by Eric Nylund
“So how are we supposed to find the gate?” Fiona asked. “You said you’d take us there.”
“I said ‘I’d get you there.’ There’s a big difference.”
The road’s paving stones became a broken jumble. The trees looked dry and sickly and the grass was dead. Wind buffeted the unaerodynamic van. Iron gray clouds covered the sky.
“We’re almost there.” Dallas looked right and left, squinting.
“What are we looking for?” Eliot asked.
“Your guide. Someone dead always shows up for a true hero. They never get top billing in the stories, but Dante had Virgil, and Ulysses had Old One-Eye Farius who figured everything out for him.”
“But we don’t know anyone like that who’d help us,” Fiona told her. “I mean, no one that’s dead.”
Dallas perked up in her seat. “Then who’s that?”
She pointed to a clump of twisted trees and the person-shaped shadow standing there. It stepped out and waved at Dallas’s van.
69 BETRAYAL AT THE GATES OF PERDITION
Fiona squinted. She couldn’t see who this “spirit guide” was supposed to be.
Aunt Dallas eased the van to a halt and flicked on the headlights.
The person waiting outside was a man.
Robert jumped up, banging his head on the roof, but that didn’t slow him as he opened the side door, jumped out, and ran to the man.
It was Marcus Welmann-the middle-aged man who’d come to their old Del Sombra apartment on their fifteenth birthdays-the man who had taught Robert to be a League Driver-and the person who’d been killed by their mother. He’d also been nice enough to help them escape the Borderlands the first time they came here.
Mr. Welmann opened his arms and embraced Robert.
The two stayed like that as Fiona and the others climbed out of the van, and then Mr. Welmann released Robert and looked into his eyes.
Tears streaked Robert’s cheeks, something Fiona thought she’d never see. She wanted to look away; it was such an intensely personal moment, but Robert then turned to face them, smiling (and quickly wiping away any traces of those tears).
Mr. Welmann wore the same AC/DC T-shirt, camouflage pants, and sneakers they’d last seen him in. Did the dead ever change clothes?
“Marcus says he can get us to the Gates of Perdition,” Robert told them. “Open the thing, even, if we want.”
“Mr. Welmann,” Fiona said with a nod of greeting. “How’d you know we were coming?”
“Hi, kids.” Mr. Welmann bowed toward Dallas, and he added, “M’Lady.” He cleared his throat and straightened his shirt. “Remember how I said last time the dead are restless and get an itch to move on? Well, I got that feeling right after we parted ways.”
Robert shot Fiona an accusatory glance that could have melted cast iron.
She’d never told Robert about Uncle Kino’s kidnapping them and bringing them here, or about Mr. Welmann. But what was she supposed to say? Oh, Robert-by the way, Eliot and I were in the Land of the Dead yesterday and we bumped into your old teacher, the one our mother killed. That would’ve gone over well.
But Mr. Welmann had also asked her to pass along a warning to Robert: that whatever he was doing at Paxington, he was in over his head. That he should just ride away.
Between the relief at surviving that trip to the Borderlands, homework, and the dramas of gym class, though, it’d slipped her mind (Eliot’s too apparently).
That, and she and Robert hadn’t exactly been speaking to each other all year.
How had they ended up so far apart? What had started as her trying to protect him from the League by putting a little distance between them. . had become a huge rift. She wasn’t sure if they were even friends at this point.
“I felt pulled here.” Mr. Welmann looked toward the darkening skies farther into the Borderlands. “It’s not exactly the direction I had thought I’d be going.” He shrugged. “But I figured it couldn’t hurt too much to take a look-see.”
He clapped Robert on the shoulder. “When you guys showed up, I knew it was right. Like fate or something?” His gaze drifted to Dallas, and he raised an eyebrow.
Dallas shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that exactly. Hang on a sec.” She rummaged under the driver’s seat and got a purple day pack with a stenciled peace sign. She tossed it to Mr. Welmann. “A few things I’d packed for emergencies: granola bars, water, first aid kit-stuff like that.”
Mr. Welmann hefted the tiny pack (which seemed heavy). “Thanks.”
It was odd that Mr. Welmann got a “feeling” and came here just when they needed him. Coincidence? Aunt Dallas trusted him. . but Fiona didn’t know.
Dallas looked back to Elysium Fields and cocked her head. “If you’re going to do this, you better move. I hear him coming.”
“Kino,” Mr. Welmann muttered. “Not someone to tangle with.”
Fiona strained to hear, but heard only the wind.
“Go-” Dallas made little shooing motions. “I’ll drive around and leave false tracks for that old sourpuss.”
“Oh, Eliot, wait.” Dallas leaned close to him and whispered. Eliot nodded, and then she kissed him on the forehead.
“This way,” Mr. Welmann said, hefting the pack over his shoulder. “I know a shortcut.” He bowed once more to Dallas (she curtsied back this time) and then he marched toward a forest of dead trees.
Robert followed, and so did Eliot.
Fiona looked back to Dallas for some encouragement or parting words of wisdom, but her aunt’s attention was firmly fixed on the Borderlands. Without another word, Dallas climbed in the van and drove off.
The scant sunlight (and a fair amount of Fiona’s courage) faded with her aunt’s departure.
“Let’s go,” Fiona muttered to Jeremy and Sarah and Amanda-all three of them suddenly looking less thrilled by Eliot’s quest.
Nonetheless, they followed Mr. Welmann into the forest.
“What’d she tell you?” Fiona asked Eliot.
He looked away. “It was personal.”
Probably some advice on how to get a girl not to hate you-Eliot desperately needed that.
Fiona itched all over. She didn’t want to be here, either. This was beyond stupidity; Eliot was going to get them killed. . which was precisely why she had to go along: to make sure that didn’t happen, dragging him back unconscious and bleeding if that’s what it took.
But Fiona swore it was the last time she’d get him out of trouble of his own making.
They trod upon a crooked path through the forest. Overhead a few stars appeared through the tangle of skeletal branches. Fiona didn’t recognize any constellations; the points of light seemed smaller and colder than they should have been.
The dead forest ended at the edge of a dry lake bed. The earth was cracked and blasted, and volcanic ash spiraled into whirlwinds. A hundred yards from here, the land fell away-plunged miles down to the lava fields of Hell. The sky was coal black, but beyond the cliff’s edge, the horizon glowed like a furnace.
Amanda stood transfixed, staring at the roiling thermals and flashes of fire.
There was, thankfully, a fence between them and Hell. It looked as if a monolithic dinosaur had crawled onto the edge of the cliff, clung there, and then perished, leaving curved femurs and rib bones and talons that made a gigantic tumble of a barrier. For good measure, someone had added rolls of concertina wire (bits of cloth and flesh clinging to its spurs) along the top.
Set in the center of this fence stood the Gates of Perdition. They were bronze and rusted steel, gears and cogs and worn filigreed hinges oxidized blue-green. Spikes bristled from every surface. There were six combination locks. . some thimble tiny, others that you’d need both hands to turn.
Only a certified crazy person would try to open this thing.
“So how do we open it?” Eliot whispered to Mr. Welmann.
“I can do it.” Mr. Welmann ran a hand over his beard-stubbled face. “Then I’ll jam the lock so it doe
sn’t shut. It’d be a heck of a mess if we got stuck on the other side.”
“How exactly are you going to open it?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Mr. Welmann’s bushy eyebrows bunched. “But I know I can. Like I knew to wait for you and your brother. I think dead heroes are supposed to be able to get into Hell”-he swallowed-“unfortunately.”
Fiona heard the rumble of approaching thunder.
She turned.
Headlights pierced the haze of volcanic ash-far away, but they turned and vanished.
Robert closed his eyes and concentrated. “V-8,” he said.
Mr. Welmann nodded. “That’s a three hundred ten horsepower V-8,” he corrected. “Specifically from a black 1957 Cadillac Eldorado Brougham.”
“Kino’s car?” Fiona asked.
Robert slipped on his brass knuckles.
“Don’t even think about it,” Mr. Welmann warned Robert. “Your aunt might be crazy enough to play chicken with Kino in that van of hers. . but even she wouldn’t dare tangle with the Lord of the Dead on his home turf.”
Amanda trembled. “I don’t know about this anymore,” she whispered.
Jeremy and Sarah shared a worried glance, and then Jeremy gave his cousin a slight shake of his head.
“Get to the Gate and you’re safe,” Mr. Welmann told them. “It’s Infernal property. Kino’s not allowed to cross or even touch it. Just step across, and you’ll have all the time you’ll need to figure this out.”
Amanda paled and looked sick-caught between the gates of Hell and the Lord of the Dead.
Eliot glowered at them, maybe understanding that everyone was coming to their senses and support for his crazy plan was faltering.
“Okay, listen up,” Fiona said. “We run for the gate. Eliot and Marcus-take point. Amanda you keep up with me. After us, Jeremy, Sarah, and Robert bring up the rear and yell if you see those headlights.”
This felt like a gym match: Fiona providing the strategy and Team Scarab pulling together to overcome a series of insane obstacles. It was as if they’d trained for this all year. Maybe there was something, after all, to Mr. Ma’s methods.
She glanced over her shoulder. If this didn’t work, if Kino got to them, it’d be best to scatter. She would make a stand and face him while the others got back to the forest.
“Go,” Fiona ordered.
They sprinted for the gate (probably the first people in all history to actually run toward the entrance to Hell!), and then skidded to a halt before its closed doors. Six dial combination locks (the largest the size of a hubcap, descending to one the size of a dime) were set into a precise dotted line next to the Gate’s massive bronze handle.
Far away headlights reappeared in the haze. . turned to the right and then the left, and then crept forward.
“Hurry,” Fiona whispered.
Mr. Welmann spun the combination lock dials-one by one, using both hands, not even pausing-then he stopped them and spun them the other way. “My birthday,” he muttered. “Those lucky lotto numbers. . license plate of my first car. .”
He finished with the first, largest combination.
There was a click and a series of pings that resonated throughout the metal.
Fiona looked for the headlights. They were gone. A bit of luck, maybe.
Mr. Welmann stopped four more dials in quick succession and they clicked into place.
Fiona heard the ratcheting of large wheels, squealing and groaning as if they hadn’t been oiled for centuries.
An engine’s roar made the air tremble.
Fiona jumped as high beams flicked on and illuminated the Gate.
The Cadillac had crept up to them, lights off. It was a hundred yards away, now peeling out straight toward them.
Amanda clung to Eliot.
Eliot tried to shrug Lady Dawn off his shoulder and maneuver it around, but Amanda was in the way.
Jeremy and Sarah stepped forward, though, faces rigid with concentration. They held up their hands-waved them as if performing some sleight of hand stage magic.
Dust and ash filled the air, and the grit congealed into a pane of mirrored glass between them and Kino’s car.
The Cadillac fishtailed to a stop, momentarily confused by the appearance of another pair of headlights racing toward it on a headlong crash trajectory.
“Nice work,” Fiona said. For once, she was glad the two pain-in-the-rear conjurors were on her team.
But that trick wouldn’t fool Kino long.
Mr. Welmann clicked the last dial in place.
The Gate’s internal mechanisms hissed steam and sparked. A seam appeared and one side opened wide enough for a single person to squeeze through.
On the other side a rocky path zigged and zagged toward and over the cliff. Far below, lava geysered, rivers of molten rock snaked, and volcanoes belched smoke.
All they had to do was cross over-shut the door (but not completely)-and they’d be safe from Uncle Kino. But Fiona decided this was crazy dangerous. . and they hadn’t even gotten to Hell yet! So, she’d wait until Kino left, and then she’d abort Eliot’s rescue mission, and get them out of here (dragging her brother out by his ears if necessary).
But Fiona couldn’t move.
Her feet rooted to the earth, and fear chilled her despite the furnace heat that billowed through from Hell.
No-she was a goddess, the daughter of Death. She was scared. . but fear would have to wait.
“Move,” she whispered, and ushered Amanda to the opening.
But Amanda dug in her heals and stopped.
Robert stepped up and slipped one arm around her. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this,” he told Amanda.
She nodded. Together they crossed over.
“Mr. Welmann,” Fiona whispered. “Jam the lock. Eliot, get your guitar ready. We might need cover.”
Eliot and Mr. Welmann passed through.
She glanced back. Kino’s Cadillac sat there idling, not getting any closer.
Fiona inched toward the gate. Her shoes crunched over desiccated soil. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and stepped to the other side.
She exhaled and blinked.
It was hot, as if someone had opened the oven door and she stood in front of it. Not hot enough to blister, not quite. Hot enough, though, to make her instantly thirsty and sticky with sweat.
Mr. Welmann reached into the exposed lock mechanism. “I think I see it,” he said. “Give me a second.”
Jeremy and Sarah lingered on the Borderland side. Sarah frantically whispered to her cousin-not frightened. She looked agitated.
“Come on, hurry!” Fiona called to them.
Jeremy stepped up to the slight opening. His blond hair was plastered with perspiration. He grinned-and pulled Sarah behind him. She cried out in pain as he wrenched her arm.
Jeremy threw himself against the Gates of Perdition-
— and slammed it shut.
Mr. Welmann jerked his hand out of the gate’s mechanism just before there was a series of clacks. . as its locks clicked into place.
They were trapped in Hell.
SECTION VII. WAR IS HELL
70 MISSTEPS IN THE BLASTED LANDS
Eliot banged on the gate. The gears of locking mechanism, the web of filigree, and the impenetrable mass of bronze-none of it budged.
And why should it? It had withstood the frenzied pounding of damned souls on this side for countless millennia.
He had a feeling it would stand until the end of time.
“Tell me you jammed the lock,” he whispered to Mr. Welmann.
“Sorry, kid.” Mr. Welmann wiggled his fat fingers. “I was lucky to get my arm out in time.”
Why had Jeremy slammed the gate on them? It didn’t make sense. Eliot turned. Still, they had gotten here. . and this is where he wanted to be, wasn’t it?
Not quite. This place was as different from Jezebel’s Poppy Lands as you could get. The horizon wavered in the raw heat. There was no sun. Dull red li
ght shone from below the edge of the cliff a dozen paces from the gate.
Eliot shucked off his Paxington jacket, already drenched in sweat.
Robert had his off, too. Amanda had her arms crossed protectively over her chest, jacket and all, as if she were cold. . or maybe in shock.
The air had an iron taste and it made his lungs burn. The ground was ash and dust and pumice. There were footprints. . lots of them, and Eliot swallowed, remembering the dozens on this side that had stormed the gate the first time he and Fiona had been here.
Where were all those dead now?
“W-what do we do now?” Amanda whimpered. She stood next to Fiona, her back to the gate, trying to stay close to the edge of Hell, as if she stood right on the line, maybe no one would notice she was on the wrong side.
Fiona pounded on the gate. Her jaw clenched. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” she said. “We’re going to kill them when we get back to school.”
“We don’t know why Jeremy shut the gate,” Eliot said. It felt wrong to defend Jeremy, but Fiona’s reaction was so violent. “Maybe he saw Kino coming and closed it to protect us.”
“Sarah looked so”-Amanda search for the right words-“surprised. I don’t think she knew why, either.”
“Doesn’t matter why,” Robert said. “The Covingtons will either get caught by Kino, get away clean, or. . if I know Jeremy, he’ll talk his way out of trouble. But they’re on the other side. We’re here.” He hucked a rock over the edge of the cliff. “On our own.”
“Better scout around,” Mr. Welmann told him.
Robert nodded. He pulled out his Glock 29 and inched toward the cliff.
“I know why he did it,” Fiona said. “He’d wanted to reorganize Team Scarab. Now he can go back and say there is no more Team Scarab. He and Sarah can transfer to a team with a better ranking. Smart-in a cold-blooded killer sort of way.”
“Jeremy is crazy competitive,” Eliot replied, “but he wouldn’t. .”
He couldn’t finish that thought, because it felt like a lie. What wouldn’t Jeremy do to make sure he graduated? Suddenly Eliot wasn’t so sure he was beyond murdering them.
