by T C Donivan
Mozart looked to Spencer, Annie and I. “You enter of your own free will, yes?” We nodded. “Speak your assent!” He demanded. We each did in turn. He nodded and smiled. “Good.” I did not note until later that he and Sosanna did not state their own acquiescence.
We stepped into the passage. I half turned to look back, catching a final glimpse of the musty room lit by the low, flickering flame before we were engulfed in the darkness. The sound sucked away and I felt my ears would explode from the silence. I held to my two friends and stumbled forward. A roar began to fill my ears like the rush of an ocean replacing the horrible solitude.
On either side of us I caught fleeting glimpses of corridors that seemed to rush on forever, rainbow colors lighting their way. Though no sound escaped them, I swore I could hear the songs of angels ringing down marbled halls and lush, jungles. I longed to follow them, but felt a nudge at my back, prodding me onward. The rainbow illumination faded and the side corridors closed. Gray light filtered into the passage. I could see the walls of a cave around us, then the dim, jagged outline of its mouth. A symphony of something indescribable, color, sound, experience, words cannot recreate it, exploded behind my eyes like the concussion of an artillery barrage. Gravity gave way and I felt my soul float free of my body. Mass returned to my bones and I staggered out into the light.
I stood upon a sandy slope, Annie, Spencer and the dog Mordecai beside me. Before us was a desolate, desert valley framed by jagged mountain peaks. A slate gray sky boiled beneath a dull sun. The heat of the place was unbearable. Green thorned cactus, patches of black wildflowers and scrubby trees dotted the landscape. Below us in the valley was a collection of ramshackle buildings where a group of people labored at an unknown task.
“It’s Dante’s Inferno,” I whispered.
A distant voice called to us as though filtered through smoky gauze. “If it comforts you to think of it as Alighieri’s infernal creation, then do so. In time you will come to accept it for what it is my friends, a forgotten corner of Hell.”
I turned to see an unearthly figure twisting in the canyon wall as if reflected in the moving waters of a river. Though incorporeal, it assumed the approximate shape of Mozart, his features flickering between his normal self and that of a noble man of age dressed in stately robes. Beside him, in a similar state of flux, was Sosanna, her features now mature, akin to that of a Greek sculpture, a sly look upon her pretty face.
“Mozart?” I asked.
The image spoke to us, “This is no illusion Clayton.”
I stepped closer to the canyon wall where he and Sosanna drifted like two dimensional cave paintings. I put my hand upon the creature that claimed to be Mozart expecting it to slip through him like a ghost, but found only solid matter.
“Down the rabbit hole Clayton, but that’s an expression you’re not familiar with. It hasn’t been written yet,” he said.
“Are you trapped? Can I pull you out?” I asked.
“A kindly offer my argumentative friend, but we choose not to join you lest we be snared in the Hell Spencer has fashioned for you,” he said.
I turned back to the surreal landscape. Though we stood in an alien world, I still could not accept what I saw. “This is an illusion. I must be dreaming,” I said.
Annie looked to me. The brave girl’s voice quavered for the first time since I had known her, “Clayton, this is not like any dream or nightmare I’ve ever felt.”
I squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. We’ve tripped through the rock face into a hidden canyon,” I said.
Mozart shrugged, not an easy feat, considering his spatial limitation. “If you choose to believe that…”
“But I can’t explain you and Sosanna. Are you reflected through quartz or some sort of crystal?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s it Clayton. Do you feel better now?” Mozart asked in a condescending tone.
I became angry. “I don’t like tricks. Why have you brought us here?” I asked.
“The truth is locked in Spencer’s febrile mind. He may tell you someday. He has an eternity to remember.”
“We’re here to save Rachel,” I said.
“That is the illusion Spencer has constructed. But before Sosanna and I go, I would explain the parameters of this reality. All of life is dreaming Clayton, but the dimensions of the dream are as varied as the landscape of the Earth. In the world you just left, the dream can be ended by a single stroke of the blade, as it was for Tree Owl and Zenobia. In this place, you can die a thousand deaths, each more miserable than the one before. The joy and the torment may never end, for natural death does not exist here.”
“You called this Hell, but speak of joy,” I said.
“A man who parses language may solve the riddle. There is a path out, but you must find it soon, or be trapped here forever,” Mozart said.
“Is it Purgatory?” I asked.
“For lack of a better name, perhaps. Most choose a more hospitable climate to while away the hours in-between lives, but the inhabitants of this place are intent on self-immolation. They are unaware and cannot leave until they’ve recognized the futility of their dreams. This is the abode of the truly dead. The three of you are alive, but have willingly entered the portal of Hell with eyes wide open, of your own free will. Thus aware, you are barred from escape unless you can awake from the dream.”
“This is not real, we are asleep in the cave, I know it,” I said.
“You are very perceptive Clayton. Your physical bodies remain behind, on the physical Earth, but they will wither and perish in time. Then you will be trapped here, neither alive, nor dead.”
“Trapped forever,” Annie said.
Mozart made some kind of gesture, but it was lost in the murkiness of his reflection. “Forever is a concept the human mind cannot hold. You will reside her until you cease to exist as you are, until your energy dissipates and drifts away on the cosmic winds.”
“You bastard,” I said.
“Do not judge me Clayton. This is not my doing, it is Spencer’s. You chose to follow his dream. I am merely the instrument of Karmic balance. Remember, all is not lost, you are here for a purpose.” He pointed behind us. “Beyond the mountains is Ezekiel’s City. In it, there is a portal to the world of living men. Find it if you can. There are many travelers on the road. Some of them may help, others hinder.”
Spencer had stood silent all this time. Suddenly, a low, sob escaped his throat. “I begin to remember,” he said as if awakening from a long dream. Turmoil struggled across his once handsome face.
An unreadable expression crossed Mozart’s the flat representation. “Good. Know this old friend, Rachel would have been at peace had you not pursued her here. Now that you have, she is awake, like you, and will also suffer the torments of eternity if you cannot rescue her.”
“Bring her to me!” Spencer cried.
Mozart answered him, the chill of ten thousand winters in his voice, “Your days of command are at an end o’ murderer of kings. You were and are a coward Spencer. Though she deserved it, I did not enjoy treating sweet Rachel to the kind of death she experienced. It was you made sure Kingfish took her and the Crows murdered her. Keep that close in your mind, remember how she suffered and how it tortured you in the life you have just given up so freely.”
“How can you be so vindictive?” I asked.
“We spoke before of guardian angels and their dead reflections that follow humans and attempt to destroy their lives. Blood feuds, as well as love, can cross time and space. Debts must be repaid, or as the Hindus call it, Karma must be balanced.”
“You have wasted your gifts for this,” I said.
Mozart spread his hands wide. “You continue to misunderstand Clayton. I am not the judge, merely the messenger. If I could, I would wield justice with my own two fists, but the balance of Eternity’s Compass forces me to evolve as well.”
“What of the girl, Sosanna, what is she in all this?” I asked.
The
girl answered, “I am his mate and more. I am to him as Rachel is to Spencer and Annie to you. He is my protector and I, his.”
Annie looked toward the distant mountains. “Our bodies will last only a few days without water. It will take us longer than that to cross those peaks.”
“Times moves in different currents here. A year within this place may only be an hour in the world outside, or it may run concurrently. Do not waste what little you have worrying about it,” Mozart told her.
I could tell he was preparing to leave. “Wait, will we see you again?” I demanded.
“Not in this flesh, not unless you escape the Compass,” he said.
“If you find my sister, tell her I forgive her,” Sosanna said.
He and Sosanna slowly melted away, like paint seeping into a liquid canvas. When they were gone, the gray world seemed to collapse around me. A hot, desert wind swirled over us, ghastly voices whispering fear and desperation like a demented lover’s beckoning call. My mind boggled and terror overwhelmed me.
Chapter 28 – Into The Valley
Annie knelt beside me. “Clayton, you have to be strong. We’re depending on you.”
“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I said.
Her response was cool and measured, “Think of it as a nightmare. That’s the only way my mind can accept it. In a few days’ time, we shall either awake from it, or cease to exist. Either way, we’ll find release.”
She touched my face, her hand, cool and reassuring. I looked into her eyes, surprised yet again at this amazing, resilient woman, lover, companion, defender, voice of reason. My mind struggled, searching for a port in the storm. I came to it, slowly.
“You’re right. We face the impossible. That said, we must deal with it as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.” She helped me to my feet, her arm locked in mine.
I looked to Spencer. His eyes still held the chimera of madness, but for the first time in months, the light of reason resided there as well. Even his person had changed. The gauntness was gone from his cheeks and the color had begun to return to his hair. The young lion I had first encountered on the banks of the Ohio River nearly a year earlier was regenerating before me. Behind him, distant, unearthly shapes hovered over the mountains we had been instructed to cross. For the briefest moment, I fixated on them, the pull of escape into oblivious insanity tugging at me again, but I overcame it and focused on my friend.
“Are you well?” I asked.
“I will be,” he said.
“Do you know what Mozart was talking about?”
He shook his head. “Not all of it.”
“What grudge does he hold against you?”
“How should I know?”
“I remember Mozart told us once that he was a prince in the Moorish Suleiman’s horde. And just now he called you a murderer of kings. What does it all mean?”
The old Spencer resurfaced, his mind suddenly facile, but not as sophisticated. “I only remember bits of the life we’ve just left. Why should I recall something that may have happened hundreds or even thousands of years ago?”
I sensed not only the old, arrogant Spencer returning, but someone, or something more troubling as well. “You’re lying Spencer. Our lives depend on you being honest with us.”
“You don’t understand Clayton; wars were not fought by Marquis of Queensbury rules in those days. If you were defeated, your entire culture and religion were destroyed. Better to die than live under the hand of an alien God.”
“I’ve read about the siege and fall of Constantinople. The atrocities carried out by both sides were abominable. If these fevered dreams of Mozart’s are true, what part did you play in it?” I asked.
He chuckled silently, a grim, knowing look upon his face. “That was child’s play, a way station on the path to perdition. I expect his complaint goes deeper than that.” Having said too much, he quickly covered his vulpine expression with one of feigned ignorance. “But how so, I honestly can’t say.”
I knew he was being deceitful. Rage boiled up in me. I was gripped by the notion to beat the answer out of him. If Annie had not held my arm, I think I would have tried, but she smartly kept me close to her. She nodded toward the desolate landscape before us.
“There are people in that town in the valley. Maybe they can help us.”
“All right,” I said. Spencer flinched as if in pain, holding a hand to his head. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I can still hear the banshees, only now I know they are real,” he answered, a lark in his voice.
“Wonderful, if I box your ears will that help,” I asked.
“You needn’t be sarcastic.”
“Don’t argue,” Annie pleaded, a note of hysteria rising in her. “We must get out of here as fast as we can. The people in the valley may know the road across the mountains.”
Spencer laughed, the burden of whatever demons still gnawed at him gone for the moment. “She’s right. We don’t have time for our usual digressions. We shall debate as we continue on our journey into Hades, as did Hermes in his pursuit of Persephone who was abducted by the gods of the underworld.”
“Hermes only partly succeeded in his mission. Persephone was condemned to return to Hades for a season every year unto eternity. Wouldn’t Alcestis make a better analogy?” I asked.
“The legend of Persephone’s commitment is merely a harvest metaphor, but yes, I suppose you’re right,” Spencer agreed.
I turned to Annie, “You should be the arbiter. You know the Greek myths.”
“What does it matter?” She asked in frustration.
I squeezed her hand. “Call it a blessing, for lack of a better term. If we’re to find our way out of here, we should not be guided by those who failed in their attempt to escape from this place.”
I could feel her relax as she considered my request. “Alcestis exchanged her life for her husband’s and was taken into Hades by Thanatos, the God of Death. Persephone was so moved by her love that she allowed them both to return to the land of the living. That is the better story,” Annie agreed.
“Your girl is smart,” Spencer observed.
“She is,” I said proudly. “It is good to have you back as well,” I told him.
“Better still to feel it inside my own head,” he answered.
****
The floor of the valley lay several thousand feet below us. We worked our way slowly down the incline, picking our way among boulders and thorny trees. Mordecai served as our scout, running off ahead and returning every few minutes, a look of canine confusion on his face. The sun never wavered in the sky. The already warm air became hotter and more humid the farther we descended. Dark clouds had begun to gather over the distant peaks of the mountains. Flashes of lightning crackled like fireflies within their bilious folds.
The town was more ruin than city. The architecture was of the Greek and Roman Classical period, what remained of it. Broken building stones lay scattered across empty foundations, walls cast at odd angles like ruined teeth in the mouth of a beggar. Wind worn statuary with blighted faces stared eyeless into the abyss from every corner. Nary a roof remained on any building.
At the centre of this neglect, a majestic theatre stood watch as if cast down from the heavens by the hand of a mirthful god. Roman pillars etched by wind and age supported its grandiose façade, its door and windows forming a grotesque mask as that of a demented, grinning head buried to its neck in sand. Life sized stone gargoyles in the shape of winged demons and naked women leered down from its parapets.
A group of people were huddled on its steps, engaged in an argument. Some were dressed in clothing similar to ours, while others wore tight fitting britches and dresses that more resembled underclothing. As we approached them, I was filled with doubt at the wisdom of our course of action. I was glad that Annie and I still wore our pistols, though I wondered at their efficacy in this place. When they saw us, they ceased their dispute and stared at us as if they had never seen another human being.
One of them, a small blonde woman with her hair cut short like a man’s, called out to us, “If you’re here for the show, it doesn’t open for another week.” Her declaration struck me as odd in the extreme.
“We’re looking for directions,” I replied.
She spoke as if reciting, her eyes fixed on Spencer, “There is no path in the sky, only shrouds on the Earth.”
“What did you say?” I asked, blinking in amazement.
“Nothing,” she snapped.
“Do you know me?” Spencer asked.
“How could I know a man such as you?” She replied. Her tone softened. “You may come inside and take a refreshment if you like. The Director will want to see you. We don’t get many visitors.” As we mounted the steps, she glared at Mordecai. “No son of Cerberus may enter the theatre.”
“The dog goes where I go. If he pisses on the furniture, I’ll pay for it,” Spencer told her.
She was a plain little woman, flat chested and sexless with a dour demeanor. She tilted her head at him, not unlike I’d seen Mordecai do when confronted with an anomaly. “If you will vouch for him, he may pass. Your psyche vibrates the color of Helios.”
“What did you mean just now, when you said there is no path in the sky, only shrouds on the Earth?” I asked her again.
She shrugged. “It’s an old synecdoche we trot out whenever someone wants to know how the way home.” When I gave her a dumb look she added, “Synecdoche, a figure of speech. Don’t you know the language?”
“It’s been a long day, so humor me, what does it mean?”
“Itself.”
Satisfied with her cryptic answer, she turned and led us into the theatre beneath the leering gargoyles and naked nymphs. Her oddly garbed companions stared at us, whispering among themselves, some smirking, others in fascination. The theatre was dark, lit only by a half dozen torches fastened to the wall by sconces near the stage. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I made out tiers of boxes in a semi-circle suspended above the seats. A red velvet curtain hung in tatters above the stage. Two actors, a man and a woman, dressed in white robes stood upon its tilted boards.