Strays

by Remy Wilkins

  Murkpockets snarled.

  “Come, Murkpockets, the Cruelties begin soon.” Itchpot waddled toward him, and he was forced to back out and follow.

  The pit had slowly evolved over the five years since Murkpockets and a few other demons had first started it. Initially it was just a small hole beneath the Alvarium Ray had built. As the number of cruentated demons grew, the space was expanded more and more in all directions. Finally the haphazard digging was reined in by Fibditch. He laid out what became the design of the anti-Eden. The small room beneath the Alvarium over the next few years became the hollow a four-story building could fit into. Little pockets lined the spiral ramp that hugged the cavern’s walls.

  At the bottom of the cavern were three tunnels. The middle one, the one Itchpot and Murkpockets emerged from, was the leadership arm. It held the abode of the Old Master and the command rooms. At least one of the top-ranking demons (Itchpot, Murkpockets, Rotsnogger, Spit-thicket, and Fibditch) could be found there, dealing out orders or punishments or whatever else needed threatening.

  The other two tunnels, running east and west, were more or less catacombs where the demons recuperated after being drained or else continued the expansion of the barracks. This is where the two rivals walked now. They looked down the aisles which were pocked with alcoves for fainting, ichor-deprived demons. As they walked by, smaller demons were careful to stay away from the two powerful leaders. Occasionally Murkpockets would flick out a wing to strike an unwary demon.

  Draining ichor was slow, and as their number grew, there was too much time for idle demons to get into mischief. Hell would eat itself if there were idleness enough.

  To solve this, Itchpot suggested that a stadium be dug out for fights and maiming, two popular pastimes in the outer darkness. It was agreed to, and another large room was begun. It was an amphitheater, a great sphere filled with smaller circles that descended to an open space in the center.

  Murkpockets and Itchpot entered the great room already full of squirming, shoving underlings. The crowd flinched and fell back as the two approached. They chose seats midway down the sphere and kicked their feet up onto the backs of the group in front of them.

  Demons were conscripted. Great warriors were unleashed on weaker demons, or if the demons were evenly matched one demon would have his wings clipped and hands tied. Demons hate fair fights and dramatic tension. They like a clear-cut winner.

  This is the lesson the Old Master insisted on. It was an insult that Heaven had mighty angelic warriors, but rarely used them. Heaven preferred the stuttering, desperate victories through the weakness of humanity. It was perverse. The mighty should always win, and if the Enemy didn’t press her advantage, then Hell would show her how.

  Cruentated demons were mightier than the dirtbags of flesh and were out of the reach of angels, so the lesson of strength was safe under the current conditions. The mob was already in a mudthirsty frenzy. “What is the game, Itchpot?”

  Itchpot made a burping sound and scratched his paunch. “It is Sticks and Stones, uhbaugh. Itchpot prefers Crushing.”

  Sticks and Stones was a game of two demons fighting using only the bodies of smaller demons that were shackled and thrown into the arena at various times. Crushing was more of an intellectual pleasure, one demon, the crusher, among a line of prostrate demons getting their heads crushed one by one. Both games sent ripples of envy up Murkpocket’s spine.

  He bristled and sneered at the two larger demons strolling onto the muddy floor of the arena. As per demonic ethics only one demon would get smaller demons to use as weapons. It was his job to make sure he kept them or broke them so his opponent couldn’t use them. Fair play makes Hell sick.

  “Ah,” gurgled Itchpot. “That is Gag-racket, a vile deceiver,” he said pointing out a lean warrior accepting a shivering demon, bound in the shape of a spear.

  “Three wings on the cripple,” Murkpockets said, indicating Gag-racket’s limping opponent. “That he will put on a show.”

  Itchpot appraised the slighter demon. “Done.”

  They sat forward as the battle began. Gag-racket jumped and threw the demon like a bolt from the sky. His target, whose name was Garglenails, rolled sideways to avoid the assault. The thrown demon smashed into the ground, sending the muck that covered the hard stone floor into the stands. The delighted audience booed, the sound careening off the walls.

  Garglenails picked up the dazed demon and slung him back at Gag-racket. Gag-racket caught two small demons tossed from the stands and slammed them both down on the sailing missile. The demon spear hit the ground and didn’t move. The two fighters circled each other, Gag-racket waving the smaller demons like clubs.

  Murkpockets clenched his fists and spoke between his teeth. “Now that the traitorous adam has been taken, the boy should fall soon.”

  Itchpot burped loudly, chewed briefly, and turned to him. “Your impatience is appreciated, Murkpockets, but the child must be taken only when the army is raised.”

  Murkpockets’s face crumpled into a horrible scowl. He spit, the muddy glob striking the back of the demon before him. “It galls Murkpockets.”

  “And the stray too will fall. Hell cannot stand his weakness.”

  They paused to watch a particularly brutal part of the match. Gag-racket had sent Garglenails to his knees and he was making sure nothing would rise from the ground again. The arena was littered with the broken bodies of the smaller demons used as weapons.

  “The army grows too slowly. The boy might seek help from Heaven if Hell delays.”

  “All—higauff—in bad time, wicked one.”

  Gag-racket ceased his slaughter and stood, “To the victor go the spoils!” he yelled over the boos and curses of the crowd. Gag-racket began to feast on the corpses of the slain demons. The crowd stood and began to leave, some to cram mud into their mouths to remain weighty, some to dig, some to have their ichor drained.

  Murkpockets grabbed a couple of demons and ripped their wings off. He handed them to Itchpot. “It was a dull match, so here are your winnings.”

  Itchpot took the wings and tossed them over his shoulder. “Yes, I agree, it was a delightful fight.”

  Murkpockets stood and faced Itchpot. “But your delay sickens me. The Old Master said there would be no strays!”

  Itchpot waved a hand. “No strays, yes, Itchpot has heard you yammer—urgah—about it countless times. But the Old Master has a surprise for all. Heaven overlooks it, else she would have acted.”

  “It is too late. Hell is moving out from under the hand of the angeloi,” he said turning and stomped up to the exit. “Murkpockets wants the stray.”

  * * *

  Rodney awoke in bed surrounded by rabbits. He was curled around the fuzzy gray stone of Ebenezer, Jerome was at his head, and Thundertrump buried his feet. He heard the jangling snore of Pinwheel somewhere above him on the bed.

  As carefully and as quietly as he could, Rodney sat up. The dresser shoved against the bedroom door was undisturbed and Libra, Rodney’s bat, was leaning against the bed where he had left it.

  Pinwheel argued that had demons wanted to tear down the wall they could’ve done so easily, but it still made Rodney feel better to barricade the way. He wasn’t as confident as Pinwheel that the rabbits would keep them safe. Rodney slid off the bed, pulled his shoes on, and pushed the dresser back. As he opened the door Thundertrump sat up and barked at Pinwheel. Pinwheel stirred.

  “Whazzat, Murgpoggits, huh?” Pinwheel rubbed his eyes. He saw Rodney about to slip out the door. He shook his head to get his eyes straight. “What just happened? My eyes were closed and . . . and—” he looked around. “And the sun came up all of a sudden.”

  Rodney gave Pinwheel a confused look. “You were asleep.”

  “What is ‘asleep’?”

  “It’s . . . I don’t know. It’s rest. You get tired and you have to sleep.”
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  “So that is what it is like. Wow, super weird.”

  Rodney shrugged. “No it isn’t. It’s normal.”

  Pinwheel looked around, checking his arms and legs for other changes. “I did not realize, but I was aching last night. I thought it was fear, but I feel better now. This is neat.”

  Rodney frowned. “You’re weird.” He moved to leave again.

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’ve got to contact my guardian angel. I have an idea.”

  The whole crew, three rabbits and a former demon, followed Rodney outside and into the backyard. There, right next to the kitchen window, was a ladder that led to a deck on the second story. From there, another ladder led to the third story roof.

  “It’s for cleaning the windows of the observatory,” he explained to Pinwheel as he climbed up the ladder. Leaving the rabbits below, Pinwheel followed him.

  They went straight to the top. Rodney shivered despite the early heat of the morning. He pulled himself up the ladder. He looked across the open field. The sun lit up the tree tops, and in the distance the mountain seemed smoky with fire. The air felt heavy, and a cold fright weighed down on Rodney.

  Slowly, gingerly, Rodney crawled on top of the house. The roof wasn’t steep and the windows of the observatory had ridges that were easy to hold, but it took him two minutes to let go of the ladder. It took another two for him to slide his knees onto the roof. He leaned against the shingles, holding the ridge of the windows on either side and hunkered down in fear. His palms ran soggy with sweat. He was forty-plus feet in the air.

  Pinwheel remained on the ladder, watching him. “What are you doing?”

  A wind blew, and Rodney realized he’d left his hat in his room. “I was going to—going to j-jump.”

  Pinwheel realized the plan. “So your guardian angel will catch you?”

  “That’s the plan,” he said, but it was clear that he was frozen to the spot. One foot was still on the ladder, the other braced at the edge of the roof.

  Pinwheel looked down. It was coming up on seven o’clock, and long shadows still covered the grass. “It is a good idea,” he said.

  “Yeah, but I don’t know that I could jump far enough from the house to make it to the grass.”

  “You don’t want to make it to the grass,” replied Pinwheel. “You want to be caught.”

  “Yeah, but I need to give him plenty of time to catch me too.”

  “True.”

  “I don’t think I can even move, though.”

  Pinwheel reached out to push Rodney. He jostled Rodney’s leg.

  “Don’t!” barked Rodney. His whole body had seized up.

  “Go,” he said.

  “I can’t.”

  “Do it.”

  “No, I don’t want to anymore. Back up, I’m coming down.” Pinwheel dropped down the ladder and Rodney slowly scooted back. Once they were on the second floor deck Rodney’s legs began to tremble. He squatted down and put his arms on his knees.

  “What were you doing, Pinwheel? Trying to kill me?”

  “Time is running out. The demons have taken Ray. They will come for me and you next.”

  Rodney hid his eyes from Pinwheel. “You said Ray was working with them.”

  “He was.”

  Rodney pulled his head up to look at the black creature in front of him. “Then why did they attack him and beat him up and drag him off?” Tears had sprung to his eyes.

  Pinwheel slouched. “I do not know.”

  “Do guardian angels exist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would mine have caught me?”

  Pinwheel paused and looked to the sky. “I do not know.”

  “But you were telling me to jump.”

  Pinwheel was silent a moment. “Come on, I’ve got a better idea.” He turned his back on Rodney and descended the stairs.

  Once on the ground Rodney felt better. His legs lost the jelly feeling and regained their strength. He followed Pinwheel into the woods, the rabbits trailing behind.

  “In my first days here,” Pinwheel said, as Rodney caught up with him, “since I was banned from the pit, I spent a lot of time wandering the woods at night.”

  They were heading in the direction of the highway, about the same place Rodney had tromped through his first day here. The ground grew steep as they went up the final hill of Skeleton Mount.

  “That is when I found the steep place.” Pinwheel said, as if Rodney knew the place.

  They trudged in silence, pausing every now and then to let the rabbits catch up. Rodney felt silly, but the rabbits did indeed give him some comfort. By the time they reached the ravine, leaves were stuck to Rodney’s skin and twigs clung to Pinwheel’s furry shoulders and arms. The coolness of the river cut the heavy air. Rodney took big breaths to calm himself. The ravine was steep, and the Second River swarmed fifteen feet below where they stood.

  “So you think I should jump?”

  Pinwheel nodded. “It is safer than leaping off the Honeycomb House.”

  “There’s a waterfall down that way,” Rodney said, pointing westward. “I crossed it my first day here.”

  “I know, I followed you. Well, Birthless followed you.”

  “That’s creepy. Glad I didn’t know that at the time.” He looked down at the gurgling river. The surface billowed with the speed of the current. The water was dark and quiet. “How deep do you think it is?”

  Without a word Pinwheel leapt and sailed down the steep slope of the ravine with his wings outstretched. Right before hitting the water he folded them and slipped into the water with hardly a splash.

  Rodney was too stunned to do anything before Pinwheel burst out of the water like a rocket, zipped up the embankment, and alighted next to him again. “It is near seven and a half lengths of me,” he announced, and then shook himself, like a dog, sending the water out in all directions.

  Rodney shielded himself from the spray. “Wow, that was cool. I didn’t think you could fly that fast.”

  Pinwheel couldn’t help but smile. “I can tie the front side of the east to the backside of the west.”

  “So seven and a half lengths, that means, what, since you’re around two feet tall, something like, um, fifteen feet deep?”

  “Yes, with rocks at the bottom.”

  “Wait, if you can fly then why don’t you just fly up to Heaven? Can you go that high?”

  Pinwheel shook his head. “Heaven is not up. Heaven is beside us far away.”

  “Beside us? Far away? Why does everything have to make no sense?”

  Pinwheel shrugged again. “I have heard some adams talk about Heaven being on the other side of what we see. Nearby but impossible to reach through our own powers.”

  “So it’s right next to us, but we can’t get to it.”

  Pinwheel half nodded, half shrugged, half put his hands in the air.

  Rodney heaved out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “Great. You’re such a huge help, by the way.”

  “We have to get your angel to show up.”

  Rodney looked down at the ground as it sloped into the water below. “I don’t get it. If my guardian angel is here, why can’t he hear us talking about him? Why won’t he just show up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Rodney crossed his arms. “But if I jump into the water and almost drown, he’ll show up.”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Think so or know so?”

  “I know so,” he said more firmly. “I think.”

  Rodney settled his feet into the soft turf, putting his weight on one leg then the other. “Okay, okay, okay.” He began rocking forward. “This is so dumb. This is stupid.” He took a few deep breaths. Rodney closed his eyes. “But when you’re in danger your guardian angel comes to save you.”
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  “Right.”

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Rodney took a deep breath and edged forward to scoot down the slope. He began a controlled slide on his heels with a hand on the ground to balance him.

  Midway down, his speed increased and a root caught his left foot and flipped him over. He cried out and fell, bounced and rolled into the surging river with a great splash. There was a flash of light. Rodney felt a cold sting; black wet surrounded him. Bubbles tickled his face as the shock of the frigid water caused his body to clench, releasing the air in his lungs. His arms were outspread, but he couldn’t move them.

  A black bolt struck the water. Propelled by four limbs and two wings, something latched onto Rodney and pulled him upward. Rodney burst into the air and sucked in great drafts of it to smother the fire in his lungs. He sank down and had to be pulled back to the surface by Pinwheel’s bony arm. He sputtered and kicked with his legs to stay above the rolling water.

  The current was even stronger than it looked from the bank, and the rocks were too slick to cling to. They careened from one rock to another before Rodney managed to shove Pinwheel atop an outcropping. He managed to lodge himself between two other rocks until Pinwheel was able to fling the wet from his wings and draw him from the rapids.

  Rodney recovered, pressed against the sides of the ravine, before they climbed out of it. Once they had moved to a safe distance from the river, Rodney collapsed to his knees. He curled up in the weeds and fallen leaves, covering his face with his arms.

  They’d managed to end up on the same side of the river they’d started on, only several dozen feet from where Rodney had fallen in. He found a place where the sun angled past the tree canopy, and he let its thin heat burrow into his back. They lay motionless for some time.

  Pinwheel finally spoke. “The curious thing about you and your uncle is that the demons have seen no signs of your guardian angels.”

  “What? We don’t have guardian angels?”

  “The demons seem to think that you both have been abandoned.”

  Abandoned. The word struck Rodney like a fist in the stomach.