"I can't use this blind. Maybe it'll do you some good wherever you are," Spyder said.

There was a spiral wrought-iron stairway beyond the open gates, and sounds came from deep below. Some were rhythmic, others random. The rhythmic sounds were like the banging of vast and relentless machines. The arrhythmic sounds were screams. The walls of the cave flickered as if someone were quickly clicking a light switch on and off.

Before they entered the gates, Shrike knelt on the floor, took a handful of dust and sprinkled it over her head. "Count Non and Primo Kosinski. Strength to your spirits, my comrades, my friends."

"Vaya con dios," said Spyder quietly.

"Sweet dreams, guys" Lulu said.

She slipped the blindfold over Spyder's eyes and made sure it was tight. Shrike took Spyder's left hand and he took Lulu's left. They walked through the gates of Hell and started down the long spiral staircase into the abyss.

Forty Two

Izanami and Red Dragon

The first great war on Earth took place millions of years ago when the warrior princess, Izanami, fought Red Dragon, the rapacious prince of the west.

With her army following behind, Izanami ran all the way across the land of Jodo to fight Red Dragon. Izanami finally cornered and defeated Red Dragon in a battle that lasted for years and destroyed a third of their kingdom.

Izanami had a secret known only a few of her most trusted officers. Izanami didn't defeat Red Dragon because she was a cleverer tactician or a stronger warrior. Izanami won because she was insane.

She came to the battle field in a heavy cloak, under which she was wrapped in chains. As she entered the battle-field, she looked small and lost. It was only when she was released from all her heavy restraints that the full power of her madness was brought down on Red Dragon. Izanami won the battle by exploding a volcano in the Khumbu Mountains. The lava and ash almost destroyed the world, but killed Red Dragon and his army first.

Izanami was the first hero on Earth, though few have ever heard of her historic combat. Her story remains popular with her people, but even among scholars across the three Spheres, Izanami's story is obscure.

The Nio, Izanami's people, were smoke wraiths. The entire epic war between Izanami and Red Dragon lasted no longer than the span of a human breath-but for the Nio, that breath was a lifetime. And that was Izanami's other secret. She knew how insignificant her people and their victory were in the universe. Its insignificance made the victory seem all the sweeter to Izanami, proving once again that the logic of Tricksters and the enlightened are hard to tell apart.

Forty Three

Eaten Alive

They seemed to walk forever, but they never grew tired or hungry or thirsty.

"What a lousy day to stop smoking crack," said Spyder, stumbling on the staircase for maybe the fiftieth time. He had a deathgrip on the metal railing. It had never occurred to him that something as simple as walking down a flight of stairs could be such a pain in the ass when blind. His balance was off, his whole sense of where he ended and other objects began was gone and every new scream and sound from below startled him.

"I knew this reporter down in LA. He was doing a series of stories on local sub-cultures for one of the alternative weeklies. You know, the kind of scene-hopping bullshit that desk monkeys and teenyboppers read to feel edgy. Eventually, his editor wants him to write about the Hell's Angels. He gets a hookup to their clubhouse and he's surprised by how smart and cool most of the Angels seem. At the end of his formal interview, they tell him they're having a party and he should come, so he can get a better idea of what's what. Sure, he says, expecting a phone call or a flyer or something." Spyder stumbled again. Shrike caught him by the shoulder. "Thanks. About three in the morning, he's in bed. When he opens his eyes, he finds about a half-dozen Angels in his bedroom. `Get dressed,' they tell him. He's no dummy. He does what he's told. Outside are about a dozen more Angels. They rev their bikes loud enough to peel paint off the neighbors' houses and roar out into the canyons over the Hollywood Hills, with my reporter friend riding bitch on the back of some guy's bike.

"The thing about those canyons is, there's a lot of bodies buried out there. A million years from now, archeologists are going to understand us completely from all the bones of the dead TV producers, junkie musicians, porn stars and coke dealers scattered all up in those canyons. And my friend doesn't know if he's going to get laid or stomped or shot in the head and buried in a shallow grave. Then they round a corner and he sees the lights and hears the music. The Angels promised him a party and, sure enough, there's a party going on.

"But an Angel party isn't a regular kind of party. There's a lot of guys on massive doses of acid, playing William Tell with fifty caliber handguns. There's knives flying by and gangbangs and more beer than in all of Milwaukee. And here's my little artsy-fartsy weekly newsrag lit major buddy trying to be Cool Hand Luke with it all. The thing he said, though, and I believe this, was that after a while he really was cool with the savage craziness. The party went on all night and into the next day, and the way he put it, `You can only be terrified for so long.'"

"I guess you're still looking for your happy place on this trip," said Lulu.

"Working on it. I figure Hell can't be any worse than Houston."

"Are we close to the bottom, Lulu?" asked Shrike.

"Damned if I know. It just keeps going down."

"It's getting hot," said Shrike.

"Yeah, but it's a dry heat," said Spyder. No one laughed.

"Why can't the Prince of Darkness have an elevator? Ozzy would," Lulu said.

"Don't disrespect the demons in their own house, dear."

"Yes, daddy."

"Maybe this should be a quiet time, while we try to get our bearings," said Shrike.

Spyder stumbled again, cursed. He leaned over the railing and felt a warm wind rising from somewhere below. It still smelled of roses, but there was an undercurrent of something musky and subterranean, darkly fungal. Spyder had to admit that he was a little surprised and kind of annoyed with himself. After all the reading and study he'd done concerning the underworld, now that he was actually here, he kind of wanted the place to be a furnace full of guys in red suits, pointy beards and pitchforks. Those childhood images and fears never go away and never really get updated, he thought. You can add on new ones, but you never completely bury the old nightmares.

"How many angels are there?" asked Lulu.

"Depends on who you ask, but the consensus is between a hundred million and a billion. And a third of them went down with Lucifer when he got the door."

"You're saying, there's like thirty million crackhead angels down there?"

"Give or take."

"How fucked are we?"

"It could be worse," said Shrike. "We're sneaking into to a mad place at a chaotic time. War is a great cover for crime."

"What's going to be down at the bottom of this staircase?" asked Lulu.

"I wish I knew," Spyder said. "Hell's pretty flexible. Different to different people at different times. It's got a geography, all these little fiefdoms controlled by Lucifer's lodge buddies. There's the big boy's palace in the biggest city, Pandemonium. Some prophets say Hell's just a big, pointless machine, that all the damned souls are cogs and gears and that the machine's only purpose is to grow with no purpose at all. Others say that life in Hell's just like life on earth, only more hopeless and boring. Some traditional types still go with the fire and brimstone story, and why not? Someone's got to have that old school stick up their ass." Spyder shrugged. "I've talked to Shrike about the demons and laws and traps I've read about, but, we're not going to know what's down there until we're on the ground."