Hunting in Hell by Maria Violante

bliss.   She knew the truth of it then, that this nameless, fatherless daughter was once hers.  
    A wave of grief overtook her, and she felt her knees buckle.   Deep strands of love and loss ripped through her like a maternal tide.   The stone pulsed as she hit the ground, and a hideous wail bubbled from deep within.   She recognized the laughing scream of madness from her dreams.  
    You can see it now, can't you?   You were doomed from the start.  
    Doomed once, forgotten once, doomed again.
    The peacock opened his mouth, exposing a longue, pink tongue.
    Burn.
    His eyes fell out of his skull, leaving behind gaping sockets that the light did not penetrate.   Perfect isohedrons, they bounced lightly before rolling to a stop at her feet.  
    Without warning, the great fan of his tail burst into white flames.   Alsvior whickered as the blaze spread through the giant feathers, but De la Roca couldn't move.    Within seconds, the peacock's body burned with the intensity of a funeral pyre.
    Her grief overtook her, and she curled into a ball on the floor.   She moaned and rubbed her guns against her face.
      Alsvior whinnied shrilly and grabbed her by the collar, tugging violently with his teeth.   She struggled in response, flailing wildly, unwilling to leave the scene.   A shot rang out from the pistol in her left, pinging as it ricocheted off of the walls of the cave. It tore through the flaming fan of tail feathers and they turned to ash.
    Muscles trembling, Alsvior dragged her backwards through the giant room and into the tunnel.   The heat continued to build.  
    As soon as he reached the spot where they had begun, a terrific explosion sounded from the direction of the room, followed by a wall of scalding pressure.   Alsvior shielded De la Roca with his body as the wave hit them both.

 
    Thirteen
     

     
    " D o you have the stone?"
    Laufeyson's hazel eyes suddenly appeared in her realm of vision, the black edges fading away in spots.  
    "De la Roca," he said, his voice sharp with urgency, "do you have the stone?"
    "Eyes," she mumbled, before she lost consciousness again.
    * * *
     
    She awoke to a vague wetness on her face, an insistent moist pressure that traveled down her cheek and to her neck.     Her eyelids, sticky and caked, refused to open.   She shifted groggily, amazed at the sensations of screaming muscles and the gritty textures upon her skin.
    She was uneasy, but her addled mind would not allow her the comfort of understanding why.   She took a deep breath, and her nervousness subsided, assuaged by the smell of the air—thick, vaguely warm, pleasant and somehow familiar.    
    When she had finally eased herself into a sitting position, she turned her head and stared right into the eyes of a brown American Paint with a white streak on the muzzle.   They both held the stare and blinked.  
    "Hey buddy."   She reached out gently, so as not to spook him, "Hey partner."
    The horse tossed its head once, the dark mane flying about wildly.   He neighed softly and nuzzled her again.
    "Well, aren’t you a beauty."
    "Glad to see you're awake."  
    The man had slipped behind her unnoticed.   She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, a primitive instinct that set off alarm bells in her head.   Her rational brain fought to overpower the sudden quickening in her chest and the rush of blood through her face.   The man seemed friendly enough.
    Be careful , warned a gravely voice she couldn't identify.   It's not always possible to identify a viper by sight.
    "Do I know you?"
    His mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide.   "De la Roca?"
    Her forehead crinkled once in confusion, pondering the name.   Was that Spanish?   And who is this man?   Do I know him?   Perhaps she had met him in on the street, or in a bar somewhere.   She tried to remember a bar that she might frequent, but nothing came to mind.  
    "It's me, Laufeyson."   He stared at her with a pointed fixation that made