Knight of Gehenna (Hellsong Book 2) Read online

  After a moment, he continued searching through the supply closet.

  He came out with a few sticks of dyitzu jerky. “Fresh meat is getting a bit scarce.”

  Ellen got up and walked over to stand next to him. She picked out her favorite plate, the one with a chip on its edge. It had been Arturus’ favorite, too. The rock it was made out of had a dark spot in the center. She held it out to Rick. He shoveled some of the devilwheat meal onto it and added a piece of jerky.

  “Yum,” she said as she took the plate back to the table.

  Rick joined her after a minute, passing her a spoon.

  “Oh, yeah!” She smiled as she accepted the utensil. “Thanks.”

  She started on the devilwheat meal. The seared and sour knowledge fruit was the only thing that made eating it worthwhile. She ate all the fruit first and then looked dismally at the remainder. With a sigh, she began the serious work of finishing her food.

  Rick stood up and moved around the table, holding his plate over hers. “Here you go, dear.” He had eaten everything but the knowledge fruit. She laughed as he added that to her devilwheat meal. Rick’s chair, fashioned out of an old barrel, creaked when he sat back down upon it.

  There was a pattern in the grain of the stone plate. She imagined the dark swirl was Arturus, sitting on a ledge over Harpsborough. Her every bite revealed more of the city, and she pretended that one pattern was Kylie’s Kiln, and that a dark spot was the Fore. Arturus would never walk her to the city again. She would never become a Citizen, or a villager, or whatever it was he had wanted her to be.

  I think I’m going to cry.

  She picked up the jerky while she stared at the plate. “We should go in there and get them.”

  Rick looked up at her. “To the Carrion?”

  “We should.”

  He shook his head.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “We’ll die.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “There’s no way we could find them, and you’re not a good enough fighter. The Carrion would kill us both.”

  “I don’t care,” she repeated.

  Rick’s normally straight posture dissolved. He sat, back hunched, staring at his own plate. “Were death oblivion, I might not care either, but it’s not. We go to a worse place.”

  Ellen’s heart suddenly leapt. “Turi would go there too, then, right?”

  She thought about this.

  He could be right now, waiting for me. He’ll keep a place for me where we can finally suffer together again.

  Rick looked at her, his eyes wide. “Don’t you dare.”

  “All I want is to see him.”

  “You aren’t allowed to die.”

  She ground her teeth, staring at him for a moment. “What choice do I have? You won’t take me to save him. I have to see him again.”

  Rick looked hurt. “Is it really so terrible, living here with me?”

  “I don’t want to live with you! I want to live with Turi.”

  Rick bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Ellen.”

  “Take me to him,” she whispered. “Please take me.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Don’t you love your son enough to risk your life?”

  Rick grimaced. “It’s not about that, Ellen. We can’t save him.”

  “Take me!”

  “No.”

  Ellen stood up quickly, knocking over her chair. She ran for the exit.

  Molly’s eyes struck Michael as odd when she sat down in the front pew. For some reason he had forgotten they were blue. Her skin was of a darker complexion, and her hair was brown as well, so he had just thought of her eyes as brown—as if he hadn’t spent so many nights staring into them while he’d made love to her. That was back when sleeping with Molly was something special. These days she was just a whore.

  The shadow of one of the church’s crosses darkened her right eye, but the left, shining and blue, was fully in the light. It glistened, and Michael guessed she was probably close to tears. She seemed calm, but her lips were giving her away. Inside, she was pouting.

  He remembered kissing those lips, and her shoulders, and her breasts. God, how he missed those breasts. Kylie’s were just as big, but they hung down like teats from a cow udder. Still, those udders weren’t attached to a psychopathic bitch, so Michael supposed he’d better be happy about where things stood.

  The church door opened on squeaky hinges and Mancini, Harpsborough’s brewer, made his way in. It closed with a thud. The church door opened on squeaky hinges and Mancini, Harpsborough’s brewer, made his way in. It closed with a thud. Michael had insisted Mancini join himself and Father Klein because the slick bastard made Molly feel uneasy.

  Hell, Mancini made everyone feel uneasy.

  Michael, Father Klein, and now Mancini, stood in front of her. Molly didn’t even acknowledge them.

  “We’re worried about you, Molly,” Michael said.

  Molly continued to stare off to one side, not making eye contact with any of them.

  “Do you hear me?” Michael asked.

  She nodded, taking a deep breath.

  “We’ve seen you going far out into the wilds,” Father Klein said, his tone soft and comforting. “It’s dangerous out there. You could get killed. You’re not to go out there anymore.”

  She shook her head no.

  Mancini snorted. “We’re not worried about her dying, and she knows it.”

  “That’s not true!” Father Klein shot back. “Her safety is my first concern.”

  Mancini ignored him. “We know what you’ve been doing out there, Molly.”

  “Nothing,” Molly cleared her throat. “I haven’t been doing anything.”

  Mancini did not relent. “You’ve been looking for the Infidel Friend.”

  Molly was suddenly shaken. She looked quickly towards Mancini, the movement letting loose a tear. “I have not! I’ve been looking for food. For a stash like Julian’s. We all need it.”

  For a second, Michael almost believed Molly. Sure, she wasn’t the most moral person in Harpsborough, but trying to save an Infidel Friend was a little beyond the Pale, even for her. Michael had dated this woman, however. He knew how easy it was for her to lie.

  “Yes, you have been,” Mancini said. “Graham’s followed you. He’s seen you trace the wall next to the Golden Door. We know who you’re looking for. We can’t let you keep doing it.”

  Molly shook her head again and wiped away her tears.

  “We can’t let you do this,” Father Klein said softly, putting a staying hand on Mancini. “We can’t let you keep going out.”

  Michael reached across and touched her shoulder. “It’s for your own good.”

  “What?” she sat up straight.

  “You’ll get yourself killed,” Father Klein said.

  “My own good?” Molly leapt up to her feet, shoving her finger into Michael’s chest hard enough to push him backward. “My own good? You must want me to be a whore!”

  “That’s ridiculous, Molly—”

  “Is it? If I can’t gather, then I have nothing to eat and nothing to trade for. I’ll starve to death. You’ll make me a whore. You’ve already made everyone think I’m one. Everyone says they’ve slept with me, and instead of agreeing with me when I say they haven’t, you just call me a liar. I’m not a whore. I’m not. But fuck you, if you make me stay in Harpsborough, I’ll have nothing left to do but that!”

  “I understand you’re upset, Miss,” Father Klein said, “but this is God’s house—”

  “Fuck God’s house! Fuck God. God damn all of you.”

  “Molly!” Father Klein stepped back in shock.

  “You think I give a shit? Do you? You want me to fuck people for food, Father? Why don’t I fuck you? Maybe you’ll let me have some of those eggs you’ve stashed away—”

  Michael stood up and slapped her. She quieted for a moment, but only that.

  “Are you going to feed me?” Molly asked quietly.r />
  The three men shared a glance. Without Julian’s devilwheat, things were going to be bad enough. Without Aaron, they couldn’t even count on a steady supply of dyitzu meat. Food was going to be tight.

  We probably can’t even afford to have Graham follow her around anymore.

  “No,” Michael answered.

  “Then let me go out. I’ll stay away from the Golden Door, I promise. I’ll only go upstream along the Kingsriver. I won’t go down it. I promise. I won’t go anywhere near the door.”

  “No.”

  “How am I going to eat?”

  Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say.

  “How? God damn it, how?”

  “For the last time, woman,” Father Klein boomed, “don’t blaspheme in this house. Or we’ll have you thrown through the Golden Door.”

  Molly smiled.

  Damn. That’s where she wants to go.

  “God damn God damn God damn God damn.”

  Well, we asked for that.

  Michael slapped her again. The emotional effect seemed minimal, but at least she shut up.

  “Molly, if you make us do this the hard way, we’ll find a way. We’ll chain you up next to Benson if we have to. But if you keep your head on straight, you can stay in the village. You can go through Harpsborough as you will. The hunters already know not to let you out. In a few days, maybe you’ll have an attack of conscience, if you’ve even got one of those. Assuming you do, Klein will be here, waiting for your confession. If you tell him everything the Infidel Friend told you, and he believes you are truly repentant, and I mean truly repentant, then we’ll see about letting you out into the wilds again.”

  The angry look on Molly’s face didn’t go away. Her nostrils flared and her head bobbed.

  “You understand me?” Michael asked.

  Molly kept on nodding, her eyes as wide as an animal’s.

  “I asked if you understand me.”

  “I do,” she snapped. “I got you, Mike.”

  “Good,” Michael told her, “then feel free to leave.”

  “And while you are welcome in the church,” Father Klein said, “your language is not. See that you clean that up before you come back.”

  “Fuck you.” Molly turned and stormed out of the church. She slammed one of the double doors as hard as she could causing some of the cross shadows on the far end of the church to vibrate.

  “Jesus,” Michael said, letting out a sigh. “Well, now she’ll have no choice but to confess to you, Father.”

  Klein shook his head. “She doesn’t have to.”

  “What? Is she going to starve?” Mike asked.

  Mancini smiled. “No, she really can become a whore.”

  Ellen’s hand rested against the Carrion barrier. She felt the thrum of the stone beneath her fingertips—slow and rhythmic. Her fingers walked her hand across the rock until they left the bricks that had been laid by Rick and the people of Harpsborough, and then rested themselves instead upon the stones that had been laid by the Devil.

  Somewhere beyond this wall in the vast expanse of the labyrinth called the Carrion, was Turi—or more likely, Turi’s corpse.

  Devil, you’ve taken my love. Would you ever consider giving him back?

  Such a silly thing, to pray to the Devil. Perhaps even more silly than praying to God, because if the Devil were to listen, then she certainly wouldn’t get her wish.

  Best to keep my heart silent.

  But Ellen’s heart was not a thing that could be kept silent. She was reminded suddenly of a poem she had read once, in middle school, about a sailor’s wife.

  Ye are dead they say, but ye swore, ye swore.

  She couldn’t remember much more of the poem’s words, only the image that those words had left her with: a woman standing by the sea each night, staring out into the darkness, waiting for her husband’s ship to come home. Waiting long after the time that she must have known her husband would never return.

  But, Ellen realized, Arturus had never married her. They’d not even kissed, not really, not in the way that lovers did—though he’d kissed her on the forehead once, while she cried.

  O lover of mine, ye swore.

  But had Turi promised to return?

  Not that she could remember. In fact, it had been she, one day while they had been walking back from Harpsborough, who had promised not to die.

  We’re fools, Turi. I’m sorry. We made the promise the wrong way round.

  That poor sailor’s wife. Why didn’t she just move on? Why didn’t she just stop staring at the sea? But at least that woman could have some comfort in her memories. The woman in the poem had shared her husband’s bed and received his promise of undying affection. Ellen had neither of these things. Even if Arturus did return, it would be foolish of her to expect that her vigil would be rewarded in any way. He would probably just go right on pining for Alice. At least the sailor’s wife wouldn’t have to worry about her lover returning just so he could fall into the arms of some hussy.

  She balled her fingers up into a fist, but instead of beating the stone, she let her body slide down it until she was resting in a ball.

  Don’t cry, Ellen. Galen wouldn’t like it if you cried. Turi would think you were weak.

  He had to be alive, somewhere out there, on the other side of that stone wall. He would have to return. And when he did, he would come to his senses and love her. On Earth, she could have hoped that God would make such a thing happen—or Fate. Here, in the labyrinth, there were no such assurances. No one, no thing, was going to bring Turi to her. Despair welled up inside her, and she wondered suddenly how people on Earth could have survived without believing in gods. They must have been very sad people, if they ever had to face hurt like this.

  “Ellen?” Rick’s voice called to her.

  She imagined that his sudden entrance should have scared her. Galen would have wanted her to jump suddenly and turn around. Maybe her hand should have reached quickly for her pistol. Instead, she stared at the stone wall.

  She heard him approach, his boots crunching in the dust and gravel left over from their repair of the Carrion barrier. She checked her eyes to make sure she hadn’t been crying.

  “Is this where you’ve been?” he asked.

  She nodded and looked back up at him from where she lay. “Yes.”

  “It’s not safe here.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re waiting for them to come home?” Rick’s voice wavered a bit.

  He was probably dealing with his own grief.

  “If they come back,” she said, “maybe they’d make some noise. I could get you, and we could tear it down.”

  “Maybe,” Rick said. “Maybe you’re right. But Galen will probably find another way. The Carrion barrier isn’t complete, you know. Galen always warned us about that.”

  “But waiting could help,” she insisted.

  “It could.”

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  Ellen turned back and faced the wall. She could hear Rick shifting behind her. He started to walk away.

  “Rick,” she said. “Rick, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Ellen.”

  “I understand why. I know why we can’t go get them.”

  “And you still want to wait?”

  “Yes.”

  Rick’s footsteps came back towards her.

  She felt a blanket fall upon her. Rick’s warm body lay down next to her. He smelled of leather and gun oil—and of the forge’s smoke. It was a comforting smell.

  “Then I’ll wait with you,” he said.

  Arturus leaned back against the cold Carrion stone while he tried to listen to Aaron and Galen’s conversation. It was no use. They were just whispering too softly. Aaron glanced over to Kyle for a moment after Galen spoke, though, so he could guess what they were talking about.

  Please talk some sense into Aaron. We can’t do this.

  After a few more traded whispers, Galen began to nod in assent
.

  No.

  Aaron began moving about the room, shoulders hunched under the low ceiling, pausing to speak to each of the hunters. He did not stop at Arturus, and he did not need to.

  He warned me first.

  Avery crossed his arms and nodded when he was told. Johnny and Duncan turned towards Kyle simultaneously, their faces full of sorrow. After a moment, Kyle noticed that everyone was looking at him. He pushed himself up, using his arms to slide his body back so that he might sit straighter against the wall. Arturus could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

  “We’re ready to move out,” Aaron said to Kyle. “Galen says his friend is ready for us.”

  Kyle set his jaw and nodded.

  “It’s going to be dangerous,” Aaron continued, “and we’re going to need every gun we have. You know what it’s like out there. If we run into another of those dyitzu packs, there’s no way we’ll make it. We can’t afford to have . . . for anyone not to have their gun at the ready.”

  Kyle bowed his head. His hand slid over to rest on his M-24. “I’ll manage. If someone carries me then . . .”

  “Kyle—” Aaron began.

  “I should be able to shoot off of their backs. Or maybe I can walk a little, if someone helps support me. I’ll keep my gun at the ready.”

  But there was no way, even with help, that Kyle’s legs could support any of his weight.

  “Kyle, it’s—”

  “Just give me a little more time. I’ll be able to move soon. My legs are getting better.”

  “It’s not our choice, Kyle.” Aaron knelt beside him. “Believe me. If there were anything else . . .”

  Kyle looked at them all, but Arturus couldn’t force himself to meet his gaze. He noticed that the other hunters couldn’t either. Only the priestess was staring at him intently.

  “Then take the gun,” Kyle said quickly.

  “What?” Johnny asked.

  “If you’re going to leave me, I understand. Take my gun. It’s a good gun.”

  Galen shook his head. “You deserve a better death than that.”

  Johnny and Duncan were nodding.

  Aaron grimaced.

  “He’s got a right to that,” Avery said. “We’ve got to leave him some bullets too. Enough to kill some devils.”