: this was Hell. An empty place with no stimuli or warmth or hope for change. No violence or cruelty necessary to create abject torment. A dreamlike state one is barely aware of, but unconnected to.
He wanted to scream, whistle, talk to Yitz, or even sigh aloud to fill the void with something, but he didn’t dare. Footfall after footfall held his focus, and they could have been traveling for days.
Was Yitz feeling the same?
Not sure if his eyes were playing tricks, he blinked hard as they came upon several shadows. Clearly the outlines of men, they dragged and wrestled with something large. An animal of some kind. Were they hunters?
They clubbed the creature until it collapsed, and then like a pack of hyenas, they fell to their hands and knees and mauled the carcass.
“Women taste better. We should find a woman,” one said in a garbled, babbling language.
“Stop complaining. Rub the fat on you. Keep warm,” said another.
Hephaestion’s pace slowed. As he neared, sword loose in his grip, he counted five of them, each dressed in red-steel armor and tattered leather. Clubs and crude metal cudgels dangled from their waists. One wore a musket on his back, bayonet bobbing as he tugged at the tough muscle of their meal.
Between them lay an open, steaming glutton, dead gaze staring into the pale void above.
“Give me the eyes,” one demanded as he shoved another cannibal aside and dug into the dead man’s skull with his fingers.
As Hephaestion’s befuddled mind processed the grisly scene, Yitz spoke from somewhere behind him.
“Stop,” Yitz whispered, his unused voice barely audible.
But they heard him. Their collective gaze turned to him, then Hephaestion. Envy darkened their blood-drenched scowls as they noted Hephaestion and Yitz’s gear.
“Stop—they suffer enough.” Yitz raised his voice, his lips cracked and bleeding with the effort.
One of the five lunged to his feet, cudgel raised over his head, rushing toward Hephaestion. Everything moved in slow motion. The attacker grinned gleefully as his blow approached and Hephaestion watched him with vague curiosity. Niggling warnings wove through his foggy mind: they would take everything. Boudica’s blade, the astrolabe, Yitz’s heart. Everything.
The weapon arced towards Hephaestion, the killer’s muscles surging with the might of the devoured dead.
Almost casually, Hephaestion spun, missing the blow as he rotated out of the way. Freeing Boudica’s sword from its sheath, Hephaestion sliced the steel’s heat and fury through the man’s arms, gliding through his biceps. His dismembered arms flopped onto the ice like flailing fish. The man staggered a few steps, and then fell with a groan at Yitz’s feet.
The remaining four leapt into action. Hephaestion pointed the blade at them and knelt low, his blood pumping warmth into his extremities as he directed the sword at each one in challenge. Then he melted the ice before him with the blade’s searing power.
They spread out, blood freezing to their armor and chins.
The one with the musket un-shouldered his weapon and held it like a spear, the tip bladed. The other three gripped their bludgeons with both hands.
They charged at once. Club high, one lost his footing on the freshly melted ice. Hephaestion cut him from groin to clavicle, his halved body flopping onto the ground and sliding into the feet of the musketeer. The gunman frantically loaded his weapon, his eyes wide at the sight of two of his comrades destroyed.
The other two reached Hephaestion before he could recover his stance, and their weapons crashed into his shoulder and back. The shield took most of the one blow, but his arm tingled with numbness from the other hit and Hephaestion tried to dodge between the men.
As the musketeer’s frozen fingers fumbled with a powder horn, Yitz charged him. The two men collapsed into the ice, grunting and wrestling over control of the firearm.
A flurry of blows rained down on Hephaestion’s shoulders and back. Unable to recover his guard with his injured arm, he called to Yitz, “Run!”
Then a shift in the air stilled their attackers, and a moment later, two sets of Cerberus’s massive jaws closed over each of their heads, lifting them from the ground. Cerberus’s center head roared icy breath over Hephaestion as the other two shook their prey, snapping their spines.
The blast of cold nearly crippled Hephaestion, perhaps would have even shattered him had he not clasped Boudica’s blade close. The beast’s center head tore an arm off one of the bodies, the blood freezing to red powder in the brutal air.
Yitz gave up on the musket, leaving the other man to flee into the cold. Scrambling to Hephaestion, Yitz helped him to his feet. Both men ran, with no idea in what direction they were headed. Cerberus could follow the hard glow of the sword, but Hephaestion dared not sheath his weapon when he might need protection. Trying to piece together a plan of defense, he heard paws pounding the ice behind them as all three of the monster’s heads snarled and panted in unison.
Yitz fell behind, his strides no match for Hephaestion’s. The oversized cloak’s hood had slouched off Yitz’s head, and when Hephaestion glanced back, he could see the fear in Yitz’s expression.
Hephaestion spun, dug his boot heel into the ice, and ran toward Cerberus. Six eyes glowed blue, and three mouths bared teeth. He charged the beast, blade high in his left hand as his right drew his pistol. At the very last instant, just as the huge jaws scooped down to snatch him up, he fired into its center mouth while digging his blade into the side of its right head. Allowing his boots to slip, he slid under the monster and dragged his sword through its underbelly, aided by the monster’s forward momentum.
Black, reeking blood splashed like tar, ice crackling and hissing from the sudden heat. Several links of intestines peeked out of the long wound.
All three heads howled a shattering discord of agony and rage. Now behind the beast, Hephaestion stabbed into a hind leg, hamstringing its balance. Gnashing teeth in fury, Cerberus spun around, then buckled from its wounds, no longer able to sustain its weight.
With a final swipe, Hephaestion sheared off the lower jaw of the nearest head.
Retching and clawing the ground, Cerberus fought in vain to stay alive. Hephaestion backed away, clear of its flailing claws and snapping heads.
There was no need to wipe the blade clean since its sizzling heat cooked off the gore, leaving a pungent odor behind after he sheathed it.
“Thanks, Samson,” Yitz said, still catching his breath. “I figured you’d let it eat me and save yourself the headache.” He chuckled. “We used to joke on Earth that you don’t need to outrun the bear—just your friend.”
“But I’d never be able to outrun Adina,” Hephaestion said with a shrug, though still out of breath himself.
“At the very least, she wouldn’t break out the good tea whenever you’d visit.” Yitz grinned. “Who were those goyim?”
“No idea, but they had armor from a smithy. They looked like soldiers of some kind, but I don’t recall much on cannibal tribes in this ring.”
“And they weren’t dressed for the cold. Shame I couldn’t get the musket from that one.”
Recovered, they left the quivering carcass of Cerberus behind.
Soon the endless mire of white began to wither in front of them. Light, yellow and crisp, urged them on.
They arrived at what seemed like a wall of dust. Swirling before them, the odd barrier obscured their vision. Yitz approached first as Hephaestion set the astrolabe on the dark ice.
“It’s not so cold, and this thing goes on forever, both ways,” Yitz said, reaching a hand out. His fingers passed through it and they prickled with sudden warmth. Hephaestion observed the rings on his tiny map as they rotated—they’d reached the end of the glutton’s circle.
Hephaestion packed the astrolabe up, secured his satchel, reloaded his pistol as Mom’s sailor had taught him, and then Yitz and Hephaestion jumped through.
Chapter 28
The first thing to strike Hephaestion, aside from the wave of dry heat that made him gag, was the ground. The ring spun far faster than they had expected, and it swept the large man’s feet out from under him. He careened onto his side, his shield clanging.
Yitz, carrying less weight and considerably shorter, managed to stay upright.
“Oy,” he said, sucking in the new air. “Makes your skin burn.”
Hephaestion remained on his back, blinking at the barrier’s entrance. It appeared like glass from this side, an endless dark and cold world on the other.
Yitz offered his hand, and his face turned red as he helped the warrior stand.
The two stood side by side and took in their new surroundings. They’d entered the ring at the top of a long ridge that curved in both directions until their vision failed from the distance and the dust. Ahead was a long slope downward, the ground cracked and dry, leading off into a pale brown cloud several leagues away.
“It reminds me of the Afghan campaign,” Hephaestion said. “Clouds and dust storms would rise from the desert floor and consume the war train, horses kicking and men shouting to each other to find their bearings in the stinging wind. Such a place was particularly horrible, because from the sands below attackers would emerge from concealment and slaughter entire divisions before running away into the gloom.”
“Sounds meshugganah.”
“Trust me, it was.”
“Are there more three-headed hounds here?” Yitz asked, his worry numbed from his recent brushes with death.
Everything here was more open, however, and looking directly up far above, a singular light sat dim at the center of the sky. “I’ve been told that even in some spots of Hell, Heaven’s light can still be seen.” Hephaestion pointed. “Like a tiny moon, pale but present, it presides over the dry circle of boulders.”
They saw creatures or other significant features, but a quick glance at the astrolabe showed that this was on one of many long descending slopes that would eventually lead to the city of old Dis somewhere beyond the twirling veil.
Taking the chance to rest his quivering legs, Hephaestion sat and opened his satchel, thumbing through the documentation on Adina and Yitz’s boy.
With a tired groan, Yitz sat next to him and folded his hands.
Hephaestion cleared his throat. “We should be all right here for a bit. Let’s talk about Gil.” Having seen Yitz almost eaten by Cerberus, Hephaestion felt he had to understand everything he could about Gil. If something happened to Yitz, which was likely, and he was lost to the denizens of Hell, Hephaestion would be on his own to find Gil and deliver the message.
Gil Maqabim Isserles had leeched so much money and land from his synagogue that it eventually collapsed the township. Most of the paperwork contained interviews with people Gil knew in life as well as those who had visited the lowest circle of Hell.
“We didn’t know any of what he was doing,” Yitz said. “He kept it
all hidden from us. He had moved to another town when he married, a nice girl that was sweet but not too bright. Adina was never too keen on her but I liked her well enough. Turns out she had no idea, either.”
“Were you shocked when you learned Gil was in Hell?”
“At first, we just thought he was living a long life. Adina and I combed the shores of Purgatory. We even built a small hovel there, and it was like we were young again, waiting for a child to come while living simple and poor. He never came. Then we began asking around, focusing on all the souls who recognized our region and time period. It didn’t take long to learn about what had happened to the town, and what he had done. Then his wife came, and we learned everything.”
“You’ve gathered a huge amount of intelligence on him.” Hephaestion thumbed through the sheets of parchment. “It’s impressive. It must have taken years,” Hephaestion marveled.
“Truth is it’s my fault. The boy takes after me. I was always gambling and toying with such vices. Grabbing for what I wanted the quick way. He inherited my low character, but he also inherited Adina’s brains. Which meant he could do the wrong I did, but do it smarter and sharper. I would have been in Hell myself if I was more proficient with sin…” A bashful smile entered Yitz’s face. “I sometimes think of him as a little boy, naked and wet after a bath, running from Adina’s attempt to dry him off. Both of them had the same laugh, and I loved hearing their playful chase downstairs. Like hearing a little version of Adina echoing her giggle.” Just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded. “It’s my fault she doesn’t have her boy. And she’s never held it against me. Not for a moment.” Yitz continued. “Woman would nail me to the cross for eying a pretty lady on the street, but forgives me without a word my crimes against God and home.”
“It’s clear to me that you’ve changed since your time on Earth, assuming you were as bad as you say,” Hephaestion said.
Trampling in the Land of Woe: Book One of Three (Hellbound 1) Page 16
