Icanitzu skin.
Arturus moved so that a group of standing Carrion slaves stood between himself and that dangerous figure. He continued to look for Galen through the haze. He saw one black, shaved head of a young boy amongst the rest.
Julian.
The drumming grew faster and faster, incessantly pounding against Arturus’ senses until it drowned all else out. His ears were ringing badly. He put his hands up to cover them and was surprised with how drenched with sweat his hair was. He stepped over and around a few of the kneeling bodies.
For half of one of Arturus’ breaths, there was silence, and all that he could hear was the ringing in his ears. Then the shouts and screams of the Carrion men came to a climax as the drums beat on. Arturus looked to the stage.
Maab had broken the bull.
She stood up slowly, letting the thing’s broken organ slide out of her. The Minotaur was twitching, as if in seizure. Maab stepped down from the throne and moved to the edge of the stage. Everyone stood as one and rushed towards her, reaching out to touch their goddess. They groped at her, but she, without having to avoid them, always seemed to be just inches away from their fingers. Her voice was high and strong, easily heard against the low pitched howls of her followers.
“Who protects you?”
“Maab!”
“Who feeds you?”
“Maab!”
“Who breaks the bull?”
“Maab!”
“Who loves you?”
“Maab!”
“Who holds the darkness of Ahriman at bay?”
“Maab!”
“Who sings to the fates at night to save your bodies?”
“Maab!”
“Who calls to the great Mithras, born of Rock, for the salvation of your blood?”
“Maab!”
“Who pulls from the bull its essence, that it might strengthen your warriors?”
“Maab!”
“Who chips away at the stone, that Mithras might come again?”
“Maab!”
The soldiers swarmed back onto the stage. This time the Bullman offered no resistance, unable to even clutch at its ruined masculinity. They dragged it upwards, as if to get it standing, but the best the beast could manage was to hold itself up on its hands and knees. One warrior, the one in Icanitzu skin, grabbed the thing’s massive right arm and twisted it behind its back, exposing its belly to the crowd. Hell healed all wounds, Arturus knew, but there were scars along the Minotaur’s abdomen. Either it had suffered those wounds very recently, or it had been cut with something treated with rustrock.
“Maab! Maab! Maab!”
Maab accepted a black dagger from one of her priestesses. It shined in the firelight.
She placed her fingers in the Minotaur’s nostrils and pulled its head back. She slit the thing open, from its neck to the ruined organ at its pelvis. The blood spilled out from its belly into the bowls. The priestesses, their nude bodies covered in blood, moved quickly to empty the bowls into a black trough.
Arturus forced himself to look away.
Julian. He’s one of their slaves!
Arturus tried to cut across the middle of the room but found that the people there were so closely packed together that he couldn’t make any headway. They treated him as an annoyance, shifting back and forth to try and keep him back.
If I can get to him, I can lead him to our escape route.
Arturus gave up on the center of the room and moved as quickly as he could towards one of the walls.
“Bring forth the babies.”
Arturus made it to the wall, and fearing for the lives of infants, again climbed a pillar. There were no babies, however. Naked men were being brought to the stage. Arturus was struck with the idea that they might also be forced onto the throne, and that Maab might break them, too. He was relieved when they were lined up before her.
He climbed down and continued around the room.
Julian. Come on. Where’d you go?
He could only see the tops of the men’s shoulders on the stage now that he was back on the floor. Maab’s voice came and went, sounding almost like one of the Latin prayers that Father Klein would give. Only her voice was higher, sweeter, more powerful, and infinitely more despicable.
Her servants poured the Minotaur’s blood across the shoulders of those young men.
“Blessed is the Baptism of Mithras. Blessed are his warriors. You are the gleam in the eye of the great Ahuramazda. You too, now, have been carved from stone. Your flesh, made weak by the mothers who bore you, has been made strong with the blood of the Gorgon. Your will, which was made vulnerable by the teachings of your fathers, has been made invincible by the will of Ahuramazda. Your soul, which was made to be tortured and victimized by servants of Ahriman, has been steeled against their wishes and wants. You are the light in the darkness. You are the gleam in eternity. It is your hand which turns the keys of damnation. It is your wish which calls out to Sol for his light, for his love, for all that you are and all that you will be.”
Arturus spotted him. He was standing behind a group of soldiers and slaves. He was looking towards the stage. Arturus climbed up and around one pillar to clear a clot of people that he couldn’t pass otherwise. He was nearly to Julian. If it were not for the drums and the chanting and the insane screams of Maab’s followers, Arturus could have shouted out to him.
Julian turned, making eye contact with Arturus. His mouth lulled open.
The men about Arturus surged towards the stage.
“Pick me! Pick me!” one man jeered.
The renewed press of bodies dragged him towards the site of the ritual. Arturus did his best to keep his bearings and to keep Julian’s head in sight. Both he and Julian were shorter than the average Carrion man, so it was easy for Arturus to lose him. Still, the men about him were thin and frail, and though they possessed of the wiry strength of madmen, Arturus was able to shove his way through them.
They parted before him now, his strength giving him license to bully them away.
“Me! Me!” another was screaming.
They were all asking to be picked, stretching their arms towards the stage. Arturus suddenly saw Maab clearly. Saw her breasts swinging as she pointed out one man in the crowd.
“You!” Came her high voice.
She looked again through the mass of her flock and picked out another.
“You!”
For a moment, Arturus had the blinding fear that he might be picked, for certainly she seemed to favor the better fed of the slaves for whatever lottery it was they were playing. However, the age of those she chose seemed always to be about the same.
I’m too young.
He received an elbow to his jaw. He turned suddenly, twisting against the crowd. The man who had hit him was struggling like all the rest, looking only towards the stage. Maddened further by the blow, Arturus gave even less care to those around him. He brought himself low, as Galen had shown him for wrestling, and brutally pushed himself through the spindly limbs of the worshipers.
“You!”
The slave she had picked was close to Arturus, which caused the men there to move out of his way as he fought towards Julian. Arturus seized the opportunity to jump up a little.
There he is!
Julian had been pulled along with the crowd, just as he had, but had been taken a little closer to the stage. Arturus pressed straight towards his mark, shouldering the grey slaves aside. He caught a glimpse the boy’s black skin through the bodies.
“You!”
Maab’s voice was distant now. He saw she was picking men on the other side.
Galen!
Arturus’ heart leapt as he saw his father in the haze at the far edge of his vision. His father was leaning close to another soldier, shouting in his ear.
What if she picks Galen?
But she couldn’t. She was only picking the slaves.
“You!”
Her shout shifted the crowd, and Arturus lost sight
of his father. When he looked back towards Julian, the boy seemed farther away.
Is he running from me?
The thought struck him suddenly. What if Julian hadn’t been stealing these people’s devilwheat? What if he had been a member of their tribe this whole time? What if his disappearance wasn’t a kidnapping? What if he had chosen to live with his people?
No.
Arturus felt that he knew Julian too well for that. The boy would never turn his back on Harpsborough. Particularly not for a group of people who practiced such perversions.
Julian was being dragged by the crowd, Arturus decided. The men, all wishing to be picked, were trying to force their way to the far side.
“You!”
Maab’s voice was even more distant, but the crowd could run no farther. Arturus’ world swam with his fatigue. The air had been somewhat better along the walls. Here, in the press of people, he could hardly breathe at all. Someone stepped on his robe. If he hadn’t been enclosed by so many of the slaves, he would have toppled over, but he was kept from falling by those around him. Arturus grabbed his cloak and forced it back out from under the other man’s foot.
“You!”
Julian was only a few feet away. The crowd was buzzing again, pushing away, but Arturus didn’t care what new turn their ritual was taking. He lunged forward, covering the last few feet, and caught Julian’s arm.
Julian turned to face him, eyes wide with shock.
He didn’t recognize me before. Not really. He thought he saw me, but I was wearing the cloak.
“Turi?” Julian mouthed.
Arturus nodded.
“We’re here to save you,” he shouted.
“You!”
Julian was nodding, as if trying to process it all.
He can’t hear me.
Arturus leaned in close. Julian came forward as well, putting his ear next to Arturus’ mouth.
“We’re here to save you!”
Arturus straightened, keeping his tight grip on Julian’s wrist so that they would not be separated.
Julian’s mouth was still open, but he nodded dumbly, as if only now comprehending. Arturus leaned back in and shouted more. His voice felt hoarse, but he didn’t care.
“Aaron and Galen and I. There’s a way out. We can get you home.”
He straightened again. He had expected Julian to look relieved, but the boy seemed to be more shocked than anything else, as if he was horrified by what Arturus was saying.
“You!”
Arturus bent in once more, noticing that the press of bodies was suddenly easing. He rejoiced in the sudden breath of air. He was about to shout in Julian’s ear, to reassure him that all would be well, that they were going to make it back to Harpsborough, that he wasn’t going to be left alone as a slave in the hands of some demonic blood cult—but he stopped. He had the sudden feeling that everyone was looking at him.
He turned away from Julian. All of the grey robed slaves, all of the soldiers, even priestesses, were staring at him. There, on the stage, stood the most beautiful and cruel woman Arturus had ever seen, her finger set level with his heart.
The men parted in front of him, clearing a way to the stage. There was a surge behind him as the gleeful grey robed slaves helped propel him forward. Arturus glanced back to Julian, who stood still behind the grey wave which dragged him away.
He searched about himself desperately for a chance to escape, to find some way to avoid this fate. He saw Galen, there, in the crowd. The man’s face was a mask of horror.
Me.
Arturus lay uneasily against the stone, his mind racing. He had been brought to this room and locked in with the other eleven slaves that had won Maab’s lottery. Arturus had no idea how he could have drawn her eye. None of those picked before or after him had been as young as he.
Maybe she was picking someone else nearby me?
These men were not nearly as gaunt as the other slaves. There was more meat on their bones, surely. Their wrists were thicker, and their shoulders filled out their robes more fully.
We’re all well fed.
Arturus shifted suddenly when he noticed that one of the men was staring at him. He met the man’s gaze. The man looked down, but not away. He smiled.
“Are you a sweetie?” the man asked.
“Huh?”
“Are you a sweetie, or are you fresh? You look a little young to be wrestling about at Heaven time. For a second I thought you were one of the Little Ladies.” The man laughed. “Bet some Kruk took you in under his wing. Kept his little birdie safe.”
Heaven time? Little Ladies? Kruk?
The man had an odd look to him, like he was hungry.
Lust.
The realization sent a shiver up Arturus’ spine.
The man had friends. Two of the other slaves sat very nearby him. Arturus didn’t think he was the group’s leader, though. If he had to guess, it would be the broadest of the three, who was watching on with a look of amusement.
“Bullies are the loneliest of creatures,” Galen had told him. “Fight one, and you will find you have made a friend.”
“Sure, I’m a sweetie,” Arturus said. “Whatever you want to think.”
The trio of men laughed.
“I thought I could tell that,” the man went on. “Everyone in the room is a pitcher, and you’re a catcher. Might make you a bit nervous?”
Pitcher? Catcher?
“Shaking in my boots,” Arturus responded.
The leader shifted and spoke. “Careful Samson, little tiger has teeth. Wouldn’t want to get bit before you see Queen Maab. . .” His face cracked into a broad smile. “In the flesh.”
“You’re a lucky one, sweetie,” the lustful man said, and settled back against the stone.
He did not, Arturus noticed, stop staring.
The door opened.
Two soldiers stood there. One held a tray of food bowls.
“Heaven time,” said the one without the trays, leveling his shotgun, “and Maab says there’s to be no fighting. Equal shares. She doesn’t want any of you to spoil your good looks.”
The trio in the corner stood up, but stopped suddenly when the shotgun was pointed their way.
“No need to rise, buttercups,” the soldier said. “Just stay where you are. The tray will be by.”
Arturus felt his stomach growl.
They were given two bowls apiece, one of devilwheat, another of water. Arturus had never seen people eat so quickly. To catch up, Arturus mixed the two bowls together and drank it all down. The meal only made him more hungry.
When had I eaten last?
The soldiers came by and took the bowls. The bowls were counted to verify that all been returned.
“Sleep well. Maab will see you shortly.”
The door closed.
The man was still staring at him.
Graham hadn’t liked the idea of following Molly for a handful of reasons. First was that this mission was sanctioned secretly by the Fore. If Molly caught him, she would go around town telling everyone that he was a creep. He wouldn’t be able to blame it on his orders because the mission was secret, so everyone would think he was some sort of sick stalker. Secondly, it wasn’t terribly easy to follow someone through the wilds of Hell. The chambers were arranged like a maze, and it was pretty damn difficult to track someone over solid stone. Lastly, the crazy bitch might shoot him. He would have to follow her closely to make sure he didn’t lose her. No easy task while she was on the lookout for demons. It was very possible Molly would sense that she was being followed and ambush him. He would like to think that the woman would keep her weapon safetied, and that she’d notice he was a hunter before she fired, but that was a lot of trust to put in someone. Molly wasn’t renowned for either her caution or her altruism, so Graham was left feeling rather vulnerable. He’d have felt safer chasing Duncan.
Still, it was difficult to say no to Michael. Graham might have declined anyway, except that if Aaron never returned the
y’d be looking for a new Lead Hunter. It was probably going to be between himself, Martin, or Crispen, and he didn’t want to hurt his chances by turning down missions. The other reason he had accepted, Graham was able to admit to himself, was that Molly had an ass like a golden caboose. He’d had more than one fantasy about sleeping with the woman, and when Michael had asked him if he’d follow the girl, he’d imagined that at some point she would find a pool of water, strip down, and bathe in it.
He was beginning to realize that this was never going to happen. If Molly was going to bathe, it was going to be in the river room with Alice or Kara standing guard to make sure that no one came in while she was doing it. She wasn’t going to leave herself weaponless and naked in the wilds where some dyitzu could come tear her to pieces.
He caught sight of Molly as he came around a bend in the corridor. He dropped back slowly and peered around the corner.
She was walking, her hand trailing against the right wall.
Graham realized that she’d been moving in this way for the last hour. She’d always been taking right turns.
If she kept that up, he was going to have a much easier time following her. Sure enough, her next three turns were all to the right.
Graham found it odd that they hadn’t yet traveled in a circle. Usually following a wall like that would lead one into a loop. He guessed they must be up against a barrier of some sort.
She’s looking for something.
He spotted her again, having paused in a room. She was inspecting the right wall very closely. Her fingers were running up and down it. She reached up along the rock to inspect the some of the higher stones. Graham watched as she stood on her toes. Her breasts were shoved into the stone and her butt stuck out as she reached higher.
Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it.
She collapsed to the floor in a heap and cried.
Graham had seen Molly cry before. There had always been an element of insincerity with her tears, and they always seemed to come with an agenda. She’d tried to turn the entire village on Aaron, for instance, after they’d broken up. Of course, after all the mean things she’d said about First Citizen Mike, nobody listened to her. These tears, however, were much different. They seemed very genuine. She seemed desperate, at the end of her means.
Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) Page 36
