Read BURN IN HADES Online

Authors: Michael L. Martin Jr.

Tags: #epic, #underworld, #religion, #philosophy, #fantasy, #quest, #adventure, #action, #hell, #mythology, #journey

BURN IN HADES (35 page)

It wasn’t his normal reflection. His head filled the glass, and it had no neck. It wasn’t even connected to a body at all. It floated in the center of the mirror, surrounded by the green mist. It followed his movements with its eyes as if it could see him. He had the sense that that it was peering right into his soul. He was terrified but entranced and couldn’t look away. The cloud of black smoke bloomed over the face, and the skin melted off his head, revealing an ugly skull underneath.

“Shepherd the girl,” said the skull. “We will wait for you, Charles Hill. Our savior.”

He smashed the mirror with the statue head. The servant bell rang. Charles raced to the staircase and leaned over the banister. Mr. Carson stood in the doorway of his study.

“I’ll bring you your coffee right away, boss,” he said.

“Forget the coffee,” said Mr. Carson. “I need a word with you immediately.”

Judging by the stark tone of the boss’s voice, Charles was definitely in trouble for not only ditching his duties, but for the commotion made breaking the mirror and possibly for making a mash with Kate. The boss, with all his magic, somehow always knew what was going on in his home, as any man of the house should.

Charles wiped the sweat from his palms onto his pants and followed Mr. Carson into his study, preparing himself to get disciplined in his favorite room of the entire mansion. Most of Kate’s books sat on those shelves, along with hundreds of others that she had read to him. They were never truly hers solely; the books were more so owned by the entire household, which Cross liked to include himself in. Kate would have.

The boss’s guest waited inside, standing in front of the fancy hand washer that painted talking and moving portraits. The man turned around, aware of Charles’s presence, and shut the water off with a squeak. The watery portrait vanished, and the water dripped.

“This is Mr. Rowings,” said Mr. Carson.

Excitement got the best of Charles. “You’re from the Isle of Man,” he said. “You know all the fairies!”

Mr. Rowings glanced at the boss.

“Sometimes I tell Kate about what we do,” said Mr. Carson. “And Charlie eavesdrops.”

Charles dropped his gaze to the floor. “Sorry, sir.”

“It’s quite all right, Charlie. I always try to speak loud enough to make sure you hear everything.”

Charles raised his chin. “Really?”

“You’re here for a reason. Mr. Rowings has traveled a very long way to meet you personally.”

“Meet
me
, sir?”

“I don’t know
all
the fairies,” said Mr. Rowings. “There are a great many of them in the world. I’ve been lucky enough to meet just a few of them. Each has a special ability, like you. I understand you possess a unique talent that’s extremely rare in human beings.”

“Before we get into that,” said Mr. Carson, “I think we should address the more pressing matter first.” Mr. Carson removed the Colt Peacemaker from the case on the desk.

Charles choked. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “It will never happen again. I promise. Just don’t kill me, boss.”

“Kill you?” Mr. Carson sat the pistol down on the desk. “What on earth? What’s troubling you, Son?”

“Well, K-Kate and m-me—?”

“Kate and you, what?”

The boss seemed genuinely curious and didn’t appear to be aware of his kiss with Kate. Charles opened his big, stupid mouth for nothing. Now, he was too afraid to confess, but had to say something. “I broke her floor mirror. It was an accident, I swear.”

“I don’t know anything about that, but it doesn’t sound like anything I’d ever kill a boy over. Now, I know I’m not around much, but I do hope I don’t give off that sort of impression. Why don’t you have a seat in my chair?” Mr. Carson stood up and carried his chair around to the front of his desk. He tapped the seat with his palm.

Charles sat in the comfy chair as he was told. The two men loomed above him.

“I believe this is about more than just some broken mirror,” said Mr. Carson. “I think I know what you were on about at first. And given the circumstances, I suppose it’s alright. I have to be okay with my daughter possibly finding comfort in you. I don’t know what else I can do or say, except give you my blessing. Though, I’m not so sure that it’s a blessing. There are many societal challenges that will make that an extremely tough road to travel down. It’s definitely not what I would have ever planned for Kate—”

Mr. Rowings cleared his throat loudly as if to get the boss’s attention.

“Right,” said Mr. Carson, nodding. “There’s a much larger perspective at play. It’s the reason you’re in the room with us now. For the moment, wash your mind of everything else.”

Mr. Carson pulled out a key from the gun case and stepped over to the cage of rifles. He pulled one of the rifles hanging on the wall at an angle as though it were a lever of some sort. The cabinet slid aside, and the wall opened up, revealing a safe. He turned the dial, entering his secret numbers, and opened the safe. He pulled another box out of the safe. This box was bigger than the gun case.

“Mr. Carson and I are members of an elite society,” said Mr. Rowings. “And we’ve been scouting for new members. But not just anyone. People with abilities such as yourself.”

“Abilities? I don’t understand, sir.”

“I’ve observed you over the years around the ranch,” said Mr. Carson, sitting the new box onto the desk in front of Charles. “You’re able to communicate with the animals in a way I’ve never seen. You have some kind of magic touch. The animals understand you. They listen to you. You remember how you stopped those runaway horses three months ago, when you saved Kate?”

“I just did what needed to be done, boss. She was in trouble, boss, so I—”

“I saw you. You spoke to those horses without speaking. They obeyed you without you needing to control them through the reins. And I believe there’s a reason why this talent of yours hasn’t presented itself until now. This is the year you turned thirteen.”

“Thirteen is a very sacred number,” said Mr. Rowings.

He wanted to tell them that he could use his magical touch before he turned thirteen. It had been with him for as long as he could remember. But the boss sounded so sure of his theory, that Charles was afraid to prove him wrong. He said nothing and allowed the two men to continue speaking.

“My intuition has never failed me,” said Mr. Carson. “I don’t think it was by chance that Kate felt so strongly about saving you from that mob four years ago. It is not mere coincidence that you’ve become such an integral part of our family.”

Charles had never had this long of a conversation with Mr. Carson before, nor one so informative. Something was off about the whole situation.

“Let me show you something.” Mr. Carson unlocked the wide box and removed a funny-shaped object. It was like a clock but not quite round, and it was made of brass. After listening to Kate read all those books all those years, he had since learned how to read a little on his own. The words written on the brass object were from some other land or time. Possibly both.

Mr. Carson displayed the round metal trinket in his palm for Charles to view closely. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything like this before.”

Charles shook his head. “No, sir.”

“It’s called an Astrolabe. It’s an astronomical instrument. What it does is…well it has over a thousand uses. It can predict the positions of the stars. It can determine local time.” The boss glanced at Mr. Rowings and then back at Charles. “But this particular astrolabe is rather unique. It’s the oldest known astrolabe. We know this because it’s the only one with a creation date engraved on it. But what’s truly unique about this astrolabe as opposed to all the others is what we believe it can do. We believe this can bring a soul back from the dead.”

Everything about the boss was magical, but Charles sat shocked at the turn of the conversation. It was too much to believe.

“You see,” said Mr. Carson, “the Confederacy is more than aware of President Lincoln’s feelings towards colored people. Before he even signed the Emancipation Proclamation, his life has been in danger. We think something may happen to him. Something we don’t believe we can stop. But with this….” He closed his fingers around the astrolabe. “We can change everything. And you’re the only one we’ve told about this.”

“I’m much honored, boss.”

“Charles, this isn’t to be taken lightly. It’s very serious information. People have been….” The boss stopped himself midsentence.

“Tell the boy,” said Mr. Rowings. “He should know.”

“All the others who knew of the existence of the astrolabe have been killed. Murdered.”

Why was the boss was telling him then, of all people?

Mr. Carson must’ve seen the look on his face because he answered: “I’m telling you because if anything should happen to me—”

“I don’t mean to give you any commands boss, but this ain’t the sort of subject I know too much about. Shouldn’t you tell Mrs. Carson about this?”

“I can’t risk my family knowing anything about this. I have to protect them.”

“Again, I’m sorry, boss, if I may be too bold, but that would mean you’re fine with placing me in harm’s way.”

“It’s alright. You can make your true feelings known to me. Your bravery and critical thinking just confirms to me that I’m making the right choice with you. And your caution is very fair, but I believe you’re safe. Fortunately for us, and maybe unfortunately for you, no one would believe the truth if it came out of your mouth. You don’t have to worry.”

“Then why tell me at all, sir?”

“Because,” said Mr. Rowings, “if you recall that elite society I mentioned earlier. Not only are Mr. Carson and I members, but we believe that we may also be the last.”

“I’m not giving up hope yet, Joseph,” said Mr. Carson. “I have to believe Tivoli is still out there.”

“I made another attempt to summon him moments ago,” said Mr. Rowings. “But he still isn’t answering.”

“He wouldn’t. Anyone could intercept the message. Nor would he ever return home. He’s much smarter than that. He’s in hiding.”

“I surely hope so.”

“We’ve been searching for candidates to continue our legacy, Charles. And at least one of those persons was in my home the entire time. I was simply blind to it.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” said Charles.

Mr. Carson placed a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Believe it or not, you’re the only one I can trust with this knowledge. You’re not just a good worker, Charlie. You’ve taken very good care of my family while I’ve been away, as if they were your own. And in that way, you’ve become an honorary member of our family. You’re like a son to me”

The boss smiled, but not a normal, joyous smile. It was a smile of a man who knew more than he wanted to know, more than he wanted to tell. “I know you don’t understand all this, and you might even forget everything I’ve just told you. But one of these days, there will be an event in your life, and all this will make sense.”

Charles hadn’t seen Mr. Rowings or his daughter Phoebe after that day, and Mr. Carson vanished with his astrolabe.

Deep in the realm of Irkalla in the underworld, a torture camp called Erutrot held a cabin owned by a demon named Diamond Tooth who possessed an astrolabe that was dangling in Cross’s bruised and blood-coated face.

He identified the date engraved on the brass object. He couldn’t read the foreign language, but the symbols matched those on Mr. Carson’s astrolabe exactly as he remembered, down to the last detail.

It all made sense, like his mother had said it would, like Mr. Carson had said it would, like he had told himself over and over. He was meant to remember. The Toran was meant for him after all. The Great Goddess needed him to endure the red giant’s torture, and wait just a little bit longer. He’d never doubt her again.

Chapter 17 - Last Chants

The Raven stood amongst hundreds of prisoners
sectioned off from Diamond Tooth’s cabin by a spiked fence. She cringed at every bang and crunch of Cross’s torture session in the cabin.

The spirits around her sang, but their haunting hymn failed to drown out the torturous crashes and grunts. Their melancholy melody and weary words only served to increase the sense of dread and depression:

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