Garden of Salt and Stone

by A. L. Burgess Jr.

  A small detachment of guards followed the procession, helping maintain order and watching for covert actions or gestures by the prisoners.

  Lurking in the rear was Butch the Giant. He carried most of the company’s captured weapons in small bundles slung over and through the various human parts that made up his oversized body. Even with the massive scale of the city’s design, Butch the Giant’s ungainly physical structure slowed his pace considerably. Many times, he was forced into awkward positions to navigate a doorway or to squeeze through a corridor, but after each obstacle, the giant recovered the distance lost and obediently resumed his place at the back of the pack.

  Hannibal noted with keen interest that the group of mercenaries had not been completely disarmed. Amanitore and Khutulun’s quivers were confiscated, but the women still carried their bows. A search of the company’s personal effects should have turned up more than a few eyebrow-raising items, but the effort was haphazard and poorly executed. Numerous members of the group still carried hidden blades or objects on their person that could pose a formidable threat under favorable circumstances. Hannibal could not fathom Asmodeus or Sitri being that complacent. Either the group posed no risk or the guards were more fearsome than watchful eyes could discern. In any case, having a few weapons within reach gave him hope.

  Hannibal kept a wary eye on the road ahead. He searched for anything that might be useful as an avenue of escape. With two demons present, the odds against them were long, but given their physical attributes, a set of small rooms could provide the ideal venue to shed their bonds and evade their captors. Speed would be the key in such an effort, as the demons’ ability to use their powers and change shape would tip the balance back into their favor quickly. Another issue consuming Hannibal was his lack of knowledge of the newer parts of the city which they currently traversed. Any escape attempt needed an exit to go beyond the perimeter walls, and anything less would be a foolish waste of effort. To make matters more worrisome, Thomas was nowhere to be seen. The young man’s talent had saved the group more than once in the past and without his abilities now, the way forward would need to be clear of all obstructions. He took a deep breath. Any chance of avoiding their current plight was near zero.

  Hannibal’s gaze wandered among the guards until it came to rest on Nicholas. This was the first time he had been close to the captive monk. For all the fear and uncertainty surrounding him, Nicholas seemed to be as calm as the demons themselves. Hannibal found the monk’s lack of interest extremely odd. The entirety of Nicholas’s stay in Eden had been as a prisoner under the heel of the demon-queen. The monk went from one confinement to the next, all the while being shackled and beaten like an unwanted animal. For all anyone knew, this could be a move to something far worse, yet the old monk plodded along, seemingly unafraid of the coming plight. The show of blitheness worried the general deeply.

  A massive set of double doors at the end of a torch-lit, marble-lined hallway signaled an end to the prisoner’s forced march. Asmodeus stepped forward and ran his hand vertically up the reinforced seam between the two doors. With a crackle of electricity, red energy forced its way into the mechanism and unlocked the heavy iron portal. The doors swung inward revealing a world unbeknownst to all except the demon spawn.

  The enclosed area beyond the doorway was vast. Among the monumental buildings of the Garden, the space was significantly larger than anything else in the city. The room itself was simple—circular and made of stone blocks. About ten stories tall, the walls were dotted sporadically with walk-out balconies accessed from corridors or antechambers not visible from ground level.

  Hannibal marveled at the sight, but its sheer size was not its most impressive attribute as the hall was home to thick, lush vegetation. Vines wrapped themselves around massive columns that supported the ceiling above. Trees, bushes, and a variety of flowering plants thrived in the rich humus of the understory. The ash and debris so prevalent in the Garden of Eden was absent in the spacious chamber. It was as if the terrible conflagration spared this portion of Eden and then someone erected a building over it to keep it safe. Hannibal heard his compatriots gasp and murmur at the sight. The spectacle before them was but a taste of the Garden of old.

  Despite the lack of windows or direct source of light, a strange luminescence hung over the abundant vegetation. The plants bathed in a washed-out yellow light that Hannibal could only discern as coming from the flora themselves. The amount of illumination given off by the plants was sufficient to light the entire enclosure.

  The prisoners moved through the threshold, and Sitri locked the door behind them. The sharp sound jogged Hannibal from his reverie and forced him back to reality. He took note not only of the locked exit but of the balconies protruding from the walls. Some were low enough to the ground that his men might be able to reach them. Where they led was of no immediate concern, as anywhere may be preferable to what awaited them here. Hannibal used the confusion of the transition to reach for his hidden dagger but came up short when he remembered he had given the trusty knife to Thomas. Hannibal hissed under his breath to Guan and gestured for the large man to locate a blade capable of cutting through the leather cord, but the sound caught the attention of the demons.

  “Silence!” Asmodeus ordered. “You and yours have been given a true gift. You should enjoy it while you can, Hannibal Barca.”

  Hannibal slyly shrugged off clandestine help from Guan. “I suppose you are correct.”

  The guards ushered the prisoners over a well-worn path through the dense foliage of the Garden remnant. The trail meandered with the uneven landscape to seemingly no purposeful destination. Without a good vantage point, the sea of green was impossible to penetrate visually so the group was blind to their objective. The only reference point any of the mercenaries had was the ceiling and walls. As the prisoners moved forward, the supporting columns grew closer together and the company knew that they were closing in on the center of the chamber.

  The sound of a waterfall greeted the captives as they broke through the undergrowth and emerged into a broad, circular clearing. In the exact center of the chamber was an earthen plateau that floated substantially above the surrounding terrain. Pouring over the edge of the hovering island was a raging river of water. The thunderous noise brought temporary delight to those in the company, but dread soon set in. The water did not pool or run off through the clearing; instead, it disappeared into a wide hole below the gravity-defying hillock. The diameter of the opening was much greater than that of the plateau, and it appeared that the chasm was created as an intentional barrier to the oasis.

  Outside of the ability for the small island to levitate above the floor of the chamber, there was nothing special about it—certainly nothing that warranted the extra protection given by the wide opening, but Hannibal soon realized the error in his perception. The significance was not in what he saw, but rather in what he did not. The floating, earthen mass held two ancient and twisted trees wrapped around each other on the leftmost bank of the raging water. In stark contrast to the rest of the Garden remnant, the trees appeared to be lifeless. The gnarled bark of the two behemoths had merged over the centuries and their massive roots clawed into the soil in a show of defiance against all who would seek to remove them. Withered fruit littered the rocky area beneath the trees and despite there being a river of water nearby, nothing else grew in their immediate presence. Hannibal could only come to one conclusion: they were the fabled trees of the Garden of Eden—the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

  Asmodeus was correct; it was an honor for the mercenaries to see the trees firsthand. Although they appeared dormant, the trees broadcast an air of power that flooded the hall of the Garden remnant. The fallow, circular pattern seen in the clearing surrounding the Two Trees gave evidence to something amiss with the legendary totems. Near the floating plateau, the tree’s tainted energy was so great that nothing could withstand it. The negative force overwhelmed any plant life near the
Two Trees’ position, but with distance, the adulterated might abate enough for vegetation to grow normally.

  Hannibal felt the warm air rise from the breach and immediately knew what lay below. The fissure led to the Avernus Sea and the dominion of Hell. An unfamiliar chill ran down the length of Hannibal’s spine. He and his mercenaries had caused so much trouble they were being cast down as playthings for the multitude of demons that inhabited the underworld. How fitting. The company fought bravely for a righteous cause, but despite all their efforts, everything would end as their original lives had dictated. To make matters worse, their demise would come at the failed cost of their quest. No wonder Asmodeus was so willing to bring them here. The demon wanted to gloat—to prove to Hannibal that nothing they had done would change their fate. There would be no redemption for those whose stories were already written.

  Peter and Thomas followed Isla Dora’s dog manifestation through a maze of twisting corridors and random antechambers until the trio arrived in a room devoid of any windows or doors save the one they entered. Lit by a single torch, the space appeared to be just another empty room.

  “Where now?” Peter asked the dog.

  The dog whined and pawed at the wall.

  “Why is this so hard?” Peter asked under his breath to no one in particular.

  Thomas studied the rock. “She wants us to break through,” he said, looking to Isla Dora for confirmation.

  The silver-white canine barked her approval.

  Thomas placed his hands on the largest of the stone blocks and slowly moved it enough for the trio to get through.

  Exiting the other side, Peter stumbled forward and caught himself before falling over a balcony railing. It took him a few moments to take in his surroundings and gauge where he was.

  Peter found himself three stories off the ground and staring wide-eyed into the giant circular chamber containing the remnant of the Garden of Eden. A vegetation-encrusted column of stone stood within reach of the balcony and shielded most of his view, but in the distance, Peter could see two demons directing a group of guards while Butch the Giant stood watch nearby. His expectations of a clean escape came crashing to a halt. Terror struck him like a thunderbolt. Peter’s chest tightened and his mind grappled with the fear assailing his senses. He ducked below the level of the railing and whispered, “Dammit!”

  Thomas emerged from the escape route and gazed in awe at the sight before him. “You know what this is?” he asked rather loudly.

  “Be quiet,” Peter whispered and motioned to the gathering at the center of the chamber. “Demons.”

  Thomas hunkered down next to Peter and hushed out, “This is the Garden—the real thing.”

  Peter scowled at the dog that was using one of its hind legs to scratch behind her ear. “You were supposed to lead us outside.”

  The dog wagged her tail and sat down obediently next to Thomas as if she were expecting a treat.

  “No, bad Isla Dora,” Peter scolded. “What are we going to do now?”

  Thomas peeked over the railing and took a long look at the demons and their entourage. He recognized the captured mercenaries among the moving figures. The prisoners were near the edge of a precipice that Thomas concluded led to Hell. “Hannibal’s over there,” he said, gesturing toward the leftmost end of the gathering. “We’ve got to do something.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “He risked everything to save you,” Thomas retorted. “The least you could do is help him now.”

  Peter could not fathom another failed attempt like the one in the queen’s throne room. He was not brave. He could not superimpose a noble warrior over the weak shell of his true self. There was not enough courage in the entire world to transform Peter into someone he was not. He shifted about uneasily and his breathing labored as he struggled to find a valid reason to deny Thomas’s logic. “We’re not soldiers—we don’t even have weapons.”

  Thomas pulled out Hannibal’s old knife. “We have this.”

  “Great,” Peter mocked Thomas in an attempt to put himself at ease. “You can poke them to death.”

  Thomas assessed the captives again. “Look, they’ve got Nicholas too.”

  Peter peered over the handrail. Standing off to the right of the gathering was Nicholas. There was no denying the old monk had the same fate awaiting him as the rest of the mercenaries, but Peter buried the thought deep and remained defiant. “So?”

  “Look at them,” Thomas said, staring at the mercenaries. “Everyone who can help you is down there right now. The demons are going to make this a fight between you and them. Nicholas won’t be able to help—they’re casting down every chance you have, and you’re just going to run away?”

  “Yes,” Peter snapped, “and you should too.”

  “No,” Thomas said. “I won’t abandon my friends.”

  “Friends?” Peter mocked. “You don’t trust them—you said so yourself.”

  “I don’t, but they’ve saved me too many times for me to turn my back on them now.”

  The canine placed a paw on Thomas’s arm in a show of support.

  Peter turned to the dog. “You’re one to talk after everything you told me about this place—not trusting anyone or anything I see?”

  The dog laid her head on Thomas’s shoulder and whimpered.

  The visible display of unity made Peter felt guilty. Thomas knew what the outcome would probably be, and yet he was still willing to risk whatever existence he had in an attempt to save someone he did not trust or know that well. That was the definition of true courage: going willingly into the unknown regardless of your own misgivings. Peter had held the notion of bravery out at arm’s length, as something that never really pertained to himself. Before the Garden, he never needed to think about such things. The real world was violent, but he had always been insulated from the vile transgressions that plagued it—they were reduced to the relative safety of published articles and news broadcasts. Here, brutality was the way of life—the norm. An individual had to act in a violent fashion for something they desired and should expect full reciprocation in return. Peter wondered how long it would take him to change his mind on the matter, to reason his way into thoughts that were warlike and barbaric. Perhaps he would be no different from anyone else in that regard. If that was the case, what might he lament about today’s opportunity?

  Peter mulled through his options. He knew he could not die, but that was a problem all unto itself. An immortal soul could be tortured for eternity. That was completely unacceptable. He needed assurances. The risk he was taking had to be mitigated somehow. If the end of the Garden was the prize, then there must be a fallback position, a compromise—something short of win or lose, black or white.

  Thomas read the consternation on Peter’s face. He could see the professor’s mood swinging back and forth. Although he was prepared to give his eternal soul for a good cause, Peter was not. Thomas decided to sway the professor’s opinion. “I can create a diversion,” he said. “That should give you enough time to give the book to Nicholas.”

  Peter smiled at the kind gesture. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I can do it,” Thomas said, pointing at the vine-laden column in front of them. “I’ll just climb down and sneak in through the bushes.”

  “Fine, but they don’t want you, the book is—” Peter stopped cold. An idea surged to the forefront of his mind. It was as if a dam had broken upstream and the raging water caught the professor in its torrential flooding. Peter waded into the thought and let his inspiration sweep him away. Perhaps the demons wanted to inflict retribution on Hannibal and the mercenaries, but it was doubtful they cared about anyone else. Peter’s entire premise of being hunted stemmed from his ill-conceived theory that he was important. The more he thought about it, the more Peter realized how narcissistic he was being. The demons cared not for Peter—their interests were concentrated on obtaining the ancient manuscript, nothing more. He felt relief rise in him as he tossed his idea thro
ugh several iterations. He laughed under his breath and adjusted his glasses. “Isla Dora,” he said, addressing the dog, “we’ll need your help.”

  The guards pushed Hannibal and his company to the rough edge of the chasm. They loosely arranged the mercenaries on either side of the old general and placed Nicholas to the far right, some distance away from the precipice. Butch the Giant milled through the guards, ensuring the minions were following the orders precisely as laid down by the demons.

  Hannibal peered over the sheer drop. The walls of the chasm were made of rough earth and rock several yards in depth, but the face of the rift was not coarse enough at any point to form ledges or outcrops that might create a handhold or a place to land. The distance between the floating island and the edge of the chasm was so great it was impossible for any individual to jump. At best, the person may find themselves able to touch the levitating plateau beyond, but too low in elevation to do anything about it. They would fall through the hole and plunge the mile or so to the waters below.

  Asmodeus paced slowly behind the band of mercenaries. The demon’s red eyes scoured each captive, assessing their weaknesses and their overall value to Hannibal. The demon stopped behind Guan and motioned for Butch the Giant to step forward. Asmodeus drew Guan’s sword from several bundles the giant carried. The demon studied the sword and tested its blade for sharpness. He held the weapon in front of the large man. “I gave this to you—do you remember?”

  Guan nodded reluctantly.

  “I knew this soul,” Asmodeus recounted to all within earshot and keeping his eyes fixed on Hannibal. “One of the ancient ones—so full of fear his stench made me sick.”

  Hannibal knew what was happening. Asmodeus wanted him to witness every atrocity committed upon the members of his charge, as if the old warrior’s very existence was the cause. He found himself trapped by the demon’s gaze. He did his best to remain stoic and uncaring, but it was too much to bear. “Guan—”