Tithe to Tartarus

by John C. Wright

  Whatever it meant, there was no time to ponder mysteries. Yumiko reached out her hand toward the red crystal knob. Before her hand touched it, the arrow slits to either side blazed brightly, and the door groaned and began to open.

  7. The Northbrood

  Two figures were standing at the door arch. A cold as fierce as a curtain of iron thorns fell across her. They were slender, pale, and narrow-faced figures with long black hair falling past their shoulders. Both wore low-crowned and wide-brimmed black hats and long black cloaks. Beneath the cloaks, their narrow feet were naked.

  With one slow and coordinated motion, both raised their heads. She saw their mouths with pale lips.

  Both smiled. Their fangs were like the fangs of serpents and unfolded from their upper jaws as their dreadful smiles widened.

  With nightmarish slowness, both took a silent step forward. They were drawn forward more quickly than a single slow footstep could account for, or perhaps the shadows about them were growing in size, or perhaps perspective and distance were collapsing.

  Their eyes were like distant stars, and a cold like that of the arctic midnight reached from those eyes directly into her heart. A wave of weakness burned away her willpower and ate up her strength like fire among dry leaves. She knelt; she fell. With her last strength, she twisted the ring on her hand from iron to pewter to silver to argent. White starlight spilled from her hand. The two cold figures raised their hands, squinting, and hissed in annoyance.

  Yumiko heard Elfine’s shrill cry in the near distance behind her. This was the last sound she expected, and her reaction was one of terror for her unarmed friend. “There she is! There!”

  Then, she heard the voice of Matthias, calm and even toned. “Kyrie eleison. God, our Lord, King of Ages, All-powerful and Almighty, you who in Babylon changed into dew the furnace flames and protected and saved the three holy children…”

  Matthias stepped into her view. In one hand he held high the silver lantern. In the other was the aspergilium. The silver lantern suddenly blazed brighter, and he flicked his wrist to close the hood. The hood of the lantern was perforated with the image of a cross. A beam of light shaped like a cross fell across first one of the pallid men and then the other.

  Matthias raised his ringing voice above their thin, shrill, and wretched screams. “We beseech you to make powerless, banish, and drive out every diabolic power, presence, and machination; every evil influence, malefice, or evil eye, and all evil actions…”

  The two pale men screamed and tried to flee. Both raised their arms. Shadows gathered and spread from armpit to elbow and down their sides to their thighs, and they assumed the forms and features of two gigantic black bats. With a swirling gust of wind, they clawed their way into the air.

  “…Burn all these evils in Hell, that they may never again touch me or any other creature in the entire world…”

  Large creatures could not take off swiftly. Matthias flicked his aspergilium, and drops of holy water fell across their wings and brought them crashing to the floor. Where the drops touched, shadow and substance, flesh and bone, were torn apart, and sizzling white flames shot up.

  “…where they will be bound by Saint Michael the Archangel, Saint Gabriel, Saint Raphael, our guardian angels, and where they will be crushed under the heel of the Immaculate Virgin Mary…”

  Both bat creatures changed their heads back to human heads and began speaking in effeminate voices, blaspheming, cursing, threatening, squealing. Matthias flicked his wrist to send tiny and gentle sprinkles of water across their cheeks, which made their screaming faces collapse inward, their skulls implode, and their heads evaporate into black ash. The batlike bodies shrank, burning, legs and wings bent at crooked angles.

  A suction force reach up through the floor dragged them below and out of sight.

  “The Lord is my salvation,” said Matthias solemnly. “Whom shall I fear?”

  8. The Living Creatures

  Yumiko had risen to her knees. Elfine landed on her shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?” Yumiko was angry.

  “I got bored.” Elfine rolled her eyes. “The horses are fine.”

  “But–”

  Elfine tugged Yumiko’s hair braid to try to pull her upright, “Save Gil!”

  Yumiko got her feet under her, stood, and turned her head. On the black sand halfway around the circumference of the lake from their current position, Sir Garlot was exchanging blows with Sir Gilberec, but the gray vapor from Garlot’s cloak rose up, and Garlot was visible only as a shadow of motion seen from the corner of the eye or not at all.

  The sickly, twisted men in wolf coats, and the werewolves as yet untouched by the shadow dogs, who stood in two columns watching the combat, were cheering, jeering, and mocking Gil with howls and curses.

  Gilberec swung again and again at the unseen foe, but his blade cut through rock, or cut through air, or glanced from an unseen shield. He could not parry what he could not see. In half a dozen places, his bright armor was pierced, and crimson blood stained his silver surcoat, leggings, sleeves, and saddle. Yumiko could see that Garlot was now behind Gilberec and had taken his sword in two hands, readying to strike at the other knight’s unshielded back.

  Yumiko saw that the starlight her argent ring shed could not reach so far. Even if she entered the black world of the ghosts, she could not reach Gil before Garlot’s blow fell. And she had been warned not to enter that world again.

  In desperation, she twisted the ring deasil one more time. The metal changed from argent to a brilliant alloy of solidified brightness, an ethereal metal with no name on Earth. The angel face in the intaglio turned into an archangel. The starlight gathered and grew bright and brighter until it seemed the noonday sun was on her finger.

  The scene changed. She saw no wolves. The men who stood looking on all now were handsome, bright, and beautiful, but foul raiments, rags, and tatters of filth clung to them, as if they swam in sewage. Maggots and loathsome insects covered their beautiful faces.

  A titanic living creature now stood behind Gilberec. A second was behind Elfine and a third loomed over Matthias. The three living creatures were armed with spears and great round shields the hue of a beryl stone. Their flesh burned as brightly as brass seen in a furnace. Each had four faces, as of a man, a bull, a lion, and an eagle, which could turn in any direction. They had six wings, two folded over their bodies as cloaks, two entwined about their midriffs like skirts, and two spread and displayed. Their feet were round hooves cloven like a bull’s hoof. Their whole bodies and backs and hands and wings were full of eyes.

  Energy like burning coals or balled lightning moved up and down and among the living creatures and shot from their countless eyes, and the fires were bright, and out of the fires came bolts of lightning.

  These creatures were not merely tall, but they seemed to reach upward into infinity so that nebulae and gathered galaxies formed crowns around their fourfold heads. How it was that their bodies were within this tiny underground chamber, which could not have held even the smallest finger of arms longer than the arms of spiral galaxies, was something her eyes could not tell her. Her thoughts scattered like startled fish, unable to see what she was seeing.

  The flares of light also issued from behind her. She turned. A fourth living creature was standing over her, and she was in the shadow of its shield. The countless eyes of its wings and body and terrible fourfold faces regarded her with gazes of all-consuming fire.

  Yumiko screamed in utmost terror at this apparition. She threw herself on the ground.

  One of the lightning bolts issuing from the countless eyes now reached down and smote Yumiko in the head. To her surprise, she did not die, but instead had a clear and sudden thought. She yanked the ring off her finger.

  The four-faced living creatures vanished.

  As before, the ring kept the same aspect and shape as when on her finger, so the bright sunlight continued to pour forth.

  Elfine must have had the same
inspiration occur to her at the same moment, for before Yumiko even opened her mouth to speak, Elfine had taken the ring in her two doll-sized hands. The brightness from the ring touched the brightness shed by Elfine’s wings and ignited them. Her speed became like the speed of an arrow, a comet, a thought. Between Gilberec and the descending sword she flew, carrying the ring, leaving a streak of dazzling light in her wake. The mists of Garlot’s cloak were no more. Gilberec saw, and turned, and blocked the cowardly blow, and then he laughed a great laugh. Garlot uttered a moan of fear. Elfine hovered above Gil, far out of any reach, and drew circles and loops and figure eights in the air.

  Elfine danced and laughed at the sight of Sir Garlot unable to vanish or escape. She banged the ring against her hip like a pretend tambourine, danced or wore it like a glowing crown, at other times spun it about her waist like a hula hoop, and shimmied in midair, changing her size to match.

  As one, the Egyptian statues ground into motion. They fell upon the werewolves from behind with flail and sword, and methodically, silently, began to kill and maim them and to hurl the huge wolflike bodies into the central lake. The fury of the lake grew, and flames erupted, and more debris fell from the ceiling. The wolves, in a madness of wrath, attacked the statues, breaking stone fingers and toppling one of them, which then stood up again, face impassive.

  “I don’t understand what is happening!” exclaimed Yumiko.

  Matthias pulled her to her feet. “Tom is beyond that door. Do you understand that?”

  In they ran.

  9. The Tithing Ground

  They found themselves not in the back of the magic shop but in a strange landscape. The sky above was starless and black as a midnight sea beneath storm clouds, and the air was heavy and oppressive. A full moon, silver and huge, hung above the scene. But this was not the moon as it looked when seen from Earth’s surface. One small ocean like the eye of a Cyclopes was in one quarter of the pale face.

  Yumiko wondered if this were the far side always turned away from Earth. Tom would surely know.

  She and Matthias stood in a land of silvery dust, fine as fine ash, and here and there rose square-sided columns. These looked like headless Egyptian obelisks—or perhaps something older than Egypt. In one place the columns stood in pairs, and a crosspiece or capstone made them into tall and narrow structures like gates. Yumiko thought they looked like the torii of a Shinto shrine but cruder, simpler.

  Matthias was climbing as quickly as he could up the sliding, sandy slope of the nearest silvery ash heap, coughing. Yumiko sealed her mask and followed him, wishing she had her ring with her. Her lighter footfalls stirred up less dust.

  He pointed. The fine dust was making him cough, and he did not speak. Yumiko looked. From this vantage, she could see that each flat-topped obelisk was carved into a weeping mask that stared forever upward toward the black heaven, mouth open in despair. The capstones of the dolmens were placed directly atop these masks; the brow or the chin was visible from beneath the capstones.

  Yumiko saw that the dolmens formed a line, as if the stones marked a straight path half hidden beneath the silver sands. In the distance, perhaps a mile away, perhaps two, she saw a line of slim steeds and cloaked figures riding, with little lamps like fireflies—or serving fairies—hanging near their heads and keeping pace.

  Behind the horsemen came loping three score werewolves, with caparisons of linen thrown across their backs, trotting in order. The wolf paws kicked up silvery dust, and their paw prints reached behind them in a line. The hoofs of the steed stirred up no dust and left no tracks, and by this, Yumiko understood these were elfin steeds.

  She could see them sharp and clear against the black sky as they crossed a rise. She counted. There were thirteen horsemen.

  Yumiko began to run down the slippery hill of silvery ash and kicked up a blinding cloud. With each step, the soft ashy surface sucked on her feet and clutched her ankles. She halted before she toppled downslope.

  Matthias came stepping and sliding after her. He coughed and said, “This ground is not meant for anything as heavy and clumsy as man or Moth.”

  Yumiko said, “I left my ring behind to save Gil. How do we catch them?”

  At that moment, from beyond the distant hills, came a sound of bright and haunting trumpets. It was the horn call of the elfs.

  It was answered by a shrill, thin wail, rising and falling, of an inhuman voice. The lingering cry contained no words but was filled with bitter hatred, pain, and malice. It was the voice of Hell.

  “They greet each other,” said Yumiko. “Have you some power to carry us across the mile between? Across these dunes?”

  Matthias was rubbing his thumb against his fingers. She saw a trickle of the silver ash falling. He said, “This substance is human dreams and hopes, ground into powder. This is a realm of dreams, but we are not in the part where human dreams reach. The kings who ruled before Adam are trapped in this place.”

  She said, “How can that help?”

  “The laws are different here.” He took off his glasses and put them carefully in a pocket. “I can assume my true form without harm. I will be naked, but it should not embarrass you.” Then, he lowered his hood and spread his arms, pulling his cloak up like wings. Shadows gathered around him, and his body shivered and shrank.

  A moment later a batlike creature made of solidified darkness shook itself free from Matthias’s cloak. It was larger than a condor, larger than a pterodactyl. A fearful coldness came from the black creature. The dust in the air about its nostrils and mouth was not disturbed by any breathing. It was not alive.

  Yumiko stepped back. “You are a vampire!”

  The big-eared bat skull shrank, and stretched, and formed Matt’s head. “Well, yes and no. It is sort of an interesting case, really…”

  But the sight of the shadows around him, altering his form, suddenly brought a buried memory to the surface. It was not something she remembered with her mind, but there was a tingling in her fingers and toes, almost as if her flesh and blood were trying to remember something.

  He said, “Don’t be afraid…”

  She wrapped her arms around him, wings and all, and hugged the monstrous shadow form to her bosom.

  “…or, um, on second thought, perhaps you should be more afraid than this.”

  “Turn back into a boy and then back into your spirit form.”

  “I’d be naked.”

  “Quick! As quickly as you can! I have to feel what it feels like.”

  The bat creature gave a shrug. “Okay. This is what confession is for.”

  The shadows dispersed from him. For a moment, she was holding a tall and naked young man in her arms. His unfocused eyes were averted, staring upward. The black shadows again swirled around him.

  She could feel what was happening. She felt his human flesh sinking and rotating into another direction, another type of reality. His spirit, which was a higher condition of being, swelled outward, came to the surface, and solidified.

  She held him tightly so that he had to strain and push to bring his batlike form into solidity. And she let her own flesh get pushed by the strange pressure in the opposite direction, the opposite condition.

  Her suit and mask were tighter than his and took her a longer moment to grip the collar with her snapping jaws to twist and win free. The grinning fox mask lay in the silver ash, staring up.

  The vampire Matthias swirled his batwings of darkness and shadow around him and cocked his head to one side.

  The white vixen was larger than any natural fox, and a white pearl hovered near her in the air. More by instinct than memory, she rolled the pearl over her shed suit and mask and watched them be pulled inside.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” said the she-fox.

  He said, “Well, I lost a bet with a dog. That will show me.”

  She said, “Should I try to carry your gear? What can you do without it?”

  “Drink life, smother joy, strangle laughter. Nothing good. But my ge
ar might blast your fox-spirit pearl if you touch it. Make for the cavalcade as fast as you can! I only fly slowly in this form, so do not wait for me.”

  “I do not really have a plan,” she admitted.

  “Plans are overrated,” said Matt. “Faith is sure. Did you think your will, or mine, arranged all this? Go! You will know what to do when the time comes. And may Saint Herve guide you!”

  The ash was now firm underfoot. Like the elf steeds, she left no footprints as she ran. With labored and pumping strokes the bat-winged monster pulled itself into the dark air and flopped after her. She soon outdistanced him.

  The sound of many small silver bells chiming came over the dunes.

  Chapter Thirteen: The Gem of Memory

  1. The Cavalcade

  She topped the rise and saw where the dunes and hills of silver ashes petered out, got lower, and came to an end. The landscape beyond was a level plain of broken slabs and flakes that looked like salt flats, if salt were black rather than white or shattered mirror of black glass.

  Beneath the spiderwebby and broken surface were dim skull-shaped shadows, half visible beneath the bright moon, of giants trapped below the surface like flies in amber.

  In three places along the horizon the unearthly flatness of the landscape was broken by the silhouette of a giant hand or arm half-pushed out of the glassy surface, fingers half closed as if still clawing for freedom, each finger taller than a skyscraper.

  Nearer, a great well had been carved down into the glass, reaching down past the lips and fangs and into the throat of the huge, half-seen, motionless form. Two vast eyes like lakes of jelly quivered under the surface.

  In a semicircle about this well stood twelve hooded figures, each three times the size of a man.

  A tongue of silver ash reached out toward this well and nearly touched it. Above this tongue or walkway of ash, the final dolmen in the long line rose.