Stone
Hope is silent as we make our way from the gates, through the Valley of the Soulless, and over Devil’s Peak—named for my father after he created it. An enormous expanse of sky stretches out ahead of us, seemingly never ending. The color matches the humans’ dawn. An hour later, the car descends on the other side of the mountain, toward the modern city where my penthouse is located.
Massive, glossy, cutting-edge skyscrapers made of metal and glass come into view as we enter the Eighth Circle. I exhale. I’m strangely annoyed that I’m back. It doesn’t even feel like home anymore, for whatever reason. Virgil guides the limo onto the busy city streets. I look over at Hope and watch her expression turn from scared shitless to bewildered.
“Not what you were expecting?”
“Um, no,” she answers, sounding shocked. “Not at all.”
“What did you think you’d see in the Circles?”
“Fire and brimstone?” Her words come out more like a question.
“Fire and brimstone,” I repeat, and smile at her assumptions. “Well,” I point to the ancient street lanterns sprinkled throughout the modern city. “There’s fire in those.”
Hope narrows her gaze at me, as if I’m crazy.
“It’s raining, my Lord. Traffic is heavy, but you’ll be home shortly,” Virgil states.
“Thank you,” I reply, and look out the window, only to startle when Hope leans across my lap to get a better vantage point. “There is one on your side.”
“Why are the raindrops red?”
“They’re called blood tears.”
Her face scrunches. “They’re blood?”
“No—the water here is stained crimson.”
“Why?”
“To remind the dark souls of their sins.”
Hope sits back up and falls quiet as we continue through the concrete streets. We pull in front of the tall, steel building adorned with glass curtain walls. The tubular structure has a twist in its design, coming to a point at the top. It’s meant to mimic a flame. The red-tinted glass and crimson sky backdrop add to the design.
Virgil pulls us into the garage at the bottom of the building and I wait until he comes around and opens my door. I look at Hope and try to offer a reassuring smile. “Ready?”
Her frown deepens. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.” I look to the group. Their presence is no longer needed full-time. “I’ll expect you all tomorrow for a briefing and strategy meeting, before we present Hope to my father.”
My fingers intertwine with Hope’s and I pull her out of the limo, toward the elevator. Once we’re in, I press the button for the one hundred and eighth floor.
“Why are there one hundred and eight floors? Why not just one hundred?” she asks.
“The eight symbolizes the Eighth Circle, which we’re in and I oversee.”
We ride silently up to the top floor and when the doors open, I motion for Hope to exit.
She steps out, taking everything in. Her fingers brush along the moldings and etched designs on the walls as she examines everything thoroughly.
Our steps make no sound on the iron floors. The long, maroon hallway feels regal, as we walk through each of the four arches, lit by fire-filled gold urns. I point to one.
“See? More fire.”
Her gaze slides to the flames, then back to me as she rolls her eyes.
When we come to the double doors, I press my hand on the pad. Once the identification scan is finished, the doors glide open and we enter my sanctuary. I try to calm myself; no one has ever come here, except me. And now, Hope.
A mortal and oracle, of all beings.
I look around, trying to digest what she’s seeing. The walls are a rich cream color, trimmed by black iron. The modern furniture is wrapped in crushed, red velvet to coordinate with the oriental rugs, which are also shades of wine, currant, and scarlet. Half-melted candles are haphazardly strewn about, as are my charcoal sticks and sketchpads.
Hope’s gaze lifts to the gold cathedral ceiling, which comes to a point at the top and is covered in glass, allowing for tons of natural light, as do the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“What do you think?” I ask, finding it odd that I genuinely want to know what she thinks.
“I think . . . you have a thing for red.”
A small smile crosses my lips. “It’s sort of my color, I guess.”
“At least you’ve chosen warm and dark reds. Nothing . . . vomit-worthy.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She holds my gaze. “You do that.”
I motion for her to follow me through the ten-thousand foot, open floor plan, passing by the huge sunken living room. I point out the kitchen, dining area, bathroom, library, and office, before taking her upstairs and showing her the bedrooms, more bathrooms, and the closed door which houses my art room—which she isn’t allowed in. Ever.
We end the tour in the kitchen, where I pull out two waters and place one on the concrete countertop next to her. “You should hydrate,” I point to the bottle.
“Why?”
“The temperature and humidity here are different than in the Earth realm. It’s like being in the desert sun all the time. And since you’re human, you’ll dehydrate quickly.”
Hope pauses for a moment, before opening the bottle to take a sip. The shadows of unease are visible in her eyes as she looks around her new world wearily, though she’s doing her best to appear fearless and bold.
“I don’t understand. I thought this place was somewhere people didn’t want to end up. A place of torture, pain, and suffering. Not a modern, urban, bustling city,” she states.
“Come on.” I tilt my head to the living room. “I’ll explain.”
The fire ignites upon our arrival into the room, causing Hope to pause, then throw an amused look at me, before she resumes walking and takes a seat next to me on the sectional.
“As I’ve mentioned, there are nine Circles. I rule over the Eighth. Not all the layers within the Circles are the same. Each has a skyscraper in it, where the dark soul who oversees it lives. You’ve already been to the first when we visited Hendrix. I believe humans refer to it as limbo, a place where souls await judgment.
“Lev oversees the Second. It’s surrounded by water, like a human beach community. Only here, there are violent endless winds you must suffer through . . . and sea monsters.” Her brows arch as she takes another sip of water. “The Third Circle is basically a frozen tundra, covered in black snow, or ash. The Fourth is surrounded by rock quarries, the Fifth by the River Styx, and the Sixth by soulless graves.”
She pales.
“Vassago runs the Seventh Circle, known as the Plain of Fire. It’s our version of a forest, though, the streams are boiling and blood-red, and the trees are thorny; on the outskirts of the forest is a desert with blazing sand, where it constantly rains fire. It is guarded by harpies.”
“Sounds like a great vacation spot,” she quips.
“Even with the winds, I’d consider Lev’s circle if you want to get away.”
“I was under the impression that souls were sent here for eternal punishment.”
“They are.”
“What you described . . . it doesn’t sound like punishment. Harsh living quarters, yes.”
“That’s because the punishment is both mental and physical.”
“How so?”
“Before you enter the gates, we show you what eternity could have been like, had you not allowed your soul to become dark. We show you what a divine afterlife looks like. Then, when you enter the gates, you’re here for all time, with no chance of ever seeing the divine gates or paradise. We strip you of your hope, faith, and courage. They are replaced with despair, desolation, and anguish. Hence the script on the gates, Abandon All Hope.”
“And the punishments?”
“Depending on the Circle, they’re handled differently. In the Second, the howling winds don’t allow you to rest and souls are haunted
by sea monsters. In the Third, you’re tortured with desolation. In the Fourth, physical exertion—pushing boulders to the center of the circle, and then removing them . . . on a never-ending loop. In the Fifth, you’re inducted into our army. In the Sixth, souls burn in coffins.”
She frowns.
“Vassago and my father have their own ways of doling out punishments in the Seventh and Ninth Circles. But most of their methods are more like what mortals would imagine the Circles to be like.”
She swallows. “And here? What punishments do you enforce?”
“This entire city is designed as a counterfeit replica to remind you of your mortal life, because once a soul is assigned here, it becomes enlightened. You understand your wrongdoings and feel remorse for them. Unfortunately, in the City of Lost Souls, there are no pardons, nor forgiveness that comes with repentance. Your mind is your own punishment. Dark souls appointed here go through eternity trapped in their own heads. Mentally suffering at their own hands. Constantly reminded of what could have been with redemption. It’s called the Black Mercy.”
A CITY OF LOST SOULS
Hope
OF ALL THE CIRCLES, THIS one sounds the cruelest. Physical pain is one thing, but mental pain is something entirely different. I would know. Sadness crosses over me. Of all the beings to oversee this circle, his father chose him. It feels ironically cruel.
“It doesn’t sound, or smell, the way I thought it would here either,” I tell him.
“You don’t hear the cries and wails, or smell the stench of pain, suffering, and death because you haven’t been assigned or born to the Circles, and your soul is not dark.”
“Are all demons in human form here?”
“Most are. If you were human prior to being assigned here, you still are. The creatures are mutations my father has created over the centuries. Like the hellhounds that guard the gate.”
“A version of wolf?”
“Yes.”
“And you?” I hold my breath, unsure if I want to know the answer. Time just seems to stand still—nothing moves, including me. Regardless of his response, there is no going back. Everything I’ve seen today is burned into my memory, whether I want it to be or not.
“I was born divine, which means I am in human form after falling. I do have demon emotions lying dormant, until they’re pushed to the surface.”
I nod, unable to find my voice after taking in everything he’s saying.
“All this would be much easier if I could lie to you,” he states.
“It would, would it?” I reply, giving him a coy smile. “I never want you to lie to me.”
“Good, because I can’t now,” he retorts. “We’re linked, so . . . open books and all that.”
I’m trying my best to act normally, but I’m sort of on information overload.
“Speaking of which, you still need to teach me how to block you,” I remind him. “And maybe let yours down once in a while, so I can keep trying to figure out what your father is up to.”
“I don’t know, Hope. Until I understand exactly what’s going on with our link and how to feed you information, I’d rather not discuss dropping the wall I have up right now.”
I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and exhale a deep breath. My fingertips press against the glass as I take in the sky stretching out overhead.
I assess the City of Lost Souls. Beneath the window, the modern landscape bustles, reminding me of New York. My gaze travels over the modern skyscrapers and glass buildings that jut upward from the concrete beneath.
My stomach clenches with sorrow for the souls who are wandering around, suffering. I know that many of these beings probably deserve to be here, but the idea that they were shown redemption, only to be denied it on a daily basis—it’s hard to swallow.
I turn and lean my back against the window, crossing my arms over my chest. “So, what now?”
“Your attendant will be here shortly. She’ll help you with your needs while you stay with me—making sure you’re properly groomed, dressed, and shown the etiquette my father will be expecting when you meet him. Everything you need has been provided in the guest suite upstairs. While you’re here, you are my guest, and may move around the penthouse freely. For your own safety, if you would like to venture out of the building, you’ll go only with me. Hendrix will be sending someone in the next few days to help you work on summoning, controlling, and understanding your oracle gifts.”
A light tapping sounds on the door, just as I’m about to ask a thousand more questions.
Stone slides off the couch and stands to his full height, moving toward the entry.
“Wait. Don’t you have a staff?” I ask.
“Not at this residence.”
“Oh,” I exhale, embarrassed at my assumption. “Sorry, you’re royal . . . I just thought . . .”
“The penthouse is my private retreat. No one else has ever been allowed in here.”
I raise my brows, surprised. “No one?”
“No.”
Another round of knocking interrupts us, this one firmer. Stone slips away, then returns with a beautiful, slender, young woman by his side.
I try not to let her sheer beauty intimidate me. Or the odd, gold, Viking helmet, adorned with two delicate red horns and intricate silver wings on both sides.
“Hope, this is your attendant, Malia. Malia, this is your charge, Hope,” Stone introduces.
Malia steps forward, bowing slightly. As she does, her platinum-blond, waist-length hair falls over her bare shoulders. It’s unusually healthy and shiny. “My Lady,” she says.
Smiling at me, her scarlet eyes twinkle and I can’t help but stare.
“Hope.”
“I’m sorry, my Lady?” Her deep-red lips ask.
My gaze travels over her stunning, gold, fitted dress. It accentuates every curve and asset she has, which are bountiful. A red silk fabric drapes at the back, attached on each of her arms by a strand of black fur. Delicate gold chains, decorated with fine rubies, embellish her bare skin.
“Um . . . you don’t have to call me my Lady. Just call me Hope,” I explain.
Malia looks to Stolas with wide eyes. He nods his agreement and she relaxes a bit.
“You may also speak freely while here, without my prompting,” he adds.
“Very well then, Hope.” She struggles with my name, as if it’s something forbidden.
“Hope, Malia is a Huldra demon, a keeper of secrets. She was born here in the Circles.”
I hold out my hand and she looks at it as if it’s a foreign object. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s the way mortals greet one another,” Stone explains to her.
A crease forms in Malia’s forehead before she places her hand in mine, and watches while I shake our hands. “That is . . . odd.”
I offer her a half smile as I take my hand back. “I never really thought about it. I guess it is a strange way of greeting someone.”
Stone’s expression turns soft as he looks between us. “I’ll leave you ladies to it. Hope, Malia will help instruct you in our ways. She’s here to answer any questions you might have.”
“Okay.” I try to appear calm.
He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. I can tell he isn’t happy about leaving me alone. “I’ll just be in my art studio, if you need me.”
“With respect, my Lord, we’ll be fine,” Malia offers.
Once Stone is gone, she and I are left to linger in an awkward silence.
“Did you pick the smallest straw or something?” I joke.
“I’m sorry?” Malia replies.
“How did you get stuck giving demon etiquette lessons to the human? Surely there are other things you’d rather be doing?”
“No. It is an honor to serve my Lord in any request he makes.”
I bristle a bit at her mention of Stone, wondering if they’re more than just acquaintances. With the way she looks, it would be hard to believe otherwise. Which rem
inds me, I need to ask him what I should call him while I’m here.
“Where do we start?”
“If you show me to your chamber, I would be happy to begin with proper dress.”
I smile. “I guess girls bonding over clothes is universal.”
Several hours and outfit changes later, Malia is instructing me on royal formalities.
For someone who got kicked out of Heaven for wanting free will, there certainly are a lot of rules, protocols, and procedures Stone’s father likes in the Circles.
“You are not at all what I expected.” She sits on the bed next to me.
“No? What did you expect?” I ask.
A peach blush crosses her pale skin. “Well, you’re human. I thought you would be . . . mean and unfriendly. Judgmental. Morally superior.”
“Is that what you think of all humans?”
She shrugs. “I do not know. I’ve never met one. Before you, I mean.”
“We’re not that different from you. We’re all just lost souls searching for something.”
She takes my hand in hers and squeezes gently. A blinding, white light appears behind my eyes, forcing me to squeeze them closed. When I reopen them, I’m in dark cave.
A bright, orange light glows to my right, causing me to walk toward it. As I approach, my heart stops. Malia is chained to a wall, burning to death. Flames are all around her, and her eyes are completely black and hollow. Her mouth is frozen open in a soundless scream.
The white light flashes again and I’m back my chamber, on my knees, with Stone in front of me. His lips are moving but I can’t hear what he’s saying.
Slowly, the sound penetrates my consciousness.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
Shaken, I simply nod, unable to speak as my gaze scans the room for Malia.
Seeing my confusion, Stone takes my chin in his hand and brings my eyes to his. “She’s getting you water. We thought maybe you fainted from dehydration.”
“No. I had a vision.” I pause and catch my breath. “When I touched her.”
“What did you see?”
“Her death.”
Stone
Stolas: A Dark Soul Series Novel Page 16