BURN IN HADES by Michael L. Martin Jr. Page B

useless.”
    “Useless maybe to you,” said the Raven. “To them, there’s nothing more valuable than life, even when it’s just a distant memory. Some would do just about anything for an exodus. No matter how minor the escape.”
    A crowd had gathered inside the courtyard of the temple. Among the normal-looking human souls were dog heads and falcon heads on human bodies, human heads on lion bodies, spirits wrapped in bandages from head to toe and more of the beautiful cat ladies.
    The souls of Amenthes were nice enough to make his execution more of a festival. In an odd way, he appreciated all effort they put into the decorations on such short notice. They didn’t know he was coming and already musicians were playing instruments while singers harmonized to the wondrous melody. The hypnotizing symphony was all for him, and he loved it for what it was.
    He caught himself smiling and bobbing his head to the music and had to thrust himself back into character so as to not raise any suspicions. Hundreds of souls had gathered to see the show, and a show they were about to get.
    He and the Raven repeated the con they had successfully pulled off with the squals. She turned him in. He cussed and fussed and protested. She collected the sack of objects. Two dog men grabbed him at his sides.
    “Get your paws off me,” said Cross, playing up his role.
    The mongrels shoved him past a ghostly spirit holding a sign that read: The Resurrection of the Dead Approaches. The End Is Near.
    “You must mean the rear end,” said Cross. “Because your head’s far up your ass.”
    One of the dog-men punched him in the stomach—a real punch that snatched all his wind from his lungs. There was no faking in his reaction. He doubled over trying to gather his breath and stamina.
    The mangy mongrels dragged him across the glossy black floor, guided him up to a crystal altar and stood him in front of the high priest, a lion with all its hair shaved off. Ugly dark splotches tainted his wrinkled pink skin. The Raven held Cross’s blade out flat in both her hands and presented it to the high priest with her head bowed.
    “As a token of my gratitude,” she said to the high priest, “I would suggest you use this blade.”
    The high priest waved her off without even glancing at the blade. “We have our own.”
    “Oh, not like this one,” said the Raven. “This once belonged to the goddess Sia.”
    The high priest dropped his gaze onto the obsidian blade. “Are you sure?”
    “I discovered it in Re’s boat. Thought maybe I’d find the sacred papyrus in there too, but this was all I found. The deities sure left in a hurry.”
    The Raven lied almost as well as Cross, but he couldn’t figure out why she wanted the high priest to use his obsidian blade specifically. Even the high priest hesitated, lifting a suspicious eyebrow—or where his eyebrow would have been if he had any hair.
    “Look, I have my bounty already,” said the Raven holding up the new sack of objects. “I could’ve left town without saying a word and kept the blade for myself. I just thought it would mean more to you and your people than it does to me. But if you don’t want it, I’m sure it can make some hodder happy.”
    The high priest placed his paw on the blade. “No, no. We shall take it.”
    The Raven sneaked a wink at Cross. He knew everything would be alright even as the dog-men laid him over their altar. He struggled as believably as he could without actually trying to escape.
    “Let me go, you dirty mutts,” he said. “Why don’t you go chase your high priest down the road like the dogs you are? Your high priest is nothing but a bald pussy. You know it. I know it. Everybody knows it.”
    The Amenthesians prayed over him just like the squals had, but in their own unique, guttural language. Their native tongue sounded as if they were chanting magic spells, even though the only magic in the underworld lay within the objects that special souls brought to