Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong)

by Shaun O. McCoy

Ellen’s sobbing had stopped, but her face was still wet. Arturus had never seen anyone cry so much.

  “Where am I going?” Ellen asked.

  “It’s a safe place,” Arturus assured her. “Just don’t touch anything. We’re going to figure out. . .” —what to do with you— “how we can help you the most.”

  Arturus caught Rick’s approving nod out of the corner of his eye. Rick always stressed how important word choice was. Arturus usually sided with Galen in thinking that a “silken tongue” was dishonest, but it seemed appropriate here.

  He took Ellen by the arm and grimaced. She had wiped her phlegm on the sleeve he’d just grabbed.

  “Come on,” he said. “Come with me.”

  He led her back through the hallway towards his room. She scattered gravel everywhere, he noticed.

  And guess who’s going to have to sweep that up?

  He pulled open the door blanket, holding it for her as she entered his room. She sat down on his bedding and began fiddling with his razor.

  “Be careful with that,” he told her.

  She looked up at him. “Don’t let them hurt me.”

  He shook his head. “Galen and Rick are very kind. You shouldn’t have any fear.”

  “You don’t understand, I’m not supposed to be here. I was good. I was a good person. How could He hate me?”

  “Who hates you?”

  “God.”

  “Did you ever meet Him?”

  She issued another sob. “Of course I didn’t meet Him.”

  “Then don’t worry about it. You cannot judge what you do not know.”

  She lay back in his bedding, resting her head against the stone wall.

  If only you were Alice.

  “But He was supposed to meet me. To judge me. Only He’s so glorious that if I saw Him, my soul would be destroyed. What did I do wrong?”

  “They’re very kind. You’ll see. Don’t worry. Galen and Rick, they’ll make sure everything is alright.”

  “When you died? Did you see Him?”

  “I was born here.”

  “Oh.”

  He was walking through his door blanket when she opened the razor.

  “What happens if I die again?” she asked.

  “It gets worse,” he said, walking back into the room. “They say a man came back from there once, from the world beyond this one. They say it gets much, much worse.”

  He crouched beside her, reached over, and took the razor from her. He gently closed it.

  Promise me you won’t die.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  I don’t know if I believe me.

  “Much worse,” he repeated.

  “How bad could it be?”

  “If someone is wounded, mortally, and in excruciating pain, we feel the need to put them out of their misery. The men of Harpsborough will never do it. They say that whatever pain they feel is nothing compared to where your soul goes next. They’ll watch them suffer, if they can, to be merciful.”

  She looked about the room, to the pistols and rifles that he kept there. Amongst them, Arturus realized, the razor was probably the least lethal.

  Galen and Rick were seated around the table, so Arturus joined them.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Arturus asked. “I’ve never seen anyone cry so much.”

  Galen snorted.

  “What’s so funny?” Arturus asked him.

  “You must not remember your early childhood. Where’d you find her, Rick?”

  “Across the Thames, before the Kingsriver. She was still fighting through the initial stilling. It took her an hour or so before the weakness passed. Maybe another hour before she could walk.”

  “That’s a pretty fast recovery,” Galen said.

  “She’s got a strong heart.”

  It was Arturus’ turn to snort.

  “It’s a rough transition,” Rick said. “It’s a bit of a shock, changing environments suddenly. Just be kind to her, and she’ll pull it together eventually.”

  Arturus looked back towards the hallway which led to his room.

  Rick leaned forward. “Well, Arturus, what do you think we should do with her?”

  They’re asking me?

  Arturus pondered what would be best for the girl. “Harpsborough. She needs Harpsborough.”

  “It’d have to be,” Rick agreed. “It’d be easier for her to live as a hermit, these days, with barely any devils about, than it normally would. Even so, she still doesn’t have the skills to survive. Keep her in Harpsborough for six months, then maybe she could learn the wilds.”

  “They might not take her,” Galen said. “They’re short of food in that town, burdened as they are by the Fore. I ran into one of their hunters today. Apparently it’s so bad Michael Baker is thinking about leading an expedition.”

  Rick nodded and stood up from the table. “I see those hunters more and more,” he said, pouring himself a cup of water out of the clay pitcher. “They’re ranging a lot farther these days. I’m starting to worry that I might shoot one of them on accident.”

  Galen smiled and shook his head. “What do you think, Turi? How should we go about this?”

  “They’re hungry now, so there’s no way Michael would push for her to join the villagers. If he’s thinking about going out himself, they’ve got to be feeling the pinch.”

  “There’s plenty of food. Just stop people in the Fore from eating like hogs,” Rick said, sipping his water.

  “If he fails,” Arturus went on, “he definitely wouldn’t want any more people. If he succeeds and gets some food, though, then maybe.”

  Galen raised his eyebrows and nodded his approval. “You okay with that Rick? Think we should wait for the right moment?”

  Rick drained his cup. “Yeah, I’ll go and find her a place pretty close, a little cubby chamber somewhere downstream. Turi, I might have you spend a few hours showing her how to navigate tonight. Maybe you can give her something to do so she doesn’t go mad. You’ll be going into town every day or so, right?”

  Arturus nodded. “Almost, yes.”

  “Check around when you do. When you think the time is right, we’ll bring her in and see if they’ll take her.”

  “And if they won’t?” he asked.

  “Then she’d better learn to cry quietly,” Galen said.

  “Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus.”

  The hunter Martin Warwick pulled on the binds that held his hand to the flat stone.

  “Stop squirming,” Aaron said. “You’ll only make it worse.”

  The thirty-five hunters of Harpsborough gathered in a semi-circle around their comrade.

  “Come on, sir,” Avery said. “You know how hungry we’ve been. He was just doing what he needed to do to live.”

  Several amongst the circle nodded fiercely, but not everyone was on Martin’s side. Aaron could only assume that the ones who remained stoic had some other source of food. Maybe they had a secret range that they gathered from when they were near home. Maybe they had a woman—or hell, even a man—they fucked for food.

  “I don’t give a damn how hungry you were,” Aaron said, staring his men down. “I told you that I was going to fight for you in the Fore. Michael Baker himself is going to go rolling out into the wilds to see what hunting there is. Soon he’ll know that there ain’t shit out there. But did you guys back me up? Did you trust me? We have loyalty, as hunters. We watch each other’s backs out there. Do you know what they accused me of today?”

  His men shook their heads.

  “They said we were stealing kills. They thought that because we were short on bullets we had been hiding the dyitzu away from them. Now is that having my back? Is that any way for a soldier to behave?”

  Aaron motioned back towards Martin Warwick with his cleaver.

  “Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus.”

  “Thank God Martin was retarded enough to smuggle his shells to a Citizen. That saved our asses in the Fore.”

  “Beggin
g your pardon,” said Avery, “but we could take the Fore.”

  “You can beg for it, but you ain’t getting it,” Aaron said. “You want to murder now? When we’re so close to getting better rations?”

  “No, sir,” Avery answered, crossing his arms. “I was just observing.”

  “Now I know almost all of you have been doing it, but it stops now. We can’t have the Citizens thinking of us as criminals if we want to be fed.”

  “Oh fucking Jesus Christ. Oh fucking Jesus Christ.”

  “Martin, will you just shut up?” Avery said.

  “Make him eat his hand!” a hunter shouted.

  “Light the torch,” Aaron ordered, “and be quick about cauterizing the wound.”

  “Don’t take my hand, Aaron,” Martin begged. “Please don’t take my hand. Oh fucking Jesus don’t take my hand. I won’t be able to hunt. How am I going to eat?”

  Aaron leaned down close to Martin, and whispered in his ear. “It’ll grow back, you know. Hell heals all wounds.”

  He was close enough to Martin to smell the man’s rancid breath.

  “I don’t have anybody, sir,” Martin said. “Don’t take my hand. Hunter’s lot is all I get to eat.”

  “You know Julian has sinfruit too, right? Not just devilwheat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’ve made arrangements with him. He’s been paid already. You’ll be getting sinfruit and devilwheat for the next two months, okay? You’ll just be able to relax and find yourself a woman.”

  “Oh fucking Jesus, thank you, Aaron. Thank you so much, Aaron. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I should have trusted you.”

  Aaron nodded.

  “Oh fucking Jesus, don’t make me eat it, please don’t.”

  “Eat it?”

  “My hand. You won’t make me, will you?”

  “No,” Aaron said.

  “Michael would have made me.”

  What the fuck were they doing before I got to Hell?

  “I’m not Michael.”

  Martin Warwick nodded and closed his eyes.

  He screeched when the cleaver took his hand.

  Michael Baker placed a pair of blankets over the spheres to dim the room and eased down into his Persian pillows. Tossing back his head, he massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He closed his eyes and listened to the clinking of glasses.

  “I hope like hell that you’re pouring me some bloodwater,” the First Citizen said.

  “You bet,” said Mancini.

  Michael opened his eyes and accepted the offered glass. He took a sip and savored it before swallowing. “This is exactly what I needed.”

  Mancini sat down on the couch and drank from his own glass. “That went well.”

  “It went like shit. Did you hear them in there? Copperfield all but picked a fight with Aaron. Oh, how the villagers would laugh.”

  “He had every right to, though,” Mancini said. “If Aaron had his way, every hunter would be a Citizen. They’ve got to fend for themselves, like all the other villagers. They’re important for defense, sure, but Julian brings in more food. At times like this, when there isn’t much we need to be defended from, well, they should have to tighten their belts.”

  “Maybe, but we still have to make sure they’re happy. They are the ones with the guns.”

  Mancini shrugged his shoulders. “We’re the ones with the ammo. People are creatures of habit. They’re not going to attack the Fore. They’re too used to taking orders from us.”

  “This isn’t a God damned country, Davel,” Michael said. “There aren’t any endless walls of bureaucracy and process between the haves and the have-nots. There’s no grey mass of government workers that can drag a man down and make him feel like he’s been victimized by a faceless machine. They know us, Davel, and if we take advantage of them too badly, they’ll know exactly where to find us. The only thing between us and a rioting pack of villagers is the walls of the Fore. And should those soldiers premeditate, and attack us while we’re heading to the church on our way to a vote—well then, the only thing between us and that is Aaron.”

  Mancini leaned forward over their small table. “You’re right, of course. This isn’t a country. But we’re not taking advantage of the people. We’re protecting a system that works. We can’t just throw it out every time we hit a bump in the road. We need tradition. We need there to be rewards. I only hope that the hunters that do feel like they’ve been taken advantage of haven’t had their minds influenced by someone. I hope that Aaron hasn’t been filling their heads with the nonsense that he’s been trying to pass as law in the church. But you got what you wanted. You’ll be leading a hunting expedition into the wilds.”

  “Indeed I will,” Michael said. “I’m sorry, friend, I know you don’t approve.”

  “Have you given any thought to who you’re taking with you?”

  “Well, I was going to bring Martin,” Michael said, “before Aaron chopped his God damned hand off.”

  “Do you think Aaron did that deliberately to weaken your expedition?”

  “I think he did it because Martin was the only one he knew was guilty.”

  Mancini pursed his lips. “Who else could you take with you?”

  “Avery, definitely. Maybe Fitch and Duncan.”

  “But Fitch and Duncan, they’re two of the newest.”

  “Exactly.” Michael looked hard at the bloodwater through its crystal glass. “Avery remembers serving under me, so he’ll fall right in line. The other two are too new to disagree or point out any mistakes I make.”

  “There’s so much to risk. What if you fail to catch anything? What if you get hurt? What if you’re killed? Generals don’t lead from the front anymore, Michael. That went out with the Roman Empire.”

  “I know. I know you’re worried about me, my friend. I tell myself that it’s because catching something will mean that there’s no reason to go against the Fore. Even the hunters will be embarrassed to ask for more rations. They’ll feel like they’re doing a bad job.”

  “That’s only if you succeed. If you fail—”

  “If I fail, I’ll have to give in to some of their demands.”

  Mancini stood up. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Sit down. Sit down. Change isn’t so bad. We’ll make the right concessions, I assure you.”

  Mancini regained his seat, and shortly thereafter, his composure.

  “I think that maybe there’s another reason I want to go out there.” Michael said. “Not to show Aaron that I’m still the better man. Not to quiet the resentment against the Fore. I just want to do it again, you know? See if I still have it. I miss the danger. I miss rush of shooting down a dyitzu that’s charging at me, slinging fire and howling.”

  “Now I know you’re insane,” Mancini said.

  Michael laughed. “Was there ever any real doubt?”

  “I’d been hanging on to the last shreds.”

  Michael drained the last of his bloodwater.

  “You want another glass?” Mancini asked.

  “No. I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  “I’ll save some for when you get back. Victoriously, of course.”

  “Victoriously.”

  Ellen followed the vein of blue hellstone as best she could. Turi had taught her last night that the colors of stones flowed like a river. It was darker here in the center of the vein, and if she traveled to either her left or right she knew the color would shift until she came to the strange neon blue rooms where the light streamed up from the floor.

  I’ll get lost if I go much farther.

  The first chamber she remembered, the one where Rick had found her, had to be around here somewhere. She remembered the room having dark blue stones, darker than even the stone where she was now. It had seemed to her at the time that there were golden flecks in the stone as well. Surely Turi would be happy if she could lead him to the stone of that room. He might even pick it for that stupid chess set he was
making.

  She navigated through a few more chambers before she heard the sounds of a river.

  Damn.

  She had heard Rick mention other rivers—the Kingsriver, and Lethe. This one must be one of those. Turi had showed her how rivers had their own architecture and how their flow interrupted the patterns of Hell around them. She might not be able to find blue stone on the far side.

  Besides, I don’t think Rick and I crossed another river. We just came to the Thames and he sent me up it.

  She entered the river room cautiously. Red bricks soared up along the walls, forming high arches. She knelt by the river and put her hand in the water.

  Is it the Thames? I must have gotten turned around.

  It took her a few moments, but she thought she recognized the room. It was between her home and Turi’s.

  If I travel downstream from here, I’ll get home.

  “Are you alone?” a voice asked.

  Ellen stood up from the bank and faced the stranger. The man was kneeling in the back corner of the room. His short hair was half covered by a blue bandana. His face was swollen, blotched and strangely discolored in places. One of his eyes was milky white, covered over as if with a cataract. The stranger’s jeans were ripped off at the knee and slit up the sides, perhaps to allow for greater mobility. He was armed with a shotgun which he had holstered at his right hip. The man’s button up shirt hung open, revealing the bone-handled stock of a pistol.

  “You’re very young to be alone,” the man remarked. “Perhaps you would like some protection?”

  He began scratching at his jeans, which brought his hand suspiciously close to the shotgun he had at his side. Arturus had also threatened her with a weapon, but there was something about this stranger she did not trust.

  Lie to him.

  “I’m fine,” Ellen answered. “But I am not alone. Take care, please. I don’t want my friends to shoot you when they come through.”

  “Friends your age?” the man asked.

  “No.”

  “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Ellen, and you?”

  “Pyle.”

  He was leaning forward, aggressively. She felt like he could cross the twenty or so feet between them easily.