BURN IN HADES (3 page)

“Let them have it,” said Cottontail. “Gimlet can have my pieces. I’ll eat the thighs or tail. It doesn’t matter.”

“Nobody steals from me.” Cross darted into the garden. His eyes locked onto the barbot breast bouncing through the jungle as he chased. Suddenly, the breast rolled to a stop, but the ants continued scurrying into the garden and vanished into the darkness.

“That’s right,” said Cross. “Run! You know you can’t beat me.”

He reached for the barbot meat. The weepers halted their cries leaving only the wispy sound of dead grass swaying. He paused and surveyed the shadows.

The ground rippled and buckled, throwing him off his feet. An enormous green worm leapt out of the ground like a fish breaking the surface of water. It sailed over him, gaping its tunnel of a mouth and plunged back into the ground with a slimy splash as if diving back into the sea.

The worm was big enough to have swallowed Cross whole. He was lucky that it barely missed him. He searched for the barbot breast, but it was gone. Son of a bitch. The goddamn worm had devoured it.

The ground raked up again, and snaked toward the ball court where Cottontail stood with the rest of the meat. The weepers wailed like he had never heard them cry before.

Cross sprinted back to the court, rushing against the worm as it swam under the earth, but it was winning the race.

He spotted Cottontail and waved frantically for her to move away from the meat, which he no longer cared about. The worm could have the meat.

His efforts to warn her went unnoticed. She probably couldn’t see him as he was still draped in the shade of the garden, and the weepers seemed to be quelling his screams. He pushed his already exhausted legs harder, barreling through the jungle and finally tumbled down the stone ramp into the ball court shouting, “Get away from the meat!”

“What’s happening?” She stood there as if frozen in fear.

The ground exploded beneath her, sending her upward with a violent jolt, and then tumbling back into the worm’s mouth with barely enough time to scream. The worm sank straight down into the hole it came from.

Cross dove for the worm, but dirt had already filled its hole. The beast had vanished into the ground with his food and his friend. He dug the loose soil desperately with his hands and nails, scooping and tossing dirt, calling out for Cottontail.

“You stupid, dumb kid! Why didn’t you get out of the way?” He slammed his fist into the ground.

It never made sense that she would be in the underworld anyway. What could a sweet little girl like her ever do that was so bad in her life that she would end up in such a hopeless place?

A sudden burst of inspiration hit him. If she was truly gone, he’d know it. When someone close to him burned he always received a special sign. He checked his palm. Nothing. He shook his hand, slapped it, pinched it and squeezed his fist. Still no sign.

No sign meant something good, like Goddess willing, she hadn’t burned yet. She could still be in that he worm’s stomach, which meant she could be rescued. But he had no tools to dig with, and there was no telling how deep that worm had traveled by now. If Cottontail hadn’t burned yet, she would soon.

He picked himself off the ground and stormed further into the ball court. He trampled over the brown, flattened grass that covered the court and pounced into the shadow of the umbrella-shaped tree that sprouted out of its center.

“This is your fault.” He yelled up at the old tree. In a tremendous echo, his voice bounced off the two walls that fenced either side of the ball court. “Wake up, goddammit!” He kicked the tree trunk repeatedly.

He booted the tree so hard, if the branches had borne any leaves they would have fallen off. Its barren limbs, which linked and weaved like folded fingers, simply rattled. Then they jolted as the tree snapped to life, stretching at length with a crackle and pop. A skull poked its boney face out from amidst the branches, yawning.

“Rest is a very rare thing,” said the skull in its ancient, windy voice. “I suspect you have only awakened me because you are bearing good news.”

Chapter 2 - King Cross

Stupid tree. There was no such thing as good news
, except maybe for the predictable consistency of the underworld to never giveth and always taketh away. It always found ways to bleed a soul dry, mentally and physically. That was the one thing Cross could always depend on, if anyone could call that good news.

At least, he had suspected he’d lose Cottontail at some point. Anticipating it while being incapable of preventing it was what always hurt the most. He couldn’t trust most spirits, and losing the ones he could was eternal Hell. Everything that ever went wrong in his life and death flooded into his mind, and rage stroked the fire in his heart.

“I didn’t ask for your help, Skullface,” he scolded the tree. “I didn’t need your help. You sent me into the garden. And now…”

“Cottontail should be with you.” The skull’s skeletal jaws clunked happily together as it spoke and its eye sockets bloomed with a white hot glow.

“You don’t get to say her name!”

“If I had lips I would smile at the sound of her name. Where is Cotton—?”

Cross grabbed the bottom of Skullface’s jaw and held his boney mouth open. Unexpected moisture wet his hand. At first he thought it was some kind of sap, but its watery consistency was that of spit.

Dry bark grew over most of the skull’s bones giving the skull an appearance of having incomplete flesh; there were tribal markings tattooed all over the exposed portions of the skull; and some deep scratches made Skullface look as if he had gotten into a fight with an angry bird, but nothing indicated that the skull produced any saliva.

Cross released the skull’s jaw and wiped his hand on his shirt.

“That was very rude of you,” said Skullface. “And dangerous. You must never do this again.”

A branch whacked Cross over the head. It stung. He massaged his head and then checked his palm again. Still no sign of Cottontail’s second death. There was still a chance he could save her.

“How deep do those worms go?” he asked.

“Sometimes they go deeper than I can sense.”

“How deep is that?”

“My roots reach so far into the bowels of the underworld that I can feel the vibrations in the Inferno many sleep cycles before it erupts. By the way, expect a rather large eruption soon. If you stick to your sleep schedule, you should expect it to happen in your 119th period of sleep.”

“Can sense any of those worms around right now?”

“Currently, there are approximately one hundred eighty-two in this vicinity. But they come and go.”

Cross needed an object of the dead to rescue Cottontail or a miracle from the Great Goddess herself. Even with digging tools, he’d never be able to find the exact worm that ate her. No way could search the stomachs of one hundred eighty-two worms without getting eaten himself. If he had known her true name he could have tracked her. Now she was lost forever.

Cross sat down in the dirt, facing the tree and mumbled to himself. “Every time I bring someone with me they don’t last so long.”

“What is all this about?” The skull’s voice clattered in a panic. “Where’s Cottontail?”

“She’s on her way to paradise.” Cross chose to spare the skull’s feelings. It seemed happy to hear good news about Cottontail, and he didn’t want to break its heart—if it even had a heart.

“Gone to paradise?” The bark peeled upward from the skull’s eye sockets and the glow inside them bloomed in surprise. “All by her lonely? I had hoped she would go along with you. I told her all about your scheme to leave her behind, and I promised that I would not allow that to happen. That’s why I lead you into the garden.”

“The only reason I even told you is so you could feed her while I was gone.” Cross sprung from the ground and snapped a branch off the tree.

A limb grabbed him by the arms and dangled him in front of the skull. Its glowing eye sockets dimmed.

“Since the wars,” said Skullface, “no one would visit. I’m here all alone. Then you came. And you brought Cottontail.” Skullface’s eye sockets glowed white hot again, and the bark curled up the corners of its mouth. “I cherished every day you both spent here with me. Very much so. The three of us really make great companions. But I knew you couldn’t stay. And sorely, I am unable to move from my spot in this here ball court. This is my onus. But this inability to join you on your quest is what inspired me to do something nice for you. I only wished that you two would partner up at least. My true friends.”

“We’re not friends.”

“The cruel things you say,” said Skullface.

“Well, now you know better than to get too attached to anyone.” Cross tried to wiggle himself free from the tree’s grip.

It dropped him. He plopped to his bottom.

“You always preach loathsome words like this,” said Skullface. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Cross cleaned the dirt from one of his fingernails with a twig. “There are two kinds of souls in the underworld: those that burn and those that don’t. I’ll never burn because I’m smart enough to realize that you can’t make friends in this place. The trustworthy ones burn. The others turn on you like Judas.”

The limbs of the tree swished from side to side. “Such a tragic view,” said Skullface. “Fear is no reason to pass up good things. Everyone could use a friend. And I shall have you know that I have never been a betrayer and do not ever intend to make myself into one.”

“And that’s why we’re all here. Because the damned never foresee their damnation. If they did, they wouldn’t be damned.”

“Why don’t you have a refreshing calabash? Hopefully, it will rid you of all your irksome gloom.”

A single green bottle-shaped fruit ballooned out of a barren limb and dangled. Cross gave the strange fruit the evil eye. It was shiny and juicy looking, but it would quench his thirst the same way a bullet to the gut would.

“If you want to be my friend so much, why do you keep trying to make me drink poison?”

“Poison?” The bark over Skullface’s eyes formed a deep V down the center of his eyes sockets as if the skull were offended by the accusation. “The calabash is not poison!”

“Don’t act like you don’t know your fruit hurts souls.”

A pointy limb stabbed toward Cross and stopped just short of his neck. It was like a giant thorn.

“Watch your tongue,” said Skullface. “It does no such thing.”

“I guess you never get a chance to see the effects because you’re stuck here in this ugly ball court. But back in Vingólf, the place where I used to live, souls would frequently end up there half burnt, warning us about a talking tree that made them sick. Most were even afraid to admit what exactly happened to them, but I’ve seen their stomachs blow up.”

The thorn swayed away from Cross, and Skullface’s glowing eyes dimmed nearly black.

“You are mistaken,” said Skullface. “My one true friend, I would never hurt you. I only wish to replenish your soul. That is all. Do you not trust my words?”

“Words are just words,” said Cross. “Your intentions might be good, but good intentions can do as much harm as cruel ones. I believe you when you say you don’t want to hurt me. But that doesn’t mean you won’t.” He smacked the fruit with the back of his hand. It sailed across the court and splashed on one of the walls. “The answer is always no, Skullface.”

“What is this name you insist on saying to me?” said Skullface. “How many times must I tell you that this Skullface name is not what I shall be called? I am Bolon-Hunahpu.”

“Then it’s your funeral, Bolon. You know it’s not wise to use true names.”

“I am never frightened of any spirit.”

“Good. ‘Cuz they’ll come soon. And I have to find Gimlet before I lose her too. I’m going to start tying her ass up from now on.”

Bolon-Hunahpu pivoted its trunk and twisted its branches. Eyes bloomed on the tip of each twig of the bony branches. The pupils darted every which way, and the branches swayed as though a breeze nudged them, but no such breeze ever swept through the underworld. That would be too comforting for the damned. Cold places existed in the underworld, but they were just as tormenting as the hot ones.

“I can’t see her,” said Bolon-Hunahpu, “but I sense that your pet cornurus is currently behind the palace. It appears she may be hunting. I shall draw her over to me. But before you leave, you must finally tell me how you’ve come to be here in this place.” A branch reached down patted Cross on the head gingerly.

Cross swatted the branch. “The same way everyone else got here. I was a good guy once. But bad things happened.”

“What kind of bad things?”

“It doesn’t matter. The past is dead. Or at least it should be.”

“The seed cannot sprout upwards without simultaneously sending roots into the ground. The plant reveals what is in the seed. There grows no wheat where there is no grain, soil, season, and sun. This explains why I bare no leaves, why the gardens are dead and why you will never move on if you kill your past.”

“Move on to what?”

“That is for you to find out.”

“Knowing what I’ve done in life, if there’s anything after this, it’s probably worse. I never even wanted to be an outlaw. There a hundred other things I would have rather done with my life, but I had to do what I had to do to survive. Now I’m here. Makes me wonder what you ever did to get where you are.”