The Twelve Days of Christmas (v)

Day One - Day Two - Day Three - Day Four

Dramatis Personae… Mammon (Overlord of Purgatory), Dante Alighieri (an Italian poet), Chemosh (a demon of Purgatory), Five Gold Rings (material temptation), Vesper (the protagonist), Evensong (his love), Sergei Rachmaninov (love as unattainable), Vasuman (a very angry, two-faced werewolf), Two Turtle Doves (god’s wrath), A Christmas Tree (Hell & Purgatory (love gone wrong)), An Apocalypse (an apocalypse), The Room-Around (the real world).

Day Five
Branch 190

Mammon was a tall, skinny man. Not that one could see his feeble frame, for it was dressed in so many layers of finery that he found it hard to move. What with all his silken robes and golden chains, he preferred to travel by means of an ornate carriage which was borne by six beautiful maidens. At this moment, his carriage was being carried along a lower branch of Purgatory. A man was trying to keep pace alongside.

"Dante, please. I don’t have time for this," said Mammon, from within his carriage.
"Mi spiace, ma Mammon! It is something I write durante la mia vita mortale!"
"Do not speak to me of your mortal life, Dante. It fails to interest me."
"Ovviamente sire, non importa, but this book is my own work. È originale!"
"Dante. I’ve read it. Ever decreasing concentric circles of Hell? A man travelling from Hell to Heaven to find his love? It all sounds very familiar and dull."
"Per favore, Mammon, molti mortals read this poem con intresse-"

Dante burst into flame as he walked. His blazing corpse took a few final steps before crashing to the floor. The carriage travelled without pause.

Mammon was used to people trying to sell him things. From Purgatory, entrance to Heaven was gained by collecting a prescribed number of tokens. Repenting for your sins was the official way of earning these tokens but more often than not Mammon would have people trying to exchange gifts for a little extra currency. Mammon didn’t mind. He enjoyed collecting valuable things; his collections of art were immense and ever-growing.

But this book by Dante? Mammon thought it was trite. Firstly, the structure of his Hell mimicked the conical Tree. Secondly, his tale of a man travelling to Heaven to find his love was so commonplace in the Tree that, indeed, it was near-everybody’s job to stop it from happening. Dante’s book was nothing new.

In fact, these were the reasons that brought Mammon to the border of Purgatory and Hell today. It was Christmas, which meant a lot of escaped prisoners trying to cross over. It was also the Armageddon, which meant a lot of escaped prisoners without much time trying to cross over. Luckily, there were systems in place to help with this.

"Halt!" he said.

They were mid-way along the branch. Due to the Tree’s shape, the branches were shorter in Purgatory and Mammon could see the light of the room-around – the room-around-the-tree – from here. Its warm glow filtered through the leaves. Mammon poked his head out of the carriage and surveyed the branch ahead.

Arrayed along the length of it were a hundred goblins, all in a line and holding a huge chain. The chain went down the length of the branch, to a pulley, where it turned and ran back to the trunk. At that end, it disappeared into a hole in the tree.

A man with the head of a fish stood nearby, carrying a large horn.

"Chemosh," said Mammon.

The fish-headed man stepped up to the carriage.

"Yeth, Mammon?"
"It is time. How many tokens did you offer the goblins?"
"Thew each, thur. Ath you thaid."
"Good. Perhaps they will have time to pay their way into Heaven before the end."
"I doubt it, thur."
"So do I Chemosh, so do I. Sound the horn."

Chemosh put the horn to his fish-lips and blew. A bass note thundered through the branches and the goblins started a great clamouring. They all took out dark goggles and put them on, before hauling with all their might at the chain. The chain creaked as it started to move.

"Goggles, Chemosh," said Mammon.

Mammon and Chemosh took out dark goggles and put them on. Mammon’s were inlaid with gold.

Pine needles started falling from above and they both looked up to see a huge golden ring moving out through the Tree. It was twenty feet tall and its flawless surface knocked against branches as the goblins strained and heaved at the elaborate pulley system. A strange clanking came from the trunk as the Ring slowly made its way out to the edge of the Tree. Both Mammon and Chemosh stared in wonder.

"It ith a beautiful thight…" said Chemosh.
"It is. Do not remove the goggles - it will draw you like a siren, Chemosh."

A goblin suddenly broke ranks and started screeching and leaping at the moving Ring. He had removed his goggles. He jumped and jumped until he missed his footing and fell screaming through the branches below. Mammon looked to his right and left and saw similar rings slowly moving through the Tree.

"Do not let the goblins rest until the Rings hang far beyond the Tree’s edge."
"Very good, thur."

Mammon clapped his hands and his carriage bearers took him back towards the trunk.

Day Five
304th Branch

Vesper stood on a branch, surrounded by flames and holding his dagger to a man’s throat. Around him lay several broken, plastic, life-sized figures of Santa Claus.

"Da! Da, pozhalusta!" said the man with the dagger to his throat.

Vesper had made it up the stairwell a fair way before he was attacked by ornaments in the Tree. The attack was a surprise (who’d assume that the Christmas decorations would come alive?) but his dagger had come in useful. In the confusion, this strange man had somehow become involved in the fight. Vesper pressed the blade against his throat, but the man made no attempt to struggle. In fact, he seemed to be leaning into the blade, welcoming it. Vesper released him in horror.

"Who are you?"
"Menya zovut Sergei."
"What? Speak English!"
"Ty govorish po russki?"

Vesper held the dagger threateningly, but the man simply smiled.

"Do not be angered or afraid. My name is Sergei Rachmaninov."
"What are you doing here?"
"I was travelling. To Heaven."
"Why?"
"To find lyubimaya moya. My love."

Vesper was concerned at how many people were doing the same thing as him. However, he was also gladdened.

"I am doing the same – her name is Evensong. What is your love’s name?"
"Pianoforte."
"How do you know she’s in Heaven?"

Rachmaninov laughed, soft and deep.

"It is not a woman, friend. Pianoforte is an instrument. It is music."
"You are travelling to Heaven to find music?"
"That is correct."
"I don’t understand…"
"I am a pianist. I play. I compose. It is – it was – my life."
"Then let us help each other."
"No. Let me remain here."
"But why?"

Rachmaninov held up his hands. All his fingers were gone, the stumps bleeding. Some had twigs stuck in them.

"My hands, my precious hands. They are gone," he looked emotionlessly at the broken Santas, "Those destroyers... Svinya!" he spat on their broken bodies, "There is no hope for me. My love is ended."

Vesper didn’t know what to say. Rachmaninov’s face was devoid of expression.

"Sergei, maybe they can do something for you in Heaven?"
"No. Some love is unattainable, friend. Listen to me - when I was a mortal man and still had hands, their spans were near-two octaves."
"That is… Impressive."
"No, wait. I would compose music that could only be played with such hands – my hands. Yet people would still try and play it. Some would develop strange ways of playing, such that their smaller stretch could manage, whilst others had to resign to the fact that some music was unattainable to their playing. It is the same as love."
"This is true."
"Can you be sure your own love isn’t unattainable?"
"Of course! She loved me."
"But does she now? Unlike music on a stave, people are ever-changing. The unattainable become the touched, the attained become the unreachable. How long has it been since you last saw her?"
"One thousand, three hundred and ninety years. Perhaps more."
"Then how can you be sure?"

Vesper was silent at this.

"Izvini, friend – I am sorry. I do not mean to suggest your love is as evidently out of reach as mine. It may be, it may not be."
"That is what I quest to find out, then."
"No. You believe in your soul that your love is mutual. Otherwise you would not go through this."
"Maybe you’re right."
"I am right. So are you. Without this hope in love, what are we? Nothing. Nichivo."
"You are not nothing, Sergei."
"Please, just leave me or kill me. I care not which. But go."

Rachmaninov calmly sat down on the branch, flames raging all around him. Vesper turned and continued up the tree.

Day Five
The Floor Beneath The Tree

Vasuman rose, dripping in hot blood, from the back of a giant Turtle Dove. He looked into the gory hole he’d just burrowed through the Dove’s spine. He licked his lips.

The fight had taken a long time. From wrestling with the two burning birds as they fell, to the tiring struggle on the floor beneath the Tree. Every ounce of Vasuman’s body was geared towards fighting, whether human or wolf, and fighting half of god’s wrath had exhausted him.

He stumbled down the side of the bird and collapsed to the floor. His body, though badly burnt and wounded, was already healing rapidly. He raised a tired eye to inspect his surroundings. It was a huge, stone basin – its vertical sides towered around him. The floor stretched out in every direction. A few people were in here with him, scattered around the expansive floor; some sitting aimlessly, others attempting to climb the walls in vain, still others trying to climb the trunk of the Tree – which grew from the centre of the basin. He looked up to see the blazing underside of the Tree, ash and corpses falling from it, screaming creatures jumping out of it. It was all landing in the basin.

He shook his head, smiling. He heard a loud cooing behind him, and he turned to see the live Dove nuzzling its dead brother. It noticed the werewolf and looked directly at him, the fire gone from its eyes. Vasuman approached it.

"Hello, wrath of god," he said.
"Coo," said the Dove, lightly pecking his shoulder.

Vasuman petted the Dove’s beak and grinned.