Trampling in the Land of Woe: Book One of Three (Hellbound 1)

by William Galaini

  Hephaestion nodded, his expression caught between fascination and revulsion.

  “Why do you two need one?”

  Yitz cleared his throat and stood as tall as his frame allowed. “We’re going to get into the usher’s compound to rescue Albrecht, but, you see, he’s, ah, sort of, um—“

  “Fat,” Hephaestion supplied with a succinct talent Yitz had yet to learn.

  “Ahem, yes, which makes him a challenge to carry. But we could certainly carry out his heart.”

  “You aren’t going in there,” Hephaestion protested. “This is my fault, and trying to keep you safe would be difficult. Assuming you didn’t sleep through another attack.”

  Hephaestion’s accurate snark enraged Yitz. “Albrecht is MY friend!” Yitz shouted, spinning on his heels to Hephaestion, fists balled. “And wasn’t the man I skewered about to kill you?”

  “Oh, you mean the one you nearly pinned to me?” Hephaestion retorted, unable to contain his smirk. Placing his hands on Yitz’s shoulders, he offered an exhausted smile. “You’re good with a spear, and you’ve got guts. But this will be much easier if I go alone. I’ll need you as a lookout on the street, and you’ll help me escape. Odds are I won’t be getting out as easily as I’m going to get in.”

  Yitz looked to Boudica. Her usually stoic gaze yielded her agreement with Hephaestion.

  Minu materialized behind the three of them with a tea tray in her hands, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “Before I offer my assistance, let’s all have some tea back inside,” she said.

  Chapter 19

  “I know a man,” Minu said during their tea, “he is far older than most. He was a part of the exodus from Old Dis. He walked the Earth before all Pharaohs.”

  Hephaestion, Boudica, and Yitz sat opposite her at the low table. “Where is he from?” Hephaestion asked.

  “A mountain range swallowed his people’s lands, leaving them orphaned many millennia ago. But he is Heavenborne. Always happy to chat. He calls himself Baron Bo. There are no peoples in New Dis he doesn’t know. If the ushers harbor any secrets, he’ll know them.”

  “He’ll know about their compound?”

  “If anyone does...” Minu glanced up as another handful of refugees trudged through her front door. “I will take you to him—his location changes, but his schedule is very reliable. Then I must return. I’m needed.”

  With that, they stacked their teacups, warned a wary Adina of their plans, and then hurried to catch a trolley on the street. A steam engine rumbled in the back as black smoke curled from a stack extending from the center, reminding Hephaestion of a tiny train. A small man in a tuxedo operated the vehicle, and, as each person entered, he tipped his top hat in greeting. Once everyone climbed aboard, he yanked several levers, and the trolley lurched forward, jolting Hephaeston and his party nearly out of their seats, and then settled into a lively vibration as the building fronts passed in a blur. Cushioned benches eased their bumpy ride, and their hands rested on polished brass handrails.

  Hephaestion closed his eyes as the motion sickened his stomach.

  “You think this is something?” Boudica chided from her seat beside him. “You should ride in an automobile.”

  “Trains have already left me scarred.” Hephaestion sighed. “I miss horses.”

  “You can buy a mechanical one. hellfire-fueled. They respond to pressure on the sides just like a real horse, too,” Yitz suggested.

  Hephaestion cracked an eye open. “Trust me. They are not ‘just like a real horse.’”

  “He’s right, Yitz,” Boudica agreed, her face split by a rare grin. “They’re not ‘just like a real horse.’ A real horse bucks you off or kicks your head in.”

  Hephaestion countered. “I get what you both are saying. But in combat, you don’t need a vehicle, you need a relationship. That’s the path to victory. Relationships. It’s why Alexander and I led so well.”

  Minu nodded in approval.

  Boudica’s voice still held a playful tone. “I can understand that. But I also can understand raw power and its application. And most of all, I understand that we are at our destination in ten minutes, instead of thirty.”

  The trolley rolled to a stop as a tiny brass bell dinged their arrival. With a tip of his hat, the operator received his coin from Minu, and soon they stood in front of a squat building, its front decorated with laughing faces sculpted in green-dyed mud. Despite being made of solid steel, the doors swung open easily as Minu led the way.

  Inside, the lights flickered, crude, brass oil lamps shedding dim shadows over tall hookahs of various colors and styles, each representing a different region and era. Some were long and made of delicate blown glass with poetry etched into their sides, while sturdier versions crafted from bronze boasted fat piping. Around each hookah puffed thinkers and artists and writers, misty vapors curling about their heads like clouds filled with aimless musings.

  Minu guided everyone, like a mother would her ducklings, through the plush leather couches crammed with sleepy smokers. Reaching the far back corner, she pulled the beaded curtain aside, revealing an alcove with a single occupant. A dark-skinned man with silver hair and a trimmed beard wore a crimson waistcoat embroidered with constellations drawn in gold thread—clearly Minu’s handiwork. His brow could have been carved from stone, its width broad and primal, and his thick fingers were like nothing Hephaestion had ever seen on humans. With legs crossed and his focus directed to an open book resting in his lap, he sucked on his hookah pipe, filling the air around him with lavender. Placing a flat, ivory bookmark against the page and closing his book, his attention drifted towards them.

  When he saw Minu, his posture changed from calm to excited. Scooting deeper into the alcove, he waved all four of his guests inside.

  “Please! Please, Minu—bring all of your friends in. So good to see you.”

  Minu ushered them inside, Boudica and Hephaestion flanking the man with Yitz on the end, briefly tangled in one of the hookah’s coiled tendrils.

  “Sadly I cannot stay. I am sorry, Bo. Could you answer some questions from my friends?” Minu implored.

  “Certainly, madam. Always and forever. I miss our chats.” His enthusiasm soaked through his gentle baritone.

  With a warm nod, Minu bowed and took her leave.

  Baron Bo stared after her, even after the beaded curtain tinkled and stilled, and he punctuated her absence with a long sigh.

  “I’m sorry she had to leave so quickly.” He shifted his attention, his excitement once again lighting his gaze. “But I’m not sorry that she gifted me with such comely company. I am Baron Bo, but as friends of Madam Minu’s, please simply call me ‘Bo.’ Please tell me how I may be of assistance. But first—your names?” He beamed.

  He nodded at each of them as they answered, as though committing their names to memory. “A pleasure to meet you all. How may I serve?”

  Boudica and Hephaestion glanced at each other while Yitz took a drag from the hookah, the bulbous top boiling with the agitation.

  “We need to know about Minos’s ushers. Anything you can tell us would be appreciated,” Hephaestion said.

  “Interesting.” Bo’s eyes sharpened under his massive brow, evaluating Hephaestion. “Recently the ushers dragged an upstart before Minos’s feet. The fellow minced them and wandered off afterward.” His gaze shifted to Yitz, who took another puff from the tip, both hands cradling the hose.

  “Do they regenerate like everyone else?” Hephaestion asked, impatience drawing his voice tight.

  “Certainly. They grow from the heart, but stories tell that they grow back meaner and more savage each time. Bigger, even. The bigger the usher, the more he has died.”

  “Are they all male?” Boudica asked.

  “We don’t know, madam.” Bo shrugged. “No females have ever been seen, so that means they are all male, or they burn
off parts of themselves to all appear alike. Or perhaps the females don’t leave their compound.”

  “What do we know about the compound?” Hephaestion tugged on the hookah hose, attempting to slow down Yitz’s intake.

  “Its location is no secret. It is four, maybe five leagues away from Minos’s court. The ushers use tunnels to get there. Even during the Egyptian riots, they never stopped dragging the damned before Minos.”

  “Do we know the layout?”

  “No. The few people who’ve dared to enter haven’t been seen again. There are no windows, but look for drainage ditches along the boundaries. I’ve heard if one is so inclined to get in, that would be how. The front door with the knocker is just décor, and some doubt even the ushers themselves put it there. That door has never opened.”

  “So, there is zero hope of knowing what lies inside?”

  “No records I know of. None in the civic archives, at least. Their home looks more like a hill than a building, so it could be hollow or like rabbit warrens on the insides.” The baron fussed with the brass button of his waistcoat. “Maybe they change it up by moving everything every couple of centuries.”

  Hephaestion ruminated on their strategic disadvantages while Yitz exhaled a smoke ring toward the ceiling. “Who are they?” Yitz seemed entranced as the gauzy hoop expanded slowly into oblivion. “Are they as old as you?”

  “The ushers? I’m old, but not that old.” Bo laughed. “The ushers have been here since before language, so who knows? They aren’t keen to speak to anyone, so no one will know unless that changes. But they seem to have found fulfillment in the afterlife through purpose. There are several stories that are retold regarding their origins. Some claim that they are fallen angels, denied their wings, which explains their physical enormity. Others think they are born of the aether, like Cerberus or Minos. I suspect they were the first sinners. The first humans conscious enough to sin and know shame. The first humans to suffer divine judgment. When they died and came below, Hell lay empty and barren, and they clawed tunnels and found their place serving Minos as their God without ever knowing any different.”

  “If we can find what they want, we can bargain with them,” Yitz speculated.

  “Unless they already have all they want,” Boudica pointed out.

  “Then we generate a new want,” Yitz offered.

  “Either way, if they are as ancient as you say, then their tactics and combat abilities are stale. They’ve been wrangling weary and naked souls. When they fought, they swung from the shoulder and used all their weight. They can be taken.” Hephaestion concluded. “One last question, Bo.”

  The baron’s eyebrows rose.

  “If we go in, engage, and fight them, will there be long term consequences?”

  “Certainly. Most do not like the ushers being interfered with. The people of New Dis see them as a vital cog in the machine—a cog that does a job no one else wishes to. Sun Tzu’s guard will deliver justice upon interferers if no one else does.”

  Yitz looked grim, the joy of his hookah evaporated. “No one should go in there alone, Heph,” he said. “If Boudica or I get into trouble for doing it, I can bribe the guard or whomever. If you go in by yourself and get snatched, it will be all the more difficult to get you out.”

  “I’m an outsider. Not like you or Boudica. You two live here, whereas I’m just passing through,” Hephaestion insisted.

  Baron Bo listened as he returned to his own hookah hose. “If you do go in,” he mused, “accomplish whatever it is you wish, and actually see your way out, be certain to come back here to me. I’d love to hear all of it. Be it foolishness or insanity, it makes a good story. And nothing makes me more interesting to people than having a good story to tell.”

  Chapter 20

  Hephaestion, Yitz, and Boudica stood across the street from the usher’s crude compound in a tight huddle. Squinting into the distance, they examined the ushers’ hill. No windows or markings defined the outside, and if Boudica hadn’t pointed the location out to him, Hephaestion would have thought the elevation a natural part of the landscape. Clearly ancient, the structure had been built long before the idea of architecture ever occurred to humanity. There were no roads or streetlamps nearby, and the alleyway in which they hid lay in the shadow of the nearest building, which was some ways off.

  “There are drains at uneven intervals around the foot of the hill. See there? That’s all I can see.” Boudica pointed. “Once inside, you will be on your own.”

  Yitz opened his mouth to speak, but a ferocious glare from Boudica quickly changed his course. He sighed in defeat. “We also don’t know how deep it goes since it is forbidden to dig underneath. That was the first thing that came up when I inquired around as to its structure.” Hephaestion suspected Yitz’s sources comprised tempered fellow gamblers, probably willing to share any information with him in order to get into his good, recently wealthy graces.

  The two pieces of Hephaestion’s shield clung to his back, while the pistol and holster nestled between his shoulder blades. His short sword hung at his side. While he’d been in Songhai, Adina had replaced the leather straps of his greaves with thick silk ones, making them lighter, yet just as strong.

  His heart pounded and kinetic vibrancy resonated through his limbs, a familiar spark that prepared him for a fight. He held himself responsible for Albrecht’s capture. The Christian had played a chief part in his rescue by Adina and Yitz. Despite Hephaestion’s desperation to get into the pit and underway, he could not take Albrecht’s sacrifice for granted.

  Testing his armor, he jumped from foot to foot and was delighted to find the gear surprisingly quiet. For a moment, he felt truly alive again. Up until now, each fight had been thrust upon him. So far, he’d been forced into defensive positions of frantic survival, but this was different. The ushers were cozy in their dark little hill, and the elements of stealth and surprise gave him an advantage.

  Boudica handed him a small, leather bag. “This is the ripper. You’ll figure out how it works easily enough.”

  “What about both of you? What if you are spotted? Aren’t you two going to go back home?”

  “No,” Boudica said flatly.

  “Just be safe,” Yitz added. “If something bad happens on your way out, we’ll help how we can. But be safe. My boy still needs you to tell him his mother and father are thinking of him.” Yitz guffawed. “I can’t help but find all of this worry amusing, honestly. I’ve seen you chew your way through people twice now.”

  Yitz slapped Boudica’s elbow, provoking a glare. “He’ll be fine! Just remember, Heph, the ushers have spent so many tens of thousands of years dragging their knuckles that their outsides now match their insides. All that ugly and muscle you see coming at you is exactly how they think and feel. I wouldn’t consider them human. Don’t talk or reason with them. Just do what you must and get Albrecht out with as little risk as possible.”

  “And we’re sure he’s in here?” Hephaestion asked.

  “No one saw him or any sign of a struggle after I parted from him,” Yitz affirmed. “They probably dragged him back through their tunnel to the compound. Supposedly, they’ve done it before when someone pissed them off enough.”

  Hephaestion nodded, hand quivering with adrenaline. With minimal preparation, his anxiety rose despite his belief that he held the upper hand. While Alexander had been the impulsive one, Hephaestion had planned and organized each motion on—and off—the battlefield. Never would he send troops into enemy territory without scouting the layout first.

  He reminded himself that he’d already fought three of the hulking ushers, and they were ineffective at combat.

  Additionally, he was wearing master craft gear from Ulfric and other artisans, but even more importantly, he was surrounded by powerful people, namely Yitz and Boudica.

  If Yitz could find the courage to hoist a spear, surely every
thing would be fine.

  Should be fine.

  With a sudden flush of worry, Hephaestion mumbled, “Wish me luck.” After tying the ripper’s holding sack to his belt, Hephaestion rolled his neck and his shoulders to loosen up. Then without another word, he sprinted off. Within moments, he entered the open landscape, exposed to anyone who might be watching. He widened his eyes, letting his vision blur out of focus so he could perceive any motion in his periphery.

  Ahead loomed the hill. As he neared, his pace increased, arms pumping faster.

  Leaping down inside the drainage ditch, he landed with a grunt and instantly found the opening. A few hands wide, it was just long enough for him to roll into. Gripping his sword handle, he aligned the blade with his thigh and tumbled onto his side, shoving himself through the muddy filth into the dark.

  Falling free disoriented him, but moments later, his boots stuck in ankle-deep sludge, and the reek hit him like a physical force. Arms out for balance, he stumbled into a muddy wall and clung tightly. Panting from exertion, he closed his eyes and whispered to his heart, easing the labored beats until his breath stopped and his pulse slowed.

  Sometimes it was difficult reminding his body that he didn’t need air or food or sleep. Most in the afterlife never mastered such discipline, but Hephaestion knew he had to in order to persevere, especially in the pit.

  Comprised of muddy stone thousands of years ago, the tunnel’s surfaces still bore remnants of the pick marks that carved and molded its length. The curved passageway stretched in both directions, and tiny chain lanterns, filled with hellfire embers, bathed everything in a dim red glow and lit his path.

  Hephaestion slid the shield halves from his back. Locking them together, he then pounded several fur-covered bolts into place until the heart was made whole at its center.

  Ulfric had been proud of the design. “A shield,” he declared upon its conception. “With a built-in piston!”