His face, now stoic, only ever shifted to either melancholy or glee. His gunslinger mustache of flaming red was lent a strange cast from the flaring blaze of his eyes, which were the hallmark purple of the mists of Limbo.
He remembered then what the Earther, Andy Crowley, had given him. The gift of heavy metal music: the art of rage and joy at once — the truth that we are, each of us, at once and always, both hero and sinner within.
He squeezed the neck of his legendary magic banjo and tipped his worn bowler hat to the young sorcerer’s grave.
“La Villa Strangiato” the Banjoman said.
“When all that’s been said has been done” the Banjoman whispered to the tombstone. “And all that’s been done has been said.”
“There is only that all souls wander back to the Eden, the truth, that we are not many souls — but one.”
The Lord of Limbo turned from Andy Crowley’s grave on Mars and stepped through the high pewter Ouroboros archway, where roiled the amethyst mists of Limbo, the realm between all realms where even death is but the middle of things.
Read the Andy Crowley Saga