Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong)

by Shaun O. McCoy

  Rick massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. She watched him intently for a moment and then tried to finish her food. Chewing took forever. She managed to swallow a few more bites.

  This is hopeless, I’ll never finish it all.

  “Does Galen hate me?” she asked.

  “No,” he said suddenly. “Why would you think that?”

  “He seems so, well, mean, I guess.”

  Rick shook his head and smiled. “He just hates women, is all. He likes you more than most. When he talks to Turi about you, it’s always in a good way.”

  I think I love that boy.

  It occurred to her that she was just being stupid. She was a lost, lonely little girl, who, after being thrust into Hell, fell in love with the first young man that she’d run across. But feelings were feelings, she knew. She had them, and there was no use denying them.

  “Why does Galen hate women? Did he love one?”

  Rick laughed aloud. “Galen could be impressed by a woman, or want a woman. But I can’t imagine him respecting a girl enough to love her. It’s something I try very hard to protect Turi against. Galen is always filling his head with misogynistic bullshit, even though we both agreed that wasn’t the way we wanted to raise him.”

  “But why?” she asked. “Why does he feel that way? There must be some reason.”

  “We were all raised at different times, and in different places. People don’t age in Hell, and Galen is very, very old. He doesn’t have much use for women as partners. Doesn’t have much use for me, either, come to think of it. His world is a cold, emotionless place, full of duty. One time, when Turi was very young, I asked him not to go out hunting. I asked him what I was supposed to do if he didn’t come back.”

  Ellen leaned forward. “Well, what did he say?”

  “He told me that when my favorite pot has broken, to remember that it was just a pot.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? What a cruel thing to say, that people are only as important pots.”

  “It’s just how Galen thinks. People and things have purposes. His purpose was to hunt and gather food. To protect and feed Turi. If he died, I was supposed to go and find another hunter. Another protector for the boy.”

  And you would have, too. You would have found someone else to help raise Turi. But now, if they don’t come back, you won’t have anyone to raise.

  “They’re supposed to be back by now, aren’t they?”

  Rick nodded. “But Galen can take care of himself. It’s always him that’s out. He’s such a good fighter, Ellen. You have no idea. I know when he’s gone that I’m probably more likely to die at home than he is in the wilds. I know it, but I don’t feel it. This time it’s different, because he’s in the Carrion. This time he really can die. And worse. This time Turi’s out there with him.”

  He got up, as slowly as an old man might, and moved over towards the wall. He pulled a lever, and the battery began to hum. Ellen watched the moving gears. Slowly, bit by bit, the battery stone began to rise.

  He sat back down at the table and looked at his food. She reached out and touched his hand.

  “They are coming back, right?” she asked.

  “They might be unscathed. Maybe they have seen a mighty devil, or a lot of them, and are lying low. Maybe someone’s injured. They might have to wait for him to heal before they return. There are traps in the Carrion. A passage may have closed behind them, and they may have to work their way back.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I have to ask this. I just don’t know. Is any of that likely? I mean, are they dead?”

  “Who knows? It’s not fair,” Rick managed. “Turi shouldn’t have gone out there with him.”

  Rick will be all alone.

  “Would you move into Harpsborough?” she asked.

  The idea seemed silly to her as soon as she said it. She couldn’t imagine Rick, or Galen, or even Turi, living in Harpsborough. They were free people. It wouldn’t be right for the Citizens to order them around, or take their goods, or keep them out of the Fore.

  Not to mention those Citizens won’t let anyone join them now anyway.

  But surely they’d let Rick in.

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t live there. Better to be alone.”

  This really is Hell.

  “I’ll stay with you, Rick.”

  He smiled. “Thank you, you’re a sweetheart. I’d be happy to have you.”

  She took careful stock of the tortured man before her. He was in many ways the opposite of Galen. Galen was built for this place. Galen did not care who lived and who died. Galen could watch his son die in the most gruesome way and fail to blink. Why would he blink? That’s just one more instant where he’d be vulnerable to an attack.

  Rick’s brow was furrowed, his eyes red. He cut the dyitzu meat into a few more small pieces. He was able to chew one and swallow it.

  I’m feeling what you’re feeling. I know how it is.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “No. I can’t even use Galen’s stupid philosophy. Turi was the point, he was the duty. Why get another pot if I’ve lost the thing it was supposed to hold?”

  He shoved his fork back down into the tray.

  “What would Galen do if you and Turi had died?” Ellen asked.

  Rick thought about this for a second, his face horribly serious.

  “He’d try and find another boy. You see, Turi is supposed to do something. Something very important.”

  “I’ll help you,” Ellen said suddenly. “We’ll have a child, if you want. I’ll help you raise another Turi.”

  Oh God, what did I just say?

  She hadn’t meant to offer herself as a wife, or a lover. Or to replace the man’s son. She looked at him worriedly, waiting for him to get angry.

  But Rick just nodded.

  Didn’t he hear what I said?

  “It’s useless to try and eat this,” Rick said.

  He got up from the table, picked up his tray and walked over to the counter. “What do you know?” he asked, fishing around in the supply closet. “A pot.”

  He started spooning his food into the urn.

  Isn’t he going to say anything?

  “You finished?” he asked her.

  “Yeah,” she stood up and handed him her plate.

  Of course he won’t get angry. He took my words as they were meant.

  This was Hell, and because of that Ellen decided that Galen must in some way be right. Without a purpose, or a duty, you would just go mad. The trick was finding a duty worthy of all this suffering.

  But I don’t have to worry about finding that. They already have the duty picked out for me. I just have to trust this family and trust that their goal is a worthy one. I just have to make their cause my own.

  She didn’t know if the thoughts actually made her feel better or not. There was still this vast empty pit in her chest that opened up whenever she thought of Turi.

  But now it’s different. It hurts just as much, but now I can still move. I can still do things. There is a reason for me to breathe.

  Rick’s shoulders were hunched. He seemed to have been exhausted from the short chore of packing away their food.

  And I have to keep breathing, that way Hell can go on hurting me.

  Chelsea sat as one of the four wealthiest Citizens. They had taken down the pulpit and installed instead a table for the main judges to sit at. The forty-five remaining members of the Fore filled out the Citizen pews. The Infidel Friend stood defiant in the central aisle, surrounded by his hecklers, looking up at his judges. The shadow of one of Father Klein’s crosses fell over his head. Chelsea couldn’t help but have a little bit of respect for this man.

  Oh, what a waste. If only the Infidel hadn’t got you.

  To her right was Father Klein. To her left was the empty chair where Michael would soon be seated. Beyond that, Mancini and Copperfield. She and the others, it had been agreed, were the ones who were to ask quest
ions. Then the entire Fore would vote on his guilt or innocence.

  It would be Michael, alone, who would then decide the depth of the punishment.

  As if it would be any vote but guilty. As if I don’t already know what Michael will do to him.

  But she tried to keep an open mind. She tried to convince herself to be a fair questioner.

  The Father is afraid that his death will bring more. He says the Infidel Friend are both numerous and resilient.

  But Michael would be the one to make the punishment. They could always say to the Infidel’s men that they had voted him guilty, expecting some lesser sentence. Michael would be the one the Citizens would blame, but who knew if the Infidel’s men would buy that excuse? Who knew if they’d even care?

  Michael emerged from the chambers where Father Klein slept. From the chambers where the spider corpse and eggs were kept.

  The spider that Michael killed. Could he fight an Infidel Friend? Is he gambling that he can?

  The First Citizen wore his best poker face. She watched him descend into his seat. In his right hand he held a stone orb made of marble. He slammed it down against the table.

  Silence.

  “You seem fearless,” Michael commented to the man.

  His words had been not been spoken loudly, but they were quite audible in the quiet room.

  The Infidel Friend’s response also rang out clearly. “Most honored judge, I fear you greatly.”

  Lip service. If he’s afraid, then Aaron’s in love with me.

  “I warn you,” Michael said, “don’t be insolent. This is no game. Your manners here may well determine whether you live or die.”

  “Of this I am aware, most honored judge.”

  Then act like it.

  Chelsea watched Michael purse his lips. He absently rolled the stone ball about on the table before continuing. “I have questions which I must ask you in order to make sure that the safety of this village is maintained. Are you willing to answer such questions?”

  “It would be a privilege to give you information that might help your brave people, most honored judge.”

  Is he deliberately trying to goad Michael?

  “Why did you travel to Harpsborough?”

  “I must protest the question, your honor. I had no intention of traveling here. I was dragged here while terribly wounded. My arrival was not a matter of my choice.”

  “Don’t fill my ears with shit, Infidel Friend—”

  “Cris.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Cris. No ‘h,’ lest it cause confusion.”

  “You know damn well what I was asking.”

  “If it pleases you, most honored judge, I’d ask that you clarify the question so that I might answer it in a manner more towards your choosing.”

  He’s trying to piss us off. Why?

  “What were you doing in the general area?”

  “I was sent in the name of the Infidel to scout nearby. I came closer to discover the extent of the settling. Then, if it were to endanger any group of people, I was going to warn them to leave.”

  “You are a liar, Infidel Friend,” Michael responded, lines of worry forming on his forehead. “Altruism is not something your kind have. You are godless.”

  “I will not disagree with you if you were to say that my altruism in this case was paired with some other motive. Nonetheless, helping you was my intention.”

  “Are there others of you?”

  “No, I was sent alone.”

  Chelsea couldn’t tell if the whispers that came from the Citizen pews were of relief or disbelief.

  “How were you wounded?” Michael asked, his poker face again in place.

  “I was tricked. An unfriendly hermit shared food with me and said he would lead me to some cracks formed in Hell. Instead he led me to a pit of demons. I escaped, but only after he shot me.”

  “And what happened to this hermit?”

  “I find it unlikely that he survived my own bullet.”

  “Murderer,” she whispered into Michael’s ear.

  “You admit murder?” Michael asked.

  “Had I not shot him, he would have finished me. He fired first. Have you no self-defense clause in your laws?”

  Mancini leaned forward. “We only have your word that he fired first.”

  “True,” the Infidel Friend responded. “But it is also true that you only have my word that I fired at all. Still, if it pleases you, I have definitive proof that he fired first.”

  “Do tell.”

  The Infidel Friend pointed to the wound in his shoulder.

  “I hardly call that definitive,” Mancini said.

  “Give me a gun. I’ll show you how rarely I miss.”

  There were angry mutters about the pews. Michael slammed his stone against the table.

  He’s so arrogant.

  “We are not here to try you for murder, Infidel Friend,” Michael said loudly.

  “Cris.”

  “Cris, then.”

  “Thank you, most honored judge. I would ask you, what is it exactly that I am being charged with?”

  Michael leaned back in his chair. The infidel’s posture had not changed. He had actually moved slightly closer. The shadow of the cross which had darkened his hair now fell onto the floor behind him.

  For being an Infidel Friend. Is there anything worse?

  “For denying God his rightful love,” Michael said. “For engaging in acts which are harmful to the souls of Hell. For cavorting with devils. For mutilating and desecrating the Body of God—”

  “I’m sorry, if I may so humbly interrupt your honor in this litany,” the infidel said, seeming genuinely baffled, “but could you run that last one by me again?”

  “Mutilation and desecration of the Body of God.”

  The infidel smirked. “Far be it for me to disagree with any of these charges, most honored judge. And please bear in mind, as I give you this question, that by it I in no way mean to doubt the veracity of this allegation—but how did I manage to affect the Body of God?”

  “Your tattoo—”

  “Scarification.”

  “Whatever. Your body is a sacred thing, and defacing it—”

  “Like, for instance, chopping Martin’s hand off?”

  How the hell does he know about that? Has everyone been gossiping to him the entire time he’s been in prison?

  “That’s different,” Michael rubbed the back of his head with his hands. “Your body is a sacred thing, given to you by God—”

  “Was not.”

  “Whether or not you deny your Creator, infidel, it does not change the fact that your body is His.”

  “While I must disagree with you there also, I would point out that my original point of contention was not on the philosophical nature of free will and ownership. It was a factual disagreement.”

  He must know his pretentiousness is going to get him killed.

  “Surely you don’t doubt that God made your body,” Michael seemed incredulous.

  “The body God furnished me with would not,” Cris replied, “let’s say, regrow my hand were it chopped off. I will, however, agree to the factual nature of your charge if you change the verbiage in this trivial way. Let us say that I am guilty of mutilating and desecrating the Body of Satan.”

  Chelsea covered her mouth to hide her laughter. Michael gave her a dark look.

  He’s playing Michael, not me.

  Father Klein jumped in. “Your body is a copy of that one made by God, and therefore bound by the same restrictions.”

  “Oh, I very much doubt you believe that.”

  “If you did not heed the Word of God in your last life,” Klein said, “it is insufferable that you do not do so now.”

  “In addition to showing you that your claim is fatuous, I would to also point out that you have an error in the consistency of your jurisdiction.”

  “I rule this city,” Michael said, “and I rule the surrounding wilds.”

&
nbsp; “Let’s say that Hidalgo fellow came into town, perhaps sporting a tattoo.”

  How does he know who Hidalgo is, or that he tattoos himself? Do they tell him everything? What kind of prison guards do we have?

  Then it struck Chelsea that Aaron’s first attempt to get information out of the infidel was to send Molly in to talk to him.

  He probably knows what I eat for breakfast.

  “Hidalgo’s business with us is his business,” Michael shot back. “It is not yours.”

  “Perhaps, unless I were inclined to feel that my fair treatment was my business. But strangely enough, I agree with you here. Maybe it could be said for Hidalgo that it would be odd were he held, as an outsider, to such tenuous theological grounding? And even if it were sound, God’s law has been completed. Mayhaps only Man’s law should hold now? In all of recorded history, your God, Yahweh, Father of Jesus, hasn’t been able to convince more than a third of the world to believe that He even exists. Maybe we could forgive Hidalgo for not wanting to follow a God that failed?”

  Michael’s mask crumbled. He didn’t seem angry, just shocked.

  Did he just say that? Is he trying to die?

  “God has not failed!” Klein burst out, standing as he spoke. “Fool! How self-deluded. What kind of man are you? That you think you can. . . come in here, in God’s own house,and say that kind of blasphemy? What arrogance? What selfishness? What. . . If most men on Earth didn’t believe Him, then that’s how He wanted it.”

  “Great,” the infidel said. “So He’s not incompetent. He’s just evil.”

  “God made evil,” Michael broke in. “He determines what it is. Who are you to question the morality of God?”

  “A recipient of his injustice.”

  Klein’s mouth hung open for a moment. “How much arrogance can you have? You realize that you are talking about a God? A mortal cannot know His mind. It is beyond us.”

  “Assuming we cannot know Him, then whether he is good or evil would be beyond us as well, would it not?”

  “No!” the Father shouted. “He has told us that He is good. He made good and evil.”

  “Maybe. Maybe morality isn’t an accident of power. But who’s to say that, since he created both, and can act with one, that he cannot act with the other.”

  “God says.”