Sloughing Off the Rot (18 page)

Heap-o-Buffaloes ran well ahead of the group, giggling and mumbling to himself. And the entire crew followed along, passing skins of chicha and a pipe stuffed with burning bezoars. Intoxicated on chicha and the comfort of camaraderie, the men took their time winding along the meandering trail. Santiago and Crazy Talk walked with arms thrown over each other’s shoulders and drunkenly crooned songs about the moon and the mountains and scorpions and wolves. Joad stayed toward the back of the group, scanning the land ahead for danger. Alf the Sacred Burro hung back with the giant, occasionally rubbing up against Joad’s leg to prod a head scratching. Throws-Like-Girl flitted about the moving group, distributing the chicha and pipe to the needy. And Two-Dogs-Fucking strayed from the path as he felt was necessary and returned for tokes on the pipe and draws from the wineskin.

And the road collided into a roof-like structure of beams covered in juniper bark and adobe. A large rounded adobe chimney jutted through the center of the roof, belching smoke and steam into the moonlit sky. The edge of the roof rested on the ground, hinting at a subterranean pit below. A glowing flicker of orange light illuminated a round opening at the edge of the roof where it met the red brick road.

“Follow me,” said Three Tooth as he stepped through the hole. The light of the fire within the structure tinted Three Tooth orange and made the hieroglyphic brands on his arms appear to dance the ghost dance. “This is our kiva. We will be safe here.”

John and the others followed Three Tooth down the hole. Once inside, John saw that they were descending stone stairs that hugged the walls of a rounded, deep hole in the ground. The pit was ten cubits deep and twenty wide. The floors and walls were all formed from carved stone. Four massive tree trunks sat on carved discs of stone and supported the heavy, low roof. The chimney sat on four short stone columns, with a ventilation tube resting above a pile of burning juniper logs. Shadows of the men flickered on the stone walls in the kiva pit.

Only Joad did not descend into the kiva. He stuck his massive head through the entry hole but his shoulders proved too large to fit through the opening. Realizing that he was too large to enter, Joad sat outside of the kiva with Alf the Sacred Burro. And while the men on the inside of the kiva spoke, Joad and Alf sat on the ground watching a lively meteor shower draw bright streaks across the sky.

Inside the kiva, Crazy Talk, Heap-o-Buffaloes and Throws-Like-Girl pulled melon-sized rocks from the fireplace with large tongs. They placed the smoking stones in bins built from flat stones and dumped water over them. Steam hissed from the rocks and mingled with stray smoke that refused to exit through the chimney. Three Tooth pulled covers across the kiva’s entrance and also over an opening at the opposite side of the pit, trapping the steamy smoke. Two-Dogs-Fucking sat on a stone bench and yawned, looking ready to bed down for the night. In front of the fire, Santiago sat, cross-legged, rocking back and forth and singing quietly to himself as he stared wild-eyed at the flames.

John walked the circumference of the pit, studying the walls and the stone benches and structures. On the walls someone had scratched and burned hieroglyphics similar to those on Three Tooth’s arms. The flicker of the fire made the wall paintings seem to dance. Just feet in front of one of the benches was a hole in the floor four cubits in diameter. John sat on the bench and leaned over, trying to look down into the hole. But the pit was deep and a cloud of the smoky steam hung just over it, obscuring the contents of the opening. A stone dropped down the hole gave no report of hitting bottom. And Three Tooth sat on the bench beside John.

“What is the hole for?” John asked, dropping another stone and hearing no report.

Three Tooth stared forward, not looking at John, not looking at the hole. A tear dribbled down his cheek. “It’s a portal from below. There are others like it that appear and disappear as they will. They are the doors of perception. The doors that some, like you, use to enter this world. They claw their way up from wherever it is that they come. Most perish and return to where they came from. Some stay. Some move on.”

“Move on to where?”

“I am a simple man,” said Three Tooth. “Do not look to me for answers. I barely manage to keep my men out of trouble. I have no advice that is worthy of you.”

A thick cloud of smoke and steam hovered around Three Tooth and John. Putting his hand on John’s back, Three Tooth urged John up and guided him from the hole. “Come,” said Three Tooth. “Sit a spell by the fire and let your mind relax.”

And they all sat around the fire. One large stone seat that was big enough to fit Joad’s backside sat empty. Crazy Talk stood and went to the wall, returning to the fire with a wineskin full of chicha. The men’s throats were scratchy and dry from the bezoar pipe, and the smoke from the fire made them cough until their throats were raw. The chicha numbed the scorched throats, numbed the brains, numbed the pains. Conversation was not necessary. The flickering flames spoke to the men and reached them in a way that words could not. Glazed eyes zoned in and out on the blaze. The steam opened pores and purged the men of their toxins. Heat from the fire seared their faces, reddening them and tightening the skin. But the men sat transfixed and removed from the discomfort they should have felt.

Behind John, from the bottomless pit, a scream rumbled low and quiet, ratcheting up in volume and pitch until it crescendoed to an eardrum-piercing, murderous shriek. The scream made the hair on John’s body stand on end and his heart race. The others sat oblivious, staring into the fire before them and passing the wineskin. And though the skin seemed on the verge of emptiness, it always contained enough for the next person to suckle at it. The scream continued and only John moved, turning to look toward the ruckus transpiring behind him. And John saw hands of fire clawing at the edge of the hole, dragging the hands’ owner from the depths of the pit and leaving scorch marks on the ground. And from the pit crawled a man formed from flickering flames. A flowing beard of fire draped down over the man’s chest. Long hair flamed and framed his face. His jaw moved back and forth, grinding fiery teeth as the scream subsided to a low growl. Embers fell from his mouth as he suffered a brief coughing fit. Blinding light beamed from each eye, as if they burned hotter than the rest of the flaming body. The man wore a robe of fire and his entire being burned as the fire in the fire pit.

John looked into the blinding eyes of the man and knew that he was looking at himself. He put his hand to his own face and felt his own flowing beard. He ran his fingers through his own long hair. And though he had not seen his own reflection since the time that he first arrived in the foreign desert world, John knew that he was looking at an image of himself rendered in flames. The burning man walked across the kiva, crackling with sparks and trailing streamers of fire behind him. He sat in the empty seat at the fire and faced John. And though the burning man blazed, John felt no heat emanating from him. On his left shoulder appeared a tiny flaming image of Santiago. On his right sat a miniature version of Joad. And the chicha continued to make its way around the fire and into everybody’s bloodstreams. But the other men moved at half the speed of John and Burning Man. And they did not notice, nor did they pay attention to their conflagrant guest.

“You are me,” said John.

Burning Man nodded. And his booming voice, the same voice John first heard when he awoke in his cave, echoed in the kiva. “I am in your mind. You are in your mind. This all is in your mind.”

“Are you trying to tell me that this is all a dream?” asked John. “Because I don’t believe that. This shit has gone on too long and it’s been too real. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not a dream.”

“I didn’t say that it was a dream,” said Burning Man. “This is real. But, like I said, it’s in your mind. It’s another realm. Your physical body is in another place, in a hospital bed, comatose. You are everything that was good about you, the essence of your goodness. There was not much when you first arrived here. Mostly you were rotten inside. You hurt others, destroyed lives. Your purpose was entirely self-centered and destructive to all that came in contact with you. And the kernel of goodness that you possessed has been planted in this realm and it has flourished. All of the bad is festering in the body in that hospital bed, like a black cancer consuming you. You are here to grow strong so that when you go back – when you reach Android Lovethorn and go back – the good in you will prevail over the evil. This is your chance to make everything right again.”

“I’m not so good,” said John. “There’s nothing so great about me.”

“You’ve stayed the course,” said Burning Man. “You’ve followed the path. You help others when they are afflicted with open, oozing sores. You saved your friends from sure death back at the Chelloveck village. You do no wrong and help others as you follow the path. The you that is atrophying in the hospital bed would have done nothing of the sort. With the powers that you are gaining in this world, the other you would have wreaked havoc on the entire land. Android Lovethorn would pale in comparison. But you, this you, is humble and good and right. And this is the way that you are supposed to be.”

“So what does this all mean?” asked John. “What are you and what do you want with me?”

“I told you, I am you. I am the link between you in this world and the other you in another place.”

“So what do you want?”

Burning Man said, “I want you, the good you, to prevail. You need to force Lovethorn to send you back. If you do not succeed, if you stay here, you die in both worlds. You need to continue to follow the path, no matter what. And when you reach Lovethorn, you need to force him to send you back. Do not harm him. Just make him return you to yourself.”

“I don’t get it,” said John. “This isn’t right. I know this is not all going on in my head. Too much has happened and it’s all too real. And I’m kind of starting to feel good, happy, you know. If things are so shitty wherever I came from, I don’t know that I want to return. Maybe I make Lovethorn stop with the plagues. Maybe I confront him and force him to stop. Then I stay here. I like it here.”

“You cannot stay here,” said Burning Man. “You are the guy. You’re the one. Go back and save yourself. If you stay here, you die in both worlds.”

“What if I take down Lovethorn?” John asked. “What if I make him stop? I can stay here and everything will be okay. And what’s it matter if some rotten part of me dies in some other place. That sounds like a good thing.”

“You cannot do that. You will die. You cannot take down Lovethorn. He is too powerful. Even if you are able kill him, it will mean sure death for you. If you stay here, you die. If you die here, you die there. If you die, this entire world perishes.”

John said, “So you’re saying that if I stay here, it means sure death for me, as well as Lovethorn? That doesn’t make sense. He is trying to keep me from reaching him. He wants me to stay here. Why would he want me to stay if it meant death for him, too?”

“He doesn’t understand,” said Burning Man. “Lovethorn came into being with your appearance here. Your presence gives him his power. He doesn’t want to give that up. He thinks that as long as you do not return to where you came from, his strength will grow. The only way to stop Lovethorn and save your own life is if you make him send you back. You cannot stay here and you cannot kill Lovethorn.”

And the miniature flaming Santiago on Burning Man’s shoulder threw a fit, pulling at his beard and tearing off his fiery little loincloth, growling and shouting. “Fuck that shit,” he yelled. “Fuck that. Take him down, Johnny. Take down the king in the corruptible crown. We gotta shake up some shit here, brother. Don’t listen to this flaming piece of shit. He can’t be trusted.”

And Burning Man swatted at the tiny Santiago on his shoulder, knocking the small flaming image backwards and smashing him on the ground in a burst of flames and sparks. “Silence,” boomed Burning Man. And the voice echoed and bounced about the kiva. Three Tooth and the others sat, unawares, passing the chicha and bezoar pipe and staring blankly into the fire. “Enough from you.”

The miniature flaming Joad sat on Burning Man’s shoulder, a pensive look on his face. “You know,” he said in a voice with far too much bass tone for such a small form. “This fellow here may have a point. Approach Android Lovethorn from the way of the path, and Lovethorn will have no power. Not that he is not powerful, but his power will not be harmful to you and those you watch over. As for how to deal with Lovethorn when you reach him, look within yourself for the answer. No one but you can make that call. If he must die, you will know. But do not go in with a rigid mind that is set on destroying him. Let the path lead you to where you need to be and allow yourself to wash along with its flow. You will do what is right.”

Burning Man reached up and smacked at his shoulder, knocking Fire-Joad to the ground where he exploded in a bright flash of white light and sparks. “Fools!” boomed Burning Man. “Do not listen to them. You have the power to set things right. Take my word and do not betray me. Convince Lovethorn to send you back and do not harm him. I command you!”

Before John could respond, Burning Man leapt into the fireplace and exploded. The concussion of pure force, blinding light, and searing heat from the explosion knocked John and the others from their seats, slamming them against the walls of the kiva. A pillar of flames shot from the chimney, a fireball blasting into the sky and crashing into the river of fire flowing above. And briefly the river exploded, raining down fire on the desert below, before it collected itself and resumed its flow in line with the red brick road.