Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) (32 page)

Arturus pushed his torch ahead. It was little more than a burning stump. He caught sight of his hand. Blisters were bubbling up from blackened skin. He struggled to get his shirt over his head. His sweat made the cloth cling to his body. He pulled as hard as he could, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder. The shirt ripped. He tossed it over the torch. Everything went dark.

Oh no, I smothered the fire.

The shirt lit, his sweat hissing as the flames spread.

Thank you.

He pushed the burning pile forward with his rifle.

“Your pack too, Turi,” Galen said, “Anything you can burn. Hunters, pass your clothing up front.”

“Good idea,” Aaron shouted.

“Kyle, leave a burning pack behind you. Kyle? Kyle?”

“He’s still moving, but he ain’t talking.”

Arturus felt clothing land on his ankle. He reached back and grabbed it. Another few shirts followed.

His own shirt was burning quickly. He tossed an article of one of the hunter’s clothing forward as his own burnt out.

“This won’t last,” Arturus shouted.

“Turi,” Galen’s voice echoed, “if your light goes out, run as far as you can, as fast as you can.”

Arturus began coughing with every breath. He was crawling over the ashes of burnt clothing, much of it still very hot.

“I don’t want to die like this.”

“Kyle, you alive?”

“He’s fine, keep moving.”

“Fuck what’s that noise?”

“Patrick’s vomiting.”

“Keep going.”

With his shirt gone, the spiders were walking all over his skin. He wasn’t able to tell whether the liquid pouring down his back was sweat or blood.

“I can’t breathe.”

“Light!” Arturus screamed. “There’s light.”

“Move, boy.”

Did I tell them wrong?

He feared it was just the afterimage of the torch, but after a few more feet he knew the light was rea
l
. .
.
but it was also dim.

He ignored the spiders, letting them crawl as they wished, and pushed the flaming clothing through the tunnel as fast as he could.

“Kyle?”

“Patrick ain’t moving.”

“Grab on, Patrick.”

“Push him.”

We’re going to make it.

The dim light grew larger, drawing him forward.

Suddenly he was there, at the end.

“We’re here!” Arturus added another shirt to the burning pile before him and pushed it through the exit.

“Duncan, push him!”

Arturus
slipped out from the crawlway. He kicked the burning clothes away from the wall and dropped his pack onto it. The circle of light kept the spiders at bay.

Oh no, my ammo.

The hunters piled out, one by one. They were a bloody mess.

Galen emerged lithely, a flare gun in hand. He discharged round after round into the chamber.

The room was huge. Nearly a hundred yards wide and filled with spiders. The vermin spread away from the flares like ripples in water.

“They thin towards the back wall,” Aaron shouted.

“There’s the exit,” Galen said, pointing.

Galen turned back and helped Patrick out of the tunnel. The man was covered in vomit. Half of his face had been burnt off. He had no hair or eyebrows. Duncan came next, and then Kyle.

Kyle was pale. His legs had been flayed. Galen pulled strips of cloth from his own pack as the light from his flares began dying away, one by one. Some of the strips he added to Arturus’ pile. He used two of them to tourniquet Kyle’s legs, using a rifle barrel and a cleaning rod to twist them tight.

The other hunters added what they could to the fire. Johnny cut off his pants and threw them in. The first of the rounds in Arturus’ pack went off. Galen gave him a look as he hoisted Kyle onto his shoulders. He fired off another flare towards the exit. The spiders were waiting at the edge of the light.

“Run for it,” Galen shouted. “Follow the flare’s path, or you’ll die.”

Johnny took two steps and screamed, looking down at his feet.

“Don’t fall,” Aaron shouted. “Run where they’re thinnest!”

Patrick looked unsteady, but he managed to move. His breathing came in gasps. Blood trickled from his mouth.

Arturus began his run towards the exit. Needles began shooting into his feet as he crushed the spiders. Another flare went off over his head.

He felt the pain in his feet
more strongly than he had felt anything else in his life. His legs began to wobble, going weak. He felt his body fighting him. It did not want to run. It did not want to let him put any more weight on his legs.

He dared to look behind him. He watched Mabe fall down. The man did not get back up. The spiders covered him over.

Fear pushed Arturus onwards. He looked down, trying to make sure he didn’t stumble. Someone had caught up with him. He couldn’t see who it was out of the corner of his eye. Tears welled up.

I can’t. I can just die. Lay down like Mabe.

He couldn’t breathe. He’d inhaled too much smoke in the tunnel. Hell weighed down on his shoulders.

I’m sorry, I can’t.

He wondered about the next life. It would be terrible, he knew, but at least he would be able to breathe. The needles in his feet became daggers. He couldn’t say how many there were.

He looked to his right. Galen was beside him, running with Kyle on his shoulders. Running with all that extra weight, plus his pack and body armor.

If I fall, he’ll have to carry me.

That seemed horribly unfair. Arturus had never felt pain like this before, and he couldn’t imagine what the needles in Galen’s feet must feel like with the weight of an extra person on his back. Arturus didn’t want to add to Galen’s burden, and somehow that mattered more to him than anything else. He looked up and saw the exit through the light of a dying flare. They ran towards it. The spiders thinned out more.

Arturus made it through the exit. A corridor veered off to the right, and he took it. Odd symbols, looking like moons and stars, had been carved into the side walls. Then he saw a shadow in the darkness before him.

Is that a person?

It was only a boulder, perhaps waist high, with a Star of David carved into it. Beyond it was a dead end.

“Go back!” Galen shouted.

Some of the silverlegs had followed them into the corridor.

Galen fired a flare over the heads of the hunters to help scatter the spiders and they made it back around the corner.

“This way.” Galen led them, flare gun in hand.

They came to a river in the next chamber. Beyond it there were no silverlegs. The river was ten feet wide. Galen sprinted forward and leapt it, even with Kyle on his shoulders. The hunters jumped into the water, some too tired to even keep their rifles over their heads.

“Keep your weapons dry,” Aaron ordered.

Those that could, obeyed. Galen dragged the hunters out of the river as they made it to the far side. Many stayed on their knees.

“Come on,” Galen told them. “The place is thick with devils. There will be no safety at the river.”

Arturus managed to follow him through the passages. Sometimes he and the hunters were moving on all fours. He could not guess at how long they traveled. If Galen told him it was five minutes, he would have believed it. He would also have believed it had been five days.

Eventually Galen led them to some steps. Arturus could no longer walk, so he crawled up the stairs. The room Galen had taken them too was cold, with a single entrance and a ceiling that was only five feet tall. The hunters followed in, leaving behind them a trail of blood and water.

I should crawl to the corner. Make space for the others.

Arturus passed out.

When he awoke, Galen was gone.

“Where’s Galen?” Arturus asked.

Aaron was the only one that stirred. “He’s out. We left a trail. He’s gone to mop it up.”

Arturus took stock of the hunters. Some had taken off their shoes and boots. Their feet were horribly swollen. It appeared that none of them could walk. Kyle’s legs might have to be amputated. Patrick’s breathing was quick and tortured. He might not live. None of them looked ready for a fight.

One dyitzu and we might all be doomed.

Consciousness came and went. He fought to keep it, because he wanted to stand guard. Galen would be proud of that. Eventually he managed to sit, feeling the cold stone against his shirtless back. He heard footsteps. They were booted, which was a good sign. He didn’t know what he’d do if it was a Carrion man. Surrender, perhaps?

“Galen,” the voice reported.

“Turi.”

His father entered and grunted.

He’s proud that I was able to keep watch. He probably doesn’t know that I was asleep for most of it.

Galen looked across the room at the wounded hunters.

“We can’t move,” Arturus said.

Galen nodded.

“We’re going to be late,” Arturus said.

“They will seal the entrance, certainly, before we have a chance to return.”

Arturus’ gaze fell to his own boots. He saw silver needles sticking out of them in many places.

They’re going to wall us in. We’ll be buried in the Carrion.

“Rick will be sad,” Arturus said.

Galen nodded. “Get some sleep, Turi. You need to heal.”

Arturus imagined Rick’s face. He imagined Rick all alone in the battery room. Cooking breakfast by himself. His brow would be furrowed. He would cut the hound liver quickly, and fiercely, as if that would somehow help him vent his anger. He would talk to himself and sleep poorly. He would become surly and snappy, except there wouldn’t be anyone there for him to snap at.

If we never come bac
k
. . .

Rick would cry. The thought hurt Arturus like the needles in his feet never could.

I’ll come home, Rick. Just wait. It’ll be like that time when Galen was missing for a year. You’ll see.

He
heard some noise in the corner and looked over to Aaron. The hunter had stirred. He had something in his hands. It looked like braided hair.

He’s a good leader.

He thought of Alice. That was probably her hair. He imagined her too, in the hovel with the dreamcatcher. She, also, would be waiting for them to return. He felt a sharp pang in his throat. No, she would be waiting for Aaron
to return. He hoped that the dreamcatcher could stop all the nightmares she might have for them.

It’s just a symbol, silly.

He remembered how the beads would rattle when someone knocked on her door blanket. He remembered her smile.

But the last thing that he thought of before he drifted off was Ellen. Of how warm his cheek had felt when she had kissed it. Of how angry she had been when she threw the knowledge fruit at him. Of how she had thought that he must be the black knight, since he was in Hell.

The black knight looked better anyway.

And then sleep took him.

From the Book of the Infidels, Gehennic Law: The Golden Net

In all of Olympus there was no goddess more beautiful than Aphrodite. She was married, however, to the hideous and deformed hunchback Hephaestus. Though Hephaestus was the most skilled craftsmen in all of Gaia, Aphrodite was not always satisfied with his love. Soon she sought another. She was the epitome of femininity, and was thus drawn to Ares, who was excellent at all things masculine.

Aphrodite’s mother-in-law, Hera, became angered at the mistreatment of her son Hephaestus, so she told the Craftsmen God that his wife had not been faithful. Furious, the hunchbacked God then forged a golden net so strong that it had the power to ensnare even a divinity. He laid it on his own bed, and, when Ares came to his wife, he sprung his trap. He then hung the unfaithful pair in the Agora of Olympus for all to see.”

Zeus and Apollo came upon them in the morning, seeing also that all the other gods were staring at the trapped pair.

“Look at Ares there,” Apollo said, “naked, helpless and trapped in that golden net with Aphrodite.”

“I know,” Almighty Zeus replied while admiring Aphrodite’s form. “That lucky bastard.”