ExFic 11: The Basin of Tartarus

“You know this is a crock, right?” Jaime asked. “Right?”

“This isn’t a crock,” Katrina argued. “It’s the doorway to the land of the dead.”

“But it’s so absurd,” Jaime said. “You can’t just summon dead people and talk to them.”

“Just drop it Jaime,” Rion replied. “This isn’t about logic, it’s about faith that Katrina’s trying to restore.”

“I dunno,” Jaime said. “I just thought that we lived in an enlightened enough age that we don’t have to sacrifice livestock to a fictitious entity in order to summon someone from an imaginary world who will just tell us what we want to hear without giving us a straight answer.”

“Just shut up and keep pulling,” bade Rion.

It wasn’t that the cow they were towing was afraid to die. It was, in fact, a special breed of Fanaticow, bred and raised to believe the greatest of all purposes was to be slaughtered for any number of purposes. They were used as beef for a while they were linked to a sharp rise in murder-suicide rates by a mad cow-like defect. Nowadays, Fanaticows are primarily raised by the military and religious cults for purposes they find beneficial to their respective agencies.

No, this cow wasn’t resisting. While many Fanaticows meet their end with great enthusiasm, occasionally dragging practitioners in their haste, the one they had chosen wanted to bask. This cow was taking its sweet time, soaking in the glory of finally being chosen for the most noble of all sacrifices. As such, it was walking slowly, even stopping occasionally to breath in the sweet, sweet air wafting in from the sacrificial chamber.

“Why do we have to tow this cow, anyway?” Jaime inquired, tugging harder on the leash as the Fanaticow stopped for another session of glory-basking. “We’re visiting Katrina’s ancestors. She should be pulling this thing.”

“But I have my hands full with the sacrificial knife and the ceremonial nail gun,” Katrina argued. “I can’t hold a leash, too.”

“She’s got ya there, sis,” Rion said, giving the leash a good tug.

“Very funny,” Jaime grumbled. She looked down at her Spigaurd, listening to its as its servos whined and its eight legs scribbled ineffectually in its efforts to help tow the bovine across the tiled floor. She picked up the cybernetic spider and allowed it to cling to her back. “You know, you could just put those things in your backpack.”

“Nah, I’m cool,” Katrina replied.

A snake with a crest of red petals around its neck and slithered up Rion’s arm and hissed conspiratorially into his ear.

“Rose Serpent suggests we whip it,” Rion replied.

“Rose Serpent always suggests we whip something,” Wearwolf noted around the leash in his teeth. “It is like a fetish.”

Rose Serpent hissed sarcastically.

“I will admit to no such thing,” Wearwolf replied.

“Whipping the cow is demeaning to its spirit,” Katrina said. “I won’t allow it. This cow is participating of its own free will and I will not sully its decision by treating it like a slave.”

“Wait a minute,” Wearwolf said, dropping the leash. “If this cow is following us to its death willingly, then why are we towing it?”

Katrina pondered the question for a moment before she replied, “Tradition? I mean, it’s not like the cow doesn’t know the way. It’s a straight hallway, from here at least.”

“So we’re straining our muscles for nothing?” Jaime inquired as the group came to an abrupt stop. This allowed the cow some extra quality time with the aura of sheer reverence emanating from the chamber ahead of them.

“Well, not for nothing,” Katrina answered with a helpful tone. “You wanted the cow to move faster, right? Although, I suppose it hasn’t really worked… Anyway, it’s not like I told you all to pull the thing, so you really only have yourselves to blame.”

The others glared at her with irritation.

“See? This is why I’m carrying the implements of death,” Katrina said to no one in particular.

It wasn’t long until they had reached the sacrificial chamber, and frankly, Jaime was expecting something more gothic, or at least darker. She was prepared for high-domed ceilings held aloft by stone archways, torches that deepened the darker recesses more than they illuminated the abysmal façade, and stone works depicting the agony of life and the sweet release of death.

This, however, felt like walking into the morgue at Disneyland. Granted, it was still domed and creepy, but it was a sugary sort of creepy. It was akin to walking into the mind of a mad-dog serial killer and seeing his twisted recollection of his pre-school. The walls and archways were covered in what looked like the fruits of a kindergarten arts and crafts session, and what wasn’t hidden appeared to be a mosaic depicting a vast meadow beneath a nearly-cloudless sky. And there was the pool, surrounded by Astroturf of all things.

The pool dominated the room, taking up two-thirds of the floor. It lay right in the center, and was the purpose of the room. That, and house the children’s drawings of their dead relatives and assorted loved ones, apparently. The water was crystal-clear, almost too clear to be natural, for it was the Pool of the Dead. It was the medium through which one could contact Those That Exist Beyond. The Hotline of the Dearly Departed. 1-800-GHOSTS-4-U.

This was the Basin of Tartarus.

“This is the Basin of Tartarus?” Jaime asked with disbelief.

“Well, it ain’t Palm Springs,” Katrina replied.

“But it’s just so… bright,” Jaime continued.

“Death doesn’t have to be all gloom and doom, you know,” Katrina explained. “Death is the end of the journey through this world and the beginning of the journey through the next. Why vilify it when you can celebrate it?”

“That’s an interesting, if frightening, philosophy,” Wearwolf replied.

“Don’t worry, I don’t revere death that much,” Katrina said.

About this time, the Fanaticow stepped onto a skiff floating at the edge of the pool. It looked back at the group, awaiting the blade expectantly with a stoic expression.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Katrina said. She stepped up to the cow and pressed the barrel of the nail gun between its eyes. She adjusted her grip and stance from gangland style to execution style. The cow stared back at her up the barrel of the nail gun with hard eyes that just dared her to pull the trigger. Eventually, Katrina lowered the gun and said, “Could you excuse me for a moment?”

“What is it?” Rion asked as Katrina walked back to the rest of the group.

“I can’t do it,” Katrina replied. “I can’t kill the cow.”

“Whatever happened to celebrating death?” Jaime asked.

“Celebrating it is one thing, but inflicting it is another,” Katrina answered. “I can’t just kill another living thing in cold blood.”

“Need I remind you we spent good money on a cow that is literally begging to be killed?” Jaime inquired rhetorically. “Not to mention nail gun and sacrificial knife rental.”

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll shoot the cow,” Rion offered as he extended his hand.

“No,” Katrina refused. “I have to kill the cow or it won’t work.”

“Actually, the nail gun just knocks it out,” Jaime explained. “It won’t actually die until it bleeds to death from a slit throat.”

“Jaime!” Rion scolded.

“What?” Jaime responded. “It’s a humane death. You kill it in its sleep.”

“Aw, geez,” Katrina said, putting a hand, and by extension the nail gun in it, on her head. She paced a bit, then made a sweeping gesture that made everyone duck as she said, “I can’t do this! I just can’t!”

“But you’ve hunted animals in Dionysus Forest, right?” Rion pointed out. “Surely, you must’ve killed at least a couple of them.”

“Yeah, but that was hunting,” Katrina said. “It’s not the same…”

Katrina was interrupted by the strangled moo. Judging from the looks on Jaime and Rion’s faces, it wasn’t a sight Katrina was looking forward to seeing. Before long, Wearwolf trotted up to her and left a large chunk of the cow’s throat at her feet.

“Do I get to eat this?” Wearwolf inquired. After a moment of being stared at with aghast expressions, he asked, “Should I take that as a ’no’?”

With the killing of the Fanaticow sorted out, Katrina boarded the skiff. Picking up a nearby oar, she shoved off and began rowing to the center of the pool.

“I thought she said it wouldn’t work if she didn’t kill it herself,” Jaime pondered from the edge of the pool.

“Mysticism isn’t always a precise science,” Rion explained. “Hopefully, one’s MultiPet partner is close enough. Besides, I thought you didn’t believe in this stuff.”

“I don’t,” Jaime replied. “But, now that we’ve gone this far, I’m just hoping she doesn’t get hurt.”

The skiff gently floated to a stop just short of the pool’s center. Katrina stared down into it. The pool seemed bottomless, stretching into an endless abyss. She thought it was staring back at her for a moment, then she realized it was her own reflection. Presently, she pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket, gave it a couple passes, and shoved it back in.

Katrina folded her hands in front of her and recited the incantation she was given. “Custodians of the next world, hallowed be thy names, open the gateway between our worlds. Allow access through this medium those that once resided in this world. Allow my ancestors to step forward and grant discourse. I offer forth lifeblood as payment, to give the dead enough life to speak. Step forward, and bathe in the Basin of Tartarus!”

As she spoke, the water boiled in front of her. It rose up in fits and splashes, causing ripples that gently pushed the skiff backwards. She stepped back and nudged the cow’s carcass forward so that the gathering blood would ooze over the side of the skiff. As blood and water mixed, the pool erupted with a massive geyser at the center. As this vertical waterfall continued, a figure stepped forward from the rising mists. It was little more than an impression in the mist, but Katrina could make out identifiable features. Then another figure stepped forward, then another, and another, and still more.

“Okay, this is too many people,” Katrina said. She fished out a photograph from her pocket and held it up for the oncoming specters to see. “I’m looking for a Jeremiah Arden. Jeremiah Arden? Has anyone seen him? Jeremiah Arden? Maybe you know him as Jerry, or Jeremy, or J.J.… I think I heard his nickname was Spanky. Anyone know a Spanky?”

The spirits gave no response save for approaching further upon the blood spilling from the gaping wound on the slain cow. Katrina sighed and picked up the oar. There wasn’t going to be enough blood to go around, and she only wanted to talk to one person, maybe two if any famous historical figures came up. Thus, she struck out with the oar, swatting and prodding spirits back to keep them at bay, occasionally comparing faces to the photo just to make sure. Eventually, her oar stopped short of a similar face.

“Jeremiah Arden?” Katrina inquired, keeping the spirit at oar‘s length. The figure nodded dumbly and she allowed it forward to the blood. It flowed up into the mist, filling out the shape that stood within. The refractive properties of the water changed, and the figure in the mist changed color. It took on the appearance of a bespectacled old man, his hair and features worn down by age. He wore a rather smart-looking suit, sans tie as was the style of his time. When the colors finished painting themselves into place, the old man opened his eyes and Katrina asked his name again.

“You can bet on it, sweetheart,” the old man replied with a smile. He looked Katrina up and down appraisingly. “Katrina, right? I barely recognize ya, doll face. I haven’t seen you since you were a rug rat.”

“You’re as sharp as ever, Great Grandpa Jeremiah,” Katrina replied with a grin.

“Call me Spanky, toots,” Jeremiah said.

“She’s not seriously buying this, is she?” Jaime asked. “I mean, people didn’t actually talk like that back then. Did they?”

“Tell me, kid, do I have to pay you to be good, or are you still good for nothin’?” Spanky inquired.

“Aw, you know I’ll always be good for nothing, Spanky,” Katrina giggled.

“Well, if he is just a fabrication, it would seem they’ve done their homework,” Rion said in response to his sister’s question.

“I know I’m a great guy and all, but I’ve got the feeling in my ghost-bones that you didn’t come all this way just for a quick howdy,” Spanky said. “What’s eatin’ ya?”

Katrina sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. In the beginning, everything seemed so clear, but now it feels like everything I want is slipping further and further out of reach. I don’t know if I have what it takes to be a Chimera Knight anymore.”

Spanky mulled it over for a moment. He leaned back, scratching his chin in thought. Once he came up with a response, he leaned forward and put his hands in his pockets.

“Listen, kid, you and I both know I’m real,” he finally said. “That’s the kind of faith we have. Folks like your friend there don’t believe in all this hocus pocus. That’s fine. No skin off my nose. But if there’s one thing me and her share, its faith in you. Every single person in this room knows that when you put your mind to something, there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna stop you. We all believe in you, kid. Make us proud.”

“But what if I mess up?” Katrina asked. “What if I fail?”

“What if, what if, whatever!” Spanky rejected. “There’s more than enough uncertainty in this world and the next and the one after that. If there’s one thing I know, is those uncertainties will drag you down to the ground and bury you if you let them. If there’s another thing I know, it’s that you’re too strong to let them do it. If want you really want what you’re going after, then the answer is ‘Yes I will.’ Yes you will break through. Yes you will overcome. Yes you will not be stopped! Now say it!”

“Yes I will,” Katrina said.

“Louder!” Spanky goaded.

“Yes I will!” Katrina shouted.

“Will you succeed?” Spanky asked.

“Yes I will!”

“Will you keep going no matter what stands in your way?”

“Yes I will!”

“Will you be the greatest Chimera Knight ever!?”

“Yes I will!”

“Will you give me fifty bucks!?”

“Nice try!”

“Will you be indomitable!?”

“I will dominate!”

“Then thy will be done!” Spanky declared. “Go forth, and show them what you will do!”

“I will! Thank you, Great Grandpa Spanky!”

Katrina leapt forward to hug Spanky, only to find blood mixing with the water already soaking into her clothes from the showering mists. She teetered uncertainly on the edge of the skiff, but managed to find her balance.

“I’m just a figure in the mist, kid,” Spanky’s voice said as it faded. “But if you want to show your gratitude, toss that steer into the pool.”

Katrina obliged and the carcass sank into the recesses of the pool. She rowed back to shore, with a more than satisfied look on her face.

“So, are you ready to go now?” Jaime asked.

“I’m ready to kick some ass,” Katrina replied with utmost certainty. She strode right past her friends and marched out of the chamber.