Dust (Hellsong: Infidels: Cris Book 3)

by Shaun O. McCoy

  I think.

  I remember us passing through a rubble wall. That was a Carrion barrier, I bet. It’s just my stupid ass didn’t know what the Carrion was back then. Okay, I also remember some smooth caverns. Very smooth. Ares had said something about Vyn worms making them.

  I remember that because it reminded me of my friend, Vinny, in the old world.

  I scour the map. I see them, there, Vyn caverns. They are surprisingly close to the Erebus. That makes sense. The City of Blood and Stone is deep into the Carrion, and Ares had basically taken a bee line out of the place.

  But there’s got to be an easier way to find Blood Pass. What can I remember before we made it to the barrier? Surely there are some features that might give us a better starting point at least.

  No.

  You’re stupid. You’re not here to take them to Blood Pass. You’re here to escape.

  But escaping like this would mean nothing. I’d die in minutes.

  And I can’t take care of my son like this . . . unless. They did let Durgan into Tintagel, so this might be the best place for Aiden, short of another Archdevil.

  That’s it then—we’re going back to the banks of the Erebus. The shame I’ll feel at seeing him, I’ll have to swallow it. Maybe Shy can own both me and Aiden, and then all three of us can be evil together.

  I point. “There, by the Erebus, that’s where Myla and I came out. That circular hallway, I believe there are crystals that light up when we walk. We need to start there.”

  We can find my son, and then I can make up some lie to get us to the Vyn caverns.

  She looks at me with her blue eyes. “That’s a long way, mister.”

  For a second, she reminds me of Jenner. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking, and I thought the map might help. But I need to get back there. It’s the part I remember the best.”

  But this decision, this path, it might be the right one, but it could still have consequences. “Will Domina be mad?”

  This seems to put the Little Lady at ease. “I don’t think so. Just don’t mess up.”

  I’m coming for you, Aiden. I may be the biggest fuck up of a father in all damnation, but I’m coming.

  I smell oil and steel.

  A man has entered my room. His skin is a deep black, so dark it nearly looks blue, and he’s wearing chainmail. A god damned rapier hangs by his side. Long dreadlocks, bound together behind his head, flow over his mailed shoulders. At his side is a hellhound. It’s a small one, only two feet tall or so. It has a leather harness and a muzzle. The poor thing’s throat has been shaved, so I assume they recently cut out its vocal cords. It walks awkwardly, and I realize that each of its front knuckles have been removed.

  What the fuck is the point of having a hellhound that can’t bark or claw?

  It manages a whine, so maybe I’m wrong about its vocal cords.

  Its eyes roll oddly. Are they drugging the thing too? Weird.

  “You know the way to Blood Pass?” the man asks, his voice colored with the South African accent I’d heard earlier.

  I nod.

  “Good.”

  The Little Lady enters next, and like the South African, she’s also got a leash with her, or rather, four leashes. But instead of hellhounds on the ends of them, she has grey-robed slaves.

  She has the slaves kneel beside me, setting the ends of their leashes down, one by one, on the stone floor before moving to speak to the black man.

  I recognize the hateful dark eyes of one of slaves. Brown still stains his robe, but only faintly. I’m sorry, brother. I am. I didn’t know.

  “You’re going to try resisting Shy,” one slave tells me prophetically in a low tone, his head still bowed.

  I don’t know what to say, or how to answer. Would I try? Maybe if I can’t trick them into finding Aiden. In this state, I can’t defend myself, but I might enjoy dying.

  “You are,” he says. “You’re new. Everyone wants to escape at first. The penalty is the table, but you’re going to get that anyway. Look, serf, I’ve got a line on a Domina. I was a thrall, but my kruk died. You try to take her down the wrong path, and we run into devils, guess who’s going to die?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  There is a long pause.

  “We are,” Shit-eater says. “They set us loose at the first sight of devils, and use our deaths as cover.”

  He turns to regard the Little Lady, clearly afraid that she might have heard him.

  “I know you want to fight,” the first slave continues, “but realize that we’re the ones who will die for your petulant little rebellion.”

  I try to let this soak in, but it’s hard to care who lives and who dies.

  “Who’s the black fellow?” I ask.

  “Din,” Shit-eater says. “He’s one of Lucreas’ disciples. He and Gilgamesh are learning how to control the hounds.”

  “We owe him a lot,” the other slave says. “Those hounds can sense devils. Less of us have been killed lately.”

  Three soldiers enter next, Carrion born, their shotguns slung over their shoulders like rifles. Belts, full of shells, line their midsections. They look so cruel. If I’m lucky enough, and Domina can make me one of them, will I look as evil?

  The idea of becoming so hateful hurts me, but I think I’m willing to do it, or to pretend to do it. Anything to save me from Melvin.

  The thought of that man, of his bad breath and stubble sends a shiver down my spine, and that shiver hurts my insides.

  At last my Domina enters with a tall, lanky man at her side, dressed as a slave but with well-defined muscles.

  Well, lanky may not quite cover it. His torso belongs on a much shorter man, and his spindly limbs seem almost comical in comparison. His movement is devoid of grace, and he’s a little hunched—but still, the man is clearly strong.

  “That’s my charge?” the gangly giant asks, pointing a tree-like limb and twig-like finger my way.

  Domina nods.

  He walks to me, arms swinging, and pulls out a harness. “My name’s Fellman,” he says. “I’ll be your legs.”

  So this is the group then. My Domina, her Little Lady, three soldiers, Din the houndsman, Fellman to carry me, and of course, the four slaves who will be bait.

  Poor bastards.

  But then again, I’m pretty sure I have it worse.

  Fellman puts me on his back and straps me in, surprisingly careful not to hurt my ankle.

  Din grins, white teeth flashing, and gives me a wink.

  I don’t have the heart to make a faithful steed joke. Fellman jumps a little, and hikes me higher on his back. The motion puts pressure on my split anus and bruised insides. My right ankle is shaken.

  It’s a good thing I’m being carried, because I’m pretty sure I just gave up.

  We do not leave through the waterfall, but instead climb out from under a flagstone which reminds me, in an odd way, of climbing up through an old world sewer grate.

  Fellman has no trouble negotiating the upward climb, and my back brushes against the stone opening only briefly.

  I try to give them directions, but my Domina shushes me with a single raised finger. They are not following my lead yet. They won’t until we leave the Carrion, I bet. But despite this, in short order, we are walking back along halls I’m sure I recognize. This is the way that Durgan took us. Maybe he learned the path from the Carrion born, or maybe this is the only safe way to go.

  Domina walks, the Little Lady at her heel, surrounded on all four corners by her leashed slaves. Fellman carries me just ahead of them. Two Carrion born take up the lead at the front, while the third lags behind as a rearguard. They rotate from time to time because apparently being in the back sucks.

  I just have to trust the guard behind us because it hurts for me to look backward.

  As we travel, the straps of the harness start digging into my thighs and shoulders, and the abominable soreness of my neck returns. I rest my head on Fellman’s shoulder.

  H
is face, perhaps an inch away, cocks to the side so one of his eyes is looking at me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll get to a safe house tonight.”

  That at least, is something.

  Between myself and the front two soldiers is Din and his hound. The dog’s nose gives us a huge advantage over the devils. At times, Din raises his hand, and we seek cover amidst the shadows.

  I begin to become ambivalent about the devils. Let them find us. We deserve to die.

  Now that I’m no longer terrified, I have time to worry about the future.

  I don’t think I can handle the walk back through Blood Pass, if I can even find it. I don’t think I can face those places where Myla and I sat together, holding each other, loving each other, when damnation was a new and untested thing. How could something so beautiful have gone so wrong?

  Look at me. This is what happens to a man who loses his true love. Who loses the purpose of his life.

  Who loses.

  We come to what looks like a dead end, but Din steps forward, his chainmail nearly silent, and puts his hands into the space between two hellstone bricks. Then, with tremendous effort, he pulls to the right. The wall itself, I realize now, is actually a giant stone wheel, and it grinds with a low rumble as it rolls slowly aside.

  We enter, Fellman carrying me as the Carrion born wheel the wall shut behind us all.

  Beyond the door, corridors spiral inward, around and around, and I get dizzy with the turns Fellman makes as we travel toward the center of the complex for what seems like a mile. At the end, a carpeted room awaits. Fellman unbuckles my harness and places me on the floor.

  “You’ve got a good buffer,” the Little Lady says. “You don’t have to worry about staying quiet.”

  Then she, Domina and Din leave, going back the way we entered, perhaps to make sure the complex was clear or to discuss some business.

  The walls are stained with grime and smoke, though I’m not sure who would start a fire over carpet. The carpet itself is the kind you’d find in an old world public building. Tiny colorless fibers are knitted together, forming little pods that spread out before me like a miniature, grey-treed forest. Such an odd thing to find in Hell.

  The carpet has absorbed the Carrion cold. I can’t stand up, both because of my insides and because of my ankle, so I crawl toward a corner.

  Fellman laughs.

  “What a cute widdle puppeh!” the gangly man says in an affected, high-pitched voice.

  I don’t make it to the corner. Shit-eater blocks my path. His metal collar is bolted around his neck, but he’s taken off his leash. He clips it to my shirt.

  “Bark, little dog,” he orders.

  I roll to one side. This isn’t the kind of thing I can deal with right now.

  The three guards and the slaves are laughing.

  “I think you have to feed him a treat,” one soldier says. “This dog isn’t too well trained.”

  Shit-eater turns to Fellman. “You want to give the dog a little snack?”

  Fellman’s gangly hands drop to his belt. He undoes his pants.

  Fucking Jesus, not again. Not again.

  He’s already erect, and he waves his thin, crooked dick at me.

  Shit-eater bends down so his face is only a foot away from where I lay. “You going to bark, doggy? Are you?”

  He stands tall, steps back, and kicks me in the midsection.

  Pain.

  I think I just fainted for a minute.

  Sweat stands out on my forehead and my insides feel wrong, as if they’ve turned to liquid. That terrible pressure on my innards has returned.

  He’s got my pants down around my knees, and my ankle is also on fire.

  “Bark!” he shouts, pulling me up to a kneeling position.

  Fellman steps toward me, filling my vision.

  “You can’t,” I manage to say before my next breath. “Domina will be mad. You can’t. I might die.”

  The room erupts with laughter. Their cruel faces look down at me. One of the other slaves kicks me. With my pants down, restricting my balance, the kick topples me over. Instinctively, I try to get my asshole pointed away from Fellman.

  It appears that in whatever caste system they have, I’m less than even a slave.

  “Bark!” Shit-eater yells. “Get on your knees and bark.”

  I look to the exit. Domina has to be coming soon. She has to save me.

  “Bark!”

  Another kick clips my head.

  I start to cry.

  Shit-eater mimics my tears, sniffling. “Little doggy’s all sad.”

  The soldiers join him, mocking me, letting out great howling guffaws at my misery.

  I just want to die.

  I can’t take it again.

  Slowly, I crawl to my knees, my arms shaking, tears falling off my face to darken small parts of the carpet.

  I bark.

  “Say woof, motherfucker!” Shit-eater yells, ecstatic.

  He readies another kick.

  “Woof,” I say.

  “Louder!”

  “Woof!” I try, but shouting hurts my stomach.

  They laugh and laugh and laugh.

  “Roll over!” one soldier demands.

  I try to pull my pants up, but Fellman reaches down and stops me. “Oh no, don’t be a bad dog. Do you want to be a bad dog?”

  I remain silent.

  “Do you?” his face, despite the length of his limbs, seems to have been all scrunched together.

  “No.”

  He smiles at me, a grin full of even teeth under his button nose. “You want to be a good dog, don’t you, boy?”

  “I do.”

  “Roll over!”

  So I roll over.

  And the laughter hurts my ears.

  One of the other slaves comes forward, standing over me, looking down on me. He’s the one who asked if I’d resist my Domina.

  “Sit!” he orders.

  So I sit.

  “Beg!” another calls.

  So I beg.

  “Bark!”

  So I bark.

  And they laugh.

  And laugh.

  And laugh.

  I see her enter the room, my Domina. My heart swells. She needs me alive, she’s said as much, she can’t let this continue.

  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

  And of course she would. She only wants me as her slave because she’s attracted to me. Because I can bring her pleasure. But how could she be attracted to a man like me? Helpless and defiled. Out of control. Malnourished. Broken.

  What woman has ever been attracted to such things?

  How could I ever recover from a moment like this in her eyes?

  Fellman tires of the game. He picks me up.

  “No!” Shit-eater says. “You’re ruining it.”

  “For you,” Fellman says. “My fun just started.”

  He carries me like some kind of bride into one of the dark, stone-floored rooms connected to this chamber. He lays me down, and enters me. I feel the pressure of him much more on my left side than my right. He works, and sweats, and grunts while I cry. Then he finishes, and holds me in his arms.

  I can’t do anything.

  I’d want to reach between my own legs and destroy his balls, but they’d grow back, and he has to carry me tomorrow.

  So I sit there, feeling the heat of his body, and his warm breath on my neck.

  The cold seeps into me from the stones and the shivering hurts me.

  The only thing I can do to stop that pain is to move back into Fellman and accept his body heat.

  But I’m too proud for that, aren’t I?

  No.

  No I’m not.

  The night, his even breath, the momentary condensation which cools my neck in between those warm blasts, the heat of his body, the press of his limp genitals against my buttock, the foreign arm around my midsection, it lasts forever.

  We travel through the day, and at night, we find no set of safe ch
ambers. Instead we find a small cavern, much like the ones Durgan had us sleep in, and I bed down against the cold stone. Fellman lowers my pants and moves to take me, here, in the room with everyone. My asshole splits again as he enters, and the blood makes the raw feeling a little less painful.

  “Please,” I beg.

  “Please what?” he asks, his voice amused.

  I don’t know what to say.

  “You want me to be gentle, don’t you?” he asks.

  My soul twists, and tears start leaking out of my eyes. I nod.

  “Say it, or I won’t be.”

  “Be gentle.”

  And he is.

  As we wake and they prepare to leave, I’m left alone on the cold stone floor. As always, the shivering hurts my insides. I begin to wonder if the short rape is worth the heat. Maybe I should thank Fellman a little.

  One of the slaves gives me what I think is an empathetic glance. He’d tortured me before, when they’d made me pretend to be a dog, with the others. Still, I don’t think he quite meant it. I think he just dared not show any softness amidst such company.

  I miss the days when it was just Durgan banging my ankle into the walls.

  They heft me up, harness me in, and we travel again.

  Din drugs his hound with some laced food, and then, right after the dose, a dyitzu appears. Din rapiers it through the eye before Domina can even release her slaves.

  It falls dead to the floor, its devil blood spilling out.

  Wordlessly, I’m carried on.

  The slaves are white as ghosts.

  I fall into a near doze, and wait, hoping for death to come. I’m awakened by the whispering accented voice of Din.

  “My hound doesn’t want to go this way.”

  “It smells the harpy nest,” Domina whispers back. “There’s no need to fear, though. The harpies are gone. You can tell because there’s no sting in the air.”

  Only because Ryan mentioned it before, I can smell the pomegranate.

  If I stay silent, we might go into the nest, and I might die. Probably not. They’d scatter the slaves and make a run for it. But they might die.

  But Domina doesn’t deserve that. Shit-eater certainly does, and Fellman, but the others . . . I just don’t know.