“Don’t try to talk,” she said. “You’ll just burn faster. And we can’t have that. I gotta make it out of here.”
She plunged into the stench of his convulsions, the sweet scent of his torment. Her mouth watered, the itching in her eyes subsided, and she took a much needed moist breath.
She pried the astrolabe from his cold hands, draped it around her neck, and tucked it in her shirt. She ripped the ring from his finger, slipped it into her pocket and tossed the burlap sack with the three objects over her shoulder. Now only she and Balfour knew of the Toran. And as soon as he told her where to find it, she’d burn him too. The Toran would be hers alone.
Before leaving, she indulged in Rowings’s agony one last time. She inhaled every drop of his evaporating life as he dwindled into the murky charred form of second death, staining the bed sheets black.
Strange web-like fibers reached out of his spirit, hundreds of them. They slithered across the bed, threaded through the wood-carved headboard and crept up the walls, never dethatching from Rowings. In a way, they were like arms.
Whatever the nature of this anomalous occurrence, it claimed the entire opposite side of the room and began to swallow the rest of the tree house. She backed away to the door fixated on this bizarre behavior too fascinated by it to run away.
The black strands of Nothing curled around the beams of light entering the window, avoiding a collision, and then squeezed through the slits in wood flooring. The tree wobbled. Her feet yanked from beneath her and she slammed to the floor.
She’d never seen the Nothing behave that way before. Usually a spirit burned and there were no fireworks, no grandiose show, just poof and a soul was gone. She had just witnessed something extraordinarily unprecedented and powerful.
She scrambled out of the tree house and climbed down the ladder as fast as she could. She raced past the nudists and turned back only when she reached the Ankou’s dock.
The Nothing bled out of Rowings’s tree house. The tree itself leaned and collapsed into an explosion of screams. She wanted to stay and enjoy this new work in all its glory, but there was a part of her that was unnerved by the sight. Plus, the light was cooking her again and the authorities would discover her as the culprit if she remained.
She rode the Ankou’s ferry back across the void and lurched back through the golden city. Outside the A’raf, she dropped her sack of objects and her hands fell to her wobbling knees. She inhaled the fine sulfuric smell of eternal rotting souls and slowly regained her strength.
“Halt Demon!” said the guard inside the A’raf.
She rose up from her knees and clenched her bagh nakhs, preparing to go down in a bloody battle to the finish.
“Do not forget your lumenite,” said the guard.
She sighed with relief. “Keep it.”
Diamond Tooth used the three objects Rowings had given her to pay for a ride on a domesticated colossus going to Duat. Riding a colossus was one of the fastest ways to travel throughout the underworld, which was why it was so expensive. As the largest creatures in the underworld—since the mountainous xrafstars had retreated with the ancient deities—the colossi, walking on all-fours, could cross vast stretches of land in one stride, covering a handful of sleep cycles’ worth of travel in hours even in their sloth-like motion.
She climbed the ladder up the monstrous foot and ascended the steep hill that was its leg. A tribal community of pygmies known as the Nwa-Efé lived on the backs of the beasts like fleas on a hellhound. The nomadic civilization bummed around from realm to realm picking up travelers along the way. Every soul had their own personal Hell in addition to the general ordeals of the damned, and the underworld inflicted the Nwa-Efé with wandering forever, incapable of resting or settling. They only stopped to hunt and gather. For them, no place would ever feel like home.
Ushers escorted Diamond Tooth through the wilderness of the colossus’s hair. It grew to the height of trees on the earthy back of the beast and the Nwa-Efé kept their land properly cut as a way of grooming the colossus. They used the excess hairs to build their community of domed huts and also weave their clothes. The hairs offered the traveling city protection from the blistering sky. It remained the only yielding material known to be immune to the heat the sky produced.
The ushers politely lead Diamond Tooth to a hut where all passengers were required to stay for their own protection while the colossus traveled. She kicked back in a corner and enjoyed the rocky ride.
In just a few hours, the colossus arrived in the gang free city of Amenthes, now home to refugees who had fled from their native realms after the gang wars knocked down all the gates that separated the realms from each other.
The colossus lay down as flat as a mountain could and allowed the passengers to safely exit by way of a series of step ladders.
The town of Amenthes had gathered for a festival of some kind. Their singing and dancing wasn’t as bad as the righteous souls in paradise. It only slightly grated on her ears. The gritty tune almost sounded devilish and was surprisingly pleasing to her when the chorus came around.
She entered the temple’s courtyard and waded through the crowd, scouting for Forfax, the rouge squal she had hired about a month ago to find out more information on Clem Balfour. She passed a man holding a sign that read: The Resurrection of the Dead Approaches. The End Is Near.
A familiar voice yelled out. “Get your paws off me!”
A couple of dog-men dragged her old friend Cross over to a crystal altar. She smirked to herself, thinking how Cross was always up to his neck in trouble. He surprised and impressed her with his consistent resilience. With all the beasts hunting him, he should have been burned a long time ago. If any of his pursuers had hired her to do the job, he wouldn’t still be around. The Amenthesians were so incompetent that they couldn’t even see that Cross showed zero evidence of any fright. There was no sweat or wrinkle on his bullet wounded head and he wore a fake frown.
His pores told even more truth. They bled the stench of assurance. He struggled and cursed like a soul fearing second death, but it was an act. She recognized when a soul was truly in fear for their life, because she had embodied that very fear in the eyes and hearts of many. She seemed to have caught Cross in the middle of an interesting con. But what game was he playing?
The fishy odor of Forfax caught her attention before the slimy squal scrambled up to her. The Tribulation uniform he wore looked silly on such a sallow thing. White bandages wrapped around the emaciated creature’s head, and blood seeped through.
“Do you have it?” Forfax flopped around her in a circle like an overzealous dog. “Do you? Do you?”
Diamond Tooth rolled the ring between her fingers. He snatched for the ring. She pulled it back out of his reach.
“What’d you find out?” she asked.
The vile creature huffed and gazed out into the crowd. All animalistic heads bowed in silence as the high priest prayed over Cross.
“Where’s Clem Balfour?” whispered Diamond Tooth.
“All I know is-sss Balfour used to be Tivoli. He’s-sss one ear short and he lives-sss with a girl called Manauia.”
“Where is she?”
“I sss-suffered a head injury you know. My memory’s-sss not sss-so good.” He snapped his gangly fingers and wiggled them, hinting at the ring.
Diamond Tooth tossed the ring to the squal. He cupped his spindly hands and caught it. He held the ring as though it were life itself and hopped around joyously, coveting his precious.
“Now where is she?” asked Diamond Tooth.
“Mictlan. Mictlan. sss-She’s-sss in Mount Mictlan.”
Diamond Tooth rushed back to the colossus area seeking one going north. Only three colossi were left, including the one she rode in on. She asked its tribal leader first. They were headed south to Jahannam. The second tribe was on their way back east to paradise. The third tribe was her only hope, otherwise she’d have to make the long journey on foot and risk missing Balfour.
“Here is as far north as we’re going,” said the stout third tribe leader.
Diamond towered over him and each of his pygmy guards and she was nowhere near the tallest of demons. They all stood no higher than four feet.
“We’re heading west to Kurr,” said the leader. “Where’re ya headed?”
“Mount Mictlan,” she said.
“Mictlan? Are you sure? The only souls that venture there are moonstruck conquerors and squals.”
“Well, I ain’t no squal.”
“I can see that.” He ogled her body up and down, unabashedly. “Well, we’ll be passing through Xibalbá. That’s as close as we can get you to Mount Mictlan. It’ll cost you three objects.”
“Full price?” said Diamond Tooth. “I’m not even traveling the whole way.”
“Two objects then,” said the tribal leader.
“All I have is this.” She held out her last object.
“A match?” said the tribe leader.
“It’s re-lightable. I’ve lit it at least a thousand times. It never burns down.”
She demonstrated. The match burned at the tip and the flame never dropped down the stick.
“Where we live we don’t have much use for fire. Sorry. But protection and hunting is always a concern of ours. How about those?” He nodded his head at her bagh nakhs.
There was no way she was giving them up. She squeezed her fists, contemplating burning the entire tribe and stealing the colossus for herself.
The guards thrust their spears up at her.
“There’s no need for bloodshed,” said the tribal leader. “We’re all friends here.” He made a clicking sound with his mouth and waved the men away. They stood at attention and posted their spears upright.
“Obviously, those objects hold some sentimental value for you,” he said. “And I’m sympathetic to your predicament of being stranded, but not enough to allow you to ride for free. So, either I’m the new owner of those bladed gloves or we work something else out.” He slid his hand from her shoulder down her arm; his eyes lingered all over her chest.
She could easily lop that fat arm off and snatch his eyes out of their sockets. “Don’t you have courtesans in your tribe?” she asked.
“There’s always room for more.” He snatched his arm away from her. “Of course, you can never be too sure with these things. They don’t always work out.” He turned to walk away. His tribesmen helped him up the ladder on the colossus’s foot because he was too fat to make it up alone.
Her options were limited. The colossus ride would get her to Mount Mictlan faster than any other form of travel and with the least amount of struggle. Trouble always lurked for those traveling the underworld on foot.
A colossus avoided every inconvenience by simply stepping over it or on it. A herd of wild colossi once flattened an entire realm in one stampede. She welcomed danger as much as any other demon, but in this instance it would only serve to prolong her journey to her ultimate goal: to find Balfour before he disappeared yet again.
“Wait,” she called after the tubby tribe leader.
He made the clinking sounds again and combined them with a jumble of words in the Nwa-Efé. Eight nearly naked vixens fluttered down the ladder like faeries and greeted Diamond Tooth, giggling.
“My hetaeras will show you to my quarters,” said the leader.
Hetaeras weren’t average whores. They were sage as much as they were beautiful. It was a wonder they’d allow themselves to live like harlots, especially to the runt sized men of the Nwa-Efé. The one thing Diamond Tooth respected of any soul was an educated mind, and hetaeras were sophisticated enough that they could have had any other afterlife they wanted. Instead, they walked a path of disrespect to their very selves. The only thing that made sense about their life choice was that it may not have been a choice at all.
The hetaeras surrounded her and guided her up the step ladder, which lead up the immense foot of the colossus. Then it was a three minute hike up its leg to its back. The hetaeras escorted Diamond Tooth through the hairy wilderness to the tribe leaders hut. It sat all the way at the front of the colossus near its head.
Inside the hut, a woman with bright cherry red hair and emerald green eyes stepped all the way around Diamond Tooth, examining her from head to toe.
She appeared to be the oldest of the hetaeras, and was certainly the most attractive of them. Diamond Tooth might get some enjoyment out of the trip after all.
The rest of the hetaeras sat back and watched this woman’s every move as if waiting for her command. The woman stood in front of Diamond Tooth with one arm folded across her exposed midriff and her chin resting on her limp wrist. All of her fingernails curled like claws; they were painted and glittery. The woman lifted Diamond Tooth’s hair away from her face. The jewelry on her wrists jingled with every movement she made.
“He usually likes brand new souls,” said the vixen. “But I see why he picked you. There’s a beautiful woman underneath all that filth. A diamond in the rough you are. We’ll clean you up, make you presentable.” She tapped her index finger on the tip of Diamond Tooth’s nose. “My name is Mnesarete, favorite of Mnubotu and madam of the hetaera standing before you.”
“I’ll just call you Mnesarete for short,” said Diamond Tooth, teasing her.
Mnesarete tilted her head to the side and contorted her luscious, glossy lips. “Madam Mnesarete,” she said, emphasizing her elevated stature with a sneer.
“And I’m the demon of pain and suffering. But you can just call me Diamond Tooth.”
A couple of the hetaeras glanced at each other after Diamond Tooth’s pronouncement. With a wave of a curly fingernail, Madam Mnesarete gave her hetaeras the order to begin their tasks. Hesitantly, two hetaeras stripped Diamond Tooth out of her slacks and shirt. She tucked the astrolabe in her bundle of clothes.
One strumpet grabbed her bagh nakhs. Diamond Tooth jerked away and stuck the tiger claws under her neck. All the hetaeras backed away except the madam.
“I must file your nails,” said the courtesan with the blades at her neck, trembling.
“Find a work around,” said Diamond Tooth. “These don’t come off.”
“They do or you don’t ride with us,” said Madam Mnesarete, sternly. Her gazer lingered on Diamond Tooth as she slipped the bagh nakh’s off herself. “You won’t need them anyway.” She sat them on a table in the corner. “Here, they will remain within your sight at all times.”
Madam Mnesarete’s stunning curvaceous frame would remain in Diamond Tooth’s sight at all times.
The rest of the hetaeras each took an individual task as if Diamond Tooth was a personal project of theirs: one courtesan bathed Diamond Tooth in fresh water. Afterwards, two of the women slipped Diamond Tooth into a skimpier ensemble to match their revealing attire. Another hetaera toiled with Diamond Tooth’s hair. A fourth applied makeup. The fifth one was supposed to file and paint Diamond Tooth’s fingernails at some point, but instead hunkered back in the corner the entire time, massaging the red marks on her neck where the tiger claws had pricked her.
“You frightened her,” said Madam Mnesarete. “She’s a brand new soul. We picked her up a few sleep cycles before we found you. I think you may be her first demon.”
“I don’t frighten you?” asked Diamond Tooth. She found the madam’s dauntlessness intriguing. She appreciated a tough woman, and very few spirits weren’t afraid of demons.
The madam clasped both her hands around Diamond Tooth’s hand. “Let’s you and I enjoy the view of the festivities. I hope we get a chance to see the entire ceremony.” She led Diamond Tooth over to the window. “You could polish a diamond with your hands. Your manicure is the next.”
They gazed down at the ceremony below. The high priest held a blade over Cross’s neck.
“I’m glad they got him,” said the madam. “The Man Who Remembers. He thinks he’s the only one that deserves to know what’s out there in the beyond. Such knowledge should be freely available t
o all and not just one soul. Now we will find out if the myths are truly myths or not.”
Diamond Tooth snickered.
“What do you find humorous?” asked the madam.
“Men with blades at their necks don’t always lose their heads. Even a miserable soul like that has a guardian angel.” Diamond Tooth sniffed the crowd and detected the scent of another waxy alias in the vicinity besides Cross. She traced the stale aroma.
Just as she suspected, hidden atop the columns in the courtyard, she spotted her nemesis: the black winged angel with the top hat.
CROSS LAY ON THE CRYSTAL ALTAR, eyes closed, wondering why his head hadn’t fallen into the filthy paws of the shaved kitty yet. He felt the rope slither around his body and a loud clang sounded. He opened his eyes and found his obsidian blade lying next to him with a large hole pierced through the center of the wooden paddle’s flat side. Black blood stained it. His blood. He grabbed his neck. It was still attached to his shoulders and was barely nicked.
He grabbed the obsidian blade’s hilt as tightly as he could, given his bound wrists, and rolled off the altar into the sand. A spirit wrapped in dingy white cloth grabbed for him. Cross sliced through the bandages and the spirit fell apart as if it never existed.
Three dog-men waved sickle-swords. He bobbed and weaved each slice and stab. The Raven’s rope dart impaled two dog-men at once. They withered to Nothing. The remaining mongrel turned toward the Raven, barking. Cross shouldered his way through him and other random spirits.
Fortunately, not all the souls attacked him. Most were just normal people who had simply gathered for the show. He squeezed through the ones who didn’t make a hole for him to race through, and he bowled some innocent folks over who shouldn’t have stood in his way like idiots.
Most of the crowd reacted as though they were just as afraid of him as he was terrified of them. They lurched backward in fear and allowed him to pass. The lion women hissed in fright and yanked their cubs away from him as if he were the crazy one trying to chop off someone’s head.
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