Donny's Inferno

by P. W. Catanese

  “How are you feeling?” Angela asked.

  Donny realized he had his arms folded tight across his chest, gripping the opposite elbows with each hand. He let his arms fall and shook them, trying to relax. “Better. I guess.”

  He turned to watch as Tizzy danced madly around to the music and jabbed her fingers in the air. If she could enjoy herself like that, he thought, maybe he could get over the shock too.

  “Where did Tizzy come from?” he asked.

  “As far as she knows, I found her in a field of flowers,” Angela said.

  “But where, really?”

  The smile left Angela’s face. “In an alley, next to a Dumpster. In a bad country for abandoned babies.”

  There was no sound for a while except the music and Tizzy’s laughter. Then Angela leaned forward on the table, resting her chin on the back of one hand. She wore a ­single glove again, Donny noticed. This one was yellow to match her dress. At her wrist, where the glove ended, and half hidden by the ancient golden bracelet, her skin looked different. There it darkened to a purple-red shade and broke into a fine diamond pattern, like the scales of a fish or a reptile. A tattoo, Donny figured. She must have noticed him looking, because she tugged the glove farther up her wrist, hiding the design.

  “Speaking of origins,” she said, “I’d like to know why you were in that burning building.”

  Donny stared out the window. “Not now, okay?”

  “Right-oh,” Angela said. Arglbrgl whimpered and patted Donny’s hand.

  Cookie brought orange juice and a pot of tea to the booth where they sat, and then went behind the counter to make breakfast.

  “She seems nice,” Donny said.

  “She is,” Angela said. “Unless you were married to her. Then . . .” She drew a finger across her throat.

  “What? Wait, is she dead too?” asked Donny. It was hard to keep his voice down. He leaned over the table and whispered. “Are you telling me she’s dead, and she killed her husband?”

  “Husbands,” Angela replied, stressing the plural. “But don’t worry; you’re perfectly safe. She knows this is a sweet gig compared to the punishment she could be getting.”

  “But . . . how did she kill them?”

  “Poison, I think,” Angela said, not keeping her voice down in the least. She called over to Cookie. “Cookie, did you poison your husbands?”

  “Yes, dear,” Cookie said as she poured something from a little bottle into the batter. “Arsenic. But have no fear, I have seen the error of my ways.”

  Donny slumped back and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

  Angela dismissed him with a wave. “Don’t get your undies in a bunch. She’s an amazing chef. Try her chicken Marsala, and tell me it’s not worth the risk.”

  The pancakes came, still steaming, along with a pitcher of hot maple syrup and a bowl of whipped cream with chocolate shavings on top. Tizzy slid in beside Donny and dug in immediately. She didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects, so Donny started on his. The cakes were so good that he shoveled three down in under a minute. Tizzy made mmmmm sounds the whole time, and Arglbrgl tossed his into the air and caught them whole in his mouth.

  “So,” Angela said, pancakes stuffed in one cheek. “You feeling a little better now?”

  “I guess so,” Donny said. “I think I’m still . . . What’s the word? Processing.”

  Angela lifted the teapot. “You like?” Donny nodded. “I hope processing doesn’t take too long,” she said as she poured tea for both of them. “At some point I need you to help me with a chore.”

  “What chore? I don’t know what you mean.”

  She sipped her tea and looked at him over the top of the cup. “I didn’t rescue you just to be nice. I told you. I need some assistance now and then when I go topside.”

  Donny’s brow furrowed. She had used that word before. “Topside?”

  “Don’t be dense. I mean the mortal world. Earth.”

  “Oh.”

  Tizzy shivered. “Scary!”

  Donny stared at her. “You think Earth is scary? And this place isn’t?”

  “Eep!” Tizzy covered her eyes with her hands, smearing maple syrup on her forehead. “Superscary.”

  Donny shook his head. “I think you have it backward, Tizzy.”

  “Sulfur is all she knows,” Angela said, smiling at Tizzy. “But we’ll take another trip up there someday, right, darling? And you can be one of my special helpers?”

  Tizzy still had her eyes covered. She shook her head vigorously. “Too bright. Too many colors.”

  Angela laughed and patted her arm. “Don’t worry. Donny will help me. Won’t you, Donny?”

  He took a deep breath. Was he up for this? Whatever Angela had in mind? “But why do you need me? What do I have to do?”

  She sighed. “Do I really have to explain now? You’ll see. But it won’t be right away. I have some business down here first. In the meantime, I believe you need some orientation. I’ll have Zig-Zag show you the ropes.”

  “Zig-Zag?”

  “No better guide than Zig-Zag,” she said. “You always get both sides of the story.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Zig-Zag had two heads.

  His body was stocky, but his necks were extra-long and elevated his faces to a normal height. Donny tried not to stare, or at least not to let his mouth hang open like a fool when he looked Zig-Zag in the eyes. But it was a challenge to decide which eye to look at. There was one eye on the right side of the right head, and another on the left side of the left head, and the same went for the ears. There was a nose on each side as well, but more like half a nose, with only one nostril. On one head, the silvery, almost blue hair was combed straight back and knotted tightly behind. On the other, it was the wild, unkempt hair of a mad composer.

  But at least each head had a full mouth with which to speak. “Zig,” said the shaggy head on Donny’s right, with a nod and a smile. “Zag,” said the other, also nodding, but with less of a smile.

  “Donny.” He stuck his hand out in greeting by habit—something his father had always insisted on. Zig-Zag had his own hands clasped in front of him, and he stared down at Donny’s hand with wrinkled brows. Donny used the hand to wave awkwardly instead.

  “Z, will you kindly show my new friend Donny around the place and give him the basics?” Angela said. “I’ll need him back in a few hours, after council. Shall we say by two?” Among the buildings, one of the tallest was a soaring tower made of stone, with clocks as big as moons on all four sides. The hands pointed to almost nine—or at least, to where the nine would be on an ordinary clock but where some unreadable symbol was now.

  “Very well,” Zag said.

  Angela pinched Donny’s chin. “See you in a bit. Come on, you two,” she said to Tizzy and Arglbrgl. They trotted off, trying to keep up with Angela’s urgent stride. “Bye!” called Tizzy, and Arglbrgl shouted something incomprehensible.

  Donny was left with his new two-headed guide, who didn’t say anything for a while and just stared at Donny with both eyes.

  “Um. So you’re going to show me stuff?” Donny finally asked.

  “Yes,” Zig said. He tapped his lip with a finger. “I wonder where we should begin.”

  “The river, of course,” Zag said. “What could be more important?”

  “Hmmm,” Zig said. “I hate to admit when you are right.”

  “You rarely do.”

  “You rarely are. The River of Souls, then? To the source?”

  “Agreed. What do you say, young mortal?”

  “Oh. Um. Sounds great,” Donny said.

  “Follow,” said Zig, and the two-headed being set off. Just then a resounding deep-toned bell rang out. Zig-Zag stopped abruptly, and Donny nearly plowed into him from behind.

  “Ah! The bells of nine! Look that way, pupil
.” Zag pointed to somewhere in the distance ahead of them, and Donny watched the spot as the bells tolled off the hours. Gong . . . gong . . . gong . . .

  The bells finished, and as the echoes faded, Donny wondered if he were missing whatever it was he was supposed to see. There were holes in the ground ahead, like craters, of various sizes. He was about to ask what to look for when a bright glow filled the largest hole. His eyes widened as a column of fire slithered out and sprouted like an enormous tree. It twisted upward, growing limbs as it rose, and bloomed higher and higher toward the cavern ceiling.

  “What . . . uh, what?” was all Donny could squeak out.

  “The fire of illumination,” Zig said.

  “It lights our sky,” Zag said. “On a regular schedule. At six in the morning, a touch of light for dawn. At nine the full light of day, and by this evening the light will fade. What do you think?”

  “Amazing,” Donny replied. The fire looked like a gigantic oak by now, with a thick trunk and widely spread branches. Along the limbs clouds of fire blossomed, swelling in size until they broke from the stem and drifted away.

  “Shall we?” Zig asked. Zig-Zag walked, and Donny followed.

  “Do you have any questions?” Zig asked.

  Donny thought for a moment. “Do you know what this means: ‘When eight sleeps, it is forever’?”

  Zig and Zag exchanged glances and a smile. “Sounds like something Sooth would say,” said Zag.

  “Yeah,” Donny said with a chuckle.

  “That imp is mad,” said Zig.

  “Not entirely,” said Zag. “He has been known to foretell.”

  Zig snorted. “You will be mad too, young mortal, if you try to make sense of everything Sooth utters.”

  “Okay,” Donny said. He looked back at the clock tower. “How about this: Are your hours and days the same as ours?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?” asked Zag.

  “Well, we have days because of the sun. But you don’t have a sun down here. So why have days at all?”

  “Clever boy,” said Zig.

  “We have days because you mortals have days,” said Zag. “Our existence is tied to yours.”

  It was hard to figure out exactly how to talk to Zig-Zag, with two faces to consider. Donny decided he should look at the one who was currently speaking or had very recently spoken or was looking more in his direction. If none of those rules applied, he would glance from one to the other or find something else to look at altogether.

  “I have another question. What’s with all those worms?”

  Zig chuckled. “Ah, the worm herd. I heard about your misadventure.”

  “Before the Reform, the worms were in the Pit of Fire, tormenting the dead,” said Zag. “Now the pit is extinguished. The worms have nothing to do, so they wander around rather aimlessly. They are attracted to new smells, so they might have gotten a whiff of you. They’re harmless enough, though. If you let them sniff you, they’ll move on eventually.”

  Donny walked with Zig-Zag beyond the cluster of buildings at the base of Pillar Obscura. They were on a path that had been worn smooth and flat. At first he thought the surroundings were completely made of stone, but on closer inspection he realized it wasn’t true. Things grew here that looked like moss, fungus, or lichen. Most were dark gray or black, with maybe a hint of green, but there was an occasional mushroom that added a dash of color.

  The path out of town led to another, wider path that followed the river. Zig-Zag swept an arm across the vista. “The River of Souls,” Zag pronounced rather dramatically.

  “It’s . . . cool,” Donny said, staring at the water. Tendrils of mist hung over the flat surface. The river flowed in a channel carved into the stone, just a foot or two below the level of the cavern floor. A few bubbles rolled by and allowed him to see the leisurely current, not much faster than walking speed.

  “The first thing you should know,” Zig said, “is that it’s not for swimming.”

  Donny almost laughed. Jumping in was the last thing on his mind. “Because it’s cold?”

  Zag sniffed. “Because it would be disrespectful. Also, you would be devoured.”

  Donny jolted. “Devoured? You mean eaten? By what?”

  “Terrible, toothy things. You’ll see soon enough,” Zag said. Donny began having second thoughts about the tour, but he followed anyway as Zig-Zag led him beside the river, heading upstream. Donny kept to the far side of the road, away from the ominous waters.

  They were headed toward the end of the underworld, where it terminated in a giant, sheer wall of rock. At the base of the wall, the river flowed from an arched opening.

  A sound rang out from within the gap. It was a long, low, mournful horn, deep and resonant. “Hurry,” Zig said, and Zig-Zag walked quickly down the path to a bridge that arched high over the river. Donny followed them up onto the rounded span, where Zig-Zag stopped. They leaned on the stone balcony. “A barge is coming.”

  A thin mist wafted steadily out of the opening in the wall. Donny stared into it. The horn sounded again, much louder now, and the noise made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand and salute. Out of the dark archway, through the mist, the front of the barge appeared. A huge horn was mounted at the front, curving down to sit just above the water. Instead of a bell at the end, there was an oversize skull with a yawning mouth that boomed out the note. The horn was being sounded by a tall cloaked figure at the front rail.

  The rest of the barge drifted into view. There must have been a thousand people inside. They stood in rows twenty across, crammed in like cattle. Donny saw all sorts of faces, and all manner of clothing. The men outnumbered the women. They looked stunned or half asleep, blinking at their new surroundings or staring down at their hands and clothes or at one another.

  “Who are they?” Donny asked.

  “Arrivals,” said Zig.

  “Americans, I believe,” said Zag.

  “Could be Canadians,” ventured Zig.

  “The barge wouldn’t be so crowded,” countered Zag.

  Donny stared at the masses. “You mean, these are ­people who just . . . died? And ended up here?”

  “Thought that much was obvious,” Zag muttered.

  The boat drifted closer. From the bridge, Donny spotted a second cloaked figure who loomed above the crowd at the stern of the barge. He must have been nine feet tall, hidden utterly inside the loose-fitting cloak, the face invisible inside the shadows of the cowl.

  “Those are the ferrymen at the fore and aft,” Zig said, guessing Donny’s next question.

  The barge passed under the bridge. Most of the dead seemed to be in an almost hypnotic state, but a few were more alert. One woman looked up, gave the two-headed Zig-Zag a look of shock and surprise, and then focused on Donny. “You! Boy! Young man!” Donny gulped and pointed to himself. “Yes, you!” she cried. “What is this place? Where am I? What’s happening?”

  Donny’s mouth went dry. “I . . . um . . .”

  “You will learn all that soon enough,” Zag called down to the woman. She looked desperate, like she wanted to run, but it seemed as if her feet were rooted to the deck, and the only movement she could make was to turn her head. As the barge passed under the bridge, she was hidden from sight. Donny sighed with relief.

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  “Just who you would expect,” said Zig.

  “Murderers, thieves, beaters, cheaters, slavers, predators, polluters, extorters, exploiters,” said Zag.

  “The selfish, cruel, sadistic, malicious, greedy, corrupt, and uncaring,” said Zig.

  “That list is by no means complete,” said Zag.

  Donny watched as the dumbstruck dead floated downriver, gawking at the weird grandeur of Sulfur. “Where are they going?” he asked.

  “To their punishment,” said Zig.

  “T
o the wrong destination, if you ask me,” said Zag. “But come along. More to see.” Zig-Zag led Donny across the bridge, to the path on the other side of the river, and they walked to the arched opening that was the source of the river. Donny tilted his head and stared up, up, up to where the wall curved and merged with the ceiling full of stalactites.

  “So this is as far as we go?” Donny asked.

  “Hardly,” Zag said.

  “The really interesting part is still to come,” said Zig.

  Donny peered closer. “It looks dark in there.”

  “I have a vial of illuminating fire. But we probably won’t need it,” said Zag. There was a pocket in his garment, and he took out a baseball-size globe that was encased in a square golden cage and attached to a loop of chain. Inside the globe, a fireball swirled. “Would you like to wear it?”

  “Isn’t it hot?” asked Donny.

  “You have a lot to learn about the fires of Sulfur,” said Zag.

  “There are many kinds. This one illuminates but does not burn,” said Zig. Zig-Zag slipped the chain over ­Donny’s neck. Donny held the globe up and stared into the ball of fire. It looked like an explosion in superslow motion. “That is awesome,” he said.

  “If you find that awesome, your mind will barely ­handle what’s next,” Zig said.

  Zig-Zag led the way to the opening. Cool air whispered out, carrying an odd mingling of smells. Donny sniffed deeply and tried to puzzle it out. Something about the brew of odors made his stomach contract into a knot. It was dusty and musty, with a hint of formaldehyde and the antiseptic smell of hospitals. He detected flowers, freshly overturned earth, and whiffs of ash and decay.

  Zig-Zag stepped into the opening, and Donny followed. The path narrowed to a table’s width inside the crack. It was slender enough to make Donny nervous about tumbling into the black water. He stayed so close to the wall that his shoulder brushed the stone.