A Courtroom of Ashes

by C. S. Wilde

  Brigit pulls a pair of slimy livers from her flannel bag and pierces them with long, green sticks. She hands one to Alrik and they hold the sticks above the fire. I resist the urge to puke. The owners of the livers are still lingering in Death, otherwise the organs would have puffed into ashes.

  I want to kill these dirty cannibals, make justice, but I’m powerless in a land of memories.

  “It’s so fun to play with the living!” Brigit says as the fames flicker, lighting her horrible face. “Eternity would be so boring if we hadn’t come across our little toy.”

  “Who was your favorite so far?” Alrik asks, licking his lips as he watches the cooking liver.

  Brigit purses her lips. “The man who killed his three boys. We spent so much time with him, I thought he’d end up like Sarah, but he pulled through.”

  “Don’t mention that bitch.” Alrik growls in the way of a rabid dog. “Stupid cow killed herself instead of doing what we told her.”

  Brigit’s eyes widen. “Alrik! Why don’t we try to find that little girl of hers?”

  Alrik claps his hands, the liver swinging at the end of the stick. This reaction doesn’t fit his ragged, fifty-year-old body. I wonder if he died an old man or a child.

  I step closer until I’m crouching between them. They’re vile little things, whatever it is they are. It doesn’t matter if they were children, teenagers, or adults when they died. These evil buffoons took my mom away from me because it was fun.

  My fingers claw; blood concentrates in my head. How I wish I were really here to kill them…

  Suddenly Alrik drops his stick and the liver splashes into fire. His mouth stays open, half a smile still stamped on it, but no sound comes out. His head follows the liver and dives into the heat, sending sparks into the air.

  Brigit doesn’t have time to scream, because blood is streaming from her neck. Her head falls to the right, and what remains of her body bursts into ash.

  The fire paints my mother’s face in orange and yellow. She shows no emotion, no regret. No sadness and no relief either. She takes the tray and tosses it on the fire.

  Those twins deserved much worse. She should have tortured them first.

  John runs to us and stops behind Mom. She hands Spritebreaker back to him and walks away.

  35

  The suns blaze from above. I stand in the midst of more than a hundred Shades as Red Seth peers at me with angry green eyes. He’s actually looking at Mom, who’s right behind me.

  “What happened to you, John?” he asks without looking away from her.

  John has hair again; his skin is white and flushed. He’s not a Shade anymore, and he wears the same gray suit he did when he arrived in Death.

  “I got lost,” John says.

  He did get lost, but Mom saved him, this undeserving asshole! It’s not fair that he got to spend all this time with her. John knew her better than I ever did.

  My own voice echoes in my head. The truth about Mom was the tipping point. You gave in, you’re only human, but you need to come back now.

  Slamming both hands on my forehead, I shout, “Shut up!”

  The voice sounds wary as it says, Barry would hate seeing us this way.

  A sting of pain at the mention of his name. Barry’s gone because of me. His last words? “It’s not your fault.”

  “It is!” I shout, my throat tied in knots. “It’s always my fault!”

  Meanwhile, Red Seth shifts his attention from Mom to John, teeth bared. “Lost? A Shade doesn’t get lost in the Wastelands. If I hadn’t sent Bowman to scout for you, you’d have never come back! How could you leave your brothers?”

  “Because of what you’ve made me do,” John says. “I’m going to Hell thanks to you!”

  “You were going to Hell anyway, boy.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Red Seth glares at him. “This is how you repay me, you ungrateful punk? I taught you how to gather energy in the palm of your hands, and I fixed your arm! I gave you Spritebreaker, my most prized possession!”

  “And I’ll be keeping it,” John says.

  Red Seth turns to my mother. “What did you do to him, witch?”

  “Nothing. He did all the hard work himself.” Mom stands tall, as if nothing Red Seth does can impact her. So he slaps her hard in the face, and she spins, collapsing on the ground.

  He hurt Mom! Spray the floor with his brains. Cut his manhood and wear it as a necklace!

  I realize now why Red Seth wants to possess my body, why he’s so glad it was me who bought that mirror: He wants to get back at Mom for stealing his favorite pet.

  “John’s more powerful to me as a Shade!” Red Seth spits. “He’s my right hand, as a Shade!”

  John swings his arm back and throws a plasma ball that shines like a small star. It slams against Red Seth, throwing him countless meters over the sand. I can’t help but like John a little for this.

  John shouts, “Go to Hell!”

  The other Shades stare agape as he turns to them. “Red Seth traps us inside our sorrow, pain, and regret so he can control us! Today this ends!”

  Bowman steps in the circle. “Deserters must die.” He unsheathes a dented, deformed sword that looks as wicked as he does. “You’re not leaving before you give me Spritebreaker. Then I’ll have your head.”

  Before John can unsheathe Spritebreaker, the ground shakes, and I think the earth is about to split in two.

  The sand caves into a big round fissure that vomits flames and lava up thousands of feet. The overwhelming heat sears everything around us, and my skin pulses. Some Shades lose their balance and fall into the hole, their bodies burning into scabs before disappearing below. Monstrous groans and cries shoot out of the gap as billions of hands grasp at the borders, reaching beyond.

  The hole inhales deeply, dragging many Shades into its mouth. They claw the ground or a neighbor, but soon enough Hell sucks them down its throat. Some Shades seem unaffected by the pull. Guess it’s not their time yet. Maybe the judges haven’t reached a final sentence on their cases, but it’s clear they’ve decided someone else’s fate: Bowman. He sticks his sword in the ground to anchor himself and so does John, but while Bowman dangles in the air, John kneels without effort. This must mean that Hell wants Bowman more than it wants John.

  Bowman’s sword slips out of the ground a little more each second, and he yells as he squeezes the hilt in both hands.

  “John!” Mom shouts. Hell is pulling her in.

  Can’t whoever judges this madness see she’s a good person? Even if she believes she deserves to go to Hell, she shouldn’t! Is it because she killed those two fools? It can’t be, otherwise Hell would be dragging John with the same intensity!

  “Fuck you!” I roar toward Hell, hoping it can listen. “Let her go!”

  Mom’s fingernails drag over the sand, and although I try to grab her, my grip is as good as air.

  Right at the last second, John leaps toward Mom. He starts to help her when a bright light opens in the sky like a third sun. It isn’t warm though, and the light doesn’t hurt my eyes. It reveals a gateway of clouds and blue skies— the untouched heaven that unveils when you reach thirty thousand feet in an airplane.

  If Hell has broken loose a few miles away, then that beacon high above must be Heaven.

  John’s body lifts from the ground, legs first, hair floating as if he were in zero gravity. Heaven is pulling him in, and because these are his memories, it pulls me too. His hands remain clasped around Mom’s shoulders, so that she floats with us until we’re quite high.

  Mom smiles at him as Hell keeps pulling her in the opposite direction, her legs pinned together and pointing toward the big, fiery mouth. “I knew you’d make it.”

  She breaks free, and I yell because she starts flying to Hell, but John grabs Mom’s left wrist.

  “I can’t let you do that,” he yells.

  Mom looks at John with pity. “I can’t come with you.”

  “You can try,
Sarah!”

  She lets out a hopeless sigh, but gives him her right hand anyway.

  Hell pulls Mom down and Heaven sucks John up, but John’s strained face warns me Heaven’s pull is getting stronger. He can’t hold for much longer.

  “John, it’s okay,” she says. “You need to let me go.”

  “No! You deserve better than this,” he shouts, then looks back at the beacon. “I think this is what I’m supposed to do!”

  “What?”

  “You don’t deserve to go to Hell, Sarah!” He pivots in the weightlessness, and we spin in circles before he lets go of Mom. The light of Heaven sucks her in, astonishment clear on her face. The clouds engulf her and the portal vanishes, and just like that, the sky returns to its deepest, cloudless blue.

  John and I fall toward the Hell hole, but he smiles, eyes closed. He’s found his peace.

  Down the hole, thousands of bodies crawl across the walls—no, they are the walls. Billions of souls, squirming beneath each other, trying to find a way out of the flames and lava that burn them for eternity. And we’re joining them. My heart pumps full speed and a bitter cold spreads inside me, winning over the heat. This is what people feel when there’s no hope, probably what John felt as his plane fell.

  Just as warmth starts burning my skin, Hell’s throat closes, and some counterforce pushes us into the sky, far from the Wastelands. We’re still flying when the green prairie near the Home replaces the desolation of the desert.

  The sky and the ground spin and become one. The familiar sensation of riding a rollercoaster nonstop returns. When it stops, I’m back in the now.

  ***

  Darkness. Someone calls my name from a far distance. It’s John, but he’s actually near. His shouts become clearer, closer. He’s asking what Red Seth has done to me and says he’ll kill him in ways I dare not repeat.

  I couldn’t care less. I spent my whole adult life hating my mother. I was so ashamed of her, unaware that she had given up everything to save me. Guilt devours me like a mad, bloodthirsty beast.

  If Mom hadn’t killed herself, would I have still become a criminal lawyer? Defended two psychopaths?

  Yes. Because it’s just who I am.

  Barry’s face flashes in my memory, followed by Barbie’s and Kasey McCormick’s. Kasey’s eyes are bulging and lifeless, staring at me as she whispers ‘murderer.’

  They’re all dead because of me. Mom would be ashamed.

  I turn to the Shades and a desire to make Mom proud drowns me. My body tingles and my breath quickens. All the anger rushes back in. I hate myself and what I’ve done. I hate Red Seth, Bowman, I hate this place, and I hate all these brainfucked Shades. Fury is everywhere, consuming me like fire on dry wood.

  I’ll drink their blood from their skulls.

  Mom killed herself for me, and she almost went to Hell for it. Whoever judges our fates is an incompetent asshole. I should show them what true justice is.

  My muscles tense, but I feel renewed and completely free. I look up through my sweaty hair. Red Seth stares down at me with his blood-red eyes.

  “You’re so angry that you actually became…” he grins. “Puppy, I’m in awe of your mind.”

  What’s he talking about? As if on instinct, I remember Mamma Na Se tapping her forehead and saying “In the reign of the dead, dis true power.”

  But I have no time to figure it out. Ripping through the thick rope that binds me feels like ripping a paper tissue. My hands are back to their normal, slightly tanned color, but a faint layer of scales covers all my body. I’m no longer a Shade…I’m something else.

  “Santana,” John mutters from my left. “I had no choice. I know how hard you are on yourself, and this was the only way we’d have a chance.”

  I look at him out of the corner of my eye. John tricked Red Seth into showing those memories to me; it was his plan all along. Blood pumps to my head. John has never looked so hideous, but he hasn’t changed a bit. I have.

  “You had no choice?” This is still my voice, but there’s a deep graveled tone in it. “You lied! You loved my mother! You never cared for me!”

  He frowns as if he’s disgusted by what I said. What an actor!

  “Santana, all these dark feelings are driving you mad. You need to control them.”

  “You manipulative bastard!”

  The calming voice says, just because he lied to you, doesn’t mean he was in love with Mom.

  “Shut up,” I growl to myself.

  He saved Mom.

  “Enough!”

  He stares at me, jaw dropped. “I loved your mother, but not like I love you.”

  “And how do you love me, Senator?”

  “Santana, please,” he croaks as if pain were a spear impaling him. “I didn’t know how to tell you. And then I fell in love with you so damn fast. I was scared you’d hate me.”

  The annoying little voice in the back of my head tells me he says the truth, so the darkness in me stabs it to death. No time to waste. Kill them, kill them all.

  “You let me go on all this time believing she abandoned me,” I say with gritted teeth.

  “I hope one day I’ll earn your forgiveness.” His skin shifts to dark blue, but he’s doing it on purpose.

  “What’s wrong with her eyes?” Bowman says, the left side of his mouth twitching in disgust.

  Foxberry is tied around his waist. “Bowman,” I intone with a grin as I stand up. The rope around my feet rips with ease. Giddy happiness swirls in my chest. “Give me my sword.”

  We stand for a few seconds, Bowman and I. His eyes dart left and right, looking for Red Seth, but his master has fled the scene.

  He draws his dented sword. “Come and get it, pretty face.”

  I lunge and feel incredibly light, as if the wind and I are one. When I stop, I’m behind Bowman and he hasn’t noticed. Karma is a bitch, isn’t it? I tap Bowman’s shoulder, and when he turns, I kick him hard on the left knee, bending it backward. His bones erupt through the skin of his calf and he screams. It’s music to my ears.

  I push his forehead with the tip of my finger and he falls harshly on his back. The leg I broke lies at all the wrong angles, and he shrieks so loudly that my ears hurt. I press one foot against his chest and his ribs snap. His face contorts with pain as his screams echo in the desert.

  I’m loving this!

  “You bitch!” he spits in between howls.

  Chuckling, I grab him by the ears, my foot still over his chest. I twist his head and pull it up so hard that the skin of his neck rips open. Bowman’s spine dangles in the air, his eyes wide and mouth half-open. His body wriggles for a minute under my foot, then the top of his head dissolves into black dust until all of it flies away.

  I lick my lips. Killing him was so easy and it felt so good. But so quick…I need more.

  Foxberry lies under the dust pile that used to be Bowman. I take it, brush off the ashes, and tie it around my waist.

  The Shades stare at me, frozen in fear. I hope they’ll run; I could use a chase. The little voice in the back of my head blooms back to life. It tells me there are too many, and that I’ll never take them all down.

  But I’ll have fun trying.

  The Shades look at each other and then back at me.

  “She’s a Wrath,” one of them mumbles.

  “She’s only one,” another replies.

  When they look back at me, they raise their swords and the circle closes in.

  Someone bumps against my back. It’s John, blond hair contrasting with his dark blue skin, his eye whites black and his irises light blue. Spritebreaker is in his hand.

  He wraps his arm around my waist and kisses me hard, deeply, as if he’s giving me a part of him.

  The bitter, ravenous voice orders me to pull away from him, to rip his head like Bowman. But the calm, centered voice tells me not to, and for the first time in a while, I listen to it.

  Kill him!

  Not now. Not ever.

  His lips unlock
from mine. “You can deal with me later, but right now, we need to get through this.”

  I nod, but there’s no way we can win against thousands of legions of Shades. Still, I wield Foxberry with a smile, knowing I will take down as many as I can.

  The Shades close in and I push my back against John’s. Swinging Foxberry left to right, I dare them to take the first plunge. They hesitate at first, but soon enough their swords nibble at mine.

  Who knew that at the end of the day, John and I would be facing oblivion together? Just like Red Seth had intended.

  36

  It’s a continuous buzz at first, droning its way through the desert. The ground rumbles and the Shades stop advancing on us. The buzz isn’t a buzz, though. It’s shouts and roars, thousands of them, growing louder and louder until countless people, mostly Lummeni, dive through the army of Shades like water breaking through a dam. I spot a familiar man with a purple Mohawk and a Victorian lady who moves as fast as a thought. I’ve seen them back at the Home.

  Many Lummeni ride their alien motorcycles, but most run on foot, side by side with the people from the Home, brandishing their swords and shouting war cries as they crash against the Shades.

  “Santana!” It’s Molly, and she’s just ripped a Shade’s arm off.

  The Shade screams and runs away, while Molly shrugs and tosses the arm on the ground. I run to her and hug her as hard as I can. For a second, I feel safe amidst this madness.

  “Molly, we have to find Tommy.”

  “We have him, dear.” She eyes the scales over my skin with concern. “This isn’t the Santana I know.”

  “I…” I don’t know what to say.

  She lets me go and steps back to look at me. “You need to accept it as a part of yourself; use it to your advantage, you understand?”

  A knife pierces through her neck, rips her skin. The silver tip stares at me and I stop breathing.

  Not again, please, not again, I can’t take it. Innocents, they drop like flies around me…

  Molly rolls her eyes and turns around. The Shade behind her gapes, heck, I’m gaping too.

  “You’re supposed to cut the whole head off.” She reaches behind her neck and pulls the knife out with ease, then pushes it deep into the Shade’s heart. He disintegrates into black sand.