Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) (34 page)

“What?”

“My name is Cris.
No ‘h,’ lest it cause confusion.”

“You know damn well what I was asking.”

“If it pleases you, most honored judge, I’d ask that you clarify the question so that I might answer it in a manner more towards your choosing.”

He’s trying to piss us off. Why?

“What were you doing in the general area?”

“I was sent in the name of the Infidel to scout nearby. I came closer to discover the extent of the settling. Then, if it were to endanger any group of people, I was going to warn them to leave.”

“You are a liar, Infidel Friend,” Michael responded, lines of worry forming on his forehead. “Altruism is not something your kind have. You are godless.”

“I will not disagree with you if you were to say that my altruism in this case was paired with some other motive. Nonetheless,
helping you was my intention.”

“Are there others of you?”

“No, I was sent alone.”

Chelsea couldn’t tell if the whispers that came from the Citizen pews were of relief or disbelief.

“How were you wounded?” Michael asked, his poker face again in place.

“I was tricked. An unfriendly hermit shared food with me and said he would lead me to some cracks formed in Hell. Instead he led me to a pit of demons. I escaped, but only after he shot me.”

“And what happened to this hermit?”

“I find it unlikely that he survived my own bullet.”

“Murderer,”
she whispered into Michael’s ear.

“You admit murder?” Michael asked.

“Had I not shot him, he would have finished me. He fired first. Have you no self-defense clause in your laws?”

Mancini leaned forward. “We only have your word that he fired first.”

“True,” the Infidel Friend responded. “But it is also true that you only have my word that I fired at all. Still, if it pleases you, I have definitive proof that he fired first.”

“Do tell.”

The Infidel Friend pointed to the wound in his shoulder.

“I hardly call that definitive,” Mancini said.

“Give me a gun. I’ll show you how rarely I miss.”

There were angry mutters about the pews. Michael slammed his stone against the table.

He’s so arrogant.

“We are not here to try you for murder, Infidel Friend,” Michael said loudly.

“Cris.”

“Cris, then.”

“Thank you, most honored judge. I would ask you, what is it exactly that I am being charged with?”

Michael leaned back in his chair. The infidel’s posture had not changed. He had actually moved slightly closer. The shadow of the cross which had darkened his hair now fell onto the floor behind him.

For being an Infidel Friend. Is there anything worse?

“For denying God his rightful love,” Michael said. “For engaging in acts which are harmful to the souls of Hell. For cavorting with devils. For mutilating and desecrating the Body of God—”

“I’m sorry, if I may so humbly interrupt your honor in this litany,” the infidel said, seeming genuinely baffled, “but could you run that last one by me again?”

“Mutilation and desecration of the Body of God.”

The infidel smirked. “Far be it for me to disagree with any of these charges, most honored judge. And please bear in mind, as I give you this question, that by it I in no way mean to doubt the veracity of this allegation—but how did I manage to affect the Body of God?”

“Your tattoo—”

“Scarification.”

“Whatever. Your body is a sacred thing, and defacing it—”

“Like, for instance, chopping Martin’s hand off?”

How the hell does he know about that? Has everyone been gossiping to him the entire time he’s been in prison?

“That’s different,” Michael rubbed the back of his head with his hands. “Your body is a sacred thing, given to you by God—”

“Was not.”

“Whether or not you deny your Creator, infidel, it does not change the fact that your body is His.”

“While I must disagree with you there also, I would point out that my original point of contention was not on the philosophical nature of free will and ownership. It was a factual disagreement.”

He must know his pretentiousness is going to get him killed.

“Surely you don’t doubt that God made your body,” Michael seemed incredulous.

“The body God furnished me with would not,” Cris replied, “let’s say, regrow my hand were it chopped off. I will, however, agree to the factual nature of your charge if you change the verbiage in this trivial way. Let us say that I am guilty of mutilating and desecrating the Body of Satan.”

Chelsea covered her mouth to hide her laughter. Michael gave her a dark look.

He’s playing Michael, not me.

Father Klein jumped in. “Your body is a copy of that one made by God, and therefore bound by the same restrictions.”

“Oh, I very much doubt you believe that.”

“If you did not heed the Word of God in your last life,” Klein said, “it is insufferable that you do not do so now.”

“In addition to showing you that your claim is fatuous, I would to also point out that you have an error in the consistency of your jurisdiction.”

“I rule this city,” Michael said, “and I rule the surrounding wilds.”

“Let’s say that Hidalgo fellow came into town, perhaps sporting a tattoo.”

How does he know who Hidalgo is, or that he tattoos himself? Do they tell him everything? What kind of prison guards do we have?

Then it struck Chelsea that Aaron’s first attempt to get information out of the infidel was to send Molly in to talk to him.

He probably knows what I eat for breakfast.

“Hidalgo’s business with us is his business,” Michael shot back. “It is not yours.”

“Perhaps, unless I were inclined to feel that my fair treatment was my business. But strangely enough, I agree with you here. Maybe it could be said for Hidalgo that it would be odd were he held, as an outsider, to such tenuous theological grounding? And even if it were sound, God’s law has been completed. Mayhaps only Man’s law should hold now? In all of recorded history, your God, Yahweh, Father of Jesus, hasn’t been able to convince more than a third of the world to believe that He even exists. Maybe we could forgive Hidalgo for not wanting to follow a God that failed?”

Michael’s mask crumbled. He didn’t seem angry, just shocked.

Did he just say that? Is he trying to die?

“God has not failed!” Klein burst out, standing as he spoke. “Fool! How self-deluded. What kind of man are you? That you think you ca
n
. . . come in here,
in God’s own house,
and say that kind of blasphemy? What arrogance? What selfishness? Wha
t
. .
.
If most men on Earth didn’t believe Him, then that’s how He wanted it.”

“Great,” the infidel said. “So He’s not incompetent. He’s just evil.”

“God
made
evil,” Michael broke in. “He determines what it is. Who are you to question the morality of God?”

“A recipient of his injustice.”

Klein’s mouth hung open for a moment. “How much arrogance can you have? You realize that you are talking about a God? A mortal cannot know His mind. It is beyond us.”

“Assuming we cannot know Him, then whether he is good or evil would be beyond us as well, would it not?”

“No!” the Father shouted. “He has told us that He is good. He made good and evil.”

“Maybe. Maybe morality isn’t an accident of power. But who’s to say that, since he created both, and can act with one, that he cannot act with the other.”

“God says.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes.”

“On what grounds?”

“Faith.”

“Very well. If God’s goodness is the premise behind you exercising God’s law in this place, and I might add, this place where He doesn’t exist, then I accept that your punishment of me is based on no good reason.”

“No good reason?” Michael asked.

“Faith is belief in the absence of evidence.”

“Faith is the only reason.”

“No, most honored judge, it might actually be the only exception.”

The sudden absurdity of the argument struck Chelsea. If God were a human, then it would be idiotic to trust that he didn’t lie about himself being truthful. If God were only human, then his idea of morality would only be an opinion, like anyone else’s.

But God is not human. And we had plenty of proof on Earth that He was the benevolent master that He claimed to be. But reason isn’t enough. Reason is corruptible. Here, so close to Satan, faith is all that we have. We have no other choice but to blindly follow His will, because the devil will make sure our souls rot with every exception we make.

“You would know differently if you had ever felt God in your heart,” Klein said. “His words were backed up by the facts on Earth. A pity you missed them.”

“A pity,” the Infidel Friend a
greed. “A pity that we all did, for we are all here. Does the Book not say, ‘let he who has not sinned cast the first stone?’”

“It does,” said Father Klein. “It also points out that the Devil quotes scripture.”

“You got me there,” the Infidel Friend admitted, “but you got yourself equally. We all chose to be devils, by action or inaction. I find it difficult to justify myself hurting anyone for that. Let me go my way, and I’ll not harm you. You go yours, and unless you try to hurt me, I won’t stop you.”

He’s trying to do what Mancini warned. He’s trying to talk circles around us. But he’s too abrasive. Instead he’s making us all hate him.

But his effect on Michael was startling.

No one’s stood up to him in years. Michael respects that kind of thing.

“It is imperative that all men try to correct their mistakes,” Michael said, as if quoting one of Father Klein’s sermons. “We came here as wolves. Let us leave as sheep. If you do not try and follow God’s way, here, after all has been made clear to you, then you are truly evil. More than that, you are willfully evil. At least on Earth you could have claimed to not know what was going on. After seeing proof of His will all around you, after finding out that you failed the One who loved you more than any other, after all that, you chose to deny Him. I offer you mercy, infidel. Forgive God, here and now. Admit that it was
you
who failed. If you do this, I will be merciful in my judgment should the Citizens find you guilty.”

“Mercy is the suspension of justice,” Cris said. “You kidnap me, against my will, for the purpose of charging me for the crime of being who I am—as if that were not an honor. Then, after falsely declaring me guilty, you dangle mercy before me. All I must do is love your God. Is that not the same horrible farce of justice your God played on you?”

“God cannot be unjust! God is—”

“Were we not all created sick, and ordered to be well? Were we not all damned for being what we were made to be? Were we not all told that if we loved God, we would be redeemed? Is there anything in your lives, any of your lives,” Cris turned and motioned to all the Citizens, “for which you actually deserve
eternal
torture? Have any of the scars you’ve caused actually been
infinitely
deep? If you hold me to this, then you are truly Yahweh’s children.”

“We are sinners! We do the best we can,” Michael said. “We follow His laws as we can. We are only human. This is all we can do. I’m sorry that you find that an inconvenience. Is that all you had to say in your defense?”

The Infidel Friend shook his head. He began walking forward. Klein, Copperfield and Mancini ran from the table. Michael came to his feet, drawing his pistol and leveling it at the man. Chelsea slid her chair back. Michael did not budge.

He’s stared into the eyes of the Minotaur. What has he left to fear?

The Infidel Friend marched up the steps of the church and stopped just inches from the judge’s table. Chelsea dared not move.

Will Michael shoot?

Cris looked Michael Baker in the eye and spoke in an earnest whisper.

“I have this to say in my defense, sir. You support a village of many people. They are well fed and well armed. I can only say that I am very proud to see human beings doing so well here. It is thanks to you that they can stave off the true tortures of Hell. Because of that, sir, if I were to see you in the wilds of Hell, and you were besought by devils, I would save you. I wouldn’t care of your creed. I wouldn’t care of your race. I wouldn’t care of your God or your Devil. I would only care that you were a good man. Now you stand there, sir, and you look me in the eye and tell me that if, in the wilds, you saw a devil throwing fire at me, that you wouldn’t do the same.”

Michael met his gaze. “I would watch you die.”

You’re lying, Mike.

There was a catch in her throat. It hurt for her to swallow.