Yucatán helped me bridge it, creating a thin strip of stone to walk across. It was as awesome as it sounds, and I even said it aloud in the middle, with a goofy grin on my face: “I’m walking across a river of scorpions right now.”
I smelled the river of blood before I saw it—that sorta nasty metallic scent, you know, from the copper and iron in there, like dirty pennies. It burbled a bit, and parts of it were bright and oxygenated like arterial spray, and other swirls and eddies were darker as if spent from veins. It was more blood than Lady Macbeth ever had to deal with. Another stone bridge grew across it courtesy of Yucatán, and I stepped lightly over.
And then I saw the river of pus.
As with the others, something in the riverbed provided illumination, so it was glowing pus I was looking at, a pale-yellow flow with twirling fingers of darker yellow in it. The smell was of moist rot, the kind that blowflies grow fat upon, and indeed there were churning fists of squirmy maggots floating upon it, and clouds of buzzing flies hovering above it.
I felt no desire to move past it, and not only because the flies would probably pester me to the point of falling in the river. Nightmares waited on the other side: toothsome bats shrieking in the dark, and who knew what else. The Lords of Xibalba, no doubt. By all accounts they were not the hospitable type, and I didn’t want them to figure out I’d popped in for a nice long gawk.
But it was magnificent: three fantastic, impossible rivers imagined by humans and maintained by their belief. Sights like that renew my sense of wonder at the world, which flags from time to time.
Feeling rejuvenated and blessed, I returned across the rivers and picked my way past bones, ascending to the surface. But just at the open portal connecting Xibalba and earth, where I could see the slightly different cast to the stone of the subterranean cave in Belize, I spied a body lying on the floor on the Xibalba side.
It was the body of Faolan. Against my explicit direction and no doubt thinking he was going to protect me, or acting out of loyalty, or maybe just hurrying after me to say he had changed his mind, he had followed me into the land of the dead. And in so doing, without any protection, he had died.
He looked like he was sleeping, and the brief flare of hope that maybe he was still alive only increased my pain when I confirmed he wasn’t.
I carefully cradled Faolan’s body in my arms and bore him out of Xibalba, all my joy turned to regret, and under that bound tree, where there were birds and insects and life all around me, I just cried for him a while, remembering his favorite insults and his adorable tendency to argue for about thirty seconds max before tearing into me with his claws or teeth. He’d come a long way, honestly. When I first met him he’d lasted only five seconds before resorting to violence.
He wouldn’t have wanted to stay in a jungle, so I shifted us back to where we first met, on the shoreline of Lac Seul in Ontario, and I buried him there and told him I was so very sorry for my many personal faults but mostly for my stupid thrill-seeking and carelessly allowing him to come to harm.
—
“After that I didn’t bond with any animal for more than a year at a time, until I met you, Oberon. I only taught them some basic words, never gave them Immortali-Tea, and parted ways to let them live their natural lives. I couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for their deaths.”
<But you weren’t responsible, Atticus! You told him not to follow and what the consequences would be, and he did it anyway.>
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have given him the choice. I put him in a position to make that mistake. He never would have been there if it weren’t for me. So that’s why I can’t give you the choice to come with me to face Ragnarok. Frost giants and fire giants and those draugar we faced that one time are just the beginning, I’d imagine, of what lies ahead. It’s far more dangerous than me spelunking in Belize to get my kicks. This is an entire underworld—who knows, maybe more than one—coming to the surface to start some shit. I’d never forgive myself if they hurt you.”
<Okay, I understand all that, Atticus.> He inched forward on the ground and looked right at me to emphasize his point. <I do. But I want to be wherever you are. Especially if you aren’t coming back.>
“I plan to come back, Oberon. And I plan to do my best to save a bunch of innocents from becoming casualties of Loki’s ambition. All I’m trying to do is make sure you’re not one of them. And, besides, you won’t be alone. You’ll be with Orlaith and Starbuck, Jack and Algy, and maybe you’ll get to see your puppies be born.”
Oberon put his head down on his front paws and offered up a disgruntled whimper, his eyes turned up pleadingly.
<You leave me no choice but to deploy the puppy-dog eyes, Atticus. These come with +10 charisma and I’d have to roll a 1 on a 20-sided die to fail. You are helpless to repel this assault of cuteness and will agree to take me with you into battle as it was foretold in days of yore.>
“Ohhh, no. Not the puppy-dog eyes! Do you even remember how much sausage that look has earned you over the years?”
<Well, I’d certainly like to, but you know I’m not very good at adding up big numbers. Hey—hold the tofu! You’re trying to change the subject to sausage!>
“It usually works, doesn’t it?”
Oberon’s expression fell and he heaved a heavy sigh. <You’re not going to let me win this time, are you?>
“I’m sorry, buddy. But you know it’s because of love, right?”
My hound snorted. <Well, duh, of course! It’s the whole reason we’re having this argument!>
“C’mere, you,” I said, holding out my arms. Oberon rose to his feet and moved forward until his head rested on my shoulder and I could hug him around the neck. I leaned the side of my head against his. “You’ve been the best friend ever.”
<Oh, I know, I mean—hey! That sounded like a goodbye. You just said you were coming back!>
“I said I plan on it. But I’m quite sure that others have different plans for me. So, you know, just in case my plans don’t work out, I didn’t want it to go unsaid. You’ve kept me sane and grounded since the day we met, and you renew my appreciation for the little things in life, like food and naps and smelling things.”
<I think those are the big things in life, Atticus.>
“I know that, buddy.”
<And defying squirrels. That’s crucial.>
“Couldn’t agree more. Come on. I bet there’s time for one last big blowout feast before I have to go do my thing. What do you say we head back to Oregon and get cooking for everyone?”
<I bet you can’t set up a salad bar that’s a meat bar instead, with different gravies at the end rather than salad dressings, and you will serve us whatever we want on giant platters with little tongs and ladles and then give us belly rubs afterward.>
I laughed at his imagination. “You might have hit upon a fabulous new dining concept there. Okay, challenge accepted. Let’s eat.”
FOR LEVI AND ROSCOE:
I DO BELIEVE YOU’LL GO FAR.