Master of Devils

by Dave Gross

  The Fox and the Hopper distracted the Turtle while Judge Fang cast a spell to make me bigger than a horse. I leaped upon the Turtle’s shell, took his neck in my jaws, and rode him three times across his underground lake. He bellowed and complained that the nearby snakes would steal his treasure, but at last he gave up.

  Defeated, the Four-Waters Turtle agreed to join us. The Whispering Spider knitted a bandage for his neck. Judge Fang made a great show of casting another spell to prevent anyone from stealing the Turtle’s gold while he was absent.

  The Fox confided that she thought Judge Fang knew no such spell. I said that didn’t matter. Snakes did not need treasure, only eggs or mice. As long as the greedy Goblin believed the treasure was protected, the reputation of the Four-Waters Turtle would keep it safe from other thieves. The Fox said I was as cunning as I was brave, which made me feel a little scared of her.

  I tried to remember my bravery as we looked up at all the bodies of dead heroes.

  Judge Fang lowered his walking stick and harrumphed at the corpse dangling against the tree trunk. “This poor hero has dangled here for more than three decades. He is the last survivor of the Dragon Ceremony Massacre.”

  The Goblin scratched his head. “If he’s dead, how can he be a survivor?”

  The Phantom Virgin covered a smile with her hand. Behind her the Dancing Courtesans bobbed and flashed. When the sun reappeared from behind the clouds, all four of the moonlight kami faded out of sight.

  Judge Fang raised his head in a gesture I had learned meant a speech was coming.

  “Don’t be so indignant,” said the Spider before he could speak. “The Goblin has a good point.”

  “The last victim, then.” Judge Fang’s mandibles twitched, but instead of saying more he filled his pipe and lit the tobacco. For once I did not mind the smell. It covered the stink of putrid flesh.

  “I do not see the medallion,” said the Fox.

  I couldn’t see it either. Maybe it had sunken into the dead man’s rotting flesh. If so, I hoped someone else would have the job of digging it out. Maybe the Goblin, who already reeked again, even after the steam bath at the Turtle’s lair.

  We turned to Judge Fang for direction. For weeks he had been leading us to the Tree of Dead Heroes. Here we were to find a medallion that would allow beasts and kami to pass the gates of Iron Mountain and join the guardians of the Gates of Heaven and Hell.

  Judge Fang removed the magical tools from his bag. He lit candles and burned incense. He crushed pigment and added water to make ink. He wrote words on a scroll barely wider than a string, crushed it into a tiny ball, and swallowed it. At last he burned a grain of rice and set it on a tiny dagger made of coins, which floated above the surface of his octagonal mirror. He clutched the mirror in his hands and walked in the direction the dagger pointed.

  “Here there is plenty of magic,” said Judge Fang. “We must search it all to find the talisman.” He nodded at a spot between two green-and-black roots that looked less like wood than writhing snakes.

  “Dig here.”

  The Goblin plunged into the dirt and scratched at the damp soil.

  At the next spot Judge Fang chose, I began to dig. The soil was warmer the deeper I scraped. I did not like the feeling.

  Judge Fang walked on, nodding and indicating more places to dig. As he moved, the clouds veiled the sun again, and the Courtesans and Phantom Virgin reappeared. No matter how far we traveled in daylight, when the sun was hidden, they were still with us.

  The Fox tried helping me, but Judge Fang called her away to start another hole. The Hopper was no use for such a chore. Neither were the Courtesans or the Virgin, but the Four-Waters Turtle scooped up a huge clod with his beak and hurled the crumbled soil away.

  The Goblin yawped and held up a ringed sword. “Mine!”

  Judge Fang opened his mouth to protest, but he sighed and moved on to inspect the next hole.

  We unearthed more scraps of armor and bones. Judge Fang sent the Phoenix and the Spider up the tree to retrieve bracers and a steel skullcap from two of the hanging corpses. He walked the ground with his mirror-compass until he was satisfied we had found all of the magical objects in the graveyard.

  Judge Fang lay them on a sheet of silk the Spider had woven inch by inch whenever we stopped to rest. Beside the sword, bracers, and skullcap lay a leather jerkin studded with bronze discs, a rod with a twelve-sided spinning wheel on top, and two jeweled rings.

  The Four-Waters Turtle snorted at the loot. None of it was made of gold, the only kind of treasure he loved. Still it troubled him. “Who hung all these corpses here without taking their treasure?”

  “The roots of this tree reach all the way to Hell,” said Judge Fang. “Hanging from the boughs you see the remains of those who challenged the King of Heroes. He is the one who tried to slay the Celestial Dragon almost twelve years ago. Now he is known throughout Quain as Burning Cloud Devil.”

  “Burning Cloud Devil!” I remembered the name. “He is the one who took Radovan away in a ball of fire.”

  Judge Fang nodded. “After he fought the dragon, Burning Cloud Devil bargained with Hell to learn sorcery. Since then he has searched for an apprentice to teach his Twin White Palms technique. Many pledged themselves to him, but none could master his teachings. Here you see the bodies of those who failed him.”

  The Fox looked up at the meatiest corpse. “It appears he has had no recent disciples.”

  The Dancing Courtesans fluttered. The Virgin said, “My little sisters say that this Burning Cloud Devil has a new disciple, a powerful devil. It was they who harrowed the cemetery at Nanzhu. Together they travel the country, seeking challengers to test the disciple’s skills. Many heroes have fallen to the fiend’s powerful ki.”

  Beside the Virgin, the Phoenix shed a molten tear.

  “The Twin White Palms is the only blow that can slay an immortal being,” said Judge Fang. “If this new disciple has learned it ...”

  “Then I’ll cut off his arm, too.” The Goblin jangled the ringed sword. The weapon was so big in his hands that I thought he might fall over, but it looked as light as a switch.

  Judge Fang let loose a little shriek. “What have you done?”

  While the rest of us listened to Judge Fang and the Virgin, the Goblin had donned all of the magic armor. The skullcap, bracers, and belt had seemed far too big for him before, but now they fit perfectly. Only the breastplate was still comically large on his skinny frame.

  “You fool!” said Judge Fang. “I have not had time to determine what magical properties these objects contain.”

  “Who else is going to wear them? Most of you don’t even have hands!”

  “You spindly ...chinless ...flatulent ...bow-legged ...idiotic—!”

  “Chins are overrated.”

  “Don’t interrupt!” Judge Fang snatched up the remaining items before the Goblin could touch them.

  “Esteemed Judge,” said the Whispering Spider. “I do not like to be the one to say so twice in one day, but once more the Goblin has a point. He is the only one among us who is both tangible and man-shaped.”

  Judge Fang gaped like a carp and stuck his pipe back in his mouth. He lit the tobacco and puffed a few times. “Fine,” he said at last. “But no one takes the rest until I have a chance to study them.”

  “You’re too small to carry that rod,” said the Goblin. He kicked the dirt. “But I don’t want it. It looks stupid.”

  “Didn’t we come here for a medallion?” said the Fox. The Hopper peeped agreement.

  “Indeed,” said Judge Fang. “I detect no more magic nearby, except for the aura of this tree. I sense an ancient enchantment beneath its bark.”

  “I cannot hear the souls of these corpses,” said the Phantom Virgin. “I should be able to speak with them, but they are hiding.�
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  “Perhaps they appear only at night.” The Spider lifted her head. The sun had disappeared behind the western mountains, but it would be light a little longer.

  “Perhaps.” The Virgin did not sound convinced. She put her ear to the gnarly bole of the tree to listen. “I hear weeping.”

  From out of the crevices in the bark, dark red strands oozed out of the tree. In an instant they took the shape of human hands and grasped the Virgin’s arms and hair. Before she could scream, they pulled her into the tree.

  I ran to her, but she was already gone. The Fox was beside me, and everyone shouted at once.

  I pushed and scratched at the bark, but there was no opening big enough to force a paw through.

  “Gust, Courtesans,” snapped Judge Fang. “Can you follow her?”

  Gust swept herself onto the tree, but her vapors spread over its surface instead of entering. She tossed the branches, but there weren’t even buds to shake loose. The tiny cloud wept in frustration.

  The Dancing Courtesans hesitated, their lights dimming to deep purple and blue. Then they brightened and flew into the tree. They vanished into the bark. We waited for them to emerge.

  “Let’s get out of here before it eats us, too,” said the Goblin.

  The Hopper honked in defiance. The weird kami threw itself against the tree over and over, but its hoof barely dented the bark.

  “Cut it open with your sword.” The Whispering Spider pushed the Goblin toward the tree.

  “You do it!” The Goblin offered her the sword.

  “You’re the one with hands.”

  While they argued, the Four-Winds Turtle lumbered over to the tree. He placed his forefeet on the trunk and pushed his enormous weight against the tree. Roots erupted from the earth, and the ground tilted.

  “Well done, Mighty Turtle!” Judge Fang leaped up and shook his fist. “Open that gate.”

  “A gate to Hell?” whispered the Spider. “Are you sure we should open such a—?”

  A great crease opened in the side of the tree, unleashing light redder than the sunset. A hot blast threw us into the air. We floated helpless for a moment before the tree sucked us inside.

  Hell was a lake of steaming blood under a black sky. The only light came from the Dancing Courtesans, who trembled above the surface of a dark red pool. All around us, the drowning corpses of heroes reached toward us. They moaned for help, but before we could answer they pulled us beneath the surface.

  One clutched my fur hard. I bit his wrist and felt my teeth sink into flesh.

  Did that mean he was alive?

  Did it mean I was dead?

  Beside me, the Fox yelped as more of the living or dead men pulled her under. I bit through their sinews and tore the fingers from their hands. I did not care if they sank to the bottom of the lake. They hurt my friend.

  A blinding ray of light shot through the lake. It turned the dark liquid bright red, and I saw the Hopper’s big eye blazing. Where it touched the corpses, I saw them as whole men and women.

  “Come to me,” said the Turtle. His deep voice sent waves through the sea of blood, forcing the dead away, if only for a moment. “Climb upon my shell.”

  The Fox and I gathered those who could not swim. I set Judge Fang upon the shell and went back for the Goblin. When we returned, everyone else was already safe on the island of the Turtle’s back.

  There was another island in the sea. It moved toward us, or we moved closer to it. In this strange Hell I could not tell the difference.

  The other island had eight sides of eight steps each, and in the middle sat a pagoda. Beneath the pagoda stood a couch on which lay a human in red robes. I could smell the human’s flesh, neither man nor woman. About its neck hung a silver medallion in the shape of a whiskered dragon.

  When it spoke, we heard two voices. One was the voice of a frightened man. The other was that of an angry woman.

  “How dare you trespass in my domain? Did you think your pathetic menagerie could steal from my spoils and escape?”

  The Goblin leaped up and shook his sword. “Yeah!”

  “Be silent, fool!” hissed Judge Fang.

  “No hero that comes within my grasp has ever left.”

  “August Minister of Hell, we have entered your domain by mistake.” Judge Fang kowtowed three times. “Please let us go. There are no heroes among us.”

  “No,” said the Fox. “We do have a hero.”

  “Yeah,” gulped the Goblin. He rattled his sword with a little less enthusiasm.

  “Not you,” whispered the Spider. “Arnisant.”

  I stood still, trying to remember where I had left my bravery. The Fox nuzzled my shoulder, and I found it.

  “I am the hero!” squealed the Goblin. “I’m the one with the sword!”

  “Give us the talisman,” I told the Minister of Hell. “Or I will bite you deeper than your heart.”

  The Minister cackled and tittered in a woman’s and a man’s voice. She and he raised a hand with nails so long they curled three times. “Drag them down, my wretches!”

  The dead heroes clambered up the edges of the shell. The Turtle drank up the blood-red water and turned his head. When he spat it out again, flames shot out, and the shell began to spin.

  The Hopper leaped high and crashed down upon the head of a fat hero carrying a two-headed hammer. The dead man’s skull collapsed, and his body fell back into the sea of blood.

  The Goblin slashed and screamed, scaring his foes more than hurting them. Two tripped over each other and fell back, while the other slipped forward, right onto the ringed sword. As he died, he sighed, “I should have used a spear. I let him come too close ...”

  The Courtesans flew into the faces of the groaning dead. Behind them, the Phantom Virgin played her flute. Her fingers leaped like spring crickets upon the keys, and the heroes gaped and stared.

  “My father wanted me to be a baker, like him,” said one.

  “Woodcutter,” said the next. Together they slipped back into the endless pool of blood.

  “No!” screamed the Minister of Hell. “They are mine, and so are you!”

  The Fox ran beneath the legs of those who climbed higher onto the back of the Turtle. I followed, tearing the weapons from their grips. One left bloody palm prints on my fur after I tore the fingers from his hands.

  “I had a dog once. I can’t remember his name. Maybe it was ...” He too slipped into oblivion.

  Above us the Phoenix flared brightly, illuminating the cavern. It was smaller than it looked before, with slick walls and a domed ceiling. From the center hung a twitching lump of flesh.

  “Strike there!” shouted Judge Fang. “It is the Minister’s heart. She and he is the tree.”

  “No!” he and she cried.

  The Spider shot a filament to the ceiling and pulled herself up. The Phoenix and the Virgin flew after her.

  The bloody sea churned, and all the walls heaved.

  “No, you must not. I command you!”

  “This is not truly Hell,” said Judge Fang. “By the Authority of the Celestial Bureaucracy, I order you to surrender your domain and all its inhabitants.”

  “I dare not,” he and she howled. “It is our charge—” She and he screamed as the Spider tickled the heart with the tips of her legs.

  “Surrender the talisman,” said Judge Fang. “Release your dead.”

  The Minister protested again, but after the Phoenix and the Virgin blew upon the heart, he and she fell to the floor of the pagoda and kowtowed to Judge Fang.

  “I and I submit to the will of Heaven and your judgment.” The Minister removed the medallion and presented it to Judge Fang.

  The tainted waters ran clear, and above us the bark of the black tree opened to reveal a starry sky. Below us,
the bodies of the fallen heroes became moonlight.

  “Come with us!” I shouted to them. “We go to Iron Mountain and the Gates of Heaven and Hell!”

  The Spider returned, and the Turtle rose up through the open mouth of the tree. The Phoenix and the Virgin followed us, and behind them came a legion of fallen heroes.

  The Goblin capered and waved his sword. Behind him, the heroes saluted.

  “See?” The Goblin leaned upon his jangling sword. “I told you I was the hero.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Master of Devils

  After a few flights in Burning Cloud Devil’s fireball, we traveled the last few miles to Iron Mountain on foot.

  All I could make out were blurs of green and black, leaves and tree trunks. I smelled the thick loam of the jungle floor and heard the distant call of birds. I tasted the skunky musk of some creature we startled, but I couldn’t tell you what it looked like.

  Burning Cloud Devil held out his golden scabbard, and I grasped the other end. It occurred to me that he pulled me like a cart, but I felt more like the ass.

  He’d hoodwinked me again.

  The pain had faded, but the venom ruined my sight. I could still make out rough shapes and colors, but everything was smeared like a chalk drawing in the rain. In the dark, I couldn’t see a damned thing.

  When I closed my eyes, though, my last unimpaired vision returned as clear as day, with details I knew I hadn’t just imagined. I saw Cobra’s enormous mouth opened wide to spew his poison in my face. Behind him, crouched on a mushroom-dotted ridge, was Burning Cloud Devil.

  Smiling.

  Once he was done incinerating everything in the cavern with his fireballs, the sorcerer made a fuss over my injury, leading me back to the surface and making a poultice for my eyes. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now it seemed odd that he had the fresh herbs on hand.

  Since then he’d changed the bandages every morning. The injury wouldn’t stop me from fulfilling my bargain, he said. He would direct me in the fight against the Celestial Dragon.