Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) (41 page)

“Maab! Maab! Maab!”

That’s her name. That’s Queen Maab.

She disrobed at the top step.

Arturus could not take his eyes off of her.

She approached the bull.

No.

The priestesses had the thing ready.

Arturus looked away, staring at the faces of the men that still stood around him.

There is lust in their hearts. But how? How could they lust while watching this?

He dared one more glance. Maab was standing on the Minotaur’s knees, her back to the seated thing. Slowly she squatted down and lowered herself onto it. The chanting and screaming grew still louder. The Carrion people who had fallen to their knees reached their hands up towards the ceiling. The beats of the drum came in a steady stream, shaking Arturus to the quick. He let himself fall from the pillar and leaned back against the walls. He had hoped they would be cool, but they had taken in the heat of the room.

This is wrong.

He was the only one not watching. Those around him were crazed madmen, shouting as loud as they could, so full of emotion that they were shaking.

Then he saw someone else not facing the stage. The man was searching the crowd instead.

Not the only one.

For a second he thought it was Galen, but nothing could have been further from the truth. That soldier was as filled with malice as those around him were with lust. His pale skin was stretched tightly across his spiteful face. His hair was cut short, almost clean shaven. His armor was an odd, greyish color.

Icanitzu skin.

Arturus moved so that a group of standing Carrion slaves stood between himself and that dangerous figure. He continued to look for Galen through the haze. He saw one black, shaved head of a young boy amongst the rest.

Julian.

The drumming grew faster and faster, incessantly pounding against Arturus’ senses until it drowned all else out. His ears were ringing badly. He put his hands up to cover them and was surprised with how drenched with sweat his hair was. He stepped over and around a few of the kneeling bodies.

For half of one of Arturus’ breaths, there was silence, and all that he could hear was the ringing in his ears. Then the shouts and screams of the Carrion men came to a climax as the drums beat on. Arturus looked to the stage.

Maab had broken the bull.

She stood up slowly, letting the thing’s broken organ slide out of her. The Minotaur was twitching, as if in seizure. Maab stepped down from the throne and moved to the edge of the stage. Everyone stood as one and rushed towards her, reaching out to touch their goddess. They groped at her, but she, without having to avoid them, always seemed to be just inches away from their fingers. Her voice was high and strong, easily heard against the low pitched howls of her followers.

“Who protects you?”

“Maab!”

“Who feeds you?”

“Maab!”

“Who breaks the bull?”

“Maab!”

“Who loves you?”

“Maab!”

“Who holds the darkness of Ahriman at bay?”

“Maab!”

“Who sings to the fates at night to save your bodies?”

“Maab!”

“Who calls to the great Mithras, born of Rock, for the salvation of your blood?”

“Maab!”

“Who pulls from the bull its essence, that it might strengthen your warriors?”

“Maab!”

“Who chips away at the stone, that Mithras might come again?”

“Maab!”

The soldiers swarmed back onto the stage. This time the Bullman offered no resistance, unable to even clutch at its ruined masculinity. They dragged it upwards, as if to get it standing, but the best the beast could manage was to hold itself up on its hands and knees. One warrior, the one in Icanitzu skin, grabbed the thing’s massive right arm and twisted it behind its back, exposing its belly to the crowd. Hell healed all wounds, Arturus knew, but there were scars along the Minotaur’s abdomen. Either it had suffered those wounds very recently, or it had been cut with something treated with rustrock.

“Maab! Maab! Maab!”

Maab accepted a black dagger from one of her priestesses. It shined in the firelight.

She placed her fingers in the Minotaur’s nostrils and pulled its head back. She slit the thing open, from its neck to the ruined organ at its pelvis. The blood spilled out from its belly into the bowls. The priestesses, their nude bodies covered in blood, moved quickly to empty the bowls into a black trough.

Arturus forced himself to look away.

Julian. He’s one of their slaves!

Arturus tried to cut across the middle of the room but found that the people there were so closely packed together that he couldn’t make any headway. They treated him as an annoyance, shifting back and forth to try and keep him back.

If I can get to him
, I can lead him to our escape route.

Arturus gave up on the center of the room and moved as quickly as he could towards one of the walls.

“Bring forth the babies.”

Arturus made it to the wall, and fearing for the lives of infants, again climbed a pillar. There were no babies, however. Naked men were being brought to the stage. Arturus was struck with the idea that they might also be forced onto the throne, and that Maab might break them, too. He was relieved when they were lined up before her.

He climbed down and continued around the room.

Julian. Come on. Where’d you go?

He could only see the tops of the men’s shoulders on the stage now that he was back on the floor. Maab’s voice came and went, sounding almost like one of the Latin prayers that Father Klein would give. Only her voice was higher, sweeter, more powerful, and infinitely more despicable.

Her servants poured the Minotaur’s blood across the shoulders of those young men.

“Blessed is the Baptism of Mithras. Blessed are his warriors. You are the gleam in the eye of the great Ahuramazda. You too, now, have been carved from stone. Your flesh, made weak by the mothers who bore you, has been made strong with the blood of the Gorgon. Your will, which was made vulnerable by the teachings of your fathers, has been made invincible by the will of Ahuramazda. Your soul, which was made to be tortured and victimized by servants of Ahriman, has been steeled against their wishes and wants. You are the light in the darkness. You are the gleam in eternity. It is your hand which turns the keys of damnation. It is your wish which calls out to Sol for his light, for his love, for all that you are and all that you will be.”

Arturus spotted
him. He was standing behind a group of soldiers and slaves. He was looking towards the stage. Arturus climbed up and around one pillar to clear a clot of people that he couldn’t pass otherwise. He was nearly to Julian. If it were not for the drums and the chanting and the insane screams of Maab’s followers, Arturus could have shouted out to him.

Julian turned, making eye contact with Arturus. His mouth lulled open.

The men about Arturus surged towards the stage.

“Pick me! Pick me!” one man jeered.

The renewed press of bodies dragged him towards the site of the ritual. Arturus did his best to keep his bearings and to keep Julian’s head in sight. Both he and Julian were shorter than the average Carrion man, so it was easy for Arturus to lose him. Still, the men about him were thin and frail, and though they possessed of the wiry strength of madmen, Arturus was able to shove his way through them.

They parted before him now, his strength giving him license to bully them away.

“Me! Me!” another was screaming.

They were all asking to be picked, stretching their arms towards the stage. Arturus suddenly saw Maab clearly. Saw her breasts swinging as she pointed out one man in the crowd.

“You!”
Came her high voice.

She looked again through the mass of her flock and picked out another.

“You!”

For a moment, Arturus had the blinding fear that
he
might be picked, for certainly she seemed to favor the better fed of the slaves for whatever lottery it was they were playing. However, the age of those she chose seemed always to be about the same.

I’m too young.

He received an elbow to his jaw. He turned suddenly, twisting against the crowd. The man who had hit him was struggling like all the rest, looking only towards the stage. Maddened further by the blow, Arturus gave even less care to those around him. He brought himself low, as Galen had shown him for wrestling, and brutally pushed himself through the spindly limbs of the worshipers.

“You!”

The slave she had picked was close to Arturus, which caused the men there to move out of his way as he fought towards Julian. Arturus seized the opportunity to jump up a little.

There he is!

Julian had been pulled along with the crowd, just as he had, but had been taken a little closer to the stage. Arturus pressed straight towards his mark, shouldering the grey slaves aside. He caught a glimpse the boy’s black skin through the bodies.

“You!”

Maab’s voice was distant now. He saw she was picking men on the other side.

Galen!

Arturus’ heart leapt as he saw his father in the haze at the far edge of his vision. His father was leaning close to another soldier, shouting in his ear.

What if she picks Galen?

But she couldn’t. She was only picking the slaves.

“You!”

Her shout shifted the crowd, and Arturus lost sight of his father. When he looked back towards Julian, the boy seemed farther away.

Is he running from me?

The thought struck him suddenly. What if Julian hadn’t been stealing these people’s devilwheat? What if he had been a member of their tribe this whole time? What if his disappearance wasn’t a kidnapping? What if he had chosen to live with his people?

No.

Arturus felt that he knew Julian too well for that. The boy would never turn his back on Harpsborough. Particularly not for a group of people who practiced such perversions.

Julian
was being dragged by the crowd, Arturus decided. The men, all wishing to be picked, were trying to force their way to the far side.

“You!”

Maab’s voice was even more distant, but the crowd could run no farther. Arturus’ world swam with his fatigue. The air had been somewhat better along the walls. Here, in the press of people, he could hardly breathe at all. Someone stepped on his robe. If he hadn’t been enclosed by so many of the slaves, he would have toppled over, but he was kept from falling by those around him. Arturus grabbed his cloak and forced it back out from under the other man’s foot.

“You!”

Julian was only a few feet away. The crowd was buzzing again, pushing away, but Arturus didn’t care what new turn their ritual was taking. He lunged forward, covering the last few feet, and caught Julian’s arm.

Julian turned to face him, eyes wide with shock.

He didn’t recognize me before. Not really. He thought he saw me, but I was wearing the cloak.

“Turi?” Julian mouthed.

Arturus nodded.

“We’re here to save you,” he shouted.

“You!”

Julian was nodding, as if trying to process it all.

He can’t hear me.

Arturus leaned in close. Julian
came forward as well, putting his ear next to Arturus’ mouth.

“We’re here to save you!”

Arturus straightened, keeping his tight grip on Julian’s wrist so that they would not be separated.

Julian’s mouth was still open, but he nodded dumbly, as if only now comprehending. Arturus leaned back in and shouted more. His voice felt hoarse, but he didn’t care.

“Aaron and Galen and I. There’s a way out. We can get you home.”

He
straightened again. He had expected Julian to look relieved, but the boy seemed to be more shocked than anything else, as if he was horrified by what Arturus was saying.

“You!”

Arturus bent in once more, noticing that the press of bodies was suddenly easing. He rejoiced in the sudden breath of air. He was about to shout in Julian’s ear, to reassure him that all would be well, that they were going to make it back to Harpsborough, that he wasn’t going to be left alone as a slave in the hands of some demonic blood cult—but he stopped. He had the sudden feeling that everyone was looking at him.

He turned away from Julian. All of the grey robed slaves, all of the soldiers, even priestesses, were staring at him. There, on the stage,
stood the most beautiful and cruel woman Arturus had ever seen, her finger set level with his heart.

The men parted in front of him, clearing a way to the stage. There was a surge behind him as the gleeful grey robed slaves helped propel him forward. Arturus glanced back to Julian, who stood still behind the grey wave
which dragged him away.