Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong)

by Shaun O. McCoy

“The Carrion,” Galen said. “It was my home.”

  “Who’s winning?” Father Klein asked Michael and Davel as entered the parlor room.

  “He is,” Michael said. “He’s always winning.”

  Mancini frowned. “You’re getting better.”

  “No, you’re getting drunk.”

  Mancini let out a laugh.

  “Do you mind if I speak to you alone, First Citizen?” Klein asked.

  Michael looked up from the board upon hearing the honorific. “Of course.”

  The Father did not often use his title.

  Mancini started to stand, but Klein stopped him. “Please stay. Mike, would you mind having this discussion in the church?”

  Michael shrugged. “Of course not, Father, lead on.”

  The First Citizen stood up and walked with Klein out of the parlor room.

  “Did you get a chance to speak with Molly?” Michael asked as they walked down the stairs.

  “Sure did, but she wouldn’t say much. I think you’re right, she did give the Infidel Friend the information. Aaron said he gave a little too, but he was probably just being too hard on himself.”

  “Probably,” Michael said. “He’s a little misguided at times, but he’s not foolish enough to do too much harm. Did she tell you why she opened up to him?”

  Father Klein pushed his way through the door curtain that separated the stairway from the first floor waiting room. He held it open for Michael. “At first I feared that she might be a traitor. You know, maybe she was the one who put corpsedust down Ole’ Bense’s throat. But she’s locked herself up in that hovel like a hermit since. She’s been crying herself to sleep each night. She wandered pretty far into the wilds the other day. As far as Riverbend.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I know. Even the hunters don’t always go out that deep.”

  They passed through the next door blanket. The aroma of the Fore, perfumed with burning incense, did a lot to protect Michael’s nostrils from the stink that had clung to the town since the death of the giant spider. Michael gave out a dry heave as the smell of Harpsborough hit him head on.

  “You all right?” Father Klein asked.

  “Sure, sure,” Michael responded. “Must’ve had too much dyitzu. You think she’s found something out there?”

  Michael stepped over one of the sleeping villagers. A couple more people scattered out of their way as they walked towards the church. Kylie’s Kiln was lit, so the air was smoky. That, at least, was a smell that the First Citizen had come to love. Kylie may not have been the best looking woman in Harpsborough, but she was certainly one of the most giving. The pottery smoke reminded him of the soft times they’d spend together in the mornings. It was more appealing than the coppery odor of Mancini’s still or Copperfield’s scent of woodstone dust—and a hell of a lot nicer than sweat and spider guts.

  “Can’t imagine it,” Father Klein was saying. “I think she might be wandering. Hoping to get lost or killed.”

  One of the younger villagers nearly ran into them. Michael caught the young man and steadied him before passing on. He heard the mixed shouts of victory and defeat from the gamblers behind him.

  “That bad? You think she’s suicidal.”

  “Could be, Mike. Could be.”

  “How? What could he have said?”

  “I don’t know. I think maybe she fell in love with him.”

  Michael stopped dead in his tracks. It took Klein a few steps before he noticed and turned around.

  “Love?” Michael asked. “After one conversation?”

  “They’re tricky things, those Infidel Friend. He might have picked up on how weak she was. She thinks everyone hates her, uses her.”

  “She might be right.”

  “Could be.” Father Klein shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t take much. He probably just showed her a little respect. Perhaps he politely declined a sexual advance while complimenting her. Probably did it deliberately, that unfaithful bastard. Broke her down just to get her to spill the goods.”

  “Well, I’m sure her head will clear up in a few days. She’s probably too pussy to get herself into too much trouble. Not many demons about. Still, I’d like her followed on one trip. Just to make sure she’s not found another Infidel Friend.”

  “I’d like her followed more often than that,” Klein said as they started moving again.

  “Why? You think she’s a traitor?”

  “No, I think she might really get herself hurt.”

  “She’s many things, but she’s not suicidal.”

  Father Klein shook his head as he mounted the church steps. “I beg to differ. Remember, everyone talks to a priest. From what I hear I think she might be suicidal.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because that’s how she died, Mike.”

  Their new chamber was even smaller than the last, the ceiling even lower. Arturus tossed his boots into one corner and looked down at his feet. He could only see his toes around the wrappings, but they felt fairly good.

  He was very tired, though.

  “I’ll need to leave soon, to make sure I get to the ritual,” Galen told Aaron.

  The Lead Hunter nodded, out of breath, as he lay down against the stone.

  Galen knelt, carefully lowering Kyle. The man seemed as light in Galen’s arms as a baby. This, and Galen hadn’t slept since they’d been in the Carrion. And he’d fought. And he’d scouted. And he’d carried the man for at least fifteen minutes.

  “I’m going to mop up our trail,” Galen said.

  Arturus watched him leave.

  “Is he human, Turi?” Johnny asked.

  Arturus laughed at first, but stopped when he saw the man’s question was in earnest.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever seen him tired?”

  “Yes. He gets tired.”

  He’s tired now. He’s just being proud.

  Michael followed Father Klein into the church. The place was as busy as the rest of Harpsborough. Men and women sat together, chatting in the pews. Some were even on the floor. Only a couple were praying. Michael and Klein were greeted by everyone as they walked down the aisle.

  Michael watched the shadows of the crosses slide down Klein’s back as they moved towards the front of the church and made their way to the side door that led to Klein’s private room.

  Klein again held the door blanket open for Michael.

  The room was sparsely furnished. The cot was finer than anything a villager might sleep on, but less lavish than any Citizens’ bed—except for maybe Aaron’s. That bastard would sleep on anything.

  Past this room were the church’s stores. Klein led Michael to them.

  Dust had settled on many things here. Most striking were the statues of the pagan gods which had been in the church’s archways when Mike and Klein had first settled Harpsborough. The Father opened one of the chests. At the bottom was a thin layer of spider eggs.

  “This is all that’s left?” Michael said.

  Klein nodded.

  It wasn’t much.

  Michael gave out a long whistle and shook his head. “How much longer?”

  “A couple days. Maybe less.”

  “Damn.”

  Klein let the lid of the chest fall shut. “Julian’s food is gone. Our best hunters have chased after it into the Carrion. There are fewer devils than ever. Without Aaron, the hunters have almost no chance of finding any food.”

  “They’re fine.”

  “They haven’t caught a single devil since he left. Not one.”

  “It’s only been a few days.”

  “Wouldn’t have happened while Aaron was here.”

  “They’ll learn.”

  “Well, while they’re learning, the people will be starving. Even if they bring in twice what Aaron did, it won’t matter.”

  Michael took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He sat down on the chest.

  “Unless you can get out there and catch another spider,” Fa
ther Klein said.

  “No.”

  “You could give it another shot.”

  “I knew where it was, Klein.”

  Klein took a step back, running into one of the pagan statues. “What?”

  “The expedition was a farce. I knew where the spider was. I led them there. I had found its lair when I was still Lead Hunter.”

  Klein sat down next to him. “Then you’ve got to change things, Mike. You’ve got to convince the Fore to give food to the villagers. Even so, it might be tight.”

  Mike rubbed the back of his head and frowned. “The Fore’s had a promise. Once they earn Citizenship, they’re never to be endangered again.”

  “That was Charlie’s promise, not yours.”

  “I told them I’d keep it, after I killed Charlie.”

  “It’s not right for some to have so much, while others die.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Father Klein stood up and moved to exit. He held the curtain open, as if dismissing the First Citizen. “You had better try, and try hard. God is not here to disapprove of your actions, Mike, but your conscience is.”

  Those words haunted Michael as he walked back to the Fore. He went up the stairs in a daze and fell into his favorite chair. He blinked when he saw the chess game. He had forgotten it. Mancini had left, but not before making a damn good move. Michael searched the board to try and find a good reply, but without any luck.

  The game seemed as hopeless as the city.

  Arturus awakened when he heard Galen mention his name. He looked up to see his father speaking with Aaron.

  “How long has it been?” Aaron was asking.

  “Four days, about. Maybe six since Julian’s been gone.”

  “Damn. What did you find?”

  “There was another stone marker. That means the ritual will begin shortly.”

  “Sure,” was Aaron’s response. “Take him, then.”

  Avery sat up quickly. “You can’t let him take the boy. He’ll have no reason to come back.”

  I’m going somewhere? To the ritual? What did I miss?

  Aaron looked tired, pale. Maybe the wound on his shoulder had been deeper than he’d let on. “No, Avery. Arturus is Galen’s son. He has every right to take him along, and we have no right to keep him.”

  “I don’t want to be abandoned here. None of us can walk.”

  “Believe me,” Galen broke in, “if we don’t return, it will be because we are dead. Our only chance is for one of us to make it back in time to warn Harpsborough not to fill in the entrance. If I can get there and let them know that we’re here waiting to recover, then we can make it.”

  Johnny nodded his head. “He’s right, Avery.”

  Avery didn’t seem convinced. “Even if Galen comes back, I guarantee you the boy won’t be coming back with him.”

  “And would you begrudge him that?” Aaron asked.

  Avery thought about it and sat back. He crossed his arms and looked away.

  “No,” Arturus said.

  Galen looked at him oddly for a moment.

  “No, you won’t go?” Aaron asked.

  “No, I won’t leave you,” Arturus said. “This is the first important thing I’ve done in my life. I don’t want it to be marked by cowardice.”

  Galen grunted.

  “You’re a fool, then,” Avery said.

  Arturus bit his lip. Avery was almost certainly right. Would he kill himself pretending at an honor that he did not have?

  “We are what we repeatedly do,” Arturus said, quoting a lesson Galen had taught him years ago. “If I act a coward, then I am a coward.”

  “Go, Turi,” Aaron said. “Those are Galen’s words that come spilling out of your mouth. Or your heart. You two will be back. I know it.”

  Galen stood and walked to Arturus’ side. “Can you stand?”

  Arturus did and was surprised at how little pain there was in his feet.

  “Does it hurt?” Galen asked.

  “Not badly.”

  “Good. Get your boots on and follow me.”

  They moved quickly through the Carrion’s wilds. Galen had never held him to a higher standard than he did now, chiding mistakes so small that Arturus often didn’t even know that he’d made them. With the ambient noise of the other hunters gone, Arturus began to recognize the signs of the devils. He could hear echoes of breathing, oddly amplified through the dark chambers. Footsteps, marked with the sounds of clawed feet scraping across hellstone, and then the ever so distant hound’s howl, also reached his ears. They were lucky they even survived the crawl from their old chamber to their new one, he realized. He had never imagined that there could be so many demons in one place.

  Galen increased the pace, and Arturus started to feel the wounds reopening in his feet. He dared not complain. A fight now would surely be beyond him. There was no way that he could run.

  They ducked low below an overhang, and Galen brought them into a small circular chamber.

  “Are you okay?” Galen whispered.

  Arturus nodded.

  “Your feet?”

  “Okay, maybe bleeding a little.”

  Galen nodded, and handed him his canteen.

  “I didn’t get to clean my weapons,” Arturus told him. “My pack is gone.”

  “It’s fine. We’ll get to them later.”

  “How can there be so many devils?”

  “The Minotaur I sought,” Galen said. “He’s here. I looked all through the labyrinth to find him, and he’s been in the Carrion. He’s been here the entire time.”

  No wonder there were so few devils around our home. The Minotaur is calling them here.

  Galen led him down a shoot. The warrior scooted along on his buttocks. It was almost as narrow as the tunnel they had crawled through to try and escape the silverlegs. They emerged into a series of rooms with black crystal walls.

  Not black. I can see through them. They just look black because everything is so dark.

  Galen took him carefully through a maze of passages. The crystal walls stayed with them. Arturus found it difficult to remember to keep looking through them. Objects on the far sides of the wall were visible, but distorted by the crystal’s imperfections.

  Galen raised a hand and crouched low.

  Did he see something? Hear something?

  Arturus stopped at the edge of a crystal wall. He peered through it and around it, but could see nothing. All was quiet. Galen hadn’t moved, though, so Arturus didn’t dare to do more than breathe.

  Then he saw them, but they made no sound.

  They are as quiet as death. As quiet as me, or Galen, or Julian. They have to be. They live here.

  The mass of them, at least two score, rippled in Arturus’ vision as he watched them through the crystal.

  They’ll see me if they only look.

  But Galen had stopped them in darkness.

  It’s lighter where they are, so I can see through and they can’t.

  When they moved past the wall their forms coalesced into solid shapes. The first two moved in tandem, their padded boots touching the stone without disturbing the silence. Both had shotguns at the ready, held up near their chests. They were dressed the same way, with well fitted dark clothes that helped them blend in against the Carrion’s background. They each had pistols holstered at their belts.

  They are in uniform. They are part of an army.

  The men that followed wore lighter grey cloaks, much more easily seen than the two in front of them. They were decrepit things. Some were tall enough that their ankles, thin and knotty, could be seen beneath their cloaks. They were all bent at the shoulder, their right hands placed on the backs of the man in front of them. Their wrists also looked terribly thin. They moved as one, in step with each other.

  Slaves.

  They were arranged in ranks of four, sixteen deep. He could hear their cloaks swishing, just barely, with their every synchronized step. Two more of the warrior types came after them.
They were so hard to spot when compared with the slaves that he had almost missed them.

  Another shadow, blacker than the rest, and therefore just slightly more visible, came out from behind the crystal. It was a slender man, perhaps even an adolescent, moving gracefully within a velvet or silken black robe. The cloth clung to the man’s chest, which seemed oddly full.

  A woman.

  For some reason Arturus feared her more than the rest. He felt his breath quicken and his heart beat faster. She was as quiet as the warriors but walked with her shoulders held erect. Two more soldiers followed after her, equipped the same as the other four. The group seemed dangerous. Far more dangerous than the Harpsborough hunters.

  As dangerous as Galen. Carrion born. Was Galen once one of these men?

  He could no longer hear the slaves, either because they had moved farther on or because the beating of his heart was drowning them out.

  The procession passed behind another crystal wall, and Arturus watched their shapes bend and distort before they finally disappeared. He waited for some time before Galen moved again.

  I wish I were home.

  They had not traveled far before Galen led him under another low stone overhang and into a small square room.

  A narrow alcove came down from the ceiling of the chamber. It was so narrow that Galen could barely fit in it. He climbed it easily, putting his back to one wall and his feet on the other. Arturus peered upwards, but he couldn’t see any gap in the stones above.

  Galen proved him wrong. The warrior steadied himself after he had climbed as far upwards as he could and pushed up against the ceiling. The rock there moved. Galen disappeared into the darkness. Casting a nervous glance behind him, Arturus followed.

  The room he crawled into had no light at all. Galen, his face illuminated from below, was all that he could see—and even he disappeared after the stone was replaced.

  “Rest for a moment,” Galen ordered.

  Arturus searched blindly for a wall, his hands outstretched. He found one, and leaned against it. He wiggled his toes. His feet were feeling good. Better than he’d expected after climbing up the alcove.

  “Are you tired?” he asked his father.

  “I am,” Galen’s disembodied voice replied.