Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong)

by Shaun O. McCoy

  The passage beyond was long, dark and deep. One hunter held up two woodstone torches. Another tried to light them with heavy strikes of firerock and hellstone. The sparks showered down upon the torches, each flash of light sending bursts of illumination down the dark corridor beyond.

  Ellen could feel the cool air pouring out of the place. The chill, and perhaps her own fear, caused goose-bumps to rise on her flesh. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as well. She could hear the hum of the waiting Harpsborough people, the creaking hinge of the golden door, and one thing more. Something very distant. Down the corridor, she thought she heard a woman singing.

  The torches came to life with a pair of roars, and the hunters held them up beneath the golden archway to clear the darkness. The Harpsborough people shuffled about, many of them trying to get a better view of what lay beyond.

  The Infidel Friend would be walking down that tunnel, weaponless as he was now and naked, as he would soon be.

  Satisfied with their search of the corridor, Graham and his friend put their torches through the grate and dropped them. Together they moved towards the chain. They pulled it, alternating heaves. Matching their efforts, the grate lifted in small jerks. It reminded Ellen of the maw of some great shark that was slowly opening to accept the Infidel Friend.

  “Strip,” one of the hunters ordered.

  He did so without modesty.

  “It’s as if they never ate the apple,” Ellen overheard Father Klein whisper. “They have no idea that their nude bodies are shameful.”

  The man’s scars and wounds were fresh, some not even covered over. A bit of blood was even seeping from the man’s leg where the hound bite had partially re-opened. He seemed as oblivious of the wounds as he was of his own nakedness.

  He’s so beautiful.

  The grate neared his shoulder level.

  He has nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Go on through,” one of the Hunters said when the grate was high enough.

  Ellen turned her head away. She felt Rick’s hand grip her shoulder. Molly started to cry.

  Some of the villagers called out to him, “Go on through! You heard him! You won’t last long!”

  Can he survive in there?

  The Infidel Friend looked towards Michael.

  Alone?

  “It seems you’ve caught me in your golden net,” he said.

  And then, without waiting for anyone’s answer, he walked into the corridor. He bent down and picked up the two lit woodstone torches. He extinguished one against the rock and then used the other to light his way.

  “That was a message,” Ellen realized aloud, touching Rick’s arm. “The golden net. He was speaking to someone.”

  “Quiet, girl,” Rick said.

  Ellen held her peace, but she felt as if there was something inside her, waiting to explode. Those words, they meant something. If that were true, then one of these villagers, Ellen knew, must therefore be in league with the Infidel Friend and his men.

  The hunters began lowering the grate. It came down much faster than they had raised it, and, as if in a hurry, fell the last three feet to hit the stone with a metallic crash. If there were any enemies down that dark and deep passage, they certainly would have heard the noise.

  Graham and his friend began to close the golden doors. Ellen tried to watch the Infidel Friend as long as she could. The man was walking down the corridor, his lit torch surrounding him with a bubble of light.

  Again she thought he heard the woman sing, but perhaps it was just the breeze.

  The door closed and the woman’s voice was silenced. Graham locked it and then handed the key back to Michael.

  “It’s a message,” Ellen said to Rick again.

  “I said hush, girl. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Of course. I’m so stupid. If someone knew the message and they heard me. . .

  Molly walked up and touched the door, her hands running along the hunched shoulders of the smith.

  “I hate this place,” Ellen said. “I hate it.”

  Rick nodded, his jaw set, his eyes angry.

  The sound of a thud against stone brought Arturus back to consciousness. He looked about quickly, his hand on his pistol, but no one else seemed alarmed.

  “Got the fucker,” Johnny said.

  He was holding his rifle upside down. On the stock was the crushed remains of a spider, its silver legs still twitching.

  “Keep it quiet,” Aaron warned.

  “Good, I’d been watching that bastard,” Avery’s voice was strained.

  Galen was working on Avery’s foot now. Beads of sweat were dripping down the hunter’s forehead.

  Johnny Huang woke up long enough to give Arturus some dyitzu meat. Galen must have brought it for them to eat. It wasn’t cooked. He ate it raw and drained his canteen.

  “Fuck you, Satan,” Avery was saying, his face contorted with pain. “If I ever get my hands on your scrawny little neck. . .”

  Galen had a pile of little silverleg spider needles at his side. Some were very small, only a half inch long or so. Some were three or four inches. Arturus was very glad that one of those hadn’t pierced his feet.

  “This will be the worst one,” Galen warned. “It worked its way into your foot while you were running. I’m going to have to fish it out of there.”

  Avery nodded and bit his lip. To his credit, he made no noise while Galen’s tweezers made their way into the hole in his skin. Galen worked, searching the insides of the man’s foot for the needle. Avery’s face turned red, and he exhaled suddenly. The hunter squeezed his eyes shut and beat the floor with his fist.

  Galen must have found it.

  Arturus turned away. He didn’t want to watch anymore. Even so, he could not ignore Avery’s suffering, and each time the man took in a quick breath Arturus could not help but wince.

  When Galen finished, he returned to his pack. He added Avery’s spider legs to a growing pile.

  “Are we going to keep those?” Arturus asked.

  Galen shrugged. “Perhaps. Waste not, want not. Then again, we are also told not to run with scissors.”

  Arturus didn’t get the joke.

  He looked towards the exit. He thought of how long it might take them to get home.

  “Have you found the way back yet?”

  Galen shook his head. “I didn’t leave the room while you were sleeping.”

  Arturus tried putting a little weight on his foot. His head swam from the pain.

  Not ready yet.

  “Are we going to make it home?”

  Galen ignored the question.

  “Are we?”

  “It depends on how this meeting goes. If we can get help from the Carrion people, we might have a shot. This is a very dangerous place, boy.”

  Galen pulled his blanket out of his pack. He cut it into long strips with his knife.

  Not enough bandages for all of us.

  “Will they help us?” Arturus asked. “The Carrion people?”

  “Maybe. Perhaps the few men I knew would try. We’ll find out at the ritual.”

  Galen’s deft fingers rolled up the strips of blanket. Arturus could see he needed more, so he offered up his own.

  Galen grunted thankfully and started cutting that one as well.

  Wait, when did I get that? I burnt my pack.

  Perhaps Galen had placed it over him while he slept. The act seemed too tender for the warrior, however, so he might have received it from one of the other hunters.

  “What kind of ritual.” Arturus asked.

  “I don’t know. Much may have changed. They worshiped a God called Mithras.”

  Arturus frowned. “How? How could they worship some false God? Don’t they know where they are?”

  Galen gave a sad smile. “No one stopped us on the way to Hell and told us what was going on, Turi. Many people believed in one hell or another before they died, so they just go on believing what they did when they were living.”

  Artu
rus frowned harder. He found the idea disturbing.

  “Aaron, are you ready to walk?” Galen asked.

  Aaron looked dismally at his feet.

  “No, but we’ve got to start getting the blood off of us soon. We’re lucky no hound has found us yet.”

  Galen nodded. “Who’s got Mabe’s silencer?”

  “I do,” Avery said.

  The man didn’t protest as Galen took it out of his holster. Galen then turned to Aaron. “Arturus and you will be the first ones.”

  Me?

  Aaron crawled over to a wall and placed his hands upon it. He pushed himself up, grimacing as he stood. Arturus got up as Galen had taught him, posting up one leg and one arm in order to let his other leg swing under him. The blood rushed away from his head, so for a second the pain in his feet seemed distant. As he regained his senses the agony came crashing back in. He felt his legs wobble.

  Aaron edged along the wall towards him with timid steps.

  “My left foot is better than my right,” Aaron told him.

  “My right is better.”

  The two supported each other, arms over shoulders. Arturus felt the hunter’s weight pressing upon him. He looked up towards Aaron, who was looking down at him. Aaron nodded seriously, his eyes squinting.

  We need each other.

  They took their first few steps. Arturus felt blood oozing through the bandages on his feet, but it was better this way. His right foot could take the weight. Galen moved in front of them. He had to hunch in order to avoid the tight ceiling. Arturus and Aaron were already bent over.

  Each step was a nightmare. Together they made their way past Kyle and through the room’s exit. Before them was a long series of stairs that led down. Arturus could already hear the river.

  We’re so close to the water.

  Dangerous, but it would make it harder for a hound to scent them.

  Aaron took the first step down with his left foot. Arturus followed.

  “This isn’t going to work,” Aaron said.

  Arturus nodded and sat down. He used his hands to help himself, sitting on each stair before moving again. Aaron followed suit. Galen was ahead of them, his MP5 raised to the level of his eyes. His steps were slow and sure, keeping his weapon steady.

  When they made it to the floor, Arturus and Aaron again reached out to each other for support. Their progress was hideously slow. Arturus did his best to remember the caverns they walked through, but the pain was ruining his concentration.

  “Hold here,” Galen whispered. “I’ll check the river room.”

  Arturus had never felt as close to anyone as he did to Aaron now. They clung to one another, afraid to let go, unsure if they could even stand on their own. Unsure if they would even be able to fight if a devil were to come at them now. Arturus found himself not caring about who ended up with Alice.

  If he gets her, so what?

  Aaron deserved a woman like that. A woman like that deserved Aaron. How petty his jealousy seemed now while their very lives were on the line.

  Galen leaned back into their room. “All clear, come along.”

  They followed him.

  The river room was cold, shrouded entirely in darkness except for a single yellow light that winked down at them from a small cubbyhole. Arturus could see one exit across from the river, but there could have been more hidden in the dark corners. The light from the cubbyhole illuminated the surface of the running water, giving Arturus the impression that it was opaque, as if it were a river of flowing obsidian.

  Galen trained his gun first towards the exit Arturus could see, and then towards one of the black corners. Arturus sat down and drew his pistol. He pointed it towards the visible exit.

  Galen dropped a bundle of wraps at Aaron’s feet.

  “Get yourself cleaned up. Wring all the blood out of your clothes. Let me know when you’re done.”

  Aaron nodded, stripping down. He had to do so while sitting because of his injured feet. His shirt clung to him as he struggled to get it off. Arturus watched as some of the skin on Aaron’s wounded shoulder came off with the shirt. Seeing the Lead Hunter naked reminded Arturus of when they had watched the Infidel Friend bathe, except that Aaron did have body shame. He covered himself for a second and tried to stand. He gave up trying to regain his feet after a moment and scooted himself towards the river.

  Galen knelt next to where Arturus sat, his eyes still on the darkened exit.

  “Why is the Carrion so bad?” Arturus asked him softly.

  “I can’t say that I know for sure,” Galen whispered, “but there was a man called Saint Wretch, who retreated into the Carrion many years ago. Before Michael or Father Klein were ever damned. He was said to have dealt with a devil and that he had been made invincible. You could not shoot him, so in that way he was like an Icanitzu. But you couldn’t hit him with Hell stuff either. The rock, your fists, it didn’t matter. He was a charismatic man, and many devils and men fought for him. He fought the Infidel and was said to have retreated through the Carrion after he was defeated.”

  “How could he have lost, if he was invincible?”

  “The people at the Pole have a story about that. They say that the Infidel wounded Saint Wretch’s devil. Wretch was afraid that if the devil died, he would become vulnerable, so he carried the devil away.”

  The darkness beyond the river seemed less inviting. He heard Aaron lower himself into the water.

  “How are we going to find our way home?” Arturus asked. “What if they wall us in?”

  “We can always dig through the barrier,” Galen said. “But we’d probably make too much noise. We’ll have to find some other way. Remember, you can never block out an entire region.”

  Arturus nodded.

  “But, boy, listen to me very carefully,” Galen said, looking into his eyes. “If I’m gone you should know how to find your way back.”

  “How could I know the way?”

  “Do you recognize this river, son?”

  Arturus looked at it. He could see almost nothing of the chamber at all, except for where the light poured out of the cubbyhole. The light illuminated some of the stones above it. They were set in a bricklike pattern that arched up towards the ceiling.

  “The Thames?”

  “That’s right boy, or close enough to it. The river keeps its own house. Of course, it’s warped by the Carrion, and it’s joined up with another offshoot of the Kingsriver. But still, it’s enough.”

  “Enough to find a way home.”

  This was the Thames. The water that flowed down it was the same water that had passed under the bridge by his home. The same water that must have passed by Rick as he filled the clay pitcher.

  I miss you.

  Arturus reminded himself to keep watching the exit. The blackness beyond seemed menacing. Shadows danced in the darkness there, but he was almost positive they were his imagination.

  “What if we find him?” Arturus asked. “Saint Wretch, I mean?”

  “It’s not likely. That was so long ago it is remembered only as a story, and stories are rarely true. But I hope we do find him.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve not fought an immortal,” Galen said.

  Arturus glanced over towards Aaron. He was wringing out his clothes into the water. The droplets falling from the cloth sparkled, lonely points of light in the darkness. He was surprised by how muscular Aaron’s shoulders looked.

  Alice would probably like that.

  Aaron emerged from the water. Arturus could not help but compare himself to the hunter.

  Alice could never pick me over him.

  Aaron covered himself with his wet clothes while Galen bent to wrap his wounds.

  “Quickly, Turi.”

  “But no one will be watching the exits.”

  “Safer to spend less time, I think.”

  Arturus crawled over to the river and took off his clothes. He decided he’d wring them out first to give them some time to dry. He felt nervous.


  Aaron will know how boyish my body looks.

  He bit his lip.

  Devils can come at any second. Look at the exits.

  The water was cold. His punctured feet ached as he dipped them in. Then he quickly submerged his whole body. The shock was anything but refreshing. He had to kick his feet to keep from being taken by the current, but the movement hurt terribly. He clung to the stone to keep from drifting away. Holding the wall, he dipped his head beneath the water. He felt the cool water on his eyelids. He wanted to stay like this forever, held by this terrible river.

  He came up for breath, feeling the stings of a half dozen other puncture wounds along his arms and shoulders where the spiders had walked across him.

  He pulled himself out of the water and sat on the bank. His shirt was wet, so he had to struggle to get it on.

  Galen had finished wrapping Aaron’s feet and was working on the Lead Hunter’s shoulder.

  “I’m just going to bleed right back into it,” Aaron said, shaking his head.

  Galen nodded. “To a hound, the smell of your wounds now would just be a whisper. No need for us all to go on shouting.”

  Galen wrapped up Arturus while Aaron watched the exits. The bandages didn’t take long to finish.

  It seemed easier to walk on the way back, he noticed as he and Aaron supported each other. Aaron also seemed to be moving better, though they both readied themselves to crawl when they saw the stairs. They heard a half shout. The voice was loud only for a second before being silenced.

  “Patrick,” Galen said. “He’s starting to regain his voice. We’re going to have to find some way to keep him quiet.”

  Arturus’ wraps were a bit wet already, so he couldn’t be sure how much of the liquid was water, or how much was his own blood. Still, he could not deny that the dip had proved invigorating.

  At least while we were in the river room, we weren’t sitting around just waiting to die.

  “Turi,” he announced as he stood up at the top of the stairs.

  He had to duck just the slightest bit as he entered the chamber. Slowly, he and Aaron separated and sat down.

  “Duncan, you’re next,” Galen said.

  Which is what I get to do now.