Chapter Seven

Setting out at sunrise, he followed the stones. He held them in his hands, thought about Catherine, and then the knowledge was his of what direction to go. He crossed meadows, plains, and then followed a dried out riverbed for most of the day. The sun sailed high through a cloudless sky; it was warm, and his footsteps kicked up small dust clouds.

It was the middle of the afternoon when Vincent stopped to rest. The sheer sides of mountains rose up on either side of the pass he walked; a small waterfall splashed cold, pure water; he cupped his hands, and drank. He sat on a boulder for a moment, setting down his backpack beside him. He gazed at the path ahead. There was a large formation of stalactites jutting out at angles from the mountain sides, stalagmites rising from the floor of the pass. Then they all began to move.

Slowly at first, and then picking up force and speed, the rocks crashed together, then drew back again, a weird ballet to first position. That mouth wants to chew me up, he mused. He could hear a deep rumbling from within the formation, hungry guts growling to be filled with his flesh.

The North Stars hung around his neck; he grasped them in his hand, and opened his mind. He fell into a daydream of sorts, about the pockets and ledges that were part of the rock formation.

He pulled off his boots and socks. Vincent's claws didn't grow as long from his toes as they did from his fingers, but they were present, and his toes were very strong and agile. He shrugged off his cape, vest, and stripped down to his bare chest. When his fur was exposed, he gained a huge advantage in sensing proximity to objects. He rolled up all his discarded clothes and stuffed them into his pack.

He set his pack on his shoulders, squared them, took a breath, and took off at a run for the chompers. He leapt and flew through the air, landing in a niche on a descending stalactite. He landed in a crouched position, and immediately sprang forward, landing on a ledge on a transverse traveling stalagmite. He spied a solid handhold in a pillar of moving rock before him, and he sprang. He landed securely, but the column began to slowly spin. He pushed off and dropped onto a ledge, from which he sprang into a pocket just in time to escape being hit by a descending boulder.

And so he made his way through, leaping, crouching, pushing off, sometimes scrambling up a rocky surface, as the rocks crashed, traveled and spun. At the very end, just as he was pushing off a ledge to exit, stalactites dropped and stalagmites rose to meet and capture the material of his trouser leg. He dangled for a second, flailing; then the rock began to spin. He gained momentum, finally spinning fast enough to cause him to fly spread-eagled, horizontal to the ground. The material of his trousers gave, and as it ripped, he flew into the mountain wall beyond the chomper.

Catherine sat silently at the defense table in between her clients. She watched the judges sitting at their bench. Minos finished reading a file, stamped it, and passed it to Rhadamanthus. Rhadamanthus finished signing the last form in a thick stack of paper, and passed the stack to Aeacus. Aeacus sat back, arms folded across his chest, staring at the frozen computer screen, waiting for IT to call him back.

"How long we been sittin' here?" asked Gemma, too loudly.

"What difference does it make?" asked Clay. "I'd rather sit here than in my cell."

"I want a cigarette," said Gemma, too loudly.

"There's no smoking here," whispered Catherine. "Gemma, you've got to keep your voice down."

"You haven't had a cigarette in two years, Gemma," rasped Clay, "you have to be over the cravings by now."

"Miss Chandler," Minos admonished, "you have failed to file your NSOA 15-2202, your NHB 16-055, and your NPR 9329."

"And we can't proceed until your clients have completed their T800M101 Certifications," droned Rhadamanthus. "What were you thinking, Miss Chandler?"

"You should know about cravings, you filthy pig fucker, you never could keep it in your pants."

"Control your clients, Miss Chandler," warned Minos.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," said Catherine.

"What in the fuck was that about?" whispered Clay.

"Like you don't know. Like I have to tell you. I see the way you look at her," hissed Gemma, indicating Catherine.

"Her?" asked Clay, incredulous. "One. She's a total tool. Two. She's fat."

"WHO'S fat?" demanded Catherine, standing.

"Miss Chandler!" yelled Rhadamanthus.

"Sorry, honey, you're just not my type," murmured Clay.

"What type is that? Washed-out slut?" snarled Catherine.

Gemma tapped her on the shoulder, and when she turned, she punched her in the nose so hard that Catherine flew backward. When she landed on the floor, the button on the waistband of her skirt, and the buttons of her blouse flew off, sailing all the way across the courtroom. As her double chin and body fat popped up against her clothes, Catherine started to sob.

The sun was setting in a red-washed horizon. Vincent left off his examination of his mutilated right hand when the tide of Catherine's despair engulfed him. His heart felt heavy, grieving for her. He resolved to leave his half-roasted fish staked beside his campfire, wrap his hand and resume the trail when he felt a feathery light touch on his shoulder.

"She's going to be alright, Vincent," said Hecate softly. "You need to rest, eat, heal."

"Hecate," he implored, "I must get to her."

"Please trust me when I tell you that although she is very sad right now, she will be fine. She will rest, she will eat, she will sleep, and she will rise again tomorrow. You must do likewise."

Vincent sighed, and bowed his head. "I accede to your greater wisdom, Goddess."

"I know it's not easy for you," she said kindly. "Let's take a look at your hand." He held it out to her. "You can heal that, you know."

He looked down at his hand. He turned it over once, then twice, and then it was healed. He made a fist; he flexed it. He looked up at Hecate.

"Thank you, goddess. Will you eat with me?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded. He helped her lower herself to the ground, and sat beside her. He handed her one of the spits, and she began to tear off pieces of fish, and eat. He'd found wild grapes, olives and plums, and gave her a share of them.

"It's all very good," she praised him.

"Thanks to you, Great Hecate," he answered. He offered her the canteen.

Twilight settled over the plain as they finished their meal. One by one, stars appeared in the still light sky. "Twilight is one of my favorite times of day," she said. "Twilight and dawn, the two times of day when the world is suspended in a state of transition. Change looms; decisions are no longer avoidable, a course of action must be chosen, commitments made."

Vincent nodded. "Possibilities stretch endlessly before us."

"Yes. But one cannot exist in a state of indecision, confused and vacillating. One must choose a path, and walk it."

"It is sometimes difficult to know which path to follow."

"Yes. But it's always best to start by knowing who you are."

He rose and stepped away. The corner of his mouth tugged up in a sad half-smile, and he shook his head. "That is the question, Goddess, the very theme of my life. Who, or rather what, am I?" He paused for a moment, then realization dawned on him. "Goddess—you must know—please tell me, where did I come from?"

She sighed. "One day, you will know your origins. But the time for that revelation has been ordained, and is not now upon us, I'm sorry. But," she stood up as she continued, "this is the time for you to look inside yourself, and embrace all that is there." She nodded. "All."

"Embrace a raging beast?"

"Is it a raging beast or is it the strength of a warrior? And perhaps more importantly, is it really possible for you to keep that part of yourself caged, as it were? Can one man be two separate beings at the same time?" She approached him and laid a hand on his arm. "Can you live a full life hating yourself?"

"How can I accept the part of me that glories in shredding men to ribbons?"

"THAT, Vincent, is the question you must answer for yourself." She turned, and seated herself on a boulder. "You see yourself as a kind teacher, a gentle friend, a loving son, a scholar, a poet…and you abhor the warrior that dwells among them."

"A skulking, ferocious killer, devoid of conscience, that thrills in the smell of hot blood and the screams of the dying. My heart pounds then, with joy, at their agony. I am the monster Paracelsus accused me of being."

"Are you sure that's the monster, not the human? Are you sure every human doesn't harbor a monster he uses to defend himself and his loved ones? I think you forget it's your father that sends you out to kill to protect your Tunnel family. Think about that. Your father will do anything to avoid violence, and yet even he concedes that there are times when one must kill to protect those he loves. And he sends you. He doesn't procure a weapon and go out himself, your Tunnel family don't arm themselves and go out, they send you. They see you as a weapon. They see you as a brother, a teacher, a kind and gentle friend, but also, as a weapon. And it's Catherine you're protecting when you kill those who threaten her. So are you sure that it's not the poet that is the unusual part of you? And what of the monster that dwells in your victims? Consider the men Paracelsus sent to abduct Catherine so that the reporter could witness you protecting her. What of their monsters? Did they not revel in seeing the fear in her eyes? Did they not take great joy in knowing she could not fight them off? And what fate did they ultimately intend for her?"

He turned to consider her, his hooded eyes dark.

"She'd seen their faces," she continued. "They are here, they dwell in Tartarus if you'd like to ask them. Were they not ruled by their monsters, to murder an innocent man and attack an innocent woman-for money?" She shook her head slightly. "You know, Vincent, after you fight, Zeus sometimes says, sarcastically, that you're upset because you won, and there might be a grain of truth in that." They fell silent, gazing at the emerging stars for some time.

"Sometimes one feels guilty about winning," she murmured at last. "I am of the race of Titans, Vincent. In the very beginning, Father Sky and Mother Earth lay together, and brought forth many children. Father Sky hated his children, and locked them up inside Mother Earth. Mother was distressed, and sought to free her children. Mother fashioned a sickle, and asked each of her sons to kill their father. Only Cronos, the youngest born, would agree, for he hated his father. When Father came to lay with Mother, Cronos wielded the sickle, and castrated Father. From the blood that spilled on sea foam sprang Aphrodite; from the blood that spilled on sea sprang the Erinyes; from the blood that spilled on the earth sprang I. I helped Cronos free the rest of the Titans from Mother Earth. We were mighty, Vincent, we were the forces of nature…but then from beneath us rose up a generation stronger. I fell in love with one of them, Hades. And when Zeus rose up against Cronos, I joined with Zeus and Hades and helped them defeat Cronos. The Titans were vanquished. Our youth ended, the sun set on our era."

"Hecate, there is no goddess more vibrant than you."

She smiled her gratitude for his kindness. "I thought Hades loved me. I thought I would rule the Underworld by his side, as his queen. But he fell in love with Persephone. And so I betrayed my brothers, my sisters, for what? A dream. A very foolish dream."

"No. No, goddess," he said softly. "Persephone is lovely, but Hades was a fool to lose you. Of all the goddesses, you are the most lovely, the wisest, the warmest, and you have the most loving heart. Your love for mortals is unsurpassed among the gods, and humanity cherishes your spirit of the tranquil hearth above all others."

She sighed. "Well, I shall reach out to the vibrant, desirable goddess within me."

"And I shall reach out to the beast."