To Hell With You

I'm working on some fiction! It's a little rough around the edges. But I hope it might become something.

Adrian and Rebecca lay on the roof of their house, counting moons.

“There’s Judgement,” said Rebecca. “And Exile behind it.”

“There’s Flood.” Adrian pointed to a blue crescent. “I don’t see Famine or Pestilence.”

Rebecca pointed to a red orb. “There is War.”

They searched for Hunter, Yoke and Gaol. Hunter was not up, but Yoke was just peeking above the horizon. Gaol was a pale white dot, inching toward zenith.

“When we die,” said Rebecca. “Do you think we’ll reincarnate in one of the hells?” She gestured to the night sky.

“No,” said Adrian. “We will reincarnate here, and be lovers in the next life as well.”

Fifteen years later, in the year of Genesis 1102, Rebecca died of fever. She left behind her loving husband Adrian and their daughter Aesha. They buried her in the family orchard, beneath a fig tree. Aesha was nine years old.

On the tenth day of winter in the year 1104, God came to Adrian and commanded him to murder his child.

This is how it was supposed to go: Adrian would have placed his daughter on the altar. He would have raised his knife, trusted his faith, and made his strike. And God would have turned the blade. Adrian would have passed the test of loyalty, and stories of his faith would have been told for ten thousand years.

But that is not how this story goes.

Aesha lay on the altar with her hands unbound. Her dark hair pooled on grey stone. What God had commanded, she was willing to give.

Adrian was not willing to give it. Instead, he dropped the knife and cried out to God for mercy. Only then did his daughter’s face show fear.

There came a tearing of the firmament, and the archangel Michael manifested in the temple. Adrian looked upon that noble being and saw death.

“Aesha, go. Now. Run!”

“You fool,” Michael spoke. “You think you can outrun God?” He drew his sword, and the sound of it was like a violin screaming.

“I can die trying.” Adrian was not a man to wait for death. He drew his sword and flung himself at the archangel. God had demanded a sacrifice. Would Michael finish what Adrian had failed? “Aesha, please!”

He leapt toward Michael and attacked. The angel blocked effortlessly.

“You think you can break the Covenant—without consequences?”

Michael advanced. He moved with liquid grace, his sword flicking out to test Adrian’s defences. As he retreated, Adrian heard the sound of bare feet slapping on stone. Michael’s eyes glanced over his shoulder at the girl escaping. In a heartbeat, Adrian darted around Michael’s guard, raised his weapon, and smashed it down on Michael’s body.

The sword bounced off the porcelain skin, ringing like a bell. His hands went numb. The angel grabbed the blade in a closed fist and tore it away, lips thin with displeasure.

“Adrian of Erys. For crimes of Treason against God / You are hereby sentenced / To eternal suffering / In Hell’s Ninth Orbit.” A halo of iridescent mana flared about its untroubled brow, the spell growing in intensity before slamming into Adrian. “[Banish].”

The world blinked. Adrian was assaulted by freezing winds and darkness. Solid ice burned against his hands and knees. A snowstorm howled in all directions.

Adrian knew he would die of exposure if he didn’t move. His sword was gone, his clothes were not fit for these conditions. Already his teeth were chattering.

He screamed, and it tore painfully at his throat. Why God? I have served you, and I have loved you, and I am here, God… please!

The Mark of the Covenant sang in his veins, searching like an antenna for a signal. But Hell is the absence of God, and there was no reply.

Through frost-rimmed lashes he saw a faint yellow light, and stumbled towards it. The buffeting winds grew weaker as he approached, and suddenly he stepped across a threshold into preternatural calm. His breath plumed into the freezing air.

There in hushed twilight he saw the Colony for the first time. A huddled mass of gaunt and dirty sinners, faces like skulls, pressed together for warmth. Their dead eyes stared through him.

At the center stood a cloaked, horned demon with a shepherd's crook. Heat rippled off his red skin and orange light bathed the congregation. They crowded pathetically toward the warmth.

Adrian studied the scene while his fingers grew numb. He could recite chapter and verse the doctrine of samsara and the atonements demanded by the nine moons of hell. God had sent him here to suffer in the darkest orbit, forever.

My daughter is still alive, he thought. I am not yet ready to die.

He slid down the snowy slope and joined the crowd. They were packed together like fish in a net. The entire mob slowly churned as those at the freezing edges pushed their way back to the warmth at the centre.

For hours he shuffled this way and that, unable to rest. He gazed up at the night sky and saw streamers of green and blue fire. Planet Earth rose above the horizon, half in shadow. White clouds swirled over blue oceans. Adrian looked at the Earth and began to cry. He cried until he fell asleep, still held in the embrace of murderers and thieves.

Adrian was awoken by the feverish mumblings of a madman.

He was warm—pressed against bodies on all sides—though the soles of his feet were cold and the wind lashed his face.

“Can’t you hear that?”

Adrian saw the light of madness in the man’s eyes.

“Can’t you hear that? They said I’ve suffered enough. I’ve learned my lesson—God knows I have!—I’ve been redeemed! I just have to—“

A small scuffle broke out as others shoved him back.

“Don’t listen to the voices, Soleman. They’re not real.”

Adrian looked where Soleman had pointed. Out beyond the circle of the demon’s lamp, unnamed things waited in the shadows.

“I can go home again,” Soleman whispered, leaning drunkenly against his friend.

Adrian felt the warmth of an open furnace, and turned to see the red demon parting the crowd. The shepherd’s crook was planted at the centre of the Colony, and the lamp hung there. The demon walked alone out into the darkness and there was a sharp crack, then a shriek, and the lurking shadows were suddenly fleeing. Then the demon returned to the light.

As he passed by Adrian, the demon spoke. “Adrian, come with me. We need to talk.”

Adrian walked beside the demon at sunrise. The ice was painted pink and gold in the east, and the shadows of the sinners were long in the west.

“I am Sangrun, the Archon of Gaol. I balance the sins and suffering.”

“I know.”

“You doubted God.”

“I did.”

“You disobeyed God.”

“I did.”

“And for that you are punished.”

Adrian balled his fists. “I did what I had to do!”

“God does not care about your good intentions. Sins shall be balanced with suffering, that is the Law. God has decreed that you shall be punished eternally.”

“For what sin? The sin of love? The sin of mercy? Fuck you! Send me back!”

“Do you think you’re the first to say they shouldn’t be here?”

“Do you not care? Am I so insignificant to you?”

“Insignificant?” Sangrun gazed at the horizon. “Adrian, I have been here since before the first sunrise. I walked alone with the first man to ever take a life, and I have shepherded the broken in spirit ever since. You have no idea… what I would give to find significance. In this ocean of time.”

Adrian looked up also. The earth and its moons were fading in the brightening sky. “Then what am I to do?”

They stood in silence. Demon and man, framed by sunrise, above the host of the damned.

“In the oceans of Gaol swims a creature called the Leviathan. It was created before Sin. No demon nor sinner may harm it.”

The wind whistled between them.

“I have waited a long time for someone. Someone like you. You can harm it, if you truly have not sinned. You want to return to your daughter? I want that heart. Bring me the heart of the Leviathan, and I will set you free.”

Adrian said nothing.

“Soon the fishermen will go to the ice holes to fish. Go with them. Think about your future. And let me know your decision.”

He turned to go.

“Adrian.”

“Yes?”

“Hell is not some fantasy where we survive all torture. If we do not eat, we die.”

He pointed to a snowdrift, where a corpse lay face-down in the snow. Then he walked away.

Adrian began the untidy task of stripping the corpse, and layered the clothes on his own.

Adrian walked in a dead man’s clothes and considered a pact with the devil.

He followed the fishermen west to a frozen bay. The hard-packed snow sloped down to translucent ice.

The group wore crude leather parkas, boots and gloves. Masks covered their faces so that only their eyes were visible.

In quick succession he met a dozen men. Names he would instantly forget. All that he had to identify each man was the shape of his boots and the colour of his eyes.

The leader was Menos. He held up a bone winder wrapped in sinew fishing line. He spoke in Greek. “Your life is worth less than this gear, understand?”

“I’ll be careful,” said Adrian. He took the line.

In threes and fours they broke away to their fishing holes. Greeks with Greeks, Egyptians with Egyptians, and other nations he couldn’t identify.

Adrian walked with Niko to a hole on the north bank and watched him bob his line.

“How long have you been here?” Adrian asked.

“Oh, about twenty years, I guess,” said Niko. “Lived a good full life, but I made some mistakes in my youth, and God doesn’t forget. How did you die?”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t die?”

Adrian stayed silent. Thought of Michael reaching out his hand, uttering the word [Banish].

“I did not come to Hell in the usual way,” said Adrian.

Niko peered at him.

“You were talking with Sangrun.”

“Yes.” Adrian stared at his hands. They were trembling.

He looked up, and saw two men approaching.

“That’s Darius and Farhad,” said Niko. “Be careful with those two.”

Adrian watched them come. Masks down, grinning, hands resting next to the bone knives at their belts. Eyes searching for things to take. They figured him for an easy mark—a man distracted by grief and shock.

They were right, he realised. He pocketed the fishing line so that his hands were free. Kicked the ice to get a feel for the friction. He had been lost inside his head.

“That’s a nice ring, isn’t it Farhad?”

Farhad made a show of looking at Adrian’s ring finger.

“It sure is, Darius. We don’t get a lot of gold rings around here, do we?”

“Darius—“

“Shut up, Niko.”

“I lost a ring just like that,” said Darius. “That looks just like the ring I lost. Did you find my ring, Adrian?”

“This is mine,” said Adrian. “I have worn this ring for twelve years, since the day I was married.”

“Yours? Huh. You’d be surprised at how often I find people walking around with my stuff,” said Darius. He pulled the knife and pointed it at Adrian. “I’m always having to take it back.”

Adrian saw the knife’s edge. Sangrun said he could die here. Michael said he could never leave. What happened if he bled out on the ice?

The ring was frigid against his finger but he did not remove it. Rebecca, what should I do?

Rebecca would tell him that rings are not important. She would pawn that ring to put food on the table. She would dishonour her own father to marry for love. She would spit on the throne of God before betraying her child.

“I thought Gaol is where God sends the worst,” said Adrian. “You don’t look so tough to me.”

He stepped forward and Darius flinched. The man dropped into a fighter’s crouch.

“I’ll teach you to fear me, then.”

Darius slashed. Two quick strokes, painting a figure eight in the air as he lunged forward. Adrian leaned back as the knife streaked past his face, then he punched Darius in the gut. The man growled and stabbed up towards Adrian’s stomach. Adrian blocked and punched Darius again, this time in the jaw. The man stumbled back, cursing.

“I have crossed swords with an angel,” said Adrian. “You don’t scare me.”

Adrian heard boots scrape on ice. Farhad was behind him. He turned and ducked a sucker punch, and returned a jab into Farhad’s ribs. They traded a quick flurry of punches and blocks, before Adrian kicked the man in the kneecap and regained some distance.

“You can fight.” Adrian said.

Darius pulled himself to his feet. “So can you,” he grunted. "Where’d you get that ring?”

“I told you the truth,” said Adrian. “It came with me. I was transported here by the archangel Michael.”

“You’re on a mission from God?”

“I am on a quest to kill the Leviathan,” said Adrian. He didn’t correct Darius.

“With what boat?” Darius scoffed.

“The sirens will get you,” said Farhad.

“I must hunt it, and then Sangrun will return me to Earth. If you help me, I will plead your case to come with me.”

Both men’s fingers twitched.

“Impossible,” said Darius. The knife wavered.

Behind them all, Niko began hauling in his line. He pulled hand over hand until a silver fish rose into the air. It struggled on the hook, gasping, fearful of death.

“Escaping from Hell never ends well in the epics,” he said conversationally. He put a knife through the fish’s brain and began cleaning it.

Adrian ignored him. He raised his hand. “The hand that casts the harpoon must be without sin. I need you two to do my dirty work until then.” He twisted off his wedding ring and tossed it to Darius. “Are you in?”

Darius smiled. “Oh yes, we’re definitely in.”

The fish went into sealskin sacks piled on three sleds. The sled frame was old driftwood, bleached grey by the sun and polished smooth by generations of hands. What didn’t fit in the sleds, the men carried on their shoulders. When the sun was low they headed back.

Adrian couldn’t stop thinking about that wood. A material so precious that it was handed down through generations. How could he build a ship with no wood?

Menos saw him looking. “Thirty days’ march south, the ice gives way to tundra. Another thirty days, and trees grow in the valleys.”

“But?”

“But God has a sense of humour,” said Menos. “Sangrun isn’t here to keep us in. He’s here to keep the monsters out.”

They reached the Colony at dusk.

The demon Sangrun took a tithe of the catch, perhaps twenty fish all told. Then he walked amongst sinners, offering strips of raw flesh, which they ate without salt or lime. He fed a thousand sinners this way, and it was only when he reached the final man that he cut into the last fish.

Adrian counted the ribs of the starving sinners. Every man was fed, and not a single man was full.

Adrian huddled with the sinners in the night. The demon shone like a topaz lantern, and his magic shielded the flock from the cold. Heavy snows rolled in and danced outside the dome.

“I repent my sins! I’m sorry!”

The madman Soleman disturbed the night with his tormented moans.

“I was wrong, I know I was wrong!”

The twisting snows seemed to carry a voice back to Soleman. Adrian heard the faintest hint of a whisper.

“I forgive you.” The voice whispered. “You’ve suffered enough, Soleman. It’s time to go home.”

Soleman turned to that voice as if in a dream. Adrian looked out into the darkness and saw a silhouette. A woman? A bird? A lion? The snow shifted and turned shapes into shadows, and shadows into shapes.

“I can’t take it any more!” Soleman took off running into the darkness. His incoherent screams grew fainter. No one went after him. Those who remained lowered their eyes and shook their heads.

Adrian saw the shadows turn and lope after the tormented man. Some time later, the distant screams stopped.

The next night Sangrun swept the stone slab clean and sprinkled it with salt and ashes.

He made signs over the stone, and it seemed that the surface was like a mirror, reflecting the gleaming stars.

Sangrun called out, and the sound was like calling into a deep well.

“Soleman!” His voice echoed again and again.

A weak will-o-wisp flickered in the void. It danced and tugged, but did not escape the summons.

“Soleman!” Sangrun called again.

“No…” the spirit whispered. “Please…”

“Soleman!” Sangrun called a third time.

The spirit became a ghostly corpse, floating transparent above the stone. The chest was covered in open wounds, and the limbs were half-devoured.

Pearlescent mana wreathed Sangrun as he etched a ring of glowing runes about the ghost.

“Soleman. You are not forgiven.”

Sangrun etched the final rune and activated the spell. “[Resurrection].”

Adrian knew little magic, but the True Name of the spell burned nauseous afterimages onto his eyelids. The ghost of Soleman became flesh and blood… so, so much blood. Soleman drew a breath through his ruined throat and began to scream.

“No! No! No!”

Sangrun cast words of healing to close his wounds, but they left the man scarred and deformed. Soleman lay on his side, sobbing on the stone.

“Sins shall be balanced with suffering, that is the Law.” Sangrun turned his face to Adrian. “The only way out of Gaol… is through Me.”

To be continued...