Down in Flames, Page 6

  The crimson-robed council members were on their way, heading from that hill of rubble toward the port where the king waited. Donny saw Angela among them, walking beside Formido, the head of the council. Angela was still in her demon form. Her long auburn curls were gone. Now she was covered in sleek, shimmering purple-red scales, with the ears of an elf and pointed fins that curved back across the top of her head.

  Donny counted the robed figures. He saw eleven. There were thirteen before three were lost when the dome was crushed, and when Havoc was imprisoned, that brought the number down to nine. If there were eleven now, that must mean that Ungo Cataracta was here, as well as Chimera. Sure enough, he saw Ungo and his smoking cratered head walking behind Angela, Chimera farther behind.

  “Zig-Zag,” Donny said. “When was the last time the king showed up here?”

  “Seven years, at least,” said Zag.

  “Every so often he just passes through, looking things over. But it’s been much longer since he has spoken to the council,” said Zig.

  “He will speak to the council if something of great consequence has happened,” explained Zag. “Like when Lucifer vanished. And when the war broke out—he was furious about that, especially when a barge was caught in the cross fire.”

  Zig said, “And when the Pit of Fire was thankfully extinguished—”

  “Erroneously extinguished,” Zag said, and huffed.

  “—the Ferryman King came then, too,” Zig said. “In fact, that was the last time he spoke.”

  “Yes,” continued Zag. “The Ferryman King turned up quickly after that. Same as now, the council came running—or at least, what was left of the council after the conflict.”

  “He wanted to know what was going on and where his ferrymen should bring the dead,” said Zig. “Angela was as fearless as always. She explained it to him herself, that the dead should be brought to the Caverns of Woe, where the sorrowmongers would force them to contemplate their misdeeds, without all the burning and dismembering.”

  Zag sighed during that last part. “The Ferryman King seemed annoyed by the development. . . .”

  “He most certainly did not,” snapped Zig. “Are you pretending that you can tell what’s going on inside that skull?”

  “But in the end,” Zag said, ignoring his other half, “he said nothing despite his misgivings, and returned to his ship.”

  “On that day and ever since, the dead have been ferried to the port nearest the Caverns of Woe.”

  Donny nodded. He knew those caverns well—his own father was currently serving his afterlife sentence there.

  There was movement on the ship. The Ferryman King beckoned with a long bony finger to one of his crew. The crewman went up the steps and gave him one of the caged glass globes that hung from his waist. The king raised the globe, pried out the stopper, and brought the vessel to his mouth. A blob of twinkly lights flowed out from inside the glass. The Ferryman King opened his mouth, expanded his chest, and sucked the lights down his throat.

  Donny felt a chill in his blood. He had seen a cluster of lights like that before, when Zig-Zag had taken him to the source of the river. When he glanced up at Zig-Zag, both heads were watching Donny, an eyebrow raised on each side, as if waiting for this horrified reaction. “Was that what I think it was?” Donny asked.

  “We thought you knew,” said Zig.

  Donny put a hand across his mouth. It was true: the Ferryman King had just devoured a human soul. “But—what happens to the soul?” he croaked.

  “It is gone,” said Zag. “The ferrymen exact a price for bringing the souls to Sulfur. On every journey, a ferryman devours a soul. This is the toll on the River of Souls. And this is what sustains the ferrymen. They could not survive without it.”

  “And the Ferryman King eats what he likes, whenever he likes,” said Zig. “Because he can.”

  Donny’s thoughts tumbled as he considered the terrible math. There were two ferrymen on every boat that transported the dead. That meant two souls lost forever on every trip. How many altogether, across the centuries? Tens of thousands? Millions? Sure, these were the wicked dead, people who had done terrible things in life. But still, to be devoured. To be gone forever, with no chance at redemption.

  “Do they pick the worst souls? Or do they just . . . grab one?” he asked quietly.

  “That we cannot tell you,” said Zag.

  The council members had finally arrived, and they assembled across the top of the steps. Formido was in the middle, easy to spot with his mountain gorilla build and the nautilus whorl atop his head. Angela was on his left.

  The Ferryman King rose from his chair, unfolding his limbs. The way he moved was odd. It reminded Donny of a marionette, tugged from above by invisible strings. His tattered robe hung loose over his slender frame. From the way the cloth billowed and sunk in places, it seemed like there was nothing more than a stick figure inside. He seemed to rise forever, and his bones clattered and creaked as he moved. He stepped off the top of the deck, and Donny saw that what he’d thought were tiers on the deck were simply very tall steps, suited to those giraffelike legs.

  Two of the crew stepped off the ship before the king, and two more followed behind, guarding their leader with their dangerous crescent blades. They climbed two steps toward the bank of the river and then stopped, facing the Infernal Council.

  The imps in the vicinity scuttled backward, hooting like frightened monkeys. Many of them took whatever cover they could find, even crowding behind Donny and Zig-Zag, only their heads poking curiously out.

  Donny saw something unfamiliar in the body language of the council members. Apart from Angela, he remembered them for their bold, arrogant demeanor. But now they fidgeted in place and took only quick, furtive glances at the Ferryman King, as if afraid to catch his eye.

  There was a long pause where nothing happened at all. Then the Ferryman King lifted his head, looked around, and spoke in a voice that was shockingly loud, like thunder. “Something is amiss.”

  The archdemons of the council exchanged glances. Finally Formido spoke. Donny couldn’t hear what he said, but the Ferryman King solved that problem as well.

  “Speak up,” the king roared, pointing at his ragged ear. “I cannot hear you.”

  Formido cleared his throat and repeated himself. “We don’t know what you mean. What is amiss? Are you asking what happened to the Council Dome? It was destroyed when—”

  “I know what happened to the dome,” the king rumbled. “I am not talking about the treachery of Havoc. Something is amiss in the mortal realm.”

  There was another long pause, and another exchange of quizzical looks among the council and the crowd.

  Angela spoke up next, loud and clear. “Could you be more specific, Your Highness?”

  That mummified head turned to look at Angela. He raised a bony finger and pointed. “Obscura. I remember you.” Angela stood, put an arm across her waist, and bowed.

  “In the mortal realm,” the king said, “souls are missing.”

  There was a long, strained silence. The Ferryman King swayed and creaked. Again, Donny had the impression of a monstrous, loose-jointed puppet. Whispers arose among the crowd. Formido cleared his throat, which sounded to Donny more like somebody starting a chainsaw, and everyone fell silent again.

  “What souls, Your Highness?” Formido asked.

  The Ferryman King’s head turned to one side, his bones grating, and the gesture was somehow terrifying. “Souls that we should have ferried to Sulfur, of course. The others are no concern of ours.”

  Formido took a half step forward. “May I ask, how do you know they are missing?”

  Air whistled through the king’s horrid nose, and his head swung from side to side.

  “You don’t want to aggravate him,” Zag said quietly.

  Zig nodded. “On that we agree.”

  “We are the reapers of the dead,” the king said. “We watch the crop grow. We sense when it is ripe. And we are aware when the ha
rvest falls short. That is all you need to know, demon.”

  Formido folded his arms. “But what shall we—”

  “I will tell you what you shall do,” said the king. He stood even taller, as if the invisible strings tugged him high. “You will put a stop to this, and quickly. You will find the vermin that steal our crop. Snuff them out. Or better yet, bring them to me.” He pulled a scroll from inside his robe and held it out before him. The crewman beside him took it from his hand and carried it up the last step. With a ghastly hiss, he held out the scroll. Formido extended a clawed hand, and the crewman dropped the scroll into it. All eyes were on the scroll as Formido unrolled it, but the next thing that the Ferryman King said caused every head in the crowd to snap up and turn his way.

  “I warn you,” he bellowed, his voice suddenly sounding like he spoke through a trumpet. “See to this before any more thieves appear to take what is ours. See to this, or there will be consequences.”

  Formido glared back. His nervous anger was easy to see: The air around him shimmered as heat radiated off his shoulders, like a desert mirage. “What consequences, Your Highness?”

  There were hardly any lips still clinging to the Ferryman King’s boney face, but the flesh that remained peeled back into a frightening grin. “We took no sides when you battled the Merciless. We did not intervene when you extinguished the Pit of Fire. We brought the souls to the Caverns of Woe as you desired. Perhaps your reformation has led to this new problem. Perhaps we will take sides now and then destroy this council, and let the Merciless punish the reformers.”

  The only sound was a low, guttural growl that came from somewhere deep inside Formido’s chest. As far as Donny knew, Formido wouldn’t mind firing up the pit again, but he also didn’t like being threatened. Angela defused the tension by stepping in front of him and taking the scroll from his hand.

  “And what have you brought us?” she asked brightly. She sounded like she was hosting a cocktail party. She unrolled the scroll, holding it wide with both hands. “Oh look, Formido. It’s a map! Just what we need to solve this little kerfuffle.” She looked up and smiled broadly at the Ferryman King. “Thank you, Your Highness! Is there anything else we can do for you? Would you like to tour the site of our new Council Dome?”

  A horrified gasp went up among the imps and demons who were building the new dome. But the Ferryman King simply stared at Angela for a long moment. He might have been standing three steps lower, but they were still eye-to-eye.

  Then he turned and looked toward his royal ship. He gestured with two fingers toward one of the crew who was still on board. That crewman stepped up to the great horn at the prow and blew into it. The booming note sounded out of the mouth of the giant skull. Every rib in Donny’s chest hummed as the blast of sound washed over everything. It seemed loud enough to bring another stalactite down. Every imp cowered, low to the ground.

  The king and his guard stalked away, back onto the ship, and the Ferryman King returned to his throne high above the deck. The crew cast off the lines that held the ship to the dock, and the barge floated sideways until the current of the river tugged it away. The Ferryman King never looked back.

  Nobody spoke until the barge rounded a bend and vanished from sight. Then chatter exploded throughout the crowd. The imps in hiding burst out. Donny put a hand behind his ear, trying to catch what Angela and Formido were saying.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Angela told him.

  “What if he was right?” Formido grumbled. “What if this is connected to your reformation, Obscura?”

  Ungo stepped forward, leaking smoke like a chimney. “If you ask me, the Merciless are behind this. Intercepting souls before they go to the river.” Behind him, Chimera nodded in agreement.

  “Maybe they are,” Angela said. “Or it might be something else.” She rolled the scroll back up and waved it. “But at least I know where to look. Trust me—I’ll go up and get to the bottom of it.”

  CHAPTER 16

  The council members returned to their meeting, and Donny and Zig-Zag walked back to the Pillar Obscura.

  “I have a couple of questions,” Donny said.

  “We are here to answer them,” Zag replied.

  “Okay, thanks. How exactly do souls get from Earth to the barges?”

  Zig and Zag looked at each other. “I have never seen it with my own eye,” said Zig. “But as I understand it, the soul leaves the human body upon death. It will drift until it is caught up in the nearest current.”

  Zag nodded. “There are invisible currents called soulstreams. They cover the globe, following the course of human civilization, and sweep up the souls. Think of them as brooks that lead to rivers. Eventually the biggest soulstreams rise into the air and swirl into what looks like a great whirlpool. From there, the souls vanish from the mortal realm. What happens next is a mystery. But the next thing we know, the souls arrive in Sulfur on the barges. You have seen those final stages for yourself.”

  Donny had witnessed that arrival when Zig-Zag had led him to the source of the River of Souls. The barge slipped through an arch in the stone at the very beginning of Sulfur, its deck filled with globs of twinkling lights. The mist of the river gave the lights shape and form, and turned them into cold copies of the human beings they once had been.

  “But how can someone grab souls on Earth before they end up here?” Donny asked.

  “That is the mystery,” Zig said.

  “But it’s possible to trap a soul,” Donny said.

  “It must be,” Zag said.

  Donny thought about that for a while. “The ferrymen trap souls. They keep them in glass.”

  “Indeed they do,” said Zig.

  “So maybe whoever is doing this is trapping the souls in glass.”

  “Hmm,” said Zag. “Whatever the answer is, I’m certain Angela will find it.”

  “It seems you’ll be in for another adventure,” said Zig.

  “Yeah,” Donny said. He supposed it was another chance to get killed, too, like at the Pillar Cataracta, or just about anywhere else Angela took him. He shivered just thinking about how close he’d come to a grisly end—again. “Hey,” he said, trying to cheer himself up, “are you guys hungry?”

  CHAPTER 17

  When the door to Angela’s home opened, Donny waved good-bye to Zig-Zag and stepped inside.

  “Nanny no bite,” Nanny told him.

  “I know,” Donny replied. “You don’t have to keep saying that, but I appreciate it.”

  “No bite,” Nanny insisted.

  “Donny!” Tizzy ran over and nearly knocked Donny over with a hug that was more like a tackle.

  “Hi, Tiz,” Donny said. He ruffled her hair. “Is Angela back?”

  “She was, but she went up to the lookout to think,” Tizzy said. “She had a big rolled-up piece of paper.”

  “I know,” Donny said. He had so many questions for her, about the missing souls and the Ferryman King. “I’m going to go talk to her, okay?”

  “Okay,” Tizzy said. “We’re playing checkers!”

  “Nanny losing,” Nanny said.

  “I’ll be back soon, and then I’ll play the winner,” Donny told Tizzy. He left, and heard Nanny growl and lock the door behind him.

  A ramp circled the great Pillar Obscura, hundreds of feet up until it reached a sculpted ledge with a spectacular view of the world of Sulfur. Angela retreated to that lookout often when she had something important on her mind, so Donny wasn’t surprised that she’d gone there. He jogged until he tired and then slowed to a walk. When he was almost at the lookout, he was surprised to hear two voices.

  Angela was not alone. A man was with her.

  The conversation wasn’t quite loud enough to overhear, but the second voice didn’t sound familiar. Donny crept forward, around the gentle curve of the massive pillar, until he couldn’t go farther without being seen. From there, he heard them clearly.

  “I hope you don’t mind me surprising you,” the man said. Hi
s voice was silky and warm.

  “Of course I don’t,” Angela said. “I’m always happy to see you.” Donny stopped and listened. He wanted to hear a hint of sarcasm or disdain in her voice, but there was none. She sounded like she meant exactly what she’d said. It wasn’t like her.

  “It’s nice to talk like this, with nobody else around,” the man said.

  “It really is,” Angela replied.

  Donny clenched his teeth, hating himself for eavesdropping. He wondered if he should simply walk around the bend and act like he didn’t know anyone was there at all. He also thought about turning back the way he came. But instead he put his back against the pillar and edged forward. He just wanted to get a glimpse of whoever Angela was talking to.

  He leaned out just enough to peer around the bend, and saw him. The man was tall and lean, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. If he were human, he might have been twenty-five or thirty. He wore dark jeans and a short-sleeved checkered shirt. His blond hair was swept back and hung below his collar. There was something impressive and charming about him at the same time.

  Donny disliked him immediately. It was partly because of the way he smiled at Angela as he leaned casually on the balcony, his muscular arms crossed. But it was mostly because of the way she returned the smile. Donny edged away until he was out of sight again, walking softly so he didn’t make the slightest noise. He really meant to turn around and tiptoe away. But at the same time, he wanted to hear just a little more. Who was this man? What did he want with Angela?

  “Your home is magnificent,” the man said. “I always thought this was the greatest of the pillars. It’s good that it survived the war with so little damage.”

  “It was fortunate, wasn’t it?” Angela said.

  This is wrong, Donny scolded himself. I can’t spy on Angela. He turned again to leave for real when the man said something that stopped him in his tracks.

  “I’m sure your parents were happy here. Perhaps one day you’ll find a mate to share your home with as well.”

  Donny frowned. The tone of the man’s voice was unmistakable, and Donny pictured the sly and charming grin on that handsome face as he’d said it. The man, whoever he was, was obviously nominating himself for mate.