I’m called Guerra the BridgeMaker. I’ve accomplished something no other lost soul ever has. I’ve broken through the barriers that separate the Nine Rings of Hell. All it cost was the afterlife of the people who followed me. But this isn't that story. This story is about what happened next.
A thunderous boom echoes across the desert as the nighttime sky shatters. Ayala's limp body passes through one Ring of Hell and into another. Close behind her is what is left of our cohorts. Their torn and shredded bodies are now nothing more than a bloody slush. The half-eaten face of Whatever-His-Name-Is spins through the air like a flipping coin. Too bad he already lost the toss. I follow behind them all, careening through the air, still holding on to Whatever-Her-Name's hand and severed forearm.
As I soar across the splintered midnight sky, I watch it stitch itself back together. Turning my head, I see the soft mango-colored dunes getting closer. I can't help but smile at my accomplishment. I can now travel through the Rings of Hell. However, there is one problem, well, two, and neither are the sand dunes I'm about to hit….
***
I have no idea how long I've been here. I can't move. Not that I want to. I'll never understand why the dead feel pain. We don't sleep, eat, or breathe, but we experience pain. Everything, all the time, to the Nth degree. It's why the dead don't smile. Damned afterlife.
Slowly, my body finishes realigning itself, one bone, one tendon, one limb at a time. Opening my eyes, I move about gingerly. "At least I survived," I say to no one. I take a breath. Yes, I realize I don't breathe, but a lifetime of breathing makes for some stubborn muscle memory. So, I take a "deep breath" and get out of my self-made crater.
I'm halfway up the crater before realizing I'm still holding Whatever-Her-Name-Is’ hand. I blink, trying to register what I’m seeing and why I'm still holding her hand. Then it hits me. My sigil, branded on the back of her hand, glows like embers. The sigil matches the markings on my Transit Rings. On my index fingers are black rings made of polished obsidian inlaid with silver sigils. The rings allow me to create bridges and travel anywhere within Hell. The sigils enable me to take anyone across a bridge. Although, as it seems, they are not always in one piece. Discarding the hand, I work my way up the crater.
Reaching the top, I take a moment. My shirt is covered in the gore of my teammates. My pants are torn, and when did I lose a shoe? I close my eyes and tap into the one benefit of being dead, changing my clothes at will. Putting myself into a meditative state, I hear my clothing recreating itself and feel it scurry over my body. Opening my eyes, I take in my new wardrobe. There is only one word to sum up this moment, Perfection.
I’m now wearing a royal blue button-up shirt with two vertical strips of white embroidery. Charcoal slacks are loose-fitting, precisely the way I like them. And look at that. My boot has returned. Very nice. Maybe I was a tailor in a past life. Guerra the Tailor, maybe? I like the sound of it.
I gaze out across the battered sand-scrapped vista. Its jagged stacks of stone and glacier-sized buttes remind me of the mottled flesh of a leper. Looking up into the star-studded darkness, I remember a story I had heard long ago. A tale of how the stars are our loved ones, passed on, shining down from Heaven. But this is Hell. Who’s shining on us down here?
I stand there, lost in thought, working on my first problem. I need Ayala. She’s a Geomancer. There's a strong chance she survived. Her body was intact as it fell into this Ring of Hell. I'm sure she survived that Gouger Demon attack. Reasonably sure. Only Geomancers can fight demons since they both draw energies from Hell. So, for me to survive, I need her to survive.
"Now, where did you go?" I say, lacing my fingers together, bringing them to where my no longer beating heart festers. The sigil on the back of my hands, a circle with a line through it, glows like a dusty rose. Over the horizon, a rose flash appears, once, twice, three times. She's nowhere close. Well, I guess it's good that the dead don't sleep.
Taking a moment, I reflect on our last encounter with demons. No matter their size or shape, every demon has something in common. They hunger for our afterlife. That last bit of soul left clinging to our dead flesh. I've seen mosquito-sized demons, annoying buggers, swarm over a body nibbling at the meat. Those I could manage. Maybe. However, the ones that can crack open the flesh of the dead, like the Onikuma Demons, I don't stand a chance. Then there are the Gouger Demons. Those bastards are the worst. They are at the top of the food chain in Hell, and they love playing with their food. Only Ayala can stand toe to toe with demons. I have to find her.
I've been walking for an eon, although time does its own thing in Hell, so you can never be sure if it's been an eon or twenty minutes. Looking around at this horrid, sand-filled landscape, I can't help but wonder. Where in the Hell am I? I was going to say this is not my home, but I'm not about to call Limbo home. But this isn't my level of Hell. Limbo is forever stuck at dawn. Here it looks about midnight, so perhaps I'm in the fifth level, Rage. Perfect. A level filled with demons and the dead in a constant, never-ending rage. Now, isn't that a pleasant thought?
I’m standing there, spinning my rings with my thumbs, when a gust of wind lifts me into the air, tossing me about within a swirl of sand. I hear the shrill cry of a Gouger Demon. The flapping of its massive, leathery wings repeatedly slams me into and out of the sand. Then it just stops. Popping my head out of the sand like some damn gopher, I see two crimson Gouger Demons diving at a body lying prone on the sand. Each Gouger Demon hacks up a clot of burning phlegm, firing it like a cannonball.
Moments before the flaming phlegm hits, a geyser of sand pushes that body into the air. From this distance, I can see the branding on the forearms, a circle with a half-circle on top, and a sword hilt on the underside. The branding flares, a crimson and mustard hellfire burning brightly. That's Ayala's mark, the mark of a Geomancer.
Scooping a handful of sand from the geyser, Ayala flings it at the demons. I'm too far away to hear her singing, but I can see the power of her incantation. The clicks of her castanets, which shift the sand into dozens of glass daggers, echo the cadence of her deep smoky song. The Gouger Demons beat their wings, pushing and twisting up and away from the glass barrage.
Ayala disperses the sand geyser with a quick gesture. Plummeting to the ground, she gestures wildly, yowling with such intensity that the air shimmers. Crimson, mustard, copper, and ash hellfire appear, swirling about her. The streams of hellfire become a column of flames that she rides down to an awaiting glass platform.
Ayala plucks a blossom of fire from the column as she lands, striding across the platform. Pulling her black hair back into a tight bun, she fastens the fire blossom onto the side of her head. She gestures towards the fire column with a controlled twist of her wrist. The flames rush towards her, a lover engulfing her body. I can hear her clapping harder and louder, the flames dancing to her beat. The streams of hellfire move faster and faster around her body. Surprisingly, the clapping stops. The dancing flames snap to her body, creating a dress of fire. Ayala stands there, a bailaora, waiting for the music of battle to begin. After getting closer, I sit down, getting the sand out of my boots.
The Gouger Demons circle high above, screeching at Ayala. She responds by clapping, a simple but strong rhythm. She does it with such force that I can see sparks forming with each clap. Ayala's boots move in time with her clapping. Each stomp, a match being lit. The Gouger Demons split up. One demon stays high, producing thick, guttural, wet, retching sounds. The second demon swoops down, soaring low over the sands, causing a dust storm in its wake.
Ayala chants a rich, throaty melody. Full of rage, longing, and pain. Faster and faster, she claps, the light from her hands brighter than magnesium. More intricate and more demanding, she stomps, each one an explosion. I can't help but clap along with her. Then the Gouger Demons swoop in, attacking once again.
The first demon spews a stream of thick, flaming phlegm. The second demon comes in low, sneezing out cannonball-sized globules of burning snot. In one movement, Ayala stomps hard, throws her arms back, and screams with such ferocity that I cover my ears in pain. From her left side, a sheer glass wall, as thick as a broadsword and filled with swirling hellfire, erupts out of the sand, slicing the demon in half. On her right side, a geyser of copper and ash-filled glass blades the size of shrubs explodes into the air. The blades soar through the air, shredding the demon like cheese on a grater. The Gouger Demons defeated, Ayala collapses.
After putting my boots back on, I make my way down the dunes. Trying to stay clean, I skirt around the minced and steaming remains of the Gouger Demons.
"Ayala, wherein Hell are we?"
Turning her head towards me, Ayala slowly says, "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking."
"You're in one piece, which is better than everyone else. We won't be fine until we get out of here. So, where are we?"
"They're your rings, Guerra. You tell me."
"And you're the Geomancer. You embody hellfire. Hear the chimes from the Nine Rings of Hell. Defeat Gouger Demons. So…"
Ayala sticks her finger in her mouth and pulls it out, testing the air. "We're still in Hell, Fourth tier, Seventh Ring."
"Seventh? How? We were just at the Second Ring. We're going in the wrong direction."
"Can't get anything past you, can they? Are you sure you're a BridgeMaker? With that intellect, you should command a unit. Oh wait, they're all dead." Ayala says, casting an icy glare in my direction.
"We're already dead, Ayala, so spare me your sarcasm."
"And your warmth is suffocating, Guerra. How many must die before you give up? Look around. We're all that's left."
"Stay here if you want, Ayala, but my time in Hell is over."
I bring my hands to my chest, whispering an incantation. The branding on my hands glows, this time a bright chili red. The Transit Rings activate, and a thousand scorching needles are striking under my skin.
"Uh-huh, right? Have you magically found a compass, Guerra? We have been bouncing around the Nine Rings of Hell for what feels like generations, and we're no closer to getting back to Limbo. Of all the Rings, it’s the closest thing to a home we have. I want to go home."
"No! Don't say that. We are in Hell. This will never be a home. We woke up here. We don't belong here."
“We didn't get here by accident. We died, Guerra. We died and then were sent to Hell for a reason. Who are we to cheat our way out? I never should've followed you. I want to go back. To Limbo, to the only home that I know down here. Instead, we'll spend eternity bouncing around the Nine Rings without a compass."
I want to scream at Ayala. To shake some sense into her. To make her believe I can get us out of here. But she's right. This is my second problem. I don’t have a compass—no way of navigating through the Nine Rings of Hell. I stand there, fingers at my chest, staring at Ayala, deciding if she’s right. No, she's not.
Finishing the incantation, I say to Ayala, "Get ready for it."
"Where?" Ayala says, standing up and looking around the desert.
"There!" I point to a distant dune where a portal forms and opens. "Let's go… home."
"That's what you said the last dozen times."
Ayala and I lock eyes. "It won't stay open long," I say as I walk past.
***
Once again, we step through the portal and onto my bridge. Every time we become overwhelmed by the swirling dark explosions of royal blues and forest greens, starbursts of magenta intertwined with vertigo-inducing streams of eggplant, and flecks of steel. Flares of onyx and sapphire burrow through our closed eyes. If it weren't for the protection my sigils give us, we would go insane. Just as we are teetering at the edge of our sanity, I summon our salvation, the Ravens. The stench of burnt licorice signals their arrival. The low gurgling caws from the unkindness of ravens echo across the bridge as they swarm over us, gathering our souls and trappings of flesh, carrying us off from one Ring of Hell to another.
Walking through the portal, I recognize the red clay and sand cobblestone plaza. Dawn's early light shines upon the Plaza de Almas and its groves of totems, shrines, and sepulchers. We are back in Limbo, the First Ring of Hell. Home, sweet home.
Looking at the plaza, nothing has changed. Three sides of the plaza are ornate mausoleums made of volcanic stone decorated with symbols of a long-forgotten language and etched in silver, gold, and copper. Scattered about the mausoleum's walls are carvings of anglerfish, melted human-faced blobfish, and goblin sharks. Between the archways are schools of piranhas and tigerfish in the midst of devouring humans. These gore-infused carvings are engraved with rubies, mercury, and topaz.
"Finally, we're home," Ayala says, smacking me on the head. "Only took a few hundred times and a few dozen afterlives. Or was it the other way around?"
"Your undying faith and devotion sustained me through it all. I'd be lost without you, Ayala." I call to her as she walks away.
The swish of her fire dress echoes across the cobblestones. Turning around, Ayala puts her thumb behind her front teeth, flicking her thumb towards me. “See you in another life. Goodbye, Guerra.”
"Always the treasure Ayala."
So, what now? I'm back to where I started. Well, not quite. I've figured out how to call the Ravens. They carry the dead from one Ring of Hell to another. But I have no control over them. And what of the compass? Would it allow me to navigate, to control the ravens? But where to find one? I look around at the others milling about the plaza. I could ask for help. Maybe find others willing to work with me. No, why should I? They had their chance last time. They all laughed at me. Why should I now share my triumph with them?
Over my shoulder, a chilled breath rolls past my ears. "Light a candle, and I'll tell you a truth, BridgeMaker."
Turning towards a voice that sounds as if it has swallowed a bucket of glass shards, I find a Carcass. These creatures have given in to their damnation and have allowed their souls to rot away. Its sunken pasty skin, rotted-out teeth, and the smell of spoiled meat overwhelm me. The carcass steps closer. "Oh, Nine Hells. Must you be so close?"
"Don't turn away from me, BridgeMaker. We are not so different, you and I." The carcass wheezes, stepping back and leaving a smear upon the ground. "Light a candle, BridgeMaker, and a truth you shall have." The carcass pleads with a voice full of loose teeth and jangling bones.
"To Purgatory with you, horrid wretch," I say, spitting three times.
“No ward is needed, BridgeMaker. I have a truth. It can be yours or not. But the flame of truth will burn all the same.”
I stand there, staring at the carcass, trying to ascertain its purpose. I loathe those that have surrendered and become a carcass. They deserve no sympathy. And yet they serve a purpose. During their decay, a carcass becomes attuned to the energies of Hell. They can see the threads of Hell's tapestry and illuminate the way of things.
"Very well, creature," I say, walking over to a nearby sepulcher, picking up a candle, lighting it from another, and then handing it to him. "What is my truth?"
The Carcass closes its translucent eyelids, allowing me to see two rotted-out eyes roll about. "Your path leads to the rivers BridgeMaker. The Ferryman carries your compass and the way to leave Hell. But you will need your Geomancer to start your journey."
"I have no Geomancer. Ayala has left me. So, damn you and your truth.”
"A truth will always be true. What you do with it is up to you, BridgeMaker."
I watch the carcass slither away. Its trail of slime and pus glistened in the morning light.
I've found a way out of Limbo. And yet, what I wish for is a way out of Hell. Is that possible? Is the Carcass right? Can I find the way out of Hell? Most importantly, can I convince Ayala to follow me one more time?
***
Ayala and I make our way through a forest of cypress trees. The morning sun, forever trying to start the day, hardly penetrates through the canopy of trees. This little piece of Limbo is eerily quiet.
"You know what I miss? Animals. Squirrels, birds, frogs, even insects." I say, snapping off a twig to scratch my back.
"As you so often point out, we're dead. Animals don't have souls. Even if they did, I doubt they'd be in Hell." Ayala says, plucking a marigold flower and putting it in her hair.
"I know that. But there must have been a few real bastard dogs that earned a place here. Just saying."
"Still, no soul, no place in Hell,"
Ayala stops, looking around the forest, trying to see into the shadows. She holds a finger to her mouth, motioning me to be silent. I also look around, straining my ears to pick up any movement.
"We aren't alone. There's something out there." Ayala whispers. The twitch of a frown plays across her brow.
I stay silent, ready to move if necessary. Ayala's the Geomancer, my protection against any demons. I’ll follow her lead. Then I hear it. A slow, steady movement through the woods. Fear worms into my body, starting with my leg.
Why can’t I stop bouncing my leg?
Ayala squats on her haunches, pulling me down with her. "Stop moving," she hisses at me.
Ayala touches the ground. The branding on her arms glows a deep reddish orange, matching the marigold in her hair. The forest's undergrowth quickly moves around us, and the makings of a small hovel take shape. From out of the shadows rises a red and white snake, a head twice the size of my body, dripping with yellow venom. I'm drowning in fear. All I can do is look down at its moist, black, and reddish throat. Its undulating muscles remind me of pond scum riding on slow-moving ripples. The snakehead strikes, coming straight for me. Several dozen fast-moving roots form a wall, snapping the snakehead back.
"What in the Hell is that!" I shout.
"A Veles Demon, nasty creatures. They project fear immobilizing their prey." Ayala says, her arm still glowing.
"You don't say," I say, clamping my leg in a vain attempt to stop the bouncing. "Now what?"
"Now, you sit still while I finish this." Roots, moss, and soil form around us, creating a small hut to protect us. The Veles Demon smashes its head at the walls in response. Over and over, attempting to find a weak spot.
"Sure, take your time. I've nothing else to do." I say through chattering teeth.
After what seems like hours, I feel the tightness in my chest release. The Veles Demon has moved on. The light from Ayala's branding and fire dress dances around our hovel. She's been quiet this whole time. I’m not surprised. She's never enjoyed my company before. Not that I care, but it makes me wonder about something.
"Why are you here? With me right now? Why follow me again, Ayala?"
Still looking at the ground, Ayala says, "You know what I miss?"
"What's that?"
"Memories. I had a life before I woke up in Hell. Who was I? Did someone love me? Did I have children?"
Ayala turns her head towards me, the light from her branding making her eyes glow, "Am I missed? What happened to me? What did I do to be sent here?".
We sit there, looking at each other, understanding that these questions haunt everyone condemned to Hell. She cuts me off as I begin to speak.
"I want to get back to my life. I want answers. You want out, and so do I. That's why I'm with you, Guerra." Ayala says, turning her head towards the ground.
I sit there, mulling her answer over in my mind. I want to comment, but there is nothing to say. So, I sit, waiting for her to finish whatever she's doing.
"Okay, I’ve made a way out. Let's go." One side of the hovel recedes into the ground, revealing a tunnel of roots, leaves, and musky dirt. Ayala whistles as she crawls through her self-made undergrowth tunnel.
After some time passes, again, it's Hell, so who knows how long? We exit the forest. We crawl out of the tunnel and into a land blanketed with mist. "Oh, what is this? I can't see anything."
"Do you ever stop complaining? You're welcome, by the way." Ayala bristles, brushing her hands off. "For saving your life."
"Well, of course you did. I'm your only way out of here." I grumble.
"No, stop. Your praise is humbling me." Ayala sneers back. "Come on, the Ferryman's berth is this way."
Making our way through the mist, we come upon a weathered wooden dock. Ayala, chanting as she reaches down to pick up a few rocks, squeezes them between her fists. Her branding glows weakly, a soft moss color. Opening her hand, she transmuted the stones into diamonds, rubies, and sapphires.
"For the Ferryman," Ayala says, throwing the gems into a copper basin that sits atop a piling. They hit the basin, ringing it, a mournful gong calling out to the Ferryman.
In the distance, from within the mist, we hear the gentle motion of two paddles skimming through the water. Breaking through the fog, I discover what the Ferryman is. The ferry and the man are one and the same. The bow is a man's upper torso and hooded head; his massive arms stretch backward, making up the sides of the ferry. His hands are the size of paddles, pushing and gently guiding him across the water.
As the Ferryman gets closer, I see someone sitting on his back. They pull up to the berth; the rider shakes his head in laughter and says, "A BridgeMaker and a Geomancer. Last time I doubt a Carcass."
"And you are?" I ask.
"An Eblis. But my friends call me Villalobos."
"You have friends?" Ayala says.
"Not yet. But we just met." Says The Eblis Villalobos. The branding on his forehead, a triangle with a sword’s hilt attached at the bottom, writhes about as he smiles.
***
Villalobos lounges on the back of the Ferryman, lazily dragging his fingers through the water. He has painted his flesh red and black with scattered yellow sigils. His white chest hair flows across his gut, stopping at his weathered linen pants.
"I've been on the waters for a while. Quite a while. I'm so, so happy to find you. I am. I said, Lo, that's what I call myself, Lo I said, today is the day. Yes, it is. And now look, it is the day." Villalobos says, bobbing his head about, never once looking our way.
"I see." I don't. "Who are you?" I say, shifting in my seat and leaning forward, trying to catch his eyes.
"Villalobos." He says, eyes rolling around, looking everywhere but at me.
"So, you've said. What are you?"
"An Eblis." Villalobos' eyes lock on mine. A chill worms its way across my bones, a suffocating dread enveloping me. His eyes shift, and the feeling goes away.
Ayala gets up and sits closer to Villalobos. “Lo. Lo, look at me. What's an Eblis? I've never heard of the Eblis before. Can you tell me about them?"
Villalobos' head slows, eyes turning toward Ayala. "Oh, we were magnificent. First, the demons came. Then us, the masters of Hell. We were. We ran free. We ate anything we wanted. Then you came, such soft morsels. So many shapes, sizes, and flavors. Paradise in Hell. Yes, yes, it was. Then they came. They changed everything. But I know their secret. I figured it out. I found it."
Villalobos' eyes drift as his head sways. Ayala turns to me and says, "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?"
"No. He's lost his mind. Spewing nonsense."
Ayala holds my look for a moment, then turns back to Villalobos. "Lo? Over here. I'm here, Lo, right here." Ayala reaches out, touching Villalobos' chin, and turning his face. "Who are they? Hmm? Tell me, Lo."
"The Necromancers. Bad, very, very bad. They started it. They called it a cleansing, but it was a slaughter. Thousands of Eblis, on each level, an ocean of blood. But we won. We killed the killers. Hahaha. All dead. Just me now. Just me. Right, Lo? Only us now."
Ayala lets go of his chin to rub away the dripping tears from his eyes. I watch them both, running Villalobos' words through my head. Could this be true, or is it just the ramblings of a crazy man? Villalobos looks past Ayala, staring across the water. He seems lost in thought or memories. Villalobos moves his jaw back and forth, locking and unlocking, keeping time with the Ferryman's paddling.
"So, what now?" Ayala says, turning towards me. "How's this supposed to help us?"
"What makes you think he's any help?" I say, pointing with my mouth towards Villalobos. "He can't even help himself."
"The Carcass said we'd find the compass with the Ferryman. Maybe he knows something."
"He knows nothing, Ayala. I'm sure he can't even comprehend what a compass is. I'm surprised he even recognizes his name. No, there must—"
"I know what a compass is," snaps Villalobos, the veins and muscles within his neck pulled taut, struggling to hold his head steady.
"What did you say?" I bark at Villalobos.
"A compass. I know what it is. It's the key. A pass. The only way to get to the center of Hell."
"Lo, look at me. What's at the center of Hell?" Ayala moves towards him, holding his face in her hands.
"The final door. The way to Heaven."
I can't help but smile. A way out, an ordinary door. Now we only need…"A compass. We still need a compass."
"It's with the Necromancers," Villalobos says to me, his eyes still looking at Ayala.
"The ones your people killed?" Ayala says.
"Yes. Dead. All dead."
"Of course, they are," I say, shaking my head.
***
"Does anyone know where we're going?" We've been on the water, a slow-moving river with thick foliage on both sides of the riverbanks, for too long. Ayala looks at me, shrugging. Villalobos has his head in her lap, still moving his jaw from side to side.
"How about you, Ferryman? Huh? Where are you taking us?" The Ferryman turns his wooden head. Then he nods forward, pulling my eyes in that direction. There's a bend in the river. We speed up a bit as we travel through the curve. We see a large clearing with a dock coming out of the bend. In the distance, arranged in a circle, is a group of red boulders.
"We're here." Villalobos sits up, pointing at the boulders. "See, see what I said. I found them."
After docking, Ayala thanked the Ferryman, and it continued across the waters. The three of us walked towards the boulders. As we moved closer, I could sense a vibration in the air. The boulders are enormous, red rocks with veins of turquoise. Now that we are standing here, I can feel it coming from the boulders.
"Do you feel that? That humming?" I say to the others.
"It's coming from the boulders. But Guerra, I don't think these are boulders." Ayala runs a trembling hand over a boulder. Moving in closer, she places her forehead on the boulder and cries. "That isn't humming. It's anguish."
"It's the Necromancers." Villalobos smiles, his head no longer fidgeting. “Reach inside Geomancer. The compass is there, around his neck."
"What foolishness is this? Ayala, what do you say?" I ask, never taking my eyes off Villalobos.
Ayala slowly slides her hand over the boulder, its curves and shape. Her branding glows a deep artichoke color down the length of her arms and to her hands. Astonishingly, she pushes them into the boulder, up to her elbows. Ayala stands there, and the glow of her branding lights up her consternation. In one motion, she pulls her arms out. A compass made of obsidian and silver hangs from a silver rope chain.
"Who's the fool now, Guerra?" Ayala beams, twirling the necklace on her finger.
"Ha-ha, who's the fool? Guerra? Hehe." Villalobos says, bouncing and dancing around the statue.
Walking over to Ayala, I snatch the necklace from her. "Always the treasure, Ayala."
Placing the silver necklace around my neck activates my rings. However, this time it's a gentle tingling sensation, gentle goosebumps. A loud popping noise causes us to turn around. Behind us, a portal appears, but this one is different. It's a floating mirror the size of a tunnel.
"Time to go, time to go." Villalobos giggles, skipping towards the mirrored opening.
I look at Ayala, and she shrugs, then follows Villalobos. I look around Limbo for the last time and smile.
***
Traveling across a bridge is usually a treacherous event. This time is different, smoother, a world of swirling earth tones. Mists of deep red clay, vibrant maize, and warm caramel embrace our senses. The deep hooting of owls and the smell of cooked apples entwined our beings. They swoop us into their embrace, this parliament of owls, carrying us to our salvation.
Villalobos steps out of the gate first, followed by Ayala. Ahead is a cobblestone plaza of white and pink marble. As I stride through the portal, I notice that scattered throughout the plaza are statues of angels. Some are in mid-flight carrying flaming weapons, and others are lounging on chairs holding glasses of wine or fruit. The sky is a cloudless, brilliant blue. We are alone.
Surrounding us on three sides are ornate cathedral-style buildings made of polished opal and amber. These buildings are covered in an ancient language etched in diamonds. The mausoleum's walls are festooned with marble images of doves, lions, eagles, and butterflies.
"Where are we, Ayala?" I whisper.
"I, I'm not… It's not. I don't know where we are, Guerra."
"Let's look around and see what we can find," I say.
We cross the plaza and head towards the biggest cathedral. Entering the building, we become mesmerized. Columns twice the size of trees hold up a jeweled ceiling. Stain glassed windows cause rays of multiple colors to bounce around the forest of columns. The three of us walk around, our mouths agape. Never have I seen anything so beautiful.
Across the cathedral, I see movement. The colors on the floor are shifting.
"Look around, but don't get too far. Be careful." I say to everyone, but I can't take my eyes off the floor.
The floor is a giant mosaic of hundreds of images. Multi-colored tiles of assorted sizes depict the universe, the nine levels of hell, and a battle. It’s the war between the Eblis; I recognize them because they resemble Villalobos and people that have painted their faces to look like skeletons. Are these the Necromancers?
I find myself drawn to a corner, an image of a figure with three faces strapped to a stone. One face is joyful, the other anguished, and the third face is consumed by madness.
Looking at the figure, I see its body sliced open, from neck to crotch. Inside its body is a single mosaic tile with three symbols. The first symbol is mine, a circle with a line through the middle, a BridgeMaker. The next is Ayala's symbol, a circle with a half-circle on top and a sword hilt on the underside, a Geomancer. The third symbol is a triangle with the hilt of a sword attached to the bottom. The symbol that is branded onto Villalobos' forehead.
"Ayala, come look at this." I turn to look for Ayala and instead find Villalobos swinging a sword at me. What the…?
Villalobos’ sword, on fire and as long as he stood tall, split the air. He eyes his victim’s astonishment, his sword, smoke and flame trailing behind, slicing through Guerra’s neck. He picks up Guerra's severed and leaking head and brings it to his lips. Drinking the last remains of Guerra’s cranial fluids puts a smile on Villalobos’ face. "Thank you, Guerra, for a most enjoyable meal.”
Villalobos spies bits of flesh and brain matter clinging to the skull from the corner of his eye. Using his finger, he wipes the inside of Guerra's skull clean. Tossing it aside, Guerra’s head lands near Ayala's.
"Brawwph. Oh! Ha ha." Villalobos chuckles at his flatulence.
"Okay, time to go. Thank you for your assistance. I wouldn't have found this place without you." Villalobos bows, out of respect, to the dismembered husks that were Guerra and Ayala. "You shall not be forgotten."
Putting the Transit Rings and Compass necklace on, Villalobos says, “And Guerra, thank you for these gifts. I don’t care what anyone says about you. You have a generous soul.”
Leaving the great cathedral searching for the door to Heaven, Villalobos whistles a sing-song tune and says, “I wonder what an angel tastes like."
Having recently completed a residency with Anaphora Arts, this is A.A. Fuentes’ first published story.
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