Wielding a Red Sword (35 page)

At last they forged out of the band of plants and into clear water. But there were more hungrycinths ahead. Mym peered about, trying to spy the route of least resistance, but all looked equally bad. No matter which way they went, there would be a struggle.

They made the struggle, navigating interminable rafts of vegetation, and at last came to a weather-worn landing. “This is our first stop,” Ligeia said breathlessly. “Why don’t I wait in the canoe while you talk to the man?”

He glanced at her, surprised. He was sure she did not want to be separated from him, here in the hind region of Hell. Then he saw the snake and realized that they could not afford to have it reporting on the true nature of his dialogue with the leader of the damned souls. He trusted Ligeia completely now, and she trusted him—but neither of them trusted the snake. So she was volunteering to keep the snake here, providing him the necessary privacy. This was a brave and good gesture on her part.

“Yes, I can see you are tired,” he said. “You stay here and rest, and I will return as soon as I can.”

Then Mym went and found the leader of the damned souls, who was engaged in shoveling muck out of a canal-ditch. Naturally the muck seeped back in almost as fast as he got it out; that was the nature of Hell.

Mym introduced himself briefly, then phased in to the skeptical man. The contact, as it had been with Ligeia, was instantly perfect, and the man understood the full nature of Mym’s plan and acquiesced. Much sooner than would otherwise have been the case, Mym was back at the canoe.

“We’ll have to ask the next,” Mym said shortly. That was for the benefit of the snake, who would think that Mym had not gotten what he wanted—news of a secret exit from Hell.

They paddled on downstream, and in due course the River Lethe debouched into a river of an entirely different nature. This one was largely frozen. Ice rimmed its shore and closed in on the center current, leaving only a narrow channel. Icicles hung from the neighboring trees.

“What in Hell is that?” Mym inquired, surprised.

“The River Kokytus,” Ligeia informed him. “The waters of lamentation.”

“I lament the moment I committed myself to this voyage,” Mym muttered. “We’ll freeze!”

“Doesn’t your cloak protect you?”

“It should. But what about you?”

“I may have to help you paddle from the rear seat.”

They nudged the canoe into the frozen Kokytus. Immediately a cutting crosswind developed, shoving the canoe sidewise toward the ice. Ligeia had to put her paddle out to stave off a collision, and Mym did the same. Now the wind tore at the woman, whipping her hair across her face, quickly chilling her.

“Come back here with me!” Mym cried. “Before you freeze.”

“But then the ice—”

“You can’t endure that cold wind long!”

She had to agree. She made her way back to him, and got under the cover of his cloak.

But now the canoe was weighted down at the back, and lifting out of the water at the front. The wind turned it about so that the front overrode the ice. They were unable to paddle it forward.

“I’ll have to go back to my seat,” Ligeia said, shivering with the expectation. “It’s the only way we can—”

“No! I won’t have you freezing!”

“But you have to talk with—”

But Mym had a notion. “Let’s see if we can travel on the ice!” he exclaimed.

They tried it. They paddled madly and rammed the canoe up farther on the ice. When it would go no farther, they moved up to the front end, overbalancing it and lifting the rear out of the water. Then some scraping and shoving with the paddles got the remainder onto the ice.

After that it wasn’t hard. They simply poled the canoe across the ice, downstream. The liability had become an asset.

But when they came to the landing for the next meeting, the problem of cold resumed. If Ligeia remained with the canoe, she would freeze. But if she did not—

“Actually, that snake’s torpid,” Mym said. “It’s coldest in the bottom of the boat, where it touches the ice.”

Ligeia checked. The snake was curled up, trying to husband
some warmth, but obviously not succeeding. “The poor thing,” she murmured. “I’d better get it to somewhere warmer.”

“That reptile is—” Mym started, but couldn’t finish, because he didn’t want the snake to know he knew.

“Cold,” she finished. “I don’t care what kind of creature it is, it shouldn’t be allowed to freeze.” She reached into the canoe and carefully picked up the snake.

Mym was disgusted. He would have been glad to be rid of the snake in a coincidental manner, so that Satan would not catch on. At the same time, he appreciated the softer nature of Ligeia, who, however foolishly, was being caring.

So they walked away from the frozen river, and Ligeia carried the snake along, warming it.

The souls of this region resembled snow monsters as they struggled to carry baskets of snow through the drifts. Obviously they had been assigned this work for the same reason the others had to slop muck endlessly—pointless misery. The demons in charge were in a high tower, evidently warmed by a stove, because smoke issued from its chimney. That meant that the workers were not closely supervised—but it seemed the demons kept track of the deliveries, for as Mym watched, a snow-bomb was lofted from an automatic catapult. It arched through the air and landed on a laggard worker, burying him in snow.

Another worker saw the two of them. “New recruits?” he asked. “Here, I’ve got an extra coat for the lady.” He paused to strip his outer layer, a furred jacket, battered but good.

“But you need that yourself!” Ligeia protested.

“Not as much as you do,” the man said, handed her the jacket, and resumed his plodding.

It was a help, for now she was able to walk alone. Mym located the leader and matched his step, speaking briefly to him while Ligeia walked some distance behind. Then Mym phased in with the man, and in a moment the understanding was complete; the man would spread the word, and these people would cooperate. Mym disengaged, walked along for another minute, then broke away, trusting that neither the supervising demon nor the snake
Ligeia carried had comprehended the true nature of his contact.

They returned to the canoe. “They don’t seem like bad people,” Mym remarked as they resumed their skid along the ice.

“They really aren’t,” she agreed. “Of course I am bringing you to the best groups, the ones who were only marginally evil to begin with and who have probably expiated enough of their sin to qualify for Heaven, except that Satan never does let anyone go, regardless. I understand some of the damned souls in other regions are really bad.”

“That man gave you his coat,” Mym persisted. “Shouldn’t that count on his balance card, a good deed?”

“It should,” she agreed. “But he didn’t do it for that, because they all know Satan won’t let them go anyway.”

“Which is the truest positive act—sacrifice without hope of reward.”

“I wish we could help these people, somehow,” she said.

“If we find our avenue of escape, some of them may use it too,” he reminded her.

She now understood exactly what he had in mind. “Yes.”

The snake, recovered from its lethargy of cold, perked up. It was now coiled about one of Ligeia’s legs, warmed by her body without interfering with her use of the paddle. Mym wondered how it reported to Satan, whether it had to make periodic check-ins, or whether it was telepathic. Probably the former; the latter would have betrayed them already, for it would have read their minds and not have to listen to their words. Perhaps it was a variety of demon that could vaporize at will, zip away to report, and return while they were sleeping. That was what Mym was counting on.

The Kokytus debouched into a broad and quiet river, and the ice gave way to polluted water. This was easier to canoe through, but unpleasant to see and smell. “Which one is this?”

“The Acheron,” she replied, removing her jacket, as the air had warmed. “River of Sorrows.”

“That figures,” he said. “The clear, clean spring water is forgetful. The frozen stream is lamenting. And the polluted one has sorrows.”

“What greater sorrow is there than the destruction of what once was lovely?” she asked.

He sighed agreement. “Yet the mortals are doing their best to make all their rivers like this.”

“The mortal world is going to Hell. Anybody can see that, from this vantage. But it’s sad.”

“If only they would understand and change course!” he said. “Maybe if mortal people could only see Hell or hear about how it really is, before …”

“But, every mortal person has to die before seeing Hell, and then it’s too late.”

That was the crux of the problem. It meant that Satan stood a fair chance to prevail, because of the ignorance of mortals.

The river narrowed and the current accelerated. “I hope there aren’t rapids!” Mym muttered.

“I don’t think there are, but—”

The river forked. “Which way do we go?” Mym asked.

“I don’t know. They probably rejoin after a bit, so maybe it doesn’t matter.”

Mym steered the canoe into the left channel, which seemed to be the more navigable of the two. All went well—until they came up against a fallen tree. It hung slantwise over the water, blocking progress.

“We can duck under it,” Mym said.

They coasted up to it, and both squeezed down low, and they passed under the trunk. But as they did, several objects dropped from it into the canoe. Mym thought they were bits of bark, but then he saw them scuttling. They were little crablike things, with pincers. They waved little antennae in the air, then headed purposefully for the nearest delicacy, Ligeia.

“Trouble,” Mym said. “Get your legs up!”

She looked back—and screamed. She tried to get her legs up, but got a foot caught under the seat. The first crab reached that foot and took an experimental pinch. Ligeia screamed again.

Mym took his paddle and pounded at the crabs with it.
Then he jumped—one had pinched him on the ankle. It hurt terribly.

Then the canoe ran up against a submerged log and stalled.

First things first. Mym got to work cleaning out the crabs. He discovered that he could stun them momentarily with a blow, then use the blade of the paddle to lift them up and dump them out. One by one he pursued them, until all were gone.

Next, he considered their external predicament. He could not see the log, but he could not move the canoe off it. “I’ll have to get out and lift it off,” he said.

“No, no, don’t do that!” Ligeia protested. “Any part that touches this water—the sorrows—”

He didn’t need to have sorrows in his feet, legs, and however far up the water extended when he stood in it. Hell could make things uncomfortably literal. He looked for some other way.

“Oh, no!” Ligeia said.

Mym looked. There in the water was an alligator. It looked hungry.

Desperately, he paddled, trying to boost the canoe off the hang-up, but all he succeeded in doing was to shove his end around until the canoe was sideways, being pushed by the current but not getting anywhere.

That gave him a notion. He continued paddling, with a watchful eye on the alligator, until his end swung the rest of the way around. The canoe was now backwards, facing upstream, still stuck. But Mym’s end was beyond the barrier. “Come back here with me, and we can budge it,” he called.

Ligeia moved back. As her end lightened, they were at last able to shove off the log, just as the alligator closed in. They took off backward, unable to turn around. So Mym stroked backward while Ligeia moved back to position. The alligator watched, disgusted, but did not pursue.

After that, they knew how to get over the submerged logs. They struggled on to the next landing and got out. This time, again, Ligeia remained in the canoe with the snake, letting Mym handle his business alone.

Shortly after they resumed their journey, the river widened and joined a truly horrendous tributary. The water of the other river smelled of oil, and small blue flames played across its surface.

Ligeia pointed to it. “The River Phlegethon,” she said.

Mym was appalled. “You mean we have to go up
that
?”

She nodded. “The next good group …”

So they stroked up the River of Fire. Mym could feel the heat of the flame on it; when his energetic paddling splashed droplets of water into the canoe, they ignited as they landed. Had the canoe been of wood or bark, it would soon have been ablaze! As it was, it grew hot, and the snake crawled up to the seat beside Ligeia to avoid the discomfort of the metal hull.

Then they came to rapids, and the vapor thrown up by the spuming liquid was burning, making a curtain of fire extending several meters above the surface. “No way we can go through
that
,” Mym said. “We’ll have to portage.”

They guided the craft to the side, found a reasonably firm section of the bank, and got out. Then they hauled the canoe out and picked up each end. It was heavy and clumsy, seeming much more so than it had when they first put it into the water. This was an indication of how they were tiring.

Then their feet started sinking down into the marshy ground. Each time Mym took a step, there was a sucking sound, and muck coated his boots, and an odor reminiscent of overripe eggs wafted up. Ligeia, wearing only delicate slippers, was worse off.

“Maybe I can haul it!” Mym exclaimed. He set down his end, slogged to the front, took hold, and hauled. The canoe moved, reluctantly. He stepped forward and hauled again. It was feasible. This allowed Ligeia to pick her way more carefully, sparing her slippers and feet further degradation.

But the marsh got worse. It started making sucking sounds of its own, and holes appeared that were not caused by feet. They looked like pursed mouths. Mym accidentally put a foot in one; it sank in halfway to his knee, and the mouth-hole closed about it and hung on.

He wrenched, but the boot remained captive and he was in danger of removing his foot without the boot. Meanwhile there was a kind of hissing and steaming in the hole, as if digestive juices were being squirted about. So he reached with difficulty into the canoe, fetched out a paddle, and used it to jam into the hole and wedge out his boot. It was awkward, clumsy business, but at last he got it free, somewhat degraded on the outside.