Satan's Mirror

by Roxanne Smolen

  Her words spurred Gun to look around. He went to Starshine, embracing her.

  Down the hill, the hounds relinquished the stragglers and bounded toward the crowd at the top. Before Emily could stand, the beasts were among them. She froze, still on one knee, her hand outstretched. Eyes closed, she concentrated on taking shallow breaths.

  The hellhounds circled their perimeter, growling, their paws raking the stone. Emily’s experience told her they had limited eyesight and no real sense of smell. But their hearing was acute. She had no doubt the hounds heard the thunder of their combined heartbeats. She willed everyone to hold still, prayed they wouldn’t panic and run.

  But even as she thought it, someone broke ranks. Emily heard running feet, heard the scrabble of the dogs’ paws as they took chase. A man screamed—and kept screaming. Emily couldn’t see what was happening, but she heard the repeated crack of bone.

  Under cover of the diversion, she drew back her hand, reaching beneath her coat for her knife. Her fingers brushed the water skein tucked in her waistband. A desperate notion struck her—if she shifted to the right, she could reach one of the gas-spewing fissures.

  With infinitesimal slowness, she capped a gas jet with the goat bladder. It filled instantly, expanding into a lopsided ball. She released it, and the balloon rose. The wind carried it along the ridge. It bobbed ten feet in the air, trailing its leather straps.

  A dog barked. Emily heard another scrabble. From the corner of her eye, she saw dogs chase the floating bladder, yipping and leaping, becoming distant. She relaxed her shoulders, wanting to collapse in relief.

  Hot breath touched her cheek. Moving only her eyes, Emily saw the grotesque face of a hellhound inches from her own. Its lip curled, revealing gleaming fangs. With more force than she realized she was capable of, Emily thrust her knife upward through the beast’s chin, pinning the jaws shut. Blood sprayed from its slotted nostrils. She twisted the blade, shoving it farther. The dog’s eyes glazed.

  Face to face, Emily said, “You are an ugly sonovabitch.”

  She jerked the knife free. The dog teetered. Blood poured down its chest. Brother leapt forward, catching the creature in the tines of his pitchfork and flinging it off the ridge. It tumbled, limp as a ragdoll, finally coming to rest halfway down the slope.

  Starshine streaked after it. She skidded over the loose rock, bowling into the beast. With a bird-beak knife in each hand, she hacked at the carcass. Gun ran after her.

  Emily snatched up her bow and jumped to her feet, searching for stray hellhounds. The dogs were gone. People stared at her as if dumbfounded.

  “Do you still deny you are the Dark Angel?” Brother said, stepping beside her.

  Whispers escaped the group like steam. Emily shot Brother an aggrieved look.

  A short distance away, a man squirmed upon the ground. His mangled limbs ended in tatters. She started forward, and the crowd parted reverently. By the time she reached the man, she was thoroughly irritated.

  “Give me the fur,” she told Brother.

  She didn’t know why she did it—perhaps she was so miffed at him for naming her a dark angel in front of people she wanted to punish him.

  But he complied without hesitation. He even helped roll the injured man in the hide. She wondered if he’d be so accommodating if she asked him to give up the pitchfork.

  “The skin will protect him from ashes and bugs,” she said in a voice that implied a warning to the others. “Harpies and hellhounds won’t notice he’s human. It’s safe to leave him here.”

  She glanced down the hillside where Gun attempted to subdue Starshine. With a nod to Brother, she took off at a trot, skidding down the slope toward them.

  Blood spattered and sobbing, Starshine continued to stab the dead hound.

  “Stop it!” Gun snatched at her flailing arms. “We need that pelt.”

  Emily placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. As if she’d thrown a switch, Starshine crumpled, dropping her knives and covering her face, weeping. Emily pulled her into her arms, not knowing what to say, afraid anything she did would make things worse.

  She held her close, her eyes on the line of people watching from the ridge.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Emily skinned the hellhound, salvaging much of the pelt. She cut the hide into strips to swathe their feet and fashioned loincloths from the remnants. All the while, a line of people watched from atop the ridge.

  “Why are they waiting?” she muttered. “Why don’t they just go?”

  “They never saw anything quite like you,” Gun said. “You are hope. You’re our salvation. You are—”

  “Wasting time.” Emily sheathed her knife. “Let’s keep moving.”

  She led the way up the next incline, away from the disconcerting stares. The rock turned porous and rough, and the air darkened with smoke. She continued forward, whispering April’s name with every other step, skidding down each ravine and scaling the other side, her head light and her lungs heavy. She paused only once, when Brother lost his footing and tumbled backward several feet. It was then she realized the four of them were covered in soot.

  The hills became crags of volcanic rock, their edges sharp and biting. Ahead, the horizon shone like an aura. Red sparks arced into the air. Only they couldn’t be sparks. She was too far away to see anything that small.

  A whoosh sounded overhead, like fireworks rocketing into the sky.

  “Hell stones.” Brother grimaced.

  Emily nodded with sudden comprehension. They were lava bombs. She saw them once while doing a story on an active volcano in Guatemala. Back when she still dreamed of being a real journalist. “Look up when you hear the sound,” she said, “but don’t run until you see where it’s going to hit.”

  She climbed to the next ridge, buffeted by winds that blew in waves of hot and cold. Night was falling. The thought filled her with apprehension. Gun said hell froze solid at night. What happened to the people? Did they freeze, too—trapped like unblinking ice sculptures awaiting the day? She had to find April before that happened.

  “Look out!” Starshine pointed at a burning rock the size of a soccer ball shooting like a comet toward them.

  “Keep your eyes on it,” Emily said. “Wait. Now move over here!” She pulled them to the side.

  The lava bomb struck with a small explosion about twenty feet away. Flames and chards of rock flew. Thick, burning mud patched the impact crater. The heat it generated was both surprising and alarming.

  “Let’s hurry to the next ridge,” Emily said. “I think we’re better off where we can see them coming.”

  Before they crossed the ravine, however, the sky opened in a storm of flaming gravel. Emily pulled up her hood and turned her back to the brunt of it, holding out her coat to help shield the others. Hail peppered her, bounding from her shoulders and head, throwing her off balance.

  As abruptly as it started, the storm stopped. Emily straightened, shaking off her coat. Pea-sized gravel covered the ground, smoldering and smoking. She wrinkled her nose. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Thanks to you.” Brother’s eyes were wide and white in the dark shadow of the hills.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  They reached the next pinnacle. Below, wraith-like beings glided over the ground. These were the caretakers Chastity warned about—creatures who came out at night to tidy the landscape. If a person became too injured to move, they touched them with a wand and disintegrated them. The caretakers were hooded and gowned in white gossamer, looking like ghosts. They did not appear to have feet, and Emily wondered if they rode something, perhaps a flying scooter, to give the floating effect.

  The caretakers moved on. Emily hurried forward again. After climbing two more hills, she got her first look at the lake of fire. An enormous orange fissure split the ground, running left to right farther than she could see. Spurts of boiling lava rose fifty feet into the air, and jets of reddened steam shot to the clouds.

  “Impos
sible,” Emily whispered. She would never get across. She might as well give up now.

  Through the haze, she made out the shape of a castle on the other side. The outline became clearer as she stared—turrets and towers and balconies. Like a fairytale—or a horror movie.

  Her daughter waited there. Suddenly the fire pit seemed just another obstacle.

  “How did you get across?” she asked, turning to face the others. “You must have got over the lake because you all started out in the castle.”

  “I worked on a rock gang,” Gun said. “That’s where I met Star.” He motioned toward the fissure. “You can’t see it from here, but there are all sorts of ledges and land bridges inside the pit. The demons have people taking rocks from one side to the other and back again. They use whips and pitchforks to keep us moving. Sometimes they throw people over the edge into the lava where I guess they burn for eternity.”

  “How did you get away?” Emily asked.

  “Guards patrol the banks. Star and I waited for the way to clear, and we ran. Looking back, I don’t think they were all that fussed about us leaving. I mean, we can’t actually escape.”

  Emily looked at Brother. “Were you in a rock gang?”

  “No. I walked around the lake. It seemed to take a lifetime.”

  “I don’t have time to go around, and I can’t risk capture.” Emily ran a hand over her grimy face.

  She thought about the caretakers, picturing the way they glided over the ground. If they were riding some sort of vehicle, and if she could get hold of one—

  With a deafening roar, a portal tunnel appeared overhead. It looked like a tube of wind. It snaked about, dipping to just above the craggy hills. Emily had almost given up hope of seeing a tunnel up close. It was Chastity’s assurances that the portals were accessible that gave Emily her plan of escape—she intended to take April as far away from the castle as they could run, and when a tunnel swooped down, they would leap inside.

  Of course, she didn’t know if a person could get into a tunnel except at the starting point. She wasn’t sure if there were separate incoming and outbound tunnels or if one tunnel would transport a person in either direction—if you were home, you went to hell, and if you were in hell, you went home. All she knew for sure was that Chastity used a portal to escape, and if she could do it, others could, too.

  “Now’s your chance,” Emily shouted. “You have to jump into the tunnel.”

  Her three friends hesitated, looking at one another.

  “For crying out loud,” she yelled. “After all we’ve been through, you doubt my word now?”

  “It isn’t that,” Gun yelled.

  “Our work here is not finished,” said Brother.

  “I was going to guide you through the castle,” Starshine said.

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  She hesitated, her face contorting, as if afraid to speak her mind. “No. I don’t want to go back. But I will for you.”

  Emily considered her words. She would not call Starshine a coward, but she wasn’t exactly stable. What if she froze when she got inside? She could get them all caught. Then there was the issue of her going only because she thought it was what Emily wanted. Emily didn’t need the responsibility.

  “It isn’t necessary,” Emily said. “You already told me everything you remembered.”

  “But—”

  “You got me here. That’s all I asked of you.”

  The three exchanged looks in silent communication.

  Hands over her ears, Emily stared at the mammoth tunnel. Why wouldn’t they listen? She wanted to save them. “Just go! Before it disappears.”

  Gun grabbed Starshine’s hand and they took off running. They leapt across a cleft in the ridge and ran up a pile of boulders that fell even as they sprinted upward. At last, they leapt for the tunnel. Their silhouettes turned into rainbow-colored streaks and winked out.

  Emily released the breath she was holding. She gave an ecstatic whoop that was drowned by the portal’s roar. It worked. They got away. She and April had a chance.

  “Where did they go?” Brother asked.

  “Back to a normal life.” She didn’t add the word hopefully, although that was what she was thinking. She had to believe they returned home, had to squash every doubt that arose in her. Otherwise, what was the point? She nodded at Brother. “Your turn.”

  He shook his head. “I will see you to the castle first.”

  “What are you talking about? I demand that you leave.”

  “I will take the next tunnel.”

  Impatience swelled in her. She wanted to snatch up his pitchfork and prod him along the ridge.

  But before she could move, the thunderous tunnel lifted from the hills and rose into the clouds, out of reach.

  THIRTY-NINE

  “Hold on a moment. What’s this?” Joey slid off the hellhound’s back, not waiting for it to stop as it loped along the ridge. Warily, he approached the mound of fur he’d spotted. It didn’t look like an animal. He jabbed it a few times with the point of his sword. Taking hold of the hide, he yanked.

  A man rolled out—but not just any man. This one had no arms or legs. He looked crazed with fear and pain.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Joey chortled, shaking the hide in the direction of the two companions. “This is Goodman’s handiwork. Trying to hide this sinner from the wrath of your lord.”

  Why, though? He gaped down at the man. There was nothing special about him. Did she do such things to taunt him? Was she deliberately leaving a trail?

  “God damned bitch!” With a sudden chop, Joey brought the sword down upon the man’s neck. The head popped off and rolled as if trying to escape. Joey kicked it, sending it high into the air and over the edge of the ridge.

  “Score!” he shouted, grinning. He’d always wanted to do that.

  His ire forgotten, he held up the fur. A lucky find. It would be dark soon, and he hated the prospect of another frozen night. He pierced the fur with his sword, cutting two armholes, then tried on his new coat. It stank as bad as a harpy, but he didn’t mind. He strutted about, arms outstretched, showing off his attire—but the damned dogs weren’t even watching.

  “What in hell are you two looking at?” He stepped behind them and gazed down the rocky slope.

  The severed head lay motionless halfway down. A few feet from it, he saw a black and purple mass.

  Joey scowled. Leave it alone, he told himself. You know better than to look too close at anything around here. But his curiosity was strong. “Come on, boys. I might need some back up.”

  He and his companions made their way skidding and sliding down the steep slope. Joey kept his balance by using the sword as a walking stick. He pulled up when he realized the mass was a pile of shredded flesh. He stared, a cold sensation creeping into his stomach.

  Goodman did this. But she was just a little thing. How could she do it—physically or emotionally? This went beyond killing. This was insanity. Her rage went deeper than his own.

  A shudder coursed through him, and he became aware of the dogs’ watchful eyes. He forced a swagger into his step.

  “Hoo whee, boys. You seeing this?” Joey circled the mess. With his sword, he prodded the juicier bits. He guessed it was a hound only because he wore the skin. There were no indentifying marks—no head, no paws. In fact, there were no bones at all.

  Why would she take the bones?

  A thought struck him—she was trying to prove herself, playing a game of who’s the craziest. She hoped to impress Satan. She wanted Joey’s job.

  “Argh!” He brought the flat of the sword down with a splash in the grisly remains.

  It made sense—how else would she get her and her brat out of here if not by bargaining? Well, he wasn’t going to truss her up and hand her over to the big guy only to have her take his place. He’d have to incapacitate her, that’s all—hack off her arms and legs, maybe her head. Let his deal with Satan be damned.

  After a moment,
Joey spotted the severed head he’d kicked down the hillside. It blinked at him, mouth agape. He picked it up by the ear and nestled it among the ropy, purple entrails.

  “The harpies will be along shortly to clean this up.” He gave it a pat. “Tell them I said hello.” Wiping his hands on his fur coat, he sat beside the hellhounds.

  In a low voice, he said, “I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to weasel out of anything, but from here to the lake is nothing but hills. There’s no way I’m going to catch her, even if I ride at full gallop. I don’t suppose you could help me cheat a little. We both know where she’s going. I just need to get ahead of her, is all.”

  The hellhound stared. Joey held his breath. He felt an electric tingle at the back of his neck. “Use the passage,” the disembodied voice intoned.

  “Passage?” Joey screwed up his face.

  The hellhounds rose and walked to the foot of the hill. They followed the valley, forging a path around boulders and loose shale.

  Joey tagged along, perplexed. There were no passages, or he would have found them. He knew the wastelands better than anyone. But as he caught up to the hounds, one of them walked directly into the side of the hill and disappeared.

  “What the hell?” Joey ran his hand over the rock. It felt hot and gritty. Normal. Then he reached a spot that wasn’t there. No rock. No fingers.

  He yelped, pulling back. His hand looked fine. The hillside looked fine. What was going on?

  Behind him, the hellhound gave an exaggerated yawn.

  He was looking a fool. Back straight, Joey strode forward. At the last moment, he threw a protective arm over his face in case he struck stone—but he passed through the hillside as smoothly as if it weren’t there.

  He took a deep breath of cool air, blinking while his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The passage ran in a straight line, apparently cutting beneath the hills. Flaming torches dotted the walls at intervals. He couldn’t see the end.

  “Shit,” said Joey, wishing he knew about this place earlier. “Do you have many more of these?”