"Because there is more than one kind of violence. There is violence against oneself, isn't there?"
Dante begins walking to the far end of the cavern. We all quickly follow, not wanting to be left in this place on our own. I keep an eye on Lowell, James, and Zeke. Being the only humans amongst us, it's a wonder they survived the jump through the portal, but I suspect it has something with Damien's ability to conjure up energy as a protection.
He falls into step beside me as we walk, but doesn't say anything for a while. I can hear the echo of Dick and Doug raging against their cage as they try to bust out and I figure it won't be long before they do.
"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Damien says after a while. We came to the place where I thought the cavern was a dead end and the wall rose up and up into the sky so far, I couldn't see the ceiling. It turned out it was just a bend in the passage. I can hear the faint rushing sound of water now and figure we must be close to the river. We still hadn't come across anyone, although we passed a mound near the wall of the cavern. It glints, gold encrusted, and hunched over looking like someone bent over at the waist, under the pressure of such a weighty burden. It made me shiver when my eyes tried to study the figure, and I blinked and looked away because I realized I just didn't want to know.
"What bothers me?"
"Marty. Phil. All the people you can't save. Maybe even Lowell.”
I remain quiet, not sure how to respond. Of course it bothers me. But what is the darkness in Damien going to do with an affirmation like that? What is he fishing for?
"They don't deserve this place," I say softly so no one can hear.
"Who says you get to be the judge of their fate?"
"You did when you made the deal with me to rule. Are you rescinding the deal?"
"No, I just want to know where you stand when it comes time to implement new rules. What parameters consist of the hard-headed Catriona Clarke's moral standing.”
"This isn't funny, Damien.” I stop walking and whirl on him, only to notice he isn't laughing.
"I never said it was.” He appears to be human now. His blue eyes are back in place and fixed on my face. It's unnerving because I know what lies underneath the serenity of the blue.
"Then why do you keep pushing? Do you think any of this has been easy? Putting my girls in danger, Marty, having to watch Lowell grieve for a brother who isn't even dead yet?" I wave my hand at the backs of Lowell and Zeke. If they hear me, they don't stop to listen. The one redeeming quality about Charles is he has a firm grip on Zeke's upper arm so he can't run.
"Are you sure compassion doesn't extend to Zeke too?"
Damien's question jars me and I have to consider it. I want to say no. I want to be so detached, marching him to his own certain death means nothing to me.
"That's not fair, Damien. And you know it. Why is this so important to you?"
"Answer me this. Did he never treat you right? Did he ever love you the way you deserved?"
I chew my bottom lip. I know the answer, but saying it out loud means accepting it and it's harder than I could have imagined. “No.”
"Then he was a fool.” Damien's words send me through the wringer. Damien, the son of the devil, is capable of tenderness and emotion with more depth than what he can sink his naughty bits into? Who would have thought? Until he opens his mouth again. “And so are you if you can't distinguish the ones who belong here and the ones who don't.”
I throw my hands up, exasperated. He has more mood swings than I do when I'm craving chocolate with a dash of the open road. I miss Sugar. I wonder briefly if the bikes will be ok, then resign myself to the fact, even if the human authorities find it, it's unlikely the girls and I will be given a reprieve from this place for a good long while to go out joy riding.
I stomp past Damien and stand with Dante as we look up and down the Acheron river. I gaze into the black waters and squint, trying to decide if I've just seen a face of anguish swirling in the depths, and figure it's all in my head when another one pops up. I jump and point at the water.
"Did you see…"
"Of course, the river of woes.” Dante shrugs and pulls a packet of cheese crackers from his robes and begins snacking away.
The girth of the river rapidly becomes an even bigger problem we have to address. There's nowhere to cross and I get the feeling if we try, the faces in the water will drag us under with their collective misery. There's something to be said for the old adages and if misery loves company then why does it leave me throwing caution to the wind and plunging my hand into the icy river when I see the face of Marty swim by?
16
"No!" Damien grabs my wrist and yanks it back as the faces of misery swirling in the water begin biting at my fingers.
I figured a skeletal hand would pop up and pull me under, but I guess misery goes full tilt when it expects its victims to participate and drag people under. It makes me think of giving a t-rex a crayon and asking it to draw a picture. The crayon is useless without the capability to reach to paper. The faces gnash their teeth and although the sharp edges are a little more effective than molded wax on paper, I feel the nipping at my skin and know like a school of fish, they could latch on enough to pull me under if they wanted to.
"We have to save him! Damien, it's Marty. He's in there. Why is he in there?"
Tabby runs over and begins scanning the water and I scramble over rocks, trying to catch a glimpse of Marty's face. I can hear the echo of footprints on the rocks as everyone chases after me. Charles glides overhead with Zeke in tow. He's carrying him with his hands hooked under his armpits, and the evil place in my head wishes he would drop him in the water so we could be done with this whole mess, but I also know the easy way isn't the right way.
"Do you see him?" Lowell shouts up to him and the sound is like cannon fire. If Hell wasn't aware of our presence, it probably is now. Although we did make quite a ruckus by crashing into the stone wall of Greed's domain.
Charles shakes his head and I continue to frantically search, although the swirling of faces gets faster and faster the further we run. Just as the river is about to skirt around a bend, I slip and fall, landing on my stomach. My hand splashes into the water and in an instant, the faces are on me. Their bites sting and I try to shake them off. I scramble to my feet and realize they aren't just faces. Long, tapered trails of what looks like wet goo trail down from the backs of their heads. It clings to my pants when I shake the head biting between my thumb and forefinger, and it even feels gooey to the point if I had to call it anything, I would equate it to being the snot of the Acheron river.
I pick at the face latched onto my hand like a leech and manage to peel it away, casting it back into the river, and that's when I see him again.
"There!" I shout. I see Marty looking back at all of us, and if he could shake his head, I would say he is trying to warn us off. I'm about to run further when something bumps the back of my legs and takes a leap, splashing down into the river. I squint into the gloom, barely able to see anything because the sconces lining the walls every few hundred feet flicker and cast deceptive, hallucinogenic shadows on the wall. The moisture in the air threatens to distinguish them, plunging us into darkness with our fellow uglies that go bump in the night. The fire burns but somehow feels diminished in both light and heat, and the walls of the level are grey stone with green lichen growing along them, so the effect is to cause the corridor along the river to be cast into a pale green light.
I can just barely make out the head of what looks like a massive dog in the river. It growls and shakes its head, and I can see the faces of misery latching onto its fur. They're like a swarm of ants crawling up over the particle of food they are devouring and in the next instant, the dog's head goes under. I hold my breath, fearing the worst and thinking my gut instinct is right and the Acheron has now claimed Damien, but a swirl of the water a few feet away has me stepping back as the massive dog begins to rise out of the water. In his jowls, he's carrying one of the faces, a
nd it's squirming in his mouth like a writhing squid. It's not the one bothering me the most.
I run forward and begin grabbing the greasy wet blobs and ripping them from his fur and casting them back into the river. There are dozens of them and I scream, "help me!" over my shoulder.
Leo joins me in ripping the globs from the dog’s back as he continues to pant and hold the one in his mouth. He's so massive, for a moment I thought maybe it might be Cerberus, but it can't be because this dog only has the one head and Cerberus has three. I steer clear of that dog. He looks bored sitting near one of the entrances to Limbo like he's ready to use any soul looking mildly tasty like a chew toy.
Damien’s coat is a brindle color with streaks of black, silver, and red. Having been bitten, Damien fuses the Hellhound shapeshifting ability into his powers and the result is the tri-colored, vicious looking creature standing in front of me. I watch his powers in action as the colors meld together in a kaleidoscope of colors. It’s like watching tie-dye in action only in fast forward. One second the colors bleed up his hind legs in streaks and then in the next, they blend and meld in a whirlpool of the tricolors.
It takes another minute to wrench the last face from his fur. They aren't easy to grasp. I would think someone's soul would be more vaporous, but apparently, when they go for a dip in the Acheron, their misery molds them into something more vicious. I crinkle my nose. They smell like they've been bathing in the Underworld's sinus passages too. It smells like the jelly on the outsides of canned, processed meat paste.
When I'm all done, Damien sets Marty's gelatinous head on the ground and holds one paw as his form begins to shift. He grows bigger, although, in his Hound form, he is twice the size of Dick or Doug. He grows to the swirling mist I’d first seen on the Boardwalk and as he does, a misty hand reaches down and picks up Marty. I'm not sure if the jelly Marty clings to the smoky hand, or if the smoky hand solidifies when it makes contact with Marty, but it snatches back, and I have to back up a few steps to avoid being sucked into the cloud. I bump into Lowell who is looking on in amazement.
"Do you think he can--"
"I don't know.” I squeeze his arm. Of all of Damien's abilities, I feel like I haven't even seen half of what he's capable of. But bringing someone back from the dead? It's a far stretch.
It takes another few minutes for the swirling to stop, and as it ceases, I hear Tabby suck in a breath as we all peer at what is lying at Damien's feet as he slowly begins to pour himself into the shape of a man.
A Hound, an old grizzled one, lays panting at his feet. It isn't corporeal, at least not all of it. It looks like the sticky plasma substance from the river, but the longer we stare, and the more it breathes in and out, the more solid it becomes. Damien's voice is raw when he speaks.
"It's the best I could do for him. He belongs down here, he always has. His smuggling was done for money, out of greed--"
"Yeah, but to try and save those families from a life of misery and starvation.” My protest causes everyone to watch the two of us. I hear Charles groan like he is exasperated having to listen to another one of our arguments and conflict of interests.
"However noble his intentions were, Catriona, he's still a sinner and knew what he was doing was wrong. Do you want me to unbind him from the Hound link I now share with Dick and Doug? I can cast him back into the river if it’s your wish.” His hand twitches and I jerk my head.
"No, you know I don't want you to. My concern now we know both you and he are linked to the Hounds in the physical sense, will your father have a hold on you too?"
"Not in the way he does with the collars of loyalty. But you would be naïve to think he doesn’t have some power over all of us in his domain.”
It's not the answer or reassurance I was looking for. But this is not a place one goes to find reassurances either. I let the argument go, score another point for Damien and another hit to my pride, but there's no use arguing it for now.
"Can he walk?" Tabby is kneeling beside him and her fingers tremble as she reaches out to him.
I want to tell her to stop because I am afraid her fingers are going to move right through him. There is one thing the mind grasps onto for reassurance and it's being able to touch the ones we care about. I think it's what makes death so grievous. The reassurance is taken away. We have to convince ourselves the person who has passed is in a better place. But what happens to the ones who we know might not be in a better place? I think about Fiona and can't begrudge Tabby her opportunity to prove to herself Marty is still here, even if it is in a different capacity. Different doesn't necessarily mean bad, I suppose.
"He can walk. Well, more like he can float.” Damien crouches down and puts his hand over Marty's shoulder. When his fingers make contact, there's a squelching sound, like Marty hasn't fully solidified into the mold Damien poured him into.
"Will he be able to come back?" Tabby has never had much going on for her upstairs, at least it's the front she likes to portray, but at least she has the courage to ask the question we are all thinking.
"You mean shift back to a man? Yes,” Damien tells her. Tabby nods and stands.
Marty begins to stumble around on his hind legs, and his form jiggles until he has enough strength to stand. He tries to yip, but the sound is more like a garbled yodel.
“We need to keep moving since we've been on level four for too long.” Damien walks back to Dante, and they move away down the corridor.
I make it a point to avoid getting anywhere near the water and Leo moves in next to me.
"Do we have a plan once we get to the library? I don't think Zeke is just going to go quietly, you know?"
"I'm waiting for him to make another move, but what's he going to do? Call attention to himself in Hell where the entire place is manhunting all of us?"
Leo's nose crinkles and she nods. One other thing, boss--"
"What's that?"
"You smell really bad.”
I stop walking as she moves away. When she turns her head and looks over her shoulder, smirking at me, I raise my sleeve to my nose and cringe.
“Yeah? Well, it's what happens when rotten souls are thrown in together to decay even more for eternity.”
I flap my arms, trying to air out the smell, but it's useless. I keep walking behind Damien and Dante. I hope they know where they’re going because I've never really explored the other levels. How are we going to get to the center of Hell? Last time Dante was here, he had a guide, and now he is the guide. I consider the other pressing matter. What am I going to do about Zeke? He's been looking jumpy the entire time and I've been wondering when he's going to make a move. I don't see him just allowing the switch to take place.
As we round another corner, I see a simple door in the wall Dante is heading toward. Hell has a back entrance? I smile at the irony of my own joke. At least I can find some humor in all of this.
As Dante opens the door and peers into the darkness on the other side, Marty walks up and sits next to Tabby while Lowell stands on his other side. I watch as Lowell's fingers twitch like he wants to pet his head. I have a feeling if Lowell tries, Marty might bite him.
I push past Charles and Zeke and ask Damien, "What's going on?"
"We're just scoping the back stairwell.”
"Are we in the clear? Will this lead us straight down?"
"It will lead to treachery, the ninth circle of Hell, and from there is a bridge we have to cross to get to the center.”
"A bridge? What's the catch? Is it rigged to blow?"
Damien's face is solemn, but he says nothing.
As we begin to descend the narrow stairs, I move to the left and press myself against the railing and the wall. The steps are so narrow we can only fit two-abreast and Leo bumps along on my right. The silence is deafening save for the echo of our boots on the stone walls. It sounds like heels on tiles muffled by soft velvet on the bottom of table legs preventing scratches on the floor. We walk in silence for a while and I count the steps, wonderi
ng how we haven't been caught yet by other demons, souls, or even the satyrs under the employ of the princes of Hell because of the dull thuds.
The steps seem to go on forever and the lower we go, the colder the atmosphere becomes until I can hear my teeth chatter. How is it the Dog Pound, being on the sublevel of the Underworld, is nice and cozy, but Treachery is like walking buck-naked into the arctic? I can see my breath in the blue flames, which don't really flicker in the sconces because they are frozen, and yet still emitting light. Like with the green flames, I never really notice when the flames go kaleidoscopic, it's even more bone chilling, hair-raising than normal flames.
We finally come to a landing with another simple door. I guess the employees of Satan have grown accustomed to the comfort and convenience of the elevator. It's no wonder no one has broken it yet.
Dante pushes through the door and the sight greeting us is glacial in every sense of the word. Souls are frozen into the mile-high ice walls, their screams of pain and terror are permanently etched on their faces, but what really gives me the creeps is their eyes move as we pass by them. I can see a massive black lake up ahead. It's frozen over with black ice, so instead of looking at the faces of the souls in the wall, I fixate on it instead. I figure Lowell is my one good deed. I start with him, one soul at a time. One soul at a time. I continue repeating my mantra in my head as the lake gets closer and closer, and I can see the bridge Dante was talking about. It leads to the far side of the cavern.
By the time we reach the edge of the lake, I'm hugging myself and pressed against Leo who has Tora on her other side. Fae and Tabby seem to be doing the same, and James and Lowell have at least attempted the macho endurance, but as we stand there, they too are pressed in close to one another for warmth. That leaves Zeke, who is still in the clutches of Charles, who doesn't seem bothered at all by the cold, even though Zeke is shaking so hard his teeth might rattle out of his skull. Phil and Dante are still lit up like Christmas bulbs, although the more the kid lights up, the dimmer his light gets every time and I'm worried about him. The only one who doesn't seem affected besides Charles and the angels is Damien. Marty doesn't seem to mind the cold because it is freezing his jelly-like substance into something more solid. Either that, or he's simply getting stronger by the minute as he becomes his new status as a Hellhound. It's difficult to say under the circumstances.
Highway to Hell Page 20