Butcher Bird

  “I was right there with you, Count. Up until the bestiality stuff right at the end,” said Lulu.

  “Humans and animal entities have been mating and producing offspring since the world began, little sister. It’s still quite common in regions of the Second and Third Sphere.”

  “Okay, Shrike, Lulu and me are white trash, Primo is a Second Sphere Übermensch and you’re some incredibly old rich kid slumming from Upper Coolsville,” Spyder said. “What the hell is a demon?”

  “A fallen angel,” said Count Non. “Demons are from Hell. They serve Lucifer, command his armies, run his cities and, when called upon, torment the souls that have been consigned to the underworld. True demons travel throughout all the Spheres and while they can seduce and despoil almost any creature that catches their fancy, they can’t produce offspring. The demons that exist now are the same ones expelled from Heaven long, long ago. Give or take a few.”

  “What happened to the demons that aren’t around anymore?”

  “The prophets tell us that a few managed to beg and cajole their way back into Heaven. Others are dead. Demons can be moody company and while a human exorcist can, for instance, expel them from a possessed body, they can’t kill them. Only God or another angel can kill an angel, fallen or otherwise.”

  “Or an angel’s weapon,” said Spyder, pulling Apollyon’s knife from his belt. “This was made by a demon to kill demons.”

  “The weapon is ready, but are you? You will have to get very close to use that. You’ve never even seen a true demon. Will you be able to walk up to your worst nightmare and stick that toothpick in its gut, little brother?”

  “The babe to my left is the killer. I’m just here to hump gear and look pretty.”

  “You’re doing a fine job,” said Shrike.

  “Thank you. Where’d you get all this Trivial Pursuit data, Count?”

  “I study life. It’s what my people do. We are infinitely curious about the forms that life takes, from insects to angels. We know them and treasure them all.”

  “You’re like an anthropologist or something?”

  “Both really. That’s the best way of putting it.”

  “An anthropologist with a big goddammed sword,” said Lulu.

  “‘God will put his angels in charge of you to protect you wherever you go. You will trample down lions and snakes, fierce lions and poisonous snakes,’” recited the Count. “Self-preservation is no vice. If a black widow spider tried to bite Charles Darwin, I doubt he would have had much guilt about crushing it under his boot. Loving life doesn’t mean being soft.”

  “Amen to that,” said Shrike.

  When the sun was almost directly overhead and the sky was unbearably bright, they rested in the belly of a ruined metal storage tank in a scattering of industrial ruins. The night and first part of the day had been rough. Now, they drank water and ate dried meat and what little bread hadn’t been lost in the fight the night before. Things buzzed gently in the ground beneath them. If he weren’t so tired, Spyder imagined that he might have found this alarming.

  Later, Shrike lay down beside Spyder. “Thousand fingers massage,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The buzzing downstairs. It doesn’t feel so bad.”

  “Mmm,” Shrike said, and was asleep against him. Spyder closed his eyes and in a few moments, he, too, was asleep.

  Spyder was in a scrap yard like the lot behind Santos Raye and Iggy Atkinson’s chop shop, only this scrap yard stretched to the horizon in all directions. Piles of dead cars burned in the distance, sending up gushers of flame and black smoke that boiled together like entwined snakes in the sky. Spyder looked down at the ground. It was wet and bones protruded from the red soil. The burning cars threw his shadow, long and distorted, behind him. When he looked again, Spyder saw his younger self there. He wasn’t surprised. The kid had always been just a step or two behind him. He looked worse than ever. His clothes hung from him in rags as if he’d been in a terrible accident. His eyes were gone and his body looked like something dragged off an autopsy table. Spyder’s shadow-self smiled. He was still holding the punch dagger he’d had in Berenice. The blade was still slick with Spyder’s blood.

  Spyder knew what was coming. He dragged a heavy femur out of the wet ground so that he could hit the kid when he made his move.

  Something came clattering toward Spyder across the scrap yard. A filthy old man with a bit in his teeth was pulling a flaming chariot. The chariot’s rider wore a golden war helmet with a mesh face-shield. He pulled that off and Spyder saw that the chariot driver had the same face as the old man with the bit in his mouth. The rider then pulled that face off to reveal a lean, foxlike face that Spyder didn’t recognize. “How many masks are we wearing today?” shouted the rider, and he pulled at the face of the old man dragging the chariot. The old man’s skin came off his skull, a limp rag, exposing muscle, bone and mucous. Spyder was still considering this vision when a white-hot blow to the back staggered him. The punch dagger, ruby-red with blood and glittering like Christmas lights, was sticking out of his chest. It had been pushed clean through him, back to front. He felt weak, but the shock to his body was so great that the wound didn’t even hurt.

  Shrike screamed and startled Spyder awake. Before he could move, Shrike was up and out of the tank, charging across the desert with her sword drawn. Spyder ran after her, and finally caught her by a collapsed brass tower thirty yards away. Shrike shook and cried, but her body was tense, ready to spring, ready to kill something.

  “Were you dreaming?” Spyder asked

  “Yes. My father was in Hell being tortured by the bastard, Xero Abrasax.”

  “Was he pulling a chariot?”

  “Yes,” said Shrike. “How did you know?”

  “I think I might have had part of your dream.”

  Shrike breathed deeply. “We’re close to Hell. It can creep into your dreams. That’s good. It means it was just a nightmare and not an omen.”

  “Yeah. We just dreamed what scares us the most.”

  “But why did you dream about my father?”

  “I don’t know. I know I’m not going to sleep again, that’s for sure.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Listen, let’s just go till we reach the mountains. No more bullshit. No more pit stops. We wait for it to cool off and we walk till we drop.”

  “You’re right.”

  Shrike nodded and they walked back to the tank. The others were all up, looking pale and agitated, as if they, too, had been awakened by disturbing dreams. There wouldn’t be any arguments about pushing straight on through to the Kaslas.

  FORTY

  THE POSSIBILITY OF FLOATING

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do, little brother?”

  “When?”

  “When we reach the gates of Hell.”

  “Not much, no.”

  “Maybe you should. I’ve listened to you talk about the place and, while I admire your scholarship, I wonder if it’s enough.”

  It was just after sundown and the sky along the horizon was the color of rust and bruises. Spyder was spinning the flails of the Hornet over his head, speeding and slowing the serrated metal as they walked. Count Non was beside him. Lulu and Shrike walked ahead, led by Primo. Lulu said something that made Shrike laugh.

  “What’s ever enough? In for a dime, in for a dollar,” said Spyder.

  “Does that attitude make you a hero or a fool, I wonder.”

  “They’re the same thing. Fools get themselves cornered. Heroes are just the fools who get out of it.”

  Count Non nodded. “Being a fool might just be your greatest strength. A fool can do what a wise man won’t,” he said, and shifted his pack from one shoulder to the other. “In the Tarot deck, the Fool is depicted as a young man about to step off a cliff into empty air. Most people assume that the Fool will fall. But we don’t see it happen, and a Fool doesn’t know that he’s subject to the laws of gravity. Against all odds,
he just might float.”

  “If fucking up is power, I should be the Hulk by now,” said Spyder. He took a breath. “Goddam. I’m going in. I told myself I wasn’t. I’ve been sort of turning it over in my mind this whole time.”

  “Thinking goes against the Fool’s strengths. Just do what you have to do.”

  “Truth is, I kind of always knew I was going, from the first time Cinders brought it up. But I couldn’t admit it,” Spyder said, spinning the Hornet from side to side. “There’s an old Buddhist saying that whenever you ask a question, you already know the answer.”

  “I’m glad to hear you bring up the Buddha,” Count Non said. “All that medieval Christianity that informs your descriptions of Hell had me worried. We can learn a lot from the Buddha. In Hell, you’ll be all right if you remember his most basic advice: follow the Middle Way.”

  “All the books say that Hell’s a naked roller derby on broken glass. It’s nothing but extremes. Think there’s a Middle Way down there?”

  “If you’re on fire, do you jump into the pool of water or the pool of gasoline? Even in the most extreme circumstances there’s a choice.”

  “I wish I could see the place. Being blindfolded the whole time sounds like balls.”

  “That’s the first choice you have to make. Is seeing Hell’s décor worth being trapped for eternity?”

  “I’d have to give that a big No,” said Spyder. “How about you? How do you feel about playing blind man’s bluff?”

  “It’s all the same to me. This won’t be the first prison I’ve visited. I’ve been locked away in dark places. After a while, the darkness becomes a comfort and light is the stranger.”

  “You’ve been there, haven’t you? Hell, I mean. You’re dancing around the subject, but I have this feeling.”

  “My people have done business there.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “It varied. I’m not proud of much of it.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything when I was wanking on about it? If you know the place better than me, why didn’t you speak up?”

  “You were doing a fine job. I didn’t see any reason to interrupt.”

  “Is there something you can tell me that I should know? Anything that can help us?”

  “That’s not permitted,” Count Non said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Hell is a place of extremes, yes, but extremes are relative. What’s extreme for Spyder isn’t extreme for me. Shrike’s extreme isn’t Primo’s or Lulu’s. The details of Hell are different for everyone. Telling you about my dealings wouldn’t do you any good and might just confuse you. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of you getting hurt. Or worse.”

  “You’re killing me with tender mercies. There’s nothing you have that can help us?”

  The Count sighed. “I’ve been talking about it this whole trip, trying to prepare you. You’re as ready as you’re going to be. Remember the Buddha’s advice. And don’t ever lose heart. Hell is designed to drain lost souls of hope. Don’t let that happen. We’ve already agreed that you’re a fool and so far, despite a few bruises, you’ve been lucky. That’s halfway to a hero. No matter what happens, what you see or hear or experience, be the fool that lives. That’s my best advice.”

  “I was hoping for a magic helmet or something.”

  “Don’t be afraid, little brother. The stars are on our side. When the moon points to the hellmouth, the underworld’s defenses are down and all the gates are open. ‘In that day the Lord with his sore and great and strong sword shall punish Leviathan; and he shall slay the dragon that is in the sea.’”

  “You can talk some shit, Count.”

  Count Non tossed a stone straight into the air. As it arced down, Spyder tilted up the Hornet and ripped the stone to powder.

  “There’s airships over us,” said Spyder.

  “Angels, too,” the Count said. “To the west.”

  “If your people did business with Hell, did they work for Heaven, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “You aren’t on the flying monkeys’ side, are you?”

  “You mean the Brotherhood and their angelic lapdogs? They can all kiss my ruby-red arse,” said Count Non. “Would you prefer it if I was on the other side?”

  “Both sides can blow me right about now,” said Spyder. “I’m just jumpy is all. That Bible talk of yours had me wondering.”

  “It’s a family habit and hard to break.”

  “You aren’t a preacher or something?”

  “My father is.”

  “I knew it.”

  “When the urge hits, perhaps I should switch to Greek.”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  FORTY-ONE

  VANILLA ROSES

  “Is this the place?” asked Shrike.

  “I believe so,” Primo replied.

  “Believe?” Spyder asked.

  “A figure of speech. This is the place.”

  “What happens now?” asked Lulu.

  “We wait,” said Primo, “for the moon to move across the sky and reveal the location of the entrance to Hell.”

  Shrike crouched on the ground leaning on her cane. Spyder knelt down beside her. The desert night wind came in dry, frigid gusts. He shivered.

  “Does this feel right to you?” Spyder asked.

  “As far as I can tell, we’re where we should be,” she said. “We’re in Primo’s hands now. Is the moon up?”

  “Been up for a while. That’s what worries me. We might have missed it.”

  “We still have tomorrow night.”

  “We lost all our food and most of our water back at the OK Corral.”

  “Then, let’s hope we still have a chance tonight.”

  “Can we start a fire or something?” Lulu asked. “The wind comin’ off these hills is giving me some serious raisins.”

  Count Non shook his head. “That’s not a good idea. Not with enemies overhead. They would spot even a small fire.”

  Lulu shivered in her light cotton jacket. “I’m seriously dying over here.” Spyder took off his leather jacket and draped it across her shoulders.

  “What about one of those caves?” asked Spyder. “We can do like the other night, start a small fire and stack some of this scrub over the entrance. Maybe cover it with our coats.”

  “It’s still dangerous,” said the Count. “What do you say, Shrike?”

  “If nothing else, moving around and gathering brush will warm us. Do you see anything yet, Primo?”

  “No, ma’am. Whatever your decision about a fire, I’m going to stay here and watch the moon.”

  While Primo and the Count kept track of the sky, the others began pulling the dry, shallow-rooted brush from the loose desert soil and piling it in a nearby cave. While Lulu and Shrike broke up some of the brush into kindling, Spyder spread their coats over a pile of brush at the cave opening. Count Non volunteered a heavy wool cloak that he pulled from his weapons bag.

  When he’d covered the entrance, Spyder slipped inside, trying not to disturb any of the brush that kept in the light. Kneeling next to Shrike and Lulu, he struck a match and lit the kindling they’d laid out. The sticks caught quickly and the little cave filled with light. The heat came up more slowly, but in the frigid night, they felt their skin begin to warm and it felt good. Spyder leaned into Shrike as Lulu huddled up on the other side.

  Lulu pulled off her blindfold. “All they can see is the fire, right?”

  “Yeah. They won’t know where the fire is,” said Spyder. “We having a good time yet?” Spyder asked.

  “Shit, this is better than dinner and a spanking,” said Lulu.

  From outside the cave came Count Non’s voice. “Sorry to disturb you, but you should come and look at this.”

  “Who should?” called Lulu.

  “All of you.”

  “Dammit.”

  They crawled out of the cave slowly, gloomily, leaving the warmth behind. It felt even colder and more mise
rable now that they’d had a few minutes of comfort. The three of them remained huddled together as they went to where Primo and the Count were waiting.

  Spyder followed the men’s gaze upward to the night sky. “It’s the moon,” he said. “Been there. Done that.”

  “Look beyond that peak,” said Primo.

  “Oh man,” Spyder said.

  “What is it?” asked Shrike.

  Spyder felt Lulu shiver.

  “Two moons,” Spyder said. “There are two moons in the sky.”

  Shrike lowered her head, but didn’t say anything.

  “Who has the juice for this?” Spyder asked.

  “The Brotherhood, perhaps,” said Count Non. “Perhaps the Black Clerks, though I’ve never heard of them doing anything remotely this mad before.”

  “It could be a confederacy. Two or three of the groups wanting to stop us could have combined their powers,” Shrike said. “This is bad.”

  “There’s something worse,” said Lulu, looking back at the cave.

  Spyder turned and saw that the fire had ignited some of the brush by the entrance. The whole cave was burning like a merry beach bonfire on the Fourth of July.

  “If someone’s looking for us, I think we just sent ’em a flare,” said Lulu.

  “There’s something in the flames,” Primo said.

  Black, moiling smoke slid from the cave, up the mountainside. But a slower, heavier smoke hung white in the air, turning in slow motion tornadoes. Things coalesced inside the spinning whirlpools, shape-angled, skeletal. A glimpse of bared teeth. A sharp arc of metal. Heavy, restless boots.

  “Soldiers,” said Spyder. “Primo, that cave we want is above us, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Up the mountain.”

  “Maybe we should go now.”

  Spyder took Shrike’s hand and they ran up a narrow switchback that cut back and forth across the face of the Kasla Mountains. Coming from far behind them, Spyder heard the clattering of metal and leather. He hoped the smoke soldiers were slow, or still smoky, so the mountain wind might blow them away. As the group ran, however, the sound of the soldiers’ weapons came closer. Shrike pulled away from Spyder and ran back down the mountain, her sword up and ready to strike. Spyder was frozen in place, his mind a blank. What was she going to do against a soldier made of smoke? But when Shrike made her first slash, Spyder saw the blood and heard a scream. He realized that while the soldiers might have come from smoke, they were now just flesh and blood. He, Primo and Count Non charged down the hill while Lulu opened up behind them with the four-ten.