by R.N. Decker
Chapter 5
Part 1
Hitcha Again
Pax headed in the general direction of the mill. He didn’t want to go there, not because he didn’t want to see his parents, or Pug, but because he was afraid he would bring bad tidings on them. He knew the Dark forest was close to the mill and he needed to find the witch of the woods to be able to pinpoint the exact location to the entrance to Hell. For three weeks he walked and labored at odd jobs, making his way to the Forest. On a morning like all the others, sunny and bright, a slight southerly wind blowing the smell of fresh cut hay to his nostrils, he saw a dark cloud on the horizon. It was most strange. It was unlike any cloud he could remember seeing. He’d seen storms roll in from the mountains to the north, coming in from the high ranges, blowing storms in from every description, but this was a cloud of blackest soot, and carrying with it the smell of smoke and brimstone. Off to the left of the strange cloud, just skirting the edges he saw nestled at the base of a giant willow tree, a small cabin. Either the willow sheltered the cabin from the cloud, or the winds prevented it from obscuring it. But either way, the cloud never moved, and it didn’t drop a single drop of water, as any normal cloud would. Most strange.
From a distance the sight of the cabin and the tree looked no more than a mile away, but it took Pax nearly three hours to reach it. It seemed time and distance weren’t the same here as in other parts of the realm. As he approached, on the small breeze that blew his hair, he smelled a stronger stench of flame and brine. But he could see no fire. Nothing he smelled could suggest what his nose told him was happening. But his eyes told a story his heart would never forget; plants, trees, grass, even the rocks littering the ground around the small shack were gray and lifeless. Pax knew even rocks could show the spark of life God had given them when the world was made, but in these he could find none. Trees of every description showed signs of disease and decay, bushes at this time of year were usually glad of the sun and water that ran upon them, but not here. The dusky sight of death was everywhere. It hadn’t reached a point where it couldn’t be stopped, but it was there none-the-less. It was as if the world had gone so far, then slowed to a stop; near death, but not quite making it all the way. Disease of the soul rather than death of the body.
Pax shivered.
The rundown cabin, or shack, nestled under the willow wasn’t any better; weeds and mosses should have been tucked into every nook and cranny, but there was no sign. Even the basic levels of any life were absent from this place. Yet, Pax felt there was somebody who lived here, or at the least made it their temporary home. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but a strange sense of being watched crept over him as he stood at the door.
True to his feelings, moments after arriving, the door slowly swung open revealing a black hole. No sunlight made it into the depths of the opening, no dust stirred as the door moved, and no one stood at the mouth of the black cave.
“Come,” said a voice from the darkness. “We have much to talk about.”
Pax wasn’t one to be frightened, usually he showed nothing but joy and happiness, but looking into the depths of the cabin and seeing nothing but blackness made him shiver for the second time.
Part 2
Why
Pax watched the old woman without speaking. He was sitting on a rickety chair in front of the small fire place watching as the old woman went about preparations of making a meal. At the moment, she was bent over a small black pot suspended over a fire, slowly stirring its contents, occasionally adding a pinch of spices. The smell made his mouth water and his stomach rumble. In the past week he’d only eaten sporadically, not able to find many who would allow him to work for even a meal.
The old woman looked behind her at the lad and said, “You have come far, and you have far yet to go. Why do you do this thing?”
Pax shrugged his shoulders and grinned at the woman. “To see my wife again.”
“Ah, your wife,” said Hitcha. “The spawn of the Devil Kharon.”
Pax stiffened. How did she know Europa was the daughter of the king. I said nothing.
Hitcha grinned at the youth. “Do not be surprised, boy. I know many things. The bones tell me much, and I am not stupid. I have ears and eyes. What you say tells me as much as what you do not.” She continued to stir the contents of the pot.
Pax waited.
The old woman ladled a small portion of the pots contents into a wooden bowl and brought it to the le. Sitting it in front of the youth she said, “Eat. After we will talk more.” She turned her back and returned to the pot and its bubbling brew.
Pax just looked at the bowl.
Hitcha smiled and chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s only stew. Rabbit, squirrel, pieces of carrot and a few spices. No potatoes, but hardy none-the-less.” She began to stir the pot once again. “It will fill your empty stomach enough so you’ll have the strength to go on.”
Pax smelled the stew and sighed. Smells good. I could probably eat a horse, so this couldn’t be any worse.
Part 3
Direction
Pax waited. He couldn’t quite make out what this woman was about. He knew the stories of her from others who had met her and even done some business with her, but this was his first time to meet her face to face. But, although he’d never met her, he felt somehow he should know her. Something in her called to him. It was very strange.
Hitcha watched the young man as closely as he was apparently watching her. She smirked thinking of his birth and his mother. The child born with a caul. The child born with the favor of the one god. And she also saw all the things in him now she’d seen those many years ago from reading the bones, a strong face, a kind heart, and a depth of feeling that would make for a strong willed and compassionate person. And underneath it all was a hint of mischief. The kind of mischief that could either kill him or help him.
“You must go to the edge of the forest to find what you seek,” spoke Hitcha. “Only there will you find the entrance to Hell.”
Pax nodded. How does she know where I go? “I’ve heard the stories. But how do I find it?”
Hitcha smirked again. “Simple. You must go through the last two leading towns bordering the forest and cross the standing river.”
“Towns?”
Hitcha nodded. “Yes.”
Pax was confused. There are many towns from here to the river.
Hitcha answered his unspoken question. “You’ll know which they are. They are the only one’s skirting the edge of the forest.”
Pax’s mouth fell open. How does she do that?
Hitcha chuckled. “It’s not hard to figure out what you’re thinking, boy. You are on a quest to find the Devil. That is not the problem. Most who go seeking him find him. Your problem will be coming back whole, with your skin intact and still sane.”
Pax grinned an almost evil grin. “I’ll come back all right. I just need to know where to go.”
Hitcha shrugged. “As I said, just follow the edge of the woods. You’ll eventually find what you seek.”
Pax stood from the chair and thanked the old woman. At the door to the shack he turned to look at the old crone. “From the moment I came into your home, I’ve had the feeling I know you. Do I?”
Hitcha didn’t answer. She merely watched and waited, looking into the young man’s eyes. Reading the gentle soul under them she said, “Go, and good luck.”
Pax turned and was gone.
Hitcha sat at her small rickety le all night without going to her bed, thinking of the cauled boy who had been blessed by God, and praying for his success. She had never believed in more than one God, for she knew none existed but Him, but she also knew any help the boy could get he’d need.
Chapter 6
Part 1
Three Roses
To find the entrance to Hell and retrieve the Devil’s three golden hairs, Pax had to first travel a great distance. Hell was not a place in which one could simply hire a horse and travel to in a day. It was a
long and arduous and taxing journey. And in his many months of wandering across the kingdom of his birth, he’d encountered wondrous things; the home of a mother of fifteen who would gladly have taken him in, just to see his smile every morning when she woke; a woodcarver he met at the edge of the forest trail who could carve anything with a simple blade, standing by his newest creation of a giant bear guarding the gates to Heaven; a family of deer which weren’t afraid of the sight of man, who walked up to him, allowing him to stroke their coats, which made him feel small in the eyes of God; and many more.
And he’d seen hideous things he wished he could forget; a stream running with the color of blood, which had spawned a nightmarish salmon the size of a man, its bloated body seeping blackish fluids from every pore; a man with a cloth over his forehead, when asked why it was there, he revealed a bloody seeping third eye underneath; and such monstrosities he couldn’t name which came from the nature of evil.
But one such encounter stuck in his mind the most; the day he found three red roses growing in the middle of a boulder. The sight was so strange and wonderful at the same time he had no words to convey his astonishment. They simply grew from the rock itself. The gray stone, which looked as if it had been there since the world was made, as big as a man, as wide as a wagon, simply surrounded the shoots which housed the roses. For three hours he stood in front of the boulder marveling at the sight. And somehow it comforted him. The three raised roses throwing their heads to the sky reminded him of why he was there in the first place; the three golden hairs.
The next day he found the first of the two cities the old mother had told him about. The first sign he was on the right track.
Part 2
Asine
The town, which Pax found out later was named Asine, was surrounded by a giant fence made of spike trees. Leaning against the gates of the town was a guard, who held in his hand a sword. A sword which had been used quite often by the looks, low slung on the man’s hip, ready to be drawn at the slightest provocation. The blade wasn’t as clean as the palace guards swords in Tyre, or as well kept, but looked keen none-the-less.
The guard perked up quickly at the sight of Pax. Sure enough, the man drew his sword before addressing him. “Who are you? What do you want here?”
Pax stopped thirty paces from the man with his hands outstretched and said, “I’m just passing through. I mean no harm to you or anyone in your town.”
“Where do you go?” asked the guard, relaxing slightly after getting a better look at Pax and seeing nothing but what he perceived as a harmless boy.
“Just past your town. Nowhere special. I’m seeing where the road will take me.” Pax figured it would not do him any good to tell anyone where he was truly going or why. In fact, he had a sneaky suspicion the knowledge could get him killed. He hated lying, but it was better than being dead.
The no-name guard – Pax never bothered to ask - asked him, “What is your trade? What do you know? Maybe the council which governs this town could use you.”
Pax grinned a wicked grin. “I know many things. I am wheelwright, millwright, stone mason, and tree carver. I even have been a farm boy and sle-hand. I know some things and nothing and everything in-between.” He bowed mockingly to the guard with his grin stretching his face.
At this the guards face came alive with the light of an idea. Pax could clearly see it.
“If you know so much, of which I am doubtful, but hopeful too, can you tell me why the fountain in the center of our town, which once flowed with wine, now gives us nothing, not even the comfort of clear water?”
Pax bowed again to the man and said, thinking fast so to keep him occupied, “Sadly I do not, but I can find the answer for you and bring it when I return this way again, if you but let me pass.”
Part 3
Miletus
Pax gladly left the town of Asine and headed on his way again. He didn’t take the guard up on his offer to stay the night or see the fountain in which he’d spoken. The sooner he was on his way again in the direction of Hell, the better for him and his life. He missed terribly the sight of his lovely wife Europa, and her gentle smile. The sooner he got back to her the better.
It seemed in a mere night he came upon the second town on the road to the Devil, although his feet told him he’d traveled more than a week.
Just as the first, the town was surrounded by a giant wall. This time made of stone instead of trees. And just like the first, there was a guard waiting for him when he walked to the gates. This man, however, was not holding a sword, instead he carried with him a pike of immense size. The shaft of the gigantic instrument must have been twenty feet long and the broad sword at the end three feet. It looked as if it could easily swipe away his legs without slowing for the bone it would encounter there.
Pax stopped just short of the guard, waiting for him to say something.
“Who are you? Why do you come here?” asked the guard with the gigantic pike.
Pax put his best smile on again and answered as he did with the first. “I’m just passing through. I mean no harm to you or anyone in your town.”
“Where do you go?” asked the guard, brandishing the pike toward Pax’s stomach.
Pax cocked his head. “Nowhere special. I’m seeing where the road leads me.”
This guard was a little bit more intelligent than the first Pax surmised. The light in his eyes shone with more than just hate and anger, it shone with wonder and craving of the unknown. Anything that would break up the monotony of just waiting at a gate, was a surprise and delight to this fellow. And Pax could see in his eyes he craved to be doing the same thing; leaving. This realization made Pax’s smile even broader.
“What is your trade? What do you have to offer? Maybe we could use you here,” said the man, not truly believing any of it, merely reciting what he was told to ask of any stranger. Pax could see that also. The man was bored and not too thrilled to be where he was.
Pax dipped his leg in a courteous court jester stance and said happily, “I know everything and nothing at all. I have lived in many places in my short time on this great Earth, and have seen many strange and wondrous things. I can tell you such stories that would make you laugh with delight and cry as a babe in its mother’s arms.”
The light in the guards eyes brightened at these words. Pax could see it like a flame lights a wick on a candle.
“If you know so much, which I am doubtful, can you tell me why the tree in our cities center, which once grew golden apples, no longer buds even with leaves?”
Pax smiled a smile that would have made the angels sing. This fellow isn’t as smart as I once gave him credit for. I just have to get passed him. Pax shook his head. “Sadly, no. But I can find the answer for you and your good town, and give it to you when I return this way again, if you but let me pass.”
Part 4
To Cross the Styx
In this part of the country of Tyre, Pax found un-explainable things happen often. From freak weather patterns, to crop failures, to droughts that lasted for years, although rain had fallen just days earlier not two miles away. The ground cracked and seethed every morning and the sun dimmed as if blocked by a cloud although it wasn’t cloudy. His nerves had taken a turn for the worse when a farmer, for no reason, chased him off his land yelling he had brought bad luck to him and his crops. What crops? It is nothing but sand and cracked earth wherever I turn.
And without notice, without warning, a river came into view. One moment land as far as the eye could see, the next, over a slope in the earth, a river. A river which looked sick and decaying, lifeless and ill. Going through the farmers pasture, following the edge of the forest, Pax had seen or heard nothing to make him think there was water anywhere nearby. He hadn’t smelled anything either. Usually one smelled water long before one saw the body itself. But this time . . . nothing.
Ahead of him and slightly to the north, just past a bend in the river, skirting the treeline and the sandy pasture land, was a ferry
tied at the shoreline. Standing on it and holding a pole was a man of about fifty years of age, scraggly beard, weather worn and beat down. His eyes squinted when he looked Pax’s way causing him to appear eyeless and skeletal. His hands, little more than bones covered in a light film of flesh were cracked and nearly raw from holding his pole. The ferry, if one could call it that, was more a boat than an actual ferry. The sides were slightly higher than a canoe or river schooner, and possibly three to four feet wider, and the stern and prow of the vessel sloped upwards, ending in wood carvings of skulls. The closer Pax came to it, the more he shivered.
Approaching the craft, Pax noticed littering the ground around the ferry’s moorings were fish bones and small carcasses of animals.
Pax stopped just short of the first mooring line. Looking down, at what he thought was rope holding the craft to the bank of the river, was actually three bleached white leg bones connected by leather thongs. Gulping audibly, then looking at the ferryman, he had no intention of asking if they were human.
In a gravelly voice, worn and frail, the ferryman confronted Pax. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Pax made a slight bow, never taking his eyes from the shadowy man. “I am but a traveler. I want to cross to the other side, to see where the road will take me.” No sense in advertising what his true intentions were.
The ferryman wheezed a deep laugh from his gullet and barked, “The other side! There is nothing there, boy. There is but death and decay and the souls of lost men and women on the other side. You will find nothing but Hell itself if you cross the Styx.” He looked over his shoulder at the calm waters of the stagnant and ill river.
