by Kenny Soward
Chapter 20
It was strange walking next to Bess and her aura of quiet menace, but Lonnie wasn’t worried. The `Venger seemed to have come off her hard edge and adopted a policy of space. That is, she stayed at least three feet away from any single individual. Lonnie assumed it was so she’d have time to draw a weapon and get off some shots before anyone could touch her. The woman was tough. Like Elsa and Ingrid, only with a personal intensity that was palpable.
Well, Lonnie could play that game too.
Bess gave Lonnie a sidelong look. “Are they always so annoying?”
Lonnie shook his head. “Elsa and Ingrid? I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“It’s a long story. They’re just bored. Bored whorchals are unruly whorchals.”
“No kidding.”
Gruff led them along the dirt floor tunnel which dipped and curved back up again. At the lowest point, a stream crossed in front of them spanned by a tiny wooden bridge. They passed over that and began the uphill trek. Shallow ditches bracketed the path, channeling runoff. At the top, they found themselves in the place where they’d first entered the Under River.
The tunnel angled left, but they remained in the widened receiving chamber. Lonnie's eyes were glued to the big soft puddle of mud on the floor and the slow ceiling drip. The creek smell was overpowering, a fishy, muddy odor.
Water roared overhead, and the only thing keeping them from drowning was the thin dirt impregnated with the slithering arms of Gruff’s leviathan beasts and whatever magic the old man had drummed up to seal it all together.
Lonnie got out a cigarette given to him by Selix, packed up tight in plastic before they'd entered the river. Took out his dragon lighter (hard to believe the damn thing hadn’t been crushed or waterlogged) and lit up. Inhaled nice and long and blew the smoke up at the ceiling, watching the leviathan arms slither away from it.
An extra spray of water hit him and Lonnie gave a surprised chuckle.
Gruff stood in the center of the room, lifted his face up as the brownish drippings spattered on his cheeks. He opened his mouth and caught some, resembling an old child standing beneath his first spring rain, overjoyed at the wetness splashing on his tongue.
Bess and Lonnie exchanged a look.
Gruff spread his arms. “My children are strong here. Gentle warriors.” Gruff stuffed his fists together and held them over his head. “They help and protect us. From sleepwalkers and demons alike.”
Bess made a face. “What?”
“I think he means humans and fade rippers.”
“Oh. How, Gruff? How do you do it?”
Gruff shot Bess a look and ran to the base of one wall, patting with his palms as he explained the complex architecture of the room. “Anchored here, they grow. Support these walls and then…” He put his elbows close together, threw his hands up, and splayed his fingers like a tree. “They reach up and spread through the river.”
“I mean, how do your children tell if someone is hurt or not? How can they tell if someone is good or bad? Do they let in anyone?”
“They just know.” Gruff shrugged, then broke into a funny little jig in middle of the mud, rhyming, “Follow the hose, everyone knows.”
Lonnie glanced at Bess and saw her crack a smile. It was small, barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.
She caught him looking. “What?”
“Nothing,” Lonnie said. He dropped his cigarette into a puddle and nodded to the other passage. “Hey Gruff what’s down there?”
“Oh yes. Follow me. The operation room.”
This strange and eccentric River King, for that’s exactly how Lonnie was beginning to think of the man, charged out of the room and through the corridor, gesturing and waving his hands. They stuck to his heels, and after another thirty or forty yards, Gruff dipped into an alcove on their right.
It was a large room. Large for the Under River. A long stainless steel table rested in the center. A pile of blankets sat neatly folded on the near end. Others, bloodstained, lay wadded in a hamper off to the side.
“Follow, follow,” Gruff said, walking them past the bloody hamper to the far wall where shelves held glass jars filled with poultices and gunk. Lonnie peered closely at the cracked labels. Words like Gar Root and Thistle marked them, but others bore writing in a language he couldn’t understand. Nothing in his old memories gave him a clue.
Next to those were a few shallow plastic bins bursting with swabs, bandages, and wraps, each in their own special place. Smaller bins, the tall kind with drawers, held other useful items. New syringes, bottles of aspirin and iodine, and other drugs Lonnie figured had to be seriously illegal to have. He considered searching through the stuff for something to use, but kept his junkie instincts in check.
Next to the bandages were big gallon containers of the poultice and gunk. Arms slithered, much smaller versions of their larger brethren, wiggling over the openings, causing Lonnie to take a quick step back.
“What the—?”
Gruff pushed past him and reached into the tuft of wiggling arms, drawing some slop out with his fingers and letting it fall into the containers with a wet slap. “Makin’ sealant.”
Bess’s face was a mixture of revulsion and fascination. “What kind of sealant?”
“Skin sealant. For cracks and holes in folk.”
“You put that on people?”
“In them, too.”
“That can’t be sterile.”
Gruff’s grin was wide and knowing. “It is. It is. More than sterile. Kills the bad infection.”
"Antibacterial? Nice."
Bess was still shaking her head, hand absently going to the wound in her side now covered in a bandage. “Is that on me?”
“Yes it is,” Gruff sang.
Bess's face went sour, but she stretched her arm up high and shrugged. “Well, I can’t complain. It feels good. And I’ve seen weirder things.”
Lonnie gifted her with an incredulous expression. “Really? You've seen weirder things? Weirder than a bunch of wiggling worms that make a poultice that this guy rubs on people? A poultice, may I remind you, made of river mud. I mean, I live right in the middle of weird and this takes the cake. This whole place.”
Bess only smiled and shrugged, moving off to investigate more weird stuff.
“Been here a long, long time, Mr. Lonnie Bet-Ohman.” Gruff continued. “Since before the white folks, when the native tribes were just forming. Used to heal them, too, I did. Then came the wars. And then more wars. That’s where Gruff truly learned his craft, yes.”
Lonnie stared at the strange little fellow and sensed the tremendous age wafting off the old man. Earlier, he'd been too worried about himself and other things to notice. But Gruff exuded an aura of calm presence, something wise beyond wisdom.
“And before this? Before Earth?”
Gruff paused for a moment, eyes drifting up in reflection. His lips made murmurs but no words came out. The dirt streaked his face like sodden tears. “Before this world, I wandered on Septu.”
“On Septu? Hell, you mean. The Rim?”
The old man’s dirty cheeks rose as his far-distant smile widened. “Everywhere. Far outside the Rim to Hell’s distant corners. To the ancient cities of Hoqith and Qirheth. To the caves of the Hex Muses in the foothills of Onzulle. And beyond that.”
Lonnie swallowed. “You ever see Xester?”
Gruff pshawed. “Oh, yes. Many times.”
“Did you know—?”
“The Bet-Ohman’s? Yes. I knew those who built the great City in Chains. Knew the place when it was half-buried in sand. I knew it all.”
“Why did you leave?”
“See, you do have some regular tools.” Bess’s voice broke through whatever spell the River King had on Lonnie, but he wanted to talk more with the old guy. Gruff was full of the past, a living, breathing archive to truths Lonnie might not discover any other way.
A thic
k paw reached out and clutched his forearm with a strength he wouldn’t have thought possible. Gruff’s eyes studied Lonnie. “You’re one of the good ones. It's in your face.”
Then the old man let go, waddling off in a chattering whirlwind.
Chapter 21
Lonnie joined Bess at a small sink, surprisingly immaculate, where scalpels and scissors lay in an open padded case next to other items clearly from a time long gone. Nightmare-toothed saws and cutting devices. Things made to pry apart chests and get to the soft insides of people.
“Serious shit here,” Bess said.
“Yes,” Gruff chuckled as he waddled up behind them. “Serious. This…” he pointed to one of the big chest-rippers on the table by the sink, “I used on you.”
“Jesus Christ.” Lonnie clutched his chest as he imagined his ribs cracking and breaking under the splitting forks and old, worn crank. He shuddered. “Time to move on.”
“Follow, follow.” The tottering man waved at them. “To the Arboretum.”
They returned to the main passage. This entire section of the Under River followed a circular pattern, wrapping around itself and bolstered with pieces of timber, reminding Lonnie of gold mine tunnels. Was this the first place Gruff settled when he’d crossed from Hell? Had he always been beneath the rushing waters of the Ohio River?
What was the river called then? And why had he built his kingdom so deep? Then again, what better place? The Under River afforded him the ultimate protection. The perfect defense system.
“Ah, here. Here.” Gruff came to another roundish archway and stood to the side, gesturing for them to enter.
Bess nodded for Lonnie to go ahead.
Lonnie stepped across the threshold, eyes absorbing one of the most magnificent spectacles he’d ever seen. He scanned upward, through the matrix of tree branches and long, curved leaves that hung in brownish sickles above their heads, dripping fat drops of water down, down, down, to the chamber floor stories deep.
It was bottomless as far as Lonnie could tell.
A trunk as thick as a building stretched the chamber's full height, anchoring everything. Its bark was smooth and thin, weighted by the moisture and sometimes peeling away right before his eyes. A vivid, mossy glow bathed the roof and settled into a natural white light lower down.
Lonnie made out scaffolding set against the walls and around the trunk. Nestled in the mud, along with more squirming tentacles, were pop bottles. Thousands of them. Maybe a million.
“Oh, blessed Lord.”
Lonnie glanced at Bess gawking with dumbfounded appreciation.
“Incredible, huh?” Lonnie said, still trying to absorb it.
“What in Jesus’s name?”
Their ears caught quiet, slithering sounds and more of that drip, drip, drip.
“This is the core of me.” Gruff motioned excitedly for them to follow, climbing onto wooden planks thrown across some of the scaffolding arms. The old man grasped branches and swung beneath them, scrambled over others, and moved as confidently as an ape in its natural habitat.
Bess and Lonnie exchanged a look. The `Venger’s eyes were still full of hard doubt and mistrust, but something in her had softened, either by the immensity and magic of Gruff's world or because she felt more comfortable with the idea Lonnie wouldn't try to kill her. Probably a little of both.
Lonnie shrugged. “You in?”
When Bess only looked at him, he shrugged again. “You can stay here. I’m checking this place out. It’s amazing.” And then Lonnie followed Gruff as best he could. Stepping where the old man stepped. Holding on where the old man held. Up and over. Under and around. Lonnie peeked inside the pop bottles as he went by, trying to glean what grew there. He caught glimpses of tiny sprouts, leaves and little vines reaching through the openings to touch the tendrils of greater beasts living in the walls.
Lonnie realized that any threat to this place, anyone who tried to harm Gruff, would be summarily ripped to pieces. That was power. A god-like presence that filled Lonnie’s head with awe. It was easy to understand how Gruff kept his Code o’ Peace.
What would have happened if they’d fought with Bess?
Quarter of the way around he heard the creak of a branch behind him, and he half-turned to see Bess bringing up the rear. She was too busy trying to hang on and navigate the maze to worry about Lonnie. Her eyes danced everywhere. She must've felt the same elation and awe, the chamber's ominous power leaving no question it was in charge.
So, she came on, free of care, free of fear. Free of mistrust and threat.
Bess was moving fast, too. Easily working her way to him with professional ease. As he’d noticed when he'd first seen her lying half naked on her bed, she was a physical specimen. He wouldn’t use the term ‘Amazonian,’ for she lacked the height and weight for that, but she was agile, strong, and determined.
Lonnie slowed, waiting for Bess to draw even.
“This place is incredible," she said. "By the glory of God.”
“Um, I don’t think it was God. Just Gruff.”
“God works in mysterious ways. Through fade rippers, too, it seems.”
Lonnie laughed. “That’s gotta fuck you up. Fade rippers as tools of God. Because why would God work through us if we weren’t part of his plan?”
Bess nodded, seeming to agree with him, but she explained no further.
“Careful,” Lonnie said as she worked her away around him and up into the tangle, testing each new spot before trusting it, moving with the purpose of someone who had climbed a lot of shit in her life; rocks and trails and whatever people with muscles and raw courage climbed.
Lonnie’s eyes searched ahead for Gruff but he was nowhere to be seen, having disappeared around the long curve of the place and now hidden behind the weighty boughs and vines.
Lonnie picked his way carefully, and if Bess wanted to break her neck, that was fine with him. Plus, he didn’t trust himself, his body nowhere near in shape to climb anything. Another regret about being on the junk, but minus the tremendous guilt. He hadn’t betrayed a wife and child, at least not a real one. He hadn’t ignored or abused any pets or failed to call his mother. He hadn’t lost his business because Worthington's Transmission never existed.
Hell, he didn’t even have a piece of shit brother like he’d thought.
The revelation jarred him. The weight of those old burdens evaporated, his mind easing. And he was glad that Bess had moved out of range because he didn’t want her to see his cracking emotion.
The beauty of the Arboretum melted his heart. Turned his insides to wet clay. The smells of mud and dirt and river. They forced him to think of his life in relation to much older things. To realize his insignificance in the grand scheme, Prince of Hell or not.
It was humbling.
Resting his arms across a chest-high branch, Lonnie lowered his head over the bottomless space and let the tears come. Quiet sobs, drowned out by the river rushing above and around them. The rustling of leviathan boughs.
Spray hit him from above, the cool water sending a chill through his body and washing his tears from sight.
“Come now!” Gruff called, still out of view.
Lonnie got himself together and followed the old man, taking his time as he made his way beneath the pale and deceptive light. He spotted Gruff sitting on a small, three-rung step ladder, hands clasped before him as he admired his own creation from a plywood viewing platform.
Bess dropped onto the scaffolding next to him with a thump. “How long ago did you make this place?”
“Oh, I’m no counter of time.”
“Well, what was happening above us when you moved in?”
Gruff’s eyes drifted upward as if to peer through the ceiling and the river into a past age. He shook his head. “Nothin’. Nothin’ was going on.” Gruff shifted his attention to the `Venger, nodding appreciatively. “You climb very well. Has been many years since someone climbed with the children. Children are happy.”
“That�
�s good,” Bess said, gifting Gruff with a half-smile.
Lonnie ducked a lazily swinging branch, snatched a clod of mud off the wall, and tossed it at Bess. He had no idea what he was trying to accomplish with this move, but it felt natural. A touch playful, and not just because he was half-high.
The mud splattered on Bess’s jacket, a couple drops hitting her in the chin. Her expression turned hard as stone for an instant, and Lonnie thought she might knock him right off the scaffolding. But her frown melted, if only a smidgen, and the half-smile returned. No teeth, mind you, just lips pressed together and scrunched up on one side.
“Watch it, buddy. Don’t make me toss you,” Bess said, mostly joking, it seemed.
Lonnie considered the ice officially broken. Hoped Bess felt the same. He had no reason to like her. Had no reason to dislike her either. She was zealous about God or whatever, but everyone was zealous about something. And the way he saw it, they had the inklings of a common enemy. Or, at least a similar problem. Their people were in danger and neither had a clue what awaited them outside this haven.
“You're a damn good climber. I would have killed myself doing that.”
“What, you got no fade ripper magic to help with that?”
Lonnie shook his head. “Nope, they didn’t give me a manual. Still trying to figure this shit out.”
Bess smirked. “Right."
"What about you?”
"I climb rocks with my dad at Red River Gorge. We go two or three times a year and sometimes venture out West where they’ve got serious cliffs.”
“Oh, yeah? That doesn’t scare you?”
“Naw. Fear is—”
“Fear is an illusion,” Gruff finished for her.
Bess shook her head. “No, it’s real, but the Lord takes away my fear when He sees fit. Sometimes, He let’s it wash over me and I should be afraid, but I’m not. That’s because He is near and He is all I need. That’s the test.”
She said it with a preacher’s conviction, sounding foolish to Lonnie. But if that’s what she needed to get by, he wouldn't begrudge her.