Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) (18 page)

Arturus looked at Ellen.

“Go to Harpsborough.” Arturus’ voice was hoarse.

“What?” Ellen sounded frightened.

“Go to Harpsborough, now.”

“I don’t know the way.”

“Then find it. Get the guards. As fast as you can. Tell them you’ve found an infidel.”

From the Book of the Infidels, Gehennic Law: Fisher of Men

The Little Boy Jesus came to the Sea of Galilee with His nets. He thought that fishing was rather hard work, so He decided that He’d play His flute in order to entice the fish onto the bank. He played then such a beautiful song that the birds silenced their chatter just to hear Him.

But the fish could not hear Him, so t
hey did not come onto the shore and swam instead in the muddy sea.

Angered, but still unwilling to cast His nets, Jesus played another song. This time the song was so beautiful that the trees bent in close, and the breeze itself stopped to listen.

But still the fish did not come onto the bank.

Jesus’ anger grew, and He resolved to play a song more beautiful than had ever been heard on Earth or in the Heavens. Its beauty was so great that the
angels came down from clouds, and the sun and moon stopped their fighting, instead sharing the sky, that they might hear the melody.

But still the fish did not come onto the bank.

Enraged, Jesus leapt to His feet and opened His nets. He cast them into the sea, and when He had captured the fish He tossed them on the earth. He watched the fish flop about as He prepared to gut them.

“Well,” He said, “there’s no use dancing now.”

“Free will was the greatest gift God gave to Man. Is it any wonder that this was the first thing He wanted back?”

—
Ares

“Wisdom is such a tricky thing. I speak often to wise men. They are always telling me that, when they were raised, things were done
this
way. They also tell me, that had things been done
that
way when they were little, they would have been chastised and beaten. I always wait for their argument, but it seldom comes. It seems sufficient to them that they should think as their mothers did—as if other people didn’t have mothers who disagreed.”

—
Endymion

Benson saw a figure running through the cavern.

Is he real, or a figment?

Whatever it was, it stopped in indecision.

He’s real.

“Wait, wait!” Benson shouted. “Carlisle? Is that you? It’s Benson.”

Don’t forget. Don’t forget. The caverns that look like the belly of a giant worm. The twin pillars that stand there like guards. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.

“Carlisle, stop. You can’t go running here. It’s not the same. You’ll never find your way back.”

Carlisle turned, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He bent over as he spoke, placing his hands on his knees. “I can’t. He’s after me. He’s shot me already. In the side. Like Christ.”

“Who, Carlisle? Who’s shot you?”

“The Infi—”

“Don’t say his name!”
Benson screeched.

The fool. Doesn’t he know how many people the Infidel’s touched? How many minds he’s imprinted himself upon?

Carlisle looked horribly lost. Benson tried to remember how long ago it had been since he’d seen him. It was before Harpsborough. Before the Citizens.

Don’t forget. Don’t forget. The caverns that look like the belly of a giant worm. The twin pillars that stand there like guards. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.

Carlisle looked to be regaining his energy. He stood, placing his hands on his hips. Sweat dripped from his brow and splattered against the cavern floor. “He’s been here. I can feel him. The walls remember him. He’s after him. The boy. He’s after the boy.”

“What boy? Carlisle—”

“The
angel’s get!
” Carlisle shouted. “The Infidel can’t be allowed to have him.”

“Angel’s get? Jesus Christ, Carlisle, that was over ten years ago. You heard La’Ferve. That boy was human. Human, Carlisle. His mother was fed human blood. You know that.”

Can he even hear me?

Carlisle turned and ran, his bare feet slapping against the cavern
’s stone. Benson chased after him. They passed through a room that had a floor made all of gold and then through an archway whose natural rock formation looked like the mouth of a dragon.

Don’t forget. Don’t forget. The caverns that look like the belly of a giant worm. The twin pillars that stand there like guards. The mouth of the dragon. The floor of gold. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. You’ll make it back to the cold room. And then you’ll remember. Somehow you’ll remember. It may take years but something will spark your memory and you’ll know the way.

He reached out and grabbed Carlisle’s arm. The man turned, looking about the chamber, unsure of where he was.

“Carlisle stop. You can’t keep running.”

“The boy,” Carlisle insisted.

“We’re dead, Carlisle. We’ve gone further down, to another level of Hell. You fool. You can’t go running. Hell here only stays the same if you remember it. You can’t find the boy. The Infidel can’t catch you. You’re dead again. Do you get me?”

Carlisle’s eyes widened.

The only chance a man here had for happiness was to find another who could help ground him. Someone who could project a shared reality into the Hell about. But it was so easy to lose that person. Particularly when one slept.

Benson doubted Carlisle could ever help root him.

He’s mad. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. The caverns that look like the belly of a giant worm. The twin pillars that stand there like guards. The mouth of the dragon. The floor of gold. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.

Carlisle’s face tightened in fear. “No. I have to find him.”

“It’s over, Carlisle.”

The man ran again, and Benson chased after him.

They ran through a chamber of stalagmites and into a mist covered river that was only a few feet deep but nearly a hundred feet wide. Benson tried to keep up with him, stepping into the water. The water clung to his feet, slowing each step as he sloshed after the running Carlisle.

Don’t forget. Don’t forget. The caverns that look like the belly of a giant worm. The twin pillars that stand there like guards. The mouth of the dragon. The floor of gold. The room of stalagmites. The knee deep river. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.

“Carlisle, you can’t get anywhere.”

Benson understood. He knew that the farther out you got from whatever center this Hell had, the less real everything became. The rooms would disappear as soon as you blinked. Once you got this far out, it was almost impossible to get back. You could get lost sleeping and be forced to remember your dreams to try and figure out how and where you traveled. And the rooms were just like that, dreams. You could remember them, just barely, if you tried hard enough. Sometimes you knew the room was there, you could feel it, but the harder you tried to remember its details the more it slipped away.

“I can,” Carlisle shouted, turning about in the river. “I can make it back. Don’t you remember what the Infidel taught? Hell is infinite. Its end is also its beginning. If I go down far enough, I’ll find the boy.”

Don’t forget. Don’t forget. The caverns that look like the belly of a giant worm. The twin pillars that stand there like guards. The floor of gold. The room of stalagmites. The knee deep river. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.

A cold shiver rippled up Benson’s spine.

I forgot something. What? What did I miss?

“Carlisle!”

The man was receding into the river’s mists.

“Carlisle!”

You’ll remember. It was just one room. You’ll remember it. And then you’ll get back to the cold room. And you’ll remember how to get to the silver falls. And you’ll remember all the way back to Harpsborough.

He dreamed about the village sometimes. He dreamed of sitting against the Fore and watching through blurry eyes as people walked by. But each day those dreams grew dimmer.

“Carlisle!”

T
he man was gone.

Julian moved quickly through Harpsborough, passing Kylie’s Kiln on his way to the side of the village that was the furthest from Father Klein’s church. Mancini’s Still was the only underground room in Harpsborough, save for Ben Staunten’s storeroom under the Fore. Smoke seeped up through the cracks in the hatchway, and the heat blasted him as he opened it.

Julian
closed the hatch behind him and crept carefully down into the still’s stairway. Smoke poured up along the slanted ceiling above him like an upside-down waterfall. Julian let his fingers trail along the inside wall to keep himself steady as he descended away from the light. The tight confines didn’t bother him at all, though he always wondered how some of the others, like Copperfield and Ben Staunten, were able to come down the stairs. The heat increased at each turn in the stairwell, and he began to cough a bit.

“It’s Julian.”

“I know,” Mancini answered.

The last few stairs were lit by the fires below. Julian was sweating profusely by the time he entered the still.

Mancini was standing by his quicksilver thermometer. The man kept a careful eye on it while Julian tried to wait patiently. He watched the smoke pouring up the stairs. Then he watched the copper tubes on the ceiling and pretended he could see the bloodwater flowing down them and into the collection barrels.

Mancini, apparently satisfied, turned and spoke. “Got the feathers?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t let them touch anything, did you?”

Julian shook his head.

With Mancini, he knew, the fewer words you spoke, the better off you were. He dug around in his pack
until he found the old world plastic bag that he kept the dirty brown harpy feathers in. He produced it, and passed it to the Brewer.

“Julian,” Mancini said harshly, “the bag’s not tied twice.”

Julian nodded, trying to look as sorry as he could.

“This isn’t like corpsedust, kid. A bit of this gets in Staunten’s stores, and you’d take out half our food supply.”

Julian looked to his shoes.

“Promise me you’ll bathe in the river after you leave here.”

“Yes, Citizen.”

Mancini seemed satisfied and went to the back of the room where he kept his stock. He gathered three jars of his new brew, a box of shells, and what Julian longed for the most, some honey from the Pole.

Julian could feel himself smile as soon as he saw the honey.

“You were safe, as always?”

Julian nodded, thinking for a second that Mancini was concerned about him. That seemed a little odd.

“No chance of the harpies following you?”

Julian shook his head glumly. He hadn’t really thought that Mancini was concerned about him as a person, but it would have been a nice gesture for the man to at least pretend he cared. Mancini was still staring at him, so Julian figured he would need to speak a little.

“I never see the harpies. The feathers fall down through a grate. I gather them very carefully, like you say. I have too, because I can’t let them spoil the devilwheat.”

“Good enough,” Mancini said, “but if you ever feel like there’s danger, just stop, okay? This new brew is helping me out. I practically own the Fore by now, but there’s no sense in bringing harpies down upon us, okay? Okay?”

But Julian had been followed.

Even if Mancini doesn’t care about me, he cares about getting the feathers. He’ll stop the burnt man, if he can.

“I have been followed, Citizen,” Julian said, “just not by harpies.”

“Who, then?” Mancini asked.

“A man with no face. He’s quiet, quieter than the hunters. He moves faster too, and knows the labyrinth well on the far side of the Kingsriver.”

Mancini nodded slowly, pursing his lips. At long last, he spoke. “Don’t worry about him, Julian. That man is of no danger to you. He is an old friend of mine. Has he discovered where the devilwheat is?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good. Even if he does, don’t worry. He’ll not harm you, or take your share.” Mancini passed him the bloodwater, shells, and honey. “Now run along.”

Julian did, clutching his loot to his chest and running up the stairs as fast as he could. He felt safer in the wilds than he did in the still.

He put a little distance between himself and Mancini before he finally sat down. He pulled out his jar and eagerly worked at the corking with his knife. The seal was stubborn, so he had to work at it a bit longer than he liked. Finally there was a little pop, and the jar opened. He put a finger into the honey, closed his eyes, and then sucked on it. The sticky sweetness clung to his tongue, and he pushed it toward the roof of his mouth.

He sighed as the honey dripped down his throat.

“You doing alright there, Julian?” a hunter asked.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

The hunter laughed.

There was some shouting, and then a gunshot from the entrance. A young girl was screaming.

Julian quickly sealed the honey.

“God damn it, Huang, keep that weapon safetied,” one of the guards from the entrance shouted. “You damn near shot her.”

The guard, who tuned out to be Fitch, poked his head in. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.”

But Julian wasn’t listening to him. He was listening to the girl.

“An infidel. Turi sent me for help. We found an infidel wounded on the river.”

“What?” Fitch shouted back.

“An infidel!”

“God damn. Get Aaron.”

Arturus finished bandaging the man’s leg, and as quickly as he could, redrew his pistol. Normally he would have done a tourniquet on that limb, but it had stopped bleeding already. There were some burn marks there, too, which must have helped cauterize the wound. The burns were too sporadic to have been carefully applied. They appeared to have been caused by dyitzu fire.

Could this be deliberate? Could he have meant to burn these wounds closed?

He leaned back against the wall of Ellen’s chamber. She had chalked something into the hellstone. It read: “Remember.”

Don’t look away.

The Infidel Friend was breathing deeply, as if sleeping.

“I know you’re awake,” Arturus tried.

If the Infidel Friend wasn’t unconscious, he was calling Arturus’ bluff.

Arturus had left his safety on. Galen had taught him to do that so he wouldn’t accidentally take another person’s life, but he didn’t know if that applied to an infidel.

It would only be a little longer. If he could just hold on until Ellen returned. What if she hadn’t made it? What if she’d been killed on the way? What if she’d gotten so lost that he’d never see her again?

The man took a sudden breath, and his eyes shot open.

Arturus jumped, his left hand flying to the safety.

The Infidel Friend’s head lolled over towards Arturus. One of his eyes was as bloodshot as a still man’s. The other was clear. His voice was hardly a whisper.

“Safe?”

Arturus nodded.

The man’s eyes closed again. Arturus waited, but he showed no more signs of life.

Come on, Ellen, don’t leave me alone in here.

She’d only been to Harpsborough a couple of times, but surely she would have run into the road. Maybe not at the right spot, but she would have run into it.

Arturus jumped again when he heard voices from the river room outside. One of them was Galen’s. The rest seemed like they were Harpsborough hunters.

He must have seen my note.

“Turi, you in there?” Aaron shouted.

The shouting didn’t seem to disturb the Infidel Friend.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Arturus reported.

They came in with weapons raised anyway, except for Ellen, whose gun was holstered. Aaron sent his two hunters to the corners of the room. They trained their rifles at the wounded man as Galen and Aaron moved towards him.

Arturus showed them the mark on the man’s palm.

“Should we kill him?” One hunter asked.

Aaron shook his head. “Death comes from the Fore.”

“You dressed the wounds well, Turi,” Galen commented, looking at the bandages. “Is that a bullet wound in his shoulder?”

“Yes.”

“Did you remove the bullet?”

“No.”

“Do so now.” Galen turned to the hunters. “He’s stable enough not to die.”

Arturus went back into his pack. He had no forceps, but he found some large tweezers in his kit.

Well, this isn’t going to be easy.

“The other infidels wouldn’t know we killed him,” one hunter pointed out. “Maybe we should finish him off now.”

“Maybe,” Galen answered. “How many in Harpsborough know of this?”

Aaron looked at Ellen. “She shouted it in front of the entire city. No way we’d keep it a secret from the hermits and traders.”

Galen nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said.

“You did nothing wrong,” Galen assured her.

Galen knelt by the Infidel Friend while Arturus removed the bandage around the man’s shoulder. Arturus pushed at the wound with the tweezers, finding the bullet quickly. He was able to work the bullet out with surprising ease, and began to re-apply the bandage.

“You’re good at that, Turi,” Aaron said.

“Galen makes me practice getting the bullets out of dyitzu.”

“Smart.”

The Infidel Friend’s eyes opened.

Galen bent over him, getting closer than any other dared. “Easy, we’re healing you.”

“Ares?” the man asked, “is that you?”

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else, friend,” Galen replied. “You are in the lands of Harpsborough, and your kind are not welcome here.”

“Harm me not.”

Aaron bent down to meet the man’s gaze. “You will be treated fairly.”

The infidel’s head lolled again.

Arturus finished the bandage and quickly checked the man’s pulse. It was harder to find than normal, and slow, but it was still there. “He’s lost consciousness again.”

Galen and Aaron stood up together.

“We can’t leave him here,” Aaron said.

“Undoubtedly, but moving him might be dangerous. Best not to get him killed unless we mean to.”

“I want him in Harpsborough,” Aaron said.

Galen nodded. “Agreed. We’ll need a stretcher to take him there.”

Aaron looked over to the two guards. “Go back to Harpsborough. Talk to Chelsea and get something to carry him on. Be back as soon as you can.”

The hunters nodded and left.

“What’s he doing all the way out here?” Aaron asked.

Galen shrugged and moved to the man’s equipment.

“Ellen found him in the river,” Arturus said. “Who knows how far upstream he fell in.”

Galen grunted. “It’s not like one of them to get caught in an ambush. It happens, but not often. There must be some conglomeration of devils upstream.”

“Should we check it out?” Aaron asked.

“You may find more devils, surely, and if your city is starving, it might be worth it. But you may come back with more than you bargained for. Infidel Friend often move in packs.”

“Can we afford just to sit by?”

Galen shook his head. “When he awakens we need to find out what he knows. He may just be ranging. He could be lost. But he could also be a scout. He might know where the devils have gone.”

Arturus heard Aaron’s swallow.

He looked at the Infidel Friend. It was hard not to sympathize with this figure.

He’s barely human. A monster. You can’t nurse a dyitzu to health and expect its thanks.

“Will we kill him?” Arturus asked.

“I don’t know, Turi,” Aaron said. “I just don’t know.”

The hunters returned with a flat piece of woodstone. It was barely wide enough to hold the infidel. Galen grabbed the man’s shoulders and Aaron held his feet. They moved him as carefully as they could onto the stretcher. The man awoke again at being lifted but didn’t stay conscious for long.