He turned to go back. But though he had traveled for what seemed like hours, the wall of glistening thorns was still only five feet behind him.
Herbert was ready to abandon all hope even before he passed through that arch, something he was clearly meant to do, when a voice to his right whispered, “Herbert! Herbert, come here!”
He blinked and glanced around.
“Over here!” whispered the voice urgently.
Herbert stepped to his right. Though the underbrush was too thick for him to leave the path, he could see a glowing Being just beyond it. He couldn’t make out its features. Even so, the very sight of it somehow eased his heart.
“What do you want?” he whispered.
“I’m hoping you can do me a favor.”
“What?”
Despite the thickness of the undergrowth, the Being stepped through it with no problem. Herbert had a sense of light, of freedom, of wings, of music. His sorrow faded, and he felt an inexpressible longing. “Who are you?” he asked.
“A messenger.”
“You have a message for me?” Herbert’s heart lifted with fresh hope. He was going to get out of this after all!
The Being laughed, but it was not a mean laugh. “Not for you,” it said. “For . . . him.”
The way it said “him” made Herbert shudder.
“Look, I’m in an awful hurry. And the truth is, I don’t really like to go in there. If you could just take this box to him I would deeply appreciate it.”
“What will you give me if I do?” asked Herbert shrewdly.
The Being seemed startled. Then it smiled, though how Herbert could have known this, since he still couldn’t see its face, he wasn’t quite sure.
Reaching out, the Being placed its hands on either side of Herbert’s head. To Herbert’s astonishment, the throbbing pain that had been with him since the accident vanished. Next, the Being slid its hand down Herbert’s arm. The boy heard an odd sucking sound—the jagged edge of bone pulling itself back inside his skin.
“Wow,” he breathed. “Thanks!”
“My pleasure,” said the Being. “Literally. I love to heal. Anyway, in return, please take this to . . . him.”
“How will I find, um, him?”
The laugh this time was like tinkling bells. “Oh, you won’t have any choice about that! Once you’re here, all roads lead to . . . well, you know who.”
“Can’t you take me back with you?” asked Herbert. The Being shook its head. To Herbert’s surprise, he could feel its sadness. “No, that’s not possible. Still, do this thing for me and you’ll have a friend on the other side. Oh, one more thing, Herbert.”
“What?”
“Please don’t open the box.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious. Whatever you do, don’t open the box!”
“Sure, sure.”
Herbert had always been easy with a promise.
“I’m very serious about this,” persisted the Being.
“So am I!” said Herbert, who was always offended when anyone doubted his word, no matter how many times he had lied to that person in the past.
“All right. Good luck!”
The Being shimmered and vanished.
Herbert stood for a moment, examining what had been placed in his hands. It was a plain wooden box, dark brown, highly polished. Its hinged lid was held shut by a simple brass latch. The latch didn’t even have a lock. Herbert shook his head in amazement. How trusting could someone be? Well, the Being—obviously an angel—had been good to him. He wouldn’t open the box.
At least, not yet . . .
Tucking the thing under his miraculously healed arm, reveling in the fact that the pain was gone, Herbert started toward the stone arch.
Given where he was, he felt oddly hopeful.
Though Herbert had expected the demon guards to stop him, they simply yawned and nodded and said, “Yeah, yeah, go on in.”
Herbert stepped forward and ran into an invisible wall.
The demon on the right shook his head. “Geez, kid, can’t you read?”
“Huh?”
The demon pointed up. “The sign. The sign over the door!”
“Yeah, I read it.”
“Well, then empty your pockets.”
“Huh?” he asked again.
“You sure you read it?” asked the demon on the left.
“You sure you can read?” snickered the demon on the right.
With a roll of his eyes, Herbert looked up. He let out a low groan. He had misread the words the first time. Either that or they had changed somehow. The carving now said ABANDON DOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE.
“Come on,” said the demon on the right, holding out a scaly red hand. “Fork it over.”
“Fork it over!” cried the demon on the left, flicking out his forked red tongue. “Fork it over! Flaming farts but I love it when you say that.”
Herbert shook his head. If this was what passed for humor around here, he really was in hell. With a sigh he dug in his pocket and pulled out the joint he had been on his way to share with a friend before his untimely death.
“All right, you can go in now,” said the demon on the left, plucking the joint from Herbert’s hand. He touched the tip of the white roll with his finger. Instandy, smoke began to curl from the end. He passed it to his partner, who took a puff and smiled and said, “Ahhh.” He winked at Herbert. “Good shit, kid. Thanks.”
Herbert Hutchison sighed, and entered the underworld.
At first hell didn’t seem that bad. He was in a broad stone tunnel that sloped gently downward. It was a trifle warm, perhaps, but he had always liked hot days at the beach. The red light, which came from holes in the rocks—sometimes above him but just as often from the side—was beginning to bother him. And the occasional scream of agony that echoed down the corridor was somewhat unnerving. But the thing that bothered Herbert most was the box he was carrying, and the fact that he was not supposed to open it.
It was hard to keep track of time, so he wasn’t sure how long he had been walking—long enough to get fairly tired—when he came to a place where a small cave opened to his right. Glancing around, Herbert ducked into it. Even though he had not actually met anyone else in the tunnel, it seemed safer, somehow, to rest here than in the tunnel itself.
As he sat, he studied the box. The fact that it wasn’t locked was driving him nuts. He wondered if he would get in trouble if he did open it. Then he laughed. “I’m in hell already. How much more trouble can I be in than that?”
With practiced fingers—the fastenings were not unlike those of his mother’s jewel box, from which he had frequently stolen money—he opened the lid and looked eagerly inside.
“Oh crap,” he muttered.
Inside the box was . . . another box. Herbert took it out and studied it for a minute. It was exactly like the first box, except smaller.
Well, there was one difference. Unlike the first box, this one seemed to carry a slight electric charge.
“My Spidey sense is tingling,” he said, amused at his own wit.
Even so, he put the small box back, then carefully closed the lid of the larger one.
After a while Herbert got bored with sitting and started to walk again.
Eventually the tunnel opened onto a ledge on the side of a steep slope. Far below stretched a broad plain that ended at the shore of a mighty river. The river itself was blanketed by swirling mists.
Above the plain flew creatures that—given their muscular red bodies and batlike wings—could only be more demons. Unfortunately, these were far more terrifying than the ones he had already met.
Herbert shuddered. This was getting serious!
His thoughts were interrupted by a small voice saying, “Well, kid, what are you waiting for?”
Herbert looked down. Standing next to him, only knee high, was a cute version of the horrifying creatures soaring over the plain. It was holding a foot-long pitchfork.
“What are you?
” he asked.
The creature rolled its eyes. “Boy, I can see you’ve got a lot to learn. I’m an imp!”
Then it poked Herbert in the leg with the pitchfork.
“Ow! Don’t do that!”
“Then don’t ask stupid questions.”
“My teachers said there was no such thing as a stupid question,” said Herbert self-righteously.
“Do you see your teachers anywhere around here?”
Herbert shook his head.
“Then don’t ask stupid questions! What’s in the box?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” said Herbert smugly.
“And don’t be a smart-ass,” snapped the imp, running behind Herbert and jabbing him in exactly that spot with his pitchfork. “It’s a bad idea. Besides, that wasn’t a stupid question.”
“All right!” shouted Herbert. “Just don’t do that again. What’s in the box is . . . another box.”
“Don’t give stupid answers, either!” snapped the imp, stabbing at him again, this time in a more private place.
Herbert managed to dodge the jab, much to his own relief. “It’s not stupid,” he said. “It’s the truth. Here, I’ll show you.”
He opened the box.
The imp stepped closer, peered inside, then rolled its eyes again. “Okay, so it’s another box. What’s inside that one?”
Herbert shrugged. “I’m not supposed to open it.”
The imp laughed. “And that’s how you got here, right? By always doing what you were supposed to?”
Herbert felt himself blush.
“Oh, forget it,” said the imp. “You’re not worth my time.”
And then it vanished.
Herbert, annoyed, did the only thing that made sense to him at the moment.
He opened the box.
Inside was an envelope.
Written on the envelope, in the most perfect, flowing cursive Herbert had ever seen, was his own name. He felt a sudden clench of fear. What was this about? What was in the envelope? And why was he supposed to take it to . . . him?
He stood, wracked with indecision, longing to open the envelope, but frightened, too.
“Hey, kid!” snarled a voice from above him. “Get moving!”
Looking up, Herbert saw one of the large demons hurtling toward him, fiery eyes blazing. With the same practiced speed that had saved him from his mother so many times, he snapped shut first the smaller box and then the larger one. Then he started down the path.
Satisfied, the demon soared upward again.
It took Herbert hours to make his way to the base of the mountain, and hours more to reach the edge of the river. He knew that was where he was supposed to go because every time he tried to head off in any other direction one of the demons would swoop down, pitchfork raised and ready for jabbing, to steer him back the way they wanted him to go.
Herbert couldn’t help but notice that it was growing hotter. Also, an unpleasant smell was starting to burn his nostrils. He might have been more disturbed by these things if he hadn’t been so consumed by wanting to know what was in the envelope. The problem was, he didn’t dare open it while the demons patrolled above him.
He had only been standing at the river’s edge for a few moments when a boat loomed out of the mist. Its prow, from which hung a glowing lantern, slid onto the rocky bank without a sound. At the back of the boat stood a cloaked figure, its face hidden by a large hood. It raised one spectral hand and beckoned toward Herbert.
The boy backed away—and bumped into something hot. Turning, he saw that two demons, each about eight feet tall, had landed behind him. Their wings rose in high, jagged points over their shoulders. Their eyes were like holes into another world, one where fires raged. Their muscles bulged in a way that made the superheroes Herbert liked to draw when he was supposed to be doing homework look scrawny.
With a sigh, he climbed into the boat.
The boatman pushed on a pole, and they left the shore. Soon they were enveloped in swirling mists. They had traveled in silence for some time when the boatman asked, in a voice that seemed as if it came from the bottom of an empty grave, “So, kid—what’s in the box?”
“I don’t know,” said Herbert miserably.
The boatman uttered a mocking laugh that made Herbert burn with shame and fury. Did the boatman think he was a fool for not opening the box? He almost asked, but his thoughts were diverted by a terrible sound from ahead of them. It took Herbert a moment to realize what he was hearing: thousands of voices, wailing and moaning in agony.
“Ah,” murmured the boatman, “we’re almost there!”
Turning away, he began to guide the craft ashore.
This is it, thought Herbert desperately. My last chance. If I’m going to see what’s in that envelope, I’d better do it now!
But the angel asked me not to, argued another part of his mind.
Screw the angel! snapped the first part. He didn’t even have the guts to come down here and deliver the damn thing himself. He could have made the trip in a tenth of the time it’s taken me so far. Who died and made me his errand boy, anyway?
The wailing was growing louder. Herbert had to know what was in that envelope. Maybe it offered some hope of escape!
He glanced up. The boatman was still facing ahead, guiding the boat into place.
Quickly, despite the trembling in his fingers, Herbert opened the first box, and then the second.
He took out the envelope.
It wasn’t even sealed! He could read it, and no one would even know! How stupid was that?
Unable to resist a smile, he opened the back flap of the envelope. Ignoring the thump of the boat against the shore, he took out the message and began to read:
Dearest Herbert,
Oh, my dear boy, we are so very sorry! Because we are a god of mercy, it is our policy to offer hope until the very last moment, no matter how bad someone has been in life.
In fact, we give three chances.
Alas, Herbert, you failed all three times. Even after opening both boxes, had you delivered this envelope unopened, we would have been able to retrieve you from the one in whose realm you now stand.
As it is, you now belong to him.
We sincerely wish it could have been otherwise.
Love,
The Almighty
“That’s not fair!” wailed Herbert.
“No one said life was fair!” replied a gravelly voice. With a horrible laugh, it added, “And death is even worse!”
Herbert looked up, straight into the glowing eyes of the biggest demon he had seen yet.
It smiled, revealing a mouth full of truly terrifying fangs.
And that was when the pain really began.
The Boy with Silver Eyes
THERE is always one unicorn on Earth, come as a reminder of what the world has lost. This is an ancient promise, made by the unicorns after they fled to Luster because the Hunt for them on Earth had become so savage they feared they could not survive.
There is always one unicorn on Earth, who risks his life by returning so we will not forget the sweetness and the magic that were once our birthright.
There is always one unicorn on Earth, who comes to spend twenty-five years as the Guardian of Memory, the sweet reminder of what we once had.
Alas, this unicorn does not always survive that service.
This is how it was with Streamstrider, who liked to dance on water and could prance across a river on the tips of his hooves. At least, he could until the day a Hunter’s arrow found his heart.
A shiver ran through the unicorns of Luster when Streamstrider fell, for they always know, at once and without question, when one of their own has died. The queen, Arabella Skydancer, wept the most bitter tears of all, for it was she who had given the pledge to send a unicorn back to Earth. Though she had known when she made the promise that it was not without danger, it still pierced her own heart like an arrow every time that price was paid.
The Hunter wh
o had slain Streamstrider cut off the glimmering horn and took the trophy to the woman called Beloved, who was the leader of the Hunter clan and the ancient enemy of all unicorns. She clutched it to her chest and crooned with delight that another of the foe had fallen.
And then the Hunter did something else, something no Hunter had ever done before and none has dared do since. He skinned the carcass and cut up the meat, which he took home to feed his family—his wife, Therese, and his son, Nils, who was but four years old. But Therese would not touch the meat, for though it sizzled tantalizingly on the spit, the smell of it—a smell of clear water and mountain breezes, of fresh spring grass and flowers not yet open—was strange, and it frightened her. Nor did Nils want to eat, for he saw his mother’s fear, and it made him afraid as well. But the boy feared his father’s wrath even more, and when the Hunter raised his fist and roared, “You’ll eat, by God, or I’ll know the reason why!” Nils put a piece of the meat to his lips.
When the Hunter saw this he was satisfied, and cut a huge chunk of the unicorn meat for himself. Silvery blood ran over his chin as he crammed the gobbet into his mouth. But he was a hasty man, and he chewed only two or three times before he tried to swallow. The meat lodged in his gullet, and he began to choke. Eyes bulging, he clutched at his throat. No sound came from his open mouth.
Nils watched in terror as his mother screamed and pounded on his father’s back. Her efforts were of no avail; moments later the Hunter lay on the floor, his face blue, his chest unmoving.
Only then—and mostly because he did not know what else to do—did Nils swallow the piece of meat he had been holding in his own mouth.
In that moment he was changed forever.
Nils and his mother lived in a cottage at the edge of the great northern forest. Though they were far from rich, they did not want for any of the necessities of life. In part this was because Therese was a skilled gardener and seamstress. But it was also because Beloved sent Therese a small bag of gold every year, as token of her appreciation for what her husband had done. And, though the two did not know it, other Hunters kept watch on the cottage, to make sure they remained safe.