BURN IN HADES

by Michael L. Martin Jr.

  “They were just horsin’ around.” He forced a smile, but his emotions slipped through. He turned away, trying to hide his face from her, but by then it was no use pretending.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “They took my hat, my clothes and my money, but I don’t care.”

  “You should care. That’s not right.” A scowl plastered on her face just like the angry frown her mother always carries around. But this time Charles wasn’t the recipient of the evil glare.

  Kate spun her head around toward the five boys giggling under the awning in front of the hotel. The ringleader twirled Charles’s hat around his finger and then propped it on his head.

  Thunder boomed overhead and the clouds had darkened.

  “I don’t care about what they stole from me,” said Charles, “I can get more stuff. But they took Mr. Beckwourth’s pocket watch. I promised him I wouldn’t lose it. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. He’s gonna whoop—”

  Kate marched away and had already stomped halfway to a confrontation with the boys before Charles could plead with her to let it go. He trailed behind her.

  “Here kitty kitty,” said the ringleader, leaning up against a post. The boys sitting on the porch laughed.

  “Give him back his belongings, Jesse.” said Kate.

  “I haven’t the slightest clue as to what you’re referring to,” said Jesse.

  “The money you all stole from Charlie. Return his clothes too and that pocket watch. It’s not his. It belongs to someone else.”

  “I thought we were friends, Kitty.”

  “I told you, don’t call me that.”

  “Then don’t go calling me no thief.”

  “You’re wearing his hat.” She snatched for the hat.

  Jesse grabbed her arm. Charles stepped forward. The other boys pressed their palms against his chest, holding him back.

  “This here is my hat,” said Jesse. “Now, calling me a thief is one thing. But implying that I’m also liar, them’s mighty harsh accusations.”

  “You’re hurting my arm,” said Kate.

  Jesse released her. She snatched the hat off his head.

  Jesse sprung off the post he was leaning on, and loomed over Kate. She backed away, now looking like a frightened coyote, trembling at the presence of a mountain lion.

  “You know the only thing worse than a lying nigger,” said Jesse, “is a nigger lover. They may as well be a nigger themselves.”

  Charles jumped to Kate’s defense. He swallowed hard. He had never been in a fight before.

  Jesse smirked. “They must both want to be learnt a lesson, boys.”

  Two boys grabbed Charles from behind and held his arms back. The other three boys grabbed Kate at her sides and lifted her off her feet. She struggled as they carried her to the carriage, laughing as though it was the funniest sight they had ever seen. They tossed Kate into the carriage. One of the boys smacked the horse on the ass. The carriage took off, running away with Kate.

  “What’d you go and do that for?” said Jesse.

  “I thought—”

  Jesse shoved the boy. “I do the thinking.”

  The carriage raced down Main Street and out of town. A rage Charles had never felt in his life came over him. His heart thumped. His vision tunneled.

  The sky dropped bucket loads of rain onto the town.

  He found the strength to break free of the boys’ hold. He punched one, laid the boy out. He grabbed the arm of the other and slung him into the hotel door. Jesse backed away, palms up. Charles jammed his hand into Jesse’s pocket and snatched Mr. Beckwourth’s watch.

  “I’ll be back for the rest later.” He raised his fist. Jesse ducked.

  Without hitting the boy, Charles leapt off the sidewalk and saddled a horse tied to a post outside the hotel. He raced the horse as fast as it could run down Main Street and out of town. It only took him a few minutes to catch up to the side of the runaway carriage. He reached out to Kate.

  She stared down at the whisking ground and shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “I won’t let you fall,” he said.

  She extended her hand, timidly. The carriage turned sharply and threw Kate to the rear seat. He raced up alongside the carriage again.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll come to you this time. Don’t worry. I’m gonna save you.”

  He placed both feet on the slippery saddle and crouched, preparing to jump. He balanced and leapt over to the carriage. Kate caught him in her arms. They locked eyes and were lost to the world around them for a lifetime.

  The carriage struck a bump and threw Charles off of Kate. He climbed to the front of the carriage. The reins dragged on the ground, impossible to reach. He leaned over the dash rail and prepared to jump onto the horse’s back.

  The carriage slid around a bend. He slipped and fell over the dash, gripping onto the rail. His feet dragged along the ground, dragging a trail through the mud. The wheels sloshed on either side of him. Rain and mud beat him in the face. Mr. Beckwourth’s pocket watch dropped out of his pocket. The rear wheels ran over it.

  Kate grabbed his wrists and heaved him back into the carriage. Charles took a breath to gather himself, angry that he had dropped the watch after getting it back from the bullies.

  He leapt on the horse’s back and placed his hand on its damp mane just as Dimentia, the old woman from the plantation, had taught him when he had first learned about his magic touch. He stroked the horse, and it came to a sliding halt.

  He hopped out of the carriage and helped Kate down. She embraced him and buried her face in his chest. He held her tight and comforted her.

  A horse galloped up to them. The identity of the rider was hidden behind the veil of heavy rain. Charles held Kate closer to him. He released her when Mr. Carson leapt off the horse. Kate flung herself into her father’s arms whimpering.

  “Don’t worry,” said Cross. “I’m gonna save you.”

  Determined to heal his precious Raven, he sailed the flying boat north toward Niflheim, gliding and bobbing over every obstacle in his way. The flying boat simply skimmed over rivers, barely touching them. The pale horses galloped across the liquid surfaces while Gimlet swam.

  For a week, Cross’s emotions swayed between genuine concern for the Raven’s wellbeing and caring more about her half of the secret to the location of the last Toran. Escaping the underworld won out mostly, but in his chest pulsed increasing warmth for the Raven.

  She lay in the cabin helpless and innocent and suffering. His destruction of such a beautiful creature didn’t sit right with him all of a sudden.

  He wrapped her in the blanket. “Don’t you give up, you stinkin’ buzzard. We ain’t got too far now. You just—” A jolt of pain stabbed his palm. He pulled the splinter out of his hand and tossed it, blindly.

  He grabbed the Raven’s delicate body and shook her. She let out a gasp. It wasn’t a final release of breath. He had heard those before. Her gasp was the wonderful sound of shallow breathing. She hadn’t burned! But that didn’t explain why he had gotten the splinter.

  The splinters never preceded the second death of someone close to him. He had always gotten the sign afterwards. They were never omens of things to come, only confirmation of things that had already happened. The Raven must’ve burned briefly and somehow came back. But he had never seen any spirit come back from second death and always thought it was impossible.

  If the Raven hadn’t burned, the sign could have announced someone else’s second death. But whose? He hoped it wasn’t his old friend Sinuhe. That’s who he was taking the Raven to see. Sinuhe and the other monks of Vingólf were the only souls he could think of that would be able to heal her.

  He used the techniques he had learned from the monks to take great care of the Raven over the next months’ worth of traveling. Had it been him on the verge of second death he suspected he wouldn’t have lasted as long, but the Raven clung on to her afterli
fe, going in and out of consciousness. He didn’t know how she was fighting the Nothing from taking over her spirit, but at some point the black growth had stopped spreading. There was only a hint of the Nothing on her neck.

  He examined her face, arms and legs, and they were all clear. The poison calabash juice in her system could have been defeating the Nothing or the Nothing itself was curing her of the toxins from the fruit. Both in combination should have burned her though, unless they canceled each other out. Either way, the Raven was a strong woman, the strongest woman he had ever known besides Kate. Neither of them was weak like him.

  Halfway to Niflheim, he reached the abyss of Ginnungagap. It stretched for many periods of sleep in front of him and miles to the east into the Inferno. To avoid any of the Anarchist troops marching out of Kurnugia, he traveled along the orange and green edges of the Ginnungagap until he came to a bridge, which cut through the yawning abyss, making for a slightly shorter journey than going around its edge.

  He slowed the ghost horses and Gimlet down and guided the boat across the rickety bridge carefully. Swimming through Ginnungagap wouldn’t have been the same as crossing the other crazy rivers the underworld offered.

  The dark blue liquid that filled the gap was frozen, yet at the same time it boiled like a stew. It was stuck in a continual loop of freezing and thawing into bubbles of gas, and the steamy mush smelled worse than the river of puss in Xibalbá. Sometimes it spewed so high into the air it touched the black clouds, and what the sky didn’t boil to vapor would instantly freeze in place, only to thaw seconds later and crash down on the boat in slushy chunks and then evaporate.

  By the time he reached the foot of the frosty mountains of Niflheim, whatever fight the Raven was putting up was gone. She was losing her battle. Her once milky skin had turned almost completely blistered and black. Only splotches of her normal skin remained on her legs, arms and face.

  Finally, he spotted Vingólf through the mist of burning ice and falling snow. It looked almost same as when he last saw it. Only at first glance was it an honest priory. Closer inspection gave way to its macabre construction. There were so many obvious repairs in process that the snowcapped cathedral appeared abandoned. It was like a child had decided on a whim to patch up holes with pieces of junk he had stolen from a hodder. Some areas were built entirely of objects of the dead, and at some point during Cross’s absence, the steeple had broken off at the tip and the dome had fallen in. He grew worried that he had made such a long trip in vain. He hoped the place was still occupied by his old friends.

  He breathed in relief when a disfigured monk met him outside. He scooped the Raven in his arms and hopped out of the boat. “I have a very ill woman here.”

  “What happened to her?” asked the Monk, who was both a man and a chair at the same time. His legs were the chairs legs, his head propped up on the back of the chair at the head rest, and the arm rests were his arms and hands.

  “War happened, Father.”

  “Poor child,” said the monk shaking his headrest. “Set her down.”

  Carefully, Cross sat the Raven on the monk’s seating area. The chair-man reclined, allowing the Raven to lie back comfortably.

  “Is she still breathing?” asked Cross.

  “Barely,” said the monk. “Let’s get her to a room.”

  Cross crossed himself. “Where’s Prior Sinuhe?”

  “He’s away. He should be back any day now.”

  Unless he had burned. That was the easiest explanation for receiving the splinter. Sinuhe was the only soul he cared enough about to have received a burning sign.

  Inside the hall of Vingólf rested wounded Anarchist and Tribulation troops together in one massive open hall. Many were on the brink of second death like the Raven. Monks and nuns tended to their hopeless injuries, giving the soldiers a proper send off more so than healing them. Only a miracle from the Great Goddess could save the soldiers. Maybe only a miracle could save the Raven.

  The black soot of the Nothing spread all along the floor, webbed along the walls, crowded the columns, and made the cavernous hall seem smaller and suffocating. Some of the half-Nothings crawled as if they had some place to go, moving at a snail’s pace.

  Cross and the monk swept across the great hall stepping over a few of the pitiful souls and carried the Raven down a corridor to a guest room. As Cross began to enter, the monk shoved him away.

  “Wait out here. She needs rest, soldier.”

  The soot covering his and the Raven’s clothes made them look like Anarchist soldiers.

  “Take care of her please,” said Cross. “She’s like a sister to me. If anything were to happen to her—”

  The door slammed in his face. He crossed himself, and fearing the worse, began fiddling with the brim of her top hat. He stuffed his hands inside it trying to return its shape.

  A deep sadness developed for the Raven. She was a lot closer to his heart than he ever realized or would ever admit to. But more pressingly, he’d never get out of the underworld if she burned. He sneaked a sip of devil’s water from the Raven’s flask and belched a puff of smoke. Then her kneeled down and prayed to the Great Goddess.

  “You’ve never let me down, Magna Mater. I need another one of you miracles.” He took out his Latin cross and kissed it. Its light dimmed.

  THE RAVEN LAY IN HER BED, KNOCKING ON SECOND DEATH’S DOOR. Cross was right when he said that the Nothing really sinks its fangs into a soul. To her terror, it had taken a bite out of her and injected its deathly venom deep into her being. Every spot on her body where the Nothing had taken hold was numb and hollow. If she moved too vigorously, she would crack and shed flakes. She dreaded if one of her limbs were to fall off.

  Luckily, the Nothing hadn’t reached her head yet. At least her hearing still worked. Cross’s distinct shuffling footsteps came down the hall before he entered the room. He sat down on the edge of her bed.

  His shirt was still completely soiled in the soot of the Nothing. His collar was completely striped off. He must’ve lost his magic button in Yomi when the Nothing attacked them.

  “There’s no hope for you,” he said. “Only a miracle from Magna Mater herself can save you now. It’s all my fault.” He slapped his hands against his face.

  The gesture came across to her as forced. She’d seen his act enough to recognize it, but the inflection of his delivery told of dual concern for her health and for his salvation. A part of him genuinely cared for her. His compassion murmured in his heartbeat. The rhythm was faint, but she heard its whisper, and it took her by surprise. But his self-interest boomed, overpowering any affection towards her.

  “If I knew I was about to make the big jump,” he said, “I would tell about the Toran.” He wiped what could have been an honest tear from his eye.

  The filthy rat would never get her to talk though. The name of the skull would burn with her, because he deserved the underworld’s unholy matrimony, like every other spirit in it. He wasn’t special. She didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for him.

  “Please, Raven,” he said. “Please tell me the name of the skull. It’s no good to you if you’re a Nothing. If I get out of here, I’ll always remember you.” He crossed himself and poured her a cup of steamy black water that was supposed to taste like coffee, but had the flavor of ground up metal. “Drink this.” He held the cup to her lips.

  She waved Cross to her face, pretending she had something important to tell him. He leaned in closer and held the cup up to her mouth. She knocked the cup in his face, dousing him with the steaming black drink.

  “You dirty bitch!” He threatened to hit her with the parasol handle.

  His ugly words never hurt her. They were just words after all, and only true words could really cut a soul. And only those souls who were in denial of the spoken truth hurt the worse. Falsehoods only impacted the delicate, and she was far from the sensitive type. She wouldn’t have lasted so long in the underworld had she been the type to fly off the handle at the least littl
e thing an ignorant soul had said to her.

  The impetuous manner in which Cross always spoke was so outrageous and ridiculous, it bordered on parody. All of it deserved a laugh. He was just a weak man trying to hurt a woman who was much stronger than he was. She was a dirty bitch and didn’t care who knew it.

  “I asked the Great Goddess to send me an angel,” she said. “I’m glad you came when you did.” She cracked a smile, turned her head to the side on the pillow, and closed her eyes.

  Three weeks of consistent snowfall dropped by the Raven’s window, threatening to bury the priory alive, but never achieving such a worthwhile goal. Amazingly though, she was able to sit upright on the edge of the bed, feeling almost back to her old self, but not quite. Most of the ugly splotches of Nothing had faded away. She was lucky to have recovered at all.

  Cross had prayed at her bedside every day, but she refused to believe the Great Goddess had performed any miracles on her like he kept saying she would.

  But, there was an unusual side effect to her recovery. Her spirit had changed inexplicably. She felt as if she regained a past essence. She felt whole again, as if she had reunited with the soul she never knew she had.

  Cross entered the room and slammed a bowl of devil’s water on the table. “Alright you dirty snatch,” he said. “Get your fat ass off the bed. The party’s over.”

  She flattened her feet on the floor and rose slowly. She wobbled on her tender limbs, and stuttered past Cross without any of his help. A slap stung her ass.

  “Get a wiggle on,” said Cross. “The boat is all ready to go, and with the way Nothing’s are filling up in this place, we better leave before we join them.”

  The chair-monk clunked into the room. “My son, Prior Sinuhe has returned.”

  Cross nodded. “This is something I have to take care of,” he said to the Raven. “It’ll only take a minute.” He left the room with the monk.

  The Raven fastened her belt around her waist and reconnected with her rope dart. During her recovery, she and Cross had made a temporary and unspoken agreement to share the objects in the blanket. As long as they both kept their half of the secret in regards to the location of the Toran, neither one owned an object exclusively. When the secret was out, everything would be up for grabs.